He cast his eyes up to the sky. The falcon swooped and arched a wing, heading left.
“Left,” he said with finality. “We are going left.”
He turned and took a step, then swayed as if pushed by a strong wind. Ursa, fully expecting this, caught him before he fell.
“Hello? Hey, Captain, are you there? I have maps...”
“Not tonight, Solomon,” she said. With a silver hand, she touched the Seer’s cheek.
moonlight and silver, he will die in her arms
And with that touch, Solomon disappeared. Sireth staggered to regain his footing.
“Major?” he asked, blinking and obviously disoriented. “Was that Solomon?”
“He left.”
“Left?”
“Left,” she said with finality. “We are going left.”
***
“Are you following me again, sidala? By the Kingdom, if you keep this up, someone might think you were a-courting me.”
Kerris didn’t pause in brushing the pony’s shaggy mottled coat. In fact, he didn’t even look up. The heat, all-to-familiar of late, rushed to her cheeks.
“Sorry,” Fallon said, “It’s just, well...”
“It’s past your bedtime, is what it is.”
She would not give him this, and stayed, pressed into the shadows of the stair.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Ah, well. On a night like this, who can?” Then after a moment, “Pity.”
“Pity what?”
“It might have been nice to think someone was a-courting me.”
She said nothing. Truth be told, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Couldn’t even step off the shore.
“There you are, Quiz my boy. As clean as you’re going to get.”
With this, he slapped the pony’s rump and straightened up, tossing the bristle brush into a saddlebag in a corner of the stall. Quiz snorted and began to turn tight circles before dropping himself down into the straw. The brown eyes blinked slowly with sleep.
Fallon suppressed a yawn.
“Really, sidala, you should go to bed. Excitement or no, you’ll pay the price for it in the morning.”
“No, really. I really can ‘not’ sleep. The bedrolls are in the keep,” she yanked a thumb toward the ceiling. “Upstairs.”
“Aaah.” He nodded, a shadow of something crossed his face. “Ah, yes, well. I could make you a bed down here, a little nest, as it were, of your very own. Quiet, peaceful, undisturbed by lions, or other… lesser animals.”
“I’m sure it’s not what you think.”
“I’m sure it’s exactly what I think, sidala. I should be happy for him. Really, I should.”
“It can’t. It isn’t. He won’t.” She shook her head, thoughts spinning, tumbling, colliding. “I mean, I don’t know him very well, but he’s so, he’s so, well...”
“He’s a lion.”
“Exactly. And she’s a cheetah. I can’t see him even considering it.”
“And that’s the problem,” he said, “He’s not considering it at all. He’s in love with someone else he can never have.”
“The Empress?”
“The very one.”
“Oh,” she said. After that, there seemed little else to say.
He studied her face in the darkness, light from a single torch casting long shadows across her face. She was too young for this, not even a woman, a kitten with potential, no more. And yet, she had taken the first step the other night. Pure Gold could have been a tiger. And that said in the presence of lions. Perhaps, then, just perhaps...
“If he were considering it,” he began, strolling over and folding his arms as he leaned against the stair beside her. “What would you think?”
“Who, me? What would I think?”
“That was the question, yes.”
“Why would it matter what I would think?”
“You don’t think the opinions of others matter to our people? You, the proponent of changing all fairy stories in favor of tigers?”
“But that was a fairy story.”
“Not real life.”
“No, not real life.”
“In real life, lions court lions, tigers court tigers.”
“Well, that’s the way of things, isn’t it?”
“And mongrels be damned.”
“No! That’s not what I meant!”
“What did you mean, then?”
“It, it, I,” she huffed, frowned, and suddenly, her emerald eyes flashed at him. There, he thought with some satisfaction, that’s what I want to see. “I think that if someone loves someone else, it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks.”
“Really? That’s a very dangerous idea.”
“I know. But, but I, I believe it.”
Still leaning against the stairwell, he turned so that he was facing her and very close. He caught her with his stare, entangled her in the depths of blue that were his eyes. She fought him, though, made her own stare defiant and proud, did not pull away at the brush of his hip. Still, she was a koi, a small, skinny, minnow of a koi, and he so loved to fish.
“Well, then,” he purred, “If say, there was ever a time when a lion came a-courting you, it would be fine?”
“It, it, it,” she swallowed this time, regrouped, tried to parry. “It would depend on his intentions.”
“Not yours?”
“Well—“
“Then say, for the sake of argument, that his intentions were noble. That he wanted to marry you and be the father of your kittens, what would you say?”
Kittens Six kittens Six grey striped kittens Oh mother!
She thrust out her chin.
“Then I would say fine.”
His eyes began roving now, following the stretch of milky white from her throat on down through the laces between her breasts. Up now, around her face, tracing the tiger stripes with his gaze, up, up even as they ran into her hair. Over her shoulders again and back down again. Her heart was beating hard in her chest, and this, he seemed to study with even more interest, and suddenly her ideas about size seemed irrelevant under his scrutiny.
“Still fine?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, fine.”
His hand moved up, caught a white-tipped curl, twirled it with a finger.
“But what about the university?”
“What about the university?”
“You couldn’t stay there, you know. Not with a marriage like that. They would force you out. All your books and thoughts and philosophies, abandoned. Just like that.”
“There’s, there’s more to life than books.”
“True enough. What about your family? Have all your sisters married tigers?”
This was becoming too much for her. She could feel the sting of impending tears. She would not let them spill.
“Yes,” her voice small and struggling.
“And they have kittens?”
“Yes.”
“You’re an auntie.”
“...yes...”
“That’s lovely. Really, it is. I’m sure your parents are very proud.”
“Why are you doing this? What have I done to you?”
“Well, you see, I don’t think your parents would be very proud at all of mongrel kittens. If they don’t ostracize you and your family, then they themselves will be ostracized. No one will buy your father’s pheasants. No one will buy his eggs. It will be his ruin. He may lose the family farm. All because of you and your dangerous ideas.”
The tears came.
He almost stopped, he should have. She was right. She did not deserve this. She was but a kitten herself, and he a cruel, cruel man for torturing her so. But he was angry now, and tired, and determined to break this young heart early on. It would spare her, anyway, in the end.
He wiped her tears with his hand.
“So it seems, there is yet one more thing you haven’t stopped to think about. But it does make sense now, doesn’t it? Lions court lions. Tigers cour
t tigers. Mongrels be damned. It is the only way to be safe and secure in our pure, pure Kingdom. It is the way of things. Kirin knows this. And now, sidalady tigress, so do you.”
He stepped back, gathered her hands in his, raised them to his lips. Then, he spun on his heel and headed up the steps, forgetting her in a heartbeat.
“And you?!”
The stairwell rang with her anger. It shocked him, her tone. Intrigued him too. He turned and looked down at her, the torch now casting long shadows across the other side of her face. He could barely distinguish stripes from tears, as they ran down her cheeks and into her mouth. But her eyes were blazing and it set his blood racing.
“What about you?” she snarled. “Do you know this, sidalord grey lion?”
He had never seen her angry, let alone furious. She was, he thought to himself, rather pretty. Perhaps, he had not been so cruel after all.
“No one courts grey lions, sidala.”
And turned one last time, leaving her to the horses and the pony and her tears.
***
It was the sound of the pipes, at first, the soft sad trill of hill pipes that drew them. Then laughter and singing, and the roar and crackle of a late night fire. By the time they approached the caravans, tucked into the mouth of one of the many caverns that rabbited these mountains, they had been sighted, and all sound, save the fire, had died away. There were many faces turned to stare at them.
“Good evening, my friends,” said Sireth, stopping a distance from the group and bowing, most formally. His hood was drawn over his head, and with only moonlight and the long shadows cast by the fire, it was impossible to see his face. His lion-like tail, however, swayed visibly behind him. Ursa was at his side, hands on the hilts of her swords, hair blowing in the breeze. Several men, and some women, rose to their feet.
“Good evening, sidi, sidala,” said one, a barrel-chested man of indeterminate race, and when he bowed, it was as stiff as it was wrong. He spread wide his hands.
“We are a peaceful band, sidalord lion. Your weapons will not be needed here.”
“Mere happenstance, I’m afraid. To protect us from bandits. Not become them.”
The man nodded, and repeatedly glanced at his companions.
“How may we help?”
Sireth held out his hand. The sliced glove shone bloody in the moonlight.
“Water?” he asked, “And a wrap, if possible? We will not make KhahBull tonight and my palm is aching badly.”
The man turned and called out in a strange tongue. Ursa narrowed her eyes. Shaharabic, she thought? But wasn’t certain. People scurried to fetch the required items. They wanted her gone as soon as possible, she knew. Were afraid of her, or more likely, what she represented. It was the way of things. She tightened her grip on her swords.
The man smiled nervously, bowed again, as if the very act could appease this wraith of a lion, and the armed ghost at his side.
“You need only ask, sidi. We are also servants of the Empress.”
“Indeed? Then, perhaps, a place at your fire? As I said, we will not make KhahBull tonight. I would sleep much sounder to the songs of your pipes.”
Ursa threw a scowl at him. That was not the plan. To her credit, she kept her tongue.
Likewise, the man seemed just as uncomfortable with the idea. In fact, activity slowed to a stop, and now all people exchanged nervous glances. The man clasped his hands.
“Yes, of course, sidalord lion, you would be welcome, of course, but...”
“But?”
“Sidi, we are a gypsy band. Our means are simple, our accommodations more so. We are not accustomed to entertaining those such as yourselves.”
“There was a day,” Sireth began, “When gypsy hospitality was not as exclusive as the company of lions. All were welcome in the name of Dharma.”
There was a moment of silence, then the man threw wide his arms.
“Come and be welcome. What little we have is yours.”
“The water and wrap would be fine,” Sireth stepped forward into the firelight and pulled back the hood. “Of course, if you have any famous KhahBull khava...”
A cheer went up from the company, along with a good number of relieved sighs, as one mongrel joined his own. Ursa, suddenly feeling very alone, kept her hands on her hilts, and followed him into the fire.
***
She learned more about the Seer that night, than in all the days they had shared company. She learned he had been born to a caravan of gypsies, much like this one, on the outskirts of Calcah’thah. That he had been the younger of two sons, that his grandfather had been a Pure-blood lion who also traveled with the company, his mother a dancer and fortune teller, and that he had never known his father. In fact, he was so open with these people, complete strangers as they were, that she more than once found herself wondering what it was that made him so different in the presence of the Captain and the others.
It was, of course, the issue of Race.
As she scanned the faces of the men and women and children (yes, a few children were up at this late hour, drinking the bitter strong mixture called khava and listening with sleepy ears to the stories), it was obvious that none of them could lay claim to a particular Race of people. Tiger stripes were mixed with leopard spots, jaguar rosettes with tufted tails. Even the smaller cats seemed indeterminate, as caracals and sandcats and ocealots merged and blended, with ear tufts and bobbed tails alternating with alarming ease. She could have sworn there was a woman with Sacred blood running through her veins, masked however by lynx-like ribbons of grey.
There was, it appeared to her, no discrimination whatsoever when it came to breeding, their caste uniformly Untouchable, but to the last one, they seemed happy and they tried very hard to make her feel welcome.
She shook her head. The Scourge of the Kingdom. She knew that every last one of them should be killed, but tonight, she would draw sword against none.
So, as the last watch of the night crept to a close, the barrel-chested man, whose name was Thomas Adonalli, brought them two bedrolls and bid them goodnight.
Sireth flapped his open and stretched out, lacing his fingers (he had removed the gloves at some point during the night. She was surprised. She hadn’t seen him do so) across his belly and closing his eyes. Ursa stared at him for a moment, then frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to sleep. At least, I will, once you stop talking.”
“We have to go now.”
“We’re not going anywhere.”
“We’re not staying here. We have to go back. The Captain will be furious.”
With a deep sigh, the Seer pushed himself up on his elbows.
“I told you I was going away. Did I not break it down into words small enough for your Pure ears?”
She stared at him.
“A-way. A way. Not your way. Gone. Leaving. No more to be present in your company.”
“The Captain—“
“The Captain is under the spell of a witch. I will not ride with such as she.”
“You ride with me. And I will not stay here.”
“And that is your choice.” He shook his head. “I gave you the option of stopping me as soldier, or joining as friend. Do you intend to kill me now?”
“I have to bring you back.”
“How?”
She sat back on her haunches, cast her eyes to the pink horizon. She was thinking. He could tell by the furrows on her brow, the particular way she pursed her lips. moonlight and silver She looked at him.
“I will beat you senseless, commandeer one of these oxen and take you back like a sack of millet.”
He stroked his beard.
“That would work, yes...” A thought struck him. “Or...or you could tell the Captain you tried to bring me back, I resisted, and you were forced to kill me. You still, I believe, have my blood on your sword.”
“You, a priest, council to the Empress, would have me lie?”
“To keep my free
dom, I would do anything.”
“You are running away.”
“Yes. Absolutely,” he said. “It is the only thing that has kept me alive all these years. Major, look at these people. There is not a one of them older than I. What does that tell you?”
“They are not good at it.”
“Don’t make me go back.”
Again, she paused, studied this time the stars, the faint glow of sun at the first murmurings of day. Longer this time, for when she looked back at him, her stare was level and calm.
“I will not lie. But I will not tell him where you are.”
In fact, he could not believe her. It was something bigger than he’d thought her able, and an unexpected wave of guilt carried over him.
moonlight and silver
“Thank you,” he whispered.
he will die in her arms
She rose to her feet, silver hair blowing again in the breeze.
“He will barricade off the city, so I suggest you do not go there. He will also have many, many guards at his disposal, so I suggest also you go quickly. Do not travel with this caravan. It is too conspicuous.”
And with that, she turned on her heel, and walked away, feeling his one-eyed gaze on her back and wondering exactly what method the Captain would choose to kill her.
***
There was something about the dawn that always drew him outside. Even as a child, he would be found practicing Chai’Chi, back in the cobbled courtyard of the House Wynegarde-Grey, or on one of the many fields or hillsides surrounding the manor. It was as if the air was newer, the sunlight purer, than anytime later in the day. Indeed, he believed it was. Each day started off like a mewling babe, fresh and innocent. It was the aging that made every thing dark and complicated.
So it was this morning, the morning after the chaotic night-before, that Kirin found himself performing the Sun Salute on grass for the first time in a long time, just outside the Wall and the first leg of their journey in Khanisthan. He had not slept at all, but was not weary, as the Major came into view. She was alone.
Her silver hands were curled into fists at her sides. Her lips pursed and tight, her posture stiff, she walked straight up to him and bowed most formally, something he had rarely seen her do before. He held up a tawny hand, released the last cleansing breath, and turned to face her.
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 38
