room. The windows here had been bricked shut, however, save a small one at the far end. Shadows shrouded the room, except where a single bloody rectangle of light spread across the floor. The air smelled of dust and wood resin, and things less wholesome. Stale sweat, unwashed flesh, an un-emptied toilet box. Niyes squinted into the gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust. All he could make out at first was a woman’s bare foot, lying motionless at the edge of the light. Her leg, and the rest of her, disappeared into the shadows beyond.
From somewhere in the direction of her body, Niyes heard harsh, uneven breathing.
The Prince closed the door behind them. The clack of its heavy foreign latch was very loud in the small space.
“The plain fact of the matter,” the Prince continued, “is thatthe Hetawa is no threat. They can do nothing to me without harming themselves. But Kisua is another matter, Niyes. You’ve forced my hand by involving lovely, clever Sunandi. I must push my plans forward by several months because of this, even once I kill her. And that, too, is a true shame; I liked her very much.”
“My Prince—” Niyes caught himself, even as his heart began to thud uncomfortably fast. It was too late. Had been too late the moment he’d decided to take the corpse from the prison as evidence; he had known that all along. Still, he was shunha, born of one of Gujaareh’s oldest lineages. He would die with dignity. “… It was for Gujaareh that I did it, my lord.”
The Prince’s eyes softened. He gripped Niyes’ arm for just a moment, then let him go. “I know, old friend. I don’t blame you either, though I believe you judged me wrongly. I too do what I must, for Gujaareh.”
From the far end of the room they both heard the harsh breaths quicken. A man’s voice, thick as mud over stones, spoke. “I… can smell the Moons, Brother. Night comes.” Then lower, hungry—“I am empty. I hurt.”
The Prince glanced in that direction. With one hand, he plucked something from the hipstrap of his loinskirt and rapped it against a nearby wall. A faint, high-pitched whine sang in response, maddeningly familiar—and then Niyes remembered. The Hetawa. Every month when he went to offer his tithe of dreams. Jungissa, the stone that vibrated with a life of its own, essential for magic.
The Prince lifted the stone in front of himself as if to ward off whatever lurked in the shadows. “I’ve brought you something, Brother,” the Prince said, keeping his voice soft. “Thisone is corrupt too. But you must finish him quickly, for tonight you have another task to complete. Do you understand?”
“Corrupt…” There was a shuffle from the dark, followed by a soft step. Niyes made out the figure of a man rising slowly from a crouch.
Escape was impossible. Even if he made it out of the room, Charris’s soldiers would take him down at one word from the Prince. Heart pounding, Niyes drew his dagger.
“It’s better if you don’t fight,” the Prince said. He kept his voice gentle, soothing, though his eyes marked Niyes’s dagger. “He has enough control left to do it properly, if you don’t agitate him.”
Niyes smiled grimly. “I am also military-caste, my lord.”
“So you are.” The Prince sighed, then turned back to the door. “I’ll tell your family that you died bravely, protecting me from an assassin. They’ll not be harmed.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Farewell, Niyes. I’m sorry.”
“So am I, my lord.”
The Prince left. After a moment, the Reaper came.
8
A Gatherer shall seek purity within the Hetawa, keep hidden among the faithful, and reveal his whole self only to the recipient of Hananja’s blessing.
(Wisdom)
A leaf had fallen into the fountain. The patter of water against its surface sounded like rain. Ehiru closed his eyes as he sat on the fountain’s edge, listening.
Rain came only once a year in Gujaareh, during the spring. When it came, the Goddess’s Blood
From somewhere in the direction of her body, Niyes heard harsh, uneven breathing.
The Prince closed the door behind them. The clack of its heavy foreign latch was very loud in the small space.
“The plain fact of the matter,” the Prince continued, “is thatthe Hetawa is no threat. They can do nothing to me without harming themselves. But Kisua is another matter, Niyes. You’ve forced my hand by involving lovely, clever Sunandi. I must push my plans forward by several months because of this, even once I kill her. And that, too, is a true shame; I liked her very much.”
“My Prince—” Niyes caught himself, even as his heart began to thud uncomfortably fast. It was too late. Had been too late the moment he’d decided to take the corpse from the prison as evidence; he had known that all along. Still, he was shunha, born of one of Gujaareh’s oldest lineages. He would die with dignity. “… It was for Gujaareh that I did it, my lord.”
The Prince’s eyes softened. He gripped Niyes’ arm for just a moment, then let him go. “I know, old friend. I don’t blame you either, though I believe you judged me wrongly. I too do what I must, for Gujaareh.”
From the far end of the room they both heard the harsh breaths quicken. A man’s voice, thick as mud over stones, spoke. “I… can smell the Moons, Brother. Night comes.” Then lower, hungry—“I am empty. I hurt.”
The Prince glanced in that direction. With one hand, he plucked something from the hipstrap of his loinskirt and rapped it against a nearby wall. A faint, high-pitched whine sang in response, maddeningly familiar—and then Niyes remembered. The Hetawa. Every month when he went to offer his tithe of dreams. Jungissa, the stone that vibrated with a life of its own, essential for magic.
The Prince lifted the stone in front of himself as if to ward off whatever lurked in the shadows. “I’ve brought you something, Brother,” the Prince said, keeping his voice soft. “Thisone is corrupt too. But you must finish him quickly, for tonight you have another task to complete. Do you understand?”
“Corrupt…” There was a shuffle from the dark, followed by a soft step. Niyes made out the figure of a man rising slowly from a crouch.
Escape was impossible. Even if he made it out of the room, Charris’s soldiers would take him down at one word from the Prince. Heart pounding, Niyes drew his dagger.
“It’s better if you don’t fight,” the Prince said. He kept his voice gentle, soothing, though his eyes marked Niyes’s dagger. “He has enough control left to do it properly, if you don’t agitate him.”
Niyes smiled grimly. “I am also military-caste, my lord.”
“So you are.” The Prince sighed, then turned back to the door. “I’ll tell your family that you died bravely, protecting me from an assassin. They’ll not be harmed.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Farewell, Niyes. I’m sorry.”
“So am I, my lord.”
The Prince left. After a moment, the Reaper came.
8
A Gatherer shall seek purity within the Hetawa, keep hidden among the faithful, and reveal his whole self only to the recipient of Hananja’s blessing.
(Wisdom)
A leaf had fallen into the fountain. The patter of water against its surface sounded like rain. Ehiru closed his eyes as he sat on the fountain’s edge, listening.
Rain came only once a year in Gujaareh, during the spring. When it came, the Goddess’s Blood
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