by Unknown
Behind the screen a small tapestry covered the wall. As she examined the scene, apparently depicting a battle with demons, it ruffled, as if by some breeze. She pulled it aside to reveal a dark entrance. Biao Mei had come to stand by her.
“That is interesting,” he said.
“It is,” she said, wondering if they should explore it. But before she could decide the two cats leaped past her and into the darkness. Muttering another colorful metaphor she followed.
Just inside they found a basket of dry wood staves suitable for torches. They lit two from the butter lamp and followed the cats down the narrow defile, apparently a crack in the rock of the mountainside. Ahead they could see the passage widen. As they stepped out into the open space they stopped, Lin Mei gasping.
If the treasure in the Norbu Pema had been a surprise, this was a shock. The cavern was large enough to hold the main temple building. And piled high within were stacks of treasure that made those in the Norbu Pema pale by comparison. Not even the treasure room of the Son of Heaven could compare. Their practiced eyes catalogued their find. Wealth from all the lands they knew about was piled high around them, and much they did not recognize.
“What is this place?” Biao Mei breathed.
“No mere monastery,” Lin Mei replied in a whisper. Her mind tried to make sense of it all. Before them was wealth accumulated over centuries from the richest kingdoms of the earth, donations from the devout as well as profits of astute trading. Her earlier realization that the monks were the true rulers of these lands came back to her. Here was wealth to hire armies, bribe rulers, and upset the balance of trade across the world. All held and managed by monks who spent their days in prayer and meditation in cells bare of any comfort but a small mat to sit on. She wondered how many other monasteries held such wealth.
And power, she reminded herself. Wealth and power always went together. She wondered if the rulers of the lands knew of this, the khans, kings, Iskanderi, and assorted other lords of the temporal world. She doubted it. Not even the most devout piety would stay their greed if they knew.
With a chill she realized the implications. If the Emperor, and his advisors, learned of this, the Empire’s armies would march west, under whatever pretext. The Tifun Khans would march north to defend their lands and seize the treasures of the monasteries. And the nomad khans would lead their hordes south to defend their faith and enrich themselves as well. The lands of the far west, their home and their world, would be wracked by war for generations.
A hint of danger crossed her mind. The cats, indifferent to the wealth about them, were eyeing the dark entry way behind them. Lin Mei reached out with her mind and melded her senses with theirs. She heard the sounds of men moving about, and scented the smell of unwashed bodies and rice wine.
“Nomads,” she whispered. She heard a click as Biao Mei loosened his sword in the scabbard. She looked about. The cavern was large, but the stacks of goods piled high about made narrow passageways that could be defended by two swords. Even so, if they had to fight the nomad’s greater numbers would be decisive. But maybe they would not find the entrance to the cavern.
That was not to be. Lin Mei’s face hardened as she heard shouts, and the sound of men coming down. She looked at her brother. He nodded and they drew their blades. Suddenly they saw a torch-bearing swordsman before them. More followed. Grins split the nomad’s faces as they saw they had only Lin Mei and her brother to deal with. Lin and Biao backed toward a narrow space between stacked bales of silk where they might sell their lives more dearly. With their faces lit by the torch bearer in the lead the nomad’s looked demonic as they advanced. To add to the moment the cats were hissing and spitting in agitation. Suddenly she grinned. A silent command sent them to the top of the silk bales.
“Our torches,” she said. “Toss them!” As an example she sent hers over the heads of the nomads to fall on the sand behind them. In sudden comprehension Biao did also. They were now in semi-darkness. Lin Mei’s mind reached out once more, pleased as she sensed that Biao had caught her intention.
She was caught in a wave of dizziness as she adjusted to what she was seeing. Part of her was still seeing their attackers as they advanced in darkness, but she was also seeing them from above, in that eerie yellowish light that accompanied the cat’s sight whenever she joined with them. Then the dizziness passed, and she was clear headed once more.
“Yah!” Biao Mei yelled, advancing and thrusting with his sword into the throat of the torch-bearing nomad before them. He fell, tripping one of his companions. Lin Mei thrust her own sword at the back of his neck as he fell forward.
And suddenly they were in a savage, frenzied fight, as they fought with cat sight melded with human sight against foes fighting in darkness. In the space between the stacked bales there was little room for the nomad fighters to swing their short curved swords and axes, but Lin Mei and her brother were able to use their swords to thrust and parry. Bodies fell before them.
But more came, and Lin Mei and her brother were slowly being pushed back. Still they fought on with grim determination, but it was only a matter of time. Already they could see other nomads clambering up on the bales to try and get above and behind them. Lin Mei paused for a moment to wipe sweat from her eyes, breathing heavily. Above she saw a swarthy face leering down at them. Others joined him atop the bales.
Then a snarling roar split the darkness. Stunned, everyone stopped fighting. Above her she saw the nomads’ mouths gape open in surprise.
A dark form jumped over then to land atop the bales. A swipe of a paw sent the nomads tumbling down onto their fellows, red spurting from gaping wounds. A massive head tilted down to look at Lin Mei for a moment, and then the tiger leaped forward to land among the nomads. Claws ripped men open and jaws crushed their skulls as the giant cat tore through the horde. More than faith defended Taktsang Palphug.
#
They were once more in the room where they had first met Narrayam Dorjhe, once more sitting before him. He took a sip of tea from his cup. Cups of tea were on trays before them, untouched. If he was offended by their lack of manners he gave no sign. Lin Mei eyed him carefully. They had been allowed to keep their weapons, but that gave no comfort. They were in danger, and no number of blades would help.
They knew too much. They had seen the power and wealth of the monasteries. The world would rock with war if that knowledge were to be let loose.
“Kalsang Rampa and Kunchen Lobsan served two masters,” Narrayam Dorjhe said softly. “That is a bad position to be in.”
“The Tifun Empire was the other one?” Lin Mei asked quietly.
“That and the Bon faith,” the lama replied. “The Bon clergy resent that the teachings of Enlightenment have come into lands they once held to their own faith, and the khans distrust our ties to lands beyond their grasp.”
“So he and Kunchen Lobsan were the ones who reached out the nomad khans, with promise of wealth to lure them here,” Lin Mei ventured. The lama smiled thinly.
“They are together once more.” Lin Mei did not ask what that meant.
“Tenzin was working for me, helping set a trap,” he went on. “The sacred scrolls Kalsang Rampa and Kunchen Lobsan sent to Chuluun Battar contained a message informing him of the wealth to be found here. Chuulun Battar brought a small party disguised as an honor guard for Tenzin Yonten. He apparently felt he needed no more. To reach Taktsang Palphug they crossed the Ang-Xi Corridor. Once they learned of what they could gain by sacking the monasteries, nothing, not even their faith, would have stopped other nomad bands from coming. The Tifun Khans believe they can stop any invaders once they reach the mountains, and maybe they can, but the Son of Heaven’s ties to the west would have been cut. Tifun would have what it has long desired.” He tilted his head slightly to look at her. With a shock she recognized the look. She had seen it the night before looking down at her. He chuckled.
“There are some of us, here and in other places,” he said.
“We ha
ve heard stories,” she whispered.
“People always tell stories. Sometimes they are true.”
“Tiger-men,” Biao Mei said in a low voice.
“Some are wolves, among other forms,” the lama said, stopping to take another sip of tea. “But I wish to discuss you. In particular, what you will report. Do not dissemble. I am aware of your true calling in the service of the Emperor.”
Lin Mei looked sideways at her brother. He gave a look she knew. They had long ridden together in dangerous lands and understood each other. He would follow her lead.
“We came to meet Kalsang Rampa,” she said carefully. “We met briefly when we arrived, but he was killed by a tiger before a proper meeting could take place. After investigation of the situation here we conclude that an alliance between Tifun and the nomad tribes is unlikely.” The lama smiled.
“It is,” he agreed. He took another sip of tea. “We keep the balance among the powers,” he went on. “Carefully measured gifts appease the greed of the rulers, our wealth maintains the balance of trade, lessening want, and our teachings of peace assuage the adventuresome spirit of the young warriors. There are occasional small wars, but that is all. But tell me, what of you?”
“We are servants of the Empire,” she said, carefully measuring every word. “Our reports serve the interests of the Son of Heaven, and the Empire. Peace is in the interests of the Empire.” The lama nodded approvingly. He had no fear they would say too much. The monasteries had a long reach.
And with that a grim peace settled into her. They had lived most of their lives beyond the Empire’s borders, holding to a belief that they would someday return to claim what had been unjustly taken from them. That had been a childish fantasy. Too much time had passed and what had happened in their childhood had been forgotten as new political realities hardened, and those in power strengthened their grip. More, they had lived too long in the western lands. Their thoughts, customs, and habits were no longer what they had been as children.
Ro Min was a loyal servant of the Son of Heaven. She would report fully what they told her—even if it meant war, the loss of the Western lands, and her own eventual death. But Lin Mei and Biao Mei had left the empire. The western lands were now their home. They might continue to undertake missions for the Empire, but it would be as hired swords.
“I will not keep you,” Narrayam Dorjhe said. “And it is time for my meditation.” Lin and Biao Mei bowed low and left.
Outside their horse waited, saddled and ready, along with two more pack horses with heavy bundles. The cats rode atop the packs with the ease of long experience. The monks holding the reins explained they were gifts from the abbot, in appreciation for their aid. And for our silence, Lin Mei thought. She thanked them and they mounted and rode out.
Outside on the road leading down she spoke to her brother. “I will make the report to Ro Min,” she said. He nodded.
“You usually do,” he said. “You understand matters of intrigue better than I do.” She looked at him.
“I would not say that,” she said. They had reached the bottom. Ahead lay paths leading east and west. “Let us go home brother,” she said. They turned west and rode.
****
Author’s Note:
I’ve been a big fan of the Modesty Blaise books since high school, and had read all the books, as well as the short stories, but I had never read the comic strips since they were printed in the U.K. When I found there were compilations of the strips at the local library I checked them out and began to read them. One was The Black Pearl.
Like my story, it takes place at the Taktsang Palphug Monastary. For the purposes of my story I invented a cave that runs deep into the mountain. The Black Pearl also has a cave that runs deep into the mountain. For the purposes of my story I included a were-tiger. In Peter O’Donnell’s story the Black Pearl is a Himalayan Black Bear. I was surprised as anything when I finished the story, which I know I had never read before. While I would never compare myself with Peter O’Donnell, I was struck by the similarities. By the way, in The Black Pearl, the bear takes a liking to Willie Garvin, Modesty’s right-hand man, which is only natural since he usually gets the girls.
Airs Above the Ground
by Michael H. Payne
Readers of previous volumes will be familiar with this non-human mage. Cluny is a squirrel, and her familiar Crocker is human. But there are some things that no magic can save you from, and a visit to your judgmental family is high on that list.
Michael H. Payne continues the whole library clerk /church singer-guitarist /web-cartoonist /college radio thing, and in the last year he has also sold a story to what he hopes will be the first of many anthologies devoted to the new My Little Pony phenomenon. Check hyniof.livejournal.com for details.
****
“No way!” Crocker crossed his arms and settled himself more firmly in his desk chair, shiny and squeaky like everything else filling their new dorm room. “And that’s final!”
Cluny blinked up at him from the blotter pad, her neck fur prickling. Crocker? Acting assertive? And was she imagining it, or had his round, doughy face firmed up a bit from her first sight of him at that pre-frosh mixer eleven months ago when he’d introduced himself, the only human to do so that whole night?
Of course, with all the people who’d tried to kill them since then, she supposed it would’ve been even more surprising if he hadn’t begun making some sort of progress from bewildered novice to semi-bewildered sophomore....
Still—and as much as she hated herself for having to do it—Cluny knew she couldn’t let him forget who was the sorcerer here and who was the familiar. So with a sigh, she put on her ‘small helpless woodland creature’ expression, the one with the big eyes, her paws clasped, her tail puffing up over the tufts of her ears. “Please, Crocker?”
That made him blink, and she could smell him wavering, the cozy, supportive feeling she always got from his magic wrapped around hers suddenly more than a little itchy. “It’ll be bad, Cluny,” he said, his voice cracking. “And I mean bad bad.”
A snort from Shtasith, the firedrake draped over Crocker’s bedstead like a black and gold scaly necktie. “Should you wish a true definition of that word, Crocker, I will relate several anecdotes from my years within the Realms of Fire.”
Crocker scowled at him. “Or you could just breathe on me, Teakettle! That’s the worst thing I know!”
Flexing his nostrils, Shtasith gave a greenish puff, the rotten-egg stench making Cluny wince. Crocker groaned, leaped for the window, the tiny tornado Cluny had conjured to stir a breeze in the August Friday morning heat ruffling his black curly hair. “That!” Crocker shook a finger at Shtasith. “A weekend with my folks will stink exactly like that!”
Cluny flared her claws, stretched the tornado’s tail into Shtasith’s cloud, sucked it outside. “I’m sorry, Crocker, but if we’re truly going to come together as a team, balance each other, and keep each other honest, we need to—”
“To what??” His anguish folded Cluny’s ears. “Totally humiliate me??” The half-angry, half-queasy look on his face was like nothing she’d ever seen there. “My folks already thought I was a blot on the family name before I got the lowest passing marks possible on the Huxley entrance exams!” He flailed his arms. “And now I can either pretend I’m a crazy, ultra-powerful super wizard like Master Gollantz wants ev’ryone to think, or I can tell ‘em the truth: that they were right all along, that I’m not good enough to be a wizard, that I’m nothing but the world’s only human familiar!”
The regular shimmering of Shtasith’s magic around Cluny became hot as flame, the firedrake leaping into the air above Crocker’s bed, his translucent wings beating so fast, they looked more like smoke than anything else. “You would denigrate the noble profession to which we have both been summoned?? You would insult our mistress, the most powerful sorceress in this or any other plane of existence??”
“She’s a squirrel!” The sudden contempt in the word h
it Cluny like a physical blow, startled her back a step, Crocker’s white face turning red. He focused a gaze sharp as shattered glass on Shtasith and jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “I’m the human here! I’m s’pposed to be the wizard!”
Cold gripped her like the time she’d fallen into a barely thawed stream back home, and the squeak she couldn’t keep from escaping her tightening throat drew Crocker’s attention, his anger vanishing, his mouth falling open, his eyes bugging out. “I...I didn’t...didn’t mean—!” He spun, dashed for the wall, slammed into it with a shower of sparks, and Cluny felt the surge of the teleportation spell she’d designed for him.
A whoosh, and Shtasith landed on the desk beside her. “Ungrateful simian!” His long neck snaked his head around, his eyes whirling fire directly in front of her. “Shall I hunt him down, my Cluny, and teach him the error of his—?”
“No.” It took some effort to keep her voice from shaking. “We’ll both go, and when we find him, I’ll do the talking.”
He nodded, and Cluny reached out, touched a paw to his shoulder, let herself slip sideways with him between the layers of existence, the bakery-hot air of their room dappling into a certain green and shady glade deep within Eldritch Park, the semi-wild woodland that sprawled through the center of the Huxley campus. Ferns sprouted between the rocks, the stream trickling behind them, a shimmery little breeze whisking around the branches above, and sitting among the roots of the old tangled willow, Crocker in his grayish robes looked more like an oversized mushroom than anything else, his legs drawn up, his arms wrapped around them, his face pressed against his knees.
Discomfort jabbed Cluny like a pawful of splintery wood. She’d always thought Crocker liked being her familiar...
