Naamah's Blessing (68 page)

Day after day, I walked the fields where they labored, my feet bare that I might feel the soil beneath them, coaxing a thousand hidden sparks of life to quicken. Betimes it felt as though I walked amidst constellations of earth-bound stars. I breathed the Breath of Earth’s Pulse and the Breath of Trees Growing. When the fields were irrigated, I breathed the Breath of Ocean’s Rolling Waves.

At night, I slept like the dead, drained and dreamless. But I was using my gift as it was intended, and every morning, I found the strength to rise.

Without the system of distribution that even Raphael had found worthy of praise, I daresay we would have starved. But even as the last meager hoard of stores had been distributed and the last pack-animal shorn and slaughtered, supplies began trickling in from distant quarters.

Not enough to survive the winter without crops, but enough to keep going. I tightened the woolen cord knotted around my waist and ignored the hunger pangs in my belly.

I prayed to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, and to Blessed Elua and all of his Companions, most especially to Anael, the Good Steward—the man with the seedling cupped in his hand, I had called him since childhood.

When green seedlings emerged from the earth, unfurling leaves and tendrils, I breathed the Breath of Wind’s Sigh and the Breath of Embers Glowing, welcoming them to the open sky and the sun’s warm kiss.

I do not know how many days it lasted, or how many leagues I
walked amidst the fields, following furrow after furrow. I felt weightless and insubstantial, suspended between sky and earth.

There was day and night, the fields and seedlings, and nothingness. But the crops grew. They quickened. The Quechua farmers tended them assiduously, weeding the fields and nurturing the growing plants.

Betimes the Maidens of the Sun walked the fields with me, adding their prayers to the gods of Tawantinsuyo. In the palace, Machasu fussed over me, insisting that I ate every night before I slept. Betimes I suspected her of giving me her share of whatever food there was, but she denied it indignantly, and I was too tired and hungry to argue.

Always, I had Bao at my side, a constant and reassuring presence, his
diadh-anam
burning steadily when mine guttered low. Others accompanied us in shifts: Thierry and Balthasar and Septimus Rousse, and Jean Grenville and Brice de Bretel, who sang L’Agnacite hymns I found soothing. The Jaguar Knight Temilotzin, who watched me like a worried hawk, as quick as Bao to lend a shoulder when I faltered.

And the crops grew.

Seedlings thickened into stalks, sprouting arching plumes of leaves. Knee-high, then waist-high, then taller than my head. I walked between row after row, letting my trailing hands touch the leaves. The stalks sprouted buds of tasseled flowers that grew, thickening and lengthening. In the potato fields, the tendrils turned to vines and issued broad leaves, then white and lavender blossoms.

I summoned the twilight and breathed life into them. The flowers expended themselves, withering and dying on the vine.

I thought of the skulls in the
tzompantli
in the city of Tenochtitlan, and the poem the Nahuatl Emperor had recited to me.

I thought of Cusi, and petals falling like rain.

And the crops grew and grew.

Until the day when I rose at dawn and walked out to the fields as I had done so many times before, and found them thronged with Quechua workers, hundreds upon hundreds of them, busy hands plucking and digging. All I could do was blink, uncomprehending.

“What are they doing?” My voice sounded hoarse with disuse. I tried to remember the last time I’d spoken, and couldn’t. It had been days.

“They’re harvesting,” Bao said in wonder. Loosing a victorious shout, he turned to me with a fierce grin, a grin I’d feared I might never see again. “They’re
harvesting
, Moirin!” Laying his hands on my shoulders, he gave me a little shake. “You did it!”

I felt bewildered. “I did?”

Bao cupped my face in his hands and gave me a resounding kiss. “Aye, Moirin. You did.”

“He is right, little warrior,” Temilotzin added. “You have won this battle.”

I looked.

It was true. Even as I looked, a woman with a friendly, careworn face, some Quechua farmer’s wife, approached us, a pair of young children following in her wake as she traversed the field. She held an ear of
maize
in her hands, cradling it like an offering.

“See,” she said reverently, peeling back the limp silken tassels and the coarse, pale green leaves to reveal rows of healthy kernels. “It is ripe!”

My knees gave way, so swiftly neither Bao nor Temilotzin caught me before I sank to the earth. “Oh…!”

The Quechua woman smiled. “This is for you, lady.” She pressed the ear of
maize
into my hands, patting them gently. In the manner of children everywhere, her toddlers peered at me around her skirt, their eyes wide and bright with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. “You have caused this to happen, and I come to give it to you. It is the first fruit of the harvest, and you should have it.”

“Sulpayki,”
I whispered, clutching her offering. “Thank you.”

Her smile broadened, revealing unexpected dimples that tugged at my heart. “
Imamanta
,” she replied. “You are welcome.”

Now it was truly done.

SEVENTY-FOUR

Q
usqu would survive.

There was a feast that evening, and it was a joyous thing to see the streets of the splendid city filled with folk celebrating the harvest. Exhausted as I was, the sight gladdened my heart, and I felt stronger for it.

A good deal of negotiating had transpired while I walked the fields in a waking daze. Counting on my success, Prince Thierry had engaged Eyahue to negotiate for the supplies everyone prayed were forthcoming for our return journey, and various live specimens and samples of Quechua workmanship. He was determined not to return to Terre d’Ange empty-handed after all his travail.

I would not have thought we had aught left with which to trade, but the
Sapa Inca
Huayna had acted with strict integrity to restore the arms and armor that Raphael had confiscated from our company. Thierry had declined to trade the swords, brigandines, and helmets, but in exchange for the bulkier pieces of plate armor, he was able to secure all he wanted.

“We’ve spoken of establishing further trade in the years to come,” Thierry told me, a faraway look in his eye. “Captain Rousse is interested in returning with an expedition of mapmakers and engineers to dredge a river passage across the isthmus. It could open up Terra Nova in a manner the Aragonians never even dreamed of.”

“You have duties at home, my lord,” I reminded him, a bit alarmed. “Terre d’Ange needs you far more than Terra Nova does.”

“I know.” Thierry sobered, his gaze returning from the distance. “Believe me, Moirin, my adventuring is done. But if I am fortunate enough to survive this and take possession of the throne, I will have the means to back such an endeavor.”

“Ambition can be a dangerous thing,” I murmured.

“Yes, I know.” He met my eyes steadily. “I watched Raphael de Mereliot descend into madness because of it. But men must have dreams, Moirin. And I watched Terre d’Ange descend into idle frivolity because my father didn’t encourage the best and brightest among us to dream boldly.” He smiled with sorrow. “He was a good man, and a fair and just ruler. But I do not wish to repeat his mistakes.”

To that, I had no reply.

“I suspect it could not be done in a single lifetime,” Septimus Rousse added. “But who better than us to attempt a beginning?” He nodded at the
Sapa Inca
, who was drinking freshly brewed
chicha
from a golden bowl. “We have a strong ally in this Quechua Emperor, and a foundation of trust on which to build. Both our nations stand to benefit.” He paused. “Denis de Toluard and I spoke often during our journey of how such a thing might be accomplished,” he added in a softer tone. “It helped pass the time and occupy our minds. I would undertake it in his memory.”

I had no reply to that, either. I lifted my own bowl of
chicha
. “To Denis, then, and all our fallen comrades.”

Bao’s expression was shuttered as he drank, and I knew he thought of Cusi. But when I touched his arm, he summoned a quiet smile for me. “Do you harbor any ambitions I should know about?” I asked him.

His smile widened, turning genuine. “Just the one.”

I raised my brows. “Fat babies?”

“Round as dumplings,” Bao affirmed. “Just wait.”

Balthasar Shahrizai snorted into his
chicha
. “Now that, I’d like to see.”

I would, too.

That night, I slept and dreamed for the first time since the night
of the sacrifice. Unsurprisingly, I dreamed of walking the fields, my bare feet sinking into the loose soil, the tall stalks of
maize
swaying around me. In my dream, I walked alone and unattended, breathing slowly and deeply, extending my arms to brush the leaves. And in my dream, it did not surprise me when I rounded a furrow and saw my lady Jehanne awaiting me beneath the green shadows of the arching leaves, her slender figure clad incongruously in the white satin garb of her Snow Queen costume, an ermine-trimmed cloak flowing from her shoulders and brushing the earth, diamonds glittering in her fair hair.

Her head tilted a little. “Moirin.”

I smiled at her. “Aye, my lady.”

She drew nearer, the expression on her exquisite face earnest. “You know why I’ve come?”

I nodded. “To say farewell.”

“It ends here.” Jehanne’s shoulders rose and fell as she took a sharp breath. “You’ll tell my daughter I loved her?”

Again, I nodded. “Does that mean I return safely?”

She shook her head. “That, I cannot know.” Her blue-grey eyes searched mine. “I was only ever allowed to know what was needed. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Aye,” I said. “I do.”

“Aye.” Jehanne echoed the word with a smile. “Oh, Moirin!” She gestured all around her. “The world grows and changes, but a gift such as yours should not be allowed to pass from it. The world needs its ambitious dreamers, men who would shape it to their own ends. But it needs those who would keep them in check, too. The world needs its courtesans.” She touched my cheek. “And the world needs its bear-witches, my lovely savage. You won’t withdraw from it like the rest of your folk, will you?”

“No,” I said. “I have an oath to keep. Assuming we
do
return safely, I will divide my time between Alba and Terre d’Ange, but I will remain a part of Desirée’s life, I promise.”

“I’m glad.” Jehanne took my arm. In unspoken accord, we strolled
along between the rows of tall stalks. She gave me a sparkling sidelong glance. “To think I set out to seduce you out of spite all those years ago!”

I laughed. “To think I knew, and let you.”

“Oh, please!” She squeezed my arm. “You never had a chance. Naamah’s gift runs far, far too strong in you.”

“In both of us,” I said.

“You put it to better use.” Jehanne’s lips quirked. “Though it shames me to admit it, it’s true.”

I shook my head. “You have no cause for shame.”

She walked a few paces in silence. “Would that it were true,” she said at length. “But I made choices I regret. I spent far too much time being foolish and petty, indulging my every whim and desire. I abetted Terre d’Ange’s descent into… what did Thierry call it? Idle frivolity.”

“You were young,” I murmured.

Jehanne shot me a look at once fond and wry. “I was your age now when first we met, Moirin. Look at what you’ve done.”

“Aye, and I am here because of the foolish choices I made when I was even younger,” I said mildly. “You never unleashed a fallen spirit on the world, my lady.”

She tilted her head again. “How is it you always know the right thing to say to comfort me?”

“I come from a long line of royal companions,” I said.

“True. Naamah chose wisely when she sent your father to your mother.” Jehanne paused to stroke a
maize
leaf. Her tone shifted as she glanced at me, the expression on her lovely face turning vulnerable. “Moirin, I’m scared.”

I halted and took her hands. “Of what?”

“Of what comes next.” Tears shone in her starry eyes. “It’s absurd, I know. For so long… has it been a long time? It’s so hard to tell here, but it feels like it. I’ve been trapped
between,
waiting for this moment to come, and it’s been so lonely, so very lonely. But now that it’s finally here, I’m frightened.” Freeing one hand, she wiped her eyes. “I don’t
imagine I’ll be passing through the bright gate into Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond. What if I’m reborn into the world forgetting all I’ve learned? What if Daniel and Raphael are waiting for me to make the same mistakes all over again?”

“You won’t.” I pressed her hand between mine. “Jehanne, you answered your own question.”

“I did?”

“Aye,” I said. “You told Raphael we break each other’s hearts, but we mend them, too. Trust yourself.” I smiled. “You were always a great deal kinder and wiser than you pretended.”