Naamah's Curse

FIFTY-SEVEN

Never, ever in my life had I been so glad to be ensconced in a man-made structure.

I followed the Rani’s palanquin to her palace in a daze, unable to believe my good fortune. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt that mayhap the gods were smiling on me after all.

Behind the high walls that warded it, the palace was a charming affair built in the Bhodistani style. Dismounting from her palanquin, the Rani gave orders that my horses were to be stabled and tended, and my belongings brought to a suite of rooms. Then she reached up to touch my brow with cool fingers.

“And for you, I think, a physician.” A little furrow formed between her gracefully arched brows. “Even goddesses take sick in mortal form.”

I smiled. “No goddess, highness. But if it is not too much to ask, I would like a bath first.”

She cocked her head, steepling her fingers in a thoughtful pose. “D’Angeline, yes?”

My eyes widened. Since leaving Vralia, I’d felt myself utterly isolated from my roots. “You know of D’Angelines?”

“Oh, yes!” The Rani laughed her chiming laugh. “Not here, no. But in Galanka, when I was a girl, yes.” Her eyes sparkled, and she patted my cheek. “You will have your bath, and I will have my physician. After, you will rest. Later you will tell me your story.”

I had my bath, and it was better than medicine. The Bhodistani did not believe in submerging themselves to bathe, but the Rani sent a pair of young attendants who ladled bucket after bucket of hot water over me, sluicing away weeks of accumulated dirt and dried sweat. They washed and scrubbed every inch of me with gentle thoroughness, and undertook the painstaking process of undoing the matted braids Dorje and Nyima’s daughters had plaited in my locks, easing the coral and turquoise beads out of my hair, and untangling every knotted strand before combing and washing it. The steam helped clear my head, and a profound sense of lassitude suffused my aching body. I thought about Luba scouring me with lye soap and cold water, chopping off my tangled hair with her shears, and murmured a prayer of gratitude to any gods who were listening.

Afterward, they rubbed warm, scented oil into my skin and gave me clean sleeping attire to wear: a pair of loose-fitting breeches and a long tunic of sheer white linen. When they had finished with me, the Rani came with her physician. She listened gravely as he examined me and prescribed a great deal of rest, and a diet of fresh fruits and grains, yoghurt, and spoonfuls of honey.

I was almost too tired to eat anything by the time he left, my eyelids heavy and drooping. Although I was feeling better than I had at my worst, I’d pushed myself so hard for so long, my mind, body, and spirit were utterly exhausted.

And it was such a vast and unspeakable relief to be taken care of, I could have wept.

“Eat, young goddess,” the Rani coaxed me. “A little honey if nothing else. Then you may sleep.”

I obeyed, and found that the honey coated and soothed my sore throat. “You are very kind, highness.”

She smiled in such a way that her cheeks dimpled. “I am very curious.” She laid her hand on my brow. “Better, I think. Now sleep and heal, so I may hear your story.”

Feeling as though I were falling down a long, dark well, I caught her hand and kissed it. “Thank you, my lady.”

“D’Angeline, indeed.” There was a note of amusement in her voice. She stroked my cheek. “Sleep, young one. You are safe here.”

You are safe here.

The words followed me down into the darkness, followed me into my dreams, a lifeline promising me safe harbor. I dreamed the journey across the Abode of the Gods over and over again, reliving the endless trek, Manil Datar’s unsmiling eyes, the feel of his phallus throbbing in my hand as the point of his dagger probed a tender spot below my ear, the enduring suspicion and hostility of the caravan. I dreamed of rockslides and avalanches, paths crumbling beneath my mount’s hooves, of buffeting winds and unrelenting snowfall. Mountain peaks rising above the mist, the treacherous labyrinth that meandered down the slopes of Kurugiri.

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.”