I rubbed my hands over my face, gave my aching head another shake, and took stock of the situation. Beside me, Aleksei got to his feet, trembling.
It was a standoff. The Duke of Vralsturm and his men were in a cluster around the kneeling Patriarch, hands on their sword-hilts. Mounted Tatar warriors milled around them, bows drawn, arrows nocked and poised. The younger men among them had dark, glittering eyes and fierce battle-smiles that reminded me of Bao.
Vachir spoke.
One of the younger men translated his words into Vralian. “We are taking the lady archer and her companion,” he said cheerfully. “If you do not wish to provoke a war, you will let us.”
Pyotr Rostov drew a ragged breath, his voice hoarse with pain. “Your Great Khan gave her to me!”
The Tatars conferred.
“Oh, yes,” their spokesman agreed. “That was a mistake. And the Great Khan will thank us for fixing it… one day.” His battle-smile widened, his eyes bright. “Today, do you wish to make war?”
The Patriarch did.
The Duke of Vralsturm did not. He was a practical man. I watched resignation settle over his broad features, watched him signal his men to stand down.
I hoisted myself astride my mount, glancing at Aleksei. “I think it is best we go with the Tatars. Will you come?”
He hesitated.
“Aleksei, no!” his uncle grated. “It’s not too late for you, boy!”
Aleksei squared his shoulders. “It is, actually,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, Uncle. All my life, I have tried to conform to your vision of what I should be. I have tried to redeem my mother’s sin. But I think… I think you were wrong. I think you have tried to force God and his son Yeshua alike into a mold that is too small and narrow to contain them.” He shook his head. “I did my best to honor you. I did my best to save your life. But I will not allow you to lessen the myriad wonder of God’s infinite grace for me.”
My heart and my diadh-anam sang within me.
“Aleksei…” The Patriarch of Riva repeated his name. “Aleksei, listen, only listen to me!”
My sweet, scholarly boy turned away from him, refusing to hear him.
I kneed my unnamed mount gently, and she stepped forward, ears pricked. From my vantage point, I gazed down at Pyotr Rostov, who knelt on the cobblestones and clutched the protruding shaft, staring at me with hot, angry eyes, as hot and angry as the image of Yeshua on the wall of his temple.
He would live, I thought. Aleksei had done that much for his uncle, sending the arrow I had loosed astray by mere inches.
But his dream, his hateful dream, would die. Neither Aleksei nor I would die here today at the hands of an angry mob. The future the Patriarch had envisioned would no longer come to pass.
And for that, I was grateful. Alive, and grateful.
“You lose,” I said in Vralian, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “And I win.”
FORTY-FOUR
We returned to the Tatar camp, Aleksei and I, protected by a guard of Vachir and his fellow traders.
They were in good spirits, having enjoyed the confrontation immensely, especially the younger men. I learned that it was a young fellow named Chagan, the one who had served as Vachir’s translator, who had witnessed the beginning of the conflict and gone racing to rouse the camp, having recognized me from the archery rematch.
When I thanked him for it, he laughed, showing strong white teeth. “It was a matter of honor, lady archer! Anyone who shoots as well as you do must have Tatar blood in her somewhere.”
Aleksei was quiet and withdrawn. Sensing he wished to be left alone, I didn’t try to draw him out. When he suggested that he should return to the inn with an armed escort and fetch our things, I didn’t argue, even though I had reservations.
I could not blame him for not wanting to be around me at the moment. After all, I had just attempted to kill his uncle in cold blood. The man might have been a monster to me, but for all his faults, he had been like a father to Aleksei; and Aleksei had no way of knowing the vision I had seen unfold.
Despite my reservations, he and his Tatar escorts returned safely with all the possessions we had purchased so painstakingly, even the pack-horse.
“What’s the mood in the city?” I asked in an effort to gauge his own mood.
“Tense,” he murmured without meeting my eyes. “But they are afraid of the Tatars. No one will make trouble.”
I left him alone a while longer, busying myself with helping Arigh with chores around the ger. It felt oddly familiar, except for the absence of children. When I asked Arigh about it, she shook her head with regret, laying one hand over her belly. “No children, no.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She glanced at Vachir, conferring with a handful of traders on the men’s side of the ger. “He is a good husband, though. And I think…” Her eyes crinkled. “I think if he had a daughter, he would like one like you. Spirited, and skilled with a bow.”
I smiled at her. “You’re very kind.”
It was a strange thing indeed, I thought, how much cruelty and kindness existed side by side in the world. The great magician Berlik had found sanctuary and redemption among the Yeshuites in Vralia; save for Aleksei and Valentina, I had found only condemnation.
I thought about the D’Angeline Prince Imriel, who had pursued Berlik into the Vralian wilderness to avenge his wife’s death. He had been used cruelly in his youth, stolen away into slavery, a captivity far worse than aught I had endured. There had been a Tatar warlord who hurt him badly, even branding him with a hot iron.
And yet when the adult Prince Imriel had been imprisoned with a young Tatar horse-thief in Vralia, he’d set him free when he made his escape. I wondered if that act of compassion resonated over generations in some mysterious way, leading to this moment, and my salvation at the hands of Vachir and his fellows.
There are things no one can ever know, I supposed.
For the first time in a while, I found myself missing Master Lo Feng, feeling his loss acutely. He’d always had a way of putting everything into perspective. I pictured him smiling, folding his hands into his wide sleeves.
All ways lead to the Way, Moirin.
“Moirin?”
“Aye?” I was startled out of my reverie by Vachir’s voice, realizing I was standing and gazing into space, my hands sunk deep into floury wheat-dough. Arigh and I had been making meat-filled dumplings.
He gave a low chuckle, reaching out to rub a smudge of flour from my cheek; and indeed, there was a father’s tenderness in his touch. “We were planning to return to Tatar territory in a week’s time, but if we conclude our bargains swiftly, we can be on our way the day after tomorrow. Will you and your young companion accompany us? It will be safer for you,” he added.
“I will,” I said without hesitating, glancing at Aleksei.
Vachir followed my gaze. “And the boy?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Arigh laid her hand on my shoulder, squeezing it in gentle sympathy. “Talk to him.”
After supper, I did.
It was hard, harder than I had reckoned. Everyone else in the ger gave us a wide berth. I sat cross-legged opposite Aleksei, drawing a deep breath.
“Are you angry at me?” I asked without mincing words. “I do not blame you if you are.”
“Angry?” he echoed, his voice soft. “No… not angry, Moirin.”
“Disappointed?”
Aleksei frowned in thought. “No, I’m… I don’t know. I understand, I do. And I cannot blame you, not really. After all, he was sentencing you to death. All you wanted was to be left alone. It’s just…” He shook his head. “It shocked me nonetheless. Are you angry at me for trying to stop you?”
“No.” I took his hand, holding it lightly. He tensed, but he didn’t pull away. “You would not be who you are if you hadn’t, sweet boy. Only I would have you know, I did not do it solely out of hatred or a desire for vengeance.”
His b
rows knit. “No?”
I stroked his palm. “Long ago, my ancestors among the Maghuin Dhonn had the gift of scrying the future in the stone circles, seeing all the different paths that might come to pass and trying to choose among them. It is a gift we abandoned voluntarily after choosing unwisely, after Berlik was cursed.”
“I know,” Aleksei murmured.
“It’s not a gift the Maghuin Dhonn Herself withdrew from us, Aleksei,” I said softly. “And I have seen visions of the future I did not seek. I saw one in the temple that day, do you remember?”
He nodded.
“It happened once before, too. On the battlefield in Ch’in.” I kept my voice low and steady, realizing he was listening. “I saw a vision of a terrible future, one that should never be allowed to come to pass. I saw another one today, written in your uncle’s eyes.” Pausing, I debated whether or not to tell him that his uncle would have been willing to sacrifice Aleksei to his cause. “Your uncle’s threat wasn’t an idle one, Aleksei. I saw our deaths give rise to a future of war and bloodshed in Yeshua’s name, in which D’Angelines and the Maghuin Dhonn alike were persecuted for their nature. And that is what I sought to avert.”
Aleksei swallowed, his throat working. “Even so… you didn’t even hesitate, Moirin!”
“I warned him,” I said. “Beyond that, I didn’t dare.”
He looked away, and then looked back, gazing at his hand resting loosely in mine. Gently and regretfully, he extricated his hand. “I believe you,” he said in a quiet voice. “I do. But I think our paths part here.”
“You’re sure?” I asked.
“Yes.” Aleksei smiled with sorrow; and it was a man’s smile, not a boy’s. “You’ll be safe with Vachir and his men. You have given me so much, Moirin. I suspect I will spend a lifetime contemplating its purpose in God’s plan. But you are not for me, and I am not for you. I will free you to seek out this stubborn peasant-boy Bao, who carries half of the soul-spark of your unknowable bear-goddess within him.”
“What will you do?” I whispered. “Where will you go?”
His wide shoulders rose and fell in a faint shrug. “I will stay here in Vralia, where I am meant to be, and try to determine what God and Yeshua will of me. Mayhap I’ll make my way west to seek out a yeshiva where the wisdom of Rebbe Avraham ben David is taught. Once I know I can care for her, I’ll send for my mother.”
My eyes stung.
“Don’t cry, Moirin,” he pleaded with me.
“I’m not!” I lied.
Aleksei shifted, kneeling, and cupped my face. “You are,” he said softly, tenderly. “And it’s all right. I do love you. I will always love you.” He smiled again, his expression transcendent, his blue, blue eyes filled with light. “And I will convince the world to do so, too; or at least my small corner of it.”
He kissed me.
I kissed him back, and sniffled. “I will miss you.”
“So will I.”
FORTY-FIVE
Two days later, Aleksei and I parted forever.
It hurt.
It always hurts, leaving a loved one behind. I hadn’t meant to love Aleksei. Until the moment I knew I had lost him, I hadn’t realized I did love him.
Naamah’s curse, indeed.
Gods, he was such a gentle soul! He watched me depart amid Vachir’s company of Tatars, following a southern tributary of the Ude River. He smiled in farewell, tall and broad-shouldered, raising one hand in a salute.
Our destinies tore and parted.
“May you find yours, sweet boy,” I murmured under my breath. “May you reshape your Church in a kinder, gentler image.”
I hoped he would be safe and well. I didn’t like leaving him with the Patriarch’s threat hanging over him. Aleksei had helped me escape, and he had refused to renounce me. On the other hand, he had saved his uncle’s life, and all of Udinsk had watched him do it. And I couldn’t protect him. Even if he had been willing to come with us as far as the Tatar lands, he would have returned to Vralia afterward. It was his home.
Over his protests, I’d left him one of the saddle-horses and half the remaining coin from selling the chains, along with a few supplies. Left to his own devices, Aleksei would have preferred to accept nothing, venturing out into the world like an itinerant wandering monk. I was glad I’d been able to convince him to accept what he had. Still, he was so naive and inexperienced. I hoped it would be enough, and that the world would treat him kindly.
I wondered if I would ever know, and knew it was possible that I wouldn’t.
But mayhap I would; mayhap one day I would hear of a half-D’Angeline priest in distant Vralia who preached a doctrine of compassion and acceptance that attempted to reconcile different faiths, who had written a tract regarding his encounter with his own unlikely heretic saint.
The thought cheered me during our journey.
And I was profoundly grateful to be travelling with the Tatars, profoundly grateful for their protection. The first leg of our journey was a tense one. Gossip had spread before us, and within days, we were passing through villages where Pyotr Rostov and the Duke’s men had sought me.
In every village and settlement, people came out to stare and point, trying to pick me out among the Tatar throng.
A few times, they threw stones—small boys too foolish to be afraid, for the most part. When it happened, Chagan and the other young men dashed after them on horseback, instilling in them the fear the boys lacked.
At night when we camped, Vachir posted guards. No one came to molest us, too wary of the Tatars’ reputation for ferocity, unwilling to provoke a conflict that might escalate. Still, I was glad when we passed the last settlement and entered the wilderness of the mountain range along the southern border.
For the first time in months, I truly felt I could breathe freely.
As the days passed, my worry over Aleksei began to fade into the background of my thoughts. He had chosen his path, and there was nothing I could do to aid him in a land where my very nature was despised. He had grown so much since first I met him, and he would continue to grow and change as he made his way alone in the world, preparing to meet whatever destiny awaited him. All I could do was pray for his safety.
My worry over Bao was another matter, growing stronger as I travelled in his direction. At least he was alive, I knew that much. Since first I’d been freed from my chains, I’d sensed no change in his diadh-anam. It continued to burn low—alarmingly low, but burning nonetheless. If he was ill or injured, his condition was a stable one.
He wasn’t moving, or at least not much. The distance that separated us was great enough that I wouldn’t be able to detect small movements on his end. To be sure, he wasn’t journeying toward me.
It could simply be that Bao had fallen ill with a lingering sickness. It had happened to my father. He’d contracted an infection in his lungs and lain ill for long weeks without my knowing.
The thought made me shudder. If Raphael de Mereliot hadn’t consented to aid me, albeit for a terrible price, my father would have died.
Raphael was ten thousand leagues away. If Bao was mortally ill, there was nothing I could do to save him even if I arrived in time.
But if it wasn’t illness or injury, what could cause his diadh-anam to gutter so low, to burn so dim? Whatever it was, it was nothing good. I’d learned firsthand that there were magics capable of constraining the divine spark of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself. Who knew what other magics existed that were capable of binding or poisoning it?
I didn’t spend all my time fretting over him, of course. I’d have driven myself mad if I did. Bao was simply too far away, and there was nothing I could do.
Still, I worried.
Riding with the Tatars, we passed more swiftly through the Vralian mountains than I had with my abductors. Vachir and his folk were travelling fairly light, having traded cattle and sheep for furs and amber, which they would trade in turn for more livestock once they reached Tatar lands. The weather was fair, and
when we made camp, we slept in the open. Gers were only to be erected at more permanent campsites. We made good time, and it wasn’t long before the mountains gave way to the vast, wide-open expanse of the steppe.
“Ah!” Vachir took a deep breath as we rode from the foothills onto the grassy plain, smiling with rare effusiveness. “Home.”
I envied him; I envied all of them.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t glad to be back in Tatar lands. I was. I’d come to love the steppe despite its absence of trees, and the kindness and generosity I’d found here outweighed the sting of the Great Khan’s betrayal.
But stone and sea…home! I was so very, very far away from mine, wherever my home even was anymore. The word was every bit as painful and bittersweet as it had been when I set out from Shuntian so long ago in pursuit of the missing half of my soul. And in all that time, I’d done naught but travel in an immense circle that had brought me back to the exact same plight: setting out to cross a vast land in search of Bao.
“Stupid boy,” I muttered to myself. “Why did you have to go and wed the Tatar princess? We’d be together and halfway home if you hadn’t.”
In my heart, I understood, though. Bao had told me his reasons. Aside from the fact that one does not refuse the Great Khan, it was Bao’s way of making himself my equal in status and rank, of giving himself a choice that entailed a sacrifice to make the choice meaningful. It didn’t make sense, not really; but truths of the heart owe nothing to logic. Master Lo had laid a heavy burden on his magpie’s shoulders when he gave his life to restore Bao’s. This was Bao’s way of accepting it.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t reckoned on the consequences: the princess’ injured pride and her father’s wrath.
“Stupid boy,” I said again.
The heart is a strange thing. Bao wasn’t stupid, of course; in fact, he was quite clever. But he could be thoughtless with the feelings of others. He had a prickly sense of pride that was too easily rankled, and he was infernally stubborn. He was insulting and boastful, and he reveled in fighting.
Kushiel 03 - [Moirin 02] - Naamah's Curse Page 30