Be-ing.
He felt a wash of good humour. From himself or the Seer, he could not tell, but he surrendered all the more, tempted for the briefest of moments to ask for level 3. He felt himself pull back from it, however, knew the Seer felt it too. Instead, he focused all the more on the shared heartbeat, the shared breathing and found himself pushing against the Seer’s soul to keep him out.
Suddenly, that soul disappeared.
It was very much like the sensation of falling through the ice on the Shi’pal, one moment strong and solid, the next simply gone. He found himself falling, falling into a space of nothing, and even the panic could not pull him out. For the briefest of moments, he could not breathe, was certain his heart had stopped too until, as with the Shi’pal, he resurfaced, chest aching, head spinning and he knew in an instant he was not in the tower at Lhahore.
Far from it. He was in Swisserland.
***
“Open the gate.”
The sentry guard in the gatehouse of Lhahore peered out through his tiny window.
“Impossible. Go home.”
Major Ursa Laenskaya curled her hands into fists at her side.
“We are with the Imperial party traveling the Wall. We must rejoin our Captain.”
“In the morning.”
“No. Now.”
“Sorry, sidala. I would be my head if I open the gate.”
“It will be another part if you don’t.”
Behind her, Kerris leaned on the arm of the Alchemist and laughed.
“You are truly terrifying, Ursa my love. Scare him some more. Just for me.”
Her hand fell to the short sword, the kodai’chi at her side and for a moment, Kerris actually thought she was going to gut him. Instead, she bent low and charged the wooden gate that walled the city. With only the light of the moon to guide her steps, she sprinted and Kerris almost closed his eyes to avoid the sight of her crashing. Before she hit, she coiled and sprang, swinging her short blade in a fierce arc, the momentum carrying her high. The sword stabbed the rough wood and she held fast, drawing her boots underneath her. Again, she sprang and again she swung, sprang and swung until she perched atop the gate, hawk-like, under the arched lintel.
She tossed her sword down at their feet.
“Next.”
Sherah al Shiva picked it up, turning it in her long, strong hands as if to scry its magic. Then, she too sprang upwards, her lithe body scaling the gate like a serpent, long tail whipping beneath her for balance. Soon she too was straddling the gate, smiling her inviting smile and willing him up beside her. She tossed him the sword.
Kerris picked it up, touched the tip with the point of a finger and winced.
“Well now,” he mused. “This looks far too tough for such a spoiled, insignificant excuse for a lion as myself.”
“Hah. I thought as much.”
“’Two lovely ladies sitting on a gate, One filled with passion, the other filled with – ‘ well, you know...”
He grinned and slipped the sword into his boot. He began to back away.
“’One lonely lion, what’s he going to do?”
Ursa glared down at him.
“Get back here, you idiot.”
“Find himself a bar and drink himself a brew!’”
“Get back here!”
“What? Can’t hear you, my love. You’re too far up.” And he continued to saunter backwards. “Tell Kirin I’ll see you all in the morning. Night night!”
He bumped into something and turned around.
He looked up and up into the glowering face of a very big tiger and a very large fist came rushing into view and Kerris remembered little else for the rest of the night.
***
Bright light, garish and white, flashed across walls of dark moving pictures, walls of moving, flashing greens and yellows and alarm-reds. He could see fingers - not his fingers - pale and pelt-less, drumming on a steel grey table before moving with many little, sharp motions over surfaces he could not fathom. He felt himself take a deep breath - not his breath - and push that pelt-less hand into his hair - not his hair. He cocked his head - not his head - and looked out into the garish light.
“Hello?”
Solomon.
“Whoa, this is different. Cap, is that you?”
Yes Solomon.
“Uh, okay. This is wierder than before, you know. This time it feels like you’re in my head.”
I may be. It is strange for me too. But we have not heard from you-
“I know. Sorry. I wasn’t sure if I was worth having you people trek all the way from Nepal to find a corpse.”
Ah. You are well, then?
“Sort of. Alone, though. Most definitely alone. All my people are dead.”
I am sorry. How many were there?
“2000 subs - sleepers, that is. And 6 of us supers.”
Supers?
“Supervisors. We were supposed to run the place. We were supposed to be in charge.”
What happened?
“I don’t know. I think we’ve been down here a lot longer than we were supposed to be.”
How long were you...supposed to...be down there?
“Don’t worry about that. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. But I think there’s been a malfunction in the satellite. It’s not responding.”
Saddle-light?
“Never mind. It’s too complicated to give you a tech lesson right now, especially if you’re at the level I think you’re at.”
I am at level two for the moment. It seems good enough.
“Huh. Right. So where are you guys now?”
We are in a battle tower above the trade town of Lhahore in the province of Phunh’jah.
“Not in Nepal anymore?”
Phunh’jah. We should make KhahBull in five more days.
“KhahBull? You mean Kabul? Afganistan?”
Khanisthan. Is Swisserland close?
“No. Still far north and farther west. How far does your Kingdom extend?”
Far. All the way to Aegyp.
“Well, I guess the human race hasn’t done too badly after all.”
Hmmm. What do you look like?
“Oh. Um, hang on. I’ll show you a photo. I think I can pull one up...”
Pale fingers of skin and dirt and short flat claws moved across the strange surface, another surface coming to light, a painting-that-looks-like-life flashed in front of his eyes - not his eyes – brown eyes, intelligent but unnatural in their brown-ness, pale skin, crinkles, tiny folds, as if carved by tiny tiny claws, straight nose, the nose different, not as broad as cats and without a pad, a wide smiling mouth, similar mouth, similar lips, small ears, bushy brows, high cheekbones, no pelt, no pelt.
Otherwise not so different at all. The face of an Ancestor.
“There you go, that’s me. At least, a clean me, without this scruff of a beard. So how about you? What do you look like, my friend?”
He had to tred softly here.
Gold, he said finally. Gold hair, blue eyes. I am a soldier.
“Is Kerris your brother? He sounds like you.”
Yes. He is. He is our Geomancer and Guide in these regions.
“So,” the body seemed to shift, settle, get comfortable, as one might when conversing with an old friend. “How many are traveling with you, then? And what’s your society like, anywayyyy. iisss ittttttttt vvvverrrymmillitaaaaaaaaaaaarrr.....”
His painting was blurring, the dark, bright room was blurring, fading. His fingers - not his fingers - split and peeled away, growing fainter, fainter, and suddenly, his fingers were his fingers once again.
He let his hands fall away from the Seer and glanced around the room. He needed to catch his breath. He needed to find his balance. Fallon Waterford was kneeling beside them, her emerald eyes wide with wonder.
“Wow,” she breathed. “Did it work?”
“Captain.”
He turned in the direction of the voice. Ursa stood in the doorway, the Alchemist
a black shadow behind. The Major did not look pleased.
“Major,” panted the Captain. “Where is my brother?”
“Kerris...” She spat the name out, scowling and lashing her tail. “Kerris is in jail.”
The Phun’Jah
Kerris awoke to the jangling of keys.
It was not altogether an uncommon sensation, for it was not altogether an uncommon occurrence. He had often found himself waking in various locations, from Chi’Chen palaces to watery ocean caverns. And yes, on the odd occasion, jail cells. It always involved tigers, these penitentiary occasions, and this time he could distinctly remember stripes. Ah well, at least he was waking. The how’s and why’s of it were never particularly important to him. With a deep breath, he pushed himself up to his elbows to see his brother silhouetted in the doorway.
“Oh, hello Kirin.”
He could see by the unnatural stillness that his brother was angry. Furious, in fact. Kerris couldn’t help himself. It was too rich, really it was.
“Shall I pretend to be dead? Would you be happier to see me this way?” He lay back down, folded his hands across his chest. “Cold? Stiff? Dead? Deceased? Tripping merrily down that Last Road?”
“Kerris.”
“I could say hello to Father for you, if you wish. He won’t be wanting to be talk to me anytime soon, now will he, given the circumstances of his passing.”
“Kerris...”
“Say,” he said, pushing back onto his elbows. “I could ask those Seers what really happened, couldn’t I? They would be fairly new here. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“Kerris, stop.”
The command was a whip, and a terrible silence descended. A line had been crossed, both ways. Slowly, ever so slowly, the grey lion rolled onto his feet, dusting bits of straw and ages-old gaol grease from his tunic. He stared at his brother, blue on blue, silver against gold. It was Kirin who looked away first, letting his eyes roam the features of the tiny cell. The cobwebs, the black walls, the unwashed chamber pot, tipped and reeking from weeks of overuse. There was no window, no candle, nothing to commend it to its royal occupant. Nor the one who had come to free him.
“Why do you do this, Kerris?” he whispered.
“Same as ever, dear brother,” Kerris answered. “Same as ever.”
Kirin turned, not wanting to see it, the flash of that which he knew lived, deep and darkly, behind those eyes. He began to walk away.
“I wasn’t drunk, Kirin,” his brother called after him. “For once, I wasn’t drunk.”
He ignored him, and left the cell alone. But the door was open.
***
He led alMassay up the winding stone stairs ofthe battle fort. The corridor echoed with the sound of hoofs and snorts, creaking leather and tinkling buckles. The animal was getting quite good at navigating such unlikely stretches, and his attitude was, as always, willing and ready. He reached up to pat the great neck. More dependable than soldiers, more faithful than men.
And much more predictable, too.
Kerris had gone on ahead, not stopping to dismount, but rather leaning forward and burying his face in wild tangles of mane. Quiz had sailed up the steps like a mountain goat, not remotely winded by the lion on his back. The sound of his hoofbeats had disappeared within moments.
That weight, which so often lightened when his brother was around, settled back heavier now. Morning sunlight streamed in from above, and with a grim set of his jaw, he led his horse out onto the rampart of the Great Wall.
Blue eyes quickly scanned the party assembled before him. Four leopards and their mounts, one remaining pack horse, very heavily laden now. The tigress, the cheetah, the snow leopard and one Imperial horse, notable for its empty saddle.
Kirin felt his claws curl into his palms.
“Where is he?”
The Major swung down from her grey. “Sir, Kerris has started out ahead of us. I tried—”
“Not Kerris. The Seer.”
“Oh.” She glanced up, high up the tower, squinting in the sunlight. “He won’t come down, sir. He says he’s waiting.”
“For what?”
She shook her head, but did not snort or spit. Under normal circumstances, he would have found her lack of reaction intriguing. She seemed to sense this and frowned.
“I can not kill him. I cannot carry him. I am at a loss.”
“Major, you and the others head out. The Seer and I shall follow presently.”
“Sir?”
“Head out.”
But his back was already turned to her, hands on the hilts of both swords, disappearing into the doorway of the battle tower of Lhahore.
***
Sireth benAramis leaned out over the Wall, breathing in the colors laid out before him. Perhaps he could see it more clearly from within, the gold of the hills, the purple of the mountains, the blue of the skies. He could never paint this, never could have, not even before the blinding. There were simply not enough colors in the palette to capture every nuance, every expression in the face of their Good Mother. She was unmatched, magnificent.
He closed his eyes.
Petrus? Petrus, can you hear me? Petrus, are you there?
“Long or short?”
He turned to see the Captain striding towards him from the tower keep.
“What did you say?”
“Long or short? Which is your preference?” In a swift flash of steel, both katanah and kodai’chi were held out to him. “I would suggest the long. It would afford you more reach.”
“Swords? Captain, I won’t fight you.”
“All I asked was that people be ready to leave upon my return. All you needed do was get on your damned horse. Was that so very difficult, sidi?”
Sireth said nothing or perhaps he hadn’t the chance.
“Insolence and defiance at every turn,” the Captain went on. His blue eyes were blazing, the tips of the outstretched swords quivering in the morning stillness. “I will not have this mission compromised by your presumptions. I simply will not. Now choose. Long or short.”
“I will not fight you, Captain. Not now.”
“It was you who issued the challenge, so long ago, sidi. Or have you forgotten?”
“I have not forgotten.”
“Then take it up now. And perhaps tomorrow you will be more amenable.”
“It wouldn’t be fair."
“You should have thought of that before issuing the challenge, sidi.”
“I meant it wouldn’t be fair,” Sireth smiled. “To you.”
That took him completely unawares. The arrogance of it, the sheer absurdity. Looking back on it, Kirin wondered if his mouth had been hanging open, for the Seer seemed compelled to explain.
“I have been meditating all morning. I am fresh and well rested and at peace with our situation. You, on the other hand, are far from it. You are angry with your brother, yet you seek to set your claws on me. Your blows would be misdirected from the start. It would be child’s play.”
“You would beat me?” He was stunned, incredulous, unable even to form a response. “At a duel of swords, you propose to think that you would, that you could beat me?”
“Like a rug, Captain.”
The audacity, the sheer nonsense. He had run out of words. The absurdity. It made him laugh. And it came out of him, even as he tried to contain it. First it shook his chest, rattling about like a cobra in a basket. Then his shoulders, heaving them like many wild horses. Finally from his mouth, bursting forth like a river breaking a dam. He laughed a long time, even as he sheathed the swords and walked over to stand beside the Seer, to lean out over the high geniculated cornice. And even then, as he wiped the tears from his eyes, shook his head in futility, he was still laughing.
“Ah yes.” He shook his head again, laughter all but spent. The smile that remained, however, was sad. “Yes, you are right. Sireth benAramis is always right.”
He could make out the party of horses, fading into dark shapes on the grey
-gold Wall.
“I am angry at my brother. He confounds me sometimes.”
“It would seem a great many people do.”
“That is true, sidi. A weakness?”
“The way of lions. Do you want to know the first thing I learned when I came to Sha’Hadin?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Well, actually, the first thing is that they have no window panes and it’s insufferably cold. But the second thing,” and he paused, seeing if the Captain was with him, “The second thing is that the only glass we can polish is our own.”
Kirin thought on this, long and hard, leaning out that morning over the plains of Lhahore.
“I don’t know if I can,” he said softly. “His actions are inexcusable. It is a matter of honor.”
“There is no such thing as honor, Captain. There is only desire, and the sorrow that it brings.”
“Spoken like a true Brahman, sidi.”
“Brahman and Untouchable.” The Seer turned to him, raising two fingers theatrically. “Tell me then, where is the Bushido in that? In the accepting of one’s caste, or the rising above it?”
And he turned his fingers, held his hand high. Path the falcon, unseen for days, settled onto them, talon bells jingling, a slip of parchment bound securely in place.
“You see, she asked me to wait. How could I refuse?”
Kirin cursed himself, his lack of patience, his dark, dark glass. He had so much to learn.
Sireth unwrapped the message, passed it to the lion, slipped the hood over her eyes. The bird hopped to his left shoulder, home.
“There is no honor, Captain. Nor is there Bushido. But there are a great many other things. You must simply look for them and accept what you find.”
They turned and crossed the parapet, towards the cedar door to the stone stairwell. As they headed down the steps, Kirin couldn’t stop the grin from returning.
“You truly believe you can beat me?”
“At a duel of swords?” The Seer grinned back. “Like a rug.”
***
The trek from Lhahore to Gujar’Rath was a long one, but manageable, due to the evenness of the Wall and surrounding terrain. For some reason, from Lhahore to the Pass KhyaBar, the Wall had been built on the plain, not the mountains, and it had long been a subject of debate and speculation. In fact, if Kirin remembered correctly, it was Chancellor Ho’s pet project, to rebuild this section of Wall and push the northern border even further north, to the Khash’koran. A feline claw into the belly of the dog, he had said. Kirin suspected there was more to it than that.
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 33
