The plagues, however, started in 2153.
Genetically engineered viruses began to systematically wipe out entire genomes of the human population, as warring countries vied for resources. Countries such as India, Pakistan, Korea and China (also known as the Independent Asian Republics) emerged as scientific powerhouses and with no human rights protocols to hinder the progress of research in areas such as microbiology, virology, cloning and gene splicing, the western world struggled to keep pace. The European Union of States claimed the first western success with rat/monkey hybrids. These creatures, while marvels of genetic engineering, were impossible to contain and the entire EUS state of Great Britain became a self-contained wasteland, undone by its very own hand. Soon, it became apparent that measures needed to be taken to ensure that a remnant of humanity survived.
The IAR chose engineering, building on the EUS’s ‘success’ with animal interspecies hybrids before attempting the more complex feats of human-animal gene splicing. The logical choices – the great apes – were far too similar genetically to escape the variety of diseases that had been created, and soon, human-monkey hybrids were being tested for viability and adaptability. There had been rumors of other, more bizarre combinations, ie human-cat, human-dog, and even human-bear, but scientific communications between nations had long ceased, so there was no way to verify such wild and fanciful reports.
The EUS chose Ark projects, establishing independent but collaborating cryogenic stations deep within neutral territories, each buried a half-kilometer beneath the surface of the earth. Three sites were chosen for their geological, tectonic, meteorological and political stability – Marathon, in the heart of the Canadian Shield, Kalgoorlie Australia and Kandersteg, Switzerland. These were ideal homes for the international research facilities known as the SANDMAN Projects. As the rest of the planet battled disease, genetically-mutated plague, biological terrorism and nuclear fallout, these three shelters were the cradle of hope for humanity’s survival, a living arsenal of scholars and scientists, artists and engineers. Each facility boasted incredible subterranean archives of research and raw data, history, art, literature and music. Each possessed resources enough to jump-start human civilization – people and possessions frozen in time, awaiting the cue from a satellite in high orbit to awaken and begin life all over again, if it came to that.
It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Naturally, it came to that.
In another life, so long ago, Solomon had been known as Dr. Jeffery Solomon, Supervisor7 of the International SleepLab1, Kandersteg, Switzerland.
Or Swisserland, to those of a feline persuasion.
So, while the IAR created civilizations of not-quite-human people, Jeffery Solomon slept.
For hundreds of years, Jeffrey Solomon slept.
In fact, for thousands of years, Jeffrey Solomon slept.
And those not-quite-human people not only survived but thrived, creating for themselves civilizations of their own.
And Max, the orbiting satellite with the directive to revive the SANDMAN projects, for reasons that can only be speculated upon, failed to do his job. In fact, it wasn’t until the very high orbit began to decay that any signal at all was transmitted, and that through the minds and souls and lives of the very powerful not-quite-human people known as the Seers of Sha’Hadin. The process had killed six Seers, the other six Supervisors of SleepLab1, and left a definite connection between the two survivors.That much was obvious. To Kirin, they seemed cut from the same piece of cloth.
“So, how is it that after hundreds, maybe thousands of years, you guys still speak English? I mean, it’s not completely English – there’s some Chinese, some Hindi and some Japanese in there as well, but mostly, it’s English. That’s crazy.”
They were sitting at the fire after feasting on the last of the dates, tea and fresh fish caught by the falcon from the great waters near the city. It was the first solid meal Solomon had eaten since being awakened so many months ago, and Kirin found it impossible to believe that anyone, including an Ancestor, could survive so long on ‘vitamin squares, protein powder’ and water. He was sitting cross-legged, one hand tugging the remnants of his beard, the other using the Major’s tanto to cut it off. “Shaving’ he had called it.
His strange words seemed to have no end.
“We are speaking Imperial, sidi,” corrected Kirin. “It is the language of politics and diplomacy in the Upper Kingdom.”
“Oh and education,” added Fallon. “And, and commerce. Although Hanyin, Farashi, Hindushi, Urdurash and Shaharabic are common in commerce too.” She shrugged, her arms wrapped around her knees. “Depends on where you are. It’s a big kingdom.”
“Damn big kingdom,” said Solomon. He scraped around his chin.
The others watching him were thrilled.
“So, so you grow a pelt, then you cut it off…” Kerris shook his head, eyes wide with wonder. “That is unbelievable.”
“Yeah, well… it’s not really… a pelt…” Solomon had raised his chin to scrape the hairs off his throat. Kirin watched carefully. It would all be over if that blade slipped. “Just a hairy, itchy, flea-catching mess, that’s all…”
Fallon shuddered. “I hope you don’t have fleas.”
“Me too, honey.”
Ursa was also watching intently, pale eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “All beards should be scraped like that.”
The Seer grinned at her. “Even mine?”
“Especially yours.”
Solomon sighed, ran a hand along his chin. “Okay, that’ll have to do for now. I really need some soap and water—“
“Hah!” shouted Kerris. “Water! You like water?”
“Of course I like…” The brown eyes stared at the group. “You’ve got to be kidding. You cats really don’t like water?”
Ursa and Sireth shuddered at the thought.
“That’s just too funny.” Solomon shook his head. “You know, I honestly didn’t know what to expect, meeting you people and all, but I always just assumed you’d be…you know, people…”
“We are people,” said Kirin in a low voice.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I didn’t mean to offend, but…” he sighed, “There were no ‘cat people’ where I came from. When I came from… Just cats, and people.”
“You created us,” said Fallon. “Well, not you, but Ancestors. Other Ancestors. And not us individually, but us as a people. We were your favorite people. It is written. Us, then the Chi’Chen, then dragons. But I’m not really sure if dragons are people.”
“Dragons are not people,” said Kerris.
“Right. So, the Ancestors of Lha’Lhasa created the first of us, and well, we’ve being doing a pretty good job of keeping it going ever since.”
Solomon smiled. It was interesting to see how the same emotions expressed themselves across his face. Like the Seer, he also used his hands when talking, and seemed to like to touch. Perhaps he was just making sure they were all real, and not a part of some vivid ‘vitamin-square’ induced dream.
“So…” said Solomon now as he stared into the fire. “There are no people? I mean, people like me?”
A silence fell over the little fire, save for the crackling of the wood.
“No,” said Kirin. “The Ancestors have been gone for over 3 dynasties.”
Fallon nodded. “In fact, it was the last plague that sent the Dragon Team up the Nine-Peaks Mountain to find out what had happened to the last of them. It was then that they found the first of the Sacred Ones.”
“Sacred Ones?”
“Our leaders. More important than lions.” She glanced at the Captain. “Um, sorry, Sir…”
He merely grunted.
“Are these Sacred Ones cats too?”
“Oh yes. They are small, fine and have no pattern of coat-coloring. One can be a Tabbeh, Its kitten can be Kali’coh. Very brilliant, very random.”
Solomon stared at her. “House cats? Your ‘Sacred Ones’ are house cats?”
And he t
hrew back his head and laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.
And something in Kirin began to burn.
“They are our Sacred Ones, sidi…” he growled.
“Sorry, sorry. I don’t suppose your mortal enemies are dogs, are they?”
Their silence was met with even more laughter, and suddenly, Kirin knew with all of his heart that the Empire was right and honorable and good, and that the Bushido was right and honorable and good and that his decision was right and honorable and good.
And that this man, this Ancestor, would die by his sword before the night was through.
Ana’thalyia
Feline pride is a dangerous thing.
Cats are a strong people, a generous people, a talented people. Cats sing, cats build, cats dream, cats administrate. Each day, cats make decisions based on heritage, preferences and castes. Their lives are shaped by many forces, some good, some not so good. It is the way of things.
But one thing that does indeed characterize cats is their pride. The Upper Kingdom was the envy of all other civilizations, their culture rich and well preserved. Almost without exception, their people are happy, hardworking and content. Yes, they are proud of a great many things, and perhaps that was their undoing. Pride, while admittedly well deserved, hints at arrogance, and therefore, it is dangerous. It leads one down the path of unsound thinking, where the only voice you must listen to is your own. Lions are especially prone to this, (although many Sacred-born dip a finger in it as well) and the world to them becomes quite unilateral when it is threatened.
The Captain was experiencing this very thing.
It was very late, with Ursa taking the first watch of the night, standing like a statue behind the Seer who was deep in meditation. Solomon had fallen asleep quickly – he had to have been exhausted – and both the Scholar and Kerris had bedded down on opposing sides of the fire. Unusual. They had been inseparable of late.
For his part, Kirin could not sleep, and so he lay, insides burning as if filled with coals. Solomon’s words had triggered his pride, the laughter had boiled his blood, and as he lay, hands laced tightly across his middle, he wrestled with the details of Solomon’s death, and ultimately, his own. Not the necessity of it, not now, but rather, the method of it, the timing. If possible, he would prefer to kill the man swiftly. One strong, sure slice of the katanah to the neck would accomplish the task with minimal pain and mess. The question was whether or not to let the man know the blow was coming.
There were benefits to both, he reasoned. Surely, Solomon would understand the necessity of such a sacrifice, and would accept his death with quiet dignity, on his knees preferably, with hands poised quietly in his lap. This would allow both Kirin and Solomon to retain honor, the best of all possible outcomes. However, if Solomon did not understand, if for any reason, he did not cooperate, then the best option was the element of surprise.
His own death would be simple. A harah’kiri with the tanto to the belly, slashing first left then right. He would have no second, however – he was certain the Major would not assist him in this – and the death would be slow, painful and bloody. Now a blade to the heart – the same method as with Rhan Agoyian – had its appeal. Quick, quiet, contained. Both would bring honor to his mother, his great house, his Empress.
Kerris, however, would be shattered.
And it was with this knowledge that the Captain wrestled long and hard. It was the only thing he regretted now, the pain he would cause his brother. Perhaps the episodes that regularly plagued him would resurface, chasing the sunshine away in favor of storms and dark weather. Kerris had lived with these for years, ever since the death of their father. He was a creature of both sunlight and shadows, equally at home in either.
Kirin hoped the tigress would help him, but somehow, he didn’t hold out much hope for that.
“What?”
He heard the Major hiss and he realized that at some point, he had fallen into a light, troubled sleep. He sat up, blinking, and focused his eyes across the fire, to where the Seer was meditating. The man was shaking his head.
He leaned forward. “Sidi?”
His eyes were tightly closed, his tail lashing from side to side.
“Sidi, what do you see?”
“An oracle…they have an oracle…”
Now it was Kirin’s turn to shake his head. “Who has an oracle, sidi? The Alchemists who follow?”
“No… Not them…”
Kerris was awake now, as was the Scholar. Solomon himself was stirring, hands pressed across his strange pelt-less forehead in weariness.
Kirin frowned. “Who then?”
“They are tracking us…they have been for months, since the splitting of the star…”
“The Alchemists?”
“The dogs,” he growled, and his tail lashed again. “The damned, accursed dogs…”
Everyone sat straight up, save for Solomon, who was only now pushing up to his elbows. Dogs had been a constant threat on this journey, a constant danger, but not an actual force. In fact, their party had not yet encountered any trace of dogs. They had faced rats and bears, beaten them too, but the dogs had remained shadows, ghosts skirting the edges of possibility. Unnamed fears, night terrors, mortal enemies.
“Dogs, sidi?” Kirin found his voice hoarse and strained. “There are dogs following us?”
“From the northeast. Their oracle has marked me somehow, has been following us for months. But I have him now. He cannot escape…”
Kirin glanced at his brother, then at Solomon.
“Why are they following us, sidi? Could this oracle possibly know about the Ancestor?”
“It is not the Ancestor they want…” The Seer ground his teeth. “Please be quiet. I have him almost finished…”
Then suddenly, the man growled, eyes open wide, and he released first one breath, then another. He looked up at the Captain.
“He is dead.”
“Dead?”
“The oracle. I have killed him.”
***
“He is dead, lord.”
The Leader growled, lashed his thick tail. He knew it had been dangerous, but then, that was the life of an oracle. They lived only at the whim of their leaders and the mercy of their craft. He glanced at the body, small and frail, twisted on itself in the throes of death. It had not been a strong dog. Oracles rarely were. But to die in that manner, killed by the soul of a cat, it was most unnatural.
“Burn him,” he said finally. “We are close. We can track them ourselves now.”
His lieutenant nodded. “And the others? The ones he would speak with, through the flames and the water?”
“Alchemists.” The Leader made a face. “Perhaps we will find them first.”
The lieutenant smiled and bent down to pick up the body.
***
They were all awake now, and Kerris had busied himself by making tea. All things including battle strategies, were improved upon under the calming, soothing, ordering influence of tea. Even still, the Captain was pacing.
“How many dogs, sidi?”
“I don’t know. A Legion.”
“I need numbers.”
“I have none for you.”
The tufted tail lashed. “How far away?”
“I cannot say. Close, I presume.”
The man did not seem disturbed. It was dark, they were in a ruined Ancestral city, being tracked by a party of Alchemists and now, a Legion of dogs. And yet, he did not seem disturbed.
He narrowed his eyes.“How long have you known?”
Sireth raised his brows. “About the dogs? Oh, quite a long time.”
“And yet you said nothing.”
“We all have our secrets, Captain.” And he smiled at this. “But, even so, it was irrelevant. Until now.”
Kirin swung around, hands on hips. “I am the Captain of this journey, sidi. It is for me to decide what is or is not relevant.”
“Duly noted.”
He set his molars, rele
ased a breath. “The Alchemists, are they also following?”
“Yes. There are five of them, including Jet. They…are seeking the Ancestor.”
Fallon Waterford, who had been standing in silence this entire time, arms wrapped around her ribs, cocked her head. “How could they know, sir? About Solomon, I mean?”
He glanced at her. “They are Diviners. They cast lots, read numbers. Their numbers kept reading ‘six’.”
Her eyes grew round and her mouth made a little ‘o’ as she thought it through. “Oh,” she finally said. “Six. The number of man.”
“Yes.”
“Sherah was a Diviner,” she said.
Now it was Kerris’ turn to cock his head. “She knew too, didn’t she?”
Kirin nodded. He could not bring himself to look at his brother.
Jeffrey Solomon held up both hands. “Now wait a minute,” he said. “I may have been asleep for a couple of thousand years, but I’m catching on to something here. These dogs, these Alchemists, they’re coming for me?”
“Yes,” said Kirin.
“The dogs – no. The Alchemists – yes,” corrected Sireth.
“But why?”
“Because you are an Ancestor, that’s why,” growled Kirin. “Your existence shifts the balance of power within the Empire. Within all the Empires. You have the potential to raise armies while destroying others with a single word.”
The man’s pelt-less brow furrowed. “But that…that’s crazy.”
Kirin sighed. “It is the way of things.”
He turned to benAramis. “Send the falcon. I want her to find the Legion, find out their location, their numbers.”
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 61
