Along the walls, monkeys came next but she was sure her eyes were seeing little now. They had been animals. She knew it was true. Solomon had spoken of it during their time on the Plan B, and then on the Griffen as they’d flown over the waters to Bai’Zhin. Gene splicing, genetic manipulation, all words that, at one time, were exciting and new, now heartless and cruel and merciless. She wondered if this was how Kirin had felt that night in Ana’thalia when his sword had rebelled and split his brother in two.
She wrapped her hands around the little bear but she couldn’t feel him. There was no breath in her chest. Each step was a torture and, not for the first time, she wanted to go home.
Life and Death. Sun and Moon, Forward and Back, Ceramic and Clay. It was too hard. She was not enough.
Another wall. Another door. Another hand print. Cat.
The Xióngmāo woman pointed.
This door was sealed. There was no glimmer of light from the other side, no hope of squeezing through or slipping under, or even climbing over for that matter. It was a wide smooth mossy slab, and the bears were watching her.
“What?” she asked. “Me? I can’t open that.”
In her arms, the Xióngmāo child pointed.
“No,” she said. “I’m sorry. I want to go back now, please. I don’t want to see anymore.”
“Please, Scholar,” said the Alchemist. “We can leave.”
All the bears now raised a long-fingered claw, pointed them at her.
Fallon swallowed.
“Oh mother,” she said. “But how? It’s sealed tight. I don’t even see a…oh wait. I do…”
Up in the corner above the door, almost hidden by moss, a triangle gleamed.
“What did Solomon call those?” she muttered to herself as she stepped towards the door. “Eyelight? Arclight?”
The young bear hung tight to her neck as she stood up on tiptoe and reached to push away the moss and the grime. Beneath it all, the triangle made of metal gleamed blue in the darkness.
“ArcEye!”
And when she brushed the blue with her fingers, a reed-thin beam sliced the chamber like a blade.
As one, the Xióngmāo chirped and stepped back. Funny, thought Fallon. They sounded like birds. Not what she would have expected.
The beam swept the chamber, moving across the Xióngmāo before it turned its light on her. It flickered up her legs, across her torso, across the young bear before settling upon her face. It was very bright and she narrowed her eyes as it flashed three times. Cool, she thought. It should be hot, but it was most definitely cool.
“Not the Caretaker,” said a sudden voice and the Xióngmāo chirped again. The voice seemed to come from the very walls, and surprisingly, it was in Hanyin. “Access denied.”
“I’m sorry,” said Fallon. “My name is Fallon Waterford-Grey. No, I’m not your Caretaker but the Xióngmāo—”
“Denied.”
The beam moved off her face toward Jae’un but the woman stepped back.
“No!” she moaned. “This is witchcraft!”
And she whirled and fled the room, the sound of her slippers carrying off into silence. The Xióngmāo watched her go, turned their gaze back to the cats.
The beam swept over to Alchemist next, flickered over Kylan held tightly in her arms. The baby blinked and blinked again, the pupils becoming pinpoints in his bicoloured eyes before he turned his face away to press into his mother’s chest. The beam left him, tracking upwards to Sherah herself and she straightened, steeled her chin in defiance. The beam danced across her face, her eyes, her wide forehead and full mouth, traced the stripe of cheetah black that curled like a serpent on her cheek.
The beam flashed three times when there was a click from the door.
“Welcome home, Seiya Fehr,” said the voice. “It has been a long time and we have work to do.”
And with the sound of thunder, the slab began to move.
***
“I was here for almost a year when the first of the rats came. They send out scouts, you know, like dogs and maybe like cats. I don’t know anything about cats. You are the first cat I’ve ever seen, so I don’t know if you send out scouts.”
He tried to grin. It looked more like a grimace, given his bulging eyes and protruding teeth.
“I am clever, though. I killed the first rat, then the second, and wore their skins. It made me invisible to the swarm when it came. Because of course, it came. First ten, then twenty, then a hundred of them. They looked like a storm cloud moving across the canyon. I hid here because it was snowing and I knew I wouldn’t last outside for too long. And it was good for a few moons, but then the Uürekh came. They follow the swarms, taking the weak and the old and the young. Like the tsaa buga, I suppose, only with teeth instead of spikes.”
The dog called Chiing laughed but it sounded like a cough. Nevye wondered how long this Oracle would last. They were the weakest of all dogs.
“I thought the Uürekh would kill me because I was a dog and I smelled like rats. Their eyes are not very good, so I think I confused them, just a little. I made them fire, made them bone tea. They liked me and kept me alive. The rats had sought out the deepest part of the mountain for their ovoljoo and— ”
“Ovoljoo?” aske Nevye. Again, another word he had never heard.
“Winter sleep,” said Setse.
“It is something the Uürekh do as well. When the nights grew short, they took a corner behind the pillars and slept.”
Nevye marveled at the thought. He wondered if bears slept away the winters in warmer lands.
“But they don’t freeze like the rats. No, they wake up many times, and I bring them rat meat that I have thawed for them. It’s easy now. It won’t be so easy in a few moons when the winter shrinks and grass returns to the land of the Chanyu.”
He looked up at them.
“Then the rats will wake.”
Setse sighed.
“So, we can’t stay here. We must keep moving.”
Nevye looked at her.
“Why do you say that?”
“We can’t hide the children forever.”
“No no,” said Chiing. “The rats will move on. There’s no food here for them and they go where there is food. They just needed a place like Tsaparang for their winter sleep.”
There was quiet for a long time while each stared into the fire and wrestled with questions.
“Why does Nüür have two heads?” asked Nevye.
“I don’t know. Why do you have two eyes?”
“It’s not the same.”
Chiing shrugged.
“I don’t know. I don’t make bears.”
There was a sound over the crackle of the fire, and they rose to meet it. Three massive shapes lumbered towards them between the pillars, the temple echoing with the drum of padded feet on stone. Chiing bowed low to the ground. Nevye and Setse followed his lead and did the same.
A bellow tthreatened to split his skull, deeper and more powerful than anything he had ever heard. A second but higher, sharper, and finally, Nüür. Odd, he recognized her voice already. Or perhaps it was the Gifts working through him. He never knew any more. Life was so strange.
“She says rise,” said Chiing, so they did.
Three bears towered over them, Nüür and two males. One was black with tan around his nose and mouth, and while he was the smallest, he was still the size of two men. Like Nüür, he wore braces of hammered leather, stripes of hide around his waist, and a fold of cloth that covered his loins. The other was easily the size of three men, and his thick, brown pelt shimmered gold in the firelight. Along with the braces and cloth, he also wore a wide belt that circled his waist and a double baldric that crossed his massive scarred chest. Tucked at each hip were clubs, and Nevye could imagine them crushing the skulls of tsaa buga with ease.
All three had two heads.
The black bear dropped to four legs and began to circle them, grunting with with each step. Hard to think of them as people this wa
y, Nevye thought to himself, and yet, animals didn’t wear clothing. Animals didn’t carry clubs. Or perhaps they did. Nevye wasn’t as experienced with the world as he needed, and yet, here he was, on his knees before three two-headed bears.
Suddenly, there was a blow between his shoulders as the black shoved him forward. He fell onto his palms, pain popping behind his eyes. The brown Uürekh snarled, and he could feel heat and cold radiating from it in waves.
“Shar,” gasped Setse.
“No,” he said. “It’s alright. This is their home.”
The brown barked at them once, twice, three times, and the air thundered at his voice. Nevye did not flinch. It clapped massive palms onto his cheeks, turned his head one way, then the other. The pads were rough as slate. Clawed fingers ran through lengths of the jaguar’s now-white hair, tugged on the curves of his ears. His heart threatened to burst from his chest.
“A cat, divine Ma’ar,” said Chiing quickly. “No longer enemy of the Chanyu, or so I’m told.”
The bear called Ma’ar brought one face down to Nevye’s so that it filled his whole world. He could see the creature’s tiny bloodshot eyes, the cracks in the nose pad, the twisting black lip as it pulled back in a snarl.
“Voor kahngash ne’er gah,” said the bear, Ma’ar.
“Na’ar gah,” said Nüür and behind him, the black bear barked. Odd, how it sounded like a laugh.
“Raal thinks you’re funny,” said Chiing.
“We come in peace,” said Setse and immediately, all heads swung in her direction. “We bring greetings from our new Khargan, Khan Sumalbaykhan, Khan of Khans, Son of the White Wolf, Father of the Jackal. Ruler of the Chanyu and all the People of the Moon.”
“We also bring fire,” said Nevye and at the touch of his thoughts, the flames leapt higher, burned brighter. The Uürekh murmured and stepped back, six pairs of eyes glittering and dark.
“We teach,” said Setse. “We hope to make a school—”
And she froze.
Cold swept down in a wave from his eyes.
“Khumul,” moaned Chiing.
“Khumul,” moaned Setse.
“Khumul,” he repeated, a heartbeat behind.
He could see them plain as morning. The villagers of Khumul at the base of the mountain, moving in on the children with sacks and ropes and clubs and spears. The udgan shaking her crows’ feet over them all, shrieking in a soundless voice.
He pushed up to his feet but a massive clawed palm swung through the air, striking his skull and sending him spinning into blackness.
***
Scraps of poly drifted down onto his face as he watched the claws tear their way through the bronzed ceiling. Beneath the bed, the first creature hissed, its feet clicking as it scrabbled across the floor. The blue triangle of the ArcEye promised him freedom, if only he could keep his heart from racing, if only he could keep his breath even. If only he could stay calm.
Not bloody likely.
Claws, then jaws, then the shiny eyes and bobbing stingers of many more behind and with a cry, Jeffery Solomon lunged as first one, then two creatures crashed through onto the infirmary bed where he had been. His legs buckled beneath him and he hit the floor with knees and palms. Pain popped behind his eyes but the clicking and hissing drove him to his feet, and from there, to the door.
The blue triangle turned red.
“Elevated heart rate detected,” said the Ring. “Please return to your unit immediately or Quarantine Protocol Seven B will be initiated.”
Solomon swung around, pressed his back against the door. Two creatures were on the bed now, with more tearing through the ceiling high above. The first snapped and struck at them from the floor. This wasn’t real, he told himself. This was Dreamtime. There were no scorpions in Dreamtime.
How else do you do anything in Dreamtime?
“Solomon, Jeffery Anders. SLS7554b37Q. Passcode Tango9931. Seeker 4. I want a helliad rifle.”
The world rippled like the screens in the Qore, and suddenly at his feet, a helliad rifle appeared.
He snatched it up, felt the cold, smooth weight of it in his hands. He’d never fired one before. Hell, he’d never fired anything. It had been a miracle that he’d survived the rats of Kandersteg. With a grimace, he hiked the weapon to his shoulder as Ward had done.
“I hate Dreamtime,” he grunted. “Well, sweet dreams, critters.”
And he moved his finger across the pressure point and blue light sliced across the infirmary. The plex shattered into a thousand pieces, shards raining to the ground like arrows.
Missed.
“Shit,” he growled as the first creature skittered toward him. The helliad sang again and the creature erupted, its middle disappearing and its many chitinous legs scattering across the floor. From the cot, the second leapt to the ground, the beam slicing its tail from its body and the scorpion shrieked, began to spin in mad circles like a dervish. The third launched itself toward him and he swung the rifle, cutting it in two but blasting a large hole in the ceiling. He could see the glint of exoskeletons, heaving and shiny in the framework.
Suddenly, the door disappeared behind him and he fell backwards, the helliad sailing out of his hands and down the corridor.
He looked up to see boots and black jumpsuit and finally, marvellous eyebrows und a goggled cap.
“What the hell are you playing at, Seven?” asked Damaris Ward. “There’s a war going on!”
And she reached down to pull him to his feet.
***
The sound of boots echoed through the hot gardens called Kr̥ṣi, and the surrounding Snow snapped to attention. Within a heartbeat, a dozen more Chi’Chen soldiers appeared, circling cats, dog and monkey in an oppressive band. Instinctively, Kirin’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword. He noticed the Khargan’s had done the same.
Tomi Moto held up his hand, leaned forward as a Snow whispered in his ear.
His small eyes darted to the trio.
“This was your plan all along,” he hissed.
“Elaborate,” growled Kirin.
“An army from Bai’Zhin approaches from the east, your Nine Thousand Dragons have made the Celestial Mountain Gate to the northwest and now your women…”
He snorted, stamped his foot.
“Shops and weaving and babies, indeed! Your women have infiltrated the heart of the Xióngmāo quarter inside the mountain.”
Kerris laughed.
Moto straightened, stepped back once, twice, three times until he was within the circle of Snow.
“You laugh, Kaidan,” he said. “But the Rising Suns are not amused. Already, a troop has been dispatched to kill them. And yes, you were correct in your suspicions. Of the Army in the Square, three hundred have been sent to take on the army of the Setting Sun, while one hundred have been sent to dispatch your Nine Thousand Dragons at the Celestial Mountain Gate. They will scale the wall and leave not a single man alive.”
“One hundred will not make a dent in Nine Thousand, sidi.”
“One hundred Snow are more than a match for your ‘dragons.’”
“Not when the Celestial Mountain Gate lies in rubble on the Chi’Chenguan Way,” said Kerris.
“Nothing can bring down the Celestial Mountain Gate,” said Moto. “Unless the great Kaidan intends to make good his threat.”
“This is madness,” snarled Kirin. Both Fangs sang from their sheaths. “I have told you one hundred times, we are on a mission of peace.”
“Finally, you three will be publically executed in the Square of Frost Flowers for crimes against the Chi’Chen people.”
Slowly, the sound of ala’Asalan sliding from the Khargan’s back.
The gleam of steel as the Snow drew their swords, the hum of arrows taut on strung bows.
“Your heads will be sent back to Pol’Lhasa, Bai’Zhin and Ulaan Baator as a warning and a promise. It is unwise to threaten the Rising Suns of Shin Sekai.”
There was a sound, faint at first but growing and grou
nd beneath them began to tremble. Tiny pebbles flew up from the earth, rising to hover in mid air just above Kerris’ raised palms.
“Did you not believe me,” began Kerris. “When I said I would in fact take this city apart, stone by bloody stone?”
Slowly the pebbles began to weave circles around his fingers.
“That your waters would freeze?”
Beneath their feet, the rumble of a mountain waking.
“And that I would turn your city into myth and memory?”
All around them, the fields and trees began to rearrange themselves as the earth pushed up stone after stone, rising and scraping and grumbling. The Snow staggered as they tried to maintain their footing. They glanced around, breaching protocol. Unfocused. Afraid.
“Perhaps,” said Moto. “There will be no public execution…”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Kill them now.”
Arrows loosed and the Snow charged and the mountain burst apart beneath their feet.
integrity
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold.
There were no Ancestors in Swisserland. He had to go further.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold.
The opium was fine, a little light, but better than none at all. He had travelled across the Empire in his mind, hoping to find some sign of Ancestors just outside of their borders but it had been fruitless. Still, journeying to Swisserland had been easier than he’d remembered, although he had died since the first time and apparently, dying made a difference.
He didn’t know how long he’d been in here, in this little palanquin on the road to Agara’tha. It may have been hours. It may have been days. It may even have been weeks. He couldn’t remember seeing an inn, couldn’t remember even looking for one as the warring, raging thoughts of the Palace fell away with every footfall. He did remember having a cup of tea before leaving his body and traveling once more. He did not touch the noodles. He hoped his wife knew he loved her beyond the tea and the noodles.
Snow in the Year of the Dragon Page 25
