Kushiel 03 - [Moirin 02] - Naamah's Curse

by Jacqueline Carey

  “Yes, but—”

  “But what?” I ate my bread. “No doubt sodomy is a vile and painful experience if it is forced. That does not make the act sinful in and of itself, nor does it mean it cannot be pleasant if done willingly and properly… Aleksei, your mouth is agape.”

  “Are you trying to find some further means of shocking me, Moirin?” he asked uncertainly.

  “No.”

  He exhaled hard. “Every time I think I’ve begun to understand, there seems some further goal on the horizon. And I will say again, this is one I will not pursue. Not with a woman, and most assuredly not with a man.”

  “It’s not a requirement, sweet boy.” I toyed with my spoon. “There are D’Angelines who find pleasure in acts even I would shun; and there are D’Angelines who find the deepest abiding joy in remaining faithful to their chosen loves. So long as Blessed Elua’s precept is obeyed and the sacred tenet of consensuality is honored, Naamah’s blessing is on all of them.” I took a bite of stew, and swallowed. “I would have you be mindful of it as you seek to bring new understanding to your faith, that’s all.”

  Aleksei was silent a moment. “I will try.”

  “Some of it shocked me, too,” I added. “At least at first.”

  He looked relieved. “I confess myself glad to hear it.”

  “I can teach you some of Naamah’s arts if you wish,” I offered. “Only the parts I think you will like.”

  His expression turned confused. “But you already have.”

  I hid a smile. “Ah, no. That was love-making as a simple act of benediction. There are a hundred different kinds of kisses and caresses one can use to coax and please a lover, and that is only the beginning.”

  Aleksei paused, then nodded. “I would like that, if you are willing. I think…” He smiled wryly. “I think perhaps one day my bride will be very glad I said yes.”

  I couldn’t help but think of my lady Jehanne teaching me at Cereus House, naming and demonstrating until I had to beg her to stop; and Jehanne months later, giving me one of her sparkling looks in the enchanted bower she’d had made for me. Oh, I’ve got you well on your way to possessing an adept’s skills, Moirin.

  Gods, it hurt to think of her being gone. I wondered what she would make of the uses to which I’d put the arts she had taught me.

  I thought she would approve; mayhap even laugh with delight. She was Naamah’s child through and through. And ever since I had first laid eyes on Jehanne, Naamah’s face had come to resemble hers in my thoughts.

  “I was taught by the foremost courtesan in Terre d’Ange, Aleksei,” I said to him. “Trust me, your bride will be glad of it.”

  FORTY-THREE

  Several days of pure indolence followed.

  In truth, we had little else to do in Udinsk while we waited for the Patriarch to turn his attention away from the south. We listened to gossip in the marketplace, hoping in vain to hear rumors of his movements. Aleksei returned to the smith who had bought my chains and purchased a cooking-pot and a small belt knife for me. We found a sail-maker and commissioned a tent of tough canvas that was done in a day’s time.

  Beyond that, our time was our own.

  And Aleksei proved an apt pupil.

  Betimes I was hard put not to laugh, as determined and earnest as he was. He was Naamah’s child, aye; but he was a scholar by nature and training alike, and he applied a scholar’s discipline to learning Naamah’s arts.

  “Tracing the nautilus,” he breathed in my ear, echoing the latest term I had taught him. The tip of his tongue described a dwindling spiral and probed my inner canal rather too insistently. “Moirin, stop giggling!”

  “It tickles!”

  His blue eyes were wide and sincere. “Isn’t it supposed to?”

  “Not exactly, no.” I showed him again, beginning with a line of soft kisses along his jaw, nipping gently on his earlobe, sucking it into my mouth. “Softly,” I whispered into his ear. “Slowly. Delicately; oh so delicately.” I traced circles with my tongue, darting and flickering it until Aleksei shuddered and groaned. I pulled back. “Listen, and pay attention to your lover’s response. After all, that is the most important thing. Let her body’s response tell you what pleases her.”

  Letting out a growl, Aleksei pinned me to the bed. “I know what pleases you!”

  “Some things, aye.” I wound my arms around his neck, kissing his lips. “Not all, sweet boy. Not even close. And you do not know what pleases this wife you have not yet met, who will no doubt be far less licentious than I. So I suggest you heed my advice.”

  By and large, he did.

  And by and large, Aleksei blossomed under my tutelage. The sense of grace that Naamah’s blessing had bestowed lingered over us. He remained comfortable in his skin. He walked differently, even stood differently. He held his head higher, no longer ducking it modestly under the slightest scrutiny, blushing less.

  His taut, hunched shoulders straightened and squared. The movement of his long, rangy limbs acquired a loose grace. He ate heartily, loved freely. He began to laugh more easily and readily, even at himself.

  It was beautiful to see.

  I thought often of Aleksei’s mother, Valentina, in those days, wishing she could see her son as I did. It was what she had wanted for him—her caged bird set free, free to stretch his wings and fly, finding his true element. I liked teaching him, but I liked best those times when lessons were over, and Aleksei gave himself over to sheer passion, rocking between my thighs and thrusting deep inside me, whispering blasphemous prayers into the crook of my neck.

  But by the fourth day, I was restless, too long confined indoors.

  “Let’s go for a ride,” I suggested.

  He paused. “Why?”

  I shrugged. “Why not? It will be good to acquaint ourselves with our mounts—and to make certain that dealer hasn’t sold them out from under us,” I added. “I don’t trust that fellow.”

  That swayed him—that and the picnic lunch that Polina kindly offered to pack for us. Having discovered his appetite, Aleksei was constantly hungry, and I was pleased that he wasn’t yet inclined to resume the discipline of fasting.

  I took my Tatar bow with me, or at least, I had Aleksei bring it. I had in mind to practice with it. Taking note of it, Polina suggested that we might find grouse or pheasant in the meadows upriver, and that game-birds would be a welcome addition to supper. The thought of shooting for the pot made me homesick, missing my own mother, but it brought good memories, too.

  For a mercy, our sturdy little horses were awaiting us safely in the dealer’s stable. We rode out of town, past the Tatar encampment, and set out upriver in search of the meadows Polina had mentioned.

  I was in good spirits. All had gone well in Udinsk, and in two days’ time, we would take our leave.

  And at last I would be travelling in the direction of Bao and the missing half of my diadh-anam. I’d managed to keep myself from constant worry, but it would be a relief to be moving toward him.

  We found the meadows, filled with bright yellow flowers blossoming beneath the blue sky. I asked Aleksei what they were called, but he didn’t know. After we tethered our mounts and spread a blanket for our picnic, I let myself stroke the blossoms, taking in their quick, joyous thoughts.

  This, too, reminded me of home. I couldn’t resist coaxing one unopened bud to blossom, breathing softly over it.

  Aleksei watched wide-eyed as the bright yellow petals opened to the sun. “More magic?”

  “Aye.” I smiled. “A small gift, nothing more. If there’s some greater purpose in it, it’s not yet been revealed to me.”

  He shook his head. “You’re full of surprises.”

  We ate the lunch of sausages, cheese, and brown bread that Polina had packed for us, and afterward, I introduced Aleksei to the pleasure of making love outdoors, with nothing but earth and sky around us.

  “Now I truly do feel like Edom and Yeva in the Garden,” he whispered to me. “I only wish—”
/>
  I stopped his mouth with a kiss. “I know. But I cannot stay here.”

  “I know,” Aleksei said softly, brushing the hair back from my face. “But I do wish it, Moirin.”

  I kissed him again. “Let’s see if I can get a brace of grouse for Polina, shall we?”

  He accompanied me as I walked along the piney woods that lined the meadow, an arrow nocked loosely. It took half an hour before I flushed a lone grouse, rising out of the underbrush with a startling clatter of wings.

  That bird, I missed; and it took us another half hour to find the arrow I’d loosed. But after that, I flushed and shot two birds in quick succession, wringing their necks swiftly so that they did not suffer. By then it was late enough in the afternoon that we decided to return to the inn.

  “It’s passing strange,” Aleksei mused as we rode. “In Riva, you seemed so very different to me.”

  “One of the many Moirins,” I said lightly.

  “No, it’s not just that. I saw you as I was taught to see you,” he said. “When you were angry and bitter and resentful, I thought it was the badness in you, Naamah’s curse, the unclean spirit fighting against God’s efforts to redeem it. Even when I gave you my mother’s book to read, it was because I hoped you would respond better to a message of love and compassion.”

  “You weren’t wrong,” I murmured.

  “No, but… seeing you now, in your own element, I realize you were angry for the exact reason you said.” Aleksei glanced at me. “You were a wild creature meant to live free, and we cast you in chains.”

  I raised my brows. “You’re only just now realizing this?”

  “Day by day, I realize it more.” He smiled wryly. “Today, I am realizing that you would have every right to hate me for the role I played in your captivity.” He paused. “Do you? At least a little?”

  “No.” I drew rein and leaned over in the saddle to touch his arm. “You were in a cage, too, Aleksei, only you could not even see the bars. I don’t hate you. Even in my worst moments, I never hated you.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Moirin. I’ve never said it, have I? I should have said it days ago. I’m sorry for what my uncle did to you. I’m sorry for what you have suffered. I’m sorry for being a part of it. I’m sorry we took you away from…” His voice faltered, then continued. “From that Bao you spoke of, and your soul-spark he carries. No matter what I may wish, I can tell that you love him and fear for him.” His blue eyes shone, guileless and remorseful. “I’m very, very sorry.”

  It touched me more than I could have reckoned. Until Aleksei gave me one, I hadn’t known part of me yearned for an apology, any apology.

  “Thank you,” I said simply.

  Aleksei nodded. “You’re welcome. For all the many kindnesses you have shown me…” His color rose. “I owe you a great deal more than an apology.”

  I smiled. “Oh, I have enjoyed the kindnesses, sweet boy. Do not think I haven’t.”

  “I don’t.” He smiled back at me. “You’ve taught me that much. But do not think I am not grateful for them, or for the generosity and forbearance you have shown me.”

  “I don’t,” I assured him. “You have a good heart, Aleksei.”

  Thus in accord, we resumed our journey back into Udinsk. Passing the Tatar encampment, I caught sight of Vachir’s wife, Arigh, milking a goat and waved to her, hoisting the brace of grouse that she might see I’d put her bow to good use. She smiled and raised a hand in reply.

  We entered the city proper, our stalwart horses jogging steadily beneath us. I bowed my head and touched the thoughts of my mount lightly, stroking her withers, trying to think of a name that might suit her now that we had spent an entire day together. The squinty-eyed trader hadn’t bothered to name his wares.

  Something calm, I thought, something hardy.

  Somewhere, someone shouted.

  My head came up sharply.

  “Moirin…” Aleksei’s voice shook. He pointed ahead of us.

  There were men in the city square—too many men. Armed and mounted men, not merchants and traders. I recognized the wide-set figure and grizzled beard of the Duke of Vralsturm, and the attire of his soldiers.

  And beside him…

  I swore under my breath at the sight of the Patriarch of Riva, wearing black robes, seated astride a rather good-looking chestnut saddle-horse—swore and reached for my bow, glad that I’d forgotten to give it back to Aleksei for appearances’ sake.

  “Moirin, no!”

  I ignored Aleksei, nocking an arrow. The Duke’s men rode forward slowly, fanning out to create a semicircle. I willed my mount to be still, and she stood like a statue beneath me. Beside the Duke of Vralsturm, Pyotr Rostov smiled his creamy smile, raising one hand to stroke his beard in a thoughtful gesture.

  “Moirin mac Fainche,” he said in a deep, resonant voice.

  I leveled my arrow at his chest. “One and the same, my lord. How did you find us?”

  His smile broadened. “A suspicious smith offered an unusual set of chains for sale made certain inquiries. Pity about the chains, but that’s a moot point now.”

  Ah, gods! It was the fellow at that second smithy, the one who had asked too many questions. I glanced around the square. Some folk were pelting off in different directions, spreading the news of the brewing confrontation. Others gathered at a safe distance to watch, curiosity written in their faces.

  All too well, I knew how quickly it could turn to hostility.

  Even now, the Patriarch was addressing them in Vralian, and I’d learned enough to grasp that he was explaining that I was a sinful witch possessed by unclean spirits, that I was sentenced to death, and that the Duke and his men had come to take me into custody and administer the sentence.

  “That’s not true!” Aleksei raised his voice, speaking slowly and distinctly in Vralian so that I could follow. “Uncle, I know Moirin. She has unusual gifts, yes, but there is no unclean spirit in her!”

  “You are bewitched, boy,” his uncle replied, his brows drawing together in a scowl. “We will pray together.”

  Aleksei shook his head stubbornly. “I’m telling the truth. I would stake my life on it!”

  The Patriarch’s voice dropped to a low rumble. “And you just might if you insist on this course. You’ve been like a son to me, Aleksei, but I cannot protect you if you will not renounce the witch.”

  Aleksei blanched.

  “He can’t,” I said quickly. “You are right. I bewitched him so thoroughly he does not know it himself.”

  “She’s lying!” Aleksei shouted. “She’s trying to protect me! Moirin, I won’t let you. I won’t lie.” There were tears in his blue eyes. “I felt Naamah’s blessing myself. It is real, it is true and beautiful, and there is no curse in it. None!”

  The Duke of Vralsturm gestured curtly to his men. “Take them both.”

  “Hold!” I drew the bowstring back two more inches to its fullest extension, keeping my arrow trained on Pyotr Rostov’s chest, and my gaze fixed on his face. No one moved. “Let us go, or I will kill him.”

  “Moirin, don’t!” Aleksei murmured. “Please, don’t do this. You’re not a killer.”

  “I have killed men before,” I said with a calmness I did not feel. “And I will kill your uncle if he does not recant his order.”

  The Patriarch returned my gaze steadily. He had courage, I’d grant him that. Courage, ambition, and a fanatic’s belief in the rightness of his cause. It was all written in his face. And I saw, too, that he believed in his heart that I was bluffing. I saw a vision of a future unspooling between us, a future in which my corruption of his golden nephew Aleksei became a rallying point for the Church of Yeshua Ascendant. Here in this square, Aleksei would be slain for the sin of loving me, martyred for his uncle’s cause—and my death would be but the first in a long crusade against the sinful D’Angelines and the unnatural bear-witches of the Maghuin Dhonn.

  A future of banners and bloodshed, preparing the world with fire and
steel for Yeshua ben Yosef’s return; and in the center of it all, the Patriarch of Riva stoking the fires with his splendid rhetoric, causing it all to happen.

  I sucked in my breath, shaking at the vision, my arms trembling from the strain of holding the drawn bow.

  Pyotr Rostov smiled in triumph. “Take them.”

  Steadying my grip, I loosed the bowstring.

  “Moirin, no!” Aleksei cried a second time, hurling himself from the saddle and crashing into me, dragging me from my mount. I fell hard onto the cobbled square, striking my head on the stones, Aleksei falling atop me.

  The world went black for a moment—pitch-black, with starbursts of light spangling the darkness. My head hurt. Everywhere around us, there was shouting and clattering, sounds like an avalanche of rocks falling.

  In the sparkling darkness, I wondered if the folk of Udinsk had begun to stone me already, wondered how they’d armed themselves so quickly. I shoved frantically at Aleksei’s weight, pushing him off me.

  The clattering got louder, and so did the shouting.

  I scrambled to my feet, shaking my head to clear it. There seemed to be a sea of surging horse-flesh between me and my adversaries. In between the churning legs, shaggy flanks, and thick, arching necks, I caught a glimpse of the Duke’s men retreating to regroup and the Patriarch kneeling on the cobblestones, grimacing, his fingers clutching at the shaft of an arrow protruding just below his collarbone.

  “Lady archer.” Vachir’s face hung above me, silhouetted against the bright blue sky as he leaned down from the saddle. I squinted, seeing two of him. “Are you well?”

  Tatars.

  The Tatars from the encampment had come to my rescue.

  I laughed, a short, wondering laugh. “Not exactly. But, Vachir… why?”

  He smiled his quiet smile. “I offered you the hospitality of my roof.”

  There was more to it, but I understood. Vachir and his fellow traders were settling the balance of debt the Great Khan Naram himself incurred when he violated the sacred laws of hospitality. “Thank you,” I said softly.

  Vachir nodded. “You should come with us. Now.”