Naamah's Curse (Moirin's Trilogy #2)

Naamah's Curse (Moirin's Trilogy #2) Page 45

The Tufani were at ease in the mountains, bright-eyed and cheerful, reveling in the heights. Throughout the long, arduous climb, their spirits rose. All along the caravan, they called back and forth to one another in their own tongue, laughing and jesting.

I envied and admired them, forcing myself to concentrate. The path through the pass was steep and narrow. Sure-footed though she was, from time to time, Lady’s hooves slipped and scrabbled on loose rocks. And I had my pack-horse, whom I called Flick, on a lead-line, and must not hurry him, letting him pick his way with equal care.

By the time we reached the path’s summit, the sun was beginning to set—or at least, so it seemed in the gorge, stark shadows settling over us.

And then we did reach the summit.

“Oh!” I blinked, startled. A shallow descent led to a green, sun-gilded valley. There was a small lake nestled there as though within a cupped palm, its waters a startling turquoise hue. To the east and west of us, immense snow-capped peaks soared skyward with untouchable majesty.

I could not help but think of White Jade Mountain and the dragon. I thought that had been a vast peak, but these dwarfed it. And I understood, truly, why they called this range the Abode of the Gods. Surely nothing less than the gods themselves must dwell in those incredible heights.

Dorje smiled at my awe. “Now you see, Moirin. These are sacred places.”

I didn’t need to be told; I could feel it prickling against my skin. Even so, I smiled back at him. “I do see. It’s very, very beautiful here.”

We made camp in the valley beside the lake, turning the grateful horses loose to graze their fill. Once again, I watched dusk settle over the mountains. At this height, it was even more spectacular, vivid gold and ruddy pinks slowly giving way to shifting hues of blue and deep indigo darkening to pitch-black in the crevasses. I didn’t think one could ever tire of the sight, and I found myself looking forward to dawn that I might see the entire process in reverse, the shadows retreating up the white-mantled glory of the peaks.

It was cold, though. Once the sun was altogether gone, I realized how much colder it was in the heights. And it was only going to get colder as winter drew nigh.

In my tent, I wrapped myself in my blanket and shivered myself to sleep. I would need warmer clothes and blankets if I was to survive this journey.

Come morning, the matter preyed on my thoughts. I would have to act swiftly in the trade-city of Rasa. If I didn’t, I’d get caught out by winter once more, and Dorje had warned me that the Path of Heaven’s Spear would be impassable for months.

I thought it very possible that I might die of impatience if I were forced to delay my quest for months.

Dorje was confident that so long as we met no trouble along the way, we would arrive in Rasa in time for me to join one of the last Bhodistani trade caravans going south. What troubled me was the matter of payment.

I’d given well nigh the last of my coin to Unegen, and while I didn’t think the old fox had cheated me, it meant that Erdene was right, and the last item of great value I had was the Imperial jade seal.

It was a precious gift, and one that spoke of the great trust that Emperor Zhu had placed in me. I felt profoundly guilty at the notion of bartering it, although I would do it if necessary. At the same time, I was unsure if it would be as valuable as I needed it to be to Bhodistani traders going in the opposite direction from Ch’in. As an added difficulty, I would be facing a considerable language barrier.

As we made our way along the narrow trail, through gorges, along mountainsides, I weighed the matter, breathing the Breath of Wind’s Sigh to clear my head of the aching dizziness that came with the thin air.

Toward the end of the day, our path intersected with one of the great rivers that carved its way through the Abode of the Gods. We made camp alongside the river in a broad, shallow gorge, pounding tent-stakes into the loose scree and anchoring them with heavier stones. While there was still light, I fetched my satchel and took stock of my possessions once more, sitting cross-legged before my tent, laying each item out on the square cloth embroidered with bamboo.

A handful of coins, no more than a pittance.

An ivory-hilted dagger.

The Imperial medallion.

Arigh’s Tatar bow, superfluous now that I had my own yew-wood bow. The latter, I had no intentions of parting with. At some point, my survival might depend on it.

The last three items were dear to my heart for different reasons, and I would hate to part with any of them—but none of them would save my life.

A crystal bottle with a few drops of perfume.

My mother’s signet ring.

Reluctantly, I worked the blue-green jade bangle loose from my wrist and added it to the array.

“Dorje?” I called to him. “Would you be willing to counsel me?”

He came over cheerfully, squatting across from me. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

I pointed. “I’ve almost no coin left to me. Along with passage to Bhaktipur, I will need warmer clothes and blankets. These are the items I have to trade, but I do not know how to value them.”

Dorje clicked his tongue. “You should not trust a trader!”

“I am not trusting just any trader,” I said steadily. “I am trusting you. Will you not advise me?”

He cast a shrewd eye over my belongings, reached out and touched Arigh’s bow. “This you could easily trade for a blanket or clothing. It is the best Tatar workmanship, I can see. Such a bow is always of value and use.”

I nodded, grateful.

“This, maybe also.” He touched the dragon-hilted dagger. “It is very finely made. But you will not get full value for it. Or for this.” He indicated the jade bangle. “It is of peerless quality, but no one values jade as much as the Ch’in.”

So such a bangle was enough to provide Bao’s sister, Song, with a dowry, but not enough to buy me passage across the Abode of the Gods.

I sighed.

Dorje examined the signet ring, its seal etched with the twinned insignia of House Courcel and the Black Boar of the Cullach Gorrym. “I suspect this has value in your own country,” he said. “But it is not wrought in a pleasing manner to my eye, and is worth no more than its weight in gold.”

“Not enough?” I said glumly.

“No.” Dorje picked up the crystal bottle, tilting it this way and that. Its facets flashed in the lowering light. I stifled a protest when he drew the tight stopper, sniffing at its contents. The scent of Jehanne’s perfume brought a dreamy look to his face. “Does it possess some magical potency?” he asked. “Like the tonic Unegen spoke of?”

“No,” I murmured. “It just smells nice.”

He replaced the stopper carefully and set the bottle down. “I do not know, Moirin. It is very pretty, but I do not know what it is worth. Not passage through the Path of Heaven’s Spear.”

That left the Imperial medallion.

Dorje gave me an inquiring look as he plucked up the silk cord on which it was strung, studying the dangling medallion. “Is this what I think it is?”

I nodded.

He blew out his breath in a long, soft sigh. “This! Yes, to the right person, this would be worth a fortune.”

“So I have been told.” I swallowed. “Dorje, it was given to me in trust by the Emperor of Ch’in. I am reluctant to betray that trust, but I find myself with little choice. Although…..” The memory of Unegen reaching around to squeeze my buttocks came to mind unbidden. “That’s not true, I suppose,” I said slowly. “Naamah lay down with strangers in the gutters of Bhodistan to get coin that Blessed Elua might eat. There is no reason I could not do the same for Bao’s sake.”

Dorje looked at me in horror. “Moirin, you mustn’t!”

“Why not?” I shrugged with a nonchalance I didn’t feel. It had seemed a much more romantic notion in tales than it did in the cold, gritty light of reality. I was no goddess whose very nature sanctified any union of her choosing, only a young mortal woman, tired and dirty and far from home. “Surely it would be worth the cost of passage, and I would not need to betray the Emperor’s trust.”

“No, no, no, no!” He shook his head in violent disapproval. “That is not acceptable.” He rocked back on his heels, thinking. “Let me confer with the others.”

“All right.” I watched him rise with alacrity and trot over the scree to discuss the matter with the other Tufani traders. Two of them nodded in eager agreement; the others appeared to accede with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Dorje returned beaming, dropping into a careless squat. “As soon as we have been paid for delivering our goods in Rasa, we will buy the Imperial medallion from you.”

“You?” I stared at him.

He looked offended. “You said that you trusted me, Moirin! Why not? We would buy it from you in return for negotiating passage to Bhaktipur, and all that you require. Blankets and clothing and coin to spare. And I can promise you, it will not fall into the wrong hands.” His voice took on an indignant tone. “I will not let that happen, not ever. We may even use it ourselves. So. Is it a bargain you can accept?”

I laughed with relief. “It is.”

“Good.” Dorje looked as relieved as I felt. “Shared journeys forge connections. You became as an older sister to the boy Dash, and you have become as a younger sister to me. I could not let you do such a thing.”

I felt an obscure need to defend the notion. “It is a sacred calling among my father’s people, you know.”

Dorje raised his brows. “Are you called to it now?”

I paused, then shook my head. “No,” I admitted. “I have been called to serve Naamah in different ways before. Not this way.”

He nodded, satisfied. “Then it is decided.”

I gave him an impulsive hug. “Thank you, Dorje.”

He extricated himself and patted my head in a tentative manner. “You are welcome, Moirin. I hope it will help you to remember that there are more good people than bad in the world.”

I did, too.

FIFTY-TWO

Days later, we arrived at Rasa.

It had been a harsh, grueling journey and it ended in a city atop a wind-swept plateau, an arid, dizzying place of dun-colored rock and cutting winds, ringed about with snow-capped mountain peaks.

Even so, it was not without beauty.

I had come to love the thin air and the heights, the hardy cedar and poplar that grew beneath the treeline of the mountains, with their stubborn, insistent thoughts. I had come to admire the tough yaks and sheep that found pastures in the valleys where village folk tilled the rocky soil and planted barley.

I had grown fond, very fond, of Dorje and his fellow Tufani traders.

Even so, it was difficult to place my unstinting trust in them. And yet I did, praying silently to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself that it was not misguided.

While they concluded their bargaining, I stayed with Dorje’s family—his wife and two bright-eyed daughters, and also his elderly father. The houses in Rasa were two-story affairs, built that animals might shelter below, while humans lived on the second floor. The buildings were white with brightly colored trim, defiantly cheerful against the bleak landscape.

It was a holy place, I learned, and many followers of the Path of Dharma came here on pilgrimages. In Rasa, commerce and sanctity lived cheek by jowl, and it was strange to walk the streets and see shops selling all manner of goods, while colorful prayer flags fluttered overhead and pilgrims completed a circuit around the city, prostrating themselves every few steps.

Dorje’s wife, Nyima, was a generous hostess, a sweet woman who was reduced to infectious giggles by my efforts to communicate with her. I let her daughters braid my hair in the Tufani style, weaving beads of coral and turquoise into the strands.

It took a day for Dorje’s company to sort out their own business, and another day for him to see about arrangements for my journey.

And as it transpired, my trust wasn’t misplaced, but it could only carry me so far. Dorje wasn’t pleased with my options, and refused to finalize the arrangements before discussing it with me.

“There is only one caravan travelling to Bhodistan yet,” he said unhappily. “And I do not like the look of the caravan-master.”

“Has he a bad reputation?” I asked.

Dorje shook his head. “He has the name of an honest trader. But he does not follow the Path of Dharma, and he has hard eyes.”

“There are a great many folk in the world who do not follow the Path of Dharma,” I said philosophically. “Myself included. It does not make us bad people, Dorje.”

He sighed. “I know this, Moirin. Still….. why not wait and pass the winter here? You will be my guest. Come spring, I will put together an expedition myself.”

My diadh-anam flared in a protest so violent, I winced. “I don’t dare,” I said softly. “As many lessons in patience as fate has taught me, I don’t think this is one of them. Why don’t you let me meet the fellow and decide for myself?”

With reluctance, Dorje agreed.

I had to own, I didn’t exactly like the look of the man myself, either. His name was Manil Datar, and he had the preening, satisfied look of a man who thought very well of himself. To be fair, he was a handsome enough fellow with a quick, flattering smile, but Dorje was right, it was a smile that did not reach his eyes. Also, he had doused himself with a heavy, musky scent I did not care for.

Still, he spoke courteously and seemed professional enough, assuring me through Dorje that it would be his pleasure to see me conducted to Bhaktipur, that he would take personal responsibility for my safety, and vouch for the good character of all his men. And he came to Tufan to trade for glands of a musk-deer that was used in the making of perfume, so I supposed perhaps the scent he wore was an advertisement for his trade. It wasn’t his fault I didn’t care for it.