Kushiel 03 - [Moirin 01] - Naamah's Kiss

by Jacqueline Carey

  I eyed her, uncertain whether or not she was teasing me. “Mayhap it is because I love the world and many people and things in it, my lady.”

  Master Lo raised one finger. “Ah, but what if the followers of the Enlightened One are right, and the world is but an illusion? Then your love is equally illusory, and the attachments you form to illusions prevent you from perceiving the truth.”

  Betimes he made my head ache.

  But I liked listening to him, and it was a relief to be spared the sole burden of entertaining the princess. The young men talked endlessly while they took turns at the oars, mulling over the ideas Master Lo fed them. Not Bao, who had long been his pupil, but the others. I could almost hear their brains stretching. No one had ever spoken to them as though they were worth teaching before.

  I thought, too—although some of my thoughts I kept to myself. I thought a great deal about desire, being constrained not to express any for the first time in my young life. I found it surprisingly difficult. It wasn’t a question of celibacy; even if our guises and the dragon’s jealousy hadn’t made that necessary, our quarters on the boat rendered it a moot point. It frustrated me to have my fledgling relationship with Bao forced into an impasse where neither of us could speak openly of our feelings, but I could accept it for the duration of our quest. What bothered me most was being denied almost the whole spectrum of physical affection.

  That, I hated.

  I yearned for it, yearned to touch and be touched with an ache that was no less real than thirst or hunger.

  I thought about Naamah, the bright lady.

  Jehanne had told me that each House of the Night Court held that Naamah had given herself as she did for different reasons. Now, with naught to do but listen and think and watch the river flow, I thought mayhap it was simply in her nature. She was desire. She could no more keep from giving herself over to it, whether it was the carnal desire to take a lover or the innocent desire to caress a child’s soft cheek, than the sun could stop from shining or the rain from falling.

  And if Master Lo was right and all ways led to the Way, the path of desire was as valid as any other.

  One day, I said so.

  It made the stick-fighters snicker self-consciously, although Bao didn’t. The princess turned her head away slightly, as though to suggest the topic was of no interest to her. Master Lo was intrigued.

  “How so?” he inquired.

  I fidgeted, uncertain how to articulate my half-formed thoughts. “There is an element of surrender in it, Master. Of giving oneself over to a greater force. If it is done with the kind of mindfulness you describe in the practice of the Path of Dharma, if it is done with love and compassion… well, then. On the greatship, you said perhaps the gods of Terre d’Ange were capable of using desire to lead their children to wisdom and harmony. Might it not also lead to a greater form of enlightenment?”

  To my surprise, he understood. “You speak of one such as your father.”

  “Yes, exactly!”

  “Indeed.” Master Lo nodded. “Having met one who treads it, I think we may infer that such a path exists.” He studied me. “Do you think it is yours to follow?”

  I flushed. “I don’t know. I am only thinking about it because of your teaching, and because of… other things I am thinking about.”

  “I am pleased to find any pupil of mine thinking.” He glanced at the princess, her expression unreadable behind the veil. “Though perhaps it would be best if we confined our discussion to the topic of more traditional paths. Although one might argue it is the least of my worries, I do not think his Celestial Majesty would be pleased to find this conversation taking place in his daughter’s presence amid such mixed company.”

  As the days wore onward, we began to see more traffic on the river. Ships flying the Imperial banner—not greatships, but very large ships—carrying hundreds and hundreds of soldiers passed us, making the princess and the dragon restless.

  “Our progress is too slow,” she fretted.

  “You knew we could not outpace them,” Master Lo reminded her. “Do you wish to take the risk of revealing yourself and seeking their escort?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. No, I dare not.”

  “Then we continue.”

  We passed into territory nominally under the control of Lord Jiang’s forces, now abandoned as they withdrew to make their stand at White Jade Mountain. Many of the towns had been plundered for supplies and left lawless. The Emperor’s well-stocked ships sailed serenely past. Carrying as few stores as we did, we didn’t have that luxury. When we put ashore, it grew harder and harder to buy food, let alone beg for it.

  The farther we went, the worse it got.

  We tried to shelter the princess from the knowledge, but it was impossible. Although she and I stayed prudently close to the boat whenever we moored at a village, guarded by at least two of the stick-fighters, Snow Tiger was keenly observant. Even without sight, she could hear the rising tenor of anger the farther south we travelled, voices in the marketplaces taking on a hard, desperate edge.

  It troubled her.

  In one town, a riot broke out. We beat a hasty retreat, begging bowls and food-sacks empty. Back on the river, the princess was silent and withdrawn.

  “What you are witnessing is the face of war a great ruler seldom sees, my lady,” Master Lo Feng said to her. Her veiled face turned his way, listening. “No matter how righteous the cause, no matter who wins, the commonfolk suffer. Without plenty, the wealthy lack compassion for the poor, hoarding without sharing. Without law, the strong bully the weak, stealing by force. People will go hungry. Some will starve. Men and women will be forced to choose between feeding their parents and their children.”

  “You did not counsel against this war,” she said in a low voice.

  Master Lo inclined his head. “Only because I believed it too late to be averted. If there had been a better way, I would have counseled it. Since you are here, I would have you understand what war truly entails. It is a lesson few rulers are given to grasp.”

  “I think it is also a reason that followers of the Path of Dharma believe that to live is to suffer,” Ten Tigers Dai murmured unexpectedly. “For many of us, it is—or at least it has been.”

  The others, including Bao, nodded.

  The princess’ back straightened as she squared her shoulders firmly. “Then it is a lesson I will take to heart.”

  Gods know, it was true. Two days later, we moored overnight at a village reputed to have a functioning market. Tortoise and Kang rose before dawn to stake out a place in the square, awaiting the arrival of the farmers with goods to sell. The rest of us lingered near the boat.

  I was eying fish swimming in the shallow edges of the river, thinking that I could easily summon the twilight and catch a few given a discreet opportunity, when Tortoise and Kang came hurrying back with half-filled sacks over their shoulders.

  “Another riot!” Tortoise called out, huffing as he ran. Complicated emotions flitted over his homely face. “They’re taking everything. Stick-fighters, wouldn’t you know?”

  Bao swore in a distinctly un-monkish fashion and began untying the mooring line. “Time to go!”

  “No.” Snow Tiger fingered her sword. “We will confront them.”

  He gaped at her. “Are you crazy?”

  She tilted her veiled head. “Are you afraid?”

  “Heh.” His battle-grin appeared. He dropped the rope and seized his staff. “No.”

  Ten Tigers Dai whooped.

  “Noble Princess—” Master Lo began.

  It was too late; not even his calm wisdom could dissuade her. And the dragon within her was exuberant, happy with any course of action. In a daze, I watched her set out for the square, swift and unerring despite her inability to see, flanked by Bao and Dai; then I shook myself and swore, scrambling aboard the boat to retrieve my bow and quiver.

  The boat, loosed from its mooring, began to drift.

  “Oh, gods bed
amned!” I caught the line in one hand and splashed through the shallows, towing it back to shore, holding my bow high with the other hand so as not to wet the string. “Tortoise! Tie it up! Kang, come on!”

  We ran.

  It was mayhem in the market square; mayhem with a small, slender figure in green robes and a veiled hat at the center of it. On either side of the princess, Bao and Dai leapt and whirled and fought, staves a blur. A dozen stick-fighters were arrayed against them—and losing.

  Everywhere else, folk cowered. Farmers come to sell rice and chickens and cabbages huddled over their wares. Folk come to buy or barter retreated to cringe along the outskirts of the square.

  Kang plunged into the fray, battling a path to our allies, assaulting their assailants from behind. I followed in his wake, bow in hand and arrow nocked, identifying targets should it be needful. But by the time we reached the princess, it was over.

  The beaten stick-fighters groaned.

  Snow Tiger stood very still before the farmers, listening to the murmurs arise. We arrayed ourselves around her; but it was her at whom the commonfolk stared.

  And me.

  I realized my hat had blown off along the way, revealing my half-D’Angeline features and green eyes. They knew. They knew who we were.

  I kept an arrow nocked.

  “My people.” Snow Tiger’s voice was crisp. “We are in a time of war. This is a hardship you suffer. Lord Jiang claims to command here, but he has left you bereft. In the name of my father, his Imperial Majesty, the Son of Heaven, I bid you to endure this hardship with kindness and compassion. I bid you to aid one another. Let the wealthy have charity for the poor. Let the strong have mercy on the weak. And I promise, if we are victorious, such a time shall never come again.” Holding her sword at eye level, she unsheathed the weapon that had remained in its scabbard during the entire fight. Naked steel flashed in the sunlight. “This, I swear to you on my blade. Will you heed me?”

  In awed silence, they knelt to her—every man, woman, and child in the square, kneeling and pressing their brows to the ground.

  “Well,” I said to no one in particular. “This complicates matters.”

  SEVENTY-TWO

  We cannot stay on the river much longer,” Master Lo said ruefully. “There is one thing that flies swifter than any hawk, and that is rumor.”

  “I did but act on the lesson you taught me,” the princess murmured. “Perhaps I misunderstood?”

  He sighed. “No, my lady. You understood it all too well. But in dangerous times, noble impulse must be tempered with caution.”

  She accepted the rebuke with a graceful nod. “What is your counsel?”

  Master Lo stroked his chin. “We must strike out over land. The monastery temple that houses Guanyin of a Thousand Eyes and many other famous carvings is not far from here. If he is still alive, the abbot is a man I knew well, once. It is one reason I chose to invoke the place as our destination. He will conceal our trail from any seekers.”

  Snow Tiger tilted her head. “Then let us go there.”

  It sounded simple.

  It wasn’t.

  The Ch’in folk do build temples in their cities, many of them. But the ones they love best, the ones that are most sacred to them, they build in the highest, most remote places one can find.

  This was such a one.

  The following morning, in a towering gorge where the cliffs rose sheer around us, Master Lo pointed to a tiny landing. Bao steered the boat expertly toward it. There, we climbed out of the unsteady vessel and unloaded our meager possessions.

  Tortoise eyed the narrow track that stitched its way up the steep cliff face and sighed with profound misgivings. “There?”

  “Uh-huh.” Bao tossed him a half-empty sack of rice, then cut the boat loose to drift. “Master Lo and the lady say climb, we climb.”

  We climbed.

  How far, I could not say. I had no head for reckoning distances, save in terms of the time it took to traverse them. It took us a day to climb the face of the cliff. But the distance was the least of it. It was the growing height and the precariousness of the path that made the journey a terrifying one.

  At the halfway point, my legs began to tremble. Below us, the green ribbon of the river dwindled and shrank. I dared not look down lest the drop make me dizzy.

  Be strong, the dragon whispered in my thoughts. I will not let anything harm you.

  Once, my foot slipped. Pebbles bounced and scrabbled down the face of the cliff. Unbalanced, I teetered. The princess’ hand shot out to close around my wrist, hard enough to leave a bracelet of bruises, anchoring me.

  I will not let anything harm you, the dragon repeated.

  I swallowed hard and breathed the Breath of Earth’s Pulse, finding my center of balance. “Thank you.”

  She nodded.

  Bit by bit, we labored up the cliff face. At the top, I would have been content to fling myself to the earth and rest forever; and I daresay some of the others would, too, especially Tortoise.

  But no.

  Master Lo Feng pointed. “There is the path to the monastery.”

  I stared, too awestruck for words. The steep path led to a gorge lined with the most colossal carvings I’d ever seen, enormous effigies of Sakyamuni and his followers and myriad other deities carved into the living rock of the mountain. Even at a distance, I could tell they were at least ten times life size.

  “How…” Words failed me. “How… Who did this, Master?”

  “It is the work of many, many hands over the span of centuries,” he said calmly. “Followers of the Way, followers of the Path of Dharma. Come, let us see if my old friend Abbot Hong remains with us.”

  As we made our way down, I couldn’t stop staring. The scale of the carvings was just so immense, the labor required so unimaginably vast. Serene faces taller than I was gazed tranquilly into the gorge. It was a relief to me to see that Bao and the others seemed no less impressed than I was, goggling at the looming figures and exclaiming at the imposing sight in hushed tones.

  “I should like to see it,” the princess said wistfully. The dragon echoed the thought.

  “You shall,” I promised. “Only I do not think now is a good time.”

  “No.”

  Luck favored us. Master Lo’s old friend the abbot was alive and well. Fetched by a pair of very startled acolytes, he hobbled out to meet us, leaning on a gnarled cane. The abbot took the measure of our company in a single keen glance. Although he was bent and wizened with age, beneath his wrinkled lids his eyes sparkled with inner joy and a lively wit. Even if I had not known, I would have guessed in a heartbeat that he and Master Lo were friends of long standing and considerable mutual respect.

  “Lo Feng Tzu,” Abbot Hong said in a thin, reedy voice. “You have been gone a very long time. Where is your braid and your beard? I scarce know you!”

  Master Lo smiled and bowed. “I have borrowed your guise, old friend, and brought you a dilemma.”

  “So you have, so you have.” The abbot inclined his bent back in the direction of the veiled princess. “Even here, I have heard rumors of your disappearance. Be welcome, Noble Princess.”

  She bowed in return. “Thank you, Revered Brother.”

  In the plain, rustic chambers of a building with tip-tilted roofs perched atop the gorge, we shared our food, dined, and took counsel with Abbot Hong. For being the head of a monastery in such a remote place, he was surprisingly well-informed about the doings of both Lord Jiang’s forces and the Imperial army, warning us that while the Imperial army was gathering in mass, Lord Jiang had left scattered companies of men behind to hunt for us.

  Tired as I was, I let the conversation wash over me. Knowing nothing of the terrain, I let them make their plans. Acolytes on the Path of Dharma came and went in simple brown robes, bringing full dishes, carrying away empty ones. Some of them looked askance at us; some didn’t.

  “Forgive me, old friend.” The abbot’s voice was apologetic. “But I must ask
before I pledge myself to speak untruths on your behalf. Rumor held the princess was demon-plagued. This business of a dragon… Are you very, very sure?”

  Snow Tiger’s shoulders tightened.

  I roused.

  “Yes.” Master Lo’s voice was firm. “I am. I violated the sanctity of White Jade Mountain and stole the dragon’s pearl. I cannot undo the folly of my youth, but I recognize its handiwork.”

  “But you have not seen it… ?” the abbot persisted.

  Now, please, the dragon whispered. Now. You must show them.

  I breathed the Breath of Trees Growing, breathed it in, breathed it out. It was easy here. The ancient trees that grew on the mountain-side aided me. I summoned the twilight. No one was looking at me. I breathed it in, taking it deep inside me, and breathed it out, flinging it like a cloak around the princess and me, bathing us both in dusk.

  Someone uttered a short, startled cry.

  “Come, my lady.” I rose and extended my hand. She took it. “Master Lo, will you please ask the abbot to follow?”

  I led her along the paths of the gorge. Master Lo and the abbot and the others trailed behind us, curious and uncertain. Somewhere, there was the sound of chanting, steady and sonorous. The sun was setting, bathing the immense carvings with their serene faces in golden light. Removing her veiled hat, Snow Tiger gazed at them in awe.

  “Here.” I tugged her into a recessed grotto, where the gilded figure of Guanyin resided. Her inward-looking face was filled with compassion. She sat cross-legged and held a thousand arms upraised, a seeing eye embedded in each gilded palm.

  In every palm, the dragon was reflected.

  Oh… he sighed. Oh!

  The others crowded behind us. I breathed slowly and deeply through the cycle of the Five Styles, reaching deeper into the twilight. This was a holy place, sanctified by centuries of prayer. I spun the cloak into a net, cast it over the entire grotto.

  They saw.

  A thousand pearlescent dragons coiled and uncoiled in a thousand gilded palms, in every gilded curve, beautiful and celestial and unmistakable. There was a soft sound, the sudden intake of every watcher’s breath.