Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [150]
“Laysa.” I repeated the name, bewildered. “But I don’t—”
“Remember, Moirin?” Dorje interrupted me. “I told you about her when you first asked about the Falconer.”
I remembered. “The yak-herder’s daughter, the one who was taken.”
“Yes!” He gave me a happy smile. “Tashi Rinpoche says you are the one who must rescue her. Isn’t that wonderful?”
It didn’t feel it.
It felt like a new burden of expectations settling onto my shoulders, heavy enough that I sank to my knees beneath the weight of it, burying my face in my hands. I hadn’t given any thought to the other victims of the bedamned Falconer and his mysterious Spider Queen. All I wanted to do was find my stubborn peasant-boy, free him, and go home, wherever that was. It was more than enough responsibility to carry.
I didn’t want any more.
Tashi Rinpoche was patting my arms and shoulders, trying to comfort me, speaking in a voice as clear as a mountain stream. I gazed up at him. He touched my cheeks, wiping away tears with slender fingers, smiling encouragingly at me.
“He says not to be afraid,” Dorje said softly. “He says that although you are very young in this world, you have a great heart.”
I sighed.
They say the gods use their chosen hard. Apparently, the gods are part of a vast conspiracy to share their chosen, too.
“I will try,” I said to the boy-monk. “If I can find a way, I will do it. But I beg you, do not depend on me.”
He smiled again, replying without waiting for a translation.
I glanced at Dorje. “What did he say?”
Dorje looked grave. “Tashi Rinpoche says he is depending on you. That before your journey is done, many, many people will depend on you. And that it is still only beginning, Moirin. You have a long way yet to go, and many oceans to cross.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Lucky me.”
FIFTY-THREE
I had a day of grace.
One day before I was scheduled to depart with Manil Datar’s caravan, one day to spend as I wished.
Contrary to what one might expect, I spent it indoors. As much as I loved the wild places of the world, I’d had a surfeit of them—and there was more to come. I passed the day playing with Dorje and Nyima’s daughters, indulging in the kind of revels I’d never known as a young child.
I taught them the Tatar counting word-game I’d learned from my young friend Sarangerel, and they taught me Tufani words in turn.
I let them unbraid and rebraid my hair, winding even more beads into the plaits.
We played at being animals—placid, long-horned yaks, prancing ponies, stalking snow leopards, and even slow-pacing bears.
Nyima watched over us with an indulgent gaze.
Dorje shook his head. “Is this the way great heroines are supposed to behave, Moirin?” he asked me.
“No.” I caught his youngest daughter around the waist, settling her on my lap. She nestled against me, content to toy with my braids. “Not in the slightest. But I did not ask for this. And I cannot be otherwise.”
“I wish you would stay the winter,” he said quietly.
I hugged his daughter, mindful of the insistent call of my diadh-anam. “I wish I could, my friend.”
Come the following day, dawn came bright and clear. I’d said my good-byes the night before. The girls had wailed, but they would forget me quickly enough. At such an age, children do. Nyima rose sleepily to brew salty yak-butter tea in the predawn light. I drank it down deep, grateful for its warmth.
Dorje escorted me to join the caravan, fussing over me all the while. “You have the purse I gave you?” he asked for the third time.
“Yes, Dorje.” I patted the folds of my long coat. “Safely hidden.”
“I hope it is enough,” he said in a worried tone. As he had promised, in addition to paying the fare Manil Datar had demanded, Dorje had given me coin he deemed sufficient for a lengthy stay in Bhaktipur. “None of us were certain what value to place on the Imperial