The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom

by Dickson, H. Leighton

  Quite casually, she approached the Captain as he stood conferring with the tower guards.

  “Hello.”

  He turned, face stern. “Yes?”

  “Um…” It was only then that she realized her breach of protocol. “Um…”

  “Yes, sidala?”

  “Um, well um, nothing really, I mean, nothing important, it’s just, um...”

  His face grew even more stern.

  “Um, do, do, do you know where Kerris is?”

  “He has gone into town with the Alchemist. She needs more supplies.”

  “Oh. Oh okay. Okay thanks. Sorry if I bothered you. Sorry.”

  She back-pedaled out of the chamber and lay flat against the wall beside the door.

  “Oh, mother. What was I thinking? He’s the Captain of the Guard! And I’m just a skinny little tigress. ‘Scholar in the Court of the Empress.’ Hah. Who am I fooling? Not me. And certainly not him. I am utterly, completely hopeless.”

  With a deep sigh, she pushed off and began to wander, knowing that with the approach of darkness, she should sleep and sleep well for the journey had been long and relentless and showed no promise of ending. She wasn’t tired however and to her surprise, she had been holding up rather well. Her stamina had grown each day, and she was delighted at finding new muscles in her slight, slip of a body. Sometimes, she would even pretend that she was the Major, a mistress of swords and discipline. Even now as she walked, she spun on her heel, thrusting and parrying her bamboo staff and swinging it in a wide arc that would be sure to slice an enemy clean in two.

  She lost her grip and the staff sailed out of her hand, through an open doorway.

  “Ai!”

  It was a dark chamber, lit by only a single earthen oil-lamp in the centre. Before the lamp, Sireth benAramis sat cross-legged, holding the staff and rubbing his head.

  “Oh! Oh, sorry, I’m really sorry!”

  He smiled at her.

  “Now you have one on me, my dear. I didn’t see that coming.”

  She bustled into the room and flopped down beside him.

  “I’m hopeless.”

  “Well, that was a rather good throw, if you ask me.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Ah. What did you mean, then?”

  Her gaze was despondent, her eyes downcast. “I’m a girl.”

  “Ah.”

  He nodded and nodded again, not entirely certain what to say in response.

  “Yes,” he said finally. “A girl is what you are.”

  “Yep. A girl.”

  “Yes.”

  “Not a woman.”

  “Ah! Yes.”

  He paused, remembering how Petrus Mercouri would handle difficult questions with questions. How he had maintained that people always knew their own answers. They only needed help finding them.

  “And why would you say that?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Well, I will have nineteen summers this year, and here I am, so far from home, but I have no home, no husband, no kittens, certainly no kitten-inspired chest. I draw little pictures in my books. I hear little songs in my head. I entertain little passions on the Captain’s brother.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t finished.

  “I can’t use a sword. I can’t make magical potions. I’ve had two horses literally killed out from under me. I pretend that I’m all smart and knowledgeable and fine with all this, but deep down, I just want to go home.”

  “And with the notable exception of the Captain’s brother, exactly how does that make you any different from me?”

  She grinned. “Well, you haven’t lost any horses.”

  “Good point. And the passions I am entertaining would likely see me drawn and quartered if they were ever found out.”

  She laughed now and he secretly thanked Petrus for his wise, wise ways.

  “Give me your hands.”

  “My hands?” Even as she asked, she was giving. “Why?”

  The touch of her fingers made him smile. It sent warm sparkles all through him, sparkles and sunshine and shooting stars.

  “I wish to hear your songs.”

  ***

  The Captain sighed and leaned out over the Wall. Lhahore nestled in shadow now, her torches flickering eyes in the darkness. The Great Mountains were no longer her protector, rather her lover for they enfolded her with wide arms. Small hills and grassy plains stretched out as if forever, and lights from battle towers could be seen all along their length. Far to the northwest lay the old ruins of Roar’pundih, a former dog-city that had been the site of a fierce battle during construction of this section of Wall. It had also very likely been the site of a fierce battle in Ancient times as well. Bits of architecture still remained, temple peaks and gray roads and metal, red and brittle with age. Few cats lived there. It seemed impossible to overcome the devastation. The rats, however, were plentiful and Lhahore was in constant danger from their invasions.

  The Major appeared at his side. “They will be closing the city soon.”

  He growled softly. “Fetch him, please.”

  “Shall I bring a guard?”

  “You can handle it.”

  “Sir.”

  With a swift nod, she spun on her heel and was gone, her boots echoing down the vast stairwell of the tower keep. He watched from above for some time longer.

  ***

  “Well, that was easy,” said Kerris, tucking a package under his cloak. “I believe that if you could steal an Imperial seal, you could write orders on a blade of swamp grass and they would be obeyed.”

  Sherah al Shiva smiled and took the arm he offered her. The streets were growing dark, lanterns lighting the path to and from the apothecary’s where they had just been. Soon, town watchmen would come along to inspect the streets, send good people home, and at the hour of the boar, the town’s gates would be shut up, closing all cats, good and not so, in for the night.

  “Not to mention the things you could buy. Think about it – I’ll take those boots over there, see this Imperial seal here? And those puzzle rings and that sash and oh yes, a pint of your best ale, thanks. Just send your bill to my dear friend, Lyn-ling, at the Palace.’ Yes, I think it would be quite easy.”

  “Of course.”

  “Say, we have some time before they close up the gates. Care for a drink? I’m sure we can find a tavern or two.”

  “I have no money.”

  “That’s alright.” He grinned at her, raising the small, leather-rubber stamp his brother had given him. He waggled it in the lamplight. “I think the Empress has enough for us both.”

  “That was for supplies.”

  “If I recall correctly, which is never a thing of certainty when it comes to me, the exact words were ‘Get what you need’ and I distinctly need a bowl or two of sakeh.”

  She let one long speckled hand slide down the length of his thigh.

  “Is that all that you need, sidi?”

  “Well,” he grinned some more as they headed toward a brightly lit window. “It’s a start.”

  ***

  ‘Little Blossom made a sash, Made a sash for her love

  Little fingers worked the sash, Worked the sash with silken thread

  Made the sash for her love who worked upon the Wall

  Upon the Wall, Upon the Wall,

  For her love upon the Wall, Little Blossom made a sash.

  Little Blossom traveled day and night, night and day to see her love

  Little feet traveled night and day, On little slippers small and fine

  Day and night, night and day, she traveled to the Wall

  To the Wall, To the Wall,

  To the Wall, Little slippers traveled far to see her love

  Little Blossom found the Wall, long and gold, a serpent’s tail

  Little hands caught their eye, Called the soldiers guarding there

  Soldiers saw that little hand, from high above the Wall

  Above the Wall,
Above the Wall

  Above the Wall, the soldiers saw her calling for her love

  Ten strong tigers lifted her, in a basket of bamboo

  Ten strong arms, in a basket of bamboo Little Blossom went

  Like the bread or fish or rice, in a basket of bamboo

  Up the Wall, Up the Wall

  Up the Wall in a basket of bamboo, Little Blossom went

  Little Blossom wept and moaned, at the news of her love’s death

  Little heart broke for love was dead, fallen from the tower high

  Her love was dead for many days, fallen from the Wall

  From the Wall, From the Wall

  From the Wall, her love had died, fallen from on high

  Little Blossom took the step, with the sash clutched to her breast

  Little step across the side, into the air, over the edge

  To death’s dark heart, she followed her love over the Wall

  Over the Wall, Over the Wall

  Over the Wall Little Blossom stepped, with the sash clutched to her breast’

  “That was beautiful,” said Sireth, after several moments.

  Fallon sighed. “It always makes me cry.”

  “Me too. You see? You needn’t keep those songs in your head. Others might enjoy them as I did.”

  “I never had the courage to sing in front of anyone but my family. My father was a great singer. When he opened his mouth, the whole jungle shook.”

  He could not stop himself from smiling. Neither did he chase it from his face when he noticed the Captain standing in the doorway. Suddenly, the tigress noticed him too. She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Oh, mother...”

  “He was right. You sing beautifully.”

  The Captain crossed the room, folded his legs and lowered himself next to them.

  “It is time.”

  “Already?” chirped the Scholar, glancing toward a high, small window as if she could tell the very hour from the blackness. “Wow, where is everyone?”

  “We will start without them.” He turned to study the Seer. “Are you sufficiently prepared?”

  Sireth snorted. “For second level? I should hope so.”

  “You can do better?”

  “Well, from what we’d been able to determine at Sha’Hadin, the seven Levels of AhmniShakra do not apply in my case. There is no measure as to how far, or how deep my gifts run. According to Petrus, there isn’t a man living today who can match me. Not even he could fathom their depths. Why, Captain,” he leaned forward, his good eye gleaming in the lamp-light. “Can you do that which Petrus Mercouri could not?”

  It was barbed and acerbic, this banter of theirs, and it made Fallon nervous inside. Whenever two lions argued, she had heard tell, it frequently ended badly for one. These two had been sparring since the beginning, and she kept waiting for the flash of claw or show of steel that would inevitably signal the challenge. She wasn’t sure why it hadn’t happened yet.

  “Now third level would be a possibility,” the Seer continued, “If you were prepared to be completely open to my Sight. I would know everything about you, every thought, every memory, every secret, every right and every wrong. Likewise, you would know the same about me. Are you prepared for such revelation?”

  The Captain ground his molars.

  “Level Two should suffice for tonight. I simply wish to determine if Solomon is still alive.”

  “Fair enough. Give me your hands. We shall begin.”

  ***

  She was magnificent.

  In fact, Kerris was not alone in his observations, for the entire tavern was spellbound. She danced for them all in the middle of the room, its beaded curtains and satin pillows and smoky incense-pots a fitting stage for such an exotic show. Somehow, the laces at her throat and chest had loosened, and her belly flashed against the blackness of leather. She used her cloak as a veil, hiding and teasing with glimpses of gold and her hips swayed with the oboe, tambour and hurdy-gurdy rhythms. The patrons were from all Races, some jaguar, some tiger, some not-quite-certain, and from all walks and stations as well. But even with such a large, appreciative audience, she danced for Kerris, and Kerris alone. He lay across a cushion, entranced.

  The music ended and she fell to the floor, folded backwards on her knees, her face only inches from his, her lips parted, breath rushing, mixing with his. Upside down, he kissed her and the tavern cheered.

  The spell was over and the music started up once more, this time a new dancer taking the floor. The Alchemist rolled over and propped herself up on the cushion next to the grey lion. She declined an offer of wine from a passing leopard, opened her palm to show Kerris the gold coins held within.

  “Well,” he grinned as he took another gulp of his ale. “We could go into business, you and I. You are an alchemist, a magnificent dancer and apparently, a thrifty little businesswoman as well.”

  “And you?”

  “Inspiration?”

  “Of course.”

  She smiled and, slipping her hands into his unruly hair, she kissed him again. He felt his head spinning, his thoughts leaving in a swirl of incense and passion and truth be told, he didn’t care overmuch. She tasted good on his tongue, and he was tired of this journey, tired of his brother, so very tired.

  The tavern door slammed open, chill night winds gusting over the floor and snuffing many of the candles. Grumbles and snarls could be heard from the tavern’s patrons, and sharp angry clacking filled the room. A white fist grabbed handfuls of grey mane, yanking the lion’s head back so that his teeth cracked against the cheetah’s. He yelped.

  “OW! Ow! Let go! Ursa, by the Chancellor’s beard, let go!”

  She flung her hand away, as if it had been touching a scorpion.

  “They have shut the gate, fool. Your brother wants you back.”

  Kerris shook his head, tried to shake away the vertigo that had suddenly threatened to overcome him. The Alchemist was already on her feet, cloak draped over her figure, eyes gleaming at him from under the hood. He wasn’t entirely certain what had just happened, but he didn’t like the way Ursa was lookng at him.

  “Right. Right, let’s go.”

  He rose to unsteady feet, began to sink back down. The Major grabbed his arm with remarkable force.

  “You are drunk! Pathetic.”

  “I don’t believe I am drunk. Am I?”

  He looked to Sherah, but she was already gone, a whisper of black in the crowd. A shadow crossed his line of vision.

  “Our friend don’t want to leave, Little Sparrow.”

  It was a common accent, spoken from a common tiger, but he was definitely uncommon in his bulk. In fact, Kerris had only seen two or three men of that size in his lifetime and now that man had squared off against the Major, looming over her like a behemoth over a ladybird. “

  He’s paid for our drinks, he has, and we likes his company.”

  “And we likes his dancer,” jeered another voice.

  “Get out of my way,” the Major hissed, her pale eyes slivers of glass.

  Kerris held up his hands. “One more round, then and we’re off. Right? Now, where’s my package?” He glanced around the cushions. “Anybody seen my package?”

  “See? He don’ts wants to leave. He wants to stay. Little Sparrow should goes home to their own man, push their own around for a time. Leave our friend be.”

  “I said get out of my way.”

  “Ah, there it is. Right, let’s go—”

  “Maybe Little Sparrow can dance too, eh, like the raven?” The tiger moved in closer, reached his thick fingers to touch her silver hair. “Maybe Little Sparrow dance for me.”

  Kerris winced and looked away, for he knew it was coming. It was like a child winding a spring too tight and waiting with terrified glee for the thing to suddenly snap. Only with Ursa Laenskaya, the snapping was a matter of fact and there was nothing evenly remotely gleeful about it. She was savage. Her bootheel was a blur as she hop-kicked in place, sending his huge ch
in snapping back over his spine and his great bulk reeled on top of several patrons on cushions. His companion roared and lunged for her arm, grabbing her and swinging her towards him. It was a foolish move, for she let him swing her, harnessing his strength and adding it to her own. Her knee caught him mid-chest, her palm into the bridge of his wide nose and she landed lightly. He, however, added his body to the pile of tiger on the floor and did not move to get up.

  “Little Sparrow says no dancing today,” said Kerris as he bundled his package under his arm and grabbed for one last gulp of ale. Ursa whirled on him and he scrambled to the door before she could do him any harm.

  ***

  two breaths, merging, two heartbeats mingling, beating together, united as one, one heartbeat, one breath, one blood coursing through two bodies, one

  Kirin fought the rush of panic as his every movement, every inner working, fell in with the Seer’s. He had never enjoyed the loss of control in any area of his life, and this was no different. It was suffocating, this AhmniShakra, but at the same time, strangely exhilarating, as though he was allowing himself to fall and be caught by another. Even at this second level, he was out of his depth.

  Hush, said a voice, focus your thoughts, Breath and Heartbeat, these are your masters

  He obeyed, quieting his misgivings and surrendering to the single breath, in and out, and the single heartbeat beat beat that controlled them both. He sank deep into himself, into the very heart of Bushido and deeper still. With a wonder he had rarely experienced, he felt his soul open like a flower.

  Good, said the voice, but no thoughts now, just be

  ???

  Be

  It required all of his discipline to just be like this. Under normal circumstances, his controlled exterior masked a sharp, active thought-life, the plannings and overseeings of so many trivial and not-so trivial events that made up his days. His career was founded on this very ability, to be mindful of everything, to do what needed to be done when needed and to delegate the rest. But this place, quiet and peaceful as a candle-lit cavern, was also known to him. It was perhaps, the very source of his strength. It was, at once, heart and soul and will, the centre of his being.