***
It was raining on the little pukka house in Nam. The roof was thatched grass, the walls pikes of rattan bound together like a fence. It sat up on stilts, this little house, had no window and only a flap of canvas for a door. Despite its appearance, it did remarkably well at keeping the rainwater off and ground water out on this cold, rainy night. It was a night for candles, lamps and braziers of sizzling coal. And incense. Above all else, it was a night for incense.
Inside, a woman lay on the wooden floor, propped up on spotted elbows, breathing. Two others - a young jaguar and an old leopard - hovered at her knees, linens and oil basins at the ready, while an ocelot sat with her, mopping her forehead with cloths and humming in strange, exotic keys.
“It is a big baby, isn’t it, Farit?” asked the young jaguar. She had large eyes and bindhi dots the colour of jade. “A boy, I’m certain of it.”
“Oh, it’s a boy, Xuan,” said the ocelot as she stroked the mother’s forehead. “It is obvious by the way she was carrying. All in the front.”
“Oh yes. All in the front.”
The woman on the floor nodded. She wore only a kimonoh of black silk, perfect for childbirth and her long black hair was damp with sweat, falling wildly about her shoulders. Her pelt was smooth butter cream, spots tiny and well-placed, and a black stripe painted her face like the falling of a tear. Even now, in such a state, she watched everything with great golden eyes rimmed with kohl.
“Yes,” she breathed in a voice deep and smoky. “I have prayed for a boy.”
“It is the Year of the Cat,” the ocelot named Farit smiled. “Your prayers will be answered tonight, Sherhanna. Only good comes in the Year of the Cat.”
“Are you really an Alchemist?” asked young Xuan. “Hy’Unh only accepts gold as payment. Are you going to turn something into gold?”
“Of course,” said the woman called Sherhanna.
“We don’t see many cheetahs here in Nam,” said young Xuan. “I think it’s too hot. Although I’ve heard Aegyp is hot. Is Aegyp hot, Sherhanna?”
“Enough talk,” said the leopard named Hy’Unh. She was very old with few teeth, multiple hoops through nostril and brow and more rings on her fingers than in the bark of a tree. The midwife. “Push now.”
Sherhanna breathed out, clutched her knees and pushed. She did not scream. She did not cry out. Rather, she remained focused and inward, willing some muscles to contract, others to stretch. She had been through this before. Pain, she had learned, was simply a matter of perspective, a means to an end. Tonight, with the birth of this baby, her sins would be forgiven and the world made right. Tonight, everything would change.
“Push!”
“Just a little more,” said Farit. “This is good, Sherhanna. Very good.”
“Push, now!”
There was a very long moment when all time seemed to stop and the world grew very small. Sherhanna's black claws drew blood in the pelt of her thighs and the breath burned in her chest as everything was thrown into that one final, deliberate act.
“Enough,” said the midwife. “The head is out. Breathe now, child. Breathe.”
Sherhanna did, letting her head fall back into the jaguar’s arms. She closed her eyes, exhausted. She was not done yet but still.
“Much hair,” said Hy’Unh. “Very dark. Few spots.”
“See?” said Xuan. “This is good, Sherhanna. Very good.”
“Just a little more now,” said Farit. “For the shoulders.”
She did. It was easy. Just a little push and she felt the wobbly mass pass through to the crowing of her midwives.
“A son!” cried the jaguar. “A perfect son.”
“A golden boy,” said the ocelot. “Spotted, but odd. Not cheetah spots...dapples. Lion.”
A few minutes more for the afterbirth but soon, the old leopard was bundling the child in wraps of linen. Lamplight reflected from the many hoops in her old face. She looked up and smiled.
“He has a tuft,” she said, passing the cub into the woman’s waiting hands. “His father a lion.”
“Of course.” Sherhanna took the child, drew him to her breast. The baby blinked sleepily, made rooting motions with his mouth.
“You should name him Su’tu.” Xuan smiled and rocked proudly on her heels. “I am learning Namyanese. It means Lion.”
“No. His name is Kylan.”
“Kylan. Yes.” The old leopard nodded but the young jaguar shook her head.
“I do not understand. Kylan?”
“Namyanese for unicorn,” said Farit as she began to wipe the blood from the bowls, the floor and Sherhanna’s legs. “It is good luck.”
“U-nee-corn? But I don’t speak Imperial. What is Kylan in Hanyin?”
“Such a child...” The midwife shook her head and stomped away, her boots sounding hollow on the rough wooden floor. Sherhanna merely smiled a cryptic smile, her eyes fixed on the cub.
“Kylan,” she said softly, stroking the golden head with the tip of a finger. “For his father.”
“Oh that’s wonderful!” said Xuan. “What is his father’s name?”
“Kirin,” she said. “His father’s name is Kirin.”
***
3 months later
Kirin Wynegarde-Grey sighed and looked around the high walls of the Outer Court. He was not sure how long he had been waiting, but there had been a change of guard once already so it had to have been hours. Once again, he studied their faces, those leopards who stood so perfectly still at their posts, swords at their hips, staffs clutched silently in their hands. He didn’t know these men. He didn’t know them.
He knew he shouldn’t be surprised. It had been almost two years, after all. Two years since he had been here last in the rich, beautiful halls of Pol’Lhasa. It had only been last night that he’d marched up the One Hundred Steps as if in a dream but had been stopped by the leopards at the doors of the Outer Court. They had not known him either, those leopards and he had marveled at how much could have changed in a world that did not embrace change. There was a time when he knew every guard in the Palace, knew the names and families and stations of every leopard posted in DharamShallah and its surrounding district. There was a time when they would have known him as well, but that time had long passed. He was unrecognizable, now.
It was well into morning and people had come and gone. Servants, civilians, ministers, all rushing about with duties and concerns and business in the Heart of the Upper Kingdom. He watched them, his gloved hands folded between his knees, his tail bound in strips of gold, his keffiyah falling across his shoulders like a mane. He had seen a few eyes dart to his sash, the tattered sash that had once marked him as noble but now only made him feel old. It was the way of things.
He had asked to see either the Minister of Defense, of Arms, or of Horses or even Chancellor Ho himself. The guards had exchanged glances, they had nodded but that had been hours ago. Perhaps watches, although he couldn’t be sure.
What was worse, they had not even brought him tea.
And so he sat in the outer chamber of the Palace, waiting. Another change of guard, signaling yet another watch and he was growing weary, but if the last years had taught him anything, it was patience. Patience and a shattering of that damned glass.
He could still smell the incense.
He closed his eyes and waited some more.
It was entirely possible that he had fallen asleep but at some point he heard a voice.
“Kirin-san? Is that you?”
He opened his eyes. It was Master Yao Tang St. John, Minister of Horses, staring down at him with a strange, worried gaze.
He smiled.
“Yao-san,” he said, for the first time in his life using an informal greeting for the man. He could think of no other words.
“Why are you sitting here?” The man was a lion, but a strange, small, thin one, with a high top-knot and a thin, reedy voice. “Does Chancellor Ho know of your arrival?”
Suddenly, everything felt a
t once like home and wrong.
“I can’t say, Yao-san. I have asked.”
The small man straightened, smoothed his robes, glanced around at the leopards of the Outer Court.
“Well, yes, well...would you like me to petition on your behalf, Kirin-san?”
Kirin smiled again, marveling at how easily it came to his face now. “That would be acceptable, Yao-san. Thank you.”
“Good. Very good.” And with a little more smoothing and glancing, Master Yao Tang St. John rushed from the antechamber and into the beating Heart that was Pol’Lhasa.
Pol’Lhasa, he breathed. The most beautiful, most glorious place in all the Kingdoms, with her tall ebony beams, winged rooftops and stained cedar walls. She was an explosion of colour, Pol’Lhasa was, and every inch of wall, roof and floor boasted more patterns than an AmniShakra Wheel. Monkeys, lions, sea shells and birds all carved into her wood, dragons and cranes brushed like stories into her windows. Every inch of the Palace spoke something - a history, a legend, a prophecy. Sitting high over the city of DharamShallah, the Palace was at once the heart, soul and will of the Upper Kingdom.
He did not belong here anymore.
“Captain?”
The voice echoed and immediately all leopards stood a little taller. He turned his head to see the small Sacred figure of Angelino Devine de Fusillia Ho, Chancellor of the Upper Kingdom, at the far Red and Gold Door. He was clad in lush blue robes and it made Kirin smile to see how very tiny the man was to wield such power. He had seen far too much in this past year. Nothing could possibly be strange any more.
And so he rose to his feet, bowed, fist to cupped palm, as the Chancellor moved along the long hallway toward him. His flattened face was round and very white, for he was of Pershan descent, and his yellow eyes had the look of both wonder and suspicion.
The Chancellor did not bow.
“Kirin-san, we...” But he did swallow and that told Kirin more than anything he might have said. “We were not expecting your return...so soon...”
“Ah. I would have thought the kestrels-”
“Only that a small party was returning. You are looking well.”
Kirin smiled.
“Please, would you care to join me in my office. I have tea.”
It was the kindest thing the Chancellor had ever said to him.
“Of course,” he answered, and followed the man into the heart of Pol’Lhasa.
***
Jalair Naranbaatar awoke to the sound of weeping.
He sat up far too quickly, threw a quick glance around the outcropping of snow and rock that served as their shelter tonight. They were traveling very lightly, and had no poles for a gar. The night sky had been their tent, their neighbours hares, ruffed grouse and badgers. It took only a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, his pointed ears swiveling for the sound.
Several paces away, his sister sat cross-legged under the stars, tears coursing down her grey face.
“Setse,” he whispered as he crawled out from under the skins to her side. He gathered her hands into his. “Setse, I’m here. Tell me.”
“Ulaan Baator,” she moaned and began to rock back and forth. “Ulaan Baator, I see him…”
“You’re not thinking clearly, Setse. Ulaan Baator is a city, the city of the Khan. Do you see the Khan? Is that who you’re seeing?”
“No, Rani. I keep telling you. I see Ulaan Baator, the man. Kuren. Kuren Ulaan Bator.”
He sighed, squeezed her hands but looked to the north. Ulaan Baator—Red Hero, city of Khans since before the people could remember. Also called Kuren by some of the more northern people. She had been saying the same thing for weeks now. A Red Hero, dragons, eyes and blood.
His sister was rocking more violently now, gripping her knees so that he could see blood beneath her rabbit-skin wraps.
“They are coming for me, Rani,” she whispered. “I can feel them.”
“We’ll keep running. We should be in the Mountains soon.”
“The Khan has sent a Legion.”
“Two can move where a Legion cannot. We’ve eluded them all so far.”
She took a shuddering breath, and he squeezed her hands again.
“I’ll fight a Legion to keep you safe.”
“They will kill you if they find us.”
“They will kill you if they take you to the Khan.”
“No, not at once. Not entirely.” She took another breath, turned so he could see her sharp profile under the moon, the tracks made in her pelt by the tears. “They will find us, Rani. It is only a matter of time.”
“How can they? Do they have an Oracle with them?”
She looked at him, smiled weakly through her tears and he marveled at her face. With sixteen summers, she was a beauty, her hair dark and waving like the dunes, her white and grey pelt soft as doeskin. She was lithe and graceful, a dancer and she would have had many suitors already had it not been for her eyes. One as dark as their Mother the Earth, the other as blue as the sky at midday. She was an Oracle. She would never have a suitor because of those eyes.
“No,” she laughed softly. “They do not have an Oracle.”
“Well, that’s sad for them. I do.”
Jalair Naransetseg, daughter of Borjigin Jalair, granddaughter of the Blue Wolf, laughed again. Her voice was like music on the wind.
Her brother, Naranbataar, took a deep breath, sifting the air for the smell of soldiers. What he caught was antelope.
She grinned, for she had caught it too and together, they scrambled to their feet to hunt.
***
He breathed in deeply as the tea flowed over the lip of first the pot, then the cup, causing the patina of the clay to gleam and glow. Chancellor Angelino Devine de Fusillia Ho was taking the very act of Chado to an art and Kirin found himself approving. In fact, he was transfixed in this gleaming wooden room that served as the Chancellor’s office. A stick of incense curling in a distant pot, a brazier crackling with warmth, the sound of tea brewed then poured.
He was tired.
“No,” the Chancellor was saying. “We have had very little news from your journey. We have had a rather turbulent year ourselves.”
“Hmm.”
“She is married, our Empress.” Not even a glance.
“Yes.”
“With a kitten. Prarthana Chiraq Markova Wu.” And he smiled this time, but without his teeth. “A daughter. Kalicoh.”
The golden liquid steaming in the pot.
“It’s unfortunate that you have missed it all. But I am glad that your mission is finished. It did take rather a long time.”
Kirin set his jaw. He would not be baited.
“It is finished,” said the Chancellor and he looked up slightly as he passed Kirin the cup. “You do know that, yes?”
Kirin took it. “Jet barraDunne is dead.”
The white hand paused. As good as a splash, Kirin thought.
“Dead? I see. How?”
“Killed by a would-be Khan beyond the borders of Shiryia.”
“Would-be?”
Kirin lifted the cup to his lips. “The lion did not die.”
The Chancellor held his gaze a long moment before bending back to his tea.
“I understand that benAramis has returned to Sha’Hadin.” He sipped slowly, waiting.
“He and Major Laenskaya will be setting things to right there soon enough. With or without the assistance of Yahn Nevye.” There was not even a twitch of a whisker. The man was a master. “How did you know?”
“Kestrels.”
The Chancellor sat back on his heels, his long blue silk robes splayed out like water on a shore. His eyes were deep, heavy pools of gold. “I’m afraid there is no longer a place for you here at Pol’Lhasa. We could not wait on filling a such a position. It was a matter of national importance. You understand.”
“Of course.” It was amazing how easily it rolled off his tongue. He could hear her voice in every word, the quiet humour, the subtle threa
t. The crush of her night black hair, the flash of her eyes. “And may I ask who has replaced me?”
“An experienced soldier,” said the Chancellor, and he set his cup on the bamboo table. “An older, experienced, married soldier.”
Kirin nodded. It was the way of things.
The Chancellor continued. “But I’m quite certain we could find something for you in one of the outer posts. Sri’ Kirtipur, perhaps. You will want to stay close to your family home, surely. How is your mother?”
Kirin leveled his gaze at the man who had orchestrated all this, these two years of striving and loss. The man who had contracted a ninjah to have him killed so the Empress would be free to marry. The man who had caused the loss of his claws, his tail, his mane. He should have hated him but instead he felt nothing for this little, round, white-faced man. Nothing at all.
“My mother is well.”
“Good. Very good.”
He should not have come.
“Thank you for the tea.”
And he rose to his feet.
“I shall accompany you out, Captain.” The Chancellor too began to rise, but paused, his wide face smiling. “I mean Kirin-san. Forgive me. Force of habit.”
No, he felt nothing whatsoever.
Together they left the large wooden room that served at the Chancellor’s office, navigating the many stairs and hallways that made up the Palace of Pol’Lhasa. No one watched him this time, although many paused to bow to the Chancellor as they passed, fist to cupped palm. No one bowed to him. No one even noticed him.
Finally, in the Outer Court at the Red and Gold Door, the Chancellor stopped, allowing Kirin to walk the long stretch of hall to the door alone. Leopards watched them both, as even now servants and civilians moved into and out of the Palace. As Kirin walked, he cast his eyes around the chamber, so colourful and high, beginning to shine in the first rays of morning. He drank it in, the blackened cedar beams, the mosaics of glass. Every surface painted with history. The heart, soul and will of the Upper Kingdom.
He did not belong here anymore.
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 77
