“Nah,” said Fallon. “Our people can handle it.”
Kerris laughed nervously.
“And what about light?” asked Kirin. “That mine will become very dark very quickly.”
“There are oil lamps,” said Summerdale. “And torches, although we will need to light them as we go.”
“Not a problem,” said Sireth and he turned his brown eyes to the mouth of the mine. One by one, the torches along the walls began whoosh into life and glow, causing shadow to retreat farther and farther down the throat of the cavern.
He smiled proudly and his wife swatted him from behind.
A sound began to echo, growing louder and louder and a mass of blackness rushed toward them like a fist. The cavern roared with the thunder of wings and suddenly, an entire host of bats was upon them, spooking the horses and forcing them all to duck to avoid being struck but even so, the beating of their wings and the screeching of their voices left them as bruised as a night in a hailstorm.
After a long moment, they were left with only the stomping of the horses and the sound of their own breathing and the wind.
Mi-Hahn swept into the cavern, settled on the Seer’s shoulder, the remains of a bat in her talons.
“That was disgusting,” moaned Bo Fujihara.
“Idiot,” growled Ursa.
“Sorry,” said Sireth.
“I told you the earth was sick,” muttered Kerris. “It just vomited bats.”
“Well,” said Fallon. “At least, they’re all gone.”
“If there is nothing else, shall we go?” said Kirin. “Now, Kerris, please?”
For some reason, all eyes fell onto the grey lion.
He swallowed, cast his eyes around the dark, grinning mouth.
The earth was laughing.
“Right,” he said, springing onto Quiz’s back like a hare. “Let’s go.”
***
Kerris Wynegarde-Grey woke to find himself once again in a jail cell.
It was not altogether an uncommon sensation, for it was not altogether an uncommon occurrence. He had often found himself waking in various locations, from Chi’Chen palaces to watery ocean caverns. And yes, on the odd occasion, jail cells. It always involved tigers, these penitentiary occasions, and this time, he could distinctly remember stripes. A woman’s stripes to be honest. At least he was waking. The how’s and why’s of it were never particularly important to him. With a deep breath, he pushed himself up to his elbows to look for the stripes.
He was naked.
He blinked slowly, then grinned. A woman, most definitely. He tried to remember but every hair on his body was tingling and he wondered if his lover, the lightning, had paid a visit last night. Lightning was a jealous mistress. There had only been one woman who had survived the lightning and that had been the skinny little tigress he called his wife.
His wife.
He bolted to his feet, staggered as they failed to hold him, flung a hand to the wall for support.
Metal metal earth and metal
He snatched his hand away and dropped to his knees, feeling the wrath come in waves from the surface of the walls. Underground. Under the ground. He fought for control as the fear sent his heart racing but he needed his wife, he needed his wife and the thought of her became an anchor against the waves. The floor was filthy sand and it smelled of oil but he could feel it sharp and cold under his fingers so he stayed down for a long moment, simply breathing and trying to negotiate with the earth. It wouldn’t hear him over the roar of the metal and at some point, he realized he was not alone in the cell.
He looked up.
The center of it was bright as if from skylight but around the edges the ceilings were low and rusted and cast shadows as black as night. He could see yellow and green pinpricks of light moving through the shadows in pairs. Eyes, he knew, and he took another deep breath. Prisoners were generally the same, all hardened but all wronged. All easily bent to a friendly smile and listening ear. That knowledge had saved him on more occasions than he could remember, so he breathed again and again, then smiled like the sun.
“Hello,” he said. “My name’s Kerris. Anyone seen my wife?”
A hiss ran through the shadows and he watched the eyes bob and dart.
“So,” he said. “What are we here for? Did we all get drunk or something?”
A rock sailed at his head and he managed to duck in time to avoid being hit.
There was laughter from above and he looked up, shading his eyes against the light. Sunshine, and he realized that the cell was open to a grimy sky. They were underground however, and the walls here were metal and went very high up and he could see shapes peering down on him, silhouetted in the sun.
“Hello!” he called. “Do you think someone could find me my clothes? And my sword? Oh yes, and my wife?”
There was a scrabbling sound from the left and a shape barreled toward him from the shadows, leaping into the air and taking him down onto the sand. Kerris rolled out from underneath, surprised to find a bright red line spring up across his chest, a perfect counterpoint to the long white scar given him by his brother. Cheers echoed down from the silhouettes. High up, a plate slid aside and something pink and gelatinous dropped out, hitting the sand with a thump.
His attacker glared at him, and Kerris realized it was a monkey, but not like any Chi’Chen he had ever seen. Its eyes were wild, its face disfigured and it grabbed the little missile and bit into it, sand and all, before slinking off into the shadows. Shiny eyes closed upon the attacker and the snarls rose as prisoners fought over the scrap of food. A second figure rushed him, but he was ready and this one was met with grey claws and a spray of blood across the sand.
More cheering from above and another gelatinous blob, but this time, his attacker was dragged off and finished by the eyes in the shadows.
Kerris looked up, shielded his gaze once again and willing his pupils to become slits as they focused on the silhouettes high above.
The figures stayed for only a moment longer before disappearing into the sunshine and Kerris knew that he was not in a prison because of any crime he had committed. He was here deep in the belly of the earth because the Ancestors had put him here.
***
They had ridden for almost five hours before the mountain blocked their way. The end was not smooth like the floor nor braced like the walls. Rather it looked as if the mountain had merely fallen in on itself, with rocks of many sizes piled up for a long way until they were met with utter blackness.
“Okay, Kerris-your-name-was,” said Fallon. “Get to work.”
He glanced at her before sliding from the back of his pony.
He studied the rocks and beams of the ceiling, black and flickering in the torch light. Ran his fingertips along the rocky barrier, their cold hard faces, the sheer weight of the stones. They were rough and heavy and smelled of bat droppings.
“Pah,” grunted Ursa. “He’s a kitten. He can’t move a thing.”
“Hush,” said her husband and he dismounted his horse. “May I help?”
“Well, it’s not a matter of helping, really,” said Kerris. “It’s a lot of rock. I have to ask it to move.”
The Seer cocked his head, fascinated.
“It may take some time.” He turned to his young wife. “Is there tea, luv? I would dearly love a cup of tea.”
“There’s always tea.” She smiled and slid from the back of her horse. “Sireth, you can still light the fire just by thinking, right?”
“As long as we have wood, Khalilah,” the Seer said. “We will have fire.”
“I have fire powder, sidi,” breathed Rah, slipping off her dark horse like a shadow in the night. “Do you need firepowder?”
He stared at her for a long moment, before releasing a long cleansing breath.
“Yes,” he said. “We can use firepowder.”
She smiled and set to work pouring circles on the ground.
“This is ridiculous,” grumbled Ursa. “There is no ba
ttle. There is no war. We are camping in a cave.”
Kerris merely stood, arms folded over his chest, eyes fixed on the wall of rock and Kirin turned to the twenty behind him on horseback.
“We will break for now,” he called out, his voice echoing through the dark depths of the mine. “Tea for cats, water for the horses.”
“And for the monkeys?” grinned Bo Fujihara as he slid off his mount.
Kirin did not stop the smile. In the twenty that rode out that morning, there was only one monkey.
“For the monkeys, anything at all.”
Fujihara reached into his pocket and pulled out a sticky pink lump. He broke it in two.
“Marzipan,” he said and he popped one half in his wide mouth. The other he held up to his horse, who eagerly accepted. “And then maybe a pipe or two.”
“And for dogs?” laughed Setse and she too slid from the back of her horse. She gave it a big hug and kissed its flat cheek. “Tea for dogs, please Fa-llon?”
“Yep,” sang the tigress. “Tea for dogs.”
Kirin glanced at the male, standing near his sister, tense and wary. He wondered if they could drink tea with their strange faces. Cats had flatter faces, very much like Ancestors that way. No, dogs had faces like horses, bears or other animals. They were barely even people. The brother he understood. He would fight and kill in a heartbeat but the girl, she confounded him.
“Shar Ma’uul drink tea?” she sang as she danced over to where the jaguar was slowly sliding from his saddle. “Shar Ma’uul sit with Setse. We drink tea together, like always.”
The jaguar threw a look at Naranbataar, who laid back his ears and growled. He swallowed.
The Oracle took his hand and dragged him over to the circles.
The Alchemist looked up.
“It is ready,” she purred.
The Seer smiled and immediately, the circles of firepowder burst into flame, casting golden light up the sides and curved roof of the mine.
Setse clapped her hands and laughed as Fallon dropped a handful of leaves into the pot for tea.
***
This was madness, thought Naranbataar. He was sitting with cats deep in the belly of a mountain. The Magic was around the circles of flame, the yellow cat with hands of bark and the tall cat with the eyes of a dog, the grey cat and the witch. And of course, Setse, as though she belonged with this party, as if she had been with them for her entire life. He didn’t trust any of them, not even the striped woman who babbled in their strange tongue and offered him tea, or the monkey with his pipe of foul odors and his strange hairless face, but here he was, in their company deep inside a mountain, holding a baby.
The witch had given him the baby without even asking. She assumed, this woman. Assumed that he would carry it, protect it, tend it and not tear its tiny arms from its tiny body or eat it whole. That’s what he should have done. Still, he found he was growing accustomed to the weight of it in his arms, feeling its tiny claws batting at his hair or it’s teeth gnawing on the pads of his fingers, feeling the rumble of its purring against his chest. It was a better weight than many arrows.
These horses smelled terrible. He knew he should eat them too. The little one at the front kept trying to bite him and he wondered if it was true that horses could kill a dog with one stomp of their iron feet. He would never get on one. His sister was foolish for doing so. She would be the death of him.
They were deep inside the mountain and it looked very old. The floor was smooth, the walls braced with teak and reeking of bats. The ceiling was braced as well but he could see it buckling as the wood strained to hold back the weight of the stone. He hoped they wouldn’t all be crushed. That would be worse than slipping off the side of the mountain. Inglorious death was just death. It changed nothing.
The big lion wanted to kill him. It was obvious, even without a common language. He didn’t care. His life had been dedicated to preserving the life of his sister and he had managed to be successful for sixteen winters. He wondered if he killed the lion, could he be made a Khan and thus protect her all the more? Not while they were in Enemy lands, of course, but if what Setse was saying was true, they were headed back into the Land of the People. He would wait for his opportunity and then, put an arrow into his throat.
The baby was cooing in his ear now and he could not help but smile. It was experimenting with its voice. Little laughs, little grunts. No words, not for a long time he knew but still, the cooing was sweet. Setse had cooed and sung as a baby. It had been his music, along with his grandmother’s lullabies. It had been a good childhood, all things considered.
No, he would wait, kill the lion, take his sister and run all the way back to Karan Uurt where he would eat stew and yak and live in the gar of his father’s father for the rest of his life. It was a good plan. There was only one problem.
He’d never actually killed anyone before. He knew it was likely harder than he thought, so he stayed deep into the belly of the mountain, listening to the strange language of the cats and holding a baby in his lap.
***
It was an amazing sight, one I would never for the rest of my life forget. We had been sitting for over two hours, me on my knees in the Learning Pose. It was easy to sit this way, less strain on the one knee that had been wounded almost a year ago in Roar’pundih. The yori itself was bulky and getting up from sitting frequently proved difficult. The Learning Pose was efficient, graceful and allowed me to keep both dignity and a watchful eye on the twenty waiting by the fires.
From this angle, I could see my son.
The dog had it, a thought that should have boiled my very blood. The child batted and swatted and the dog was surprisingly gentle with such a youngling. In fact, he seemed to be playing with it and it set my teeth on edge. I would just as soon see the Blood Fang take off the creature’s head but there it sat, playing with my son.
My son.
I did not know what to think anymore.
Despite the fires, the air was cold and smelled of horses, pipe smoke and alchemy. I watched Bo Fujihara play dice with the Seer. Physically, the two were as different as night from day but they had struck up an easy friendship and I knew it was the matter of Race. Fujihara would never care that the Seer was a mongrel, not the way a cat would, and it seemed that once again, the way of things was set upon its ear in favour of a new and different way.
A stranger sight was that of the Oracle and the jaguar. She sat facing him, trying to learn the language and she was still holding one of his hands in both of hers. It was clear she was taken with him but for what reason, I could only guess. He was both Seer and Alchemist, but seemed to exhibit the traits of neither. While he was undoubtedly powerful, he seemed driven along the lines of fear rather than aggression or pride. It was a mystery and Alchemists were fond of their mysteries. I wondered if the man had ever known Jet barraDunne. Something in my memory made me think that he did and I made a note to ask at some later date.
Along the walls of the mine, two tigers were examining veins of ore running through the rock. Fallon Waterford-Grey could befriend a bear if she had the opportunity, and she was an eager learner. For his part, Musaf Summerdale seemed keen to share his knowledge of ores, minerals and the business of rocks with such a pupil. My new sister had a large collection in her many pockets and it was causing her trousers to sag at the waist. A strong wind could still blow her over.
Ursa stood along the wall as well, watching everyone and everything with her ice blue eyes.
For his part, Kerris merely sat, legs crossed, staring at the pile of rocks.
At one point, a feathered shaped swept in from the throat of the mine and I thought it looked rather like an owl. Soon, the cave echoed with the shrill sharp cries and young Mi-Hahn streaked in after it, beating it with her wings and chasing it around above our heads until finally, she chased it back out the way they had come. Feathers rained down on us like snow.
“Idiots,” grunted the Major.
“What?” moaned Nevye.
“It’s not my owl.”
Time was creeping by and people were growing weary and I was beginning to despair of this plan when suddenly Kerris rose to his feet and began to walk toward the crumbled end of the mine.
Just walk.
It started like a low rumble and all the horses began to snort. The sound grew quickly into a roar, the sound of grinding gears and falling trees and the very ground beneath our feet began to tremble. It looked as though Kerris would walk right into the rock wall but the stones moved out of his way.
Pulled themselves up, around, away from him as he walked deeper and deeper into the mine, arms spread out at his sides as if pushing with his palms. Soon he disappeared entirely as the mountain opened its mouth wider to suit him and all the horses that would be coming after him, wider even than the rest of the mine that lay behind us. Dumbfounded, I watched as they continued to move, climbing onto each other like brick and mortar, crushing some under the weight, forming dust and sand and fine, fine powder. The thunder of the rocks was deafening and I realized that everyone had clapped hands over their ears and the horses were dancing nervously in the darkness until finally, after what seemed like ages, there were beams of light slicing through the choking dust and then silence.
We were all on our feet now, coughing and gagging and watching the ceiling, waiting for the first of the rocks to slide back down to kill us all. There was nothing but pebbles settling to the floor and soon not even that.
The high pitch of a whistle pierced the silence and the mountain pony bolted down the long black corridor, his hoofs staccato and fading on the bedrock of the mine.
My brother was an Elemental. I couldn’t believe it. The Seer had said it, so long ago, my sister had repeated it on so many occasions. I must have known it, growing up the way we did but had never truly believed it.
Fallon stretched her arms over her head and yawned so that her tongue curled inside her mouth.
“See?” she said sleepily. “He makes great pancakes too.”
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 95
