Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [121]
We followed long, winding rivers, where I had some success shooting waterfowl for the pot. For reasons I didn’t entirely fathom, Temilotzin found my skill with a bow well nigh as hilarious as Eyahue’s tales and took to calling me his little warrior.
On and on we travelled.
A part of me wondered if mayhap the Dauphin had simply misgauged the distances involved and his party was somewhere ahead of us, marching across the endless landscape, an ever-receding target.
Balthasar and Denis, who knew Thierry de la Courcel better than I, assured me it was not so. The prince had given his word that he would return in a year’s time. He would have turned back rather than break his oath.
At two months into our journey, we entered the farthest reaches of the Nahuatl Empire. The folk there were not native Nahuatl speakers. According to Eyahue, they had been conquered by Achcuatli’s father, and chafed under the rule of the Nahuatl. They regarded us with curiosity and suspicion, but they were willing to trade to replenish our dwindling stores, and fortunately, Eyahue and Pochotl spoke their tongue.
In the market-place of the first such city, it struck me that if our stores were running low, Thierry’s must have been, too. Travellers’ inns were becoming fewer and farther between, and it had been well over a week since we’d had confirmation.
As Temilotzin cheerfully observed, there was no way of knowing if the Dauphin’s party had succeeded in reaching Tawantinsuyo; and we had entered territory that was potentially hostile.
So I dispatched Eyahue and Pochotl to comb the market-place in search of any merchant or farmer who remembered the strangers from across the sea trading for food goods. For a mercy, they returned with an affirmative answer.
Our journey continued.
At every settlement, we repeated the same process, the pochtecas questioning the local folk.
I could not help but think of the tale of the D’Angeline Prince Imriel de la Courcel, who had tracked my ancestor Berlik all the way to the Vralian wilderness using a similar method, seeking to avenge the death of his wife and unborn child.
It was a piece of irony that it now fell to me to follow in the footsteps of Prince Imriel’s descendant on the opposite side of the world, venturing deeper into the increasingly torrid southern heat, even as he had followed Berlik into the frigid, snowy wild.
When I mentioned it to Bao during the course of a day’s journey, he shrugged. “It seems to me the gods often laugh at our expense.” He wiped one tattooed forearm across his brow, dashing away beads of sweat. “Do not torture me with talk of snow, Moirin.”
“I don’t mean to.” I paused. “Do you think the gods are mocking us?”
Bao heard the uncertainty in my voice and responded to it. “No,” he said in a firm tone, giving me his full attention. “No, I do not. Forgive me, I did but speak in jest. Moirin, I believe the gods have their own way of restoring balance in the world—or at least that the world ever seeks to return to balance, even as water seeks to return to its source.”
“All ways lead to the Way,” I murmured.
He nodded. “So Master Lo Feng always said, and he was the wisest man I have ever known.”
I sighed. “I wish he were here.”
Bao smiled wryly. “So do I. But if he were—” He touched his chest, where the spark of our shared diadh-anam flickered. “I would not be.”
“Master Lo made his choice,” I said.
“Yes.” His fingers brushed my cheek, lingering. “And I am at peace with it.”
I smiled back at him. “I’m glad.”
Temilotzin poked me from behind with the point of his spear. “Keep walking, little warrior!” he said in a jovial manner. “We have a long way to go yet.”
“How far?” I asked him.
He laughed. “Far.”
FORTY-THREE
Several days later, we passed at last beyond the ultimate boundaries of the Nahuatl Empire.
In faraway Ch’in, the border between the Celestial Empire and the Tatar territories beyond