The Killing Moon (Dreamblood) (42 page)

Ah, Superior, even without speaking, you are a poor liar.

Will you tell my brethren, at least, that I died? Ehiru. I should have told these tales to him, not you… but he has always been fragile, despite his strength. His faith sustains him—and faith is so easy to break.

So tell him I died. It will be true by the time you’re done with me. And tell him that I love him. He’ll need that in the time to come. And those words, I know, will be true until dreams end.

Amid the thrones of the dead, the pranje begins.

*   *   *

The first day.

“I’m not afraid, Brother. I can help you—”

“St-stay away from me.”

*   *   *

The first night: metal scrapes against oiled twine.

“What are you doing?”

“Forgive me for waking you. I thought perhaps I could cut some of the knots holding the ironwork together. If we can get out of this cage…”

Silence for a moment. “That was your hipstrap-clasp. The one your mother gave you.”

“It was a child’s thing.” More scraping. “Are you thirsty, Brother? There’s water, though no food.”

“No.”

“You haven’t drunk since—”

“No.”

After a sigh, the scraping resumes.

*   *   *

The second day: morning, or what passes for such among the thrones of the dead. Slow, even breathing overlaid by whispered prayer.

“Forgive me, forgive me, Hananja I beg You, I should have offered You my tithe after the Bromarte, I know it now, forgive my pride and selfishness, please please please do not let me kill him.”

*   *   *

The second day: afternoon. A brief draught of fresh air and the fading echoes of guards’ boots.

“At least we won’t starve. Here, Brother.”

“I want nothing.”

Silence.

A reluctant sigh.

“Now drink. Your mind will fight harder if your body’s healthy.”

“Have you forgotten your promise, Nijiri?”

“… No, Brother.”

“Then why do you delay? You see what must be done.”

“I see that you must eat and drink, and when our meal is done you must pray with me, and then while you meditate I’ll resume work on those twine hinges. It may take several days, but I think—”

Unnatural fury splits the air. “Foolish, wicked
child
! Do you enjoy my suffering? Will you force me to perform another of those—perverted—”

“I want anything but your suffering, Brother. But if you take me it will be a true Gathering, because I offer myself willingly.”

“Already my thoughts… the visions… I cannot…” A deep breath, a struggle for calm. “You gave your word, Nijiri.”

“Have you considered what will happen if I take you, Brother?”

“What?”

“It might take longer with me—or it might go faster. I don’t have your strength. But in the end, one Reaper will be as good as another to the Prince.”

Long and terrible silence.

“Drink, Brother. When we’ve won our way free—and when there’s no chance of either of us becoming the Prince’s plaything—then I will send you to Her. That I vow, with everything that I am.”

*   *   *

The second night: silence in the halls of the dead, but for scraping.

*   *   *

The third day: morning. Harsh and shaky breath.

“Brother?”

“The bars. They constrict. They, they will crush us.”

“No, Brother. It was a vision—”

“I saw them.”

“Then come sit beside me. Death is nothing to fear, is it? Over here, the bars will take less time to reach us. Come.”

Sandals shift on stone, slowly and reluctantly.

“Good. Feel my hand. I have calluses now, do you see? Camel reins, barge-rowing, twine-scraping… who knew the life of a Gatherer would be so hard? Gods, I should’ve stayed a servant-caste.”

“You.” The voice is gravel, groping for itself. “You are… too willful for that. You would’ve been… forced to find a new master every other day.”

A rich chuckle. “Too true, Brother. I should be grateful at least that the Hetawa doesn’t beat its children.”

The harsh breathing stutters, then slows, calming.

After a long while—“Thank you.”

No response, although a voice begins to hum a gentle, comforting hymn.

“It goes so fast this time, Nijiri.”

“Shh.” Another shift; now flesh strokes against flesh. “Here. You’re here. In this world, this body. Stay with me, Brother. I need you.”

“Yes… yes.” An audible swallow. “I’d forgotten what true fear felt like. Nothing holds it back anymore.”

“There’s nothing to fear. All will be well. Rest. I’ll be here when you wake.”

*   *   *

The third day: afternoon. The stir of fresh air. The stillness of the dead is broken by three new voices, peaceless and loud and disrespectful.

“Is he dead yet? I’ve got money on you, boy.”

“Look at those eyes, Amtal! If hate could kill, you’d be dead already.”

“No luck. The big one is breathing. He’s just asleep.”

“Sitting up?”

“Maybe that’s how they do it. Maybe he’s trying to kill you from afar.”

“Maybe he’s laying a curse on your family line.”

“Maybe he’s laying a curse on your family jewels!” Raucous laughter.

“Just feed them, you imbeciles, and let’s go. I don’t like this place.”

Stone and chains; the return of silence. After a time, the scraping begins again.

*   *   *

The third night: early evening.

“You’re shivering.”

“N-not… cold.”

“I know.”

“Have I ever… harmed you, Nijiri?”

“Harmed me? No, why do you ask?”

“A v-vision. It was the pranje. I hurt you. Beat you. K-killed.”

“Don’t be foolish, Brother. I’m here, aren’t I? I never sat pranje for you, though I wanted to, trained to. And I listened to the rumors about you, talked to others who attended you. Don’t worry; you’ve never done such a thing.”

A voice that trembles: “In the vision, I
wanted
to.”

A voice that soothes: “I will never let that happen.”

*   *   *

The third night, late, or the fourth morning, early: the small hours. The infinitesimal sounds of stealth. Death creeps on fingers and toes.

Slow, even breathing catches for a moment, then resumes.

“Welcome, Brother.”

Silence.

“Do you want me?”

Silence, pent.

“Take what you need. Use it to free yourself. I’ll wait for you in Ina-Karekh.”

Silence. Stealth abandoned; now there is only breath, ragged with strain.

“N… nnh…”

Waiting.

“Nnnnh…” The voice breaks; it sounds barely human. “N-no. I will n-not. I will
not
.”

“Brother—No, Brother, don’t—Here. Yes. Yes, Brother.”

The sobs that break the silence are without hope, but the soothing tones that overlay them are confident and loving.

“I wanted to… I would have…
Indethe a etun—
”

“Shhh. She has never turned Her sight from you, Brother. You’re Her most beloved servant, and you have served Her long and well. She’ll welcome you when the time comes. You will dwell in Her peace forever. I shall see to that myself.”

“Now, Nijiri. It must be now. The next time—”

“The next time you’ll do whatever you must. But try to hold on, Brother. I cut through the hinges a few hours ago. Now only a push will make the wall come loose. When the guards come again, we can break free.”

“Can’t… hold…”

“You can. I’ll help you. Shhh. Close your eyes. Yes, like that. Shhh. I’ll weave us a dream; would you like that? Not a Gather
ing, but perhaps enough to keep the madness at bay awhile longer. Now lie still.”

“Nijiri.”

“I’ve always loved you, my Brother. I no longer care what’s right.
You
are my only Law. Rest now, safe in my dreams.”

Silence.

*   *   *

The fourth day.

“The Prince was right, Brother.”

Massive chains rumble, sending forth echoes as stone doors shift. Fresh air wafts through the catacombs. Amid the thrones of the dead, life gathers itself for battle.

“You have indeed become a weapon, but not his. All things serve Hananja’s will—even this. Remember that, no matter what you do.”

The rumbling ceases; footsteps violate the peaceful sanctity of Yanyi-ija-inank as the guards approach.

“And no matter what happens, I shall never leave your side.”

*   *   *

The guards stop before the cage’s door. “So, boy. Is he dead yet?” They laugh.

And Ehiru looks up, smiling a smile that chills their souls.

“Yes,” the Reaper says.

The first guard fell when Ehiru kicked the loosened cage wall off its hinges. The wall was heavy; it knocked one guard to the ground while the other two, caught by surprise, stood there in shock. By the time they reacted, Ehiru was out of the cage and on them.

Nijiri ran out after him, ready to take down whichever one Ehiru missed, but there was no need. Ehiru struck the first guard a slashing blow across the throat, and in the same blurring movement twisted about and took hold of the second guard’s face. Nijiri saw the guard—screaming, blinded by Ehiru’s fingers on his eyes—fumble for his sword. Nijiri rushed forward to assist Ehiru, but abruptly the guard made a strangled sound and sagged to his knees. Ehiru released him. The man fell over on his side, dead.

All things were Hananja’s will. Nijiri clung to that thought. In Her name they would do whatever needed to be done.

The first guard gurgled and finally died, clutching his throat.
The third guard had managed to get halfway free of the entangling lattice of metal, but his leather breastplate had snagged on a spar. Ehiru, swaying in the aftermath of his Reaping, turned slowly, his attention attracted by the man’s struggles.

Nijiri crossed the room in three strides, dropped to one knee beside the struggling soldier, and broke his neck in one swift jerk.