Naamah's Curse

FOUR

The village was called Tonghe. There was nothing to distinguish it from the dozens of others through which I had passed along the way, and I would not have chosen to stay there if my inquiries in the market had not proved fruitful. When I described Bao using a combination of dialect and gestures, an elderly woman selling squashes nodded vigorously and pointed across the square toward a handful of men huddled over a set of dominoes.

Even though my diadh-anam assured me that Bao was many, many leagues away, my heart soared, and I had to look twice to assure myself he wasn’t among them. The squash seller tugged my arm and spoke volubly.

“I’m sorry, Grandmother.” I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

She scowled at me, then gave a penetrating shout. A boy of some ten years came at a pelting run, listening and nodding as she spoke to him.

“Greetings, Noble Barbarian Lady!” Despite his rough-spun attire, he addressed me in the scholar’s tongue, speaking with careful precision. He bowed three times in rapid succession and then straightened, his wide eyes taking in my horses, my robes, and the Emperor’s medallion around my neck. “I am Hui. Grandmother Fang says I am to translate for you. You seek the stick-fighter from Shuntian?”

“I do.” I smiled at him. “Was he here?”

“Oh, yes!” Hui pointed at the men playing dominoes. “That is his father.” His grandmother cuffed him and muttered. He lowered his voice. “Or at least, that is the husband of his mother.”

I tried to guess which of the men he was indicating. None of them looked like Bao-but then, none of them would. “I see.”

Grandmother Fang offered helpful commentary. The boy listened, then translated. “Once he was a farmer. Now he does nothing but drink rice-wine and gamble at dominoes all day. Do you want to meet him?”

“I do,” I said. “Is the stick-fighter’s mother here, too?”

Hui nodded and relayed the question to his grandmother. “Yes, but she works in a sewing shop, she and her daughter. They must make a living since Ang Shen has become a drunk.”

“I would like to meet all of them.” I clasped my hand over my fist and bowed from the saddle. “My thanks to you and your honored grandmother. Is there an inn where I might lodge?”

He shook his head, then turned to his grandmother. After another exchange, he said, “Grandmother Fang says you must stay with us as an honored guest. Your horses can stay in the pen with the goat.”

I inclined my head, touching the purse that hung from my belt. “Of course, she will allow me a small gesture of thanks.”

That at least needed no translation. Grandmother Fang grinned and gave an effusive nod.

I let Hui lead me to the home he shared with his mother, father, two younger sisters, and his grandmother on the outskirts of town, collecting my thoughts while he chattered excitedly, telling me that he was the prodigy of the family and he meant to sit for the scholar’s examination that would allow him to become a civil servant when he came of age. In the doorway of their humble house, his mother greeted us with gracious amazement, a round-faced toddler peering out from behind her skirts.

“Come around back!” Hui reached up to tug on Ember’s reins. “I will show you the goat pen.”

In the rear of the house, there was a sizable garden with well-tended crops of squash and soybean-and indeed, a small pen with a wise-eyed goat. With Hui’s assistance, I unsaddled Ember and unloaded Coal’s packs, stowing the gear beneath a weathered lean-to. He fetched a fresh bucket of water and watched with avid curiosity as I checked both horses’ hooves for cracks or stones.

“Why do you not have servants, Noble Barbarian Lady?” Hui asked.

I worked at prying a pebble loose from the frog of Ember’s right front hoof. The chestnut bent his neck and lipped my hair with idle affection. “Because I do not think the man I am following would like it if I came after him with an army of servants. And you may call me by my name, which is Moirin.”

“Moirin.” He pronounced it with the awkward Ch’in lilt I found charming. “Is it true what he said, then? The stick-fighter from Shuntian?”

“I don’t know.” I released Ember’s foreleg and stroked his neck. “What did he say?”

Hui glanced around. “It is rumored that he claimed to be one of those who guarded Princess Snow Tiger on her quest to free the dragon and end the war.”

“Aye,” I said. “It’s true.”

“You were there?”

I nodded. “I was there.”

Hui’s dark gaze travelled from the medallion around my neck to my face. “You’re her. The Emperor’s jade-eyed witch.”

I smiled. “Some say so. I say I am my own, and no one else’s. But aye, the tales are true, and I was there. So was Bao.”

“Oh.” The boy whispered the word, then swallowed visibly. “Ang Shen did not believe the stories. He told the stick-fighter to go away.”

My heart ached for Bao. “Mayhap Ang Shen will believe it when I tell him.”

Hui looked dubious. “Mayhap he will.”

He didn’t.

In the early hours of the afternoon, I returned to the village square to meet with Bao’s father-or at least, the husband of his mother. Hui came with me to translate, his pride in the task offset by a certain degree of anxiety. There were four men yet huddled over the dominoes, sharing a jar of rice-wine.

“Ang Shen?” I bowed politely to the man Hui pointed out to me, a Ch’in fellow with a prematurely lined face, his black hair peppered with silver, clad in well-mended clothes. Since he did not rise, I knelt to offer him the respect due an elder in Ch’in society, sitting on my heels in the D’Angeline courtesan’s manner that Jehanne had shown me. “I would speak to you of your son, Bao.”

Hui translated.

The other three domino players left off their game and stared at me with open fascination. Villagers drifted near to eavesdrop. Ang Shen grunted, fingered the tiles, and refused to meet my eyes. “I have no son,” he said in a rough variant of the scholar’s tongue.

“Your wife’s son, then,” I said.

His shoulders tensed. “My wife bore no sons.”

“Aye,” I said softly. “She did. And it seems he sought you out. ’Tis no business of mine to tell you how to respond to such circumstances. But one thing I will tell you. Whatever Bao told you was true, and I doubt he told you the half of it. He is a hero. I know, for I was there. He saved the princess’ life and mine at the cost of his own. He died, and was born again.”

Ang Shen shuddered and lifted his head, his expression fierce. “Would I have sold such a son away?” he demanded of me. Startled, I rocked back on my heels. “No!” His eyes blazed. “No, no, no! I would not have done such a thing, so this man claiming to be such a person must lie. Else, what am I? What monster, what waste of flesh? It cannot be true!”

“It is!” I insisted.

Both of us surged to our feet.

I hadn’t expected violence. If I had, I would have kept my distance from him. I would have brought my bow and quiver, the sturdy yew-wood bow my uncle Mabon had made for me. My fingers twitched, longing for the string as Ang Shen breathed hard in my face, leaning forward, his breath smelling of stale rice-wine, his expression adamant and anguished. “I have no son.”

I bowed. “My mistake, sir. If you did, and if he had come seeking your acceptance, you would have been proud of him.”

I left.

Hui trotted after me. “That didn’t go so well, huh?”

“No.” I spied the slender figure of a girl hiking her robes to her knees and beating a hasty retreat across the square, the soles of her straw sandals slapping against her heels. Her fleet, agile grace struck a familiar chord. “It is obvious that Ang Shen is a proud man who feels grief and guilt. Hui, would that be his daughter?”

He glanced at her. “Uh-huh. That’s Ang Song.”

“Let’s follow her.”

Hui beamed. “Yes, Moirin!”

We followed Song to a modest sewing shop, arriving in time to see her being scolded by the proprietress, who had the girl’s earlobe pinched in a firm grip as she harangued her. Song protested and squirmed, more with dismay than discomfort.

“Excuse me, madame,” I said politely. “I would like to speak to this girl.”

Hui translated.

The proprietress turned on me with irritation, then gaped with comical surprise. She let go of Song’s earlobe and stroked the girl’s braided hair with an absentminded affection that belied her scolding, then questioned Hui in the local dialect. He grinned and replied. The proprietress bowed and spoke rapidly, gesturing at the door.

“Auntie Ai says you are most welcome here, Moirin,” Hui said helpfully. “Of course, you may come in and speak to Song and her mother. If you would like to purchase some very fine embroidery work, that would also be good.”

I smiled. “My thanks.”

Auntie Ai led us through the crowded front room with squares of embroidered fabric stacked in piles. Although most of the material was plain cotton, the quality of the embroidery was indeed quite fine. The girl Song stole glances at me, her face alight with eager curiosity. She was a pretty girl, and I saw traces of Bao in the shape of her ears, the angle of her jaw, and her full lips. She couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen, hovering on the brink of womanhood.

“You’re her?” she asked me shyly, speaking the scholar’s tongue with more skill than her father.

“I’m her,” I agreed.

She clapped her hands together with unbridled delight. Auntie Ai shook her head, but she smiled, too.

I knew Bao’s mother at a glance. She rose to her feet in amazement as we entered the sewing chamber, a tangle of fabric and silk thread spilling from her lap. One hand touched her lips, her eyes brightening with tears. “It’s true?”

“Aye, my lady,” I said gently.

A joyful laugh spilled from her. “I knew he would not lie! Oh, tell me! Tell me everything!”

So I did, once Auntie Ai had bustled around and served cups of hot, fragrant tea and sweet bean-cakes. I told the whole long story of how I had met Bao and Master Lo Feng in Terre d’Ange, how Master Lo had taken me on as a student. How I had accompanied them across many seas in a greatship when the Emperor’s men came to fetch Master Lo to tend to the afflicted princess.

“Is it true that Princess Snow Tiger killed her husband on their wedding night?” Song asked in a hushed whisper.

“Oh, yes.” I nodded. “It was a very awful thing. Everyone thought it was a demon that possessed her. But it was the dragon, waking in terror and panicking at finding himself trapped in her flesh.”

It was worse than they knew. The dragon had awoken while Snow Tiger and her bridegroom were engaged in the act of love. In his panic, the celestial creature had struck out in blind terror, and with dragon-infused strength, the princess had torn her bridegroom from limb to limb. I knew, I had seen her memories. After she had come to trust me, I had held her in the small hours of darkness when the nightmares came.

“But you saw the dragon inside her!” Song said triumphantly.

“Aye.” I smiled. “I did. And with the magic that is the gift of my mother’s people, I was able to let the princess see the dragon in the mirror.”

Bao’s mother, whose name was Yingtai, shook her head in wonder.

I told the rest of the story, from our escape from Shuntian and our journey in disguise across Ch’in to our victory at White Jade Mountain. Hui translated in a low tone for Auntie Ai. They knew it, of course. Everyone in Ch’in knew it. Bao had told it to them himself. But it was the sort of story that bore hearing over and over, the sort of story for retelling during long winter nights around the fire.

When I had finished, Yingtai sighed with profound pleasure. “I knew he was not lying,” she said in a soft, wistful voice.

“Your husband did not believe him,” I said.

“No.” Her brow furrowed. “Ang Shen is a good man at heart. After the Tatar raid, after it was clear that Bao was not his son… the shame of it broke him.” She glanced at her daughter. “Then, for many years, I did not get pregnant again. He… perhaps we did not try often enough. In ten years of trying, Song is our only child. When my Bao returned claiming a hero’s status, it broke him all over again.”

Song fidgeted. “Father is disappointed that I am a girl.”

“Perhaps he might think on the pride that Emperor Zhu takes in his daughter,” I suggested. “A pride the entire Empire shares.”

That made her smile. “Is Princess Snow Tiger as beautiful and brave as they say?”

“Every bit and more,” I assured her. “Now, tell me about Bao. How long did he stay? How long has he been gone? Did he say where he was bound?”

“He was troubled.” Bao’s mother’s gaze rested on me, careworn and concerned. “I did not understand… he died? And you brought him back to life?”

I had skipped that part of the tale, reckoning it was not something a mother wanted to hear. “He died, yes, struck by one of Black Sleeve’s poisoned darts. It was Master Lo Feng who used my magic to trade his life for Bao’s.”

Yingtai looked away. “I could see that there was a shadow over him. He was at odds with himself. He asked me… he asked me about the Tatar who fathered him. If there was aught I could tell him.”

The sewing room was very quiet.

“Was there?” I asked at length.

“Yes.” She looked back at me. “He had a scar, here.” She drew a line from brow to cheek over her right eye. “I have not forgotten.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.

Yingtai gave a stoic shrug. “Men can be cruel. I begged Bao not to seek him out. Even if he succeeds, I can see no reason for it.” She folded her hands in her lap, studying me. “Although he did not declare his feelings, his face changes when he speaks of you,” she said softly. “At last, I asked him. Why, when his feelings for you were written so clearly on his face, was he going in the opposite direction? He could not explain it to me.”

“I don’t think he knows,” I said. “Not really.”

She nodded. “He is searching for an answer for which no question exists.”

I smiled ruefully. “That sounds about right.” Feeling the weight of strong emotion in the cloistered room, I changed the subject. “How did you learn the scholar’s tongue? You speak it well.”

“From my grandfather.” Yingtai stroked her daughter’s hair. “A long time ago. I taught Song as much as I remember.”

Song cast a sharp glance toward Hui, who was surreptitiously stuffing the second to last of the sweet bean-cakes into his mouth. “If I were a boy, I would sit for the examination one day!”

He sputtered a defiant, unintelligible reply. Auntie Ai cuffed his head absently and snatched the plate away, offering it insistently to me. I took the last sweet out of politeness, the jade bangles around my wrist tinkling as I reached for it.

“Oh!” Song touched one of the bangles. “So beautiful! May I see?”

“Of course.” I extended both arms. Her slender fingers danced over the polished stone bracelets. “That one is the exact color of the reflecting pool beneath White Jade Mountain, where the dragon gazes at himself,” I said when she paused over my favorite, a vivid translucent green bangle. “The very place where we freed him. Princess Snow Tiger chose it herself.”

“And this?” She pointed at the bangle next to it, a deeper, more intense shade of green.

“That’s called Imperial jade.” I touched another, a pale milky-white bangle with cloudy patches. “This is leopard jade. And this, this red one is said to bring luck. Which is your favorite?”

Song contemplated the six bangles I wore with great seriousness. “This one,” she said at length, touching a clear, pale green piece with honey-colored highlights. “It looks like a river in sunlight with fish swimming in it.”

I worked it free. “Then it is my gift to you.”

Auntie Ai’s eyes bulged, and she hissed in urgent dialect.

“No, no!” Bao’s mother said in protest. “It is too much!”

I ignored her. “Pick one for your mother,” I whispered conspiratorially to Song. “Which one do you think she would like?”

“Moirin.” Hui tugged at my sleeve, glancing over his shoulder. “Ah… Auntie Ai does not think you know how much those are worth.”

I ignored him, too. “Which one?”

One by one, Song walked her fingers over the remaining five bangles that hung from my wrists, slow and deliberative. “I think Mother would like this one that looks like the dragon’s pool,” she said somberly. “But it would be wrong to take it from you. So I choose this one.” She touched the bangle of Imperial green jade, glancing up at me. “The one that is the color of your eyes.”

I smiled and began to work it loose. “A very good choice.”

“No!”

I pressed the jade bangle into Yingtai’s resistant hands. “Bao came to you penniless, didn’t he? If he had stayed, if he had not fled, the Emperor would have rewarded him generously for his service. Please.” I folded her hands over the bracelet. “Accept this small token.”

Bao’s mother shook her head. “Ang Shen will insist-”

Song flinched.

“I will speak to him,” I said. “I will tell him that if he sells these bracelets to drink and gamble, it will bring such a curse down upon him that he will reckon his life has been paradise before now.”

Hui stared at me, his eyes stretched wide. “Can you do such a thing?”

“Of course,” I lied. “I am the Emperor’s witch, am I not?”

Tears filled Yingtai’s eyes. “You cannot understand what this means.” She turned the bangle in her hands. “A jade piece of such quality, a gift from his Celestial Majesty’s own hands… Moirin, it is enough to provide Song with a dowry to marry well, better than I ever dared to hope for her.”

I smiled at her. “Then I have done a better thing than I reckoned,” I said.

We spoke for a while longer. They told me about Bao’s visit, and that he had departed several weeks ago, bound to cross the Great Wall through the gateway a dozen li to the north and enter Tatar territory.

“You mean to follow him?” Yingtai asked me. “Even there?”

I nodded. “I do. What Master Lo did to restore Bao to life… it bound us together. I have waited long enough. If he will not come to me, I will go to him.”

She shuddered. “I will pray for you every day.”

“Will you come back?” Song asked.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I cannot promise it. No matter what happens with Bao, I have a home of my own, or at least family of my own, far, far away. I miss them. Especially my mother. I would like to see her again very much. But I do promise that I will never, ever forget you.”

Song smiled at me with shy pleasure, toying with the bangle around her slim wrist. “I understand. I will pray for you, too, Lady Moirin.”

With their assistance, I chose two embroidered squares to purchase from Auntie Ai-one of Song’s worked with a pattern of flowering bamboo, and one with a stark black-and-white pattern of magpies that Yingtai had just completed.

“I thought of my Bao as I sewed this piece,” his mother murmured. “He told me that the Venerable Master Lo Feng called him his magpie.”

“Aye, he did.” A wave of sorrow came over me. “I hope it will remind Bao of many glad memories.”

“I hope so, too,” she said.

Outside the sewing shop, we said our farewells. A small crowd had gathered to watch, trying without the slightest bit of success to appear nonchalant. At Auntie Ai’s urging, Hui made a point of displaying the fabric squares I had purchased ostentatiously over his arm. I didn’t begrudge her, for it was obvious she had shown much kindness to Bao’s mother and sister. Let the tale spread that the Emperor’s witch had found her wares worthy.

Yingtai bowed formally to me, her eyes bright with fresh tears. “I bless the gods for sending you to us, Lady Moirin. I pray they guard your path.”

I returned her bow. “And yours, my lady.”

In a public display of emotion uncustomary to the Ch’in, Song flung her arms around my neck and hugged me hard. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said fervently aloud, then whispered in my ear, “I hope my brother chooses to be with you. He would be very, very stupid not to, I think.”

I laughed and kissed the top of her head. “I think so, too. Be well, little sister.”

Hui and I retraced our steps to the village square, our indiscreet entourage of onlookers trailing behind us.

Ang Shen and his companions were still there, squatting beside a jar of rice-wine and lingering over their dominoes in the slanting, late-afternoon sunlight. His head tilted at our approach, although he didn’t deign to look up.

“Ang Shen?” I called. “I have given your wife and your daughter gifts of jade today. I am told it is sufficient to provide Song with a good dowry. And I am telling you that these gifts carry a blessing and a curse. Do you leave them be, it will be a blessing on your household.” Thinking of my mother and how imposing she could be, I made my voice stern. “But do you think to take and sell them, my curse will be upon you, and I swear to you by stone and sea and all that it encompasses, you shall wish you had never been born.”

Lest my words be mistaken, Hui translated them in a high, clear voice.

The village onlookers murmured.

Without looking at me, Bao’s mother’s husband gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment. I nodded in an unseen reply and turned to go.

“Moirin.”

I turned back.

Ang Shen had risen. He wavered a bit on his feet, but his gaze was steady. “That is your name, is it not?” I nodded. He executed a precise bow. “Moirin, I thank you for this gift you have given my family.”

Unexpectedly, my heart ached for him.

“Here.” I worked loose the last bangle on my right wrist, the red jade bangle, and held it out to him. “Take this. If it does not bring you the luck it promises, you may sell it and do what you will with the profit. It is yours, and yours alone.”

For a moment, I thought he would refuse my gift; but then he took it, clutching it in gnarled, work-worn fingers, a world of wariness in his dark eyes. “Do you seek to force hope upon me?”

“I do,” I said.

He bowed a second time. “I accept it.”