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

Naamah's Curse (Moirin's Trilogy #2) Page 50

Bao, trapped there.

The Spider Queen, Jagrati. In my dreams, she had a narrow face with elongated jaws, long, segmented limbs made of a chitinous substance, and her faceted eyes gleamed like black diamonds.

Her husband, the Falconer Tarik Khaga, watched in approval, his eyes set narrowly over a beaked nose.

I whimpered in my sleep.

You are safe here.

I saw the Rani in my dreams, placing herself between me and the Spider Queen and the Falconer, her face calm and her hands raised in a warding gesture.

I awoke, knew myself safe, and slept anew.

All in all, I slept for the better part of two days. I was sicker than I had realized, and my body needed to sweat out the last of the sickness. I was vaguely aware that the Rani’s attendants cared for me solicitously, sponging my fevered skin with cool water, changing my bed-linens, and dressing me in clean clothing.

On the third day, I awoke clear-headed and ravenous. Essaying an experimental cough, I found that my lungs were clear. Swallowing, I found that it did not hurt, but only made my empty stomach grumble.

I was better.

“Ah, good!” Rousing herself from a pile of cushions, the Rani of Bhaktipur clapped her hands together with girlish pleasure, her dark eyes sleepy. “You are hungry, yes?”

“Yes,” I admitted, touched by her presence. “You watched over me, highness? All this time?”

“Not all this time,” she said. “Only some of it. I think your dreams were troubled, were they not?” She made a gesture with her hands I could not interpret. “Now you will rise and dress, and we shall have a feast, eh? And you will tell me your story, Moirin mac Fainche.”

She left, and the young attendants returned to help me bathe anew and dress myself. I was glad of their assistance, for Bhodistani daytime attire was unexpectedly difficult. There was an undershirt and skirt of fine linen, and that I understood well enough, but the overgarment was an endless swathe of shimmering mustard-yellow and green silk that bewildered me. Giggling, the girls demonstrated the complicated process of wrapping, pleating, and draping the cloth, pinning it in place so that it hung gracefully.

When they were done, I felt more myself than I had since I’d left Shuntian. As a girl growing up in Alba, I’d had no use for finery, but that had changed in Terre d’Ange. I’d come to value opulence, and it was a pleasure to feel luxurious fabrics against my skin.

And, too, I was happy to see the Rani smile in appreciation when I was escorted into the dining room to join her.

“Ah, see!” she said lightly. “I have made you beautiful after the manner of my people. It suits you. I always wanted a daughter to dress.”

I raised my brows at her. “I do not think you are old enough to be my mother, highness.”

“No?”

I shook my head. “No.”

The Rani laughed, rising to the sound of bells tinkling around her ankles. “Well, then, we shall let Ravindra decide if he wishes for a sister, for I see him beyond the door.” She beckoned. “Come, my son, join us.”

A slender boy some ten years of age entered the room, clad in breeches and a long tunic of maroon trimmed with blue and gold. I hadn’t known there was a son, but I could see his mother’s gravity in him, unleavened by her gentle mirth. He stooped and laid his hands on the tops of her bare feet in greeting, which I later learned was a sign of respect the Bhodistani showed to their elders—although sons did not always honor their mothers thusly.

When he straightened, I pressed my palms together and bowed to him. “Well met, young highness.”

“Oh!” Ravindra gave me a long, startled look, then glanced at his mother. “Yes, I see.”

“Not a sister then, eh?” she said to me, her eyes dancing. “Come, come, sit. We have many hours to eat and talk.”

Dish after dish was brought to the table, and it was all I could do to pace myself and eat with decorum, famished as I was. There were the lentils and rice I’d eaten a great deal of in Manil Datar’s caravan, only seasoned with exquisite spices and served with cooked greens and many other vegetables. There was a spicy chicken stew, rounds of flatbread, and a wide array of a condiment called achar, tangy pickled fruits and vegetables. In keeping with the physician’s advice, there was all manner of fresh fruit—oranges and pears, mangos and bananas. After the mountains, it was an incredible bounty.

In between bites, I spun out my story.

For a mercy, I didn’t have to lay out the whole complicated length of it. The traders who crossed the Abode of the Gods carrying tales of the Falconer and his Spider Queen, and the Lady of Rats, also carried tales in the opposite direction. At the first mention of Ch’in, the Rani let out a startled sound.

“Oh!” Her eyes went round, her gaze shifting from mine to the bangle on my wrist, and back. “The Emperor’s jade-eyed dakini!”

“You heard the tale?” I asked.

“Yes.” The Rani’s expression turned somber, and she regarded me differently, less lightly. “I wish to hear it from you, but that, I think, will wait. What brings you here, looking for me?”

I explained about Bao’s death and the Maghuin Dhonn Herself and my divided diadh-anam, struggling more than usual to do so in a scarce-familiar tongue. Mother and son listened attentively, hands resting on their knees, thumbs and forefingers touching in identical poses. For a boy of ten, Ravindra was uncommonly grave. I told them how I had set out after Bao and wintered among the Tatars, only to find him wed to the Great Khan’s youngest daughter.

For the first time since I had mentioned Ch’in, the Rani’s sparkling smile returned. “Bad boy, eh?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “And yet…..”

Her gaze softened. “You love him.”

I nodded, and told the rest of the tale. How the Great Khan had betrayed me to the Vralians, and sent Bao on a quest in the opposite direction, one that had led him into the lair of the Falconer and the Spider Queen. How I had learned of it from the Khan’s daughter, whose advice had led me here.

When I finished, mother and son exchanged a glance, both of them looking troubled.

“I wish…..” Ravindra said in a plaintive tone.

“I know, little prince.” The Rani tilted her head. “It is late. Go, go meet with your tutor. I will speak to Moirin, and we will speak more, later.”

“Yes, Mama-ji.” He went obediently.

A sense of foreboding brushed over me, light as a feather, and just as subtly barbed. I had found sanctuary in this place, but nothing else. “You cannot help, can you, highness?” I murmured.

“Amrita,” she said softly. “You may call me by my name, please.” There was a world of sorrow in her dark, lustrous eyes. “I am sorry, Moirin. I would like to help you very much indeed, you and your bad boy, this Bao of whom you speak. It is only…..” She spread her hands, and there was nothing in the gesture but helplessness. “I do not know how. Tarik Khaga had my husband slain. Believe me, if I could have rid the world of the Falconer and his unholy bride, I would have done so by now.”

It was exactly as Manil Datar had said.

I frowned, thinking. “I’ve seen the paths up the mountain to Kurugiri. It is a maze, yes, but there are only so many ways. Why not…..?” I didn’t know the word for blockade. “Put men there so no one can come or go? Would they not starve, and…..?” I didn’t know the word for surrender, either. “Do as you say?”

The Rani Amrita shook her head gently, the filigreed gem on her brow swaying. “You cannot see it from below, but there is a valley in Kurugiri. Not so green and good as Bhaktipur, no. It is higher, much higher. But enough grows there that they would not starve, and they raise yaks.”

“So they do as they wish?” I asked, frustrated. “Take what they wish? Who they wish?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “Here and there, the falcon takes a few lambs. Such is the cost of living. The shepherd dare not abandon his flock to the wolves in order to seek the falcon’s lair; and I am the shepherd here. I am sorry, but I have no aid to give you.”

“Why did he not take you?” I flushed. “Forgive me, highness. That is not a nice question. But he wanted you. I try to understand, only. He killed your husband. And you are still very beautiful. How did it go?”

Amrita was silent a moment. “There is a hidden room in the palace,” she said presently. “A hidden room with a hidden passage. My lord Chakresh Sukhyhim, who was my husband, knew the risks of bringing a young bride to this place. He hid me, and hid me well, choosing to face the assassins himself. Alas, his men were unable to protect him. Afterward…..” Her shoulders rose and fell. “I was widowed and with child. That is displeasing to Tarik Khaga, and he no longer wanted me.”

“Oh,” I said.

We gazed at one another.

“Are you really a dakini?” the Rani Amrita inquired.

I smiled. “Close your eyes, my lady.”

She obeyed.

I looked at her because it pleased me to do so, because she was beautiful, and I liked beauty. I tried to guess her age. Twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight. Maybe younger, even. She had wed young, I thought.

I breathed the twilight deep into my lungs, took it deep into myself. I blew it out around her, around us both, as soft as a kiss.

“Open your eyes.”

“Oh!” Her eyelashes fluttered alert, her face filled with wonder. “You can do this?”

I nodded. “It is a gift of my people, meant for hiding. Here, no one else can see us.” I sighed. “If I knew the path, I could go to Kurugiri unseen. I suppose I’ll have to try,” I added reluctantly. The prospect filled me with dread, but I couldn’t see any other way.

The Rani frowned. “It would please me if you would stay for a time, Moirin. Many have sought the path to Kurugiri, and many have died trying. None have found it. You have been very sick; and the gods must have sent you to me for a reason. Wait, and grow stronger. Let us go to the temples and make offerings. Perhaps your purpose here will become clear.” She searched my face, her dark eyes touched with silvery luster in the twilight. “Will you do this for me?”

I wanted to, oh so very much.

Bracing myself for the inevitable flare of alarm from my diadh-anam, I opened my mouth to refuse with regret.

My diadh-anam was silent.

“Yes,” I said gratefully. “Yes, my lady. I will stay.”

FIFTY-EIGHT

It was the first true respite I’d known since Aleksei and I had escaped to Udinsk.

Now, as then, I knew it was only temporary. Kurugiri and its deadly maze were waiting for me; Tarik Khaga and his bedamned Spider Queen were waiting for me; to the best of my knowledge, Bao continued to languish under her spell, ensorceled by the Black Diamond of Kamadeva.

Or not; mayhap Manil Datar was right, and my stubborn peasant-boy was happy in her thrall.

I didn’t believe it, but nor did I believe Bao was in imminent danger at this point. So I was more than grateful to accept this respite, and pray that the gods revealed their will.

I offered prayers of my own to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, and to Blessed Elua and his Companions, and most especially to Naamah.

I went with the Rani Amrita to make offerings to her gods.

There were temples to Sakyamuni the Enlightened One in Bhaktipur, but like most of her folk, my lady Amrita worshipped the gods of Bhodistan, of which there were a bewildering array further complicated by the fact that many of them existed in multiple incarnations. I have to own, I never did get all of them straight in my head.

“It does not matter, Moirin,” Amrita said kindly. “Only that you open your heart to them.”

I tried.

We went first to the temple of the goddess Durga to whom rats were sacred. She was the patron-goddess of Amrita’s husband’s family, who were descended from one of her incarnations. Rats had aided the goddess in a battle against a demon that took the form of a buffalo, nipping and harrying its heels as they fought. One of Durga’s later incarnations decreed that the spirits of her descendants would not go into the keeping of the god of the dead, but be housed in rats before being reborn.

It was very confusing.

I liked the temple, though. It made me glad to see hundreds of rats swarming over the marble floors, bright-eyed, glossy, and well fed, tame and friendly. There were tiny secret passages throughout the walls, so they darted and scurried about, emerging from unexpected nooks and crannies. The rats flocked to Amrita, scuttling around her ankles in a moving carpet of fur. When she stooped to place an offering tray of grain on the floor, a stream of rats poured over her hands as though to caress her, for which I did not blame them in the least.

“So you see, Moirin!” She smiled at me. “The Lady of Rats.”

I smiled back at her. “I see.”

We made an offering to the goddess herself, who was depicted as a beautiful warrior woman seated on a tiger. I thought of my warrior princess Snow Tiger, and hoped it was a good omen.

Over the course of days, we made offerings at more temples than I could remember: Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, who I understood formed a great triad that created the beginning, middle, and end of the world. Krishna the lover, generous Lakshmi, and fierce Kali with her out-thrust tongue and her necklace of skulls; and others I could not recall. There were gods and goddesses dancing, meditating, resting on great serpents. Hanuman, who was a monkey, which quite delighted me. Blue-skinned gods, black-skinned goddesses, many with a multitude of arms. It was all very strange, though beautiful in an unfamiliar way.

There was even one god, Ganesha, who had the head of an elephant on a man’s body. When I asked Amrita why in the world it was so, she laughed and said there were different stories, and that it had never occurred to her to wonder which was true.