Free The Killing Moon (Dreamblood) by N. K. Jemisin Page A

show the extra cargo—”
    “—Murdered in his cell. No marks, but his
eyes—”
    “—Bromarte. They usually hire the Feen to fight for them, but this time—”
    “—Nothing natural, I tell you. He was gibbering when they pulled him out—”
    “—Those military-castes. Tight-lipped bastards—”
    “Rumors,” Nijiri said at last. Above, the Dreamer’s red band edged into Yanya-iyan’s oval sky; they had circuited the courtyard for nearly an hour. “And gossip. But not of the mindless sort I expected. They speak of corruption, and madness, and war.”
    She nodded. “Just so. Not the stuff of comfort.”
    “That does not explain their fear of
me
, Sister.”
    “Doesn’t it? Corruption and madness and war. Gatherers take the corrupt and those madmen who cannot be cured. War is anathema to Hananja, and thus to Her Servants.” She turned to him, stopping abruptly and dropping her voice. “It may not be possible to find an explanation tonight. For now, it is enough that we have noticed. If She wishes us to understand further, She will let us find the means.”
    He frowned, remembering more rumors whispered among the Hetawa acolytes. “Can you not fathom it now, Sister? I know little about your path, but I have heard of your—er, powers—” He faltered when she smiled.
    “Careful, Gatherer-Apprentice. Inunru the Founder had nopart in founding the Sisterhood. The Hetawa accepts us—grudgingly—because we supply the city with dreamseed, but never call us a ‘path’ in front of your Superior unless you want to annoy him.” She nodded toward the left, and Nijiri glanced through the crowd to glimpse the Superior accepting a cup from a passing servant. Nijiri quickly looked away before their eyes could meet.
    “For another, I possess only Outer Sight.” She touched the scars on her face: two parallel lines of raised dots along her cheekbones and crossing the bridge of her nose. “Deciphering the realm of waking is my specialty, not dreaming omens. I can see the fear in these people and guess at its causes. I can investigate, to pierce the obfuscations and misdirections so common in the waking world. But to know for certain? That much will be beyond me until my fertile years end.”
    He groped for a suitable reply to this, then was surprised again as she disengaged her arm from his. “Sister?”
    “Your mentor commanded you to observe and learn,” she said, “not spend the evening consorting with a woman of dubious orthodoxy. And I have duties of my own on this night.”
    He flushed abruptly, realizing what those duties must be. She was a young Sister, perhaps only ten years older than himself, still nubile. The Sisters of Hananja served Her in many ways, but they never shirked their primary mission. There would be much dreamseed to collect on a night like Hamyan.
    He inclined his head to her as he would to an equal, a silent acknowledgement of her rank in
his
eyes. “May She dream of your good fortune, Sister.”
    “And yours, Gatherer-Apprentice.” She bowed to him—deeply, flattening both hands—and then turned away into the milling crowd. He gazed after her in wonder.
    “If not for your vows she might have stayed with you tonight,” said a voice behind Nijiri, and for the second time he turned to face a stranger. This one was a man of Nijiri’s height, with eyes a startling shade of near-golden brown. It was impossible to guess this man’s age. His skin was smooth and youthful, his thicket of long rope-braids—not a wig, Nijiri realized with some surprise—black and free of silver. But he felt older than he looked, as he watched Nijiri with all the patience and confidence of a waiting lion. And there was something fleetingly familiar about him…
    “Young men your age are especially rich in dreamseed, I’m told,” the stranger continued. “She might have drawn her quota for the night from you alone.”
    Nijiri bowed, carefully respectful while he tried to place the man’s rank and