"No one has ever looked at me with fear before," Nijiri said, troubled. "But then, I am a Gatherer now."

"Only the ignorant fear Gatherers on sight," the Sister said. "The rest know when to fear. There are no Gatherings on Hamyan Night."

This was true, and it was why Ehiru had been willing-after days of inactivity-to come out tonight. He was willing to train Nijiri, pray and spar with him, do everything an apprentice Gatherer needed him to... except Gather. That, however, was a different problem. "Then why do they fear me?" he asked.

"Observe, Apprentice, as your mentor commanded. Learn. Listen."

So he did, falling silent as they wended their way through the crowded courtyard. At first he heard only snatches of words amid the babble. Gradually his ears sifted sentences from the mass, then finally snippets of conversation.

"-The shipping manifest didn't even 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 no part 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 that niggling familiarity. "Doubtless she will find others who have need of her skills."

"And you have no need? How old are you?"

"I have seen sixteen floods."

The man smiled. "Then you have need, young Gatherer! Does it trouble you that you could ease those needs right now, if not for your oath? Or are you hoping you still can, if you catch her in some discreet place along the way home?"

His words were offensive, and he knew it. Nijiri could see that in the man's smile. For a moment he was flustered. He should, as one sworn to Hananja, remind the man of his vows-but a highcaste might take that as an implication of ignorance or stupidity. And yet to say nothing would make Nijiri faithless to Her... He wavered in indecision, his stomach knotting.

"We all have such needs, my lord. But directing them toward the service of Hananja is the sacrifice we of the Hetawa offer every day, with great joy."

The Gatherer Rabbaneh stepped out of the milling throng, his face carved into its usual smile, a cup in one hand. Before Nijiri could register relief, Rabbaneh handed his cup to Nijiri and dropped smoothly to one knee, crossing both arms before his face and turning his palms outward as if to shield himself from a blinding glare. A manuflection; Nijiri had heard of the custom from his Teachers, but never seen it performed outside of lessons. It was the highest gesture of respect, offered only to those specially marked by the gods- Dream of Inunru!

The strange man-the Prince of Gujaareh-laughed good-naturedly at the look of horror on Nijiri's face, then waved a hand at Rabbaneh. "Stop that. I put aside the Aureole so I could walk among my people for a while without all that foolishness."

Rabbaneh rose and adopted the more traditional bow of respect instead. He was still smiling as he straightened. "You must forgive me, my lord. I meant only to model the proper behavior for Nijiri. His actions reflect upon the whole Hetawa now, and especially my path."

"Oh, he was perfectly polite, Rabbaneh. A credit to his Teachers."

"Thank you, my lord," Nijiri said. To his great relief he did not stammer, though he could not have vouched for the volume or pitch of his voice in that moment. He quickly bowed over his free hand, not trusting himself to manuflect without falling over. His hands shook so badly that Rabbaneh's drink sloshed and splashed in its cup. Rabbaneh reached over and deftly plucked the cup away before Nijiri could stain his robe.

"Nijiri." The Prince seemed to mull over the name. "Too pale to be shunha, too humble for zhinha. Were you common-born?"

"My lord." Rabbaneh smiled in a gentle reprimand even as Nijiri opened his mouth to say, "Yes." To Nijiri's surprise, the Prince chuckled.

"Oh fine, fine. You priests." He stepped closer, and Nijiri nearly started as the Prince reached up to take his chin between two fingers. "You're a fine-looking boy. It's a good thing your birth-caste no longer applies, whatever it was. You might have been sold in marriage to some wealthy, influential widow-or if you were lowcaste, someone would have made a pleasure-servant of you." He ran a thumb over Nijiri's lips and this time Nijiri did start in spite of himself, though he mastered the reflex to pull away in time. The Prince smiled, his eyes narrowing in amusement. Then-to Nijiri's intense relief-he let go.

"Sonta-i is your mentor?"

"Ehiru, my lord."

"Ehiru?" The Prince's eyebrows rose in impressive arches-though strangely, Nijiri had the sense that he was not surprised at all. "He's not the seniormost."

Rabbaneh coughed into one hand. "My lord, Hetawa matters..."

"Ah yes. Bad manners again. Do not take me as an example of proper behavior, Nijiri. Old men take more liberties than young men can get away with." He tilted his head in a self-mocking bow. "Another time, Gatherer-Apprentice."

With that, the Prince turned away and wandered into the crowd, which parted before and closed behind him like water. In his wake, Nijiri exhaled a long breath and closed his eyes in a brief prayer of thanks. Rabbaneh waited politely for him to finish.

"Rabbaneh-brother, I have shamed the Hetawa. I did not recognize-"

"I know you didn't." For once, the older Gatherer was not smiling. That made the knots in Nijiri's stomach tighten still further. But Rabbaneh was gazing after the Prince. "He knew you, though."

Nijiri faltered to confused silence. After a moment Rabbaneh sighed and flashed a slightly strained smile at Nijiri. "You didn't shame the Hetawa, boy. Ehiru, Sonta-i, and I have taken turns shadowing you all evening. You handled the Prince well enough, and Meliatua before him." He assessed Nijiri then in a long glance. "You look tired."

"I-" Nijiri wavered, torn between the truth and pride. An apprentice should at least try to manage a full Gatherer's responsibilities, and Hamyan Night was only half over. But the combined stresses of the evening-the processional through Gujaareh's streets, the crowd, the Sister, the Prince-had drained him. He wanted nothing better than to go back to his quiet cell in the Hetawa and be lulled to sleep by the night-breezes.

Rabbaneh's hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed reassurance. "There's no shame in it, Nijiri. You were a sheltered acolyte only an eightday ago, after all. Go back to the Hetawa. You've satisfied protocol."

Nijiri could not deny his own relief, but guilt remained. "Ehiru-brother will expect-"

"I'll find him and tell him how well you've done." The older Gatherer's smile filled him with warm pride, and shyly Nijiri smiled back.

"Thank you, Rabbaneh-brother. I will have good dreams tonight." He turned to leave, pausing as he hunted for the shortest path through the crowd to the palace gate. It was only because he hesitated that he heard Rabbaneh's reply.

"Dream them while you can, little brother."

When he turned back, Rabbaneh had gone.

6.

In dreams did Hananja bestow knowledge upon Inunru, a man of the sonha. "There is power in dreams," She told him. "Harness it and therein lies magic. But only virtuous men may wield it." Thus did Inunru bring forth narcomancy, and for a time all people rejoiced.

(Wisdom) Ehiru had been watching the Prince's children for nearly an hour when Rabbaneh found him. Most of the children had not noticed him standing just beyond the overlapping circles of torchlight around the throne pavilion. One of them, however-a handsome lad of perhaps seven-occasionally peered into the shadows that cloaked Ehiru, squinting and frowning as if he sensed something he couldn't quite see.

"I sent Nijiri home," Rabbaneh said. He kept his voice low; it was habit for both of them when in the dark. "He was beginning to get the look of a taffur that's been hunted too long."

"Mmm. He lasted longer than I did at my first public affair."

"You never learned to master tactful speech. That apprentice of yours is at least circumspect. Too much so, really; still too much the servant-caste, despite his pride." Rabbaneh sighed. "I hope he grows out of it soon."

"We are servants, Rabbaneh. Perhaps we should learn from Nijiri's example."

Rabbaneh glanced at him oddly; Ehiru noted this out of the corner of his eye. "Are you still troubled over that Bromarte, Brother? It's been an eightday."

"I destroyed a man's soul."

"I know that. But even the gods aren't perfect-"

Ehiru sighed. "That boy has the dreaming gift."

"-What?"

Ehiru nodded toward the child on the pavilion steps, who seemed to have given up the search for the moment. "That one. I noticed it as soon as I saw him."

Rabbaneh shifted impatiently. "Then notify the Superior so he can lay claim to the child. Ehiru-"

"The Superior knows. I saw him offer greetings to the Prince not long after the processional arrived. The child was watching a moth, oblivious to the world around him. Even the blindest layman could have seen that he was halfway to Ina-Karekh in that moment."

Rabbaneh sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "The Superior must consider what is best for Gujaareh, not just the Hetawa. We cannot make the Prince appear subservient while Kisuati trade associations threaten embargo."

"I understand that very well, Rabbaneh. But it makes the situation no less offensive." He folded his arms and saw the boy on the pavilion steps peer sharply into the shadows again, perhaps catching some hint of the motion. "A child of true potential will be left undedicated and untrained. He'll grow up to become just another highcaste servant subject to the whims of the next Prince. If he grows up."

"Is that what might have happened to you?" Rabbaneh glanced at him sidelong, with an air of daring. They had all learned not to ask him many questions about his past. "If the Hetawa had not claimed you?"

Ehiru sighed, abruptly weary. "I would have died young, yes. And perhaps that would have been best."

Rabbaneh said nothing for a moment, though Ehiru felt the younger Gatherer's eyes on him. When he felt Rabbaneh's hand touch his shoulder, however, he brushed it off.

"Leave me this, Rabbaneh."

"The grief devours you-"

"Then let it." He turned away, unable to bear the look in his pathbrother's eyes. Was that what tithebearers saw when they found themselves facing a Gatherer? Sympathy for the loss too great, the pain too unbearable? How did they stand such meaningless pity?

"I'm going back to the Hetawa," he said. "In peace, Brother."

Ehiru walked away before Rabbaneh could mouth a response, opting to hike the long route around the courtyard's edges rather than a straight line through the lights and the crowd. A few revelers shared the shadows with him, some taking a break from socializing, some seeking a modicum of privacy for more intimate conversations. They did not speak and he gladly ignored them. If he had not recognized the Superior's voice when he heard his name called, he would have ignored that, too.

Instead Ehiru stopped and restrained the urge to sigh as the other man approached from the torchlight, stumbling once in the dimness. Ehiru stepped forward and caught his elbow.

"Darkness is the realm of Gatherers and dreams, Superior. Not the Hetawa's highest light."

The Superior chuckled, nodding gratefully as he righted himself. "The Hetawa's light would be you, Ehiru. I'm just a glorified clerk, and sometimes a gamesman." He sighed, smile fading as his eyes adjusted and searched Ehiru's face. "You're upset about something."

"Nothing important."

"Devout men lie poorly." Then the Superior's face softened. "But in your case the truth is painful enough that I suppose you can be forgiven. Which makes me even more sorry to have to do this."

"Do what?"

The Superior turned to gaze out at the crowd, which showed no signs of dissipating despite the lateness of the hour. It was thickest around the pavilion, where the Prince was visible on the steps, crouching to give a private good night to each of his children. A gaggle of strangers, black as shunha but dressed in foreign garments dyed shades of indigo, stood waiting nearby: Kisuati. The Prince's gestures of affection might have been a minstrel's show to judge by the avid way the strangers watched and commented to one another. Ehiru grimaced in bitter memory before the Superior's next words pulled him rudely back to the present.

"You have a commission. Forgive me, Ehiru."

For an instant Ehiru was too startled and angry to speak; he stared down at the Superior. "I desecrated a tithe only days ago."

"I'm aware of that. Yet as Superior I must also remind you of the practical implications of your self-imposed penance. Una-une gave his Final Tithe three months ago. Nijiri won't be ready 'til next season at least. I have asked Rabbaneh and Sonta-i to shoulder some of your duties given recent events and because you've taken on Nijiri, but it's simply unfair to ask them to continue much longer. Two Gatherers cannot do the work of four."

Ehiru flinched as guilt overlaid anger. Turning to gaze out at the crowd, he said, "I don't mean to burden my brothers unduly. But you must understand... I doubt, Superior. I no longer feel Hananja's mandate in my heart. I no longer know if..." He faltered, then forced himself to voice the fear that had been gnawing at his mind since the night of the Bromarte trader's death. "I no longer know if I am fit, if I am worthy, to perform my duties."

"Both Rabbaneh and Sonta-i have mishandled Gatherings, Ehiru-Sonta-i twice. Is your sin greater, or theirs lesser? Do you demand more of yourself than you expect of them?"

Yes. But he did not voice the thought lest he be accused of arrogance.

The Superior watched him expectantly. It was clear refusal would be unacceptable.

"As you wish, Superior," Ehiru said at last, with a sigh. "I can only pray that this is Hananja's wish as well. At least Nijiri will be pleased; he's been plaguing me to go out for a fourday now."

The Superior nodded and turned back to the crowd. His eyes roved for a moment before alighting on the steps around the pavilion. "The strangers there in grieving colors. They are Kisuati; they celebrate the Hamyan properly. Do you see them?"

Ehiru did. They stood higher on the steps now that the children had been taken away by the Prince's wives and guardsmen. The Prince had resumed his place on the oxbow seat, his posture formal and the Aureole once again raised behind his head. Several of the strangers made a bow of supplication to him, but one woman amid the group remained tall and straight. The others bent around her like reeds to a bargepole.