A Gatherer shall immediately bring all tithes collected to the Hetawa, to be entrusted to his brethren of the Sharer path. Only the merest portion is to be kept by the Gatherer himself.

(Law) Ehiru resumed his fallen aristocrat's guise and found Gehanu in her tent. "Have you any eathir root, mistress? In some lands they call it ghete."

Gehanu paused in the middle of chewing some sort of spiced meat on a skewer. Village women had come among the minstrel band during the unpacking, selling food and drink. "You planning to put someone to sleep?"

Ehiru smiled and touched his own torso, just below his rib cage. "Ghete can ease spasms here. It sometimes stops a cough."

Her eyebrows rose. "Ah. For Talithele, che?"

"Is that the name of your elder? Yes, mistress."

"You don't look like a healer."

"There are healers in my family, mistress. Some even serve the Hetawa in Gujaareh. I picked up a few tricks."

"Mmm. Hold on. Kanek!" Her bellow almost caught Ehiru by surprise, but he had grown used to the woman's rough mannerisms over the past few days. There was a shuffle outside and then Kanek poked his head into the tent, scowling. "Go find the village headman and ask for ghete root," Gehanu told him.

"Ghete? Palm wine tastes better, Mother."

"Just do it, you disrespectful shiffa." She glared until the boy disappeared. They heard his grumbles as his footsteps faded.

"Thank you, mistress." Ehiru flattened both his hands and bowed over them.

"Ete sowu-sowu." Ehiru thought the language might have been Penko, but he could not be certain. Her Gujaareen was fluent, at least, though she tended to speak too fast; it took time for him to sift out the words from her accent. "If you can make Talithele more comfortable, it will be worth getting in debt with the greedy old bastard who runs this town." She set down the skewer and rummaged among her robes for a moment, finally coming up with a long pipe. She raised her voice again. "And an ember from the fire!" A faint annoyed sound was the only reply.

Ehiru smiled. "It's good to have dependable sons."

"Ah-che. Like that boy of yours, hmm? I see him hovering always, making sure no one bothers you much, taking care of problems before you notice." She did not see Ehiru's look of surprise as she rummaged again and came up with dried leaves, which she began to pack into the pipe. "If only my sons were as clever and thoughtful. Though of course Niri isn't your son." She glanced up at him, her big southerner eyes bright and sharp.

"No, mistress, he is not."

She grunted and bit another piece of meat off the skewer. "Bed-warmer?"

Ehiru smiled at the notion. "Protege. I'm teaching him about life."

Gehanu grunted in amusement. "And he listens? Motro sani'i-a miracle to amaze even the gods."

"He listens when it suits him." Ehiru smiled. "Young men."

"Mmm. Too young for sense, too old to beat. But young women are worse, trust me. Three daughters back home, along with my other three sons. Should probably beat my husband for inflicting all of them on me, but he's pretty and he doesn't eat much, so I keep him around." She cocked her head, examining him. "You're pretty. You have a wife?"

Ehiru heartily wished that Kanek would hurry back. "No, mistress."

"You looking?" She grinned, flashing a substantial gap between her front teeth. In the southern lands this marked a woman of great passion, or so Ehiru had heard.

"No, mistress."

"Why not?"

"I'm a servant, mistress." He and Nijiri had decided to keep up their guise at all times, though Gehanu had already guessed that they were not what they seemed. She didn't know the whole truth, and there was no way of knowing who might be listening, through thin tent walls.

"Got to make more servants somehow, che? Nefe is pretty."

Ehiru forced a laugh. "True. But she is of a different world, mistress."

"Hn, yes. No time for children anyway, that one. Always busy she is, always worried about something. She needs a nice mellow man like you, but she'll never slow down enough for that."

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."

"Ah-che." She sat back, thoughtful. "You've come to kill me."

"Death is only part of what I bring." He lifted a hand and touched her cheek. She was old, weak; he could feel the hair-thinness of her tether. With the barest brush of his will he pushed her into the edges of Ina-Karekh, carefully steering her into a dream of pleasant memory. A vision of her home village bloomed in both their minds. Around him were huts with grass-thatched roofs, goats being chased by children, guinea fowl scratching in the dust. He smelled animal dung and grain-dust from the storage house nearby. He saw the tall, handsome youth she'd loved so long ago, and for a moment he loved along with her.

With a sigh of regret he ended the dream there, pulling her very gently back to Hona-Karekh. So near death was she that he hadn't even needed to put her to sleep for that brief journey; she blinked once or twice and then stared at him.

"In Gujaareh, my task is to help guide others into Ina-Karekh in the manner that I have shown you," he said. He caressed her cheek, admiring the beauty in every sun-weathered seam of her skin before finally dropping his hand to rest on hers. "I have not the skill to heal you, but I can at least see that your afterlife is peaceful and filled with your loved ones and favorite places."

She stared at him, then let out a long sigh. "What a seducer you are. I never dreamed I would be courted again at my age, or that I would be so tempted to give in. How many women have you had with that silver tongue?"

Ehiru smiled. "None, Elder. Women are forbidden to my kind. But..." he ducked his eyes, feeling his face heat beneath her knowing gaze. "I have loved many in the course of my duty."

"Ti-sowu? Loved them, you say?" She cocked her head coquettishly. "Do you love me?"

He could not help but chuckle, though he kept it soft so as not to break the spell of peace. "I believe I could, Elder. When I share the dreams of another it is difficult not to love them..."

As he said the words, he faltered to silence and nearly flinched from the sharpness of the chill that moved through him. Was that it, then? Had he perverted the Bromarte's Gathering because, in the moment after that eerie true-seeing, he had failed to love the bearer of Hananja's tithe? He had disliked the man already-without cause, simply because he was a barbarian. And then he had allowed that prejudice to overwhelm his sense of duty. He had failed to master his own disgust and fear as he might have done for another.

So lost was he in the revelation that his attention wandered; Talithele uttered another harsh cough which drew him back. Privately he cursed and thrust his inappropriate thoughts aside. He had meant to keep her calm and relaxed to ease the coughing.

But as she recovered, her sharp eyes laid his soul bare. "You are troubled, priest."

He bowed his head. "Forgive me, old mother. My mind wandered."

"Nothing to forgive. A mistake is a small matter." She smiled again. "But you would not know that, would you? Poor man."

"Eh?"

She turned her hand under his and grasped it, patting the back of it with her other hand. "I can see how they made you," she said, her voice soft despite its hoarseness. "They took away everything that mattered to you, che? Upended your whole world and left you alone. And now you think love blooms in a breath and silencing pain is a kindness. Ah, but you're young."

He frowned, so startled that he forgot the spell he'd been weaving. "Easing pain is kindness, old mother. And my feelings for the people I help-"

"I don't doubt your love," she said. "You are a man made for love, I think. Your eyes make me want to die, there's so much love in them. But it isn't real. Real love lasts years. It causes pain, and endures through it."

He was too stunned to respond for several breaths. When he finally found his tongue he could barely stammer out words. "That pain comes with love... that I can accept, old mother. I have lost loved ones-family. But they died quickly, and I pray thanks to my Goddess every day for that blessing. Are you saying it would have been better to let them suffer?"

She snorted aloud. "Suffering is part of life," she said. "All the parts of life are jumbled up together; you can't separate out just the one thing." She patted his hand again, kindly. "I could let you kill me now, lovely man, and have peace and good dreams forever. But who knows what I get instead, if I stay? Maybe time to see a new grandchild. Maybe a good joke that sets me laughing for days. Maybe another handsome young fellow flirting with me." She grinned toothlessly, then let loose another horrible, racking cough. Ehiru steadied her with shaking hands. "I want every moment of my life, pretty man, the painful and the sweet alike. Until the very end. If these are all the memories I get for eternity, I want to take as many of them with me as I can."

He could not accept her words. In his mind he saw again his mother's face, aristocratic and beautiful, marred by streaks of blood. He could smell that blood, and bile and the reek of broken bowel; he saw his mother's eyes, staring outward with no one to shut them. Women were goddesses who needed no assistance to reach the best of Ina-Karekh-but her death had still been horrific, not at all the queen's death she'd deserved.

He looked up at Talithele and in that moment could see the same ugly ignominy awaiting her. She would cough until her lungs tore to pieces, and die drowning in her own blood. How could he leave her to suffer so? No, worse-stand by and watch?

I could take her anyhow, came the thought. Gehanu would never know.

And on the heels of that thought came a chill of purest horror.

Swallowing against the dryness of his throat, Ehiru pulled his hands away from hers. "It is your right to refuse the tithe," he whispered. The words came more by rote than conscious effort. "Your soul is healthy and your life does no harm. Remain in Hona-Karekh with Hananja's blessing."

He pushed himself up from the rugs and would have fled the tent then, but he stopped when she said, "Priest. I may accept the pain, but I'm not a goddess, whatever your people might think. My last days will be easier to bear if I am not alone. Che?"

He heard the plaintive hope in her voice and nearly wept. In a thick voice he replied, "Then I'll visit again, old mother."

She smiled. "So you love me after all. Rest well."

"Rest well, old mother."

He left the tent and kept walking forward, his strides brisk, his fists clenched at his sides. Almost immediately he heard the scuffle of feet behind him as Nijiri recovered from surprise and followed. The boy asked no questions, for which Ehiru was supremely grateful as he reached the wall of the oasis, dropped to his knees, and gripped the lip of smooth stone as if for life. Perhaps he could dance. Perhaps he should weep. Anything-so long as it took his mind away from the terrible sin he'd almost committed, and the sour taste of dreamblood-lust in his mouth.

He did nothing but tremble there in the dust until Nijiri took his hand. "Tatunep niweh Hananja," the boy said-the opening phrase of a prayer. All at once Ehiru's anguish began to fade. Again the boy had proven his worth.

There's no more time. I must make him ready to serve Her now, for I can do so no longer.

Then he bowed over his hands and lost himself in prayer.