Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [140]
“Batu’s tribe, right?” the boy asked, his eyes gleaming. “I remember!”
“Vachir’s tribe,” I said softly. “But you’re right, I did wear a scarf given to me by Batu’s wife. It was taken away from me in Vralia.”
“Vralia!”
I nodded. “Bao was misled. The Great Khan sent us in opposite directions. And now I fear Bao is in trouble.”
The boy caught his breath. “The Falconer and the Spider Queen?”
“You know of them?” I asked.
“Everyone knows!”
The old man cuffed the boy’s head without malice. “Everyone knows tales,” he said absentmindedly. “No one knows the truth. Well, child?” He turned his rheumy gaze on me. “Are you willing to trust my word, or do you doubt me?”
I paused a moment longer, then returned the arrow to my quiver and slung my bow over my shoulder. “No, Grandfather. I do not doubt your word.”
“Good.” He sucked his teeth again in a meditative manner, eyeing me beneath wrinkled lids. “You’re sure you’ve none of the dried root to barter with?”
“Very sure,” I said.
“Pity,” he said with regret. “I should have saved more for myself.”
FORTY-NINE
The old man’s name was Unegen, which meant fox—and he was indeed an old fox. The boy’s name was Dash, which meant good luck.
It was appropriate.
It was a piece of luck that he had spotted me, a piece of luck that he recognized me from Bao’s oft-repeated description. A piece of luck that he had developed a boy’s hero-worshipping attachment to Bao and begged so strongly on my behalf.
The bargain we concluded wasn’t a perfect one. I didn’t have enough coin to purchase the sort of exclusive, swift escort Bao had bought with the aphrodisiac tonic of dried Camaeline snowdrop bulbs.
No, I would be travelling across the Tatar desert with a larger, slower caravan under Unegen’s supervision, a group of northern mountain-folk called the Tufani who had concluded a successful trade and were returning home laden with Ch’in silks.
Still, it would get me across the desert.
“After that, you’re on your own,” Unegen warned me. “Just like your young man. You’ll need to find someone else to get you across the Path of Heaven’s Spear.”
“Who did Bao find?” I asked.
Unegen shrugged. “Not my concern.”
So be it, I reckoned. I would deal with the next step when I came to it. For now I would cross the desert.
It was not a pleasant journey.
To spare the horses, we rode on tall camels, which also carried the bulk of the Tufani’s cargo. That part I didn’t mind once I grew accustomed to the strange, swaying gait of the camels. They weren’t the friendliest creatures I’d ever met, but I had a good rapport with animals, and mine carried me willingly enough.
But I was not a child of the desert, not by any means. I was a child of the woods and forest. So very, very little grew here, it made the grasslands of the steppe seem lush by comparison.
And it was dry, so dry.
During the day, a hot, dry wind blew endlessly, scouring the barren rock and coating everything with dust. If there is one memory that defines that harsh passage for me, it is the memory of dust. Dust in every fold of my clothing, dust in my hair, dust making my eyes gritty, the taste of dust on my tongue, gritting between my teeth.
Washing was seldom an option. There was no water to spare. The river we followed at the outset quickly vanished. From time to time, it would resurface, and when it did, it was cause for rejoicing. We would water our animals and replenish our stores, and wash the ever-present dust from our hands and faces, even though we’d be coated anew within half an hour’s time.
Mostly, though, when we came upon water, it was brackish little pools seeping to the surface. Sometimes it was fit for the camels to drink, for they were built to survive in the desert and had hardier systems than most creatures, but neither horses nor humans could stomach it. I tried washing in one once, and once