Naamah's Curse (79 page)

Bhaktipuri folk swarmed the field, gathering blossoms. Hasan Dar and his men handed out needles and thick, waxed thread for the stringing of garlands. Men and women sang and sewed, happy to take part in a miracle.

Bao helped me to my feet and slid his arm around my waist. “Well done, Moirin.”

I leaned against him, drawing strength from his presence. “Let us hope it all goes as well.”

“How can it not, young goddess?” Amrita kissed my cheek. “I named you so rightly! You have made a miracle happen here.”

From the miraculous field of marigolds, the Rani’s procession returned to the outskirts of the city, to the slums where the untouchables dwelled. I daresay no other ruler in the history of Bhaktipur had visited the place, and I loved her all the more for doing it.

In some ways, it was not so terrible as I had expected; in others, it was worse. Young Sudhakar, who had served as the Rani’s liaison to the no-caste encampment in this matter now served as our guide, as though we were visiting a foreign land. He pointed out the vast pits dug into the earth where the gathered ordure of Bhaktipur’s upper castes was spread and covered with a layer of barley-straw.

“You see,” he said helpfully, pointing at an older patch of ground where vines spread. “In time, it becomes fertile soil. We could not survive without it.”

But ah, gods! The level of poverty was staggering. The dwellings in which they lived were crude, ramshackle affairs, in some instances nothing more than a length of ragged cloth stretched between poles. The faces that peered out at us were wary and fearful, not willing to trust to this seeming turn of fortune. A few folk had bright, hopeful eyes, but far, far more were dull and sullen with despair. All of them kept their distance, trained by a lifetime of experience not to sully folk such as us with so much as a shadow or a breath.

“People of Bhaktipur,” the Rani Amrita said in a gentle tone. “The gods have seen fit to send me a message, and from this day forward, I proclaim that there shall be no more division between caste and no-caste into clean and unclean. All shall be given opportunities to rise in status through hard work and dedication. By the will of the gods, I declare the rules of untouchability are no more. All men shall be brothers, and all women sisters.” She held out a garland of marigolds. “Come! I invite each and every one of you to come to the river and take part in a ritual of purification to celebrate this new beginning.”

No one moved.

If I’d had the strength, I’d have lent Amrita a bit of glamour once more, but the marigold field had drained me too deeply. It would be a day or more before I was able to summon the twilight.

She stood patiently, holding out the garland, Ravindra at her side. Carts heaped with garlands waited behind them. Sudhakar shifted from foot to foot, looking earnest. The crowd that had accompanied us began to murmur, while the untouchables remained silent.

At last, beneath the shadow of a hovel consisting of a piece of rusted tin propped on a few posts, a small figure stirred, a young girl of some eleven or twelve years, turning to her mother and whispering a question. The mother nodded, and the girl stepped forth.

I recognized her. She was the girl I had seen being assaulted for attempting to enter a temple when I had first arrived in Bhaktipur.

“So, little one!” By the smile in Amrita’s voice, I could tell she had recognized the child, too. “It falls to you to be bold, eh?” She beckoned. “Come, then. Be the first to accept the gods’ blessing on this day.”

With a tremulous smile, the girl started forward. She managed to cross half the distance between her and the Rani before falling to her knees, overwhelmed by force of habit and the enormity of the situation.

Amrita tilted her head at Sudhakar, who went to the girl’s side. “Come, come, Neena!” he said cheerfully to her. “You know me, eh? There is no reason to be afraid. This is a good day, the best day.” He tugged at one thin arm. “Come and be glad!”

Holding Sudhakar’s hand, the girl Neena approached the Rani a second time. Her skinny legs, left bare by a garment more rags than dress, trembled like a newborn foal’s. But she did it, releasing Sudhakar’s hand to press her palms together and bow deeply.

“Brave girl!” the Rani Amrita congratulated her, laying the garland around her neck and kissing her cheek.

A sound like the wind sobbing through trees broke over the no-caste encampment at that kiss, that simple, sweet gesture that acknowledged the child’s humanity. The girl’s mother staggered out of their hovel, tears streaking her face, her arms outstretched. She fell weeping at Amrita’s feet, embracing her legs.

My lady Amrita stooped and kissed her brow, then raised her up with her own hands and placed a garland around her neck. “I am glad to see you are well. Be proud of your daughter today.”

One by one, others stepped forward; and then it was like a dam breaking. All at once, the untouchables of Bhaktipur surged toward the Rani and her son, mobbing them, crying out words of blessing, words of thanks, begging her to anoint them with flowers, begging her to
touch
them.

She did, each and every one of them; and there were tears in
her
eyes, too, but they were joyful ones.

When the last of seventy-odd folk had been garlanded, the Rani Amrita clapped her hands together. “To the river!”

It was a motley procession that wound its way through the city to the banks of the Bhasa River, but stone and sea! It was a joyous one. Former untouchables clad in rags and flowers walked side by side with merchants and tradefolk, escorted by members of the warrior class in all their finery.

Along the bank of the river, at the sacred bathing spot, priests were waiting with offering bowls, and the Rani’s servants, many of them rescued from Kurugiri, awaited with clean, dry clothing. There were braziers smoking in the open air, and dozens of different kinds of savory foods being prepared.

I had to own, I wasn’t looking forward to the ritual purification. My lady Amrita thought the gesture would be best if all took part in it, a thought with which I agreed, but the waters of the river spilled from the heights of the Abode of the Gods into this charmed valley, and I was sure they were bound to be frigid.

I was wrong.

The Bhasa River flowed slow and placid at the sacred place where broad steps went down into the water. Curling tendrils of mist rose from its gleaming waters.

Warm. The water was warm.

Amrita gave me a startled look. “More of your magic, dear one?”

I shook my head, my throat feeling tight. “No, my lady. This is truly a gift of the gods.”

She smiled at me. “As are you.”

We descended the steps and waded into the river, all of us. Caste and no-caste, warriors and peasants; and the water was warm, as warm as mother’s milk. There was laughter and shouting and singing, and prayers intoned by priests. The soaked folds of my sari floated around me. Bao, grinning, emptied bowls of water over my head; and I did the same to him. Bedecked with garlands of flowers, everyone laughed and splashed in the warm waters of the sacred river, everyone made clean and whole by the ritual, the Rani Amrita no less than the least of her subjects.

My heart ached at the beauty of it.

And I thought of my forced, false baptism in chains in Riva, and how a portion of my life had come around full circle; how one person might truly make a difference in the world. I thought about the parallels between Aleksei and my lovely lady Amrita; and I hoped my sweet boy would prove as courageous and kind as my gentle Rani.

I hoped he would.

I thought he might.

Flowers worked their way loose from hastily strung garlands, floating down the river. We waded dripping out of the river, shivering in the cool air, glad to be met with warm blankets and clean, dry clothing.

Priests kindled the sacred fires and sang.

Everywhere, faces glowed.

Bao wrapped his arms around me, and I leaned gratefully into his embrace once more. “The world has changed a little bit today, huh?” he murmured in my ear.

I nodded. “For the better.”

“I wonder what’s next for us,” he mused. “For there
will
be a next, Moirin.”

“I know.” I lifted my head to kiss him, my lips lingering on his. “But for now, can we not just be happy?”

Bao smiled at me. “For now, yes.”

T
he months that followed were a time of near-perfect happiness. A sense of benediction hovered over the valley and the celebratory mood lingered.

It was not entirely perfect; here and there, there were folk embittered by the change, folk who refused to have any dealings with the former untouchables or threatened violence against them. The Rani levied a system of steep fines against them, putting the money gathered toward the construction of a new school, and in time even the last holdouts gave way with grudging reluctance.

But for the most part, all was well. Too many people had witnessed the miracle of marigolds bursting forth from the earth and steam rising from the surface of the Bhasa River to doubt the will of the gods.

I was happy, very happy. I had the company of my lovely Rani Amrita and her clever son, who attempted in vain to teach me to play chess. I had the pleasure of spending time with the
tulku
Laysa and the other women of the harem, watching them blossom in their newfound home, watching their children run and play in the garden, free forever more from the stark tyranny of Kurugiri, watching serious Ravindra abandon his dignity to laugh and play among them.

And I had Bao.

It was a good time for us, the first time since we had been together on the greatship that there was no shadow that lay between us. No dragon’s jealousy, no angry, jilted Tatar princess. No Patriarch to sully our union with his vile thoughts, no conspiracy to separate us by leagues and leagues, no hate-filled Spider Queen in her lair.

And for once, there was no destiny goading us—no princess to rescue, no assassins to thwart, no fortress to invade. Somewhere to the west, further oceans beckoned, but for now, our shared
diadh-anam
was content to let us rest.

We learned to be together as friends and lovers, learned to live with ordinary happiness as well as the divine spark that joined us.

“He is good with children, that one,” my lady Amrita observed, watching Bao entertain Ravindra and the others, walking upside down on his hands and challenging them to a race. “Will you start a family after you are wed?”

“Someday, yes.” I smiled wistfully. “Not for a while, I think. I fear the gods are not done with us.”

She sighed. “I wish the world were not so very large! I would so like to see your children playing in this very garden.”

I took her hand and squeezed it. “So would I. But our lives will always be the richer for having known you.”

Having lost his absurd race and been toppled ignominiously by a horde of delighted children, Bao came over to console himself with a cool drink.

“Amrita thinks you will be a good father one day,” I informed him.

Bao grinned at me. “I will be an excellent father, O queen of my heart. Our children will deserve nothing less.”

I flushed at the unexpected endearment, the first Bao had ever given me. His grin softened into a lopsided smile, and we gazed foolishly at each other, still learning this business of being in love.

Amrita shook her head at us both. “I would say your wedding day cannot come too soon,” she said fondly. “Except I know my D’Angeline
dakini
and my bad boy Bao have not bothered to wait for it.”

“Oh, but we are looking forward to it,” Bao assured her. “Very much so!”

“I am glad.” She arranged her fingers in a
mudra
and took on a serious look. “There is one great favor I would ask of you, my heroes. As much as I do not like to think of your leaving, I know you must go. Will you take Kamadeva’s diamond with you, and restore it to the temple from which it was taken? It is not far from your path, and there is no one else in the world I would rather trust to do it.”

Bao gave me an inquiring glance, and I nodded. With the diamond locked safe in a coffer, I had not been tempted by it. “Of course.” He bowed deeply to the Rani in the Ch’in manner, hand over fist. “It is the least we can do for the trouble we led to your doorstep, highness.”