The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(99)

After another moment, the youth slumped, and the woman pulled him toward the door by the arm. The soldier grabbed the arm of the child, who clutched a pole bearing the Aureole, and dragged him out as well. Once Ehiru heard their footsteps moving away down the stairs he stepped closer, keeping a wary eye on the Reaper.

“You’ve lost,” Ehiru said to Eninket. “Face your death with dignity.”

“Even now, after everything I’ve told you?” Eninket uttered a soft, bitter laugh. “A slave of the Hetawa to the end. No, Ehiru. I’m not the one who’s lost here.” He sighed. “So be it.”

As he gazed down the Reaper, Eninket’s face took on a peculiar look of concentration. The Reaper froze, expression going even more slack than usual—though it cocked its head, as if listening. Then Eninket took his hand away from its shoulder.

Even with that warning, the creature’s speed caught Ehiru by surprise. He had only an instant to brace himself—but it flashed past him, and suddenly he realized that he was not its target. “Nijiri!”

But the boy caught the Reaper’s hand before it could reach his face, twisting to turn aside its momentum. The creature stumbled, off balance, and Nijiri struck it in the middle of its sunken chest. It fell to the ground flailing and Nijiri closed in, his eyes more vicious than Ehiru had ever seen. Ehiru moved to assist, but abruptly a faint sound from behind impinged on his awareness. He whirled to face whatever trickery Eninket was attempting—

—And froze, staring at the humming jungissa stone in his brother’s hand. Eninket tensed, then paused, narrowing eyes at him.

“Come here, Ehiru,” said Eninket. Ehiru took a step toward Eninket before it occurred to him to wonder why he did so. He stopped, frowning.

“So it works on you as well.” Eninket stared at him with something akin to wonder. “The Superior said you had been deprived… and yet the boy is alive. Who, then, have you killed to preserve your own life, my brother?” As Ehiru set his jaw against shame, Eninket smiled, relaxing, a high gleam of victory in his eyes. “You’re as corrupt as the rest of them, for all your pious talk.”

The jungissa’s song filled Ehiru’s mind, throwing him back to a thousand nights and a thousand Gatherings, making him yearn for the time when things had been so simple in his life. When he had been pure, and there had been nothing but peace in his heart, and—

What is this? In confusion he shook his head, but the stone’s whine pierced through his thoughts like a dagger.

“Another secret of the scrolls,” said Eninket, drawing near. “A Reaper’s mind grows in sensitivity as well as power, leaving you vulnerable to the simplest narcomancy.”

Ehiru struggled to draw his eyes away from the jungissa as it grew in his vision, but he failed. The sound of the thing drowned out everything else—including the sounds of Nijiri’s struggle against the Reaper behind him. He tried again to focus on Eninket, who was now unprotected and could be Gathered, but—

“Hananja’s favorite, they call you. The most skilled Gatherer in recent memory; the dying dream of being taken by you. Yet look at the price you’ve paid for serving the Hetawa so well, Ehiru. You’ve become mine even faster than Una-une.” The Prince sighed. “Perhaps this was always meant to be, my brother. Now come.”

The word drove into Ehiru, backed by a will that parted his own like bedhangings and touched the most secret part of his consciousness where it lay. On some level he thought he made a sound, perhaps a strangled groan. He could not be sure. A hand touched his shoulder. He shivered beneath it, trying to let the hate loose again, but the mind that had woven its way into his gently pushed those thoughts aside. “Come, Brother,” Eninket said again.

Ehiru turned and walked where the voice steered him, over to the balcony railing.

Behind him, from a distance, he heard someone cry his name. Nijiri. Fear for the boy nearly gave him the strength to turn back, but Eninket’s will beat against his own.

“Shhh, Brother.”

Now he was lost again, in the cage under Yanya-iyan, weeping against the hunger that had nearly driven him to murder Nijiri. The voice was different, but the words of comfort were the same, the hands on his shoulders almost as tender.

“It’s all right,” said the voice in his ear, twisting his memories further. Nijiri? No. There was no love in this voice. “I understand. So much corruption all around, so much suffering, and you helpless to stop it. But I can help you, Brother.”

With a supreme effort Ehiru managed to close his eyes. But this was a mistake: the whine of the jungissa followed him into the darkness, and the voice spread its roots farther into his mind.

“Now. Reach out, Brother. Distance should be no barrier to you. Reach out, across the desert. Do you feel them?”

With his eyes shut, Ehiru had nothing to focus on but the voice. He fought it, but his mind stretched forth anyhow, falling away from him as though down a slanting pit. Visions formed around him: the desert, flying on skyrer’s wings. There was the village of Ketuyae, there the oasis at Tesa. There were the foothills, and suddenly his descent changed. Something pulled him aside. He frowned, slowing, tasting blood and pain and nightmare-thick fear on the air.

And death.

Where there was death, there was dreamblood.

“Corruption, Brother. Do you feel it? Filth the likes of which our land has not seen in centuries.”