Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [19]
I went still.
The large thing bumped me back—several large things. A choked sound of fear died in my throat. There were large figures looming in the darkness, and yet I sensed a benign intent. I rubbed the frost from my eyelashes and squinted.
Cattle.
I was surrounded by cattle—big, shaggy cattle with short, curved horns and lambent eyes rimed with frost. They bumped, jostled, and nudged me and my horses, herding us forward, a dim sense of concern in their thoughts. And then, ah, gods!
There was a wall, a stone wall that blocked the worst of the blizzard’s knifing wind. I’d never been so glad to see a man-made wall in my life.
If there was a wall, doubtless there were humans nearby, but I couldn’t make out any of the Tatars’ felt domiciles in the storm; and the cattle were insistent, nudging me into the lee of the wall. I let go of Ember’s reins and slid down the wall in relief, resting my back against the rough stone and huddling into my coat.
With low groans, two of the cattle sank down on either side of me, pressing flanks and haunches against me. Their concerned thoughts gave way to complacent, bovine ones. Within minutes, I could feel the warmth of their shaggy hides penetrating my clothing.
I laughed, and wept tears that froze on my cheeks. “Thank you,” I whispered—to the cattle, to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, to the D’Angeline pantheon, to the Tatar gods, and to stone and sea and sky and all that they encompassed. “Thank you.”
SEVEN
Impossible as it may seem, I fell asleep amid the cattle.
I was tired beyond exhaustion, as tired in spirit as though I’d been drained almost to death, and as tired in body as though I’d climbed White Jade Mountain all over again. The presence of the cattle was warm and soothing, and the stone wall blocked the worst of the storm. There was nothing I could do for my horses until the storm passed.
And so I closed my weary eyes, thinking only to rest them a moment, and fell into a black pit of unconsciousness.
I awoke to a startled shout.
I opened my eyes to find calm morning light, and one of the young Tatar herdsmen staring at me. He loosed another shout when I opened my eyes, gripping his herder’s staff with both hands. The dog beside him planted its haunches on the frozen ground and wagged its tail, bright-eyed, its tongue lolling.
I shouted too, scrambling to my feet. The cattle on either side of me heaved themselves upright in their ungainly, rear-end-first way.
The boy yelled questions at me, his voice high and fierce. More cattle milled between us. I shook my head and spread my hands helplessly, eyeing Ember amid the herd and wondering if I could get to the bow and quiver strapped to the saddle.
The boy hesitated, then turned and raced toward the felt dwellings now visible some thirty yards away, shouting all the while.
I hesitated, too.
I was alive, and so were my mounts. It looked as though most of the supplies loaded on Coal were intact.
But I had no tent, and it was ungodly cold. Snow dusted the frozen sod, not as much as I would have expected, but I supposed the fierce wind prevented it from accumulating. I sidled through the cattle and reached Ember’s side, unlashing my bow. My fingers had thawed just enough that I was able to string it.
More folk spilled out of the felt huts—men, women, and children of all ages. I held the bow loosely in my left hand and plucked one arrow from the quiver without nocking it, trying to look calm. I didn’t want to present myself as an enemy, but I didn’t intend to appear an easy victim, either.
The Tatars fanned out as they approached, pointing and exclaiming to one another. I stood my ground uncertainly. A man of middle years whose coat and hat bore finer embroidery than the others beckoned to a young girl and spoke to her. She dashed back to the nearest hut, returning with a thick woolen blanket.
The man took it from her and began to push his way through the cattle toward me, holding out the blanket, uttering a sound such as one might make to soothe