Sireth closed his eyes and leaned into her hands.
“Release the Magic or my falcon will eat the eye of the Eye of the Needle.”
“Nooo…” moaned the voice inside their heads.
“You may have his eye, sidiStorm,” hissed the cheetah in the tiny twisted ear. “But only if you release the Magic.”
“We never release the Magic,” it gurgled. “We ARE the Magic…”
And it dropped a massive hand to the bonestick and swung it up like a spear into the neck of the cheetah.
***
The Blood Fang swung, the Jade Fang sang, and he moved through them all like a wheat field. Arrows whipped past his face, thudded into the yori but still he moved. It was a dance, the dance of war, the Chai’Chi’Chuan with other dancers struggling for the footing but he would give none. Take the legs out from under one, take the arm off of another, he moved slowly but steadily through them all in his inexorable search for the Khargan. He could hear the screams as the horses ran men down, their hoofs lethal, their fangs deadly, their bodies alone unrivaled weapons on the battlefield. Once again, he missed alMassay, his best friend for so many years. He prayed the stallion was fighting battles wherever horses went when they died.
It was dark and lightning flashed down from the skies. Kerris, he knew, using whatever he had to take these enemies down. And truth be told, the dogs were enemies. There was nothing that could change that simple fact. Step, swing, slice and block. There was no road, there was no glass, there was no eye of the needle. There was only life and death and how the Bushido played out in between.
He would kill every last dog on this field as he danced this dance toward the Khan.
***
The eyes of the Khargan. She wanted the eyes of the Khargan.
The Oracle slipped through them like a weaver, her dagger leaving holes in flesh the way a needle leaves holes in fabric. Dogs, cats, monkeys, she did not discriminate, all were victim to her borrowed blade. From the corner of her eye, she watched the lion, watched how beautifully he killed. It was like a dance, she realized, a dance of blood, so she set her mind to do the same, to kill as many as he did, if not more.
She wanted the eyes of the Khargan. She would kill everyone in her path until she got them.
***
The claws would have sliced him open had he not been quicker but it stomped with one heavy foot and caught the tip of his tail, likely breaking a bone or two under the weight. He swung round with the rock again, connecting on the side of the bear’s jaw, sending a tooth flying out but he managed to scramble away before the creature could recover. The yellow was buzzing up the walls of the sky and the red light over the sun was shrieking like a dying rat and the collars that were around their necks were to make them fight or endure the pain. It was a spectacle, a Show of One Hundred Tricks, and they were the acrobats.
Metal
“NO!” he shouted to the arena. “Are you not our Ancestors? Is this—”
He gagged as the yellow buzzed through his jaw, threatening to push his eyes out of their sockets and the bear struck him again, sending him reeling onto the rocks. Its weight fell on him, forcing the air from his lungs and sending pain anew rushing up from his ribs. He could smell its foul breath, feel the heat as its large teeth sank into the flesh between his shoulder and neck. The rocks were calling him now as he pulled up his feet, clawed at the thighs but the strength was draining from his limbs. He raked the hairless face, spraying blood onto his cheeks but the bear tugged away, strips of grey pelt and pink flesh in its teeth.
Metal and Earth
The bear bellowed, pushed down with its arms and Kerris felt his ribs splinter under the weight. A strange lightness filled Kerris then but the metal was speaking and the rocks were speaking and there was nothing stopping him from understanding their language so he reached up and grabbed the bear’s metal collar with both hands and closed his eyes and called.
The yellow filled the entire world and the bear howled in silence, arching its hairless back, mouth wide, tongue stiff and Kerris could see blood vessels burst in the brown eyes. The yellow flowed through him and he channeled it through the muscles deep into the organs until blood burst from the nostrils and the ears and claws began to smoke. He rolled over on top of it now, forcing the yellow deep into every fibre and the creature convulsed and spasmed and its eyes burst out from their sockets and the hair on its neck sizzled and burned. Finally, there was nothing, the body as hard and dry as the rocks beneath it.
He released it then, rising to his feet and scanning the compound with eyes of lightning.
He looked down. Sparks were circling around his fists, something that only happened when his lover called, so he raised them, sending the yellow up to the shrieking red light. It exploded like fireworks, with sparks and bits of glass raining down onto the rock of the compound floor.
There was a buzz at his throat but he welcomed it, wrapped his fingers around it, calling it, embracing and doubling the energy of it and it fell away, blackened by the heat. He closed his eyes and flung his arms wide, following the metal back to the very walls themselves, sending the yellow back through its path and causing the walls of sky and trees to shatter into a thousand thousand shards of glass and metal and fire and the faces of the Ancestors now, pressed up against a compound without walls to keep them safe.
The Show of One Hundred Tricks over, a mob of five thousand turned and fled.
Then there were Bones, a trio of white Bones, marching in from one side, weapons held in their hands but he sent the yellow into them, the weapons flying from their hands, Bones flying from their feet. The rocks were laughing so he called them too, willed them to rise beneath the Bones and he felt more than watched rocks as large as men heaved up from the ground. The Ancestors were fleeing from the compound, screaming as stones burst from the earth to fly like the birds, to rise up and sail high before crashing down on the shattered remains of the wall of sky and trees. Alarms were still wailing in the distance but finally he was alone in a compound with no walls and sparks circling around his fists.
He stood for a long time, feeling the wind on his face, breathing deep the fresh air of twilight. It was twilight. He hadn’t known. He couldn’t tell.
He could see buildings, low square buildings with the crowds of Ancestors still fleeing toward them. He could see towers and fences and grass and trees and sky and clouds and rocks everywhere. He looked down to see the bear at his feet, dead as if by lightning and he felt sad, wondered how long it had been here as a prisoner and how many people he had killed, but then, he heard voices and he saw Ancestors and Solomon and his wife, his beautiful wife and he wanted to leave, wanted to go home, wanted to crawl back into his bed of skins and blankets and furs and sleep for a hundred, a thousand years.
The sparks dissipated into the night sky and his wife caught him as he sank to his knees.
***
The Snow is a remarkable thing to watch. On the battlefield, they move so swiftly they can barely be seen. Hands, feet, tails, swords, they move like cobras, they move like water and the sheer art of them is poetry to behold. But dogs are bigger, dogs are stronger and soon, even the Snow was falling under the iron of the Chanyu.
Bo Fujihara’s face was streaked with blood as he rode his horse through the chaos to Kerris’ side behind one of the fallen Deer Stones. He was wearing the kabuto of his people, tall and colourful with a red tassel from the crown, but in his hands was a long cylindrical shape wrapped in black fabric and gold cording. He sprang from his horse and passed it into Kerris’ waiting hands.
“Solomon would kill me,” the grey lion growled. “My wife will most certainly.”
“If any of us live because of this, then a death at their hands would be a welcome thing.” The ambassador sagged against the stone, looked down at the arrow sticking out of the grey lion’s thigh. “You have been hit.”
“So was Quiz. I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Quiz is a clever pony. He wil
l find high ground and snow.”
Kerris grunted, threw the fabric to the earth to reveal the weapon of the Ancestors, the strange instrument of tarnished metal and interlocking parts. The Breath of the Maiden. It looked so simple, could kill them all with a single pass. He shook his head.
“I can’t.”
“You must.”
“This was a mistake, Bo. I should have just,” he breathed out. “I should have just done this on my own. I mean, my wife is out there! Alone, Bo! Alone with the horses! What were we thinking?”
Bo laid a hand on his shoulder. “There is a proverb of my people: Both the victor and the vanquished are but drops of dew or bolts of lightning. Thus should we view the world.”
Kerris sighed.
“Kaidan,” said Fujihara. “Look at them. They love this, every one of them. They are soldiers. Nothing will stop the fighting until they believe that the Ancestors are worse.”
Kerris let his eyes sweep over the field of battle, the cats dancing with their swords, the dogs hacking with their halah’bards, the Snow moving like water through them all. The sky was dark but the red was winning.
“They must believe that the Ancestors are worse,” repeated Bo.
“The Ancestors are worse.”
“I know this too. So take it. But I am a diplomat. If I must fight, I will fight like one.”
And the ambassador put his pipe between his teeth and smiled at him and Kerris loved how smiles found their homes on Chi’Chen faces when an arrow struck him in the forehead and he went down.
Kerris staggered backwards, watched with horror as the body crumpled to the ground and lay twitching, smile still attached to the pink face. The pipe was on the rocks next to him, wisps of smoke curling from the bowl. He turned to watch the chaos, cat against dog, dog against monkey, horses running mad in the field of stones. The sky was black but the ground was blood red.
He scanned the battlefield for Fallon, knew it would be impossible with the sheer numbers of bodies on the plain, but he did see a painted horse, stumbling with empty saddle and swinging reins. It looked like hers and his heart lurched as he saw the arrows sticking out from its neck, flank, chest and spine. The saddle itself was littered with barbs.
The Ancestors were worse, he told himself as he fought the stinging of his eyes. The Ancestors were worse.
“Bolts of lightning,” he muttered. “Welcome to the Show of One Hundred Tricks.”
He hiked the weapon onto his shoulder and moved his finger across the plate.
***
Sherah screamed but did not release her grip on the Oracle of Jia’Khan. In fact, Sireth was certain she hung on faster, tightening her grip on the silk cords at his throat. As the Oracle began to weaken, the Seer steeled his will and reached up to the single eye of the Eye of the Storm. He could see it focus, the dark pupil grow sharp as it realized what he was about to do. The creature strained against their hold but the Alchemist held fast and the Seer was the husband of a warrior and so he extended his claws, shiny and black in the yellow moonlight and plunged them into the eye of the Eye of the Storm.
The creature thrashed its head, effectively pulling the orb out from its socket and leaving a string of tendon and vein. The Seer held the eye out, turned it toward its home.
“Do you see yourself, Storm? I don’t know who or what you were in the beginning but this is what you have become. It is obscene and will be destroyed by flesh and by will. It only remains to be seen how you go, and if you manage to restore any honour you may have had in your youth.”
The thrashings stilled and the breaths shuddered. The massive tongue protruded from its mouth.
“I know you hear me,” said the Seer. “Release the Magic and use the last of your powers to heal this woman and I will place your eye next to the eye of the Eye of the Needle when we burn you. You will stare at each other until the next life, if you are granted one.”
The Alchemist twisted the cord and finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the ground thundered as the Oracle sank to its knees. Sireth pulled the dagger from his robes, the one given to him from his warrior wife and slit the cords that led from the eye. He dropped the eye and the creature sagged onto the stone, his breaths coming in long shuddering sighs.
Slowly, Sherah removed herself from the Oracle’s back. The arm of bone was still embedded above her collarbone and Sireth moved around to help her. He grasped it with both hands, hissed as the dark chi burned his pelt, but he pulled it out swiftly, tossed it to the ground where it turned to ash and blew away on the breeze.
She fell forward and he caught her in his arms.
He smiled down at her, stroked her night-black hair.
“An eye for an eye, a life for a life.”
She smiled at him.
“Of course.”
And closed her kohl-rimmed lids under his tender hand.
***
There was a hum, then a thick beam of light that flashed across the night sky and every soldier—Imperial, Dog and Snow—stopped, utterly breaching their instincts and their training. Circles glowed for a long moment in several of the Deer Stones, before crumbling entirely, leaving large holes open to the night sky, crackling edges of charcoal and smoke.
Every man on the Plateau of Tevd stopped to stare as Kerris leapt onto a fallen Stone, sweeping his eyes across the plain. Far in the distance, a group of cats, dogs and monkeys were still fighting under one of the few Deer Stones left standing. He looked down at the body of Bo Fujihara, smile frozen beneath the arrow. He snarled and looked up, hiked the weapon and moved his finger across the plate once again.
The beam sought out the Stone and it glowed for several moments, its shape a sharp contrast against the darkness of the night. The fighters bolted, dropping their weapons as the Stone crumbled into dust, leaving only the sharp smell of blue in the air.
There was a blackness pressing down on him, the stench of death, the weight of shadows. He fought it off.
“Next?” he shouted. “Who would like to taste the Breath of the Maiden? Come on, people? Cats? Dogs? Monkeys? Who?”
There was silence on the holy Plateau of Tevd.
“I know. The Khargan! Where’s the bloody Khargan?” He swung the weapon around in a large circle. “He can breathe the Breath of the Maiden, then tell us that we still need to fight.”
His tail lashed and he swung the weapon around, fighting the heaviness to stay on his feet.
“Come on? Where is the Khan, the bravest of the brave? Is it too dark?” Sparks began to appear like fireflies out of the dark sky around his fist. “How about a little lightning, then? Drops of dew, bolts of lightning? Makes things so much easier when you can see who you’re killing…”
“Be gaz’uul, saaral ma’uul,” snarled a voice and a large dog stepped out of the darkness and up to the Stone. Kerris could see the golden manes of lions woven through his iron hair, the rings and rings of claws around his neck.
“Finally,” said Kerris. “My name is Kerris Wynegarde-Grey, Kaidan of Pol’Lhasa. It is an honour to meet you, oh great Khan.”
But he did not lower the weapon, nor did he bow.
The Kharagan grunted, gestured with ala Asalan.
“No,” said Kerris. “You can’t have it. You have no idea—”
The massive sword swung and the grey lion staggered back as the Khargan leapt onto the stone. Kerris swung the weapon up but the air shrieked with the sound of arrows and one after the other, three bolts slammed into the flesh of his upper arm and shoulder. He spun and dropped to one knee, the weapon clattering to the Stone at his feet.
Small eyes flicked down, large hands gripped the Lion Killer sword.
“Saaral ma’uul,” growled the Khargan. “Kudal oroj? Urgah dokai?”
Kerris’ head was spinning but stepped over the weapon, shielding it with his body. Using his left hand, he slid the katanah from the sheath at his hip.
“This is not the way, Lord Khan.”
“Ugui gui, Saaral,” and
the dog shook his head. “Minii te saingui bain.”
And he began to spin the kushagamak.
Kerris was so very tired. He missed his wife, he missed his kittens, he missed Bo Fujihara, dead for less than a heartbeat. Truth be told, he missed Jeffery Solomon, his Ancestor and friend. But the crushing weight was bearing down on him, a blanket of stone falling across his vision and he realized it was the Necromancer, pressing his life into the dust. He took a deep breath, raised the katanah when another arrow whistled, striking him in the left shoulder and sending the katanah sailing across the stone and to the ground. Sparks showered up like fireworks as he staggered back again and high above their heads, clouds lit up as lightning leapt from black to black. Thunder rumbled across the sky and soldiers began to murmur.
“Five arrows,” he muttered under his breath. “Maybe that’s what it means.”
Bleeding and spent, Kerris sank to his knees. Snow began to fall on the Plateau of Tevd.
“Khan Baitsuhkhan, First Khan of Khans. Son of the White Wolf, Father of the Jackal, Ruler of the Chanyu…” He sighed, shook his head. “Why can’t you see that the world is so much bigger than the North?”
“Teneg khuur,” grinned the Khan and he raised the Lion Killer high above his head.
Suddenly, there was motion and a red-clad figure leaped onto the Stone, stopping the blade with a red sword in a clang of steel. Sparks showered down across the stone. Kerris looked up, tried to smile.
“Hello, Kirin.”
His brother snarled and the dog stepped back, grinning.
“Asalan.”
“I am Kuren Ulaan Baator,” growled Kirin, lowering the Fangs and he rose high on the Stone. “First Shogun-General of the Fangxieng Dynasty, Consort of the Empress and Lion of the Noble Houses of Pol’Lhasa.”
He raised the Blood Fang once again.
“I am the Khanmaker. Fight me, Bear. If you dare.”
And he leapt off the stone and walked slowly out to the center of the plains, deliberately turned his back to the Khan of Khans.
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 110
