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

Naamah's Curse (Moirin's Trilogy #2) Page 8

Grandmother Yue took a noisy sip of tea. “The world is a complicated place, child. I have lived most of my life among the Tatars, and they are no better or worse than any other folk. Today, they are content to be peaceable. If the Emperor had lost the Mandate of Heaven and Ch’in lay in chaos, perhaps the khans would be plotting an invasion. They have conquered and ruled Ch’in before, you know.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t known.

She shrugged. “It would not matter anyway. Hospitality is sacred to them, and my grandson Batu has offered you the protection of his roof. No tale you tell will cause him to violate that trust.” She sipped her tea. “So tell your tale from the beginning. The very beginning.”

“As you will, Grandmother.” I took a deep breath and began. “I was born to the Maghuin Dhonn. We are the folk of the Brown Bear, and the oldest magic in Alba runs in our veins—”

The old woman smiled, her bright eyes disappearing in a nest of wrinkles. “Yes, that’s definitely more like it!”

NINE

Over the long winter months, I spun out my story—my true story, the one I had told to Bao’s mother and sister, with a wealth of detail added to it. And Grandmother Yue was right, no one took it amiss. There was little else to do, and Batu’s family was glad of the distraction.

I was glad, too. It gave me a sense of purpose during those early days when I was more hindrance than help in the camp. Bit by bit, as Checheg showed me how to prepare salty tea and cook in the Tatar manner, I felt myself become more useful. During Grandmother Yue’s prodigious naps, we communicated with gestures and the few words of Tatar I began to acquire. As Checheg’s belly grew ever larger, I sensed she was increasingly grateful for my aid.

After meals, I told my story, eking it out slowly while Grandmother Yue translated.

Unlike most folk I had encountered, the Tatars did not find it strange that the Maghuin Dhonn worship the Great Bear Herself. They simply nodded, accepting it as a matter of course; and I found myself grateful for that simple acceptance.

Like folk everywhere, they marveled at the opulence and licentiousness of the D’Angeline lifestyle. Although I couched the details in discreet terms for the benefit of the children, Batu and Checheg were shocked to learn that the King of Terre d’Ange not only wed a courtesan, but allowed her to take lovers.

“Heh!” Grandmother Yue cackled with delight. “I say good for her!”

Some details, I chose to withhold. Reckoning they would find it too unlike their customs to understand, I didn’t tell them that Jehanne had seduced me quite thoroughly, only that she had rescued me from Raphael’s deadly ambition.

Everyone agreed that Raphael was a right scoundrel, but they reveled in the tales of the fallen spirits we summoned and how they tricked Raphael and his companions. Checheg and Batu’s daughter, Sarangerel, especially loved to hear about the spirit Caim, who had eyes like an owl and antlers with a bird’s nest caught in them. According to lore, Caim could bestow the gift of communicating with all living creatures. He tricked Raphael and the others by teaching them the language of ants, which was composed wholly of scent. They gave up before the spirit Caim moved on to crickets.

It was a time of peace, but it was also a time of prolonged yearning, that endless Tatar winter. The warmth and kindness everyone extended to me made me miss my home. Gods, I missed having a home. I missed my taciturn, oh-so-familiar mother in Alba, and the lovely, gracious father I had discovered in Terre d’Ange. I missed my sparkling lady Jehanne, with whom I would always be a little bit in love. I missed Snow Tiger, whom I had come to cherish in a very different way.

I missed the dragon, my splendid friend.

And always, always, always, I ached for Bao’s presence. I could sense his diadh-anam burning like a beacon, near enough that I could have ridden there in ten days were it not for the deadly cold. I ached to be reunited with the missing half of my diadh-anam. That was a constant. And it frustrated me, not only because I could not go to him, but because I could not sort out in my confused heart what was real and what was the result of the binding Master Lo Feng had laid upon us.

I knew where my feelings began and ended. They began with a sneaking fondness for Master Lo’s magpie, the proud, stubborn peasant-boy with whom I had bickered and quarreled for so long, before we fell into bed with one another and began a thorny love affair. They ended with Bao walking away from me, leaving me alone and bereft, the spark of my sundered diadh-anam burning steadily inside him.

It was the missing parts in between that confused me.

There were good days and bad days. On good days, I thought mayhap it was for the best that I had this time to reflect. As harsh as they were, the frozen Tatar grasslands had a sweeping majesty to them. Although I felt guilty whenever I wasn’t aiding Checheg in the ger, I liked being outdoors, liked the impossibly vast blue sky arching above me.

I liked doing simple tasks like fetching water from the nearby river, or even gathering cow-dung to dry. I liked to practice the Five Styles of Breathing in the achingly cold air. While I still missed trees, I liked the elemental rhythm of Tatar life.

On the bad days…..

On the bad days, I questioned myself. If I had not tarried in the Celestial City in Shuntian an extra week, dallying with the princess, mayhap I would have beaten the weather and gained Bao’s side before winter’s onset, so we might use these long nights to resolve matters between us.

That had been my doing, all my doing.

Snow Tiger had asked me to invoke Naamah’s blessing on her behalf, and I had done it gladly. She had not asked me to tarry. I was the one who had badgered her to let me stay, at least for a week’s time. She had agreed to it without much persuasion needed. And I did not want to regret it, for it had been a time of profound grace.

I would have stayed longer had she let me. I would have spent the winter in Shuntian with her.

The Emperor’s daughter’s face swam in my memory, her dark eyes grave. It is too easy to accept the comfort you offer, Moirin. I have duties that lie elsewhere. You have a destiny to follow.

She was right, of course. But it didn’t stop me from resenting my everlasting destiny on the bad days. It seemed unfair that it constantly drove me away from people for whom I cared deeply, and doubly unfair that the one person to whom my destiny was inextricably linked was bound and determined to evade me.

I wondered what Bao was feeling.

Bit by bit, I learned more about his circumstances. I learned that General Arslan was high in the Great Khan’s favor. Batu confirmed that he would have been the one to lead a raid on Tonghe village twenty-some years ago.

“Very good warrior,” he said slowly to me. “Strong man.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why fight and kill?”

Batu frowned and shook his head, deciding it was too complicated a matter to explain to me with my limited Tatar language. He beckoned Grandmother Yue over and spoke to her at length.

“Ah, child!” she said when he finished. “It’s the way of the world, that’s all. The Ch’in raided Tatar camps, too. When the men were away, they kidnapped women and children and enslaved them, put them to work building the wall.”

I took a sharp breath. “Put them to work building the very wall meant to keep them out? That’s a piece of bitter irony.”

She nodded. “I told you, it’s the way of the world. Arslan lost his young wife. He was only taking vengeance.”

“By raping an innocent woman?” I asked in outrage.

“I did not say I agreed with it,” Grandmother Yue said in a gentle tone. “I said it was the way of the world, Moirin. It is in the nature of mankind.”

I thought about her words when I breathed the Five Styles and meditated, doing my best to be mindful of Master Lo’s teaching and let one thought give rise to another. It was hard, and I thought mayhap there were things in the world I didn’t want to understand. In my travels, I had learned that the followers of the Path of Dharma believed that to live was to suffer. I was not willing to accept their wisdom as truth, but I could understand why many did.

Master Lo had allowed the possibility that mayhap I had my own path of enlightenment to follow, the Path of Desire.

These days, it seemed a very distant possibility.

Oh, I could have taken a lover if I had wished it. After the initial shock of my appearance, almost everyone at Batu’s camp treated me with genuine warmth. I had a way with animals, and that endeared me to their keepers. The Tatars lived closer to nature than any folk I’d encountered save my own. I continued to be surprised and pleased by their acceptance. Although I understood there was some lingering debate as to whether or not I was a forest spirit from the distant mountains, it was generally agreed that it was a good thing if it were true. From time to time, I caught sidelong glances from some of the bolder young men in the camp, suggesting a tryst would be welcome.

But my diadh-anam disapproved, and the bright lady was silent. It seemed Naamah’s gift had gone dormant for the winter.

Life held other pleasures. Living in the ger, I came to value Batu’s quiet strength, his obvious love for his wife and children. I treasured Checheg’s steady kindness and guidance. Their eldest son, Temur, spent a good deal of time blushing in my presence, but that was to be expected at his age, and he was a good-hearted lad.

Their daughter, Sarangerel, was a delight, bright and lively. Having adopted me on that first day, my small friend staked a relentless claim on me. Under her mother’s indulgent gaze, Sarangerel followed me around the ger, tugging at the hem of my coat, her little brother, Mongke, toddling in her wake, babbling nonsense words. Among other things, she insisted on teaching me a complicated Tatar game in which both players made a fist with their right hands, then shot out several fingers and uttered competing rhymes based on the total number showing.

“Nine!” she would say in triumph, waiting for me to respond.

“Mine?” I would hazard.

Sarangerel would shake her head in mock disappointment, and rattle off a string of better rhymes. I never won a single game, but it improved my skills with the Tatar language considerably. And she was unstinting with her affection, always eager to climb into my lap and rub her cheek against mine, while her little brother pulled jealously on my sleeve until I made room for both of them.

It soothed that part of me that yearned for human contact in a way I had never known before, filled with tender innocence. Growing up in isolation, I’d had precious little contact with children.

I liked it.

I liked the simplicity and purity of it. In a strange way, it was a relief to develop a complex set of relationships in which carnal desire played no part. It occurred to me that this had happened seldom in my life since I came of age, and there was probably a lesson to be learned there.

And then a month into my stay, Checheg went into labor.

I had been expecting it; we all had. Day by day, we had waited and wondered. How could we not, her belly as swollen as it was? Still, it came as a shock.

For one thing, the men abandoned us.

For another, I was left in charge.

“What?” I said in dismay. “Batu, I do not know what to do!”

Batu jiggled young Mongke in his arms, not meeting my eyes. His eldest son, Temur, lurked behind him, peering at me. “You are a woman, are you not? This is women’s business. Grandmother will help you. After all, she has done it many times before; and so has Checheg, three times. Men do not belong here.” He gave me a furtive glance. “We will return after the child is born,” he said firmly, exiting the ger and closing the brightly painted door behind him.

“Eh?” The old woman rose from her pallet and tottered in my direction, cupping one ear. “Ready to pop, is she?”

“Aye.” I blew out my breath, trying to remember what Raphael had taught me. I had assisted him with a difficult birth once, although I’d come in at the end of the process. “Sarangerel, you will bring a bucket of water, please?”

“Yes, Moirin!” She dashed away.

One thing about the Tatars, they were not much for bathing, at least not in the dead of winter. I had not seen anything resembling soap in the ger; but I had a dwindling ball of soap in my battered canvas satchel. As soon as the water was warming on the stove, I scrubbed my hands and arms thoroughly, raising a goodly amount of lather. “Good,” I said. “We need blankets and cloth. Clean.”

“You needn’t fuss so,” Grandmother Yue said irritably, taking Checheg’s arm and helping her walk around the ger. “Nature will take its course.”

Checheg grunted in assent, rubbing the small of her back.

“I am trying to do a good thing!” I said in frustration. “Clean is better. Not to make sick.”

They exchanged a glance and shrugged.

It was a long process.

When the contractions began to come hard and steady, Checheg lay down, propped against pillows, her knees spread apart. She did not protest when I eased the cleanest of the felt blankets beneath her. Gently, I removed her thick, felt-lined boots and woolen trousers. Half undressed, she seemed much smaller to me.

Ah, gods! Mortal flesh is a fragile and vulnerable thing. I knelt between her wide-spread thighs and placed my hand on her immense belly, feeling it harden and tighten, then ease, over and over. Checheg groaned with pain, eyes squeezed tight.

“Breathe,” I murmured to her. “Push, yes, but not hard.”

Eyes closed, she nodded.

I bowed my head and centered myself, breathing the Breath of Earth’s Pulse. I breathed the Breath of Ocean’s Rolling Waves, slow and deep. It eased Checheg, and she breathed with me—until the pace of her breathing quickened again, one breath coming hard and fast after another.