Naamah's Blessing

of a day’s journey, he shrugged. “It seems to me the gods often laugh at our expense.” He wiped one tattooed forearm across his brow, dashing away beads of sweat. “Do not torture me with talk of snow, Moirin.”
    “I don’t mean to.” I paused. “Do you think the gods are mocking us?”
    Bao heard the uncertainty in my voice and responded to it. “No,” he said in a firm tone, giving me his full attention. “No, I do not. Forgive me, I did but speak in jest. Moirin, I believe the gods have their own way of restoring balance in the world—or at least that the world ever seeks to return to balance, even as water seeks to return to its source.”
    “All ways lead to the Way,” I murmured.
    He nodded. “So Master Lo Feng always said, and he was the wisest man I have ever known.”
    I sighed. “I wish he were here.”
    Bao smiled wryly. “So do I. But if he were—” He touched his chest, where the spark of our shared
diadh-anam
flickered. “I would not be.”
    “Master Lo made his choice,” I said.
    “Yes.” His fingers brushed my cheek, lingering. “And I am at peace with it.”
    I smiled back at him. “I’m glad.”
    Temilotzin poked me from behind with the point of his spear. “Keep walking, little warrior!” he said in a jovial manner. “We have a long way to go yet.”
    “How far?” I asked him.
    He laughed. “Far.”

FORTY-THREE

    S everal days later, we passed at last beyond the ultimate boundaries of the Nahuatl Empire.
    In faraway Ch’in, the border between the Celestial Empire and the Tatar territories beyond it had been marked by an immense wall. Here in Terra Nova, there was no such thing, only a careless remark by Eyahue that we had come to the end.
    “Are the folk beyond hostile?” I asked him.
    He shrugged. “The Cloud People? They may be, or they may not. It depends on their mood. But I have traded with them before.”
    I learned that the Cloud People called themselves thusly because they built their settlements atop high mountains. Once again, I dispatched our
pochtecas
to query the inhabitants, this time giving them some small trinkets to trade for information, hoping it would generate goodwill among the Cloud People. On Temilotzin’s advice, we made camp on the plains below the mountain, reckoning that if the Cloud People did prove hostile, there was no point in exposing our entire party to danger.
    When Eyahue and Pochotl did not return by the day’s end, I wasn’t overly worried. It was a long journey on foot to the mountaintop settlement and back, and the
pochtecas
knew what they were doing. But as the second day wore onward, I began to fret.
    “I’m sure they will be fine, Moirin,” Bao said to me. “Anyway, we could all use a day’s respite.”
    So we spent the day tending to necessary chores, bathing in the brisk river that spilled down from the mountains to meander across the plain, washing clothing and spreading it to dry, mending torn fabric and broken straps, tending to our stalwart pack-horses. The D’Angelines were grateful for the chance to shed their armor for a day, many going bare-chested beneath the bright sun, and consequently paying a price as their fair skin reddened. But even sunburn wasn’t enough to cloud their high spirits at a day of rest, and I smiled to see them acting like boys at play in the river, dunking and splashing one another.
    Still, by late afternoon, I found myself wondering what in the world we would do if our
pochtecas
didn’t return. Now that we’d left the Nahuatl Empire, we were more reliant on them than ever.
    If they had been taken prisoner or enslaved, Bao and I could enter the city cloaked in the twilight and search for them, but it would not be an easy task without having the faintest idea where they might be held.
    I was mulling over the possibilities when Bao nudged me and pointed across the plain. Two familiar figures were approaching in the late amber light. When they drew near enough for me to see that Eyahue wore a gap-toothed smile, I sighed with relief and allowed myself to relax.
    “You found word of them?” I asked.
    The older
pochteca
clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “Pochotl did. Took a lot of asking. Your prince and his men passed the city by, but Pochotl finally found someone who saw the white-faced strangers on the road.”
    “Thank you,” I said to the younger trader. “I am grateful.”
    Pochotl went so far as to offer me a brief, unsmiling nod of acknowledgment.
    Since it was