The Killing Moon Page 5

  Nijiri started. “My thoughts?”

  “He was to have been your mentor,” said Rabbaneh. “He is, after all, the most experienced of us now that Una-une has gone into dreaming. An apprentice should learn from the best. But given Ehiru’s lapse…” He grimaced delicately, as if to apologize for his indelicate words. “So. Who is your choice, to replace him? Sonta-i, or me?”

  Relief spread through Nijiri—and with it came a curious sort of eagerness, not dissimilar from what he had felt in the sparring circle, facing four Sentinels. Of this, if nothing else, he was certain. “If I was to be Ehiru’s, Gatherer, then I will stay Ehiru’s.”

  Rabbaneh raised his eyebrows. “A Gatherer can take months, or years, to recover from such a lapse, Apprentice. If he recovers. For Ehiru in particular this incident has been a blow. He’s convinced that he is no longer worthy to be a Gatherer.” Rabbaneh sighed faintly. “We’re all prone to pride. But perhaps you should reconsider.”

  Rabbaneh and Sonta-i were trying to do right by him, Nijiri reminded himself; they meant well. They did not understand that Nijiri had made his choice ten years before, on a humid afternoon thick with the stench of suffering. Ehiru had shown him the way to true peace that day. He had taught Nijiri the beauty of pain, and that love meant doing what was best for others. Whether they wanted it or not.

  How could he not repay Ehiru for that revelation, now that the chance had finally come?

  “I will be Ehiru’s,” he repeated, softly this time. “I’ll be whatever he needs, until the day he needs me no longer.”

  And he would fight Hananja Herself, if he had to, to keep that day at bay.

  4

  It is the duty of the shunha to uphold tradition. It is the duty of the zhinha to challenge tradition.

  (Law)

  General Niyes’s home was in the spice district, where the evening breezes smelled of cinnamon and inim-teh seed. The house had been built Kisuati-style, with a roofed sitting area in the side-yard, and elaborate patterns laid in colored tile about the front door—though the ubiquitous Gujaareen river clay, sun-baked to near-white, covered the outer walls. A necessity, in this land of yearly floods; the clay kept the water from soaking the house’s support beams. Still, the design was familiar enough in style and function that Sunandi felt right at home as she stepped out of the carriage.

  The additional sight of the general’s family, all of whom stood waiting on the steps, reinforced the illusion. The general himself was beaming in open welcome, a far cry from the usual Gujaareen reserve. His two children wore brightly-colored Kisuati wraps, though the boy had fastened his at the hip rather than in front as was proper. By her elaborately coiffed and beaded hair, Sunandi judged that the heavyset woman beside the general was his wife. Likely the only one, since the shunha nobility of Gujaareh prided themselves on maintaining the traditions of their Kisuati motherland.

  “Speaker, we welcome you to our home.” The woman spoke in flawless formal Sua; Sunandi was pleased by the use of her proper title. “I am Lumanthe. You will be my daughter for the evening, and my family your own.”

  “Thank you for the warm welcome, Lumanthe-mother. With this beautiful home and such perfect guest-custom, you might even tempt me to stay!” Sunandi grinned, too pleased to keep to tradition. Lumanthe raised eyebrows in surprise and then laughed, shedding her own formality just as easily.

  “It must be difficult for you, Nandi-daughter, living here among the half-barbarian folk of this land.” Lumanthe moved to stand beside Sunandi, taking her arm companionably. “It’s hard enough for we who keep the old ways, but at least this is home for us.”

  “Not so difficult. After my apprenticeship with Master Seh Kalabsha I spent three years as the Protectors’ Voice in Charad-dinh.” She smiled. “Gujaareh at least has proper baths. In Charad-dinh I had to bathe in the local waterfall. It was very beautiful, but very cold!”

  Lumanthe laughed heartily. “I spent a year in Kisua as a maiden. I remember being amazed at how different the two lands truly are. It seemed a wonder to me that your people and mine were ever joined.”

  “And will remain joined while the shunha endure.” Niyes stepped forward, taking Sunandi’s free hand for a moment in welcome. His Sua too was liquid and accentless, though more stilted than that of his wife. Shunha or no, Niyes was still Gujaareen, and no Gujaareen man was completely at ease with women. “Thank you for accepting my invitation, Speaker.”

  He sounded relieved, as if he’d half expected her to refuse. Sunandi filed that small bit of information away to ponder later and squeezed his hand. “I’ll admit I’d hoped for an evening to myself, but having heard tales of your hospitality, I couldn’t refuse.” She gave him her most genuine smile and saw him relax just a bit.

  “We’ll work hard not to disappoint you. My children, Tisanti and Ohorome.”

  The children stepped forward to take her hand, murmuring greetings. Ohorome was the younger but already showed the beginnings of a muscular build: a warrior in the making. Tisanti was fifteen or so and just as muscular; perhaps she was skilled in dance. She had her mother’s flawless skin—flawless, Sunandi saw, but lightly covered with some sort of powder, and she had marked her lips with a berry-colored stain. Sunandi suppressed a grimace. The girl was beautiful; she had no need of paints and powders. That was the way of barbarians—and the Gujaareen, who had adopted far too many barbarian customs.

  Still, Sunandi smiled, and the girl smiled shyly back. The boy did not, but Sunandi took no offense.

  “A fine family,” she said to Niyes. “I’m honored to be welcomed into it, even if only for one evening.”

  Niyes beamed, but again Sunandi detected a hint of nervousness in his manner. More than the usual Gujaareen strangeness; something troubled the man.

  “Come inside,” he said, and she was forced to end her observations for the moment.

  Inside, more familiarity greeted Sunandi. Sculptures of the Moon’s children—Hananja of course, but also several of the gods worshipped in Kisua—stood on plinths set into the corners. Hanging brass lanterns filled the air with the fragrance of beeswax, though the more pungent scents of cooking spices and fresh fruit were dominant. Sunandi inhaled and sighed in pleasure.

  Lumanthe chuckled. “Have you missed home so much, Speaker? You were only assigned to Gujaareh two months ago.”

  “The first few are the worst, Manthe-mother.”

  Niyes nodded to two servants, who pulled open a pair of handsome wooden doors. Beyond was the dining chamber, whose sole furnishing—a huge table, surrounded by sitting-pillows—was heavily laden with more dishes than Sunandi could count.

  A servant crouched beside one of the pillows. Taking the hint, Sunandi sat at that place, inclining her head to the girl. To her surprise the girl visibly started, darting a look around with wide eyes as if she couldn’t believe Sunandi had done such a thing.

  Sunandi turned back to the table, concealing her distaste. Niyes had shown such careful adherence to Kisuati tradition; she had not expected this. The girl was almost certainly a free citizen of their servant caste, since in Gujaareh criminals were killed or imprisoned, not enslaved. Thus it was only proper to treat her with basic courtesy—but clearly the girl was not used to that.

  Kisuati on the surface, Gujaareen underneath. An important distinction to keep in mind if she were ever so foolish as to consider trusting Niyes.

  In the meantime the feast demanded her attention—for however diluted they might be in other ways, the family had clearly kept tradition intact in the kitchen. There was not a single fish or river-vegetable on the table, for which alone Sunandi thanked the fifty hearth gods. The servant girl presented her with slivers of spicy fowl roasted in cumin and jife nuts; fluffy barley cakes stuffed with yam, currants, and hekeh seeds; gingered lamb and tamban patties in rich gravy; and more. Over a dozen other dishes, all of them exquisite. She sampled as many as she could, aware that Lumanthe would be watching anxiously for her approval, but it took no great effo
rt to display appreciation under the circumstances. The children grinned when she leaned back to belch.

  Once everyone had eaten their fill, the servants took away the dishes and replaced them with decanters of mintmelon wine. Another pair of servants sat at the far end of the chamber and began to play soft music on a flute and twelve-note drum. Niyes lifted his cup and poured a small amount on the table as an offering to the gods; Sunandi and the rest of the family did the same, formally ending the meal.

  She’d sensed Niyes’s tension earlier and had guessed that he would wait to say whatever was on his mind, at least until guest-custom was satisfied. Sure enough, he nodded to Lumanthe a few moments after the wine was poured. Lumanthe stood, gesturing curtly to the children; Sunandi affected surprise.

  “Is there some pressing matter? I’d hoped to spend the evening sharing gossip, Manthe-mother.”

  “Nothing important, Nandi-daughter, but we will have to gossip another time. Niyes wants to talk business—men’s gossip.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “You may have been trained to endure it, but I’ve no taste for such matters. We shall leave you to it.” Then she herded the children out, pausing to bow farewell from the doorway. “Not too much business, Niyes. She’s had a good meal tonight; don’t curdle it for her.”

  Niyes favored Lumanthe with a thin smile—and said nothing in reply, Sunandi noted while the family left. She watched Niyes over the rim of her winecup, noting that his tension seemed to increase as soon as the doors closed. He poured another cup for himself, spilling a few drops in the process.

  “Will you walk with me, Speaker?” he asked at last. “I would give you a tour of my household.”

  She noted the darting glance of his eyes; the servants. She smiled and got to her feet. “A walk would settle my meal, thank you.”

  They left the dining chamber and strolled the halls of the sprawling house, exchanging small talk occasionally. She let Niyes control the conversation, knowing it would set him at ease and trusting him to know when it was safe to talk. To her surprise, he took a lantern and led her into the house’s atrium, where a near-jungle of plants—most imported from Kisua, she gauged—helped to cool the night-breezes blowing through the house. Niyes fell silent here, though there was surely no one about; the crunching leaves underfoot would have alerted them to the presence of any listeners. Sunandi was growing impatient when Niyes abruptly veered off the atrium path and into the brush. She followed him to find a small door hidden behind the thickest of the vegetation.

  Here she hesitated. Niyes was no fool. Half of Gujaareh knew he’d invited Sunandi to his home for the evening. If she disappeared, the Kisuati Protectorate would demand his execution at the very least.

  “Please, Speaker.” He kept his voice low; his tension was almost palpable now. “I would never violate guest-custom, and I must show you something important to both our lands.”

  Sunandi eyed him closely, noting the sheen of sweat on his brow and the tremor of his lantern. Whatever he was about, he was terrified, and not merely of offending a high-ranking guest. That decided her; she nodded.

  Niyes exhaled in relief and opened the door. Beyond was a close, dark stairwell that slanted under the house. While he opened the lantern’s shutters to full, she peered within, wrinkling her nose at the faint whiff of mildew wafting up from below. Mildew—and something else. Something fouler.

  She went in anyhow, and Niyes shut the door behind them, leaving his small lantern as their only source of light. Most likely they were headed toward the family’s private burial chamber. Despite tradition, few shunha families built such chambers in a city that flooded once a year, for only the wealthiest could afford the special shunts and gates that helped the chambers dry quickly once floodseason ended. The mildew she smelled was likely a remnant of the floods that had occurred a few months before. The other scent was newer. Stronger, as they drew closer to its source.

  “I command legions only during war,” the general said as they walked through the candlelit darkness. “In peacetime I manage the training camps for our soldiers. The prison included.”

  The last surprised Sunandi. There was almost no crime in Gujaareh. The realm had only one prison and it was small, housing the pettiest of criminals, food-thieves and the like. Gatherers killed the rest. Managing such a place did not strike Sunandi as the best use of a general’s talents.

  “The Protectorate considers conscripts more trouble than they’re worth,” she said carefully.

  Niyes shook his head. “In Gujaareh, criminals may earn their freedom by proving themselves free of corruption. They may be tried by a Gatherer or in battle; most choose the latter, though it may take years. So we train them.” He sobered. “A few fourdays ago, however, prisoners began dying.”

  The smell had intensified, thickening the air, and now Sunandi recognized it: the early stages of decay, mingled with the spices and incense used in Kisuati embalmings. A tomb lay ahead, and it held a recent occupant.

  Had some family member of Niyes’s been in prison? No, any shunha foolish enough to land in prison would have been disowned, his corpse tossed into a dung ditch.

  The stair led to a short tunnel, which ended at a heavy stone door whose thickness did little to diminish the reek. Sunandi put a hand over her nose and mouth, trying to breathe the faint scent of the lemon-water she’d used to wash her fingers after dinner.

  Niyes glanced at her, concerned. “A woman of your station would not have seen death often.”

  “It is not unknown to me,” she said curtly. An orphan girl-child on Kisua’s streets witnessed all manner of ugliness and learned simply to thank the gods that it was no one she knew.

  Niyes made no comment and pulled the thick rope that hung nearby. She heard the gritty roll of unseen pulleys and wheels, and the door slowly rose until the opening was of man-height. Foulness flooded out of the chamber to greet them; she gagged once but managed to keep her dinner down.

  Setting the lever, Niyes released the rope and took up the lantern again. “I’m sorry to put you through this, Speaker, but you will understand once you have seen.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and followed him within.

  The chamber was beautiful, despite the smell. Niyes’s line had clearly been wealthy enough to maintain it, despite the flooding, for many years. Elegant pillars, decorated austerely, circled the chamber’s center; shelves along the walls held rows of gold-and lacquer-inlaid urns. At the center stood a massive stone sarcophagus, its sides lined with Sua prayer-glyphs. By tradition the next to last of the dead would be within it. But the newest of the family’s ancestors held the honor of lying on the stone slab atop the sarcophagus, there to remain until someone else in the family died. Bodies were kept for as long as possible before cremation in case the soul had trouble finding its way to Ina-Karekh. Unless, here in Gujaareh, the corpse bore a Gatherer’s mark.

  Niyes stepped close to the sarcophagus, lifting the lantern high for Sunandi. Steeling herself, Sunandi stepped forward to examine the corpse.

  It was not one of Niyes’s relatives. Though the skin had darkened in death, Sunandi could still tell that the man, in life, had been much lighter-complected than any shunha of a respectable lineage. Perhaps even a northerner—although the hair was tight-curled and black, and the distorted features showed clear southern roots. A common Gujaareen, then.

  But what truly shocked Sunandi was the expression on the corpse’s face. The eyes had sunken, but lines of striation still showed around the lids and across the brow. He’d died with his eyes shut tight. The mouth was open, lips drawn back in a way that could have been caused by drying and shrinkage of the skin—but she doubted it. It took no embalmers’ skill to recognize a mortal, agonized scream when she saw one.

  “Twelve men have been found like this,” Niyes said, his voice soft in the silence. “All were young men, healthy. All died in the night without warning, mark, or wound. This one had a cellmate, who said he was like this before he died—thras
hing, trying to cry out but making no sound. Asleep.”

  “Asleep?”

  Niyes nodded. “Asleep, and dreaming something so horrible that it killed him.” He looked up at her, his face haggard in the lamplight. “I brought this one here to keep as proof. The others were burned. Do you understand what it means?”

  She swallowed, her gorge rising anew. “The abomination. But if your Hetawa has failed in its vigilance, then you should be showing this corpse to the Prince of Gujaareh, not me. I am Kisuati; I can only say, ‘We told you so.’ ”

  “There’s more to it, Speaker. Strange events have occurred lately, especially in the past few years. The Prince—” He grimaced. “The Prince has quietly poured money into the shipdocks along the Sea of Glory. They’ve slowed now, but until two years ago they were working night and day producing ships. Merchant-vessels, the orders say, but of a strange design, made with heavier wood than normal.”

  “The Sea of Glory has no connection to the Eastern Ocean,” Sunandi said, confused. “Ships built there are no threat to Kisua.”

  “Those ships sailed away months ago and have never been seen or heard from again,” Niyes said. “Where do you think they’ve gone, Speaker?”

  “North? South? They’re still no threat unless they sail west across the Endless and ’round the world to Kisua’s front gate—a feat no vessel has ever managed, except in tales.” Sunandi shook her head. “Leaving aside the fact that they might actually be merchant-vessels.”

  Niyes sighed and ran a hand over his balding pate. “The Prince has also recently sought alliance with several northern tribes. Not just our regular trading partners, either—ax-mad barbarians from the icelands, who make our Bromarte seem well-mannered and gentle-hearted.”

  “Perhaps he’s found new trading partners. Which of course would require new merchant ships.”

  “But along with all the rest—including Kinja’s death—you must admit it paints a disturbing picture.”