“Ulaan Baator,” Setse said now. “Red… oh red what, Rah?”
“Hero,” added the Alchemist and she rose to pass Naranbataar a cup of tea. He shook his head, eyes locked on the figure of his sister. She smiled and turned back to Setse, lifted his tea to her own lips. “Ulaan Baator means Red Hero.”
“Blue Wolf. Yellow Cat. Red Hero,” said Sireth. “Isn’t Dharma a colourful mistress?”
And with a smile, he offered her his hands.
“No,” growled Ursa.
“Uguyai,” growled Naranbataar.
But she took his hands and closed her eyes to colours bleeding into morning.
***
He was so cold that he could barely feel his feet. He was a jungle cat, hated life in these miserable mountains. Even with skins and furs and a pelt like his, he was sure he was going to lose his ears or the tip of his tail and he cursed the morning he left his bed for the company in the stables of Sha’Hadin. He should have stayed in his room, would have been rid of the arrogant Seer and his fearsome wife. Could have spared himself the discomfort of the last few days. Could have spared himself the ridicule.
And so he sat with his back against the cornice of the Wall, rubbing his gloved hands and watching the sun rise over the Great Mountains. He had to admit it was a beautiful sight. Despite the cold, the Mountains were a very good mother to cats. Despite the cold and the heights. Tigers were shouting now, calling to each other from the great cauldrons of orange and white flame and he shook his head. Despite the cold and the heights and the tigers.
Oh yes. And the owls.
It sat now on the snowy cornice of the Wall, staring at him. It had been there for hours since he dropped to sit where he was sitting, after the damned tigers had pulled the dogs over the Wall and the Oracle had tried to touch him. He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory, her tiny slip of a body, her long face, the blue eye that danced like moonlight on an icy lake. She was more beautiful than in his visions and he cursed her for it, ensnaring him in the unnatural, otherworldly grace of her. He cursed himself and his belligerence and his life-altering fall and the owls.
It was still watching him.
“What do you want?” he growled and it twisted its head, almost upside down at his words.
He reached down, pulled the stone smooth of snow, packed a ball in his hands. It was still watching him as he threw, watched the ball sail over its harmlessly head.
“You know,” he said to it. “There was a time I could have hit you even if you were on that tower over there. You know that? You could have been two towers away and I still would have hit you.”
It ruffled its feathers, twisted its head the opposite way.
“You look like Chancellor Ho.”
It blinked one eye.
“Yes, you do, with your flat face and bulging eyes.”
It blinked the other.
“Silence,” he said now. “Hunts in Silence.”
The owl hopped, lifted its wings, settled again.
“I don’t talk to owls. I won’t.”
The owl lit from the Wall and suddenly, he could hear singing.
Her singing, her voice. She was in the tower, the main tower of Shen’foxhindi with the arrogant Seer and his terrifying wife and she was calling him. She had been calling him all his life. He could not help but come.
There was a Yellow Cat, there was a Blue Wolf, there was a Red Hero and there were dragons, flying dragons that soared like arrows through the sky. And dogs, so many dogs, and Eyes and swords and death and the world filling with blood. Eye of the Needle, Eye of the Storm. A deadly barter, a trade of lives, of love and death, of steel and bone and Eyes and white, the world was turning white of the moon—
“Come, sidi. Now!”
He gasped as he was yanked him to his feet and dragged away from his little perch on the Wall. It was a soldier and there was shouting, much shouting, louder now and commanding. Down the long road that was the Wall, there was movement, there were banners and he shook the arms off, staggered to stand on his own. It was a massive army of horses and cats and some other creatures and it looked like a dragon with armored plates and scales and spines moving toward him, churning up snow on the Wall as they came. A figure in blood red and a grey ghost at his side.
“What is that?” he gasped again and the soldier, a leopard in battle dress, grabbed his sleeve.
“The Khanmaker!” the leopard cried. “The Khanmaker and the Army of Blood! Quickly, sidi, or they will trample you under their hooves!”
And he was gone, leaving Yahn Nevye backpedaling as the wall of horses closed in. He turned to run but the horses were upon him, the ring of metal, the smell of leather, the heat of their bodies, when a red-gloved hand grabbed his collar and his cold feet left the stone.
***
It was a thing unseen in the history of Shen’foxhindi as almost three thousand horses and riders poured through the tower and out through the gates. In fact, it would take the better part of the day for the last horses to leave the stone of the Wall for the earth of the town and more than one soldier dropped to sleep at the feet of his horse once there. Blankets were brought for both horse and rider and homes were opened to all. For once, sakeh flowed freely amongst the troops, as cat, horse and monkey would rest for three days to prepare for the journey to come.
In the battle tower of Shen’foxhindi, Kirin dismounted, passing the reins into the hands of a leopard. He watched as his passenger slid from the back of the saddle to the floor. It was a jaguar, a monk most likely, for he was dressed in very familiar brown robes. The horses had almost run him down and it had been fortuitous that Kirin had been able to snag his hood and swing him up behind before he had been trampled. The four of them—Kerris, Fallon, Bo Fujihara and himself—had stayed on the Wall as Li-Hughes led the army out and down the steep road to the foundry but now, as his own feet hit solid ground for the first time in days, he found himself wishing to hold on to his horse for just a moment longer.
“Are we there yet?”
He looked over at Kerris as he helped Fallon off her mount. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she sagged into him, looking ready for bed.
“Yes, luv. We’re there.”
She smiled sleepily.
“‘Cause I’ve been thinking about how we’re gonna get two thousand monkeys, five hundred cats and almost three thousand horses over the Wall.”
“Have you now?”
“MmHm. I have an idea. A really good one. Do you think there’s cocoa?”
Next to them, Bo Fujihara sprang from the back of his horse, slipped a handful of sweets from his pocket and up to its mouth. The horse chewed happily as it was led to the stables downstairs. Both Fallon and Kerris showered Quiz with hugs and kisses before he too was led to the stair, disappearing into the darkness and the smell of hay and sweet grass. Shenan and young aSiffh were led off and soon, the room was left to cats and one small, fair, pink-faced monkey.
The lion of the garrison bowed to him.
“Captain Yuri Oldsmith-Pak,” he said. “It is an honour to have you in our tower, Shogun-sama.” His eyes flicked to the monkey. “All of you.”
“And you lit your white cauldrons just for us,” sang the ambassador. “To make us feel welcomed, of course.”
Oldsmith-Pak had no answer for him and Fujihara smiled like the sun.
“The honour is ours,” said Kirin as he pulled the helm from his head, tucked it under his arm. He did not bow in return. “This will be a difficult few days for the town with this number of soldiers and horses. I am certain you will not disappoint your Empress.”
Oldsmith-Pak bowed again.
“I have never been so far inside your Empire,” said Fujihara. “Only and ever Kohdari.”
“Pol’Lhasa then, when we return,” said Kirin and he turned to the monk who was leaning against a wall, eyes wide, a furrow between his spotted brows.
“I hope we did not spoil your meditations, sidi,” he said. “Once moving, a force lik
e this cannot be easily stopped.”
“Who are you?”
“Right to the point,” Kerris laughed. “How very like a monk.”
Kirin ignored him. “My name is Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, Shogun-General of House of Thothloryn Parilaud Markova Wu.”
“That sounds so wonderful,” murmured Fallon. She was leaning on her husband’s chest, eyes half closed and smiling like a sleepy child. “Shogun-General Wynegarde-Grey …”
“Oh…” But the jaguar swallowed, eyes widening. “Of course…”
“And you, sidi? You wear the robes of Sha’Hadin.”
“Yahn Nevye,” said the monk. “We’ve never met. Ever.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Fallon, suddenly awake. “Yahn Nevye? Council candidate Yahn Nevye? Yahn-the-man-who-cannot-speak-to-falcons-Nevye? That Yahn Nevye?”
“Um…”
“You assumed control of Sha’Hadin,” she said, smiling brightly. “I know ‘cause I was there. Not at Sha’Hadin. On the Wall. But I was at Sha’Hadin, just not when you were there. We were on the Wall. Sireth told us. Remember, Kerris?”
“Is the Seer here, then? Sireth benAramis?” Kerris cocked his head. “Because I could have sworn I saw that damned falcon, the one who likes to sit on heads.”
“Mi-Hahn,” grumbled Fallon. “I hate that bird.”
“Upstairs.” Nevye swallowed again. “In the keep.”
Fallon squealed, clapped her hands. “And Ursa? Is Ursa here too?”
Nevye nodded, swallowed again.
Kirin turned to Captain Oldsmith-Pak. “These people are dear friends of ours. I would like to see them before we make any plans for the rest of the army. Is that acceptable, Captain?”
“They are under guard, Shogun-sama.” The lion looked worried.
“Under guard?” Kirin frowned. “The man is a member of the Council of Seven. The woman serves with me in Pol’Lhasa. Why should they be under guard?”
Captain Oldsmith-Pak exchanged glances with Nevye.
“I’ll take them,” suggested the jaguar. “I, I should take them.”
“Yes, please,” said the lion. “Take them.”
Kirin frowned again. This behaviour was very strange.
“Then take us, sidi,” he said.
“Right,” said the jaguar and he pushed himself off the wall. “This way.”
Kerris grinned. “Brilliant.”
And they all trotted up the many stairs that led to the keep of the Battle Tower of Shen’foxhindi.
***
It is an amazing thing to note that for brothers so different, there are times when they were remarkably the same. They were, after all, sun and moon, Yin and Yang, opposite spokes of the same wheel. The four of them followed the jaguar up the winding staircase that led to the keep and there were leopards, fully armed, at the door. They stood aside as the Shogun-General pushed open the door and strode in.
The room smelled of incense and five pair of eyes looked up.
What would have been smiles and greeting quickly dissolved into the song of steel when, in one smooth motion, two lions pulled katanahs on three of the guests.
Quickly, Sherah al Shiva dropped to one knee as Kerris’ blade froze inches above her neck.
Likewise, Setse shrank under the Blood Fang, her brother pulling the bow from his back, an arrow aimed directly between the blue eyes of the lion.
“No!” Sireth benAramis rose to his feet. “Captain, no!”
There was silence in the keep, save the breathing of lions.
“I should kill you now,” snarled Kerris. “What you did to him, to me, to all of us. I should take your head off right here, right now!”
Sherah did not look up.
“Kerris,” said Fallon quietly, taking his arm.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”
The woman said nothing.
For his part, Kirin was transfixed. The Fang was silent, its red blade gleaming in the sunlight from the window, yearning to spill canine blood. The Fang was silent but the lion was not, and his growl was deep, almost visceral. The Scales of the Dragon whipped from side to side and the archer leaned back, pulling the string taut on the bow.
“Captain,” warned the Seer. “They are not your enemies.”
“This is wrong,” Kirin growled. “This should not be.”
“Why is she here?” snarled Kerris again, his blade hovering ever so close to the cheetah’s spotted neck.
“They are not your enemies,” repeated the Seer.
At his side, Ursa did not move. Yahn Nevye could not, for he was caught in the drama of the sight, knowing that it could quite easily be his neck on the line, and that at some point, if this was the same lion—Jet barraDunne’s lion—it would be.
Bo Fujihara watched it all with small, quick eyes. He was a smart man. There was far more going on here than simply the presence of Dogs.
Slowly, like a dancer, the girl with one blue eye lifted to her feet.
“Ulaan Baator,” she whispered.
Her brother growled something but still she moved forward. She moved like a breeze, quiet and soft, forward again until she stood directly in front of the golden lion in blood red armour. She took the point of the Fang in her palm, pressed it until it raised a drop of blood between the pads. She moved it then to the layers that covered her heart. All the while, she kept her eyes fixed on the lion, did not look away.
“Kuren Ulaan Baator,” she said again. “I knew. I saw.”
All eyes were on the lions and the women at the points of their swords. No one dared speak, no one even dared breathe until a very strange thing happened.
A baby cried.
No one moved. It was a most unexpected thing. It did not belong in the room, this night.
“A baby?” asked Fallon.
There was a second cry and a tiny figure flailed from under the hides.
“A baby? Who has a baby?”
“I do, little sister,” said the Alchemist. She did not move, her eyes were fixed on the floor, Kerris’ blade still a breath away from the arch of her neck. “It is my baby.”
“You have a baby?”
“Yes,” she said. “His name is Kylan.”
“Kylan?”
The baby wailed and thrashed and a tiny fist could be seen from the blankets. Kerris gripped and regripped the katanah, uncertain and unsure.
She finally looked up, golden eyes pleading.
“Please, sidi,” she said. “My baby.”
“Her baby,” said Fallon and she squeezed his arm. “Kerris, please.”
With a lash of his grey tail, Kerris sheathed the long sword and stepped back, allowing the cheetah to turn and gather the infant into her arms.
“Captain?” urged Sireth but Kirin’s gaze was fixed now on the cheetah. She held the child to her chest and could not bring herself to look at him.
“Sherah?” Fallon moved over to the woman who had once been a friend, lowered herself next to her to get a better view. “Did you say his name was Kylan?”
“Of course,” said the Alchemist.
“That’s Namyanese,” she said. “I learned it in the University.”
Sherah said nothing.
“It means unicorn, doesn’t it?”
In fact, no one said anything. No one said a word. No one dared.
Fallon looked up at the warrior in red.
“It means Kirin.”
There was not even a breath in the room.
It was a very long moment before the golden lion lowered the Fang and slipped it into its sheath. He turned and exited the room.
The breathing returned some time after.
A Council of Ten
I have loved Ling from the moment I met her. It was in the Imperial nursery—I had perhaps four summers, she perhaps two. The first thing I did was to stop my lessons, lower my brush and stare, not because she was the daughter of the Empress, not because she was accompanied by peacocks, but because of her eyes. I had never seen anything like them. Her fa
ce was ebony, her cheeks dotted with red paint, there was even a bead of jade on her forehead, but all I saw were her eyes. Large, deep and brilliant gold. I was lost from that moment on.
The first thing she did was push me down and pull my tail. I suppose she was my Empress even then.
This woman has golden eyes.
She sits on the snowy parapet surrounded by candles that flicker with unnatural light. They are Alchemy candles. They are not dampened by the snow or put out by the wind. Her hair is loosed and rises and falls around her face, calling like come hither fingers. I remember the feel of it under my hands, which is surprising because my hands were bleeding and raw at that time. Or perhaps it is a trick of the mind. She is good at that.
It is dawn and I have spent the night alone, wrestling with my fear. I never used to wrestle with things. Life was understandable, my path straight. But then again, I never used to have fear. Fear changes things. That is one thing I do understand.
I could have killed the dogs last night. I think I would have had it not been for the baby.
I don’t know what to make of that.
Kylan is Namyanese for Kirin. Can this be possible? It was one night and I was almost dead. At least, I think so. I barely remember. What does that say about me? What does that say about her?
She is a liar and a deceiver. Kunoi’chi. Untrustable, a shadow. What is she doing with the dogs? Why did she bring them and here, of all places? What does she know that no one else does? I should ask her but she would answer in riddles. The Jade Fang could take off her head. Bushido would demand it. It would be a clean kill, an honourable death. It would be poetry.
I think about asking her but I see movement in the snow at her knees. It is the baby, the one with the bicoloured eyes. I will not look on him for I may be forced by Bushido to kill him too. I have never killed a baby. I can’t imagine it would be difficult, not even if he is my son.
She turns her head, sees me watching from the shadows of the battle tower. There is a strange tightening in my chest and I wonder at that. We hold the look for a very long time before she turns back to the candles and the baby.
I linger a moment longer before returning to the tower and my fear.
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 91
