Naamah's Curse (78 page)

So it was that some priests listened to her, listened to Guru-ji’s calm arguments and heeded them, while others continued to protest.

While they were fewer in number, the monks of the Path of Dharma supported her. Word of the
tulku
Laysa’s presence at the palace had emerged, and a good many followers of the Path of Dharma made pilgrimages to visit her and speak with her. Laysa welcomed them all with grave pleasure, and they carried away tales of a profound grace and wisdom undiminished by her time in Kurugiri, lending further credence to the notion that the Rani was indeed a vessel of divine will.

Among the commonfolk, the mood continued to be varied. The warrior caste stood with the Rani Amrita and her son. The merchant caste was reluctantly accepting. It was the members of the lowest caste—the servants, farmers, herders, and craftsmen—who remained bitterly resentful at the rumors of coming change.

We were returning from the temple of Hanuman, the monkey-god who delighted me so, when a scrawny boy in the street darted past the guards to hurl a rotten onion at the Rani in her palanquin, striking her in the shoulder. It gave me a brief, sick reminder of the boys in Vralia who had thrown stones at me as I was escorted in chains to Riva.

Hasan Dar roared an order, but Bao was already in motion, racing after the fleeing figure.

“Oh, Moirin!” There were unshed tears in Amrita’s eyes. “None of my people has ever turned on me so!”

I patted the damp spot on her sari, wiping away bits of onion-skin. “Change comes hard, my lady,” I murmured. “They are fearful of losing what humble status they possess.”

“But that is not what I am doing!”

“I know.” I had to own, there were times when I wondered privately if I had done the right thing in counseling our lovely Rani not to wield Kamadeva’s diamond. All of this would have been so much easier with the world falling at her feet. But then I remembered the vision of bloodshed that followed, and I set aside my doubts. “You must convince them otherwise, that’s all.”

She nodded. “You are right, dear one.”

Bao returned in short order, hauling the boy in a head-lock beneath one arm, the boy struggling ineffectually against his grip. “Here’s your culprit, highness,” he said in a cheerful tone. “He’s a slippery one!”

“Shall I have him beaten?” Hasan Dar asked grimly.

“No.” Amrita raised one hand in the
mudra
of fearlessness and stepped from the palanquin, her composure restored. “Bao-ji, let the boy go. I would speak to him.”

Bao shrugged and complied.

The lad glanced around wildly, and found himself surrounded by guards. He stared defiantly at the Rani. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old, and there was clay in his hair and under his nails.

“What is your name, young rebel?” the Rani Amrita asked gently.

His lips thinned. “Dev.”

“Dev,” she echoed. “I think you must be a potter’s son, eh? So tell me, young Dev, why are you so angry at me?”

He knit his dark brows in a fierce scowl. “You would make us no better than
them
!”

“How so?” Amrita inquired. “Because I mean to decree that there is no shame in attending to all aspects of life?”

The boy Dev looked away from her and spat on the ground. “I may be a potter’s son, but I do not deal in
shit
.”

“That is not true,” Amrita said in her musical voice. “You, young rebel Dev, you and I, and bold, swift Bao-ji who captured you so handily, and my lovely
dakini
Moirin, my handsome commander Hasan Dar, my son, Ravindra, the jewel of my heart… each and every one of us are human and mortal.” Her voice hardened, her words echoing Jagrati’s. “Each and every one of us deals with
shit
squeezed stinking from our bowels, only we choose not to acknowledge it, even though it is part of life’s great cycle.”

He gaped at her, shocked by her words. Beyond the circle of guards, folk crowded close in an attempt to witness the exchange.

Amrita gestured to Hasan Dar. “Stand down, and let them hear this.”

“Highness…” he protested.

She raised her hand again, and he obeyed. The guards spread out, giving the spectators an opportunity to draw closer. Unobtrusively, Bao unslung his staff and took a defensive pose at the Rani’s left shoulder. I stepped out of the palanquin and stood at her other side, ready to shield her at need.

A memory teased at my thoughts, the memory of Snow Tiger attempting in vain to calm the crowd who had come to rescue her, the dragon’s voice whispering in my mind.
Lend her your gift,
he had said.
Make a gateway
.

It had worked then. Without pausing to wonder, I attempted it now, calling the twilight. Instead of breathing it out, I poured it into Amrita, my fingers brushing her bare arm.

The air around her brightened visibly, drawing soft gasps from the crowd. Amrita gave me a brief, perplexed glance, and I nodded at her in silent encouragement.

The Rani took a deep breath, steepling her fingers in the soothing
mudra
that eased conflict. “Listen, then, to what I say to this potter’s son, for it holds true for each and every one of you.” She gazed at the boy, and he flushed beneath her shining regard. “You are not lessened by this change, young one. Is your lot in life the worse because someone else is lifted out of misery?” She shook her head. “No. The gods reward greatness of heart, not meanness of spirit. Do not seek to look at those below you and gloat. Look at those above you and aspire. I mean to build schools, good schools. If you wish to be a potter like your father, well and good. It is an honorable profession. If you wish to learn another trade, you may. You may become a merchant, or a builder of temples, or a soldier in my guard. I am placing your
kharma
in your own two hands. Is it truly a change you despise?”

Dev fell to his knees. “No.”

“Good.” She touched his hair. “So do not throw any more rotten onions at me, eh?”

He shook his head. “I won’t.”

The crowd let out a collective sigh, adoring her once more; and while their response was due in some small part to the sparkle of magic I’d lent her, mostly it was due to Amrita herself, her courage and her unfailing kindness.

The Rani Amrita smiled at the crowd. “I thank you for your patience, and for listening.” Pressing her palms together, she bowed deeply to her people. “May all the gods look kindly on you.”

With that, she returned to her palanquin, and I joined her, letting go my grip on the twilight. The crowds parted for us, Bao and Hasan Dar and the guards resuming their protective positions.

“That was most beautifully said, my lady,” I said to her. “I do believe you swayed their hearts.”

Amrita gave me a sidelong glance. “I do believe you gave me some assistance, dear one. I felt the touch of your magic.”

I smiled. “Only a very little bit. A tiny push to help move change along. After all, I am not nearly as dangerous as Kamadeva’s diamond.”

“No?” She laughed, a merry, ringing sound that gladdened my heart, and the hearts of all who heard her. “I am not so very sure of that, Moirin,” she said affectionately. “But I am grateful nonetheless.”

A
fter the incident with the onion-throwing and the Rani Amrita’s resounding response, the mood in Bhaktipur was calmer.

The protesting priests made one last attempt at insurrection, covertly contacting Prince Ravindra in the hopes that he would be willing to consider a coup against his mother. Clever Ravindra waited for all of those in league to show their hands before rebuffing them in a passionate public address.

“Shall I dishonor my beloved mother, who has taught me everything I know of courage, who has endured great suffering to ensure the safety of our people?” he asked in the city square, his narrow face filled with affronted dignity. “No! A thousand times, no!”

“He’s quite the little speech-maker, isn’t he?” Bao murmured.

Amrita smiled with rueful pride. “My young prince is quite a good many things.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man Ravindra would grow into; and I couldn’t help but grieve at the fact that I would never know. Bao caught my eye, and I knew he was thinking the same thought. It would be very, very hard to leave this place, to leave the Rani and her son.

“Not yet,” he said softly.

I shook my head. “No, not yet.”

There was to be a celebration the day the proclamation was made official, a great purification ritual to symbolize the no-longer-unclean status of no-caste people. Amrita fretted over the details.

“I do not think it is wise to delay,” she said. “But I wish it were spring. The river will be cold. And there will be no fresh flowers! Only dried garlands. There should be fresh flowers to mark a new beginning.”

The image of a man with a seedling cupped in the palm of his hand came to me, and I drew in a sharp breath. “If my lady wishes for flowers, there shall be flowers.”

Amrita raised her brows at me. “How so, dear one? Can you coax the very flowers to bloom out of season?”

I smiled. “Actually, yes.”

So it was that on the day that the proclamation was issued, a month after the Rani Amrita had begun making the rounds of the temples, we traveled in procession to a fallow marigold field outside the city, escorted by the guard, trailed by half a dozen empty wagons and scores of curious Bhaktipuri folk on foot.

It was not a large field, but it was big enough that it daunted me. I had never made an attempt of such scope before, and I hoped I had not boasted out of turn. If I succeeded, there would be no doubt that the gods’ blessing was on this endeavor… but if I failed, it would cast grave doubts on the Rani’s actions.

I stood and breathed the Breath of Trees Growing, letting my awareness filter through the soil. The plants slumbered deep in the earth, not even beginning to dream of spring yet. I remembered how I had coaxed the bamboo to flower in the glass pavilion where I had first asked Master Lo to teach me.

Bao touched my arm, remembering it, too. “You can do this, Moirin.”

“I hope so,” I murmured.

I hitched up the folds of my sari, kneeling on the soil with bare knees. When Hasan Dar came forward to offer a square of silk, I shook my head at him. I needed to feel the earth beneath me.

“What is the
dakini
doing, highness?” someone called.

“Asking for the blessing of all the gods upon this day,” Amrita replied in a firm voice. I glanced up at her. She smiled at me with perfect trust and love.

I prayed I would not fail her.

I breathed, slowly and deeply, taking the measure of the task at hand. I prayed to Anael the Good Steward, to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, to the many Bhodistani gods, and to Sakyamuni the Enlightened One.

Lending a bit of the twilight’s glamour to Amrita had been a small push. This, this would be a very large push.

In the back of my mind, I saw Jagrati’s stark face, and there was a terrible, vulnerable yearning in it, a hunger that this might come to pass. If I did not fail, mayhap her angry spirit would rest.

“Please,” I whispered to any gods listening, sinking my hands deep into the loose, rich earth. “Oh, please!” I took a half-step into the spirit world and held memories of languid summer sunlight in my thoughts, memories of warm, moist air, of everything good and green and fertile, breathed it all deep into my lungs.

Exhaling, I breathed summer into the soil, over the field. Over and over, I breathed summer into winter.

The earth roiled.

Plants burst forth from it with startling exuberance, unfurling ferny leaves, raising tight, hard buds toward the sky. Rows and rows of them, emerging from the soil. Somewhere, there were cries of awe and amazement. I ignored them, breathing summer, breathing the Breath of Trees Growing, willing the plants to grow, coaxing and begging them. Dark green buds opened and marigold blossoms bloomed, a riotous wave of orange, yellow, and saffron breaking across the field like a forest fire, releasing their pungent, spicy odor.

My head hung low, my hair brushing the earth. I was tired and drained, but my
diadh-anam
burned bright within me. I did not feel lessened by the effort. It was as Master Lo had taught me. When I used my gift as it was meant to be used, it would come back to me. With a weary laugh, I dragged myself upright, setting onto my heels.