The old man began to speak in the ancient tongue of the Manda’Rhin, his voice hushed and breathless like the language itself.
The Captain growled under his breath once again, for he spoke little Manda’Rhin. This was the perfect place for an ambush, he thought darkly. The mountain climbing steeply above them, falling away sharply below. Small twisted cedars grew at strange angles out of the slopes, and drifts of snow provided little cover. But there were no warning bells, no little voices cautioning him to be on alert. Moreover, alMassay was standing quiet and steady under his hand.
There was a sound as Fallon pulled her horse up beside him.
“He humbly asks us for help.”
“You speak Manda’Rhin?”
“Oh yes! Just don’t ask me to write early Dynastic poetry in it!” She laughed out loud. “There are all kinds of books in the University. In every tongue you can imagine. It’s a wonderful place, the University.”
“Tell them we have no time.”
“S-sir?”
“We have no time. The sun is already far too high in the sky. We will not make Sha’Hadin by nightfall.”
At the mention of the monastery the old couple smiled anew, their small, moist eyes bright with recognition. One of the oxen lowed miserably, thrashed its forelegs as it tried to rise but sank back to the ruts in the road. The pair were still nodding at him. Still smiling.
“I’m sorry,” he began in slow Imperial. “We cannot help you.”
His grinding teeth betrayed his words. The Scholar seemed to recognize this.
“Forgive my boldness, sir,” she began tentatively, “But I think we should.”
“At the cost of another Seer’s life, sidala?”
She swallowed and looked down at her saddle.
“Sir, this morning, you said that the security of the Empire was at stake...”
“It is.”
“I think...” she swallowed again. “I think that if we can’t help each other, then, then, then the Empire is already lost. Sir.”
He cursed himself once again. She was right. Expedience was not a worthy master. With a resigned sigh, he signaled the six mounted guards and with well-trained precision, they split into three groups, a pair to the cart, a pair to scout the terrain and a pair to stand in guard of the two civilians, tempting targets for any would-be highwaymen. They were as swift as they were thorough and once they had searched the vicinity, the first pair dismounted to attend the cart. Like the mobs in the marketplace, this proved no simple task and soon, Kirin was forced to dismount to lend a shoulder.
Almost immediately, the cart began to heave and within minutes, the dislodged wheel was back on the road.
“Wow,” whispered Fallon to the Alchemist. “He’s really strong.”
Sherah smiled, her golden eyes never having left the Captain.
“It is the way of lions.”
Kirin straightened up, releasing a deep breath and tugging down the sash at his waist. He approached the elderly couple with a formal bow.
“Sidi, sidala. Your cart is restored.”
“Captain?”
It was one of the guards.
“Yes?”
“Sir, the rear axle is broken. It won’t be going anywhere like this.”
It was a small sound at first, a faint and distant clatter that grew louder and louder, like the onset of thunderclouds. All eyes turned to the sky, then the defiant cliff face towering above them, then with amazing alacrity, to the road ahead which erupted with a crash of wood and iron. Bits of shale rained down as well, along with wheels which continued bouncing their downward descent and, oddly enough, feathers.
“Wow,” said Fallon. “Another ox-cart.”
Behind her, the Alchemist began to hum.
The ocelots were still smiling.
Kirin sighed, headache pounding in his temples, and turned toward his horse.
***
The sun was sinking behind an unfamiliar mountain, casting long shadows into the craggy valley. There was grass here, but it was sparse, cropped too short by a small band of goats that roamed in the rocky pasture. Twisted pines dotted the landscapes but those too were short and stunted, owing their crude shapes to hard summers and harder winters. Muddy footpaths seemed to weave in and out in all directions, a maze of trampled snow and hoof-worn creases that led nowhere, anywhere and everywhere, except where they needed to go.
“Where now, stableboy?” Ursa growled.
Kerris moved Quiz deeper into the valley. He rubbed a hand through his rumpled hair, bit his bottom lip several times, chewed on the tip of an oddly-filed claw but in the end, he simply shrugged.
“I have absolutely no idea.”
“What?! I thought you knew where this place was!”
“Well then. You were wrong.”
“The Captain said –“
“The Captain never asked if I’d been there, did he? Only if I knew the way. Well, I showed you the way, didn’t I? But how to get in the proverbial front door is another matter entirely. In fact I don’t think there is a front door. I recall something about the number seven...”
Suddenly one of the baskets erupted at her knees. It was Path, the ill-tempered, emitting a series of shrill, frantic cries and sending downy feathers all over the Major’s doeskin. She was trying her best to tear the bamboo cage to shreds with her talons and beak.
Ursa swatted the basket lightly.
“Stop it.”
The falcon struggled all the more furiously to get out.
“I said stop it.”
She swatted harder, to no avail. Finally, she grabbed the basket with both hands but it simply resulted in a direct hit from the lethal beak and a ribbon of red running the length of her finger.
“She’s hungry,” said a voice.
“So am I,” muttered Kerris, before his head snapped up in surprise. “Say! Who said that?”
Seated on a rock in the middle of the valley, a man was watching them.
“Was he there before?” asked Kerris.
“No.” Ursa scowled, her eyes narrowing to shiny slits. “He was not.”
“Of course I was,” said the man. “You simply weren’t looking.”
The Major urged her horse forward. The man spoke with the voice of a lion, in the deep, rumbling tones and accents of the Old Courts. He was maned, too, his hair growing long and dark and falling loosely past his shoulders. His pelt was a pale sand, with a scar of fine white fur running across his left eye from brow to cheek. He sat quite still, clothed in sweeping robes of brown leather, and he carried a staff of twisted bamboo, which he tapped softly against the base of the rock. He seemed tall, being long of limb and lean of torso and his leonine tail was tufted with black.
But he was as far from Lion, or any Pure Race, as a cat could get.
This cat wore a beard.
Mongrel, she thought grimly. Mountain Lion. Like the stripe of a tiger, or rosette of a jaguar, a dark circle of coarse fur ran over his lip and around his mouth, framing it, accentuating it in a way no true lion’s should. It ran just to his chin and across it, thankfully stopping there and not traveling up his jaw like she had seen in other mountain cats. What was this called again?
Oh yes, a goah-tee. Appropriate, since he apparently tended goats.
“Do you know where the main entrance to the monastery is?”
He seemed to consider this a moment.
“I don’t think there is one.”
Again, that rich, rumbling voice. She did not like this one bit. Mixed Breeding. The scourge of the Upper Kingdom. She decided to speak slowly, for he was also, apparently, quite stupid.
“We seek Sha’Hadin. Can you help us?”
“Yes. I can.”
“Can you take us there?”
“Yes. I can.”
She felt her claws begin to curl.
“Now?”
“Well, I don’t think they’ll let you in.”
“Why not?”
“Why should they?”
“We’re here on business.”
“Business?” He was smiling at her now, the kind of patient, long-suffering smile of only the very wise, or the very dim. “Are you buying or selling?”
“Not that kind of business.”
“We have nice goats.”
She stiffened in her saddle.
“We’re from Pol’Lhasa.”
“Aah. Pol’Lhasa.” It was only then that she realized his eyes were brown. Unnatural. Cats’ eyes were light, like the sun, like the sky, like the grass. Dogs eyes were brown like the earth. This was unnatural. “Are you the Empress?”
“Simpleton!” she sputtered. “Let’s go. This mongrel couldn’t find his way into a sheep pen, let alone the monastery of the Seers!”
She prodded her horse forward, almost pushing the man off the rock with her passing. He sent a curious, lop-sided gaze to Kerris, who merely shrugged.
“Sorry, sidi. I’m just the stableboy.”
The leopard fell in behind and the party rode out of the small valley at a forceful trot, picking one of the goat trails and following it as if they could make it take them where they wished to go.
The bearded one watched them, until they had disappeared into the long shadows of evening. He shook his head with a sigh, rose from the rock and began to walk in another direction, back along the way they had come.
***
Sunset was changing things.
The usually clear, bright blue of sky had faded, growing dark, muddy, almost the color of the mountain rock itself. Slopes, once red as clay, became the color of old wine and wine-colored clouds took the shape of slopes. Everything gleamed and glistened on snow. It all blurred the distinction between heaven and earth, making the narrow trail more treacherous than ever before and causing great strain on already-strained eyes. If he hadn’t known better, Kirin might have thought that the coming of night beckoned the elements together, gathering them in some ancient ritual of unification or prayer.
He was tired.
And they seemed no closer to their destination than when they had set out this morning.
All conversation had ceased after repairing the ox-cart’s broken axle. It was as if each word was an added hour, time they could ill afford now as the air around them grew cooler and the heavy cloaks of midday became welcome second-pelts. They had passed the Inn Kerris had mentioned, but there was no sign announcing it as such. Even still, he’d been sorely tempted to stop for a flask of ale and directions. But the place had seemed abandoned, the windows blackened, door bolted. Nothing on this journey was proving simple, he had concluded.
Immediately ahead, there was the sound of a hoof sliding on unsteady ground. The lead guard had caught his mount soon enough but the Captain called a halt to their progress. He dismounted and strode to the fore.
High in the distance he could see lights.
Torches, most likely, lining what could only be some sort of road. He prayed that they led to the monastery and not some other Inn or marketplace or ox-cart.
He felt warm breath on his neck.
“Can I help you, sidi?” purred the Alchemist, standing altogether too close for his comfort.
“No, but thank you, sidala.” He sighed and surveyed the river of lights, winding its way into a steep ravine far above them. “We are in need of torch, not candle.”
She smiled and held out her palm. A burst of fire erupted within, and Kirin found himself shrinking away from its brilliance. It burned from no recognizable source but something in the palm of her hand sizzled and flared with the light of many torches.
He nodded, impressed.
“That... should suffice.”
“Wow,” came Fallon Waterford’s voice, hushed with wonder. “Look at all this...”
On the rock face behind them were carvings.
The entire side of the mountain was chiseled from its stony base as far up as they could see. Kirin shook his head. The carvings did not start here, but likely had begun a long way back on the trail, the shadows of the setting sun rendering them unnoticed and incomprehensible. Even now, they remained as such for the symbols themselves were strange, likely remnants of an ancient tongue.
“Oh look,” exclaimed Fallon, standing in her stirrups and pointing to a character high up on the cliff face. Sherah shone the ‘torch’ in her direction. “There’s Buddah! And and Ramah! And Kristos, the Three-in-One! Wow! And this, this is the symbol for ‘eyes’, thousands of eyes, no - a Thousand Eyes, yes!”
“Can you read this?”
“Yes. No. Very little of it. Some of it though. Some words. Some symbols. Not much.” She glanced at him, her usually bright eyes weary but earnest. “I think we’re close. If that helps?”
He tried to smile. It ached to do so.
“Shall I lead?” purred Sherah al Shiva, holding her ‘torch’ out like a beacon.
“By all means, sidala. But I shall be right behind.”
She mounted her horse and smiled again.
“Of course.”
***
Night comes to the Great Mountains.
Night, anywhere, is a mysterious thing but in the Great Mountains, in the Valley of the Seers, it takes on almost religious tones. Night brings with it prayers and petitions, confessions of sins and admissions of guilt. It brings questions and answers and then questions again. It brings revelations and lamentations, and the soul-searching of prophets. And especially, this night, when a sixth life is demanded and ultimately surrendered, it is a sacred, somber, most terrible thing.
There is a new star in the heavens, and the people see it and wonder and fear.
In a small bamboo basket, on the back of a horse somewhere, a falcon dies.
In the Hall of the Seers, a candle is snuffed out. A lone man kneels weeping and darkness advances into the room.
And it is only the Middle of the Second Watch.
***
Kirin Wynegarde-Grey closed his eyes.
“Sha’Hadin”
They had followed the glow of eerie torchlight for the last hour, placing their trust in the sure-footedness of their horses for they had only Sherah’s beacon and precious little moonlight to guide them. It had grown dark swiftly and with the darkness had come the cold, chilling them to the bones and creating treacherous ice slicks on the narrow mountain paths. They had been forced to slow to an agonizing crawl to give the horses their heads. Now, as torches burned before them and below them and finally all above them, he felt a terrible weight settle onto his shoulders.
The Cliff of a Thousand Eyes, it had once been called, and he could see why.
Hewn out of the sheer mountain escarpment, were holes – windows that stretched up the cliff face as high as seven levels, open to the night sky like many mouths, pouring forth light and warmth from within. Inside those mouths, figures could be seen moving, robed figures with bowed heads and outstretched hands, swaying in silent rhythm. And from somewhere deep within, a gong sounded seven times seven, the number of perfection.
Kirin shook his head.
They were too late.
And with a deep breath, he moved his horse forward, beginning the descent into the steep ravine that was the monastery of the Seers.
***
“Captain!”
Ursa Laenskaya spurred her horse up the stony ground as she pulled up by his side. She looked as haggard as he felt. Her long hair had escaped from the knot she had worn all day and her arm was dark with blood. Things had obviously not gone well on their end. But he was short on patience and he snarled at her.
“Major, why aren’t you inside?!”
“We were attacked, sir. We killed three, lost one.”
“I see.”
Instinctively, he looked for Quiz, picked him out rambling towards them in the darkness. And of course, thankfully his brother, bundled in the pony’s blanket, looking ready to exchange saddle for shale at any moment.
They had failed.
They had made it but they had failed.
“You’re late.”
On the opposite side stood a figure hidden by darkness. Kirin lifted the torch from its perch and angled it toward the gate. It was a tall man in dark robes. Many men actually, obscured by robes, hoods pulled to cover their faces. They stood perfectly still, watching him, weighing him with unseen, all-seeing eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “We are late.”
“Where is the falcon?”
Kirin looked at Ursa, still mounted, noticed the dread coldness in her face.
“Which?” she asked sharply. “Living or dead?”
“Dead.”
She reached under her cloak to produce the small, feathered body. Its head lolled, and there was no flicker of wing or tail. She handed it to the Captain, who passed it between the iron into gloved hands. One of the figures disappeared with it into the depths of the monastery.
“And the living?”
Chirrups pierced the quiet as Ursa loosened the ties securing the lid of the basket. Speckled wings burst forth, then the head, hooded since the Palace and the bird sprang to the Major’s arm as if home.
“Remove the hood,” came the voice, soft now, almost purring. “I told you she’s hungry.”
For once, Ursa did as she was told without question. The falcon lit from her arm, talon bells jingling. She tried to follow it with her eyes, but the bird was only a shrinking silhouette as it soared upwards, a black speck against the overpowering blackness of the cliffs.
The tall figure regarded them.
“You. Stableboy. See to your horses. Rodreigo will show you the way. “
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 6
