Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [1]
Memories.
The chestnut sidled and pranced beneath me. I soothed him once more, and forced myself to cycle through the Five Styles of Breathing.
The Breath of Earth’s Pulse, drawn into the pit of the belly and the depths of the groin, inhaled and exhaled through the mouth.
The Breath of Ocean’s Rolling Waves, drawn in through the nostrils to the middle belly, out through the mouth.
The Breath of Trees Growing, circulating energy to the limbs, trading nourishment with the world.
The Breath of Embers Glowing, in and out through parted lips, quickening the heart and warming the blood.
The Breath of Wind’s Sigh, pulled and expelled through the nostrils into the space between my eyes, making my head light.
I breathed the entire cycle as I rode, and while the discipline calmed and centered me, with every breath I drew, a memory assailed me. Stone and sea! There were so many of them.
Master Lo Feng.
He had taught me the Five Styles, taught me all that I knew of the Ch’in manner of meditation and harmony he called the Way. It had served me well in the conflict I was leaving behind me. It had let me find the strength and courage to serve as a companion to Princess Snow Tiger and the dragon whose indomitable celestial spirit was housed within her mortal flesh. Were it not for Master Lo’s teaching, I would never have been able to help free the princess and the dragon from the curse that bound them together in the midst of a bloody civil war.
Nor could I have endured the aftermath, in which I put my small gift of magic in the service of Emperor Zhu, breathing in and swallowing the memories of hundreds upon hundreds of men who had conceived, built, and wielded the terrible weapons known as the Divine Thunder. I carried the ghosts of those memories within me yet, tasting of brass and sulfur, blood and smoke and horror.
I returned to the Breath of Wind’s Sigh, willing it to carry away the lingering acrid tang.
My diadh-anam burned steadily within my breast, calling to its separated half somewhere to the northwest. Since there was no escaping the memory, I let myself think about Bao, the stubborn Ch’in peasant-boy who had walked away with half my soul inside him.
Bao hadn’t liked me much at first, nor had I cared for him. He was Master Lo’s apprentice, guide, and companion—his magpie, Master Lo called him. I remembered my first sight of him, a lean-muscled young man with dark eyes glinting with disdain under a shock of unkempt black hair, carrying a steaming pot of bone-marrow soup over his shoulder on a bamboo staff.
That had been in Terre d’Ange, the land of my father’s birth, the land toward which I first set out in pursuit of my destiny. A quest laid upon me by the Maghuin Dhonn Herself.
In my youth and folly, I thought I had found it straightaway in the form of Raphael de Mereliot, the healer with the charmed touch—Raphael, who was able to merge his gift with mine, to channel my magic to heal others. Raphael, the Queen’s favorite courtier and lover.
We had wrought miracles together.
And it had nearly killed me.
If it hadn’t been for the Queen herself, it very well might have killed me. Jehanne de la Courcel. There, at least, was a memory that made me smile. Gods, I’d gotten myself involved in an almighty tangle when I came between Jehanne and Raphael. And yet in the end, it was Jehanne who had rescued me from Raphael’s ambition, and Jehanne whom I had come to love. My father was a priest of Naamah, the D’Angeline goddess of desire, and his line was ancient in her service. Naamah’s gifts ran strongly in my blood. I had found pleasure and pride in serving as Jehanne’s companion.
It had hurt to leave her. It had been too soon. When my infernal destiny summoned me to accompany Master Lo Feng, Jehanne was carrying the King’s child, and she was frightened. I wished I could have stayed until the child was born.
I couldn’t regret leaving, though. Not after the purpose I had served in Ch’in. I had seen the dragon, once restored, launch himself in glory from White Jade Mountain, his undulating silver