The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(98)

He stepped out onto the balcony, inhaling in pleasure as a brisk wind rose from the ground far below, lifting his hair like curling wings. To one side of the balcony a figure stirred, the rattle of chains breaking the morning’s silence. The Prince glanced over at his Reaper, which crouched where the servants had chained it against the wall. The servants’ corpses lay at its feet. The Prince was amused to see that some flicker of its old self must have stirred in the Reaper during the night; it had arranged the bodies in dignified positions.

The jungissa stone that the Prince raised was crude, ugly. It had chipped off a larger piece of Sun’s seed, the peculiar stones that fell every now and then from the sky, and unlike the artfully carved jewels used by the Hetawa, this one was just a chunk of rock. Still, when the Prince struck it against a nearby railing, the Reaper shivered, lifting its head. “B-brother…?”

The Prince raised his eyebrows in surprise. The Reaper rarely spoke these days. The remnants of its personality had grown so weak that he barely needed the jungissa anymore; his will was enough to hold the creature’s thoughts. Putting the stone away, he went over to it, crouching to peer into its confused eyes. “Here. Did you rest well, Una-une?”

The Reaper blinked against the sunlight, sighing and shaking its head. “No. Visions. There… there was pain. Ehiru. He suffered.”

The Prince nodded to Charris, who unlocked the chain fastened to the collar ’round the Reaper’s neck. “Yes, pathbrother,” the Prince said, taking the end of the chain from Charris. He reached up to stroke the creature’s slack cheek. “Unfortunately, he suffers. But now the time has come for your own suffering to end. One last task, one last glorious Gathering, and then you may rest.”

Longing flooded the creature’s eyes; tears welled in its eyes. “Yes. Yes. Oh please, Brother. I have served for so long.”

“I know. Just a little longer, and then Her peace awaits you, I promise. Come.”

He stood, tugging the Reaper’s leash. It rose and flowed after him, predator-graceful even with its mind all but gone. He stopped at the railing, gesturing Hendet and the rest of them back.

But then, suddenly, the Reaper stiffened. It whipped about to face the balcony doorway, nearly pulling the chain from the Prince’s hand. He caught his breath and gripped the leash, preparing to set his will against the thing’s mad hunger—but then realized the creature’s attention had not fixed on Hendet or Wanahomen. He followed the Reaper’s gaze, and set his jaw.

“Enough, Eninket,” snarled Ehiru.





38





There is nothing to fear in nightmares, so long as you control them.

(Wisdom)





Like a vision, the Dreamer had raced across the nighttime sky as their horses blurred along the Moonpath to Kite-iyan. Through the rushing wind, the only constants Ehiru had grasped were anger and Nijiri’s voice, penetrating the blur now and again to remind him of who he was. They entered Kite-iyan’s welcome hall and found it full of soldiers. With his mother’s voice echoing in his mind, Ehiru hated them, and so fierce was his hatred that some of it broke free and leaped forth. When he pulled it back, their souls came with it, plump wriggling fish snared in the net of his mind. He’d devoured them greedily, savoring their pain and terror as a piquant spice, and guilt soured the moment only a little.

Now he stood facing his Prince, his brother, his betrayer, and the hatred returned—but this time he held it back. He would cleanse this corruption from Gujaareh’s soul in the proper manner, he had decided along the way, as a Gatherer and not a monster. For justice and for Hananja, he would be himself one last time.

“Enough,” he said again, stalking onto the balcony. Nijiri flowed behind him, a shadow ready to strike. To one side a woman, two men, and a servant-child stood in shock, their souls bright alluring flames that called out to him. He ignored them and the hunger that wanted them. “Yield. I still have enough control to give you peace. If you resist I can promise nothing.”

Eninket gave him a cool smile, though Ehiru saw anger lurking underneath. “Don’t be foolish, Ehiru. Death or godhood; which would you choose?” He put his hand on the Reaper’s shoulder and the creature uttered a feral hiss at them.

“Control your beast, Eninket.” Ehiru raised his voice. It was not the peaceful thing to do, but there was little peace left inside him, and he did not care besides. “The man it once was could have beaten me, but not this sorry thing. And if you unleash it, it may attack indiscriminately.”

He glanced at their inadvertent audience. The man in the garb of a high-ranking soldier drew his sword; the youth did the same. The youth’s features bore Eninket’s stamp, Ehiru had already noted, and that of the shunha woman who stood with them. He saw too the fear that flashed across Eninket’s face.

Keeping a hand on the Reaper’s shoulder, Eninket spoke softly, but firmly. “Wanahomen, leave with your mother. Charris, protect them with your life.”

The man looked ready to argue, though he threw an uneasy glance at the Reaper—which had fixed its gaze on Nijiri in blatant eagerness—and subsided. The youth had no such qualms. “Father, I will not!”

“Do as I say.” Eninket tore his eyes away from Ehiru long enough to glare the youth into submission. “Now. Go!”