The flap lifted again—much to Ehiru’s relief—and Kanek slipped inside. “Ghete.” He set a small bladder, tied with a leather cord, down on the tent-rug.
“What did the headman want for it?” Gehanu asked.
“Nothing. He was so surprised that we wanted it that he gave it to me without asking anything in trade.”
“Ha! He must be getting senile. Good. I’ll trade more with him tomorrow. Now go bathe; you reek.”
Kanek rolled his eyes behind Gehanu’s back, winked and grinned at Ehiru, and left. Ehiru bowed humbly in thanks and reached for the bladder. Gehanu’s hand fell on his own, forestalling him.
“You understand our ways are different from yours, che?” Her mouth stretched in something that was not quite a smile; her eyes were serious. “I know her time will come soon; I’m not a fool. But remember: she did not ask for you.”
Ehiru froze, realizing all at once what she meant and wondering how she’d figured it out and deciding at last that it made no difference. Such things were Hananja’s will.
“I shall respect her wishes,” he said, discarding the affected manner of speech he’d used before. “Her life does no harm, so her death is her choice.”
Gehanu gave him a long and assessing look, but finally nodded and let his hand go. “I met one of your kind once, long ago,” she said. “Came to take a Gujaareen in our troop whose appendix had burst. He was quiet and strange like you, but there was great kindness in his eyes.”
Ehiru let go of the bladder of eathir, now that they both knew he didn’t need it. If the old woman refused him, Gehanu’s people could give it to her in a tea. “Is that how you knew me?”
“I suspected, but I wasn’t certain. He wasn’t sad like you. I didn’t think your kind got sad, or mad, or anything else.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And you aren’t supposed to, are you? What’s wrong with you?”
“I am preparing myself to die.”
“What in the gods’ names for?”
He could not bring himself to lie, though he knew the truth would make her uneasy. “I destroyed a man’s soul.”
Gehanu caught her breath and drew back, horror plain on her face. Then it faded, replaced by concern. “Was it an accident?”
So few others had asked that question. It was a relief to not be assumed evil. “Yes.” He gazed down at his hands. “And no. It was incompetence. I forgot my duty and let fear and prejudice dictate my actions. Only for a moment, but that was enough.”
She frowned. “Do you intend to do it again?”
“Of course not. But there are—”
“Then stop your moaning and move on.” She gestured with one hand and abruptly noticed the unlit pipe in it. “Damn forgetful brat.” She set the pipe down. “My grandmother needs you, Gatherer, so wake up and do your job. Go on now.”
He blinked in surprise. “You trust me to complete this task properly?”
“Are you deaf?”
Ehiru opened his mouth, then closed it. She had given him her answer already. For a moment he was overwhelmed, his heart feeling as if it would burst from gratitude—and terror too, for what if he should mishandle this Gathering like the last one?
No. Gehanu was right. Talithele needed the Gatherer Ehiru, not the miserable penitent of the past few days. He took a deep breath and straightened. “I accept your commission. I shall prepare myself and then speak with Talithele-elder, to make an Assay of Truth.”
She inclined her head in approval as he got to his feet and left.
Nijiri was hovering nearby, of course. “A bath first,” Ehiru said, and wordlessly the boy followed him to the village’s bathhouse. Ehiru paid for both of them and a village man led them into the washing chamber, where they undressed and sat while the man scrubbed them both with palm fronds and acrid soap. After the rinse, they were led to the bathing chamber and left there to soak in the warm, oiled, and scented water. Nijiri kept a respectful silence the whole time, allowing Ehiru a precious few moments to pray. When Ehiru had soaked enough, he was surprised to find that his mind was quiescent, his heart at peace. He lifted his head. Nijiri had been watching him; when he saw Ehiru’s eyes he smiled.
“Come,” Ehiru said. They left the pool, dried themselves, dressed in clean clothes, and then headed to Talithele’s tent. “Wait outside,” he told Nijiri, and the boy nodded and slipped into the shadows behind the tent. He would come if and when Ehiru called him, and that would happen only if Talithele wanted him there.
The minstrel encampment had mostly settled for the evening, though some of the younger members had started an impromptu performance, playing lyre and cymbals at the water’s edge. From within the tent Ehiru heard silence; Talithele’s attendant either had gone, or slept along with her. If they had been Gujaareen he would have gone in without asking. Instead he drummed his fingers against the taut hide of the tent wall. “Elder? May we speak?”
There was a stir from within, followed by another of the old woman’s racking coughs. After the cough stopped he heard, “As much as speech is possible, whoever you are. Come.”
Ehiru slipped in through the tent-flap. Within, the tent was spacious and comfortable, lit by a beeswax lantern that hung from the smokehole. The honey scent did not quite disguise the smell of age and sickness, but Ehiru paid that no mind. Thick fur rugs covered the floor and cushioned the hard stone. The inner tent walls had been painted in brightly colored geometric patterns of some southern style he did not recognize. At the center of the chamber lay two pallets, but only one was occupied at the moment. The old woman was there, struggling to sit up and greet her visitor.
Ehiru moved quickly to crouch at her side and prop her against a stack of cushions nearby. “Forgive me, Talithele-elder. I did not mean to interrupt your rest.”
“Couldn’t rest with this damn cough,” she muttered. He heard Gehanu’s choppy accent in her words. She narrowed her eyes at him then, looking him up and down. “Ah-che. The handsome boy who joined us in Gujaareh. They give you ‘take care of the old woman’ duty for the night?”
Ehiru smiled. “It would be an honor if they had, Elder, but no. I have come for a different purpose.” He paused while she coughed again, harshly and with obvious pain. A flask of water and a cup sat on a tray nearby. When the spasm passed, he poured water for her and lifted this to her lips, holding it while she sipped. She nodded thanks when she was done.
Setting the cup down, he paused for a moment and then reached into his robes for his waist-pouch. Pulling it out, he opened it and poured his Gatherer ornaments into his palm.
She peered at the polished stones with bright-eyed curiosity. He picked up the cicada and held it up for her to see. “Do you know what this is?”
There was no mistaking the blue-black gleam of jungissa, or its characteristic hum when he tapped the cicada’s back. Talithele’s eyes widened. “Kilefe, che? What we call the living stone. I heard that it hummed, but never saw it for myself.”
He smiled. “We call it jungissa. The hum is not life, but magic. The stones fall from the sky, now and again; we believe they are remnants of the Sun’s seed, scattered across the heavens. It took ten years to carve this one, and it took me five years to master its use.” He turned the cicada in his fingers, thoughtful. “There are only a handful of jungissa in all the world.”
She nodded, fascinated—but then her rheumy eyes narrowed at him. “In my land, we tell stories of the kilefe stones and what the priest-warriors of the river kingdoms do with them.”
Ehiru nodded, gazing into her eyes. “We use them to hold spells of sleep in place, while we travel with the sleeper into Ina-Karekh—what we call the realm of dreams.”