Naamah's Curse

Page 28

Pyotr Rostov beat me with a knotted rope, administering twenty firm lashes, counting out each one in a solemn voice.
It hurt.
I’d only ever been struck thrice before in my life. Once, when I told Jehanne I was leaving. She had slapped me with surprising strength, and fallen weeping at my feet. That was one blow I didn’t begrudge her. The second time was in the Great Khan’s ger. To be fair, he hadn’t hit me hard. It had only been a warning.
The third time was Luba, and that, I did begrudge her.
This was much worse.
The rope was heavy, and the knots struck with bruising force. I managed not to cry out loud, but I flinched in anticipation of each blow. My breath grew ragged and helpless tears filled my eyes. There are those who find pleasure in pain and in Terre d’Ange, it is one of Naamah’s arts, but it was not one I had ever relished.
After ten blows, my back was a welter of pain. By fifteen, I was biting my lip and squeezing my eyes shut, willing it to end.
“….. eighteen.”
Thud.
“….. nineteen.”
Thud.
The Patriarch was beginning to breathe hard, too. Through the haze of pain, I sensed that there was more than exertion in it. Although he might deny it to himself, he took pleasure in administering this punishment to me, as surely as he did in forcing my unwilling confessions. The exercise of power aroused him.
“….. twenty.”
Thud.
It was finished. He unhooked my chains from the post and helped me to my feet. I stood unsteadily, my back throbbing in agony. My violated dress hung low on my shoulders, baring the upper swell of my breasts. He looked away, but not before his gaze had skated oh so briefly over my exposed flesh. A dark flush suffused his face, further betraying him.
Valentina hurried to my side, a needle and thread in her hand, yanking my dress in place and beginning to stitch.
“Very good,” Rostov said brusquely. “Sister, see Moirin to her chamber. She is to fast for two days. Luba, Aleksei, come.”
Oh yes, the entire household had been required to bear witness to my punishment. I glanced at Aleksei, who was staring fixedly at his feet. He went with his aunt and uncle without a word, without ever looking in my direction.
“Why do you persist in defying him?” Valentina whispered behind me, stitching furiously.
I turned my head in her direction. “I didn’t mean to, not this time. I had a vision in the temple. It caught me unaware.”
Her voice was low. “And assaulting Luba?”
I rolled my shoulders, testing the depth of my pain. It was considerable. The Patriarch was a fairly strong fellow, and he had not held back. “Ah, no. That I meant to do. And it was almost worth it.”
A shocked sound escaped Valentina. It took me a moment to recognize it as a stifled laugh. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “I have entertained similar thoughts on occasion. But, Moirin, you will get yourself killed if you continue this way.”
“I know.”
She lowered her hand from her lips and touched me lightly, ever so softly, her fingertips grazing the sore skin between my shoulder blades where my dress yet gaped. It made me shiver. There was something of a mother’s tenderness in it, and something else, too. It seemed a very, very long time since anyone had touched me with kindness. Despite everything, I yearned for it. “I would rather you didn’t die,” she murmured. “Still, I owe everything to my brother, and I have nowhere else to go. You know I dare not intervene?”
“Aye,” I said wearily. “And I do not blame you. I am learning. This is a harsh place for a woman, especially one judged and found wanting. But your son is proving stubbornly incorruptible, my lady.”
Valentina bent her head to the task at hand, finishing sewing my dress. “Oh? And yet he stole my book for you.”
“You knew?” I asked.
She tied a knot in the thread and broke it. “Yes, of course. Offer Aleksei what he craves.”
“Love?” I guessed. “Pleasure?”
Valentina shook her head. “Truth.”
So I did.
Two days passed before Aleksei came to me again. In accordance with the Patriarch’s orders, I was given no food, only water. I was not even allowed to continue my penance, which I did not mind a bit. It gave my aching body a chance to heal. My lower back hurt from kneeling and bending; bruised to the bone, my upper back hurt from the lash. The pain in my knees was chronic.
I spent the time returning to the discipline that Master Lo had taught me. I sat cross-legged and half-starved on my narrow berth until Aleksei came back, cycling through the Five Styles of Breathing.
I prayed, too. Not to God and Yeshua, but to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, and to Blessed Elua and his Companions, and most especially among them to Naamah. In this, too, I had been neglectful.
When Aleksei returned with his book of scriptures, I could see the trepidation in every line of his body. His broad shoulders were hunched and tight, and I suspected he was wearing that vile goat’s-hair vest beneath his shirt again. His uneasy gaze skidded toward me.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, my mood and my face calm. “Hello, Aleksei.”
“Moirin.” His hunched shoulders relaxed by an inch or two. He met my eyes, frowning a little. “I thought to find you angry.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I have gone beyond anger, at least for the moment. I do not promise it will not return.” I nodded at the chair. “Will you sit? I’d like to speak to you.”
Aleksei pulled the stool over instead, hunkering on it with that combination of awkwardness and grace unique to young men. He turned the book over in his hands, his glorious blue eyes wide and uncertain. “I’m supposed to read to you.”
“I know, and in a little while, you may,” I said. “Are you willing to listen to me first?”
Unexpectedly, he smiled. “Yes, Moirin. I do like listening to you, and I am trying to understand, too.”
“Thank you.” I smiled back at him, and took a deep breath. “Aleksei, I had a vision in the temple. That is why I cried out.”
I told him what I had seen, my vision of Yeshua and the Maghuin Dhonn beyond him, and the spark of my diadh-anam extinguished.
Although he didn’t understand it, not wholly, he listened attentively and he understood as well as any Vralian could.
“It has made one thing clear to me,” I said gently when I had finished. “No matter what else, I cannot accept Yeshua’s salvation without betraying the Maghuin Dhonn Herself and losing my soul in the bargain. I can’t do it, Aleksei. I do not want to die, not at all, but I would rather die than lose my diadh-anam and live without it.”
There were tears in his blue, blue eyes. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “More sure than I’ve ever been of anything in my life. And if you do not help me, sooner or later, your uncle will kill me.”
“You want me to help you escape,” he murmured. “To betray my uncle and everything he holds dear.”
“He seeks my redemption as a means to an end,” I said. “A sign from God that it is time to launch a crusade to convert the D’Angelines, to bring the apostate Elua and his Companions back to the fold.” I shook my head. “It will not happen, not here and now. Not beginning with me.”
“What did he write?”
I blinked at him. “Who?”
Aleksei rubbed his hands on his knees. “Yeshua. In your vision. You said he wrote a word on the floor. What was it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “What was the word he wrote in his encounter with the adulterous woman? Mayhap it was the same.”
“No one knows.” He looked somber. “Sometimes I think the entire mystery of Yeshua must be contained in that word.”
What he was thinking, I couldn’t begin to guess. I put out my hands, palms upward. “If I were free, I would invoke Naamah’s blessing for you, Aleksei. You think you understand what that means. You don’t. There would be healing in it for you.”
He glanced at me, unable to hide the hunger and the yearning in him. “You seek to tempt me.”
I smiled wryly. “For quite some time now, yes. But this is an honest offer. You need not accept it. I am asking you to free me out of the kindness of your heart. And,” I added, “because I do not think you wish to see me cut down in a hail of stones, my skull cracked open and my brains leaking onto the cobbles.” Aleksei jerked as though I’d struck him, then winced in obvious discomfort. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you wearing that bedamned goat’s-hair vest again?”
“No,” he murmured, bringing his shoulders forward. “I….. after your punishment, I thought it only fair I endured the same. If I had been a better teacher, you would not have been punished.”
I drew a sharp breath. “Your uncle beat you?”
Aleksei shook his head. “No. Oh, no. I administered it to myself.” He gave me an earnest glance. “Mortification of the flesh is good for the soul.”
I wanted to cry. “Aleksei…..”
“It’s all right, Moirin,” he said quietly. “I don’t mind.”
“I do!” I wrestled myself back to calmness, breathing slowly and trying to find words that would reach him. “You know, I do believe your mother would do it if she dared. Set me free.”
“Nooo…..” He drew out the word, uncertain.
“I understand her fears,” I said. “I didn’t at first. But she is a woman shunned by her society, always and forever paying for her youthful mistake. It is a cruel world for one such as her, and she has nowhere else to go. It would be different for you. You’re a young man, healthy and strong. You could apprentice yourself, learn a trade.”
Aleksei squared his shoulders. “I have a trade. A calling. My uncle has raised me—”
“To convert D’Angelines,” I finished for him.
He flushed. “Yes.”
“That is his dream, his interpretation of God’s will.” I eyed him speculatively. “What is yours? With your fluent tongue, you could find work as an interpreter in the D’Angeline embassy. With your training, you could go west and study with those priests who took Rebbe Avraham’s words to heart, those on the opposite side of the Great Schism.”
That hit home.
Aleksei’s fists knotted, his raw-boned knuckles turning white, the book of scriptures forgotten in his lap. The hot flush on his rugged cheekbones deepened, and his blue eyes darkened with anger and despair. “You seek to tempt me!”
“No,” I said simply. “I seek to live. And I am only telling you the truth, whether you welcome it or not.”
He surged to his feet with fluid grace, all awkwardness forgotten in the heat of the moment. The book of scripture fell to the floor. He paced the confines of my cell, muttering to himself in Vralian, his fists clenching and unclenching.
I watched him, fearful and fascinated.
At length, Aleksei fetched up before me, looming over my narrow bed, wild-eyed and grim-faced, his tawny hair tousled. “I cannot do it, Moirin. After so long, I dare not succumb to temptation. I cannot set you free. I cannot betray my uncle. Everything I am, I owe to him. Everything! Do you understand?”
“Aye,” I murmured with regret.
He wasn’t finished. “Nor can I watch you die and believe it God’s will in truth. So…..” His chest rose and fell. “Instead, I will teach you.”
“Teach me?” I echoed. “Were you not listening when I said—”
“Yes.” Aleksei cut me off. “I was.” He picked up the fallen book, kissing it reverently.
I was confused. “I don’t understand.”
He settled onto the stool. “In a little more than two months’ time, the Duke of Vralsturm will come to Riva to attend the midsummer festival. It is my uncle’s hope that he might present you as his greatest success, and gain the Duke’s patronage. If he succeeds, the Duke might petition his kin in Vralgrad on behalf of his D’Angeline crusade. It is my uncle’s fondest dream, to see the prophecies of Elijah of Antioch bear fruit,” he added.
“I know,” I said. “And I told you, it will not begin with me.”
“Yes, but my uncle does not know that.” Aleksei opened the book. “Are you willing to lie?”
I nodded. “Yes, of course. But, Aleksei, even when I am telling the truth, he does not always believe me. I do not know how to make him.”
“I do.” He nodded, too, turning the pages. “And I will teach you what lies you must utter to save your life.”
THIRTY-THREE
Playing the role of a lifetime, I lied.
For two months, I lied through my teeth. I memorized the creed and the lengthy catechism Aleksei taught me, until I could recite it in my sleep. I kept my temper in check. I gave no one cause to doubt me.
I resumed my penance, scouring squares. I uttered the prayer that the Patriarch had given me.
In time, I was allowed to attend another service. I had no visions or fits. I did not assault Luba.
It was without a doubt one of the most excruciating things I’d been called upon to do in my young, but eventful, life. I was not a patient person by nature, but it seemed the gods were hell-bent on teaching me to become one.
Betimes I thought of my restlessness during the long Tatar winter when I was frustrated by the knowledge that Bao was so very near, and I could have laughed in despair at the irony. I would have traded this hardship for that one in a heartbeat.
Then I’d had the kindness of Batu and Checheg and their family to sustain me, the innocent ardor of the children to fulfill my yearning for the warmth of human contact. I’d had chores that made me feel useful and welcome, not pointless ones that left my body sore and aching.