The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (102 page)

The Captain led him to a set of
wooden steps.

“Kaidan?” asked Kirin as they
began to climb. “The parchment said Kaidan?”

“Ah, Kaidan…” He could hear the
smile in the man’s voice. “He can drink a monkey under a floor mat.”

Kirin could not help it and he
found his own face stretching in a smile. His heart was racing like young
aSiffh.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “He most
certainly can.”

The Captain swung around. “You
have met him, our Kaidan?”

“I have.”

“I had never believed he was
real until this week. But now, I believe every story. Every one of them.”

Kirin said nothing. It was
obvious he was being taken to the very top floor.

Finally, the wooden stairs ended
and through large windows, Kirin could see the entire
Botekhoshi
gorge,
the river and the iron bridge, all growing purple with the coming of night.
There were lights from the Embassy on the Eastern side and in his mind’s eye,
he saw the courtyard and the vases, the pruned trees and the ice sculptures of
the
Chi’Chen
compound. His heart thudded at the sight beyond the
compound, however – lights from hundreds, if not thousands of campfires.
It was an army, he knew.

But why?

Windsor-Chan was waiting
patiently, hands clasped behind his back. Kirin nodded and together they left
the expanse of glass toward a room with closed doors. It was called the
Friendship Room. He had been here twice before, delivering terms to
Chi’Chen
Ambassadors over the years and he remembered it clearly. Inside, it was
spacious, peaceful, clean. Walls of rice paper, the floors polished pine, the
furniture simple and spare. He had always loved this room. It spoke to his
soul.

The Captain paused before sliding
open the doors.

“So, you
have
met Kaidan,
then, Shogun-sama?”

“Yes, Captain. Believe me when I
tell you I have.”

“Then, you
know
what to
expect?”

Kirin took a deep cleansing
breath, tried to calm his heart. “One never knows what to expect with Kaidan.”

The lion
smiled once more before sliding the rice paper doors open.

In truth, there was no way in
the Kingdom he could have expected this.

The once simple room was a
shambles, desks upended, carpets covering them, stools upside down or set upon
lanterns on the walls. Those walls were ringed by Imperial leopards and Snow
Monkey Guards with swords in hands and folded origami hats on their heads. A
Sacred man sat on the floor beside a monkey, arranging a tower of brass bells
between them. Kirin recognized the Ambassador-Magistrate Theophillus Bertrand
Anyang Han of
Kohdari
and
Chi’Chen
Ambassador Bo Fujihara. In
their laps sat two kittens, both very grey with exotic stripes around their
eyes and against a far wall, a young tigress sat, crosslegged, a large garrison
book in her lap.

In the middle of it all, a grey
lion lay on his belly, spinning the dice for soldiers and diplomats alike, a
bottle of sakeh at his side.

They all looked up at him from
the floor.

“Hello Kirin,” said Kerris and
he smiled.

Kaidan

Nine Months Earlier

Kerris Wynegarde-Grey had
never liked the earth. In point of fact, the earth had never liked him, so he
felt quite justified in his singular lack of affection. He always preferred the
water and the snow, the clouds and the wind. They were obliging friends but
now, after weeks spent rising and falling on the heaving mantle that was the
sea under an endless expanse of sky, for the first time in his life he found
himself wishing for the feel of something solid under his boots.

He had grown accustomed
however, to the deck of the sailing ship, one hand on the wheel, the canvas
flapping high above his head. The wind was strong and cold and smelled of salt,
the water was happy and grey and bounding with fish, the skies went on forever.
On the ship herself, there were dials and screens and ropes and rigging and for
the first time in his life, Kerris Wynegarde-Grey felt like home.

But the earth was calling.

He had heard it a full two
days before they saw it and when they did see it, it was little more than a low
dark slip on the horizon. But it was land and after so many weeks spent
searching, the finding had set their hearts racing. They had not weighed
anchor, however but had been skirting this land for days with the distant shore
always in view. Jeffrey Solomon had insisted they chart more northerly, toward
the body of water he had called ‘St. Lawrence.’ Fallon had been delighted to
hear of a sea named after a lion. Cats were very good at names, she had
insisted. Apparently, even the Ancestors knew this.

One hand firm on the wheel,
he slipped the other into his pocket, pulled out a few smooth stones. They were
talking to him, whispering, pleading. They were only small stones, very good at
telling him the weather or the lay of the land, but here on the ocean,
surrounded by so much water, they were lost and afraid. He flattened his palm
and willed them to rise.

Naturally, they did not.

He willed them again, felt
the round hard emptiness of them in his mind, felt the laughing of the wind,
the mocking of the waves. The stones didn’t know what to do, merely rocked
along with the boat in his palm. They were only stones. They couldn’t move. He
growled, whapped his grey tufted tail and shoved the stones back into his
pocket.

He turned his eyes to the
back of his very young wife, bent over the railing of the ship, emptying the
contents of her stomach into the waters. A part of him felt bad for her.
Pregnancy and sea-faring apparently did not go hand in hand. She had done well,
all things considered, but the mornings always got the better of her. At those
times, they were both happiest on opposite sides of the boat.

“Almost done, luv?” he called
over the roaring of the wind and the sea.

“Oh yeah, almost,” came her
voice in return. “I think there’s a bit of fish I didn’t quite get. Oh
wait—” She bent a little lower, made a terrible retching noise, her slim
back heaving over the rail. “Nope. Nope. There. Got it.”

He smiled.

She straightened and turned,
wiped her mouth with her thick cotton sleeve. It was very windy on the open
deck and her striped hair whipped all around her face. It used to be orange and
black and rather plain, but now, after a good bolt of lightning, it rippled
like white caps on water. Fallon Waterford-Grey. Only in her nineteenth summer,
already pregnant with twins.

She tried to smile back but
he could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

“I do love fish, honestly I
do. But mother, the thought of an orange right now, or a pear…Or a pineapple.
Oh what I would do right now for a big, juicy pineapple… Oh no…Oh mother…”

Her emerald eyes grew round
and suddenly, she whirled, turning back to the railing and heaving once more.

He sighed and looked back at
the shore.

Metal

He frowned. There were
instruments of metal on the ship but they felt different, precise, useful. He
had learned to read a barometer, although his own predictions usually proved
far more accurate. He had learned to use a sextant, although the stars sang to
him at night. He had learned to use a variety of Ancestral tools but to be honest,
his own instincts had proved more than adequate and at times he found himself
wondering how the Ancestors had grown so powerful when their tools seemed so
clumsy. Still, the ship was a marvelous thing. He could quite happily spend the
rest of his life on her wooden decks.

No, the metal was not coming
from the ship.

“Hey,” he heard a voice and
turned his head to see Jeffrey Solomon emerge from the cabin below. It never
occurred to him anymore to question the sight of the Ancestor. The three of
them had been close company for weeks and Kerris knew more about Ancestors than
he had ever dreamed possible. Certainly, more than he had ever wanted to know.
They were a strange and curious people and he liked Solomon very much.

The man was as shaggy as a
yak, but his browny-pink face was relatively clear of pelt, with only a minimum
of nicks and cuts.
Shaving,
he called it, and with a katanah no less.
Yes, a curious people indeed.

“You did a fine job this
time,” said Kerris. “You’re getting better.”

The man ran a hand along his
chin. “Yeah, well, shaving with a long sword is tricky business. I’m constantly
surprised that I haven’t killed myself somewhere along the way.”

Kerris grinned. “We’re not in
Kanadah yet.”

Solomon smiled. “I put the
sword back on your bunk.”

“In the sheath?”

“Yep. In the sheath as
ordered.”

“Did you clean off the soap?”

“Yes, I cleaned off the
soap.”

“Did you polish the tang?”

“You’re sounding like your
brother.”

“Funny how life is,” said
Kerris.

“Funny indeed.”

Solomon turned to study the tigress.
She was braced at the railing, rising and falling with the movement of the
ship. One hand was gesturing and it looked like she was talking to herself.

“How’s our Scholar in the
Court of the Empress?”

Kerris followed his gaze and
sighed. “Is it supposed to be like this?”

“Every woman is different,”
said Solomon. “But the rocking of the boat doesn’t help. She’s a trooper.”

“Trooper?”

“Uh, fighter.”

“Oh, she is that. I’m
terrified for our kittens. I’ll have no more peace ever, not one moment.”

The Ancestor grinned, knowing
it to be quite true.

Kerris frowned. “There’s
metal in the sky.”

“In the sky?”

“Yes. I don’t know what it is
but it’s very strange and sharp.”

Solomon looked up, studied
the great expanse of clouds over their heads. “It’s new?”

“Yes. Just started.”

Solomon frowned now.

“Hey,” called Fallon. “Good
morning, Solomon!”

He waved to her. “And good
morning to you too, sweetness.”

Fallon Waterford-Grey
staggered from the side of the ship across its wooden deck. The wind whipped at
her clothing, revealing her tummy and the white bump in her middle. It was
fortunate that she wore men’s tunics, for her belly had begun to swell out of
the confines of her vest. He caught her arms, helped steady her on unsteady
feet.

“How you feeling, honey?”

“I’d love some honey,” she
said. “And a pear but maybe not a pineapple. All this fish is making me sick.”

“Sorry to hear it. I’m
boiling water in the galley. We’ll make some tea, alright?”

“Great. Tea fixes
everything.” She smiled at him before turning her emerald eyes on her husband.
“Have you tried this morning?”

“No,” he lied, deliberating
turning his gaze back to the wheel.

“You said you’d try.”

“They don’t do anything.”

“They will. You know they
will.”

“I know nothing of the sort.”

“But Sireth said—”

“Just because Sireth
benAramis can do things with the water and the fire, doesn’t mean I can.”

“You are an Elemental,
Kerris. That’s what he said. I know ‘cause I was there.”

The grey lion set his jaw but
said nothing. Solomon looked from tigress to lion and back again.

“The stones? Is that what
you’re talking about?”

Fallon nodded. “I know he can
do it.”

“Well I don’t.” Kerris rolled
his eyes, kept his hands firmly on the wheel. “I am not, nor ever shall be, a
monk.”

“There’s an image,” grinned
the Ancestor. “What about this ‘metal in the sky’, then?”

“Metal in the sky?” Fallon
cocked her head, her stripes making worried lines across her forehead. “Like
Max metal?”

“A bit. Different. Sharp.”
Kerris looked up, wrinkled his nose. “Hot.”

“Wow,” said Fallon.

“Hot?” Solomon looked up as
well, turned in circles studying the skies, the low grey clouds. “How hot?”

“Like fire?” asked Fallon.

“Yes,” said Kerris. “Fire and
Metal together. Like Kirin and me. Destructive, really.”

“Like that?” And she pointed
to the horizon where a speck was gleaming. “That looks very hot.”

Together, the three of them
moved to the railing.

“Damn,” said Solomon. “We
have to get off this ship.”

“What?” she asked. “Why?”

“Get off now!”

“But—”

She yelped as he grabbed her
by the shoulders, shoving her backwards so that she toppled tip over tail into
the dark swell that was the ocean. He reached for Kerris but the lion scrambled
out of his grip. “Kerris! You too!

“No!”

“Now!”

“But I need—”

“—to get off this ship!
C’mon!”

And suddenly Solomon leapt
over the railing, hitting the rolling water with a splash.

Kerris peered over the side,
spied a bobbing striped head spitting out great mouthfuls of water. He looked
up. The speck was a ball now, billowing orange flame and white smoke and so
close he could almost feel the heat from it. He turned and bolted for the steps
that led to the cabin, sailed down in one go, hit the floor running. The
katanah and obi were on his berth, the low narrow bunk he had shared with his
wife and he snatched them both before scrambling back up to the deck. He could
hear it now, the metal-fire, roaring like Imperial cannons and the air was
furious at being pushed out of the way by this strange new element. The light
was red hot, blinding him, but he knew these decks well and he raced for the
rail, leaping high into the angry air as the metal-fire crashed to the cabin
behind him. There was a boom and a roar, yes—very much like Imperial
cannons, and he was lifted even higher now by a wall of air. Air, usually his
friend, now howling with fury, scorching his back, his tail, his boots, then
the water, rushing up to give him a bone-crushing hug, and then nothing for
some time afterwards.

***

“Nothing?” Kirin sat forward.
“What do you mean, nothing? Kerris? What happened?”

The grey lion smiled and leaned
back on his elbows, raised the tiny cup in his hand as in a toast.

“Later, Kirin. It’s a long story
and we have many nights.”

Kirin shook his head. Kerris was
famous for his stories and now with this—the most important story of the
age—he was bound to play it out, milk it for all its dramatic, theatric
al
glory.

They were reclining now around a
low black table in the Friendship Room, Kirin, Kerris, Fallon, Captain
Windsor-Chan and the Ambassadors – Theophillus Bertrand Anyang Han and Bo
Fujihara. Fujihara was a small man, about the size of Chancellor Ho, with a
fair pelt and pink face and small dark eyes, bright and quick. He wore
blue-dyed short kimonoh with leather-wrapped legs and a sash that wrapped him
round the waist and shoulders. He also sported a ceremonial sword across his
back, several large rings on his fingers and like most of his people, beads
woven into his braided hair. Kirin had met him twice before, in this very room,
and knew that he was an intelligent fellow dedicated to the pursuit of peace
between their kingdoms. It was odd to see him here with an army.

There was a tug on his queue and
he winced, looked around to see a kitten pulling herself up with tiny claws,
batting at his hair. He smiled at her. She flattened her ears and hissed.

“Lada,” grinned Kerris. “Leave
your uncle alone.”

“It looks really good,” said
Fallon and she leaned forward, eyes curious. She was growing from gangly girl
into a woman of exotic beauty, with
Chi’Chen
beads woven into her wild
hair. “Your head, I mean. ‘Cause last time I saw it, it was pretty bad.”

“It has healed,” he said.

“May I?”

Kirin grit his teeth as
Windsor-Chan and Han exchanged glances.
Cats,
he thought.
Proud and
vain, all of us.

“Of course,” and he looked at
the smooth wood of the floor as she ran her hands over the top of his bare
head.

“Wow, it’s really healed well,
hasn’t it? Almost like you did it on purpose, you know? Like you shaved it or
something?”

“Like a regular sham’Rai,”
grinned Kerris again and he sipped his sakeh. “Shogun-General Wynegarde-Grey.
Won’t mummie be pleased.”

“Are those the Fangs?” asked
Fallon. “The Blood and Jade Fangs?”