Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [145]
On the morrow, we would enter the first great pass. After tending to my horses, I sat and breathed the Five Styles, watching swift dusk fall over the tall peaks on either side of it, blue shadows turning to darkness.
Bao had set out on this path alone.
I wondered if he had been scared.
I was.
FIFTY-ONE
On the second day, we entered the first pass.
We climbed upward, ascending into the Abode of the Gods.
Upward.
Upward.
Upward.
And although I was riding, and my poor, laboring mare—whom I had named Lady, for lack of a more creative inspiration—was doing all the work, still, my breath came short as the air grew thin.
I felt pressure building behind my eyes, making my head ache fiercely. Betimes, my vision grew dark and spangled.
Stubbornly, I refused to succumb to it. I focused my gaze on Lady’s bobbing ears and breathed the Breath of Wind’s Sigh, calling it into the space behind my eyes, embracing the height and the thin air.
When I did, the pressure eased. Once again, I was indebted to Master Lo’s teaching. The thought made me wistful, but it also served to increase my determination to find Bao and rescue him. It was unacceptable to think that Master Lo Feng had given his life to restore his magpie’s in vain.
The Tufani were at ease in the mountains, bright-eyed and cheerful, reveling in the heights. Throughout the long, arduous climb, their spirits rose. All along the caravan, they called back and forth to one another in their own tongue, laughing and jesting.
I envied and admired them, forcing myself to concentrate. The path through the pass was steep and narrow. Sure-footed though she was, from time to time, Lady’s hooves slipped and scrabbled on loose rocks. And I had my pack-horse, whom I called Flick, on a lead-line, and must not hurry him, letting him pick his way with equal care.
By the time we reached the path’s summit, the sun was beginning to set—or at least, so it seemed in the gorge, stark shadows settling over us.
And then we did reach the summit.
“Oh!” I blinked, startled. A shallow descent led to a green, sun-gilded valley. There was a small lake nestled there as though within a cupped palm, its waters a startling turquoise hue. To the east and west of us, immense snow-capped peaks soared skyward with untouchable majesty.
I could not help but think of White Jade Mountain and the dragon. I thought that had been a vast peak, but these dwarfed it. And I understood, truly, why they called this range the Abode of the Gods. Surely nothing less than the gods themselves must dwell in those incredible heights.
Dorje smiled at my awe. “Now you see, Moirin. These are sacred places.”
I didn’t need to be told; I could feel it prickling against my skin. Even so, I smiled back at him. “I do see. It’s very, very beautiful here.”
We made camp in the valley beside the lake, turning the grateful horses loose to graze their fill. Once again, I watched dusk settle over the mountains. At this height, it was even more spectacular, vivid gold and ruddy pinks slowly giving way to shifting hues of blue and deep indigo darkening to pitch-black in the crevasses. I didn’t think one could ever tire of the sight, and I found myself looking forward to dawn that I might see the entire process in reverse, the shadows retreating up the white-mantled glory of the peaks.
It was cold, though. Once the sun was altogether gone, I realized how much colder it was in the heights. And it was only going to get colder as winter drew nigh.
In my tent, I wrapped myself in my blanket and shivered myself to sleep. I would need warmer clothes and blankets if I was to survive this journey.
Come morning, the matter preyed on my thoughts. I would have to act swiftly in the trade-city of Rasa. If I didn’t, I’d get caught out by winter once more, and Dorje had warned me that the Path of Heaven’s Spear would be impassable for months.
I thought it very possible that I might die of impatience if I were forced to delay my quest for months.
Dorje was confident that so long as we met no trouble along the way,