Naamah's Kiss (70 page)

"No," I admitted. "But I'm warming to the notion." A thought struck me. "Bao do you suppose Master Lo Feng has ever been in love?"

I thought he would say yes or no, but instead Bao looked thoughtful. "I don't know," he said at length. "Whether you believe it or not, Master Lo has been alive longer than anyone's memory. There is a rumor that he had a wife, once. And a rumor that he loved her very much." Both shoulders lifted and fell. "If it is true, he never speaks of it."

"Not even to his magpie?" I asked.

His hands slid up my arms, calluses making me shiver. "No," Bao whispered against my lips, kissing me. "Not even to his magpie."

I breathed in the scent of red-hot metal and kissed him in return, feeling a little dizzy. "Oh, well."

Bao shifted me expertly, pulling me atop him. "Want to try falling in love again?"

I wriggled. "Gods, yes!"

It was a long journey and our efforts were prodigious; and yet we spoke of love more in jest than not. Despite his teasing and his comfortable demeanor in the bedchamber, there was a part of Bao that remained guarded. I daresay the same was true of me. I was at ease in Bao's company in a way I hadn't been with anyone since Cillian; and yet the realization of that truth evoked sorrow. I'd loved Cillian, but not enough. And I'd scarce given myself a chance to grieve for him before flinging myself at Raphael de Mereliot, convinced he was my destiny.

Raphael

I'd been a useful tool to him, nothing more. It was true, and it was galling to acknowledge. He'd used my desire to his own ends. I'd let my yearning for destiny and his healing hands blind me to the truth. Raphael had never really cared for me, never wanted me . Only what I could do for him.

And then there was Jehanne. Against all odds, there was Jehanne, my unlikeliest of rescuers.

I daresay she was right; if I had stayed, matters between us would have changed sooner or later. She was fickle and vain and everything her critics claimed. And I wouldn't have been content forever with a seat at a banquet table where I was never more than a guest. In the end, it wouldn't have been enough.

And yet

It had ended too soon.

Betimes I watched the waves swell and break around the ship, bright foam sparkling on their crests, and thought of Jehanne. Tasting the salt-spray on my lips and wondering if she'd driven any chambermaids to tears since I left. Wondering at the tides ebbing and flowing in her body, wondering at the rising swell of her belly. Counting the days and weeks and months on my fingers and thinking, Not yet .

I wished I were there.

I'm here . I'd said that to her when she was frightened. And I'd meant it. I'd meant to stay as long as she needed me. Instead, I'd left her as she'd always known I would. Jehanne had forgiven me for it. She'd forgiven me before it happened. For all her foibles, despite the mercurial temperament that made me smile, she had a vast and passionate heart. And she had loved me. No matter what else happened, that would always be true.

I missed her.

So Bao and I danced and sparred and bedded one another, Master Lo's magpie and his witch, both of us nursing our bruised and scarred hearts.

We sailed through calm seas.

We rounded the tip of a continent and sailed through battering storms and rough seas, where I thought I might die. And when we did, when the ship the size of a city was dwarfed by the pitching waves it rode, its hull and ribs threatening to crack beneath the massive pressure, I was grateful for Bao's strong arms around my waist.

"What happens?" I gasped. "What happens to you if you die?"

He tightened his arms. "No one's dying today."

"But what ?"

"Our spirits go to the city of Fengdu," Bao said in my ear. "Where the Yama Kings sit in judgment. First we are presented to the God of Places, who reviews a record of all our deeds. After forty-nine days, we are sent to the courts of the Yama Kings. Each of the Yama Kings judges our different sins and sentences us to punishment. For example, gossips and liars are sent to the Chamber of Ripping Tongues. Merchants who cheat their customers are forced to climb the Mountain of Knives with bare hands."

I shivered. "This isn't helping."

"You asked," he reminded me. "After we have suffered all our punishments, we go before the tenth Yama King, who is in charge of the Wheel of Souls. This Yama King decides what form we deserve in our next life, a prince or a beggar or a lowly animal. There we drink the Broth of Oblivion and fall from the Bridge of Pain into the River of Rebirth to begin our journey anew."

"Does it ever end?" I asked. "Must everyone suffer? Is there no place for mercy and forgiveness?"

"For some," Bao said. "Only a very few, who have led lives without sin. They go to paradise to feast with the gods." He shrugged. "Also there is the Maiden of Gentle Aspect. If a person's good deeds outweigh the bad, she may take him from the God of Places and lead him straight to the tenth Yama King to be reborn."

"No punishment?"

"No punishment," he confirmed. "I am not looking forward to the punishment. But I told you, no one is dying today."

The ship pitched alarmingly. "You're sure?"

"Ahh no." Bao braced himself around me. "What about your people? Where do you go?"

I leaned my head against his shoulder. "We pass through the stone doorway to join the Maghuin Dhonn Herself in the world beyond this one."

"That's all?"

"Aye." The memory calmed me. "It's enough."

"Everyone?" He sounded skeptical.

I shook my head. "No. No, the bad ones, they wander lost for a time that they might ponder their wrongs. And oath-breakers" I fell silent, remembering Clunderry. The green mound in the field and the standing stones in the blood-soaked wood. Morwen, my ancestral almost-namesake, had died there. She had sworn an oath and broken it deliberately, offering herself as a sacrifice. Her spirit would be forsaken for ten thousand years, spurned at every turn. I touched my chest where the spark of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself burned within me. The thought of losing it was unbearable. "It's longer for them."

Bao was dismissive. "Doesn't sound so bad."

"No?" I twisted in his arms. "It's a different kind of hell, Bao. And I would rather have my tongue ripped out than my diadh-anam ."

To that, he had no reply.

My cabin door crashed open. I yelped. A flash of lightning showed Master Lo Feng in silhouette.

"My pupils." Despite the raging wind tugging at his beard and whipping his robes around him, he sounded as tranquil as ever. "You may find this instructive. Come and behold the storm."

"Master Lo!" Bao protested.

Our mentor beckoned. "Come."

We went.

Stone and sea! It was terrible and it was awesome. We stood atop our deck, clinging to the carved railing. The waves surged around us, lightning forking overhead amid the dark, roiling clouds. I stared, agape, as our ship climbed up the slope of a wave the size of a mountain, teetered on the precipice, then plunged into the trough.

"The sea is like the Way!" Master Lo called above the cacophony. "Ten thousand things arise from it!" He released the railing, clasping his hands together. "Surrender and be at peace with it. Let go of your fear and breathe."

I closed my eyes and drew shallow breaths, my chest tight with fear, salt-spray lashing my face. I didn't dare let go of the slick railing. The ship crashed into the bottom of the trough, timbers groaning. Sailors' shouts pierced the din faintly, distant as bird cries. Water sluiced across the deck.

Bao angled himself behind me, bracing me once more. "I'm here," he murmured in a low voice.

The familiar words made my heart ache. I had left Jehanne because my diadh-anam had sent me here. The least I could do was try to understand why.

I let go of the railing and rode the plunging ship.

When Master Lo spoke of the Way, I understood only bits and pieces of his meaning. What was the Way? It was the force and essence behind all things, the one thing that gave birth to ten thousand things even as the sea gives birth to clouds and rain and rivers and lakes. And it was far, far too vast for me to grasp.

So I thought instead of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, who had led my ancestors south when the world was frozen. Her mighty tread, Her head blotting out the stars. On uninhabited Alba, Her immense paw sank into the soil for the first time, Her fearsome claws digging furrows in the earth. A freshwater spring rose bubbling around it.

In that moment, my people came to be what we were. And from that moment, our long history arose.

I thought about Naamah, lying down with a stranger for the first timethe bright lady surrendering herself to earn coin that Blessed Elua might eat. What had wandering half-mortal Elua known of love and desire and sacrifice before that moment? Nothing. Somewhere in that moment, the seed of the nation and the people of Terre d'Ange was engendered.

And a thousand years later, a Priest of Naamah laid down on the soil of Alba with a woman of the Maghuin Dhonn, and I was engendered.

Now I was here.

It felt like a revelation too large to encompass. I let it go. I let myself stop trying and breathed the Breath of Ocean's Rolling Waves, yielding to the moment. I was content to understand that the Way was as much bigger than my destiny as the ocean was our ship. Like the ship, my destiny would yield to it or break and be swallowed.

The knowledge gave me a strange sense of peace. Although I was soaked to the skin and my wind-whipped hair was lashing around my head, I was no longer afraid.

We stayed on the deck until the storm abated. Slowly, slowly, the waves dwindled from mountains to hills, from hills to hummocks. Lightning ceased splitting the heavens, thunder ceased to boom. The pelting rain diminished to a shower, then stopped altogether. The glowering bank of clouds broke apart, revealing a patch of blue sky.

"So." Master Lo Feng wrung out his soaked sleeves, then folded his hands into them. "Did you find it instructive, my pupils?"

Bao grumbled and banged the side of his head with his hand, trying to dislodge water from one ear. "Yes, Master."

I thought about my answer. I wanted to put my almost-revelation into words, but it was still too big and my understanding too imperfect. "Aye, Master Lo," I said at last. "I believe I did."

My mentor inclined his head. "Like the unborn chick scratching at the shell, you perceive the beginning of wisdom."

I sighed. "Just the beginning?"

Master Lo smiled. "It is a very good beginning."