The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (55 page)

Kirin shook
his head, confused at the leaps from Solomon to Seer, from dragon to falcon,
but his brother nudged his ribs.

The tigress
was staring upwards at the stars, her own eyes wide, mouth open in a big,
wonderous “O”.

With that
sinking sensation returning to the pit of his stomach, Kirin looked up.

The star, the
new star that had seemed to follow them since their journey’s beginning, had
changed. Like a shooting star or the tail of a particularly powerful set of
fireworks, a streak of white had appeared at one end. It had not been there the
night previous but it looked as though it had been there forever, frozen in time.
It hung above them now, a slash in the black pelt of night, a tear in the silk
of heaven. It seemed in no hurry to move.

“Wow,” said
the Scholar brightly. “Max.”

And Kirin
knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his secret would now be impossible to
keep.

***

“Sahidi…”

“No,” he
grunted and pulled the great bearskin tighter across his shoulders. “Not now.”

“Sahidi,
please.”

Reluctantly,
the tiger roused himself from his sleep, white eyes flashing in the darkness at
the black robed figure. “Talmoud, if this is not necessary—“

“It is
necessary,
sahidi.”

With a deep
and cleansing breath, Jet barraDunne threw off the skins and pulled himself
from his bedroll.
These Khanisthan nights
were blisteringly cold,
he fumed. He was not accustomed to sleeping in the
open air like a common soldier. Slowly, he approached the fire where the others
were already waiting.

“I was
dreaming of my third wife,” he growled, hiking the bearskin high around his
shoulders. “She was most pleasant. Until she met my fourth…”

The others
smiled. His
paramours
were the stuff
of legend, and no one was entirely sure what was truth and what was creation.
He, above all of them, was fond of his mysteries.

One of them
raised a finger, pointing to the night sky. barraDunne looked up and released a
long deep breath at the sight.

“My my,” he
whispered. “And the numbers? The numbers? Are they constant?”

“Constant,
sahidi.
Six.”

“This is a
terrifying time for our people.” He looked at the faces, hooded around the fire
then back at the star, it’s new tail signaling some significant change, one
that they would attempt to divine, had been divining for months since its
arrival, but the answer had seemed impossible, inexplicable,
kingdom-shattering. He looked back at them, smiling like the moon.

“Hmm… The
Chancellor will not be pleased…”

***

In a lush
bed, several hundred miles away, a woman nudged her sleeping husband, whose
pelt was as thick as a blanket of snow. She pushed him out from under his
covers to show him the night sky and the falling star that was not falling.

He wrung his
soft white hands and moaned.

In a lush
bed, also several hundred miles away, a maidservant whispered to an Empress,
whose pelt was as black as the heavens. She accompanied her from her bedchamber
to a high narrow window to show her the night sky and the falling star that was
not falling.

She clasped
her soft black hands and began to pray.

In a country
far to the east, a thousand miles away, a people whose pelts were short and
coarse and unremarkable as the grass, but whose tails could accomplish miracles
–small unusual and agile people— looked up from their beds, from
their fires, from their homes and farms and fields, They stared and marveled
and sang to the night sky and the falling star that was not falling.

In a country
not so far to the north, several hundred miles away, a people whose pelts were
both long and short, rough and smooth –large, clawed and unnatural
people— looked up from their beds, from their fires, from their homes and
towns and villages and armies,. They sang and howled and laughed and puzzled,
but a dangerous few took note and made preparations to follow.

And so began
the time of awakening, when the whole earth, Upper and Lower and Eastern
Kingdoms began preparations for a change that was surely coming, for the mages
and alchemists, diviners and seers of every race and people began to see a
thing that could not be but was. For a few of these sojourners who had already
begun the journey, they were divided in what they would see. One thought she
was going to meet a tiger. One thought he was going to meet a monkey. One
thought she was going to meet a dog.

But three
knew, only three, what they were really going to meet, and only one knew how it
would end. But some things, once started, just cannot be stopped, and even that
one did not know how all of it would end, or how it truly would end.

Because that
is the realm of the storyteller, and tonight, that you will not know. May your
dreams be filled with possibilities.

Somewhere beyond Herath, the Great Mountains
die.

It is a well known fact that, like an old
woman, our Mother dwindles for some time, days and days in fact on horseback,
as her peaks become steppes, her heights plateaus, her fangs and claws and
teeth dulled and flattened and traded for sand. Not sand like the sand in
Aegyp, where peaks and dunes are weapons of a different sort, but sand as in
soil that is dry, hard-packed and heartless. The oryx and wild goats have a
hard time here.

For even Khanisthan, wild, bloody, turbulent
Khanisthan, cannot rival the sheer number of deaths that take place in the Dry
Provinces.

Kerris had led us through the border town of
Herath and there we stopped to add to our caravan a cart, which was now being
pulled by one of the desert horses. We needed to accumulate supplies for the
crossing of Hiran, a large province to be sure, and we would need stores of
water and rice to ensure a constant supply of milk-paste and tea. We had had
considerable luck at hunting down the odd gazelle or quail, so meat had been
plentiful during this leg of our journey. But then again, Khanisthan is more
obliging than Hiran or Hirak, and such prizes could not be guaranteed during
the weeks to come. No, pheasant jerky and snake would be more the expected
fare. Or if we were very unlucky, horse.

So, after two days of riding in this hard,
dry, yellow terrain, we came upon a set of bluffs -large outcroppings of red
rock against the tawny landscape, and even from half a day’s ride away, we
could smell it, the rank, musky smell of very old earth. Our scholar Fallon
Waterford began to become very excited, for she and Kerris (the entire party in
fact) could recognize that smell anywhere.

The smell of hot springs.

Like curtains to a holy temple, the red
rocks opened upon an oasis of green and blue. Cedars and willows and acacia,
vast expanses of grass and lush reeds surrounding pools of sky blue. In fact,
it looked as if the sky had sat down in places, for even the clouds were
reflected in the mirror-like surfaces of the waters. The smell was almost
overpowering, like the reek from a rotting egg, and in crevices beyond the
blue, pits of grey green water bubbled and steamed against the rock.

I do love my brother,I must be quick to admit this. He is sunshine to
my moon, lightness to my preternatural heaviness, and the thought of ever
losing him cuts me to the quick. But I do not, nor ever will, understand him.
He is Yang to my Yin, eternally opposite, and things that are perfectly clear
to me are muddy to him, and likewise, those things that capture him heart and
soul are mere diversion, if not outright confusion, to me.

So, the first thing that Kerris did upon entering this unusual ‘box
canyon’ was hop from the back of his pony and run through the thick grass to
leap headlong into the water. The Scholar, being a tigress, let out a rather
un-tigerlike squeal and followed. The rest of us tried to stay as far away from
the pools as possible, for it is our good sense not to get wet. Not a stitch of
clothing, not a whisker or hair. Rain is bad enough. For the rest of us, just
watching the pair, diving and splashing and swimming was enough to turn our
stomachs and send shudders up our spines. At least I can speak for myself. The
look on the Seer and the Major’s faces spoke well enough.

As for the Alchemist, she merely smiled that cryptic smile of hers and
studied them as though committing their actions to memory.

Like my brother, she confounds me sometimes.

So, we set our tents, for we hoped to stay two nights. The horses
needed a rest and the grass and hunting were good. The falcon had been a
welcome return to our company, as she was a good hunter and always kept us
supplied with rabbits and other small game. She did again that first night, and
we dined on fresh meat and rice soup that the Alchemist made from the abundance
of water and strange seasonings from one of her pouches. I do not wish to know
the ingredients. It was tasty enough without the knowing.

The falcon also brought a parchment, but that was for my eyes and mine
alone. Perhaps I will write more on that at a later date.

So that first night, Ursa came to me with an important decision.

She decided that we needed to fight.

More precisely, she decided that the civilians needed to learn the art
of fighting. Apparently, she had been thinking on this for some time since the
incident at the battlefort of
Sri’Daolath
, and had commandeered weapons, several long and short swords, as well
as bows and staffs before our departure. They were quite afraid of us, those
soldiers, so they asked no questions, and I know Ursa – she can be quite
intimidating to those unused to her. So, as I have said, she had decided that
our three valuable civilians needed to learn how to fight.

If we were to journey into wild and foreign territory, complete with
Gowrain, dogs and all manner of unknown creatures, I believed she may have been
right. We would begin their training in the morning, at first light.

But that night, as the fire roared high sending sparks up to the star
not-a-star, and the horses grazed to filling on sweet spring-fed grasses, we
sat likewise, well-fed, warm and for a brief moment, content in each other’s
company.

  
 
- an excerpt from the journal of Kirin
Wynegarde-Grey

“So,” said Kerris. “The dog, the
cat and the monkey agreed to make their journey together, for it is well known
that if two against an adversary is good, then three is even better. The
journey to the Nine-Peaks Mountain was long and fraught with dangers, but both
dog and cat were good warriors, and they kept themselves and their happy
companion safe. For nine months less a day, they traveled, by land and by sea
–“

“By sea?” Ursa snorted. “No one
can travel by sea. It is impossible.”

“I beg to differ, my love,”
corrected Kerris. “The
Chi’Chen
go
many places by sea.”

“Pah. That is ridiculous.”

 
“Cats do not care to travel by sea, so they don’t.”

Fallon hugged her knees, emerald
eyes sleepy but bright. “The Ancestors used to travel by sea as well. It is
said they could even fly! Why, I’ve read books—“

“Perhaps my brother could finish
his story,” interrupted the Captain. “We can talk Ancestors another night.”

“Thank you, dear brother. Now,
where was I?”

“Traveling by land and sea,” said
Fallon.

“Ah yes. And thank you,
sidala.
So after nine months less a day,
they finally came to the Nine-Peaks Mountain, and the Cave of the Great Stone
Lung, a Dragon of Enormous size and strength and appetite…”

Even Sherah was spellbound.
Everyone loved a tale of dragons, for they were rare, as rare as behemoths and
leviathans and monsters, and they are even still most powerful. “Was it Fire
, sidi?
A Fire Dragon?”

“Oh, of course,
sidala.
A great Fire Dragon, and as he
lay there blocking the mouth of his cavern, the trees shook when he breathed
in, and smoke came out of his nostrils when he breathed out.”

She made an eager humming sound,
something the Captain had never heard from her before. He shook his head,
confounded.

“But they could see the treasure
beyond, oh yes they could. Gems and jewels and gold and jade in piles and
piles, up to the roof of the cavern in some places. It set all their mouths
a-watering, it did. So, first the dog. He stepped forward, pulled out both long
and short swords –“

“Dogs do not bear long and short
swords, Kerris,” said Kirin firmly. “They have no skill or honor.”

Kerris stared at him a moment,
expression flat, before continuing. “Forgive me, brother. So the dog pulled out
his great, heavy, pitted iron blade, more useful for smashing than slicing, for
it is common knowledge that dogs have nowhere near the grace of cats and envy
them for it.”

Kirin grunted in approval. Kerris
went on.

“And the dog proceeded to charge
the Great Lung, swinging the blade in a clumsy arc toward the massive red head.
But…” he looked ‘round his audience. “The Lung simply opened his mouth and
gobbled the dog whole, and a puff of brown smoke came out of one nostril.”

“Hah!” Ursa liked that part.

“The cat next, a fine lion of
golden pelt and mane stepped forward, drawing both long and short swords…” He
glanced at his brother, who simply nodded. “…And began to spin the swords, for
he was
kenshi -
spinning and slicing
and whirling blades, around and around and around. In fact, it was a marvel to
watch the skill, the precision, the sheer beauty of the art, but alas, he too
was gobbled up in a single mouthful, with a puff of golden smoke arising from
the other nostril.”

He didn’t look at Kirin this
time. He knew full well what he would see there.

“So, finally, the monkey. He sat
for some time on a rock near the entrance, thinking and puzzling and thinking
some more. He did not want, after all, to end up a tasty fortune cookie after
the heftier meals of dog and cat. So he sat for a very long time, as the dragon
slept and slumbered and snored, on a rock near the entrance, thinking and
puzzling and thinking some more. But after a week less a day, the monkey pulled
out his koto and began to play. It was a sad tune, lonesome and forlorn and
very, very sad, and when he added his voice to it, the Great Lung was
spellbound, for it is also common knowledge that dragons love music and that
monkeys sing beautifully and while they smile all the time, they are frequently
quite sad. So the monkey sang song after song and soon, the Great Lung gave a
huge shuddering breath, and a single tear rolled out of his eye and down the side
of his scaly face and into his long fiery moustache. The monkey reached out a
hand and caught the tear, dabbing one finger in it and put it to his tongue,
for it is finally common knowledge that the tear of a dragon grants immortality
to those who taste it. And so, the monkey was granted eternal life, and because
of this, accrued more wealth over the course of his never-ending life than the
Dragon ever had in his possession.”

Again, his audience was
speechless and he smiled at that. Finally, he dared a glance at his brother.

“Perhaps this monkey lives even
today. Perhaps he lives very far away from the Eastern Kingdom. Perhaps he
lives… even in
Swisserland?”

As expected, the golden head shot
up, brow darkening at the suggestion. “You think Solomon a monkey, Kerris?”

All heads were watching now, for
this was a question that concerned and intrigued all of them. Even Ursa,
severe, pragmatic Ursa, was watching.

Kerris shrugged. “Why not? We
only assume he’s a tiger. And our dear Scholar believes him to be a dog. Why
not monkey?”

Kirin thought on this for a
while, the Seer’s one-eyed gaze weighing heavily upon him.

“Whatever Solomon is, brother, it
does not change our duty.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

No one dared breathe.

“This soul has killed six of the Council
of Seven. Need I remind you of this?”

“So, this is retribution, then?”

“No, we are to find this soul…”

“And?”

It was so uncomfortable, the
tension thick and dark now. Only Kerris could have gotten away with asking such
questions, ignoring the blatant warning in his brother’s tone. Only Kerris
could give voice to everything they were wondering themselves. Still, it was
dangerous, and he seemed oblivious.

“And?” he asked again, pressing.

“And return him to
Pol’Lhasa,
for the Empress to decide his
fate.”

There was no more comment for a
long while, as each and every cat pondered the possibilities therein. And, much
to Kirin’s relief, Solomon did not come that night.

***

They bowed most formally to each
other, fist to cupped palm. As Ursa watched, she could not tell who had bowed
the best, for they were both flawless. She knew now that they would try at
every turn to outdo each other. One had the sword, the other had chosen the
staff – folly, she knew this as well. A sword was generally superior to
any staff, but still.
Shah’tyriah. k
enshi,
bojutsan
or just plain
shaolin,
it didn’t matter. Weapons were weapons. The skill was in the using.

They circled like old sham’Rai,
wary yet anxious for the onset of the match. The Captain’s long sword swung and
arced like a harvesting blade, flexing and testing and preparing to strike,
whereas the staff sat quietly across the back of the Seer’s shoulders. He
looked not ready in the least, but Ursa was not fooled. She had seen him with
the swords. He was not so old for nothing.

They were putting on a
demonstration for her students, for they themselves had no need of her
instruction. She had insisted the Seer learn from her, but the Captain had
intervened on his behalf, and she was forced to concede. Men had their ways, their
little ‘understandings.’ She was certain this was how the Seer had managed to
avoid execution so many years ago – some unwritten ‘understanding’ that
allowed Petrus Mercouri to bypass Imperial law. Men were men. It was the way of
things.

So, the civilians watched from
the sidelines as the Captain and the Seer squared off, one with the sword, the
other with the staff. The leopards at least watched properly, as observers and
students. Two civilians were entranced, the other bored. She had little patience
with any of them.

Fallon Waterford squealed and
clenched her fists under her chin. “Ooh, ooh, when are they going to start?
Ooh, I can’t watch! Ooh, look at them!”