More than half a moon’s turn—that’s how long it will take us to get to Chang’an. Lanying told me last night. Half a moon’s turn. Her words march on the muffled beat of a drum resounding somewhere deep in the house. Bells rattle and roll in the distance, waving their tinkle through my ears. It feels like a world away and I don’t want to open my eyes. There’s a new day ahead.
Half a moon’s turn. My hands search for my beads. I should prepare.
A thick cloud of weisang billows in the courtyard. Mother stands at the doorway and my feet are unwilling to leave. She dips a finger in the bowl of milk she holds and flicks it toward the sky. White drips descend with the words of a prayer. “May the mercy of Eternal Tengri and the blessings of heaven and earth be upon you.” My heart weeps and at t
