Naamah's Blessing (47 page)

“He cannot hear you,” I said. “Not unless you
will
him to hear you.”

Eyahue leaned forward. “Hey!” he shouted. Temilotzin startled, his eyes stretching wide as he glanced from side to side in confusion. Eyahue chuckled. “That’s a pretty good trick.” His amusement faded, giving way to stony regard. “Why didn’t you use it the night Pochotl betrayed us?”

“It is a small gift,” I said. “I cannot conceal an entire army, and I cannot use it when there are already eyes upon me.” I pointed at the cliffs. “But I can conceal us from the hostiles for a time.”

Eyahue sucked his teeth. “Did the Emperor know about this?”

“He knew I possessed a gift, yes.” Having told a half-truth, I gambled with a whole one. “But I thought it might make you afraid if you knew.”

It stung his Nahuatl pride. “Of you?” he scoffed. “I’ve survived a thousand and one dangers. Why would I fear a girl with a gift for hiding in the shadows?”

“Then you’ll let me come with you?” I asked.

He nodded. “I will.”

With relief, I let the twilight fade, causing Temilotzin to jump nearly out of his skin. Chuckling once more, Eyahue patted the Jaguar Knight’s arm. “There’s something I need to tell you about your little warrior,” he said to him.

Although the shore wasn’t suitable for making camp, there was a good-sized cave halfway up the cliff, accessible by a steep path among the moss-covered rocks. When we reached it, there were signs it had been used before, markings etched onto the walls of the cave and ashes from an old campfire. It made the presence of unseen hostiles all the more palpable.

Still, it was shelter and a level space on which to make camp, and we had little choice but to avail ourselves of it. With some difficulty, we managed to get everyone into the cave, the hale helping the ailing make the ascent.

“I know what you’re about, Moirin,” Bao said to me as we half
carried, half dragged Balthasar into the cave. “You don’t imagine I’m letting you go alone into the jungle with that old man, do you?”

I smiled tiredly at him over the top of Balthasar’s sagging head. “Not for a minute.”

He eased Balthasar to the cavern floor. “Good.”

“I wish to Blessed buggering Elua that both of you would listen to reason.” Slumping against the cave wall, Balthasar closed his eerie eyes, his breath rattling in and out of his lungs. “Stop wasting time. I’m dying.” He shivered, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Don’t pretend I’m not. This jungle is killing me. The bad spirits have won. They know I don’t belong here. They’re burning me up from the inside out. Do you really think there’s some magic
tree bark
out there that will cure this?”

“Actually, I do.” Bao hunkered on his heels before him. “Balthasar, listen to me.”

The blue-and-yellow eyes cracked open.

“It’s not bad spirits,” Bao said firmly. “It’s a disease that insects carry. We’ve known about it in Ch’in for four thousand years. My mentor Master Lo would have prescribed
qing hao
to cure you. It would have worked, too. I’ve seen it before.”

Balthasar tilted his head back, regarding him under his eyelids. “You didn’t see fit to mention this earlier?”

Bao shrugged. “That herb does not grow here. Until today, I did not know there was another medicine that might prove effective.” Reaching out, he took one of Balthasar’s limp hands in his own. “Try not to die until we find it, huh?”

Balthasar’s laugh turned quickly to a rasping cough. Closing his eyes once more, he rested his chin on his knees. “I’ll try.”

Once our company was situated, we set out for the top of the cliff, following a narrow, winding path that forced us to climb with hands and feet, nails digging into the moss-slick rocks, the river dwindling beneath us as we ascended into the jungle heights. Our wiry
pochteca
Eyahue led the way, with Bao and me close behind him. Brice and a handful of others followed us in order to forage for firewood.
Behind us, we left Septimus Rousse in charge of the expedition, with Temilotzin to provide whatever guidance he might should we fail to return.

Atop the cliff, we parted ways.

Brice de Bretel inclined his head to me. “Good luck, my lady. I will pray for your success.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Eyahue beckoned, pointing to a faint path. “This way.”

As soon as we were out of sight of the others, I called the twilight. Safe in its embrace, we followed thin trails forged by hostile inhabitants, many of them doubling back on themselves in an inexplicable fashion. The soft dusk of the twilight made everything dim, frustrating Eyahue.

“I cannot
see
!” he complained. “I cannot tell one tree from another!”

“Hush.” Bao pointed. “Moirin?”

A small flock of ground-fowl rooted in the undergrowth before us. My heart quickened. Unslinging my bow from my shoulder, I nocked an arrow and took aim. I got two shots off before the flock scattered, taking down two plump birds.

Eyahue smacked his lips. “At least it wasn’t a wasted trip! But if you want me to find you a
cinchona
tree, you’re going to have to let your magic go.”

Bao and I exchanged a glance. “It’s your decision,” he said.

I swallowed. “If I concentrate on paying attention every moment, I ought to be able to tell if someone’s coming.”

“Do it.” Bao glanced at the silvery disk of the sun overhead. “If we don’t find one within two hours, we’ll turn back.”

Apprehensively, I released the twilight. The world returned in a hot, humid rush of greenery, the sun blazing once more. Bao retrieved the ground-fowl I’d shot, which proved to be a rufous brown with striped tails in the daylight.

We set out once more, Eyahue poking at trees and muttering to himself. I paid him scant heed. I breathed the Breath of Earth’s Pulse
to ground myself and the Breath of Trees Growing, extending my senses into the depths of the jungle.

At home in the Alban wilderness of my childhood, I could have done this handily, especially if I’d had the luxury of staying very still in one place. But the need to keep moving made it more difficult, and the jungle was so profoundly dense and alive, it confounded my senses.

The sun crept across the sky. Even with the faint trails, it was hard going. Foliage caught at us, roots tripped us up. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades, and gnats sought to crawl into my eyes. From moment to moment, my concentration wavered. I sent a wordless prayer to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself to lend me strength, and to Eisheth, the D’Angeline goddess of healing, to aid us in our quest.

On the edge of a small clearing, Eyahue scratched at a tree trunk with his obsidian dagger, peeling away a strip of bark and sniffing it. Bao busied himself with plucking one of the ground-fowl, glancing periodically at the sun with a worried look. I took the moment’s respite to close my eyes and concentrate harder, casting out the net of my senses once more.

The thoughts of humans are as different from those of animals as animals from plants—keener, flowing inward and outward at the same time.

I sensed them now; men, several of them, considerably closer than I would have guessed, moving in our direction and spreading out to encircle us.

My skin prickled, and I opened my eyes. “Eyahue, there are men coming. Is that the tree?”

He glanced at me. “Eh? No, no.” He tossed the strip of bark away. “Sorry, lady. Better call your magic.”

Although I felt sick at heart at the prospect of failure, it was a relief to return to the dim, sheltering arms of the twilight, the green world fading once more; and all the more so when five figures emerged from the jungle surrounding the tiny clearing, moving with such stealth that not a single sound betrayed their passage.

They wore little in the way of clothing, only crude belts around their waists, woven headbands laced with palm fronds, and decorative shards of bone piercing the septums of their noses. Two carried bows and three carried blowpipes, all of them poised to take aim. Their faces, which oddly appeared to be a different hue than their bodies, reflected their confusion at finding their quarry vanished. They lowered their weapons and began calling to one another, arguing in a bewildered manner.

“Shall we slip past them?” Bao murmured.

A thought struck me. “Eyahue, they’re speaking Quechua, aren’t they? Would they know where to find the trees we need?”

“Them?” He jerked his chin at the hunters. “Of course.”

“Are you
sure
they’re hostile?” I asked. “Have you never traded with them?”

The old
pochteca
scratched his chin. “I haven’t, but I’ve heard tell they’ve been known to trade with the civilized Quechua in Vilcabamba from time to time.” His eyes took on a cunning gleam. “If you’ve a mind to take a risk, I’ve an idea.” He nodded at the ground-fowl Bao carried. “What happens if he puts them down? Can the jungle folk see them?”

“Aye,” I said uncertainly.

“And they can hear me if I will it?” Eyahue asked. I nodded. He chortled, rubbing his palms together. “Let’s offer them a trade.”

On Eyahue’s orders, Bao set down the two plump birds I’d slain and backed away from them.

The hunters pointed and shouted at their sudden appearance.

Taking a deep breath, Eyahue addressed them in as sonorous tones as he could manage in his reedy voice. I caught enough words I recognized to ascertain that he was offering the birds in trade for guidance to the nearest
cinchona
tree.

The hunters looked around frantically, here and there and everywhere, raising and lowering their weapons in their confusion.

Eyahue laughed so hard I thought he might wet himself, doubling over and slapping his scrawny thighs. “They think we are spirits! You should have more fun with this gift!” he said to me.

I scowled at him. “Tell them we offer friendship in exchange for their aid.”

He looked dubious. “Friendship?”

I thought about all the unlikely friends I’d made over the course of my life’s journey, following my everlasting destiny; friends who had humbled me with their kindness. I thought about how I’d feared and avoided the Tatars due to their fearsome reputation, only to find generosity and hospitality among Batu’s tribe on the Tatar steppe when I couldn’t have survived without it. I nodded. “Tell them.”

Reluctantly, he did.

The jungle folk conferred amongst themselves. One strode forward, addressing the empty air in a firm tone.

“They want to see us,” Eyahue informed me. “They will not agree unless we show ourselves.”

I took a deep breath. “Then we will do so. Ask them to lay down their weapons as a gesture of trust.”

It was a tense moment. At last, the five men stooped and set down their weapons, glancing around uncertainly. I lowered my own bow to the ground. Bao unslung his staff, leaning unobtrusively on it.

I let the twilight go.

All of us stared at one another. The hunters’ appearance in the daylight was startling, their faces painted bright red. I remembered the boy in Tipalo’s village smearing his cheeks as he mimed a hunter with a blowpipe. The gesture was more ominous in retrospect; and yet there was fear in the hunters’ eyes, more than I thought our emergence from the twilight warranted.

Their leader addressed us.

“He wants to know if we are spirits from the black river,” Eyahue said in a puzzled tone.

“What does that mean?” I asked him.

The old man shrugged. “No idea.”

“Tell him no,” I said. “Tell him we are harmless, and we seek their help because our magic is weak here.”

“I’m not telling him that!” Eyahue gave me a withering look. “You don’t know the first thing about bartering, do you?”

“Moirin knows a great deal about befriending people,” Bao said quietly. “I suggest you do it.”

Grumbling, the
pochteca
acceded.

The hunters relaxed visibly. Moving slowly, I extended my hands palms upward, then placed them together in the soothing
mudra
of reassurance that the Rani Amrita had taught me so long ago.
“Sulpayki,”
I said carefully, bowing toward them. “Thank you.”

Unexpectedly, the leader grinned, his teeth white against his crimson-painted face. He mimicked my gesture and replied in a rapid spate of Quechua, while one of the others picked up the ground-fowl and examined them with approval.

I glanced at Eyahue, who was looking thunderstruck. “He says they are honored by our visit,” he said. “They saw our boats and our sick men and wondered if they should kill us before we joined the black river and grew stronger. But now that they know we are good spirits bringing gifts, they will help us.” He nodded at the leader. “His name is Paullu. He says we should bring our people to his village, where they already have
cinchona
bark. The shaman there will heal them.”

I bowed a second time. “
Sulpayki
, Paullu.”

The naked hunter with the crimson face-paint returned my salute with dignity. “
Imamanta
,” he replied.

You’re welcome
.

FIFTY-TWO

B
itter!” Balthasar said in protest, making a face as he drank a concoction of dried, powdered
cinchona
bark. “Ah, gods! It’s so bitter.”