To Journey in the Year of the Tiger

by H. Leighton Dickson

  “Yes. The Scholar and myself - Aiya!”

  “Tangles. You need a brushing.”

  “Sorry, love,” he said, catching her wrists and dislocating her hands from his hair. “Don’t even own a comb.”

  “I do.”

  And suddenly, there was a brush in her hand. He could have sworn it hadn’t been there seconds earlier.

  She grabbed his robe-front and hauled him over to one of the tables, the one with the odd, burning wick. She pushed him onto the bench and climbed up to straddle his arms, pinning him from behind. She sat on the table and began to brush.

  “Strange technique. They teach you this at Agara’tha?” he laughed, only half joking. “So, um, as I was saying, about this cobra...”

  “Yes. The cobra from nowhere.”

  “The very one. So, after we killed it, it disappeared. Dried right up before our very eyes and blew away on the breeze.”

  The bristles were hard, biting against his scalp like claws, but oddly enough, the strokes felt good. She was intoxicating and he was drinking her in.

  “Your problem has a simple answer, sidi.”

  “Has it?”

  “Yes. It has. The serpent was a vision.”

  “A vision?”

  “A vision. Consider this. We have come to the monastery of the Seers, where the Gifts of Farsight and Vision have free rein over the souls of men. There are no cobras in the Great Mountains. So, you see something that could not possibly be seen which disappears from sight as quickly as it came. The answer is simple. It was never there.”

  “Never? Hm. Well, I’m not –Aiy!”

  Her hand had twisted his hair, yanking his head back and chin up. She bent low over him, bringing her face in very close to his and she hovered there for a long moment, her mouth only a kiss away.

  “Never.”

  Their breaths were becoming one.

  “Never?”

  “Never.” She inhaled him deeply and he felt lightheaded, emptied. “Never.”

  And with that, she rose from the tabletop, freeing his arms from the lock of her legs and pushed him into the middle of the room.

  “There. Your hair is much better. Now go.”

  “Right. Go. I, I’m going.”

  A very confused lion stepped out of the Chamber of the Dead just as the final little wick was snuffed out behind him. He scratched his head and glanced down at the sleeping guard.

  “Have you any idea what I went in there for? Any idea at all?”

  Naturally, there was no response so Kerris shrugged and set off down the corridor, back in the direction he had come.

  ***

  “Well, this is hot.”

  “Yes, sidala,” said the Captain and he looked up at her. “That it is.”

  Fallon Waterford was right. The kitchens of Sha’Hadin were very hot. All seven hearths were roaring with life, logs soaked in oil to keep them burning well into the night. Over every fire, pots were bubbling and kettles were steaming, creating within the high-roofed chamber a veritable rainforest of heat and humidity. Condensation dripped from blackened beams and the stone floor was slick as if with dew. Thick woolen blankets were everywhere.

  With the help of Tiberius and the kitchen staff, they had transformed the main galley into a Hiranian steam bath in the space of three hours. Kirin nodded to himself as he prodded several logs with an iron poker. It was almost unbearable, this heat, but necessary for the ordeal which would be upon them all too quickly. He straightened from his crouch and twisted his long thick hair off his neck. It didn’t help. He pushed his sleeves up past his elbows, unlaced the heavy brigandine that covered his chest and dropped it against a wall. Nothing helped. It was brutal.

  With a small smile, he saw that the Scholar had done the same, pulling her hair into twin braids and loosening every article of clothing. She looked waterlogged but eager and he admired her resilience.

  An equally soggy Tiberius was waiting beside her.

  “Is everything to your satisfaction, Captain? Do we need more blankets? More lamps? I can have some sent up from stores.”

  “No, but thank you, Tiberius. This will have to do.”

  “Very good, sidi. I have sent for our brother, Sireth, as you have asked.”

  Again, Kirin nodded and, with hands on hips, surveyed the room.

  “I wish all the staff to be elsewhere tonight. No one is allowed in these rooms until I give the order. Is that understood?”

  “Very good, sidi.”

  He moved to leave.

  “Not you, Tiberius. I wish your counsel tonight.”

  “I would be honored.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Kirin caught a flash of grey. He spun around.

  “Kerris!”

  “Don’t mind me, Kirin,” called his brother from the entrance to the dining hall. “Just popped in to grab another bit of that stew. But well since everyone’s so busy, I think I’ll just go out and feed the horses. Right? Right.”

  Quickly, Kerris disappeared from view.

  “Kerris! Come here. Now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so.”

  Eyes rolling, feet dragging, Kerris shuffled back into the kitchen.

  “What?”

  “I want you to stay with us tonight.”

  “Why?”

  Sighing, the Captain strode over to his brother, grabbing him firmly behind the neck and ushered him off beside the door. Still smiling, Tiberius turned his gaze away to one of the hearths. Fallon, on the other hand, watched with interest, ears straining to hear scraps of conversation. She had a sudden craving for her father’s popped rice.

  “Kerris, a very important thing will happen tonight,” began Kirin. “I wish you would take this a little more seriously.”

  “There’s very bad kharma in this room, Kirin. It makes me nervous. Besides, the horses—“

  “There is more to life than horses, Kerris. You can’t hide yourself away in stables forever. I need you here. I need your help. Please.”

  “But Kirin...”

  “Perhaps you can reverse the bad kharma, Kerris. We need all the help we can get.”

  “If I knew how to reverse bad kharma, Kirin, I would have done it for myself years ago.”

  “Please?”

  Reluctantly, Kerris trudged toward the Scholar by the far wall. She cocked her head at him.

  “So where were you all afternoon?”

  “Oh, here. There. You know.”

  “You smell of incense.”

  “Do I? And you look like you’ve gone swimming. And without me? I am wounded, sidala. To the quick.”

  She huffed, but did not respond.

  And suddenly, sharp angry clacking filled the air and all eyes turned to yet another entrance to the kitchens, where two figures were emerging. One very tall in swirling dark robes, the other as slim and silver as the swords at her hip.

  “Close the door behind you,” the Captain ordered. “Close all the doors.”

  One by one, seven great wooden doors groaned on their hinges, coming to a close with muffled thuds as the last of the kitchen staff left the room. The Seer did not pause, however but strode up to face the Captain of the Guard. Perched on his left shoulder, the falcon hissed in ill humor.

  “Captain, the Second Watch is almost upon us. We must meet it in the Hall of the Seers.”

  “We shall not meet the Second Watch in the Hall, sidi. We shall meet it here.”

  “Here? In the kitchens?” Sireth let his gaze wander over the dripping beams and raging fires and pots of bubbling water. “Do you plan to cook me after I’m dead?”

  “You shall regret those words at first light of morning, sidi.”

  “I sincerely hope so.”

  Kirin turned to look at all those assembled. His brow darkened.

  “Where is the Alchemist?”

  “I am here, sidi.”

  A shadow separated from the others in a corner of the room, and Sherah al Shiva slid in to the firelig
ht. No door had opened, and the room was windowless. Kirin shook his head.

  And from somewhere, a gong sounded the beginning of the Second Watch.

  ***

  Sireth benAramis eyed the chalice and the murky liquids held within.

  “Drink that? Captain, are you serious?”

  “I am always serious.”

  “Yes,” said the cheetah. “It should help.”

  “How very comforting, Alchemist.”

  He passed the falcon onto Tiberius’ waiting arm and with a deep breath, he snatched the stem from Sherah’s hand, tossing the entire contents back in one gulp. He gagged instantly, drawing the back of his hand to his lips to suppress a fit of coughing.

  “That is absolutely vile.”

  “Yes,” Sherah purred. “It is...”

  “Um Sherah, what ‘medicines’ are in that exactly?” asked Fallon, her stripes making worried wrinkles on her wide forehead. “I mean, the Captain said, and I quote – ‘Slow the heart, thicken the blood, dull the senses’ – I remember, ‘cause I was there. I’m wondering what can do all that. I’d really be interested in knowing the ingredients. That is, if it doesn’t violate some secret Alchemist’s oath or anything...”

  “A variety of herbal ingredients,” said the Aegypshan. “Among which, crushed apricot seeds, fermented rice and blood.”

  The chalice clattered to the floor.

  “Blood?” said Sireth.

  “Blood?” said Kirin.

  “Apricot seeds?” said Fallon.

  The Captain grabbed the Seer’s arm, for the man had taken a step toward the woman, but he wished in his soul of souls that he could let go. Among a carnivorous people, there were certain rules. Certain taboos that must be followed in order to maintain their distance from the vast population of carnivorous animals that roamed the Upper Kingdom. And the First and most Sacred of those rules forbade the eating of people. No killing of any Race, pure or otherwise, for the purpose of consumption. No tissue, no organ, and most of all no blood, for the life was in the blood. It was Abomination.

  “Whose blood?” the Seer snarled, “Whose blood?!”

  “It is a fair question, sidala. Answer it.”

  “The blood of the Seers, lying in the Chamber of the Dead.”

  Sireth staggered backwards, turning toward the kitchen hearths and covering his face with his hands.

  Kirin swung to face the Alchemist.

  “Tell me this is necessary, sidala.”

  “It is necessary, sidi. The Seers have all died at the hand of the same enemy. The face of that enemy lies within them, in their souls and in their blood. Even now, they can impart strength and wisdom to one of their number.”

  Fallon stepped beside her, twisting one of her tunic laces into knots.

  “As strange as it may sound, sir, Sherah is right. There is a theory in the University that not only life but healing can be found in the blood of the dying. I read about a physician who took a measure of blood from a very sick man, a man whose entire village was dying of the pox. He distilled that blood and gave it to a child and the child survived, with only a very mild presentation of symptoms. There are many things to be found in the blood, things we are only beginning to understand. Sir.”

  She seemed so earnest, thought the Captain, standing in defense of one so damned.

  The Scholar now turned her worried brow in al Shiva’s direction.

  “But Sherah, why apricot seeds?”

  “To slow the heart, of course.”

  “But apricot seeds are the foundation of the deadliest of poisons. If your measures are just the slightest bit wrong—”

  “They are not wrong.”

  “You had no right,” growled benAramis, silhouetted by flame. “They were my friends. You had no right!”

  He swung around, taking several long steps but before he could reach her, his right leg buckled beneath him. Only Ursa’s swift response kept him from hitting the stony floor. Still, he came. The Captain intervened, catching the other arm and together they pushed him to his knees. By the hearth, Tiberius held fast to the talon leathers as the falcon shrieked and cried, furiously shredding his arm in its attempt to aid her master.

  “She had no right...” muttered the Seer, “She had no right...”

  “She had no right but she bears no blame. I commissioned this medicine. The responsibility is mine. Do you understand this?” Kirin bent in close, for the Seer’s head was bowed and his dark hair fell long past his face. “You can take this up with me later. Do you understand?”

  “I will, Captain. Be sure of it.”

  His words were thick and slurred. Kirin sought out the point on the throat that throbbed with life, the point where heart met soul. It was slow, slowing even as he found it and the man’s lids were closing like curtains darkening a window. Beneath his hand, tension drained from the muscles as the Alchemist’s medicines began their work.

  “Well, there you go,” said Fallon brightly. “Apricot seeds.”

  The Captain looked up and around at his charges. This was wrong. They did not belong.

  And to make matters all the worse, Tiberius was frowning at him.

  “A word, sidi, if I may?”

  Kirin rose to his feet. “Keep him down, Major.”

  “He’s going nowhere, sir.”

  The monk led him toward another hearth, a slight distance away from the others. The humidity was taking its toll on the older man, for his silver hair was slick against his forehead and he was panting. Even still, the man radiated peace and Kirin found himself envious once again.

  “Sidi, please accept my humblest apologies if what I say causes offence but I’m afraid I must warn you against touching a Seer with your bare hands.

  “I meant no disrespect, Tiberius.”

  “No, sidi, it is not a matter of respect. It is very unwise. It can damage the soul.”

  “Do not concern yourself with the state of my soul, Tiberius.”

  “Not your soul, Captain. His.”

  With a gentle smile, Tiberius bowed. It brought a subtle end to the conversation, encouraged him to rejoin the group. Kirin did, slowly and very deeply in thought.

  The next few hours dragged by, with hardly two words spoken by any one tongue. The fires raged on. The kettles boiled and spilled their contents over their brims, causing new steam to hiss upwards from the sizzling char. Limbs grew as limp as hair and people sat in puddles of arms and legs and discarded clothing. And Kirin was beginning to wonder if the Watch might close without incident. That, he concluded, would be a problem.

  He cast his eyes over his people.

  Side by side, sat Kerris and Fallon, knees up, backs against a far wall. They appeared to be comparing the tips of their tails.

  “I seem to recall saying something about great hot vats of water, earlier,” Kerris was saying, plucking several long grey strands from his tuft. “Remind me to keep my mouth shut in the future, will you? After tonight, I shall seriously reconsider my infatuation with swimming...”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Her who?”

  Fallon kinked her neck and jaw sideways toward him, trying to look discreet, but succeeding only in looking dislocated.

  “The Alchemist. Did you ask her about the snake?”

  “What snake?”

  “The cobra, the one on the bluff...” She turned wide emerald eyes on him. “The one your pony stomped to bits...”

  “Quiz hates snakes. And there are no cobras in the Great Mountains. I’m sorry, sidala, but there was never any snake. Never.” He looked away from her. “Never.”

  Openmouthed, Fallon looked away too.

  The Seer still knelt on the stony floor, head bowed, arms loose at his sides, palms resting on the floor. His eyes were closed and his breathing was very slow, but regular. He looked as if he might be sleeping, so every few minutes the Major would poke him, prod him, anything to get a reaction. She actually seemed to enjoy it. Kirin shook his head. He would have to speak t
o her about it at a later date.

  Only the Alchemist seemed unmindful of the heat or the crushing humidity and she sat, plaiting her hair into long ebon braids, humming all the while in strange, exotic keys.

  Perhaps it was the bubbling of pots and the crackling of fires, filling the room with an endless stream of noise that caused the delay. Or perhaps it was fatigue, for he was tired and conditions were oppressive but at some point, Kirin realized that there was a sound.

  He sat forward. It was a faint sound, a grating, whining, scraping noise that set one’s teeth on edge. Much like the sound of claws on rock. Yes, claws on rock, he thought to himself. That’s exactly what it sounded like.

  He cursed himself and scrambled to his feet.

  Black claws unsheathed through slits in brown leather, digging into the floor with increasing force.

  The seventh and last Seer was not breathing.

  “Blankets!” he snapped, and immediately, all hands were available, working to drape the robed back in thick woolen sheets.

  Kirin grabbed the man’s shoulders, tried to shake the air into him but they were rigid, stiff, and bitterly cold. He bent lower, pulling the chin up and noticing the icy beard crunch under his fingers.

  “Breathe. Breathe.” He growled, “Sireth benAramis, can you hear me? I order you to breathe!”

  But the eyes were glassy and far away, with the wild, fixed stare of one firmly in the grips of fear.

  “I said breathe!”

  No response. Next to him, her teeth gritted, Ursa was vainly shaking her charge, trying to relieve her sense of helpless frustration. Tiberius was hovering over them all, wringing his great wide hands. The falcon was screeching. Still no response.

  The Captain did the only thing he could think of doing. He balled his hand into a fist and sent it thudding into the Seer’s abdomen, forcing the air out of his lungs and praying the loss would cause more to be drawn in as reflex.

  His prayers that night were answered, for the Seer did indeed breathe in a great shuddering gasp. The panic was far from ended, however and he pitched forward, claws slicing against stone, leather, and flesh. The scrabble of heels as the Major lunged toward him, locking her arms under his and hauling him backwards off the Captain. She was a good deal lighter than her charge but within seconds, she had him pinned to her chest, fingers laced across the back of his neck, the muscles in her arms standing out like steel cords.