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

by Jacqueline Carey

  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.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  Offerings.

  So many offered, so many made! I did my best to obey my lady Amrita’s advice and keep my heart open, waiting for the guidance of the gods—hers or mine.

  Other than the constant shadow of foreboding, it was a pleasant time. I liked visiting the temples. Although the issue of the untouchables continued to trouble me, I liked Bhaktipur and its folk.

  I continued to be a little bit in love with Amrita; and I grew passing fond of her son, Ravindra, too. He was such a somber, polite young lad, more like a miniature adult than a child. At times it made me smile, but he had the keen wits to match his demeanor, and when he spoke, I took care to listen. It was understood that when Ravindra turned sixteen, his mother would relinquish the throne that had been his father’s to him, and the boy took his impending duty seriously, immersing himself in his studies.

  It was the custom of mother and son to converse over a game of chess after the evening meal, and it pleased them to have me join them.

  It pleased me, too. The Bhodistani chess set they used was a gorgeous thing, with ornate pieces carved of ivory. I especially liked the knights, which were elephants with ruby eyes and tiny riders.

  I liked to watch Amrita and Ravindra concentrate, heads bent over the black-and-white marble board. Betimes it made me think of old tales, of how Prince Imriel had disguised himself with magic and wooed his Princess Sidonie with games of chess when she was under Carthage’s spell and did not know herself. It was a tale with a glad ending, which made me hopeful.

  Betimes it made me think of my lady Jehanne, which was poignant and bittersweet. If she had lived, she would have been Amrita’s age by now, I thought. It grieved me to think that Jehanne’s daughter would grow up without ever knowing her enchanting, vexing mother.

  “Why such a sad look tonight, Moirin?” Amrita inquired the first time it happened, noticing my melancholy. They had finished their game, Ravindra had departed for bed, and we were enjoying cups of tea spiced with cardamom and sweetened with honey. “Are you worried that the gods have not spoken to you yet?”

  “No.” I shook my head. So long as my diadh-anam remained quiet and Bao’s was unchanged, I was not worried—or at least no more than I had been. “Thinking of the past, only.” I had not told her the whole of my history. “In Terre d’Ange, I served as Queen Jehanne’s companion. When I left, she was with child.”

  “Ah, very good!” she exclaimed.

  I smiled with sorrow. “Yes and no, my lady. I learned in Vralia that my lady Jehanne died in childbirth. Watching you and Ravindra…” I shrugged. “It makes me sad. Glad for you, but sad for Jehanne and her daughter, who will never know her mother.”

  “Oh!” Compassion flooded her features. “I am sorry, very sorry.” Sipping her tea, Amrita studied me. “I think you loved her very much, this queen,” she said gently. “I know something of D’Angelines and their customs, and your face is much the same as when you speak of your young man Bao.”

  “Aye,” I murmured. “I did.”

  Amrita cocked her head. “Do I remind you of her?”

  It startled a soft laugh out of me. “You? No, my lady. Jehanne… she was not always nice, not always kind.” In the City of Elua, they took wagers on how long Jehanne would go without making a chambermaid cry. I couldn’t even imagine the Rani uttering a cruel word, let alone giving in to the notorious bouts of temper to which Jehanne had been prone. “I think it may have been different after the babe was born, though,” I added. “And it makes me sad that I will never see it.”

  “There is no secret wisdom that comes with motherhood,” Amrita said ruefully. “I never felt more alone and lost than when Ravindra was born.”

  She had been sixteen, I knew now; they wed young in Bhodistani countries. Sixteen, a young widow, and a new mother, far from her childhood home, forced to assume rule of a tiny kingdom that lay beneath the shadow of Kurugiri.

  “It must have been very, very hard,” I said.

  “Yes.” She made an eloquent gesture. “But it was my kharma. Elsewhere in Bhodistan, it would have been worse. I would have been expected to follow my husband into death. However, he forbade it.”

  “I am very glad.” I shuddered inwardly at the revelation, and inhaled the fragrant steam rising from my tea. “Did you love him?” I asked softly. “Ravindra’s father?”

  “My lord Chakresh?” Amrita was silent a moment. “I honored him. He was a good man, gentle and brave. A good husband, and he would have been a good father. In a way, I wish he had not been so brave, insisting on facing Khaga’s assassins, for he might have lived if he had not. I miss him. But I do not think I felt what is written on your face when you speak of those you love.” She gave me a faint smile. “Perhaps sometimes it is the flaws that make us fall in love, eh? Like your bad boy and your queen.”

  “Perhaps,” I acknowledged. “Although they both had good hearts. Jehanne… I do not think being a mother was some magic that would change her. It was time, that was all. Already, before the child, she was changing, letting herself be kinder and wiser. And Bao…” I thought of the vast streak of impossible romanticism that lay beneath his seemingly careless exterior, and smiled. “Oh, he is not such a bad boy, really.”

  “I hope not.” A troubled expression settled over her lovely face. “Moirin… I do not know what is truth and what is only a tale. But it is said that Kamadeva�
��s diamond cannot compel false desire.”

  A shudder ran the length of my spine. “Are you saying Bao is a willing victim?”

  Amrita tipped her head back and forth, and made an ambiguous gesture with one hand. “No. Willing, no. He crossed the Abode of the Gods in search of you, a journey as difficult as your own. Since he does not come to you, it must be that his will is not his own. But Jagrati could not bind him to her with Kamadeva’s diamond if there were not a spark of true desire present.”

  I glanced unerringly in the direction of Kurugiri, where Bao’s diadh-anam was a dull, guttering spark. “Is she beautiful, this Jagrati?”

  “I have not seen her,” Amrita admitted. “But the tales say so. Beautiful and terrible at once, like Kali dancing.”

  The image of the goddess Kali I had seen surfaced in my memory, her tongue thrust out in a frenzy as she danced, wearing a necklace of human skulls and a girdle of severed arms around her waist.

  I shivered.

  Bao had died—died, and lived. There was a shimmering darkness that hung over him that had not been there before. Mayhap such a terrible beauty spoke to him.

  “Oh, Moirin!” Amrita said with dismay, reaching out to stroke my arm. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

  “No, I know.” I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it. “Better to know, yes? There are many kinds of desire, my lady.”

  She shook her head at me, but she was smiling again, which pleased me. “You are a little bit of a bad girl, I think.”

  I smiled back at her. “I am a child of Naamah’s line, and desire is my birthright. I do not need a god’s ashes to make it so. I hold it sacred. It is my path. I am enough of a D’Angeline that I am not afraid to fight for love. I am not afraid to acknowledge it where I find it, including in your person, highness. And when it comes to Bao, I am not afraid to match desire for desire with the Spider Queen.”

  Amrita’s gaze lingered on mine, caring and worried. “Is that wise, Moirin?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, my lady. I hope so. But so long as the gods remain silent, who can say?”

  Ten days later, the gods broke their silence; or at least the mortal agents by which they made their will known surfaced. I found out why my diadh-anam had been content to allow me to linger in Bhaktipur.

  The Falconer sent for me.

  I would have expected high drama, a clever assassin armed to the teeth and filled with dire threats. But no, the messenger was an utterly unprepossessing fellow, not remarkable in any way in the slightest, save his utter lack of fear at being sent to deliver such a message. The assassin, I suppose, came later.

  The Rani Amrita granted him an audience, sending for both her son, Ravindra, and me to attend it.

  We heard him out.

  “It has come to the attention of his majesty Tarik Khaga that the Rani of Bhaktipur gives shelter to a foreign dakini of surpassing beauty and power,” the fellow droned, rocking back on his heels, his gaze raking over me with unabashed appreciation. “He demands that you send her to him immediately.”

  The Rani raised her brows. “Or?”

  The messenger smiled, his upper lip curling to show his teeth. “I believe your highness knows the price of refusing such a request.”

  I glanced at Amrita, but she silenced me with a slight shake of her head. “We will take counsel, and give you our reply within a day.” She raised her right hand, palm outward, and there was enough quiet strength and power in the gesture that the Falconer’s messenger took an involuntary step backward. I had come to learn the meaning of some of these ritual gestures, and this one symbolized her lack of fear, and her protection of me. “Go, and return tomorrow.”

  The fellow pressed his palms together and bowed. “I will do so, highness.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting from me to her to Ravindra. “Do not do anything foolish, highness,” he murmured. “The boy has already lost his father.”

  “Tomorrow,” the Rani repeated.

  Once he had left, we met to discuss the matter. My heart was beating fast and my chest felt too tight.

  Kurugiri.

  It was the opportunity I had sought, and yet… I was scared. In the old tales, Phèdre nó Delaunay had entered a terrible kingdom of death and despair to rescue the missing prince, giving herself over to the kingdom’s dark ruler. Now that the moment was upon me, I wasn’t sure I had the same courage.

  “Sit and breathe, Moirin,” Amrita said gently. “Calm your thoughts.” She pressed the tips of her fingers and thumbs together in a ritual gesture intended to aid in focus and concentration, and Ravindra emulated her, his young face graver than usual. “Come, let us all think.”

  I took the thinking-pose, too, and forced myself to cycle through the Five Styles of Breathing.

  It helped settle my nerves, but it brought no insights. “I have to go with him, my lady,” I said. “I cannot let Tarik Khaga send his falcons after you. I will go with him, find the path to Kurugiri, find Bao. It must be what the gods intend.”

  “Is that what your bear-goddess says to you?” Amrita inquired.

  Frowning, I consulted my diadh-anam. It was flickering with eagerness, like coals blown into fresh flame, but it was not flaring with certainty. “I’m not sure.”

  “Then there must be another way,” she said calmly. “And I would very much like to find it.”

  Ravindra, who was now idly pushing pieces around the chessboard, was silent.

  A thought came to me, so simple and logical that I didn’t know why it hadn’t come to me right away. “No matter what we say, the messenger has to bring our reply back to Kurugiri, does he not? I could call the twilight and follow him.”

  “They know about your magic, Moirin,” Ravindra said without looking up from the chessboard. “He knew you are a dakini. It is likely that your Bao has told them everything about you.”

  I winced.

  “I’m sorry.” He gave me an apologetic glance. “But I think we must assume this is a trap.”

  Amrita stroked her son’s hair. “Wise boy. I think so, too. And I am not going to let you walk into it, Moirin.”

  “Well, I am not going to let the Falconer send assassins after you, highness!” I said in frustration. “I could not live with it.”

  “It is not your choice!” There was a sharp note in her musical voice I had never heard before.

  I spread my hands. “Do you intend to lock me away? Unless you do, I will go. The gods have sent a sign. What else am I to do?”

  “It is a game to them, I think,” Ravindra said in a clear, precise voice, one slim finger touching the carved figure of the black king. “The Falconer and his Spider Queen. They sit atop their mountain, controlling the board with their pawns and knights. This was the opening gambit. What we must do is neither accept nor reject it, but offer a gambit of our own.”

  Now my diadh-anam flared—and I knew.

  “A trade,” I whispered. “Me for Bao.”

  Ravindra nodded in approval. “That is a very good gambit, Moirin.”

  “No!” Amrita shook her head. “No, I do not like it, not at all. What if Tarik Khaga accepts it?”

  I swallowed. “Well, then… I go to Kurugiri and bide my time until I can escape. Sooner or later, I will find a way. After all, I am a dakini.”

  She looked unhappy. “Yes, and you are also a young woman of whom I have grown fond. You will suffer there.”

  “Do not worry, Mama-ji,” Ravindra said in a soothing tone. “He will not accept the trade.” His hovering finger moved from the black king to the black queen. “Jagrati will not let him.” He picked up the piece and moved it, setting her in play. “The interesting thing will be seeing their countermove.”

  I eyed him. “You will make quite a ruler one day, young highness.”

  He smiled modestly. “Thank you.”

  SIXTY

  The Falconer’s messenger returned the following day, and the Rani Amrita delivered our reply to him.

  “I can say neither yes nor no t
o your master,” she said to him, her hands folded, middle fingers steepled. It was the ritual gesture I had seen her make the first day we met in the street outside the temple, one I now knew was meant to calm conflict. “As you noted, Moirin mac Fainche is a foreigner, and no subject of mine to compel.”

  The fellow opened his mouth to protest.

  “However!” Amrita raised her right hand in the pose of fearlessness. “She offers a trade. There is a young Ch’in man named Bao in your master’s service. He is the beloved of the dakini Moirin. If Tarik Khaga frees him, she will go willingly to Kurugiri.” She smiled. “A touching sacrifice, do you not think?”

  The messenger scowled and stared at his feet. “I do not know if that is an acceptable answer, highness.”

  She inclined her head. “Nonetheless, it is my reply. Go, and tell him.”

  He went; and we waited.

  I hated waiting, the hard lesson of patience that it seemed I was fated to learn over and over.

  And yet… I had learned it. And I had endured enough to be grateful that if I must be patient and wait, I was very, very fortunate to do so in this very pleasant valley kingdom, the guest of this kind and gracious ruler with her clever, thoughtful son who was wise beyond his years.

  Days passed.

  No one could say for a surety how long it would take. With Manil Datar’s caravan, I’d made the descent from the peak opposite Kurugiri in two days; but the region was deep in winter’s grip by now. Amrita assured me that the route to Kurugiri was at a low enough altitude that it would not become impassable for months on end, unlike other places in the Abode of the Gods. Still, it could be blocked for days if there were snow-storms.

  And no one knew how long it took to ascend the slope itself, navigating the secret path through the tortuous maze.

  So we waited.

  We traded tales. I told the whole long story of helping to rescue the Emperor’s daughter and the dragon, and ending a civil war in Ch’in. My lady Amrita and Ravindra listened to it wide-eyed, both of them clapping excitedly at the good parts.