Naamah's Curse

FIFTY-EIGHT

It was the first true respite I’d known since Aleksei and I had escaped to Udinsk.

Now, as then, I knew it was only temporary. Kurugiri and its deadly maze were waiting for me; Tarik Khaga and his bedamned Spider Queen were waiting for me; to the best of my knowledge, Bao continued to languish under her spell, ensorceled by the Black Diamond of Kamadeva.

Or not; mayhap Manil Datar was right, and my stubborn peasant-boy was happy in her thrall.

I didn’t believe it, but nor did I believe Bao was in imminent danger at this point. So I was more than grateful to accept this respite, and pray that the gods revealed their will.

I offered prayers of my own to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, and to Blessed Elua and his Companions, and most especially to Naamah.

I went with the Rani Amrita to make offerings to her gods.

There were temples to Sakyamuni the Enlightened One in Bhaktipur, but like most of her folk, my lady Amrita worshipped the gods of Bhodistan, of which there were a bewildering array further complicated by the fact that many of them existed in multiple incarnations. I have to own, I never did get all of them straight in my head.

“It does not matter, Moirin,” Amrita said kindly. “Only that you open your heart to them.”

I tried.

We went first to the temple of the goddess Durga to whom rats were sacred. She was the patron-goddess of Amrita’s husband’s family, who were descended from one of her incarnations. Rats had aided the goddess in a battle against a demon that took the form of a buffalo, nipping and harrying its heels as they fought. One of Durga’s later incarnations decreed that the spirits of her descendants would not go into the keeping of the god of the dead, but be housed in rats before being reborn.

It was very confusing.

I liked the temple, though. It made me glad to see hundreds of rats swarming over the marble floors, bright-eyed, glossy, and well fed, tame and friendly. There were tiny secret passages throughout the walls, so they darted and scurried about, emerging from unexpected nooks and crannies. The rats flocked to Amrita, scuttling around her ankles in a moving carpet of fur. When she stooped to place an offering tray of grain on the floor, a stream of rats poured over her hands as though to caress her, for which I did not blame them in the least.

“So you see, Moirin!” She smiled at me. “The Lady of Rats.”

I smiled back at her. “I see.”

We made an offering to the goddess herself, who was depicted as a beautiful warrior woman seated on a tiger. I thought of my warrior princess Snow Tiger, and hoped it was a good omen.

Over the course of days, we made offerings at more temples than I could remember: Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, who I understood formed a great triad that created the beginning, middle, and end of the world. Krishna the lover, generous Lakshmi, and fierce Kali with her out-thrust tongue and her necklace of skulls; and others I could not recall. There were gods and goddesses dancing, meditating, resting on great serpents. Hanuman, who was a monkey, which quite delighted me. Blue-skinned gods, black-skinned goddesses, many with a multitude of arms. It was all very strange, though beautiful in an unfamiliar way.

There was even one god, Ganesha, who had the head of an elephant on a man’s body. When I asked Amrita why in the world it was so, she laughed and said there were different stories, and that it had never occurred to her to wonder which was true.

“Why do you think it odd?” she asked, teasing me. “You liked Hanuman. And you worship a bear!”

“Aye, but not a woman with a bear’s head!” I protested.

We journeyed through the streets in Amrita’s palanquin, carried by strapping fellows and surrounded by a contingent of devoted guards bearing armloads of flowers and offering goods. Everywhere we went, the folk of Bhaktipur greeted their Rani with joyful bows, and it was clear to me that she was much beloved. One thing troubled me, though.

The untouchables, the no-castes.

I came to recognize them quickly by the way they took care to avoid all contact with others, by the way they moved swiftly out of our path to ensure their shadows should not pollute the Rani’s palanquin. As we made our rounds with our abundant offerings, receiving the blessing of temple priests, I found myself thinking about the no-caste girl who had wished to make an offering for her sick mother, clutching her precious armful of tattered marigolds.

On the way back to the palace, I asked Amrita why the girl wasn’t allowed to enter the temple.

“Because she is unclean, her presence would profane it,” she said in her lilting voice. “Only those born to the four castes are allowed to enter the temples, or to listen to the teaching of the priests and receive their blessing.”

It shocked me. “Why?”

“Because that is their kharma, Moirin,” Amrita said patiently. “All of us must obey our kharma. It is the way the world is ordered.”

“I was not born to any caste,” I observed.

“That is not true.” She touched my arm. “You are descended from royalty in your own country. You and I, we are the same caste.”

“Mayhap, but…” I struggled to frame my thoughts. “To deny anyone their gods is cruel.”

Amrita raised her graceful brows. “Do your gods give themselves to everyone? Your bear-goddess and your Elua and Naamah and the others?”

I began to utter an indignant yes, but the word faltered in my mouth. I fell silent, thinking. Among the Maghuin Dhonn, not everyone who passed through the stone doorway was accepted as one of Her own children. Where did those who were rejected turn? What gods took them in, claimed them for their own? Offered them the solace of faith? I didn’t know.

Blessed Elua and his Companions turned no one away, not so far as I knew. And yet… I did not recall ever hearing of anyone not of D’Angeline blood worshipping the gods of Terre d’Ange.

The bright lady stirred in my thoughts, reminding me of blessings bestowed; but when I thought on it further, I had to acknowledge that the Emperor of Ch’in’s daughter and the nephew of the Patriarch of Riva met my lady Amrita’s definition of caste.

It made me unsure.

“No,” I said at length. “Maybe not. Yet it seems unfair, this.”

“Only to us, young one.” Amrita touched my arm again, stroking it gently. “The gods take a longer view, one that spans many lifetimes. The wheel of rebirth turns, and we carry our kharma with us, life after life. None of us can escape it. And who are you to argue against accepting your kharma?” She gave me a sweet, rueful smile. “It seems to me that your gods have set you a very difficult fate, and you have accepted it, no matter how unfair it is to you.”

“Aye, but…”

Her dark eyes were inquiring. “Yes?”

I touched my chest. “We are different, we of the Maghuin Dhonn. She Herself, She gave us a spark to follow. A thing to guide us. Even so, we make mistakes.” I shook my head, frustrated. “In Vralia, I saw. Sometimes men with a hunger for power try to shape the gods to fit their ideas. Priests, even. Maybe it happens here, too.”

Amrita was quiet for a long while, the palanquin jogging beneath us. “That is a grave thought, Moirin,” she said eventually.

“Aye,” I agreed. “It is.”

She met my gaze, fearless and steady. “I will think on it.”