Naamah's Curse

I had to own, it was a clever design. Young Ravindra must have inherited his head for strategy from his father. The steep, narrow stair that led to the hidden room was concealed behind an elaborately embroidered wall-hanging depicting the goddess Durga on her tiger. Nothing about the architecture of the palace suggested it was there.



The room itself was small, but not unpleasant. It even had a balcony that looked out onto an interior courtyard garden with a fountain at the center, filled with growing plants, and birds and monkeys, too. Amrita invited me to join them, but I refused, feeling I’d already imposed more than enough on their lives.



I tried setting ward-stones around my room as I had learned to do travelling across the Tatar steppe, but the charm didn’t work in a man-made dwelling. At least my own balcony was high and inaccessible; and clever Ravindra came up with the idea of stringing bells to the outer door of my own sleeping-chamber, so that if anyone were to succeed in forcing the lock, the clamor would awaken me before they entered, and I might summon the twilight.



In a week’s time, the Falconer’s messenger returned with the expected reply, delivering it with relish.



“His majesty Tarik Khaga agrees that the dakini Moirin is entitled to hear Bao’s refusal from his own lips,” he said smoothly. “His majesty invites her to accompany me to Kurugiri as his honored guest.”



Clearly, the Falconer’s messenger reckoned this was a counterstroke of masterful strategy on the part of the forces of Kurugiri. The Rani Amrita furrowed her brow and looked troubled, letting him believe she was at a loss for a response. “As ever, it is the dakini Moirin’s choice,” she said carefully. “Again, we will take counsel. Go, and come back tomorrow.”



He bowed, and went.



There was no need to take counsel this time. Our plans were set. Amrita would have liked to use the day to make another round of temple offerings, but her commander of the guard, a handsome fellow named Hasan Dar, was adamant about not venturing beyond the palace walls.



“Tarik Khaga may tire of this game you play with him, highness,” he said earnestly to her. “For all we know, he already has, and his assassins lie in wait. There are too many people in the streets, and it is too difficult to protect you. Please, take no risks. Make your offerings at the household altar. The gods will understand.”



Reluctantly, Amrita agreed; and we heaped the household altar high with garlands of dried flowers, offerings of food and incense.



A day later, the Falconer’s messenger returned, and Amrita delivered our final edict to him, a surprisingly stern note in her musical voice.



“Given your master’s history, the dakini Moirin does not believe this offer is made in good faith,” she said. “And I agree with her. So! We refuse.”



“Then—” the messenger began.



Once again, my lady Amrita raised her right hand in the pose of fearlessness, silencing him. “I offer a compromise. I propose a meeting of both parties on neutral ground. Do you know the plateau beneath the Sleeping Calf Rock?” she inquired.



He nodded warily.



“Very good.” She gave a brisk nod in reply. “Let us meet there, your master and I. The dakini Moirin will accompany me, and your master will bring this young man Bao. No weapons on either side. Each of us will be escorted by no more than ten unarmed guards. At a distance of five hundred paces, we will each exchange a guardsman to verify that both parties have honored these terms. Do I make myself understood?”



“Yes, highness.” The messenger licked his lips. “What do you expect this meeting to accomplish?”



I answered for her. “I expect to persuade Bao to leave your master’s service. If he does, I will honor my word and offer myself in his place.”



His gaze slid sideways toward me. “And if you fail?”



I called the twilight, wrapping its subtle dazzle around me. “I will not fail.”



The Falconer’s messenger looked away.



“I am weary of this game,” the Rani Amrita announced. “No more demands, no more offers. I will await your master on the plateau in one week’s time. Go, and tell Tarik Khaga the Falconer that that is my final word.”



“Yes, highness.” He bowed to her. “I will do so.”



Five days later, we set out for the plateau.



I was sick with unease. It seemed a good plan, but it was a dangerous one, too. With our hidden battalion, we would outnumber Tarik Khaga’s men six to one; but the battalion would have some distance to cross once the signal was given, and Khaga’s men were likely to be skilled assassins, one and all. Hasan Dar and the nine guards he had chosen to escort us were exceptional warriors, trained to fight with any weapon or none, but they were not assassins. And I had learned during my time in Bhaktipur that the Falconer was not the first to hold that dubious title, oh, no.



No, it was a hereditary mantle. For many generations, there had been a Falconer in Kurugiri, amassing years of knowledge of deadly killing arts. Until the advent of Jagrati the Spider Queen, none had killed save for hire.



This Falconer, Tarik Khaga, was different. Worse. He killed on a whim—his, or his Spider Queen’s.



It was a surety that his men would have weapons hidden on them—subtle weapons, garrotes and throwing knives, mayhap poisoned darts like the one with which Black Sleeve had killed Bao.



I was afraid for myself, but the insistent blaze of my diadh-anam told me I had to go. More so, I was very afraid for the Rani Amrita, and I wished very, very much that she would not undertake this venture.



“I have to go, Moirin,” she said calmly when I sought to dissuade her. “It is clear now that the gods sent you to me. It is my kharma.”



“I do not see why you must risk yourself personally!” I said in frustration. “There is no sense in it.”



Amrita was silent a moment. “I felt the same when my lord Chakresh insisted on facing the Falconer’s assassins with his men,” she said presently. “He insisted it was a matter of honor and duty. Now that the same choice is upon me, I understand.” She laid a hand on my arm. “Please, do not quarrel with me, Moirin.”



Reluctantly, I acceded.



It was an auspicious day when we set out, clear and bright. The Rani Amrita bade farewell to her son in private and for the first time, I saw Ravindra as a child in truth. His narrow shoulders shook as he embraced his mother and wept, his tears dampening the cloth of her sari. She held him close, kissing the top of his head.



“Be brave, jewel of my heart,” she murmured. “I will draw strength from your courage.”



Ravindra straightened. “I will do my best, Mama-ji.”



We made our way through the streets of Bhaktipur in a splendid procession, surrounded by a hundred guards and dozens of attendants. Only ten guardsmen would accompany us to the plateau, but Hasan Dar meant to take no chances until it was necessary, especially in the crowded streets of the city.



I rode beside Amrita in her palanquin. Folks pressed as close as the guards would allow, tossing flowers and calling out blessings. Others begged the Rani not to go, echoing my sentiment. They didn’t know about the ambush, of course, but they knew she meant to meet with the Falconer, and they were afraid for her.



When the outskirts of the city gave way to orchards and farmland, we abandoned the palanquin for horses and set out across the valley. Despite my pervasive fear, I was glad to be in a green, living place once more, and no longer cooped up behind the palace walls. I breathed the Breath of Trees Growing, willing my nerves to be calm.



An hour into our journey, I felt a shift occur that made me catch my breath, my diadh-anam flaring sharply inside me. Amrita glanced at me with concern. “What is it, Moirin?”



“Bao,” I whispered. “He’s moving, coming closer.”



Her eyes widened. “You can tell this?”



I nodded. “Not over very vast distances, but this is near enough that I feel it. He’s coming.”



Amrita smiled. “Then that is very good news, is it not?”



“I don’t know.” Although I could sense it drawing closer, Bao’s diadh-anam didn’t quicken with eagerness like mine did. It was as sickly and guttering as it had been for all those long months since I’d first sensed it in Vralia. I had been certain, so certain, that once we were together, no thrall could hold him. Now I wasn’t so sure. “I hope so.”



All throughout the day, pace by pace, I felt the distance between us lessen. I wanted to be joyful at the prospect, but I was too anxious.



By the end of the day, we had ascended into the foothills at the northern end of the valley of Bhaktipur. The warm lowland temperatures vanished quickly. Solicitous attendants brought long coats of padded, embroidered silk for Amrita and me to wear. We made camp in a meadow, where they erected tents of brightly colored silk, striped and merry. It was a festive scene, but the mood was somber. On the morrow, only twelve of us would continue—the Rani and I, and Hasan Dar and his nine handpicked guards.



Although I had no appetite, I tried to force myself to eat, reckoning I needed my strength. In contrast, Amrita ate more heartily than I’d ever seen her.



“Stop worrying, Moirin,” she said, pressing a bit of flatbread with curried lamb and tangy achar on me. “Whatever will happen tomorrow, will happen. It does no good to worry about it.”



I sighed. “I know.”



“So young to be carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders!” Amrita teased me gently, coaxing a reluctant smile from me. “I think you have been doing just that for far too long, young goddess,” she added in a more serious tone. “But you are not alone here. I am with you, and Hasan Dar and his men will protect your life as my own.”



My throat tightened, and tears stung my eyes. “Thank you, my lady Amrita.”



I was grateful, so very grateful to her; and yet I wished she were a thousand miles away, because if any harm befell this kind, beautiful, and brave Rani whom I had grown so quickly to love, I would spend the rest of my life regretting it.



I prayed it would not.



SIXTY-TWO



On the morrow, our reduced company of twelve set out for the plateau. Hasan Dar and his men left their swords behind, carrying only small knives concealed within their sashed belts. It was assumed that the Falconer’s men would do the same, and worse.



I wished I had my bow, but it would have been impossible to hide.



Our path grew steeper as we climbed higher, and the air began to grow thinner. I felt dizzy at the lack, dizzy with the memory of mountain-sickness and fever, dizzy with the bright clamor of my diadh-anam, growing more and more insistent with each hour that passed.



Bao’s name echoed in my thoughts like a drumbeat, over and over.



My aching heart felt too big for my chest, like it might burst its confines and shatter my bones.



I breathed the Breath of Earth’s Pulse, grounding myself. Remembering Master Lo’s teaching, I let one thought rise from another, trying not to chase them and drive myself mad with worry. I concentrated on the path, on the bobbing ears of my saddle-horse Lady, well rested and restored from her ordeal in the Abode of the Gods.



By late morning, we spotted the peak known as Sleeping Calf Rock, a jutting outcropping of stone shaped for all the world like a yak calf lying in slumber, its head stretched out and its legs folded beneath its body.



An hour later, we gained the plateau that lay beneath it. To all appearances, it was empty, an expanse of grassy meadow with a thick copse of spruce trees on the southwestern verge. I couldn’t help but glance in that direction. Assuming our battalion of fifty archers was concealed within the dense copse, they were well hidden.



Gods, I hoped they were there.



Hasan Dar had a silver pipe that gave a shrill whistle on a chain around his neck. When he blew it, it would be the signal for our archers to emerge. He had argued in favor of doing so the instant the Falconer Tarik Khaga and his men were in range, ambushing them without bothering to parley with them.



The Rani Amrita had refused. “All this has come about because of Moirin and her young man,” she had said firmly in her musical voice. “I fear if we do not give her the chance to save him, we defy the will of the gods.”



Now, I shivered, praying that the gods did indeed intend for me to free my stubborn peasant-boy from this mess. I pushed away the memory of the boy-monk in Rasa bidding me to rescue the tulku Laysa. I could only bear so many burdens at once.



We took a position in the open meadow some hundred paces beyond the copse where our archers were hidden. Hasan Dar bowed to the Rani from his saddle, his palms pressed together, his eyes watchful and grave. “We are here, highness. All is in readiness. It awaits only to see if the Falconer takes our bait.”



Amrita gave me an inquiring glance.



“Oh, aye,” I whispered. “They are coming; or at least Bao is coming, and I doubt he is coming alone.”



“How long?” she asked me.



In my mind, I measured the dwindling distance between Bao’s diadh-anam and mine against the distance that had separated us before this journey. “Not long,” I said. “Less than two hours, I think.”



The sun crept across the sky; and we waited. The shadow cast by Sleeping Calf Rock shifted, obscuring the path toward the further mountains and Kurugiri.



It didn’t matter.



Bao was coming. I could feel it, step by step. The nearer he got, the easier it was to gauge. My diadh-anam sang inside me, while his did not sing at all. Still, I felt it. When I knew he was almost upon us, I flung out my arm and pointed. “Now!”



One man on horseback rounded the curve beneath the outcropping, emerging from the shadows. He paused, surveying the plateau, then turned back and beckoned. Others followed, riding into sunlight.