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

by Dickson, H. Leighton

  “What is she doing?” growled the Seer from below. “Alchemists and their infernal circles.”

  Once Sherah had completely surrounded the room, Fallon twisted an aching hand free. A rat was climbing down the rope latch toward her.

  “Quickly!” shouted the tigress. “Sherah, throw me the bag! Get Kerris!”

  The cheetah did as she was bid, tossing the powder and pulling the grey lion away from the window. She wrested the torch from his hand and threw it onto the circle.

  The room was engulfed in flames. Fallon felt the Seer shudder and press his face into her back. With a deep breath, she shoved the bag into the rat’s scrabbling, scaly hand and let go of the rope.

  The hatch swung upward, taking the rat and the bag of fire powder, with it.

  “Get down!” she shouted, dropping to the ground, the Seer falling with her. “Don’t breathe! Close your—”

  The boom drowned her words as the flames were sucked upward, up over their heads, threatening to take them all with it, up and into the night sky above. Then a second boom, pushing them down now, forcing the air from their lungs, scalding their rounded backs with heat. The flames thundered and roared all around them, until, finally, after what seemed like ages, there was silence.

  Fallon coughed and coughed again. She lifted her head. The tower hold was in blackness, lit only by moonlight from the shattered window. Even the flame circle had burnt itself out. But, she noted with some satisfaction, there were no rats.

  Kerris rolled onto his knees. A slice of moonlight illuminated his face. It was scratched and sooty, but for some reason, he was grinning at her.

  “Well, sidalady tigress,” he said, “That’s one story you can tell to your kittens. And see? Not a golden lion in the lot.”

  There was a pounding at the door. It was the Major, there was no mistaking it, and Kerris disengaged himself from the others on the charred stone floor. He threw open the bolts and swung open the door.

  “Hello, Ursa, my love. Welcome to the Roar’pundih Rat and Grill.”

  “Idiot,” Ursa snarled. “Your brother is wounded. Come if you care.”

  With that, she spun and disappeared down the stair, Kerris a reeling grey shadow at her heel.

  ***

  It is an odd place, that place between waking and dreamless sleep. Some things can be recalled with razor sharpness, like voices or snatches of conversations. Other things, like passing time and pain, can be recalled only in vague and twisted ways. At one point, he found himself wondering if this was the Vision plain, the road of Farsight where Seers journey and falcons soar through the souls of men. It was certainly not the Nihr’Vannah, for it was neither empty nor enlightened. In fact it was a terrifying place, he decided, not a place he would tarry, and he fought its grip whenever he was aware. Somehow, long, strong hands kept pushing him there, to this very place. It had given him a headache that had rent his skull for days.

  Or perhaps, that was the incense.

  So he knew how it would be when finally he left that place and found himself staring into the golden eyes of the Alchemist.

  “There you are,” she purred. “Lie still. I will fetch some tea.”

  It seemed prudent, so he obeyed, letting his own eyes adjust to the darkness, to the soft light flickering across the stone ceiling. Candles, he noted, no torch. Alchemists were strict believers in feng shui, the Art of Chi. And, he also noted gratefully, as she knelt with a steaming cup in hand, of Chado, the Art of Tea.

  She helped him sit, propped several stiff cushions behind his back, and knelt back, a curious smile playing with her lips. It was only then that he noticed two things. First, his uniform was gone, and second, Kerris, all grey and night-blue, face down on a bedroll beside him.

  “Where?” His voice scratched in his throat. He cleared it. “Where is my uniform?”

  “Being repaired,” she said. “Rats are not respecters of good leather.”

  He frowned. A wrapped tunic and sarong were not his choice of attire, no matter what his situation.

  “It will be repaired soon?” Not quite a question.

  Her eyes smiled this time. “Soon. But hush. You will disturb your brother. I believe this is the first time he has slept since you were stricken.”

  “How long?”

  “Three nights, two days...”

  “Not—”

  “Plague? No, not plague. Just poison.”

  He sighed this time, shoulders sagging. So much time lost. Too much. He sipped his tea.

  Kerris mumbled in his sleep and lifted his head from the pillows. He seemed about to roll over and go back to sleep, but for some reason, he paused, blinking as if not comprehending the change in scenery. Kirin allowed himself a small smile now. His brother looked terrible.

  With a startled yelp, Kerris bolted to his knees.

  “Kirin! Oh, how do you feel? Are you fine now? Are you? Really?”

  “I will be fine when I am in uniform.”

  “Oh that. Yes, well, that’s out for—”

  “Repairs. Yes, the Alchemist told me.”

  With bright, brimming eyes, Kerris turned to the cheetah. He was wringing his hands.

  “Is he alright, really? The poisons are gone?”

  “The poisons are gone. It does not usually take so long, but…” She turned her face to the Captain. “There were many bites.”

  “I seem to recall,” Kirin said, moving his knee at the memory. “It was unnatural the way they attacked.”

  “Yes, that’s what Ursa said. Like they had marked you, singled you out somehow.” Kerris sat forward. “Kirin, they were using stones to crack the window glass. I’ve never seen them use tools before.”

  “I will need to speak to Commander Tripp-Jonesthon about this. He may have an explanation.”

  He shifted on the blankets, just now realizing that he was on the floor. Somehow, it had seemed much more comfortable only moments before.

  “Was anyone else hurt?”

  “Several of the soldiers, but our Alchemist soon put them to right with her ointments and her tea.” He beamed at her, high praise from the prince of such. “Dear Sherhanna. She’s been a godsend these past few days, haven’t you?”

  Kirin looked at her.

  “Sherhanna?”

  The woman smiled again, cast her eyes downward. “An old name. One I have never gone by.”

  “But it is your true name,” said Kerris. “You told me so. The one your parents gave you before your consecration.”

  He looked back to his brother.

  “Sherhanna al Sha’er. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Kirin’s gaze never wavered from her face.

  “Yes,” he said softly. “It is.”

  He was oblivious then, as Kerris glanced from his brother to the woman and back again, noting the strange thing which had suddenly come into being, and just as suddenly, shut him out. He touched Kirin’s arm.

  “So, so how’s your knee? It was pretty buggered up.”

  “Kerris, mind your tongue.”

  “Well, it was. How does it feel?”

  Kirin flexed his foot, stretched his calf muscle, and finally, bent his leg into the thigh, aware now for the necessity of the sarong. The flesh of the joint itself was exposed, a portion of the pelt cut away cleanly, and drawn in with only a few stitches, leaving most of the wounds open to drain. It felt remarkably strong, however. He said so.

  “Yes, well that’s our dear Sherhanna,” said Kerris. “She did the same with my back and arms, remember?”

  “I didn’t think you did remember,” said Kirin.

  “I have you for that, now don’t I? Remembering everything I don’t.”

  “You’re exhausted,” said Kirin. “Go get some sleep. I am in good hands.”

  “Yes. I can well imagine,” said Kerris. He dragged himself to his feet. “Anyway, I am glad you’re feeling better. Really, you have no idea. So, ah...”

  “Goodnight, Kerris.”

  The grey lion stared at
him a moment.

  And he padded from the room, not looking back as he closed the door behind. It had taken all his will not to look back, not to sneak a glimpse of his brother and the cheetah and the warm candlelight and he stood quite still for several long moments. He glanced around the stairwell of the battle tower of Roar’pundih. It was dark and imposing and bleak and he felt a rush of sadness. He had tried to fight it, really he had. For weeks now, it had dogged him. In fact, as he stood there, alone and dismissed, he feared it never really left him, no matter how much he ran or how far. Even now, it lapped at him, beckoning like the waves he loved so much.

  No, it never really left.

  He sank to the stairs and covered his face with his hands.

  ***

  Sireth could see Khanisthan from up here, from the top of the tower of Pesh’thawar, the very border of the Phun’Jah. And the distant twinkling lights that lead to the city ofKhahBull. They had ridden two days hard since the Captain’s recovery, through mountains red and gold and squared, through the famed Pass KhyaBar, through ruins and battle towers a plenty, all to make up for lost time. Or so the Captain said. Still, the Imperial banner waved above them all, unifying this diverse land with its one elegant symbol. He found himself shrugging. These were very strange days.

  He had never been to KhahBull but as he sat, crosslegged under the purple sunset atop the battle tower, he thought that it looked like every other large city he had ever seen from so far away. Cal’Cathah, Old Delhih, Phankoth. Like them, it spread out as if limitless, as if cats knew nothing of restraint. As if the very land owed them their homes, farms and inns, and they should spread like mushrooms over a dead tree, to consume it and beat it down and turn it to earth.

  The pattern was the same, even. Lights burned bright in the heart of the city, scattering rings like ripples on a pond, growing fainter as they neared the horizon. Torches and lanterns and hearths, glowing with life and promise of life, with peace and contentment. The jewels of the people, they were, evidence of their mastery over the natural world. They glittered like stars, those jewels, like the carpet of bright twinkling stars over his head. He looked up now, at the one star, the new one –‘dragon’, the word whispered at the edges of his soul – and at the constellations still familiar, despite the distance from home.

  Home. How he missed it. He knew that even if he did return, which was unlikely, it would not be home. For him, home was a fleeting thing, lasting only a few years at best, before his mistress, Kharma, chased him out. Oh yes, she would forget about him for a while, and he would have peace and respite, even the pretense of happiness, until she remembered him and chased him out again.

  He must have been very bad in his previous life. She chased him without mercy.

  Petrus? Petrus, are you there?

  He shook his head. He couldn’t speak to the dead. It was not part of the Gifts. He was a fool for thinking so much of it these last days, since he had stood at the Broken Road and touched the Alchemist and heard his friend speaking inside his head. It had to be a ploy, a ruse to distract him, to darken the glass and keep him from quieting his soul and receiving the visions as he should, with single-mindedness and focus.

  He closed his eyes and filled his chest with cool night air.

  He did not strive, did not reach, he just was. The visions would come. They always did.

  ***

  “Hey, Kerris your name was! Come and join us!”

  The figure in the doorway waved but turned his back and trotted down into the stairwell of the tower towards the stables.

  Kirin shook his head. “He’s gone down to check on the horses, sidala. He has no use for Chai’Chi.”

  Fallon Waterford shook her head now, even as she swung her arm in a graceful controlled arc over her head. She pivoted on her right foot.

  “There’s more to life than horses,” she muttered.

  “I have told him that very thing.”

  Kirin, likewise, swung his arm in a graceful controlled arc over his head. He pivoted on his right foot.

  “No talking!”

  Pale eyes blazed, but Ursa Laenskaya’s arm swung of its own accord, supremely graceful, marvelously controlled, the arc a silver and white rainbow over her head. Her pivot was music. “Chai’Chi does not respect conversations. Without focus, the discipline is lost.”

  “Yes, Major,” said Fallon.

  “Yes, Major,” said Kirin, but he fought back a smile. For the past several evenings, since they had left Roar’pundih, she had led them in the exercises of Chai’Chi. She was very good and surprisingly patient with the tigress who was often as graceful as a yak. Sometimes, the Alchemist joined them, sometimes, the leopards, and sometimes, soldiers from the towers themselves. Never the Seer. And most certainly, never his brother.

  Tonight, it was just the three of them, Captain, Major and Scholar, and she had taken them through their stances efficiently, no energy wasted on instruction. Next, she would begin the Sun Salute of Chai’Yogath but here and everytime, it had proven to be too much for Kirin’s knee. Here and everytime, he had opted out to sit and watch and appreciate the poetry of the gentler Martial Arts.

  Tonight was no exception.

  He sat with his back against the stone, breathing deep and enjoying the sensation as his muscles relented. The air smelled dry, of sand and wind and would now for weeks as they began their journey through this very large desert province. At KhahBull, they would leave the Wall, which turned and traveled northwest to the wide expanse of water known as the Kashphian. They had chosen the roads, which led them more west than north, for it seemed Solomon was taking them deep into the unknown, through Hiran, then beyond. Roads afforded a greater flexibility with possibly straighter stretches and therefore better time. Kerris had been pleased. Naturally, Kirin had not.

  So he sat, filling his chest with cool night air, wishing once again that he was standing at the top of the One Hundred Steps under the black beams of the Palace, counting the torches as they flickered to life in the Imperial City. It occurred to him that he would never count them again.

  His heart was heavy. It was the way of things.

  In the morning, they would send out the falcon. She would carry their goodbyes.

  ***

  alchemy, alchemy had reached Lhahore, 5 of 5, black robes and candles and red satin pouches filled with souls, killers of falcons had reached Lhahore, 5 of 5 on angry black horses, following the Wall, following in a trail of blackness and incense and candles

  His eyes flew open. The Captain. He had to tell the Captain.

  Sireth bolted to his feet and swung around, when he saw the impossible, standing directly behind him.

  He staggered at the sight, her night-black pelt, her smiling golden eyes, the sweep of black silk that was her hair.

  Impossible.

  “Shakuri,” he gasped.

  She took a step toward him. She was wearing his favorite, a sari of blue sateen, embroidered gold at shoulder and hem. Her many earrings caught the moonlight, as did the delicate hoop that pierced one nostril.

  “Shakuri, how? How?”

  He was trapped on the vision plain, he had to be. He glanced around to orient himself.

  “Hush.” She took another step. “I’ve missed you.”

  The words were gone from lips, the thoughts from his mind. This was impossible. First, Petrus, now... this...

  Her mouth twisted at the corner, her particular grin.

  “Soladad is well.”

  At the mention of his daughter, he almost fell to his knees. His heart was beating too fast.

  He was dizzy from the sight of her, his legs weak. He could barely stand.

  “Soladad.”

  She was so close now, passing an ebony hand across his brow and eye, almost but not quite, touching the scar.

  “I am so very sorry for this.”

  “No,” and he pressed her hand to his cheek. It was cool where his face was hot, dry where it was streaked with tears. There was a sudd
en memory of flames, but it was gone before it brought its companion horror, and he found himself sinking into her, hands trembling as he pulled her to him. Her hair was scented with orange and ginger and something else he could not place, didn’t care to try. She lifted her chin and smiled, her eyes as gold as sunrise. He had found himself, once so long ago, in those eyes, and lost himself every time thereafter. She was his home.

  He kissed her.

  She tasted of orange and ginger, and the salt of his tears, and he breathed her in, felt his own breath leave his mouth. She would empty him completely and leave him with nothing, no anger, no fury, no fear. She was his home, his peace, his respite. He surrendered willingly, he always had. He had no secrets from her.

  Strange. She was taller than he remembered.

  Like the pull of a sinking stone, he opened his eyes.

  ***

  Odd, Kirin thought to himself. He had just been thinking of the falcon, and there she was, streaking to the top of the tower in a jingle of bells. He followed her with his eyes, trying to make her out against the purple sky, could see her only when she blocked stars as she passed. She was flying in tight circles, crying and bleating in that sharp, shrill voice of hers. She seemed upset.

  A woman’s scream tore the night in two, and in a heartbeat, he was on his feet and racing into the stairwell.

  ***

  He met benAramis on the way down. The Seer obviously had no intention of stopping, so he grabbed the wide-sleeved arm, swung him around on the step and was met with a gloved finger thrust into his very face.

  “If she ever touches me again,” the Seer snarled, “I will kill her!”

  He yanked his arm free and stormed passed the lion and the tigress, and finally the Major, who needed only one look from her Captain to turn and follow her charge down the winding stair. Their boots echoed as they went. Kirin quickened his pace as he headed in the opposite direction.