Snow in the Year of the Dragon

by H. Leighton Dickson

  “Rah!” she cried out, surprised that she actually had a voice. “Rah, what did you do?”

  “I’m sorry!” came the voice back from somewhere in the chaotic, spinning mess. “Dharma, forgive!”

  Glass and plex on the floor slid as the room spun when suddenly, there was a shuddering thud like great gears clicking into place. For a brief moment, the room stopped moving and Fallon looked over. A severed arm rested at her feet and she swallowed the bile rising in her mouth.

  “NPM Protocol Override, Seiya Fehr Caretaker. Elevation Two.”

  Another groan and the room began to spin again. Cases hissed and sprang open, panel doors clicked and slid. The ice danced in the air, creating webs between the stations and the cases and her body. She lost hold of the bear as she began to slide, dug her claws into the floor but still, she slid. She could hear his chirps as he flailed through the ice. Suddenly, the thud and click again, and the brief moment of respite.

  She lunged to catch his back leg and hauled him back into her arms, wrapped her body around him like a shield to protect him from the crashing cases and shattering plex.

  “NPM Protocol Override, Seiya Fehr Caretaker. Elevation Three.”

  And so it went.

  ***

  WAKE

  “NPM Protocol Override, Seiya Fehr Caretaker. Elevation Seven.”

  It was chaos in the Chamber of the Rising Suns.

  The holiest place in the New World was shaken as the towering cases vibrated like ringing gongs. Some cracked, others shattered, pelting shards of plex and metal like arrows and spewing their icy contents across the floor. Few remained intact, but those that did hissed like smoke, draining the clear gel through tubes in their frosted walls. One by one, the cases tipped, some shattered entirely with their contents splashing horrifically across the floor. Apes and parts of apes, ice and gel, plex and tube and monkey and pink.

  There would be a heartbeat of stillness until the chaos began again.

  “NPM Protocol Override, Seiya Fehr Caretaker. Elevation Eight.”

  Once perched atop them all, the Capuchin Council were little more than grapes, crushed between their hosts and the cases that had held them. One struggled on the floor beside a mass of orange hair; another was flung like a marionette, swinging at the ends of his unnatural tethers and bouncing off cases streaked with red. Several plunged through the tops into the cylinders themselves, thrashing and clawing next to their counterparts in the freezing gel. Hands clawed the plex, mouths gaping, eyes wide, but soon their struggles slowed until they became one with the ice and the Suns.

  As the mountain itself continued to rise, Elevation Nine witnessed the end of the Rising Suns. No one was there to mourn their passing.

  ***

  WAKE

  It was unlike anything anyone had ever seen, as the entire city of Shin Sekai rose slowly, steadily, relentlessly, out of the ground.

  “NPM Protocol Override, Seiya Fehr Caretaker. Elevation Eleven.”

  Rope and cables snapped. Tents blew away. Kilns tipped over, pots and posts shattered as the smooth grey stone thundered and groaned, twisting across itself in a counterclockwise direction and sending clouds of snow rolling like smoke over the Square of Frost Flowers. The wide, open window-walls flickered blue as screens magically came to life, ionizing any birds perched within them, slicing off hands and arms of Chi’Chen bold enough to look. There was chaos in the village square as people ran screaming in all directions; even the Snow did not stay at their posts but withdrew to the cliffsides as their city became a tower before their sharp, shiny eyes. And it kept rising, the roar deafening as the slabs thundered counterclockwise, creating booms as each massive section clicked into place, only for a smaller interior section to begin spinning and groaning and rising anew.

  “NPM Protocol Override, Seiya Fehr Caretaker. Elevation Twelve.”

  Inside, it was chaos as the very floor beneath their feet moved and Kirin found himself on his hands and knees, trying to ride it out. Behind and above him, the high cases cracked and split, releasing their creatures onto the floor. It was like an unnatural birth as the bleats of waking animals added to the chaos. The dead Snow rolled like frozen fish, their blood creating rivers that mixed with the gel and crisscrossed the hard floor in an obscene web. There would be a heartbeat of stillness until the voice and the chaos began again.

  “NPM Protocol Override, Seiya Fehr Caretaker. Elevation Thirteen.”

  He had lost count but finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, there was a thundering boom and then silence.

  Breathe in, hold. Breathe out, hold. Listen for the sound of the blood in your veins. Find your centre, hold it until the spinning of your head stills.

  “Kerris?” he called, his voice echoing in the quiet.

  “Dead,” called his brother.

  “Swift?”

  “Wish to be dead.”

  Quiet sounds now – crackle and breath, whimper and growl. A bright, brilliant light streamed down from very high windows. He looked up, certain there had not been windows there before. They crackled and buzzed with blue.

  Strange animals struggled to rise, tangled in tubing, cords and plex. Others quivered on the floor, waking or dying, he couldn’t be sure. Mist and steam rose above them all, curling like serpents as heat rushed to their bodies. A creature that looked like Long-Swift’s ancestor thrashed on the floor, its long grey pelt slick with ice.

  Kirin pushed to his feet now, blinking in the brightness where once was dim green and shadow. The Xióngmāo shuffled in like a brown-robed wave, carrying blankets as they moved through the icy mess. Quietly, they began to tend the waking creatures and pile up the remains of the dead.

  There were no Snow.

  His eyes scanned the shattered walls, the doorways, the corridors.

  No Snow at all to be seen, only the dead, their blood mingled with the ice and the gel on the floor.

  Motion to his left as the Khargan stood, lending a hand to pull Kerris to his feet.

  “You do this?” the Khargan asked.

  “No, I didn’t,” said Kerris. “But I know who did.”

  “Who, Kerris?” asked Kirin. “Who did it?”

  Wearily, his brother grinned.

  “Our wives.”

  ***

  None of it was working. There were just too many and Nevye snatched the short sword from his boot. He had named it Bright River because it sounded poetic and he had fancied himself a poet, but now he wished he had named it Death or Blood or Claw. Poetry, no matter how beautiful, would not save them from the rats of Tsaparang.

  Fire from his leg and he swung the blade in a wide arc, splitting heads and rending torsos in the process.

  Only manic, thoughtless swinging of the blade, moving faster than they could come. He could see the end of the swarm, knew it was not big by normal standards but for a Seer, an Oracle, two bears and a handful of villagers, it was devastating. He didn’t know how many they’d lost, couldn’t spare the time to look, not when his world had become so small with the cascade of scrabbling hands, chittering teeth, and whipping tails. Some moved beneath the snow like a wave, only to burst out claws first. Others rode down on the backs of their compatriots, tumbling over the dead or those feasting on them. He could hear the bellows of the two Uürekh, was grateful for their service. He could even hear the shouting of the men of Khumul, hoped that they lived to tell of the bravery of Oracles to their people.

  More fire, this time from his knee and he grabbed the creature by the neck, only to have it wrap around his arm like a glove. He cursed his stupidity and wondered if he would come back again a fourth time after a death like this. What would be left after they had eaten him, and how many lives did a yellow cat have, after all was said and done?

  If only you’d had the bonestick, he heard the voice whisper. You could kill them all with a thought. You would protect those whom you love, and not fail like always.

  A thud on his shoulder now, and another on his back, and
he dropped to one knee in the icy mud. Prayed that Setse’s death would be quick, that Balm’s would not, and he closed his eyes to meet his fate.

  If only you’d had the bonestick

  The Oracle Eyes of Sev the Strong. Her call like a lone bird on a hill…

  Feet, claws, tails, pads. Pushing, moving, crawling, gone.

  Gone.

  Gone, leaving thunder in its wake.

  He pushed up out of the snow, glanced wildly around at the mountain. Nüür, bloody and torn, but on her feet. Behind her, Ma’ar raised one head to the reddening skies and bellowed. Down the mountainside now, he watched the horde funnel like black sand through the lintel and down the stone steps. Setse was chasing them, her hair snapping in the cold wind, but they weren’t fleeing because of her. No, his gaze was drawn even further between the chorten and onto the plain toward a single small, dark figure in the snow.

  Sev.

  Thunder from the west and he didn’t need to look to know she had called the tsaa buga as well. He knew what she was doing, this little girl who talked to animals. She was calling the rats and calling the tsaa buga to kill the rats, and his heart broke once again for the fate of all Oracles.

  The final piece of his heart shattered as the swarm met the small, dark figure in the snow. Sev disappeared beneath them but the rats did not stop. They piled on top of each other, forming a swirling, seething, growling black hill, completely oblivious to the herd thundering down on them. The tsaa buga struck like a fist, scattering the creatures like rice at a wedding. They did not stop, however, but carried on, turning the snowy plain dark under their hooves.

  He watched Setse drop to her knees and found his hands curling into fists. The men of Khumul stood behind her, watching the horror as it thundered on before them even, as the udgan gestured and writhed behind. He would kill her, he told himself. He would send Bright River through the udgan’s heart and add her bones to the Court of Teeth and Claws. Kharma would be served and chi restored.

  But Balmataar?

  This time, there would be no mercy when it came to Balmataar.

  He turned his back to the valley and stepped under the snowy lintel that led to the Courts of Tsaparang. Something struck his belly and he staggered as Balm appeared before him, golden eye glittering in the setting sun.

  “I told you I would do it,” the boy hissed. “I don’t need you or the Oracles to make my fate.”

  Heat next, spreading from his belly, crushing his lungs. It was the bonestick, driven up and out his back and he could hear it laughing like the rush of blood in the ears.

  “Maybe I’ll stay here, with the bears and your woman…”

  Whispers and fire, blackness and cold. His knees buckled but Balm caught him, pulled his face close.

  “There are so many dead things up there,” he said. “So many bones. I’ll enjoy taking yours most.”

  He twisted the long bone and Nevye gasped, feeling Setse’s despair, seeing Sev’s last sight, watching Balmataar lower his body to the step as Silence swept overhead. The boy kept talking but the yellow cat did not hear it. There were only the whispers of the stick and the promise of the darkness and the squeal of the Needle and the growl of the Storm.

  And then they were all gone, along with the heat and the pain and the cold.

  ***

  SuperPit SandField, Central Australia,

  The Year of the Dragon

  WAKE

  Jeffery Solomon opened his eyes as the hum of life rattled his bones.

  There was no bright light, there were no wrist braces or whiff of ozone, just podlights in a dim chamber and the familiar tubes of cryo. Slowly, he reached his arm up, touched the wild mat of hair at the nape of his neck. Relief flooded from his ears to the tips of his toes as he found the wire where it had been since his birth.

  He was awake.

  For the first time in months, he was truly awake.

  He remembered the drill, rolled his wrists, ankles, neck. Deep breath in, hold for five, release. The sweet, sharp sensation of stale air entering his lungs for the first time in months, the cryo bed warm and fully molded to the shape of his body. Soon, it would flatten, encouraging him to sit up. He waited until it did.

  It was a small chamber, not at all what the units were supposed to look like, and he remembered Reedy mentioning the Ezekiel Wheels, the pseudo-wind turbines that housed Sandman 3’s remaining host of sleepers. He wondered if they were all awake. If so, he had only one man to thank for that.

  People don’t turn into animals, Persis.

  He reached to the nape of his neck, pinched the wire.

  Damaris?

  Nothing. Again.

  Damaris Ward, are you awake?

  Shut up, Seven.

  Relief flooded down to his toes.

  Persis Sengupta? Are you awake?

  Oh, my head hurts…

  This was what he was trained for, what he’d missed in Kandersteg because of the rats. He’d never done it but he knew what to do, despite Reedy and the Qore. He frowned.

  If everyone were awake, Reedy would lose control, and if Reedy lost control, he would certainly get mad.

  It’s not good when Reedy gets mad.

  Reedy was about to get real mad.

  He pushed the lid of the unit up, breathed deeply the hot, stale air of Kalgoorlie, alive and awake in the Year of the Dragon.

  ***

  Fallon tried to sit up.

  Either the room was still spinning or it was her head, so she sat, clutching the young bear and simply breathing until she could decide.

  The room was bright but not artificial so she looked up, squinting and shielding her eyes from the beams.

  Sky.

  Here, so far beneath the mountain, she could see sky.

  Something moved across her foot.

  Scaly and slow, it coiled over and over on itself, gold tail slapping against the icy floor. Her chest tightened and she tried not to breathe as a dragon woke after a thousand years of sleep. The young bear was frozen in her arms, making no sound, his large dark eyes glued to the sight. Under another set of cases, a pearl body moved, slithering like a massive snake between the metal and the plex. Pressed into a far wall, the Alchemist clutched Kylan to her chest as the black dragon stretched and hissed, shaking its mane of spines and trying to push up on its short clawed legs.

  There was a fourth, she remembered, from the stories she’d read. The Long Dragon, and she quickly scanned the room for a trace. She did see the remains of the Ancestor, however, face down on the floor. Pink and grey pieces stuck to his body and she didn’t want to know how or if he went back together. In the center of the room, she spied the tower of books, now clearly free and accessible, and her heart skipped in her chest. She’d have to get past the dragons first.

  She turned her eyes to the bear, raised a finger to her lips.

  Ever so slowly, she slid her boot toward the golden dragon, tried to push the scaly body off her leg. It rolled its head and snapped, but its tongue got in the way of the dagger teeth. It wailed, a cry that was picked up by the pearl and then the black. The young bear chirped and she clapped her hands over his mouth when a trill from above caused all of them to look up.

  High above them all, stretched out like a thick cable along the ceiling, the long dragon trilled again. The three rolled onto their stubby legs and began to scale the walls, moving awkwardly like salamanders on the rocks at Parnum’bah Falls.

  “’Rah,” Fallon called quietly. “Tell it to drop the screens.”

  There was no answer.

  “Tell it to drop the screens in this room and remove Seiya Fehr protocols.”

  No answer.

  “’Rah!”

  “…Scholar…”

  “’Rah, do this now!”

  There was a moment’s hesitation.

  “This is Seiya Fehr, Caretaker. Drop the screens in this room and remove Seiya Fehr protocols.”

  Her voice was low, hesitant. There was no hint of mystery, no
shadow or guile. No music either, or strange exotic keys. Something was wrong with the Alchemist and Fallon realized that, perhaps, more than dragons and cases and Ancestors and moving mountains, this was the most frightening thing of all.

  Suddenly, high above them, the windows flickered blue and a spray of mist rained down to the floor. The long dragon scrabbled across the ceiling in its awkward, side-to-side gait, paused only to push its head out and breathe deeply the evening sky. Then it slipped through, legs torso, legs and long, long, long tail. Following it, the pearl, the black and finally the gold. It looked back down, almost acknowledging them before disappearing out the window with a flick of a scaly tail.

  There was silence in the room for a long moment.

  Fallon staggered to her feet. She was dripping and cold but unharmed, and she looked down at the young bear. He reached up to take her hand and she took it, grateful for this one small thing.

  Snow and light and sky and sunset streamed in through several tall, narrow, floor-to-ceiling gaps, similar to the window-walls of yesterday. Bear in tow, she wandered over, blinking back the hours of shadow and glim.

  The sky was red as the sun set over the mountains. Rising Suns. Setting Sun. The entire plateau of Shibeth was spread out before her and she leaned against the pane, feeling the prick of the wind on her face. What had once been a labyrinth was now a tower – no, several towers of angled glass and grey stone. Some stretches gleamed gold in the setting sky, others were streaked with dirt, snow and petrified moss. The window-walls, once impossibly open, now flickered with blue light. Down below, the Square of Frost Flowers was, in fact, a large courtyard between four towers, which were flanked by four other towers. Nine towers in all, and she found a smile sneak across her cheek. The Nine Peaks Mountain of myth and legend was yet another miracle of Ancestral architecture, and as dangerous as it was, she just couldn’t bring herself to feel afraid.