Her ice-blue eyes darted toward the match circles where a lone bo lay in the dirt.
She lunged at him but it was a ruse and easily deflected. It was the bo she was after and she flung her lithe slip of a body across the ground, rolling to come up on one knee, sword slicing in one hand, the bo swinging to rest across her back. She grinned at him.
He longed to wipe it off her face.
“You are only at one,” he said. “One does not get you an interview.”
“Two will get you a scar,” she snarled.
He spun his swords again and marched toward her. They were dogs, his swords, all teeth and fangs and fury, gnashing at the air for a taste of feline fur. It was an effective tactic, keeping her moving and depriving her of the time for her strategies. She sprang to her feet and pivoted, swinging the bo in a lethal arc toward his head. He blocked it with the katanah, ignoring the jar as she sliced her blade down for his knee. That, he blocked with the kodai’chi. He swung the long sword down to lock her steel with both of his and sparks rose up between them. She threw her weight right and swung the bo left, cracking his thigh.
“Two!” she barked.
With a snarl, he brought his forehead down onto hers and the crack of skulls echoed across the courtyard. She dropped to one knee, her sword pinned in the earth.
“One.”
His boot lashed out to strike her in the chest and he could swear he heard her ribs crack.
“Two…”
She flew backwards to hit the ground, rolled until she was on her knees once more. She swung the bo at his ankles but he caught it with his boot, stomped it to the ground and causing it to splinter under his weight. The katanah swung fiercely, gleamed in the noon sun as it came to a sudden halt under her chin. He lifted it.
“Three,” he said. “No interview.”
“Then kill me,” she hissed. “For I will be your adjutant or nothing.”
“Your death will be honourless.”
“My life has been honourless. It doesn’t matter now.”
He stared down at her, her feral eyes glittering like late-winter frost, her marbled hair so coarse and thick. There was a glimmer of blood on her tongue and he knew a few ribs were indeed broken. In an instant, he changed his mind. She would be marvelous on the battlefield. Just not in his office.
“No,” he said and straightened, slipping the katanah into its decorated sheath. “I will not kill you. I am a man of honour.”
He reached out his hand. She stared a moment before taking it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Her ice blue eyes met his.
“You are a fool.”
And she snatched the tanto that lived hidden his boot, thudding it into the braided leather of his chest.
A good move, he thought as a wave of heat rolled up to his throat.
He stepped back and back again.
“K i r i n…”
He could hear Liam’s voice echoing as if from a distance and the wave rolled across his shoulders and down his arms, throbbing behind his eyes and blinding his vision. The leather was thick but the tanto was sharp and he knew it had gone a good way in. She was moving as if underwater – slow and muddy but it was merely perception for she was a viper lunging for her sword and with a roar he swung his palm into her temple, then kicking her feet out from under her as she staggered from the blow. She hit the ground but rolled again, coming up as he snatched the tanto from his chest and swung a savage arc that opened the doeskin across her chest, leaving a ribbon of red against the white. She tried to parry but the kodai’chi flashed, catching her silver cheek and blood sprayed in the gap between them.
“Life as your adjutant or death by your hand,” she panted, hiking her steel. He noticed her claws unsheathed, gripping the hilt and shredding its leather. He could kill her in three moves but either way, she would get what she wanted and perhaps that, of all things, irked him most.
Stars popping behind his eyes. He blinked them back.
Bushido.
He released a deep, cleansing breath. Slipped the tanto back into his boot, winced at the tug in his chest. He could feel the warmth running down between his uniform and his pelt, steadied himself against the stars that threatened to send him to his knees. Breathed again as he sheathed the kodai’chi, reached to pick up the shattered bo, tapped in the palm of his hand.
Bushido.
“We are tied,” he said. “And I will not kill you. In fact, no one in this court will kill you, no matter what you do to me or to anyone here. Liam? Most Esteemed Masters? I do not wish this woman to be killed. Is that understood?”
She hissed but the men nodded.
“So, Lieutenant, we will go one more round for the right to an interview. If you win, I will grant it but that does not guarantee your success. I have two other soldiers that deserve as much courtesy as you. I trust you do not presume otherwise.”
She seethed but said nothing.
“Good.”
And he cracked the bo across his thigh, splitting it into two jagged pieces. He tossed one her way. She caught it but not easily.
Broken ribs. Concussion. He could kill her in two.
Bo tucked beneath his arm, he bowed to her, fist to cupped palm. He straightened and waited.
Her eyes glittered. She was a starry night in the mountains. She was a winter lake covered with ice. She was a fire that destroyed villages and cities in its path. But she bowed, fist to cupped palm before him.
He swung the bo before she rose, striking her temple and she staggered to the side. With both hands, he brought it down again across the back of her snowy head. She dropped like a sack of rice and did not move to get up.
Stars popping behind his eyes. Warmth running beneath the leather.
He tossed the bo to the ground.
“Bring her to the tent. I will prepare tea for the interview.”
And he turned and strode to the tent, pushing the flaps aside before the stars claimed him.
***
He was convinced that tea could heal as quickly and as efficiently as any physician and he wasted no time dismissing the man after the bandaging was finished. The wound in his chest had been deep but clean and the man had stuffed it with astringent and peat and bound his ribs in linen. Kirin knelt now before the low table, the top half of his uniform discarded and enjoying the feel of the cool summer air on his pelt.
In a mound of cushions, the woman stirred.
“Tea?” he asked. “It is a strong blend but fine. Perfect for restoring broken ribs and fractured skulls like yours.”
She pushed herself up to her elbows, cast her icy eyes around the tent.
“I didn’t watch,” Kirin said, enjoying the sound of the liquid pouring into the cup, over the sides to accentuate the patina. “He has bound your ribs, stitched your wounds but there is little he can do for your head other than trepanning. You must rest or risk death from the build up of blood inside your skull.”
He passed her the cup.
“Drink or I accord you an automatic failure of this interview.”
She scowled at him but took the cup. She did not put it to her lips.
“Only tea, not poison. Although I’m not sure which you’d prefer.”
She sipped, kept her eyes locked on his. It wasn’t modesty, he was sure of it, although she was as bare from the waist up as he, with only a corset of bandages around her small breasts. The silver pelt pushed up from beneath. Remarkable cats, snow leopards. No other pelt in the world like that.
“I have read the letter of merit from your superior,” he said.
She stared at him.
“It was less ‘merit’ than terror. He seemed truly impressed with your skill but had no desire to keep you in Kangchen. Why is that?”
She did not waiver.
“Why have you lived an honourless life?”
Now she did look away.
“And why would you think I would want an honourless adjutant? How could I possibly consider you?”
“Bec
ause I am strong and clever and I will make you proud.”
“Not without honour, you won’t.”
“I have honour.”
“That is not what you said earlier.”
“I was angry.”
“You are often angry, according to the letter.”
She tossed the cup and pushed up to her knees. To her credit, she only hissed once.
“And you were wrong not to choose me first. I won justly and you were not just.”
“I am always just.”
“You are a lion.”
“And will still be if I am to become your superior. How am I to trust one like you? You would kill me in my sleep if the thought proved sensible to you.”
To his surprise, she lowered her eyes, dropped her hands to her knees.
“I would not.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I would learn from you.”
“And when you have finished learning?”
“That won’t happen.”
“Why not?”
She said nothing. Interesting.
“I have never heard the name Laenskaya in the ranks before,” he said. “Is your father a soldier in Kangchen?”
The muscles in her jaw twitched and she clenched her teeth but still did not look at him.
“No,” was all she said.
“Do your parents approve of a daughter becoming a soldier?”
“My parents are dead.”
“Who raised you?”
“I raised myself.”
“That explains your chi. You have been mother and father to yourself, embraced both Yin and Yang. Perhaps you are more whole than I thought.”
She snorted, lashed her marble tail behind her.
“The letter of merit also mentions that the guards of Kangchen found you fighting in the streets,” he said. “That also explains your unorthodox style.”
“You need to fight to survive on the streets in Kangchen. You need to kill to survive in the mountains.”
“Why would you not accept a position with Middle Captain al’Massay-Carr? He is every bit an officer as I.”
Now she did look up, a sliver of blue between the blades of silver grass.
“Because of Pol’Lhasa.”
He had taken his own cup but paused before touching his lips.
“Pol’Lhasa?”
“You are Middle Captain to Captain Rhys-Montbatten,” she said. “He is Captain of the Imperial Guard. You attend him and he attends the Empress. One day, he will be gone and you will attend the Empress.”
“Whom you do not respect, apparently.”
“I do respect her. I respect any woman who can wield such power.”
He grunted, allowing his lips to find the tea at last. He savoured the taste on his tongue, swallowed the strain and bad chi of the last hours to leave the sweet memory of bamboo sugar in its wake.
“So you wish to be here, in the seat of all power?”
“In the seat of all honour.”
And it struck him as surely as her fist.
“I see,” and he sat back on his heels. “I see. You, who has lived an honourless life on the streets of Kangchen…” He marveled at its simplicity. “You have been searching your whole life for honour and not finding it.”
She did not move, did not react but he knew he had surely touched her beating heart.
“That is why you disrespect. That is why you challenge and confront.” He set his cup down, restrained his desire for another. “Have you been trained in Bushido?”
“I have lived on the streets and among soldiers. I have been trained in many things but Bushido is not one of them.”
“Do you believe in it?”
“I believe in Bushido as I believe in peace, dragons and honourable men.”
“There are honourable men,” he said.
“As many as there are dragons.”
It took him a moment but then he smiled. It tried to become a laugh but it hurt and he placed a hand over his bandaged chest. The blood, at least, had dried.
“You could have killed me with that dagger,” he said. “Even with the braided armour. But you didn’t. That spoke more of your character than of your skill, and we both know you have much skill. If I offer you the place as my adjutant, as my Left Hand, I will need to trust you with all that I am, and one day, with all that she is.”
She. He could never bring himself to speak her name. Even the thought stopped his heart.
“Yes,” said the woman.
“You will need to obey me in all things, from little to great and without question. I think that will be difficult for you.”
“It will be difficult,” she said. “But so was restraining the dagger.”
And she grinned.
After a moment, he did likewise.
“And you will need to learn to bow.”
She snorted.
“I will learn.”
“What is your given name?”
She stared at him now, shifted position, winced only a little.
“Why?”
“We might become friends.”
“We won’t.”
“You will wear the dual swords,” he said. “Katanah and kodai’chi, a warrior’s blood brothers. That itself is an honour.”
“The dual swords,” she repeated and he could have sworn her breath caught in her throat. He still remembered the moment when he had been presented the brothers, how he had felt, how his chest had almost burst that day.
“And,” he ventured. “You might need to exchange those heels for something more practical.”
“Pah,” she grunted. “You also have much to learn.”
He smiled.
Perhaps it was not a day for Yin, he thought, but perhaps it was not a day for Yang alone. Perhaps it was a day for both Yin and Yang on the Tao Wheel of Life, for wholeness and completion and unity and healing. And perhaps their Mother, the Great Mountains, had a purpose for swallowing Middle Captain Trevisan-White and the troop from Anna’purananna. Dharma was capricious and Kharma was relentless. It was foolish to stand in their way.
From his knees, he bowed to her, fist to cupped palm.
“I am honoured to accept you as adjutant, Major Laenskaya.”
“Major,” she breathed.
But she bowed back. Perfectly.
“Ursa,” she said quietly. “My name is Ursa.”
Perhaps, he realized, in order to balance the loud, brazen Yang of the universe, a little blade of silver Yin was more than enough.
The Empress would be pleased.
With a nod to the iron of Bushido and the irony of Dharma, he reached for his tea.
Night in the Mountains of Grief
Alone in mist, no trace of my body,
Three times south to hear frosty bell.
Glimpse of wild geese, thoughts of home,
Mountains also grieve, wrapped in gloom.
But I sigh, my deeepest wish unfulfilled,
Ten thousand black mountains disappointed.
II
Lamp-light—half drifted off to sleep. ~
Calling peaks: restlessly running deer;
Fallen leaves: shudder-startled cicada.
Now I remember days of my youth
How I yearn for a boat in falling snow.
Strange songs arise & breach the stars:
Blankly awake: I'm at heaven's frontier.
III
City ramparts--dusk of a sad reed pipe;
Little town--dearth of passing wings.
Hidden leaves settle nestling the cliff;
Bright River glimmers circling a barrier.
Dipper slants, once again I gaze as
Light fades: magpies, decline your flight.
IV
These fine rains know the season aright
And just in spring they blossom to life...
Follow the breeze and steal into night,
Moisten all things: slight, without sound.
Over
the wilds' path, clouds all in black;
From the river skiff, a lamp's lone shine.
At dawn, watch where pinks lie and soak:
Flowers weighing down above the water.
The Alchemy of Shadow
Year of the Dog
Whisper and shadow
She moves through the moonlight but
Only secrets stay
Tonight was an important night. Some might say it was a night to end all nights but she knew in reality, it was a night to begin them. Tonight, if she succeeded, two women would die and one would be reborn. New life from death. The ultimate Alchemy.
She closed her eyes and pressed her body into the rock. She was a wraith of black silk, hidden by the night and the shadows and the mountain itself. Indeed, her entire world had shrunk to one comprised solely of those elements – night, shadows and the mountain and she willed her flesh to become one with them. Her fingers, aching from the climb, were anchors wrapped in black leather; her jika-tabi slippers were spikes of steel bound in goat-skin. The wind bit like adders and the silks were doing little to stop their bitter fangs. She paid them no mind. She was Sherhanna al Shaer from Aegyp. She knew about adders.
The light from the summerhouse called her. It was perhaps twenty minutes more up the steep slope, twenty minutes of wind and scrub, shale and rock. Of straining muscle, burning tendon and force of will. It was well past midnight and long before dawn, so she had time. She had been climbing for hours and needed a rest. She was too disciplined to push beyond her limits. Not now, not when she needed to be sharp and quick for the strike. And as much as she knew about adders, she knew more about bodies. How much they could take before they gave in, how much pain, how much pleasure, how much fear, how much grief. The body was controlled not by limbs but by want. Desire was her weapon, her body merely the blade.
Sun Ghanem had taught her that.
There was a crevasse to her right and she reached with one hand, pushed with her foot, swinging the length of her body up and tucking herself into it like a bat.
She released a cleansing breath, feeling the cold bite in the back of her throat despite the silks wrapped across her face. She was very high up and scaling the mountain was not ideal but the road was guarded by jaguars. Qi Yi Jun mercenaries, most likely. They had the look of professional men. Their swords could tell a thousand stories. She could have met them on that road and if they had been fewer, she would have. She could steal the breath from a man as easily as look at one, but with six or more, there would have been a trail. And tonight, she was to be the wind. Tonight, she was to be Shadow.
Swallowtail & Sword: The Scholar's Book of Story & Song (Tails from the Upper Kingdom 4) Page 8
