Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [20]
I eyed him, bow in hand, unable to determine whether he meant to offer the blanket to me or capture me in it.
He clucked his tongue, shaking the blanket at me in a way that could have been inviting or menacing. “Ha, ha!”
“I’m sorry!” I said aloud in the scholar’s tongue. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to do.”
One of the women said somewhat in a sharp tone. The adult Tatars argued amongst themselves. Wide-eyed children with round faces stared at me. I tried smiling at one, and he burst into tears.
Another woman emerged from the felt huts, walking slowly and carefully—in part because her pregnant belly strained against her long coat, and in part because she carried a small bowl of steaming liquid. She paused to dip her fingers in it, scattering droplets on the frozen earth.
All the Tatars murmured in approval.
The pregnant woman and the man with the blanket exchanged glances. He shrugged and stepped backward to let her pass him. She came toward me with those delicate little steps, smiling at me with weary sweetness. This time, the cattle moved out of the way of their own accord.
A few paces away from me, she raised the bowl to her lips and mimed drinking from it, then held it out to me. I paused, then slung my bow over my shoulder and returned the arrow I had drawn from my quiver. The pregnant woman nodded encouragingly. She cradled the bowl in one hand, pointed at it, then pointed at the ground, raising her eyebrows in question.
I felt foolish.
“Thank you,” I murmured, cupping my hands together in a gesture of gratitude. “I recognize an offer of hospitality. You do not need to treat me like a wild creature.”
She beamed, holding out the bowl with both hands.
I bowed in the Ch’in manner and came forward to accept it, taking it in both hands and lifting it to drink.
It was tea, hot and salty, rich with milk-fat. Another time and place, I might have found the taste repugnant. Here, it tasted like heaven. I meant to sip it politely. Instead, I downed the entire bowl.
The Tatars I had been so assiduously avoiding all made sounds of welcome and approval. Still beaming, the pregnant woman turned to her husband—as I later learned he was—and extended her hand for the woolen blanket. He gave it to her with an affectionate, rueful smile. She raised her brows at me once more, offering the blanket to me.
“Thank you,” I said a second time, accepting it with another bow and wrapping it around my shoulders.
She touched my sleeve, then touched my face, her fingertips gentle and inquisitive. I held still and let her. Her dark, angular eyes searched mine. At length, satisfied, she nodded, turned and said somewhat to the others. Her husband nodded and said somewhat more, making a firm gesture of dismissal.
With obvious reluctance, the others began to disperse, returning to their felt huts or setting about various chores.
The couple turned their attention back to me. The woman asked me a question, speaking as slowly and carefully as though to a very young child. I shook my head helplessly. After another exchange with her husband, she pointed toward the felt huts. She mimed eating and sleeping, first raising an imaginary spoon to her lips, then pressing her cheek against folded hands.
Given my fears, I was embarrassed by their kindness. “Thank you,” I said for the third time. “But I must tend to my mounts first.” I pointed to myself and then at Ember and Coal, still saddled and loaded amid the meandering cattle, then mimed awkwardly to indicate what I needed to do.
The man’s face cleared with understanding. He nodded in approval and called over the boy who had first discovered me. The boy went to work straightaway at unloading Coal’s packs, blowing on the frozen buckles to thaw them. With an elaborate series of gestures, the man indicated that the boy would unload the horses and carry my gear and supplies to the hut, then turn the horses loose to graze on the frozen plain. He finished by echoing his wife’s gesture with the imaginary spoon.
His wife didn’t wait for my reply. Grasping