Naamah's Kiss (101 page)

"I know."

"And yet if they were given the chance to offer up their memories freely, to be rewarded instead of punished yes. It would be better, much better." The princess looked at the bright silvery disc of the moon's reflection wavering on the water. "Those who seek to flee and hide would come forward willingly, especially the alchemists and engineers who possess the most dangerous knowledge." She glanced at me. "You truly think you can do this thing?"

"I don't know," I murmured. "I see the possibility of it in a way I never did before."

She turned to face me. "Then let us try."

"Now?" I felt anxious and unready.

"There is very little time, Moirin," she said gently. "We must know if it is possible and can be proved. Tell me what to do."

I rubbed the tiny scar on my hand. "You need to choose a memory, hold it in your thoughts, and offer it to me. And I do not know how to prove it, my lady. If it works, you will have no memory of it, and no way of knowing I speak the truth."

"True." Snow Tiger thought a moment. "I do not believe you would lie, but there should be proof. Let us send for paper and ink. I will write down the memory I have chosen. You cannot read, can you?"

"Not Ch'in characters, no," I admitted, adding, "I can read perfectly well in my own language."

She smiled a little. "I did not mean to offend you. But if you are able to tell me what I have written, a memory I cannot recall recorded in my own hand, I will know beyond doubt that it is true."

We returned to wake the drowsy maid and send her for paper and ink. Snow Tiger sat at the writing table, wetted her brush on the ink-stone, and gazed at the blank scroll, hesitating. I had a good idea what she was thinking.

"It can be any memory you choose, my lady," I said softly. "One you would be glad to be rid of."

"It is tempting." Her voice was wistful. "But to deny such memories is to dishonor the dead. I will not do it." She dipped her brush again and wrote on the scroll, characters flowing with strong, graceful lines. "There."

I glanced around the room. "Can we go back outside? It will be easier for me."

"Yes, of course."

Watched by the curious maid, we returned to the edge of the lake. I breathed the Breath of Trees Growing, centering my thoughts. Snow Tiger waited with a calm patience that reminded me of Master Lo, waiting for me to prepare myself. I pushed the thought away, concentrating. "I will need to touch you."

"At least you are warning me this time," she said wryly.

It made me laugh, and eased my tension, which I daresay she intended. I cupped her face in my hands. She raised it trustingly to me, the silver moon reflected in her eyes, a reminder of the dragon's coils. I leaned close, so close our noses almost touched. "Hold the memory in your thoughts, and offer it freely."

She did.

I sensed the memory unfurl in her thoughts, a happy memory of her sword tutor praising her for disarming him for the first time, and the warm glow she felt at the first kind words he had spoken to her.

"Oh, my lady!" I said in dismay. "Why did you choose such a nice memory?"

"So that I would know there was no part of me that willed it gone," she said in a steady tone.

I wanted to shake her for her relentless nobility, to tell her to go back and write down a different memory, some trivial childhood mishap. But it was late, I was ready, and unlikely to convince her anyway.

So instead I called the magic and made myself a gateway. I took the memory she offered, inhaling it into myself in one deep breath. It slithered like an eel through my thoughts; and then I swallowed, and it was gone, gone into the spirit world.

I breathed a cool mist into the place it had been, closed the gateway, and released the princess' face.

She blinked, frowning, and touched her temples. "It felt strange. As though something moved inside my head. Then there was a sense of loss. But you didn't do anything."

"No?" I asked. "What is the memory you chose?"

Snow Tiger gave me a blank look, then unrolled the scroll she carried, reading the bold characters to herself by moonlight. "Do you know what is written here?"

I nodded. "Yes, my lady. You wrote of the first time you disarmed your tutor, the first time he praised you. It made you happy and proud."

"You." She took a sharp breath. "You are a bit frightening at times, Moirin of the Maghuin Dhonn."

It didn't comfort me. "I don't mean to be. I'm just me. And it only works if you give your consent," I added. "Old Nemed was very, very clear on that point."

"So you said." Sensing my discomfort, the princess touched my arm gently. "Forgive me. I misspoke. It is your gifts that are unnerving, Moirin. Not you. You, I have come to trust wholly."

"Thank you." It made me feel better.

"You are welcome." She studied the scroll in her hands a second time, then gave herself a shake. "Come. We'll have to wake my father."

I repeated the demonstration on the Emperor himself. It was profoundly unnerving. I hadn't expected it, although I should have. This was a matter of the utmost gravity. As much as he respected his daughter, the Son of Heaven would not place his trust in my gift on her word alone.

Like her, he chose a memory and committed it to paper. Generals and counselors watched with somber, doubting eyes. The Emperor was careful not to let me see what he wrote, not trusting in my alleged illiteracy.

I felt very young, very foreign, and very out of place.

"I will need" My voice cracked with nerves. I cleared my throat. "Celestial Majesty, I will need to lay my hands on you."

"Then do so."

Reminding myself that I was a child of the Maghuin Dhonn, a rulerless folk awed by no one, I took his face in my hands and bade him to hold the memory in his thoughts and offer it freely.

I leaned close, close enough to feel his breath against my face.

Like his daughter, the Emperor had chosen a joyous memory, one of climbing the palace wall to steal peaches from a garden in the women's quarters. The happy sense of mischief in it made me smile ruefully. He offered it without hesitation, his gaze steady and unwavering, eyes only inches from mine.

I called the magic, breathed in his memory, and took it away.

I blew mist in the place where it had been.

Emperor Zhu shuddered slightly when I released him. He turned to one of his counselors, reaching out his hand for the scroll, then read what was written on it. His face was expressionless.

"Peaches," I said. "A memory of stealing peaches as a boy."

He tapped the scroll against his palm. "I chose a memory no one else could possibly know. That I remember. Committing it to paper, I remember. And yet" His brows knit in perplexity. "I have no memory of stealing peaches."

I was silent.

"What is the purpose of this gift among your people?" the Emperor asked. "It is a dire weapon."

I took a deep breath. "When we come of age, we are taken to a sacred place, Celestial Majesty. A place with a doorway onto the spirit world. Beyond the doorway, the Maghuin Dhonn Herself accepts or rejects us as Her own."

A muscle in his face twitched. "Your bear-goddess."

"Yes," I said simply. "Those whom She rejects have their memories of it taken. It is done that the place might stay hidden. And they offer it freely because it is a memory too painful to endure."

He tapped the scroll again, deep in thought. "And you believe this is what you were sent to do?"

"I don't" I halted. My diadh-anam flared inside me, casting out doubt. Somewhere, Bao felt it, too. I remembered the Maghuin Dhonn's deep, sorrowful gaze on me. "Yes, Celestial Majesty. I do. It is not a weapon. It is a gift intended to protect the sacred places of the earth. And I know it is strange, so very strange, that a foreign deity would send Her child so very far to do this thing, but if you saw Her, you would understand. You would not find it strange after all. All the strength and glory of the oldest places on earth are in Her."

"Like the dragon," Snow Tiger said softly.

I cast a grateful glance at her. "Yes. As different as earth and sky, and as alike as parts of the whole. My people have been stewards of such places and their ancient magic from time out of mind. I believe I was sent to help stem the tide that threatens it. We have used our gifts unwisely in the past. I do not believe I do so now."

"All ways lead to the Way," the Emperor murmured, and my throat tightened to hear Master Lo's familiar words spoken. His gaze sharpened.

"There are over six hundred soldiers awaiting death, and hundreds more alchemists, engineers, and smiths yet to be discovered. Are you capable of a task of such magnitude ?"

"I hope so, Celestial Majesty," I said. "I very, very much hope so."

Emperor Zhu gave a decisive nod. "So do I."

Word of the reprieve went out at dawn, followed by a great roar of cheering from the camp. Amazing to me, not a one of the condemned soldiers had protested against their fate, reckoning it just under the Mandate of Heaven against which they had rebelled unwittingly.

But they were grateful to be spared.

Thus, the process began.

It took place in the gardens where I could draw strength from the earth, from the trees, and flowering shrubs, from the lake and the mountain reflected in it, from the open sky overhead. One by one, the soldiers were escorted into the garden.

Many of them were young, scarce more than boys. Operating the weapons of the Divine Thunder was a dangerous job, one given to the rawest of recruits. They were half-dazed at their good fortune, scarce comprehending what was being asked of them, awed by the presence of Snow Tiger, who stayed firmly by my side.

Once they understood, they offered their memories freely.

They were terrible memories, memories of bronze and blood and fire-powder, torches and acrid smoke, ear-splitting thunder, misfires, and blasted limbs. I breathed them in and sent them away, summoning the magic again and again, breathing the cool mist of forgetfulness in place of a thousand terrible memories.

I could not erase everything . Some memory of the horror would linger, a poisonous seed that might one day bear fruit again. Thousands of others had witnessed it, too many to eliminate in any manner. But I could take away enough that no one would remember how those deadly weapons functioned, and mayhap the horror that lingered would serve to remind them that such knowledge should never be sought, lest another such dreadful war arise.