My hostess hurried over to me, urging me to sit with gentle hands. She and her husband exchanged worried words.
“Strange girl, you are not going anywhere for a very long time!” the old woman announced in an acerbic tone. “No one travels in winter. You barely survived a single storm. You would only die.”
My diadh-anam flared within me. “I need to go!”
The old woman sighed. “Oh, child! It only feels that way. Such is the nature of young love. It will pass.”
“You don’t understand,” I whispered.
Her wrinkled mouth pursed. “So they all say. I was young once, too. Young and beautiful. It fades, child. All beauty and passion does. Stay the winter here, and in the spring, the tribes will gather in the northwest. You will be reunited with your young man, and see how well his passion has endured. Perhaps you will be fortunate. If so, I say well done. If not, it is not worth dying for now.”
I hesitated.
Small hands tugged at the sash around my waist. I glanced down to see Batu’s daughter yanking at me. Her eyes were wary, but her face was set and determined. She said something fierce in the Tatar tongue.
Her mother echoed it, and her father nodded.
“They do not want your blood on their hands,” the old woman translated. “They beg you to stay.”
I knew myself defeated. I sank to the floor, bowing my head. The little girl climbed into my lap and nestled against me, no longer fearful. Absentmindedly, I stroked her black hair. “I do not wish to be a burden.”
“Then work for your keep,” the old woman said forcefully. “My soft-hearted granddaughter-in-law Checheg will show you how. Live, endure, and learn.”
I glanced at my hostess. “Checheg? Is that your name?”
She nodded, hands pressed against her swollen belly.
I touched my breast. “Moirin.”
“Moirin.” It was Batu who said my name in a strong voice, rising to his feet. He placed his hands on my shoulders as though to claim me, but there was only kindness in his grip. He smiled down at me, gave me a little shake, then turned me loose, ruffling his daughter’s hair. “Moirin.”
I was grateful for his kindness. “Your people are not what I was led to expect, Grandmother.”
She snorted. “Do I look like a Tatar, child?”
“Ah…” I peered at her. With her shriveled-apple face, I couldn’t tell. The little girl on my lap plucked at the silk cord around my neck. “Are you from Shuntian, Grandmother? Is that how you come to speak the scholar’s tongue?”
“I am an Imperial princess descended from his Celestial Majesty Zhu Daoyu,” the old woman said with steely dignity. “I was given in marriage to the tribal khan Oyugun as part of a peace treaty.”
I blinked. “You were?”
She gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, it was a very long time ago. No one remembers. But you may call me Grandmother Yue, and yes, that is why I speak the scholar’s tongue.” She pointed at my chest, her eyes keen. “It is also how I know that is an Imperial seal you wear around your neck, which leads me to suspect part of your tale is either missing or a lie.”
I glanced down in alarm to see that Batu and Checheg’s daughter had pulled the Imperial jade medallion from beneath my coat and was toying with it, tracing the carved curves of the dragon’s coils with her small fingers. I felt the blood drain from my face.
“So?” Grandmother Yue asked in a sharp voice. “Which is it, child? An omission or a lie?”
I swallowed hard. “Missing, Grandmother. Perhaps you heard, there was a civil war in Ch’in. I played a role in it and won the Emperor’s favor.”
“Ah!” Her lips worked. “Now, that’s more like it. Yes, yes, we have heard rumors and gossip. A warrior princess possessed by a demon, great sorcerers doing battle in the south with dreadful weapons.” She nodded. “That’s a tale fit for a long winter. You’ll tell it in full, of course, with no details omitted.”
I looked around the ger. It was a scene of domestic tranquillity, filled with folk who had shown me nothing but generosity. “They will not take it amiss?”
Grandmother Yue took a noisy sip of tea. “The world is a complicated place, child. I have lived most of my life among the Tatars, and they are no better or worse than any other folk. Today, they are content to be peaceable. If the Emperor had lost the Mandate of Heaven and Ch’in lay in chaos, perhaps the khans would be plotting an invasion. They have conquered and ruled Ch’in before, you know.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t known.
She shrugged. “It would not matter anyway. Hospitality is sacred to them, and my grandson Batu has offered you the protection of his roof. No tale you tell will cause him to violate that trust.” She sipped her tea. “So tell your tale from the beginning. The very beginning.”
“As you will, Grandmother.” I took a deep breath and began. “I was born to the Maghuin Dhonn. We are the folk of the Brown Bear, and the oldest magic in Alba runs in our veins-”
The old woman smiled, her bright eyes disappearing in a nest of wrinkles. “Yes, that’s definitely more like it!”
NINE
Over the long winter months, I spun out my story-my true story, the one I had told to Bao’s mother and sister, with a wealth of detail added to it. And Grandmother Yue was right, no one took it amiss. There was little else to do, and Batu’s family was glad of the distraction.
I was glad, too. It gave me a sense of purpose during those early days when I was more hindrance than help in the camp. Bit by bit, as Checheg showed me how to prepare salty tea and cook in the Tatar manner, I felt myself become more useful. During Grandmother Yue’s prodigious naps, we communicated with gestures and the few words of Tatar I began to acquire. As Checheg’s belly grew ever larger, I sensed she was increasingly grateful for my aid.
After meals, I told my story, eking it out slowly while Grandmother Yue translated.
Unlike most folk I had encountered, the Tatars did not find it strange that the Maghuin Dhonn worship the Great Bear Herself. They simply nodded, accepting it as a matter of course; and I found myself grateful for that simple acceptance.
Like folk everywhere, they marveled at the opulence and licentiousness of the D’Angeline lifestyle. Although I couched the details in discreet terms for the benefit of the children, Batu and Checheg were shocked to learn that the King of Terre d’Ange not only wed a courtesan, but allowed her to take lovers.
“Heh!” Grandmother Yue cackled with delight. “I say good for her!”
Some details, I chose to withhold. Reckoning they would find it too unlike their customs to understand, I didn’t tell them that Jehanne had seduced me quite thoroughly, only that she had rescued me from Raphael’s deadly ambition.
Everyone agreed that Raphael was a right scoundrel, but they reveled in the tales of the fallen spirits we summoned and how they tricked Raphael and his companions. Checheg and Batu’s daughter, Sarangerel, especially loved to hear about the spirit Caim, who had eyes like an owl and antlers with a bird’s nest caught in them. According to lore, Caim could bestow the gift of communicating with all living creatures. He tricked Raphael and the others by teaching them the language of ants, which was composed wholly of scent. They gave up before the spirit Caim moved on to crickets.
It was a time of peace, but it was also a time of prolonged yearning, that endless Tatar winter. The warmth and kindness everyone extended to me made me miss my home. Gods, I missed having a home. I missed my taciturn, oh-so-familiar mother in Alba, and the lovely, gracious father I had discovered in Terre d’Ange. I missed my sparkling lady Jehanne, with whom I would always be a little bit in love. I missed Snow Tiger, whom I had come to cherish in a very different way.