Jacqueline Carey - Naamah's Curse

We moved.

Save for the fact that the grasslands were not overgrazed, there was little to distinguish the new campsite from the old. We followed the twisting, shallow river that was our source of water.

We established a new camp.

It went up as swiftly as it had been taken down. But my impatience continued unabated, for Bao had moved, too, and I was no closer to him than I had been before.

I very nearly struck out on my own. Only Sarangerel’s tears persuaded me to wait for the gathering of the tribes.

For as much as I thought I might strangle on my own ever-growing impatience, I survived. And when the day came that Batu and a handful of others made ready to set out for the gathering, I found myself in tears, too. Checheg, Grandmother Yue, Sarangerel, little Mongke, and the baby Bayar-all would be staying behind. Blushing Temur, too-left in charge as the eldest male. I embraced them all, suddenly reluctant to say farewell to them.

I gave away two of my last three jade bangles, keeping only the translucent green bracelet the hue of the dragon’s pool. The pale, spotted bangle of leopard jade, I gave to Sarangerel, knowing it was her favorite. I gave a bangle of lavender jade to Checheg in keeping for Bayar, whom I had helped deliver.

“Moirin, you cannot keep giving valuable things away!” Checheg protested. “You are a long way from home, and you may need them.”

I touched the blue silk scarf draped around my neck. “You have given me more valuable gifts, Checheg.”

“We did but honor the laws of hospitality,” she said stubbornly.

I smiled through my tears. “No. You offered me kinship. That is a great deal more.”

She sighed and gave me a hard, fierce hug. “You are a very strange girl.”

I laughed. “You are not the first person to tell me this.”

When there were no more good-byes to be said, Batu gave the command to mount and ride.

Once again, I was leaving behind people I had come to care for. As grateful as I was to answer the relentless call of my diadh-anam , it hurt, too. Mayhap Checheg was right and I would come to regret it, but for now, I was glad I had given away such gifts as I had. They left behind a trail of mementos among the lives that had touched mine. Whether they knew it or not, Bao’s sister Song’s story was linked to my young friend Sarangerel’s.

It pleased me to think on it. And I had kept the tokens that were the most important to me.

I had my dragon-pool bangle-and another gift from Snow Tiger, a dagger with an ivory hilt carved in the shape of a dragon. I had the Imperial jade medallion. I had the squares of cloth that Bao’s mother and sister had embroidered.

I had the blue silk scarf Checheg had given me.

Somewhere in the depths of my battered canvas satchel, I had a crystal bottle of perfume that had been Jehanne’s parting gift.

I had a signet ring my mother had given me so very long ago, etched with twin crests-the boar of the Cullach Gorrym in Alba and the swan of House Courcel in Terre d’Ange, signifying my dual inheritance.

And I had the yew-wood bow my uncle Mabon had made for me, still resilient and sturdy.

It was enough.

Twenty-one of us rode to the gathering of the tribes-twenty Tatars, plus me. Among the Tatars, there were sixteen men and four women.

It seemed I fell somewhere in between.

I had not come to know any of the women outside Batu’s ger well, and nothing changed on our journey. When we made camp at night, the women demurred politely, refusing my assistance. We travelled lightly, subsisting on dried meat and chunks of hardened cheese aged to the point that it took forever to soften in the mouth-at least when there was nothing better.

During the day, the younger men invited me to hunt with them as we rode, shooting at the thick-furred groundhogs that had emerged from hibernation. These were cooked by virtue of slitting their bellies, removing their entrails and inserting heated stones inside the carcasses.

It was not very tasty.

I didn’t care.

We rode beneath the blue sky, and slept beneath the stars. And with every league that passed, my diadh-anam sang inside me.

I didn’t even care when I sensed Bao on the move once more. Wherever he was, he was travelling slowly and in the same direction.

“Yes,” Batu agreed when I remarked on it. “If he is with General Arslan, he is going to the gathering of tribes.”

“What happens there?” I asked, curious.

He stroked his chin. “There will be feasting and games. There will be delegates from other nations. Strategy is discussed. The Great Khan will make his wishes known to us.”

I raised my brows. “Oh?”

Batu’s shoulders moved in a faint shrug. “Do not be concerned. I do not expect there to be talk of war, Moirin. The Emperor of Ch’in’s hand has been strengthened in this last year, in part thanks to you. Of that, I will not speak at the gathering. But we have agreements with others regarding securing the overland trade routes. Vralians, perhaps even northern Bhodistani. Some will be present.”

“Oh,” I said a second time, frowning. I knew the names. Bhodistan-that was the birthplace of Sakyamuni, the Enlightened One, whose followers travelled the Path of Dharma.

Vralia…

I knew that name, too.

Berlik had fled there-Berlik the Oath-Breaker, the last great magician of the Maghuin Dhonn.

The last shape-changer.

He had met his death in the northern wilds of Vralia, hunted down by the relentless D’Angeline prince he had betrayed. In the end, Berlik had sought out his death, seeking to make atonement. He had knelt in the falling snow and bowed his head to the sword. Prince Imriel had slain him and wept at the deed. When I was ten years of age, my mother had taken me to visit the green mound in Clunderry where Berlik’s severed head was buried, a reminder of my people’s folly.

I shivered.

“Do not be afraid, Moirin,” Batu said, mistaking my unease. He leaned over in the saddle and patted my shoulder awkwardly. “I promise you, no one speaks of war this year, only treaties and strategy.”

“I am glad,” I said sincerely.

He lowered his voice. “So am I.”

Eight days into our journey, Bao stopped moving and stayed in one place.

Bao knew I was coming; he had to know. The spark that burned in me, burned in him. And at least he was not fleeing it.

That was something.

Much of the entry into the campsite is a blur in my memory. There were gers and tents erected, that I remember. There were Tatars, more than I could count-and other folk, too. Vralians in thick, woolen clothing trimmed with a great deal of fur. After so long among the Ch’in and Tatars, it came as a shock to me to see Western features, and fair skin and light eyes and hair on many of them. There were others I thought must be Bhodistani, with warm brown skin, clad in many layers of bright attire.

Bao .

I felt his presence like a drumbeat in my heart-in my heart, and on my skin. So close; ah, gods! I barely took stock of the camp, wandering like a blind woman, driven by my diadh-anam’s insistent pulse.

Batu understood. “Go,” he said gently to me. “Go, and find him.”

I went, following the call of my soul.

There were folk milling everywhere-folk, cattle, horses, and dogs. Astride Ember, I picked my way through them. Even here, people paused to stare. The Vralians in particular whispered and murmured amongst themselves. I wasn’t sure why, since it didn’t seem green eyes would be unusual for their kind. I supposed it was because I was dressed as a Tatar, despite my green eyes and half-D’Angeline features.