The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (9 page)

“Creatures?” The Alchemist eyed
her. “You mean poisons.”

“No.
I mean creatures. Sometimes, if people get very ill, you can see creatures in
their blood. Very small, so small in fact that you wouldn’t even notice them if
you didn’t have a glass like this. Sometimes, the creatures are given by flies,
or mosquitoes, or bad water. Sometimes, the creatures live in the tissues. The
liver is particularly susceptible. Hmm, we’d better check the livers...”

She pouted, grabbed a book, began
flipping the pages.

Sherah
stared at her for a long moment, before shaking her head. Her hair was loose
about her shoulders, the ends tipped in red.

“Creatures. You are very amusing,
Scholar.”

“Oh.
Yeah. I have pretty markings too...”

“You
do.”

Fallon
sighed and closed her book, sweeping her eyes across her little table. Almost
every inch of it was covered in books. Textbooks, workbooks, and most
especially notebooks, journals that had been with her since her childhood.
While her sisters had been learning practical skills, those of sewing and
mending and cooking, she had been out in the jungle with her journals,
observing the leaves, the trees, the insects. She had catalogued everything she
had ever seen and her books were filled with sketches. Once, when she had been
in her eighth summer, she had found the body of dead monkey, a
Chi’Chen
scout
most likely and she had dissected it in secret. Within those notebooks and
journals, she revealed everything.

The
Alchemist’s table was similarly cluttered but with things other than books.
There were jars of phosphorous and vials of ammonium. Sacks of animal remains
were strewn about along with tiny boxes of jewels and odd, powdery rock.
Spilling from a saddlebag, were silks, crusted in blood and labeled in ink. And
candles. Many, many candles. It all smelled of incense, Fallon thought, like
strange, exotic incense. Almost like the Alchemist, herself, strange and
exotic. And perhaps, just a little bit frightening.

Then
there was that pouch...

She
pushed herself from the table, with its books and sketches and crossed over to
the red satin pouch. It floated like a poppyseed on the breeze. She threw a
glance in Sherah’s direction before raising her hand and poking it with a
finger. It bobbed at the end of its unusual tether. With a frown, she tried
again, pushing it gently downwards with her palm, only to have it float back up
when her hand moved away.

“Um,
Sherah, what, um, what exactly is in this?”

“Souls.”

It
took her a moment to close her mouth.

“Oh.”

She tiptoed back to her table,
trying not to hear the sucking, cracking sounds as the Aegypshan dug into yet
another chest cavity.

“You
may have him if you wish,” said Sherah after a moment.

“Him
who? The‘dead guy’ him? Well, I don’t really think there’s enough room in my
bags for a dead guy, even if he has over one hundred summers to his credit.
Pretty remarkable, isn’t it? I mean, look at the white fur on his head, whiter
even than the peaks of
Kathandu.
And
his pelt, its so soft and wrinkly, like a comfortable pair of woolies. People
look so wonderful when they’re old, don’t you agree, like the mountains? But
really I don’t think—“

“I
meant the grey lion.”

“Oh.”

 
It had come so unexpectedly. All Fallon
could say was “Oh.”

And
again. “Oh.”

“I
have no designs on him. I shall leave him to you.”

“I
don’t understand...”

The
Alchemist paused to look up from her investigations. Her painted eyes narrowed
and a crooked, almost wicked smile slid across her face. She ran bloody fingers
through her black hair, and stretched out her arms, arching her long back like
a drawn bow. She yawned.

“You
want him, don’t you?”

“I
still, I don’t know what you mean.” The tigress furrowed her brow. “I mean, I’m
a tiger, he’s a lion. We couldn’t, we wouldn’t...”

“Of
course.”

Sherah al Shiva licked her lips
before turning back to the open ribs.

“Regardless. He is easy on the
eyes.”

“Oh.” Fallon sighed. “Yeah. Sort
of.”

“With
an agreeable voice.”

“Oh. Yeah. I love the accents of
lions. They sound so sophisticated.” She sighed again. “Not like tigers. I’m
probably the most sophisticated tiger in the jungle, and that’s not saying
much.”

“I can help you.”

“Okay.”

There
was silence for a very long time afterward, save the cracking and sucking and
occasional sigh.

***

“Tastes good, doesn’t it, Quiz my
boy? Sweet, lovely hay, with ground- up pheasant garnish. Chom chom chom.”

Kerris Wynegarde-Grey rubbed the
shaggy neck as the pony dove nose-first into the feed.
Almost as carnivorous
as cats,
he thought, with teeth for both grinding and tearing. He ran his
hand down the shoulder to the legs, straight and sturdy and strong of bone. No
scrapes or soreness, no signs of swelling. One by one, he applied pressure to
the fetlocks, lifting each hoof in turn to check for rocks, chips and tell-tale
bruises. All fine. The creature was as sound as a yak. Almost as shaggy. He
straightened up and winced.

To
bad the same couldn’t be said for its rider.

“I must go now,” came the voice of
Rodreigo as he tidied up the brushes, wraps and linements in a far stall. “I
must get back for Lamentations.”

“Lamentations?”

He
could see the boy quickly lower his head and immediately Kerris cursed himself.
He really could be thick sometimes.

“Yes,” Rodreigo whispered. “The
Ancient of
Sha’Hadin
is no more.”

“Sorry.
I think I’ll stay here, if it’s all the same to you. I just want to keep an eye
on the horses. It was a long journey.”

“Yes.
From the Palace.” The boy grinned at him now, eyes bright with candlelight.
“Are you really a stableboy?”

“Me?
No, not really. Feels like it, sometimes...”

“A
soldier, then? Lions make the best soldiers, it’s true.”

“Not
grey
lions, I’m afraid.
Coat clashes with the uniform.”

“So
you
are
grey. I couldn’t tell in the torchlight. This is a good omen.
You will save the last Seer, I know you will. This is a very good omen.”

Kerris
shook his head.

“Good night, Rodreigo. See you in
the morning.”

“Good
night,
sidal
ord
grey lion.
Sleep well.”

The
candlelight disappeared along with his footsteps and Kerris was finally alone.

With
an arm draped across his pony’s back, he glanced around the monastery’s dark
stalls, savoring the aroma of cedar and leather. Tall beams of mahogany braced
the ceiling, for like
Sha’Hadin
itself the stables were hewn out of
mountain rock and the earthen floor was carpeted with sand and shaved pine.
Quiz
pulled away with a mouthful of hay and pheasant entrails, snuffling the ground
and turning tight circles on the floor. His front legs folded, and within
seconds, the pony was lying down. He let out a deep rumble of breath and his
brown eyes blinked slowly.

Kerris
sighed. “Looks comfy, my friend.”

He ambled back over to the door of
the stable, took one long last look at the night sky and the strange new star.
He could hear the clouds talking to each other, could feel the snow gathering
in the north but the star was silent. He pulled a small stick out of his
pocket. It had red tassels on the end and a word etched in its shaft.

“Snake?” he muttered to himself.
“Now why in the Kingdom would it say that?”

At least there was no lightning.

He
stuffed the stick into a deep pocket and stepped back inside, looking for and
spying the loft up a narrow pole-ladder. Within seconds, he too was sprawled in
the fragrant hay, yawning and stretching, not even having the time to say
goodnight to the moon before he was fast, fast asleep.

***

The Captain was amazed at how much
warmth was put out by such a faltering fire. Or perhaps, it was the tea, hot and
sweet, that they cupped in clay bowls in their palms. But whatever the cause,
as the three of them sat around the hearth, eyes mesmerized by the glowing
embers, they were warmed indeed and grateful for it, for the story was
chilling.

“The
first night,” said the Seer. “When Agis died, we suspected nothing. He had
seemed healthy but he had seen 83 summers. Then the next night, Meelosh Hunyadi
died in his bed at the End of the Second Watch. Again, 75 summers. But simply
because we are isolated, does not mean we are insular. That morning, Na’rang
was sent out, with a message notifying the Empress of the deaths. And that
night, that third night, the remaining 5 of us kept vigil right here in the
Hall. And that third night, Kim Li Poh died, right here in the Hall, with all
of us present. I can assure you, it was not a pleasant thing.”

“Can
you describe it?”

 
“In vivid detail,
Captain. For the next two nights, we kept vigil, none of us eating nor sleeping
but giving ourselves over to the meditations which we believed would hold the
answers. So, when Lashlin deWinter then Diamont ibn al-Fayed, died within our
very circle, one each successive night, we felt it. We lived their deaths, we
died with them, man by man.”

Patiently,
Kirin waited as the man took time to arrange his thoughts.

“Last
night, Petrus and I agreed to hold
AhmniShakra—
”

“
Imperial
Tongue, if you please,” snarled
Ursa, her tone anything but sympathetic.

“Ah,
yes. I forgot. The ears of the Pure Races are small and delicate. I must
remember to use little words.”

Kirin
bit back a smile. There was something to be said for a man who could hold his
own against the Major.

“What is
AhmniShakra?”

“It
is, it is something we...” The Seer held up his hands. “May I?”

The
Captain nodded.

First
one, then the other, Sireth benAramis removed his gloves, revealing even more
of his mixed heritage by the small cheetah spots running up the backs of his
hands. As he moved toward the Captain, the tip of a silver dagger came between
them. Kirin waved it away. The hands slipped under his hair, at the base of his
skull, fingers spread wide, thumbs pressing deeply into his temple. One brown
eye locked with blue.

And
suddenly, Kirin was seeing double.

More
specifically, he was seeing himself, a flat, two-dimensional version of
himself, yet still seeing the Seer. There was another heart pounding his blood,
another chest filling with air, breathing for him, with him, another voice in
his head, not his own. It was a most peculiar thing.

As
suddenly as it had come, it went, leaving him blinking and rather short of
breath.

His
headache, however, was gone.

“AhmniShakra
,”
said the Seer, pulling the gloves back over his hands. “That was only the first
level. There are, of course, seven.”

Kirin
nodded again, with a sudden appreciation for the power and the danger, inherent
in the Gifts of Farsight and Vision.

“Tell me what you saw.”

“We
had initiated Seventh Level at the Opening of the Second Watch. We saw you were
coming, also that you would be too late. And this time, the assault - for I can
think of no other term - fell upon Petrus near the Middle of the Watch, not at
the end as with the others. It was as swift as it was complete and it almost
overwhelmed us both. Indeed, I believed we would both succomb this night...”

Sireth closed his eyes, reliving as
he recounted.

“There was ice. Ice, everywhere.
Above and below and within. We were frozen, solid, unable to move, unable to
breathe. There was no air, there was not even the drawing of breath for our
lungs were full of ice. Our hearts would not beat, could not, for they too were
frozen like stone. It was as if we were within a mountain glacier and our eyes
could focus on nothing but the whiteness of snow. There was a name on our lips,
a name we could not speak, but our minds cried it over and over, even as the
panic seized us in its iron grip. It was then that Petrus pushed me out, for
his heart was older and he was dying, as surely, as savagely as Agis, or Kim Li
or Lashlin...”

He
shook his head.

“It was more than a vision, much
more than a dream, for we could not break loose from it.
It
seized
us
,
not the other way round and it would not let loose until one of us was dead. It
was an assault, Captain, from a living soul, upon a living soul and it was as
cold as the grave. But colder, so much colder.”

“What
was the name?”

“It is gone from my memory. But it
is dying.”

“What
is?”

“I don’t know. But it’s falling
from the sky and it is dying.”

“What
is falling from the sky?”

“I
don’t know.”

“This
name, did you recognize it?”

“I
don’t remember it.”

Ursa
snorted. “Useful visions.”

For
the first time, Kirin saw the Seer’s tail lash but he said nothing. There was
something, however, something in the way the man avoided his gaze. It quickened
his blood.

“Is
there anything else you can recall?”

The Seer lowered his eyes, the
pause significant.

“Nothing.”

“In
all your meditations, all your vigils, you saw nothing else? Nothing? None of
you?”

“Captain,
believe me when I say that there is nothing more I can tell you.”

They
had him.

Kirin
glanced at Ursa, her sharp, feral stare never having left the man since they’d
been seated. She seemed to be deciding which part of him to cut and eat first.