Sing to his soul, I told myself. So I sang more happy songs, things to remind him of how rich is living, how blue is the Eternal Sky, how good roasted meat tastes with a sprinkling of salt, how the steppes fill with thousands of yellow heartsong flowers after the frost breaks. When I began the lighthearted song that goes, 'Bread on the stones, Mama, and how the belly groans,' her khan joined in, knowing that one from his own childhood, I guess. Beneath my own voice, his felt like a horsehair blanket, rough and warm.
After a time, I let her khan sing that one alone, while I wove in 'the earth breathes, the earth sings, its soul moves in the rivers,' and other healing songs for sickness and injury.
Batu's breathing slowed, his voice mumbled sleepily in his throat, and if I were smart enough to know such things, I'd say his soul slipped back inside, curled up like a cat in his chest, and purred to be home.
By then, her khan was sitting on the floor beside me. He leaned his back against the couch, stretching his legs out before him. I leaned back, too. We both knew Batu was better. We didn't have to say it.
'You may return to your room, if you wish,' he said.
I shrugged. 'I won't sleep any more tonight.'
'Neither will I.' He watched the flames in the hearth. 'It's a wondrous gift you have. I can't help wonder how muckers know songs that shamans have never heard.'
I sighed before I talked, just because it felt right. 'The people of stone walls, the ones who live in cities, they have healers to call and shamans to bless them. But the people of the felt walls, alone with the wind and grass, would die if Evela, goddess of sunlight, hadn't taken pity on us. She gave muckers the healing songs to help us keep living beneath her sunshine. Or so my mama said. And I believe her. You'd be a fool to doubt her. The grasses themselves bowed down before her foot touched them.'
He chuckled, and when I asked him why, he said he'd had such a mother, too. She'd gone to the Ancestors'
Realm seven years ago, but was such a powerful presence he still thinks to check that his sash is tied straight each morning so she won't scold him.
'And she named you Tegus,' I muttered.
'What was that?'
'I was just thinking,' I said, 'how you can tell something about a woman by what she names her children.
Tegus means perfect in the naming language.'
He made a face. 'I haven't always relished that name. My cousins gave me much grief about it growing up.'
'I think it's lovely. I mean...' I returned my gaze to the fire, because it was easier to talk to him that way. 'What I mean to say is, it's lovely to think of your mother holding her first baby, and looking at your fingers and toes, your eyes, your lips, and saying, 'Perfect. He's perfect. My Tegus.''
'I can imagine her saying those very words.' He was quiet a moment. 'Dashti. That means 'one who is good luck doesn't it?'
'Another name that caused teasing. It's not an easy thing to wear a mark of bad luck on my face and have a name that means good luck. The story goes that a clan sister helped with my birth, and when she saw me, she told my mother, 'She should be called Alagh,' meaning mottled, you know. My father saw me and said, 'You must call her Alagh so all know she is destined for bad luck.' So my mama said, 'Her name is Dashti.''
He raised his bowl of milk tea. 'Let's drink to stubborn mothers.'
He took a long sip, then offered the bowl to me. The same that he had drunk from. He shared a drink with me, gentry with commoner. I took it with both my hands to show my reverence, and when I drank, the warmth seemed to fill not just my belly, but my entire body down to my toes.
We kept watching the fire and talking about mothers and other things. I tried to keep in mind his status, but I was drowsy, and the sight of a fire sings its own kind of healing song, one that seems to say, 'Easy, slow and easy, all is well.' It reminded me of his third visit to the tower, when he sat on the ground and leaned against the wall, and I leaned on the other side, and we just talked. And the Ancestors let us.
He looked at my feet and said suddenly, 'You're not wearing shoes.'
I wiggled my toes. 'I guess I'm not. But at least my sash is tied straight.'
'Hmph, no comparison. What would your right good mucker mother say to that, walking around in bare feet?'
I had a joke on my lips about skinny ankles and had to choke it back. So near I came to revealing myself!
'What's wrong?' he asked, sitting up at my silence. 'Are you hungry? Should I send for something?'
'No, strangely. Usually I could eat a plate of anything and be ready for another, but right now I don't want to eat.' And I didn't. But mostly I didn't want him to get up and call for someone who might stay. Food wasn't worth losing our bit of peace.
He mumbled agreement and relaxed again, his back against the couch. Our shoulders almost touched. The heat between us mingled.
'May I ask you something, honored khan?'
'If you call me Tegus,' he said. 'You helped save Batu. You earned the right to say my name.'
'Tegus,' I said, and the name in my mouth tasted wonderful, so in my heart I quickly asked forgiveness from Nibus, god of order. 'A few weeks ago, when I sang to your deep pain, what was it? What old hurt were you carrying?
'
'Nothing I didn't deserve.' His eyelids half closed and I thought he wouldn't answer, and rightly he shouldn't have--it was an impertinent question. But soon he went on. 'I was in love with a lady once. I thought I didn't have
