Snow in the Year of the Dragon

by H. Leighton Dickson

  “We leave swords if you leave Snow,” growled the Khargan.

  “Impossible,” he said. “The Snow protect Shin Sekai and the New World of the Rising Suns.”

  “The same Rising Suns that have somehow replaced the Capuchin Council?” asked Kerris. “That is not the reception we were promised.”

  “You showed up with an army at our gate.”

  “At the command of your Emperor. Is he, still, your Emperor, sidi?”

  The twitch of a pink lip.

  “The Sun must set before it rises anew.”

  “And debts must be paid before new bargains are struck,” said Kerris.

  “Spoken like a Chi’Chen diplomat,” said Moto.

  “In the spirit of honesty and diplomacy,” said Kerris.

  “In the spirit of honesty and diplomacy,” Moto began, and he swept a blue-clad arm toward the openings in the walls. “Tell me how you made these holes.”

  This was not diplomacy, Kirin fumed. Diplomacy was held in small rooms with maps and ink pots and tea. This was chess, and they were losing pieces quicker than they could recover.

  “Kaidan made them,” said Fallon quickly. “He can speak to the elements. They obey his very thoughts.”

  “Impossible,” said Moto.

  “Oh no, not impossible at all really. Kaidan is amazing like that. Remember the thunder and the lightning the other day? That was him, all him. He could take Shin Sekai apart, stone by stone, if he had the inkling.”

  “That would be an act of war,” growled Moto.

  “Killing general act of war,” growled Long-Swift.

  “Let us end this,” said Kirin. “We will speak to the Capuchin Council now. If not, let us take our army and return the way we have come. If the Eastern Kingdom falls to the Ancestors, it will be on your head, Tomi Moto.”

  “Your head on pike,” said the Khargan.

  There was silence for several long moments before Moto nodded.

  “We will take you to the Rising Suns. In their light, you may choose your path.”

  “Even the baby?” asked Fallon.

  “No baby,” said Moto. “And no women. The Suns’ chi is pure.”

  Kerris laughed.

  “We go together, sidi,” said Kirin. “These women are—”

  “Wait,” said Fallon. She stepped forward, Kylan on her hip. “We can stay.”

  “You are not staying,” said Kirin.

  “You’re not staying, luv,” said Kerris.

  “If we stay, we can go to the market.”

  She threw him a quick glance but her question was for Moto and Moto alone.

  “Fallon,” warned Kerris.

  “I mean, ‘Rah and I can take the baby and wander around the markets. Meet some of the women here, see how they run their shops, that sort of thing. It’s really good for diplomatic relations when women of different cultures can share stuff like that. You know, shops and crafts and weaving and, oh, maybe bears…”

  “Fallon…”

  “And babies.” She held up Kylan. “We’d love to see some Chi’Chen babies. We women just love babies…”

  And she bit her lip. The baby flailed and cooed.

  Sherah slipped over to the Scholar’s side, gathered Kylan into her arms.

  “Perhaps one of the Stonelilies will serve as guide,” she purred. “I am keen to learn Chi’Chen medicines. They are renown across the Empires.”

  Kirin ground his molars. He knew these women. They were not the least interested in shops or crafts or medicines or, for that matter, even babies. They were shrewd strategists both; he owed his life to them many times over.

  He looked back to the man in blue robes.

  “If the women may move freely amongst your city without fear, we will join you without them. Is that agreeable, sidalord Moto?”

  Moto narrowed his eyes, lost in the game being played out before him.

  He snorted his approval.

  “Which Stonelily would your esteemed women choose?”

  “Oh?” said Fallon. “Um, Ai’an? She’s very helpful.”

  “She’s a fierce one,” said Kerris and he slid his eyes in her direction.

  The woman stepped forward, grim, humourless and proud.

  Moto’s eyes slid to the Snow. He nodded.

  Arrows whipped through the air, thudding into the woman’s body in succession. Fallon screamed as Ai’an staggered backwards against the wall. She remained there for a few short moments before sliding to the floor, a slick of red oozing behind.

  There were no words. There was no sound. No hearts beat, no breaths filled the chest. The other Stonelilies stood, silent and still, awaiting arrows of their own, and for the first time Kirin could remember, Kylan began to cry.

  Kerris swung around to the monk.

  “Why?” he cried. “Why would you do that?”

  Immediately, arrows and swords snapped up, and both Kirin and Khargan stepped forward to grab the grey lion before he was next.

  “Why would you kill that woman?’ snapped Kerris. “She did nothing wrong!”

  “You have accused the Stonelilies of bearing false witness,” said Moto. “Of lying. In doing so, they have disgraced the Rising Suns. Be grateful only one must pay for this dishonour.”

  “Like General Yamashida?” growled Kirin.

  “Even so.” He blinked slowly. “The Suns are the future of all people. You will understand when you bask in their presence.”

  The room grew silent once again, save for the lashing of a grey tail. Kirin leaned in to his brother’s ear.

  “Kerris,” he said. “Be still. We have a duty.”

  “If you harm the Lightning,” his brother snarled. “If you break one hair on her head, if you terrify the dog or threaten the cheetah or make the baby shed one more tear, Kaidan will in fact take this city apart, stone by bloody stone. The waters will boil and the city will freeze and your people will die in a city that is not theirs. The crows of Shin Sekai will pick the bones clean until you, your city and your Capuchin Council are nothing more than a whisper on the Eastern wind.”

  After a moment, Moto’s wide mouth split into a smile.

  “Now this is the Kaidan of our legend,” he said. “Come. The Suns are anxious to bless you with their acquaintance.”

  And he spun on his heel and left the room. The Snow turned their small, shiny eyes on them.

  Kirin released a cleansing breath and faced the others. There was no choice. There was only one way. They all knew this. They all shared the burden.

  The baby had stilled, burying his face in his mother’s chest as she swayed from side to side, and he held her gaze the longest, her gold catching him, binding him, entreating him. He caught her back, willing the Bushido through her eyes into her very soul. Hers was the power, hers the Magic. If any of them lived now, it would be because of her.

  And they needed to live.

  She smiled.

  With a nod, Kirin pushed out through the Snow, flanked by his brother and the Khargan, leaving the others in the care of the remaining Stonelilies.

  He prayed he would see them again.

  Destiny

  “Lesson Two.”

  The Empress looked up from the cushions in the Prayer Room.

  “Why are you here?” she snapped. “No one is allowed in here.”

  “Someone was allowed in here,” said Ursa. She grinned wickedly.

  “That is none of your concern.”

  “You have made it everyone’s concern.”

  And she began to move around the paper walls like a snake circling a chick.

  The Empress growled. The black tail lashed once across the silks.

  “I command you to leave.”

  “My husband is working to restore your honour.”

  “One who sneaks into a prayer room is not one to speak of honour.”

  “Kunoichi have no honour.” Ursa circled, her ice blue eyes sweeping the room. “The hassassin sent to kill you had no honour, and yet she insisted yo
u had less.”

  The Empress seethed but said nothing.

  “She said you traded our Kingdom for the bed of a lion.” Stepping over the scarlet pillows, along the rice paper walls, around the gold incense pots. “Was it a worthy trade?”

  “Get out of this room.”

  “It was a long time coming. Did you weep, little cricket? Did he?”

  “You know nothing!”

  “I know him. He loves two things, the Bushido and you. Are you worthy?”

  Ling glared at her for a long moment before bowing her head. Suddenly, there was no Empress. There was no monarch or Sacred ruler, only a woman kneeling on a floor of cushions.

  “I am not worthy of him,” she said softly.

  “No, you are not. You are a cricket. He is the sun.”

  “He is the most worthy man in all the Empire.”

  “But ‘shame comes to the House of Fangxieng,’ the hassassin said. ‘Shame sits on the old wooden seat.’” Ursa looked down at her, so small and unassuming in her night robe and her cushions. “How can there be shame if he is so worthy?”

  “There is, there… No.” Ling paused, released a cleansing breath. “I love him.”

  “So how can there be shame.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “You are the Empress of the Upper Kingdom.”

  “I can’t.”

  In the blink of an eye, the snow leopard dropped to her hands and knees, crawled forward until they were nose to nose.

  “These walls are made of paper,” Ursa hissed. “Tell me how they can hold a Dragon?”

  “I am carrying his child,” Ling said in a small voice.

  “The child of a Dragon and a Shogun-General?” She sneered. “Such a thing cannot be. It is a miracle. A creature of legend. It must be magic.”

  For a brief moment, there was a smile.

  “And perhaps it is your destiny.”

  Finally, Ursa sat back on her heels.

  “Shame is fear. It is a powerful weapon in the hands of your enemies.”

  Ling nodded.

  “Shame is a paper cage. It cannot hold you.”

  “It will not hold me.”

  “It will not hold the Shogun-General either, when he returns.”

  Another smile and Ursa studied her for a long moment, the woman at the heart of a kingdom. So young to wield such power. Her inexperience would be her undoing.

  And with a powerful backhand, she struck the Empress on the cheek, sending her reeling to the cushions.

  “Why?!” Ling snapped. “Why do this again?”

  “You are still the Empress.”

  Ling pulled a hand to her mouth. There was a drop of bright red blood.

  “You could be killed for this.”

  Ursa rose to her feet.

  “Love makes you soft and the Kingdom will suffer. Use your passion to make you strong.”

  “You will never strike me again.”

  “I will strike you until you stop me.” With fist to cupped palm, the sham’Rai bowed. “End of Lesson Two.”

  Suddenly she wheeled and kicked her high boot heel savagely through one of the rice paper walls. She was gone in a heartbeat, leaving the Empress with her pillows and her prayers.

  ***

  Naranbataar and four Snow guards made their way back through the winding, mirror-machined crevasse. There had been not a word passed between them, for in fact, it was impossible. Language, he was beginning to realize, was an elusive thing.

  Monkey people moved through the narrow passageway and he had to remind himself that this New World was a city, the capital of the canton of Shi’beth. His people had called it Tevd and thought it a wasteland, home to ice and secrets and the stony gar of the Moon. But in reality, commerce thrived here, and he studied both merchants and soldiers as they passed. They, in turn, stared at him, for a dog in the streets was an unusual site. He didn’t understand this people, didn’t really care overmuch. They ate fruit and lived in mountains with no walls. They killed each other with no regard and yet they looked at him with fear and loathing. Not so strange, then, that he would prefer the company of cats.

  Not for the first time, he thought of Setse.

  He wondered where she was, if she was alive, if she was happy with her lover the yellow cat. She would have been mated had they remained in Karan’Uurt, and in fact, so would he. He had never wooed a woman; he had never won the loyalty of a wife. Life as the brother to an Oracle had cost him everything just to keep her alive, and yet, here he was. He’d run with a Khargan, cared for the baby of a Shogun, and fired the weapon of an Ancestor.

  Still, just one woman might have been nice.

  Soon, they were out of the crevasse, and the expanse of the Chi’Chenguan Way spread out before him. The clouds were low and he could smell snow on the air. Snow and Snow, and he resisted the urge to look above him, knowing they dotted the mountain with their sentries and scouts. If they suspected his true intentions, the hail of arrows would kill him before the Maiden left his back. They might anyway, regardless.

  He had only used the Breath of the Maiden in practice. The grey cat had shown him how to hold it on the shoulder, how to measure distance with the eye, and strength with the fingers. He’d always been a good archer but this was a different weapon entirely. Its strange blue-white beam could destroy an entire mountain in one swipe. All the monkeys, all the little huts, all the strange angled arches and slabs of grey stone, gone in one deadly blast. But his was a different commission. Return to the Celestial Mountain Gate and free the Nine Thousand Dragons. He prayed he could before the arrows sent him to the Great Grass Plains of the Moon.

  His nose caught the scent just before his ears caught the sound – jingle of tack, snort of horse. He turned to see a group of Snow leading five dun ponies and he frowned. He didn’t ride horses. None of his people did. How could he explain to them that he could run as fast as they could ride? Would they shoot him for refusing? Would the horses eat him if he tried?

  The little dun horses separated, each to a rider, and he groaned at the sight of the pony in the middle. It was grey lion’s pony, the one with the messy tail and bad attitude and it was clearly meant for him.

  “Not mine,” he said and he pointed. “Not my horse.”

  The Snow did not spare a glance as they swept up into their saddles.

  Naranbataar looked at the pony.

  “I can’t ride you. You hate me. You hate everyone.”

  The pony blinked and stretched his neck forward, opening his mouth to reveal teeth like yellow daggers. He yawned, slowly, loudly, as if for effect, then shook his wild mane. He stared up at the dog.

  “What? I can ride you, mean little horse?”

  The pony did not respond.

  “Dogs do not ride horses. Dogs do not ride horses.”

  And he remembered Setse and her horse, how she’d hugged him and loved him and called him her own.

  He shook his head and stepped forward, grabbing a handful of mane and swinging his leg high. And suddenly, he was on, his thighs wrapping round the belly as if they belonged. Rani glanced around at the Snow. Their faces were stone, their eyes shiny pebbles. He smiled his best smile, wondering if it even translated into monkey.

  With a cluck of a tongue, they were off on the Chi’Chenguan Way and the Celestial Mountain Gate.

  ***

  “The Square of Frost Flowers,” said Fallon, and she breathed deeply the scents from the New World markets. “Such a pretty name for such a pretty market. I love markets, especially monkey markets and I’ve been in quite a few this past year. I’m sorry if I’m talking too much, but I talk a lot when I’m nervous, or thinking, or sad. And I am sad, Jae’un. I’m sad because of poor Ai’an. I hope she had a nice husband and a happy life. I can’t believe she died like that. Just like that. I will do everything I can to make sure you don’t die like that, Jae’un. Everything I can. Oh look, melons!”

  The Stonelily named Jae’un swallowed but her face was hard as clay.
Behind her were two Snow, and Fallon was certain their hands had never left the hilts of their swords. As usual, the Alchemist carried the baby on her hip and hummed to herself in strange, exotic keys.

  “So do they get all this to grow here, Jae’un?” She swung around to the Stonelily. “Can I call you Jae’un? I mean, if I have to call you sidalady Jae’un, or sidalady Lily, or even sidaLily, I could do that but I don’t know if that translates well into Chi’Chen, although it sounds pretty to me.”

  The Stonelily stared at her, blinking her shiny eyes but she said nothing. Fallon sighed. It was like talking to a wall.

  It was hard then, as they wandered between the stalls, with so many thoughts warring for her attention. Kerris and the Rising Suns, Ai’an and the arrows, the armies and the Snow, and Naranbataar and babies in a time of war. Life and death in a precarious dance, ebbing and flowing and cutting all things as they went. Even here, in this strange unnatural city, the balance was off, the chi spread thin, and she wondered if she were simply growing numb to it all. Vendors stopped to stare. She didn’t care. Women whispered, men grunted, children stole glances from behind boxes and barrels. More than once she heard the word ‘Lightning’ and she wondered what they thought when they saw her. Inside, she was still the same silly little tigress from Parnum’bah Falls, but with the things she had seen, the things she had done, she supposed her new, wild appearance was rather justified. Apparently, lightning did that to people. If only she felt as sharp.

  The market was crowded at this time of day with people as well as wares. Bolts of linen and reams of wool lined the paths like fabric fence posts, while baskets of fruit towered over tables laden with colourful vegetables. Rice paper fans and masai ink pots and beaded slippers and cob pipes and lanterns and beeswax and bowls and hats and just so many wonderful things. Normally, she would be inspecting it all, holding, touching, smelling, buying, but it was all a wild, colourful, numbing blur.

  She picked up a toy rattle-drum, twisting it back and forth so that the beads struck the skin like rain. Little Kirin had been given a red one by the Emperor himself, Soladad a yellow, and she blinked back the unexpected stinging in her eyes.