Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [219]
"It's Master Lo," Bao said sheepishly. "I couldn't bring myself to do it. Will you?"
I glanced at our mentor. "Master?"
He sat serenely in his coarse, homespun clothing. "Bao is being foolish. Appearance is no measure of a man. I would be pleased if you would do the honors, Moirin."
"Aye, Master." It did feel like a kind of sacrilege. I knelt behind him, taking his tidy braid of silver-white hair in one hand, the shears in the other. Swallowing hard, I snipped it off.
Master Lo chuckled. "I feel strangely liberated."
I cut his hair as close as I could with the shears, trimmed away his elegant white beard, averting my gaze as I did so. He bore it patiently. Bao handed me a jar of salve and a keen-edged razor with a lacquered handle. Carefully and fearfully, I shaved Master Lo's head and chin until he was as bald as an egg.
When it was done, he looked immeasurably different. The same gentle wisdom shone in his dark eyes, but at a glance, I would never have recognized him.
"My turn." Bao sat cross-legged before me.
I ran one hand over his thick, unruly mane, relishing the crisp texture of it. "Why do you wear it short?" I asked, curious. "Is it another piece of your supposed humility?"
He shook his head. "Better for fighting. You can grab a man by his braid, yank him down. It's stupid for a fighter to have long hair."
I set to work with the shears. "I see. Well, you'll have none at all soon enough." Bao shrugged, and I nearly cut him. "Hold still!"
By the time I had finished shaving Bao's head, the princess had awakened and emerged from the bedchamber of her own accord, clad in the modest green robes of Lady Chan Song, a strip of plain linen bound over her eyes. Her spine was taut and her head turned from side to side, blindly seeking. "Moirin?"
I stood. "Here, my lady. We do but complete the transformation of your escort into monks on the Path of Dharma, shaven heads and all."
She eased, favoring me with a rare smile. "How do they look?"
I smiled in reply. "Surprisingly handsome."
At least in Bao's case, it was true. He had a nicely shaped skull, neat ears pinned close to his head. The absence of hair set off his high, wide cheekbones and his sculpted jawline. If some of the others were not so fortunate, I held my tongue.
"Master Lo Feng." Snow Tiger inclined her head in his general direction. "Is there an altar as I requested?"
"Yes, of course, my lady." Master Lo rose smoothly, guiding her. A small, gilded statue of Sakyamuni had been placed in a niche in the wall, an even smaller statue of the goddess Guanyin beside him. "Would you offer a prayer?"
"I would."
With his assistance, the princess lit a taper of incense and placed it in the brazier. Unaided, she knelt and bowed three times, pressing her brow to the floorboards, hands palm-upward in graceful supplication.
A shiver ran over my skin.
One by one, the others followed. The stick-fighters, Bao, Master Lo, all knelt without reservation. I was the last.
I knelt, gazing upward.
The statues looked inward.
"Forgive me," I whispered in Alban, in my mother tongue. "I am a stranger here, and foreign to your worship. I am a child of the Maghuin Dhonn. But I am doing the best that I may to aid those in need. I beg you to have compassion and guide us on this journey."
There was no answer.
They hear you, the dragon murmured.
"Aye?"
His presence coiled around me, warm and embracing. Always, he whispered. The gods do not always answer, but they are always listening.
* * *
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
We set out on the road ere dawn. It was damp and chilly, the eastern sky a dull grey. Snow Tiger and I rode in the rustic carriage, Kang once more in the driver's perch. Master Lo and the others walked on either side of the carriage, ghostly figures in the