Naamah's Curse

Page 40

My eyes stung.
“Don’t cry, Moirin,” he pleaded with me.
“I’m not!” I lied.
Aleksei shifted, kneeling, and cupped my face. “You are,” he said softly, tenderly. “And it’s all right. I do love you. I will always love you.” He smiled again, his expression transcendent, his blue, blue eyes filled with light. “And I will convince the world to do so, too; or at least my small corner of it.”
He kissed me.
I kissed him back, and sniffled. “I will miss you.”
“So will I.”
FORTY-FIVE
Two days later, Aleksei and I parted forever.
It hurt.
It always hurts, leaving a loved one behind. I hadn’t meant to love Aleksei. Until the moment I knew I had lost him, I hadn’t realized I did love him.
Naamah’s curse, indeed.
Gods, he was such a gentle soul! He watched me depart amid Vachir’s company of Tatars, following a southern tributary of the Ude River. He smiled in farewell, tall and broad-shouldered, raising one hand in a salute.
Our destinies tore and parted.
“May you find yours, sweet boy,” I murmured under my breath. “May you reshape your Church in a kinder, gentler image.”
I hoped he would be safe and well. I didn’t like leaving him with the Patriarch’s threat hanging over him. Aleksei had helped me escape, and he had refused to renounce me. On the other hand, he had saved his uncle’s life, and all of Udinsk had watched him do it. And I couldn’t protect him. Even if he had been willing to come with us as far as the Tatar lands, he would have returned to Vralia afterward. It was his home.
Over his protests, I’d left him one of the saddle-horses and half the remaining coin from selling the chains, along with a few supplies. Left to his own devices, Aleksei would have preferred to accept nothing, venturing out into the world like an itinerant wandering monk. I was glad I’d been able to convince him to accept what he had. Still, he was so naïve and inexperienced. I hoped it would be enough, and that the world would treat him kindly.
I wondered if I would ever know, and knew it was possible that I wouldn’t.
But mayhap I would; mayhap one day I would hear of a half-D’Angeline priest in distant Vralia who preached a doctrine of compassion and acceptance that attempted to reconcile different faiths, who had written a tract regarding his encounter with his own unlikely heretic saint.
The thought cheered me during our journey.
And I was profoundly grateful to be travelling with the Tatars, profoundly grateful for their protection. The first leg of our journey was a tense one. Gossip had spread before us, and within days, we were passing through villages where Pyotr Rostov and the Duke’s men had sought me.
In every village and settlement, people came out to stare and point, trying to pick me out among the Tatar throng.
A few times, they threw stones—small boys too foolish to be afraid, for the most part. When it happened, Chagan and the other young men dashed after them on horseback, instilling in them the fear the boys lacked.
At night when we camped, Vachir posted guards. No one came to molest us, too wary of the Tatars’ reputation for ferocity, unwilling to provoke a conflict that might escalate. Still, I was glad when we passed the last settlement and entered the wilderness of the mountain range along the southern border.
For the first time in months, I truly felt I could breathe freely.
As the days passed, my worry over Aleksei began to fade into the background of my thoughts. He had chosen his path, and there was nothing I could do to aid him in a land where my very nature was despised. He had grown so much since first I met him, and he would continue to grow and change as he made his way alone in the world, preparing to meet whatever destiny awaited him. All I could do was pray for his safety.
My worry over Bao was another matter, growing stronger as I travelled in his direction. At least he was alive, I knew that much. Since first I’d been freed from my chains, I’d sensed no change in his diadh-anam. It continued to burn low—alarmingly low, but burning nonetheless. If he was ill or injured, his condition was a stable one.
He wasn’t moving, or at least not much. The distance that separated us was great enough that I wouldn’t be able to detect small movements on his end. To be sure, he wasn’t journeying toward me.
It could simply be that Bao had fallen ill with a lingering sickness. It had happened to my father. He’d contracted an infection in his lungs and lain ill for long weeks without my knowing.
The thought made me shudder. If Raphael de Mereliot hadn’t consented to aid me, albeit for a terrible price, my father would have died.
Raphael was ten thousand leagues away. If Bao was mortally ill, there was nothing I could do to save him even if I arrived in time.
But if it wasn’t illness or injury, what could cause his diadh-anam to gutter so low, to burn so dim? Whatever it was, it was nothing good. I’d learned firsthand that there were magics capable of constraining the divine spark of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself. Who knew what other magics existed that were capable of binding or poisoning it?
I didn’t spend all my time fretting over him, of course. I’d have driven myself mad if I did. Bao was simply too far away, and there was nothing I could do.
Still, I worried.
Riding with the Tatars, we passed more swiftly through the Vralian mountains than I had with my abductors. Vachir and his folk were travelling fairly light, having traded cattle and sheep for furs and amber, which they would trade in turn for more livestock once they reached Tatar lands. The weather was fair, and when we made camp, we slept in the open. Gers were only to be erected at more permanent campsites. We made good time, and it wasn’t long before the mountains gave way to the vast, wide-open expanse of the steppe.
“Ah!” Vachir took a deep breath as we rode from the foothills onto the grassy plain, smiling with rare effusiveness. “Home.”
I envied him; I envied all of them.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t glad to be back in Tatar lands. I was. I’d come to love the steppe despite its absence of trees, and the kindness and generosity I’d found here outweighed the sting of the Great Khan’s betrayal.
But stone and sea….. home! I was so very, very far away from mine, wherever my home even was anymore. The word was every bit as painful and bittersweet as it had been when I set out from Shuntian so long ago in pursuit of the missing half of my soul. And in all that time, I’d done naught but travel in an immense circle that had brought me back to the exact same plight: setting out to cross a vast land in search of Bao.
“Stupid boy,” I muttered to myself. “Why did you have to go and wed the Tatar princess? We’d be together and halfway home if you hadn’t.”
In my heart, I understood, though. Bao had told me his reasons. Aside from the fact that one does not refuse the Great Khan, it was Bao’s way of making himself my equal in status and rank, of giving himself a choice that entailed a sacrifice to make the choice meaningful. It didn’t make sense, not really; but truths of the heart owe nothing to logic. Master Lo had laid a heavy burden on his magpie’s shoulders when he gave his life to restore Bao’s. This was Bao’s way of accepting it.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t reckoned on the consequences: the princess’ injured pride and her father’s wrath.
“Stupid boy,” I said again.
The heart is a strange thing. Bao wasn’t stupid, of course; in fact, he was quite clever. But he could be thoughtless with the feelings of others. He had a prickly sense of pride that was too easily rankled, and he was infernally stubborn. He was insulting and boastful, and he reveled in fighting.
And yet…..
I loved him in a way I could never have loved Aleksei. My sweet, innocent Yeshuite boy had certainly found a place in my heart after all. I’d come to love him for his innate goodness that not even a lifetime of discipline and repression could extinguish, for the sense of wonder with which he viewed the world. But he had never made my heart soar, only ache at leaving him.
It was different with Bao.
When I tried to put my finger on the moment I knew, I couldn’t. There wasn’t one. There were myriad small moments, like the first time I’d seen the tenderness Bao extended to Master Lo. The first time he had lowered his guard with me on the greatship, confessing the less than savory details of his past.
There was the moment in a garden in the Celestial City, when he bade me farewell and left me alone with the dragon-possessed princess, worry in his eyes, knowing what I was about to do and not trying to dissuade me, only telling me not to get myself killed.
For better or worse, Bao understood me.
And when the Emperor of Ch’in had refused to heed Master Lo’s advice, when he had accepted his fate and his daughter’s fate as the will of Heaven, Bao hadn’t hesitated to reject the Emperor’s edict without a second thought. He had fetched a jar of rice-wine from the kitchen of our lodgings and sat us down in the courtyard, pouring three cups for us.
I smiled, remembering.
There is a time for strong spirits, Master, he had said. This is one of them. Now, how are we going to save the princess and the dragon?
I had choked on a sip of wine, startled at the fact that Bao was laying the matter bare before us. Bao had turned his dark, cynical gaze on me, that ironic look that masked his romantic and courageous heart.
You had other plans?
I hadn’t; of course, I hadn’t. In fact, I had already pledged to aid the princess in defying her father if it was necessary, promising to help her journey to White Jade Mountain to free the dragon by any means possible.
Somehow, Bao had known.
And he hadn’t hesitated.
The phrase struck a chord. I thought of Aleksei’s voice raised in anguish as he wrestled with the fact that I had tried to kill his uncle. You didn’t even hesitate, Moirin!
He was right, I hadn’t. Nor would I if I had to do it again. Confronted with the hateful future the Patriarch envisioned, I would loose that bowstring a thousand times over without hesitating.
And confronted with the vision of the dragon in all his celestial majesty gazing at his reflection in the twilight, filled with sorrow and regret, and my grave, lovely princess fighting so hard to maintain her sanity in light of what had befallen her, I would pledge my aid without hesitating another thousand times.
That, Bao understood.
Aleksei didn’t.
One day, he might. He had the potential for greatness in him. I had seen it, and I hoped he would fulfill it. But whatever else might have come to pass between us, I would never be able to forget that in my hour of greatest need, Aleksei had hesitated, any more than he would be able to forget I had tried to kill his uncle. My sweet boy would never have set me free in the first place if his mother, Valentina, had not pushed him into it.
Bao…..
Bao would not have hesitated.
I remembered another of the myriad moments. It was in the abandoned farmstead outside Shuntian where our small band of conspirators had first taken shelter with the escaped princess, and Bao and Master Lo were late in coming to join us. I had been worried, so worried.
They’d come, though.
Did you think we would not? Bao’s dark eyes had gleamed beneath the broad-brimmed straw hat he wore. He had slid one arm around my waist, holding me close, and come as close as he’d done to a declaration of love, his voice a soft whisper in my ear. I would not let that happen, Moirin.
“You did, though,” I said aloud to my memories. “Although I know it is not your fault, you left me alone in a very bad place. Where are you? Where did the Great Khan send you? Gods bedamned, Bao! Where are you, and what’s happened to you?”
No one answered me.
I sighed, and kept riding.
FORTY-SIX
Two days into the steppe, my path diverged with that of Vachir and his folk.
He offered to send a couple of the young men of his tribe with me, an offer I declined with reluctance.
“You’ve given me so much already,” I said to Vachir. “I cannot accept further aid. It would leave too great a balance of debt between us. Besides,” I added, gazing south toward the faint, distant spark of Bao’s diadh-anam, “I suspect I am going far beyond the boundaries of Tatar lands.”
Vachir didn’t argue with me, only smiled his quiet smile, this time tinged with sadness. “I wish you well, Moirin.”
I hugged him. “And you, lord archer. May your cattle ever prosper.”
His wife, Arigh, hugged me, too, and presented me with a blue silk scarf. “A small gift to replace the one that was lost to you. Now you are kin to our tribe, too.”
“Thank you so very much, my lady.” It brought tears to my eyes. I wrapped the scarf around my neck and kissed her cheek. “May I ask one last kindness of you?”
“Of course.” Arigh smiled, her eyes crinkling. “You are kin now.”
“When next you encounter Batu and his folk, will you tell them I am well?” I asked. “That I think of them with great fondness, and that the honor of their hospitality has been restored through your generosity.”
Both of them nodded. “We will do this gladly,” Vachir added.
I watched them ride eastward, watched until their company began to dwindle in the distance.
Once again, I was alone, save for my horses. “Well, my friends,” I said to them. “Are you ready?”
They agreed they were.
And once again, I set out across the steppe.
At least this time the journey was easier. I was familiar with the terrain. The weather was temperate and mild, the skies largely cloudless. Most nights, I didn’t bother pitching my tent, but slept in the open as I had been doing with Vachir’s folk. The grazing was rich and my Tatar-stock horses were hardier than those the Emperor had given me, requiring less time to feed.