“Perhaps my brother could finish his story,” interrupted the Captain. “We can talk Ancestors another night.”
“Thank you, dear brother. Now, where was I?”
“Traveling by land and sea,” said Fallon.
“Ah yes. And thank you, sidala. So after nine months less a day, they finally came to the Nine-Peaks Mountain, and the Cave of the Great Stone Lung, a Dragon of Enormous size and strength and appetite…”
Even Sherah was spellbound. Everyone loved a tale of dragons, for they were rare, as rare as behemoths and leviathans and monsters, and they are even still most powerful. “Was it Fire, sidi? A Fire Dragon?”
“Oh, of course, sidala. A great Fire Dragon, and as he lay there blocking the mouth of his cavern, the trees shook when he breathed in, and smoke came out of his nostrils when he breathed out.”
She made an eager humming sound, something the Captain had never heard from her before. He shook his head, confounded.
“But they could see the treasure beyond, oh yes they could. Gems and jewels and gold and jade in piles and piles, up to the roof of the cavern in some places. It set all their mouths a-watering, it did. So, first the dog. He stepped forward, pulled out both long and short swords –“
“Dogs do not bear long and short swords, Kerris,” said Kirin firmly. “They have no skill or honor.”
Kerris stared at him a moment, expression flat, before continuing. “Forgive me, brother. So the dog pulled out his great, heavy, pitted iron blade, more useful for smashing than slicing, for it is common knowledge that dogs have nowhere near the grace of cats and envy them for it.”
Kirin grunted in approval. Kerris went on.
“And the dog proceeded to charge the Great Lung, swinging the blade in a clumsy arc toward the massive red head. But…” he looked ‘round his audience. “The Lung simply opened his mouth and gobbled the dog whole, and a puff of brown smoke came out of one nostril.”
“Hah!” Ursa liked that part.
“The cat next, a fine lion of golden pelt and mane stepped forward, drawing both long and short swords…” He glanced at his brother, who simply nodded. “…And began to spin the swords, for he was kenshi - spinning and slicing and whirling blades, around and around and around. In fact, it was a marvel to watch the skill, the precision, the sheer beauty of the art, but alas, he too was gobbled up in a single mouthful, with a puff of golden smoke arising from the other nostril.”
He didn’t look at Kirin this time. He knew full well what he would see there.
“So, finally, the monkey. He sat for some time on a rock near the entrance, thinking and puzzling and thinking some more. He did not want, after all, to end up a tasty fortune cookie after the heftier meals of dog and cat. So he sat for a very long time, as the dragon slept and slumbered and snored, on a rock near the entrance, thinking and puzzling and thinking some more. But after a week less a day, the monkey pulled out his koto and began to play. It was a sad tune, lonesome and forlorn and very, very sad, and when he added his voice to it, the Great Lung was spellbound, for it is also common knowledge that dragons love music and that monkeys sing beautifully and while they smile all the time, they are frequently quite sad. So the monkey sang song after song and soon, the Great Lung gave a huge shuddering breath, and a single tear rolled out of his eye and down the side of his scaly face and into his long fiery moustache. The monkey reached out a hand and caught the tear, dabbing one finger in it and put it to his tongue, for it is finally common knowledge that the tear of a dragon grants immortality to those who taste it. And so, the monkey was granted eternal life, and because of this, accrued more wealth over the course of his never-ending life than the Dragon ever had in his possession.”
Again, his audience was speechless and he smiled at that. Finally, he dared a glance at his brother.
“Perhaps this monkey lives even today. Perhaps he lives very far away from the Eastern Kingdom. Perhaps he lives… even in Swisserland?”
As expected, the golden head shot up, brow darkening at the suggestion. “You think Solomon a monkey, Kerris?”
All heads were watching now, for this was a question that concerned and intrigued all of them. Even Ursa, severe, pragmatic Ursa, was watching.
Kerris shrugged. “Why not? We only assume he’s a tiger. And our dear Scholar believes him to be a dog. Why not monkey?”
Kirin thought on this for a while, the Seer’s one-eyed gaze weighing heavily upon him.
“Whatever Solomon is, brother, it does not change our duty.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
No one dared breathe.
“This soul has killed six of the Council of Seven. Need I remind you of this?”
“So, this is retribution, then?”
“No, we are to find this soul…”
“And?”
It was so uncomfortable, the tension thick and dark now. Only Kerris could have gotten away with asking such questions, ignoring the blatant warning in his brother’s tone. Only Kerris could give voice to everything they were wondering themselves. Still, it was dangerous, and he seemed oblivious.
“And?” he asked again, pressing.
“And return him to Pol’Lhasa, for the Empress to decide his fate.”
There was no more comment for a long while, as each and every cat pondered the possibilities therein. And, much to Kirin’s relief, Solomon did not come that night.
***
They bowed most formally to each other, fist to cupped palm. As Ursa watched, she could not tell who had bowed the best, for they were both flawless. She knew now that they would try at every turn to outdo each other. One had the sword, the other had chosen the staff – folly, she knew this as well. A sword was generally superior to any staff, but still. Shah’tyriah. kenshi, bojutsan or just plain shaolin, it didn’t matter. Weapons were weapons. The skill was in the using.
They circled like old sham’Rai, wary yet anxious for the onset of the match. The Captain’s long sword swung and arced like a harvesting blade, flexing and testing and preparing to strike, whereas the staff sat quietly across the back of the Seer’s shoulders. He looked not ready in the least, but Ursa was not fooled. She had seen him with the swords. He was not so old for nothing.
They were putting on a demonstration for her students, for they themselves had no need of her instruction. She had insisted the Seer learn from her, but the Captain had intervened on his behalf, and she was forced to concede. Men had their ways, their little ‘understandings.’ She was certain this was how the Seer had managed to avoid execution so many years ago – some unwritten ‘understanding’ that allowed Petrus Mercouri to bypass Imperial law. Men were men. It was the way of things.
So, the civilians watched from the sidelines as the Captain and the Seer squared off, one with the sword, the other with the staff. The leopards at least watched properly, as observers and students. Two civilians were entranced, the other bored. She had little patience with any of them.
Fallon Waterford squealed and clenched her fists under her chin. “Ooh, ooh, when are they going to start? Ooh, I can’t watch! Ooh, look at them!”
Sherah al Shiva watched quietly, golden eyes fixed on the movements of the Captain. She said nothing, merely watched, plaiting many thin braids in her long dark hair and humming in strange, exotic keys.
Kerris was on his back, looking at the clouds.
Ursa smacked him. “Watch and learn, idiot. It’s your turn next.”
“Why should I fight when I have you, my love?”
She was about to smack him again, when the sound of a strike echoed through the little clearing and even Kerris rolled over on his belly to see.
They had begun.
The Captain had hit first, a ginger slap of the long sword, blade turned flat in case he actually hit his target. Wounding the Seer would have been satisfying, poetic justice even, but ultimately unprofitable, and he knew he would have to make adjustments to his fighting to ensure there would be no blood. His first strike
was easily rebuffed by a swing of the staff, the hard bamboo making a loud snapping sound throughout the clearing.
The Seer smiled.
Grinning, the Captain advanced. Swing, block, strike, parry, they continued thus for several minutes, tentative at first then growing more sure, the Seer evading all attempts at a blow, before one end of the staff rebounded off the short sword and flipped to crack the Captain on the side of the head.
“One point for the Seer,” laughed Kerris.
“Very well, sidi,” said Kirin, rubbing his head with his palm. “I shall no longer go so easy on you.”
“As you wish, but there is only one way to beat a rug,” purred the Seer, and his confidence boiled Kirin’s blood. And so he began again, more quickly now, swinging both long and short, his movements precise, his skill undeniable. The Seer was forced back, and back again, and it was only a matter of time before the long sword sliced a thin ribbon of red by the left side of the Seer’s face, just under the infamous scar.
“One point for the Captain,” said Ursa, gloating.
Sireth dabbed his cheek. “That was close, Captain.”
“I will not hurt you… much, sidi.” He turned toward the ‘students.’ “The Seer is blind in his left eye. Therefore, it is a weakness. In any battle, it is not only prudent but important, to use an opponent’s weakness to your advantage. It could mean your life.”
The Seer was staring at him, head cocked, like a falcon.
“Sidi,” asked the Captain, gripping his blades, stepping back into the fighting stance. “You have a comment?”
“No. No. Not at all. But thank you for reminding me of somethings I had forgotten.” And that said, he grabbed the staff with both hands, assumed the bo stance, and closed his eyes.
Kirin’s heart sank.
It was breathtaking how they went at it, Captain and Seer, lion and mongrel, pure form and rough art and mutual skill, as each and every blow from either sword was met with an equal block from the staff. It was as if the Seer knew his movements ahead of time, which of course could have been true, given his gifting. Things grew fierce in very short order, as if all pretense of care had been cast aside and the lust for battle assumed control. In fact, Ursa became very aware of the increasing intensity, as she knew her Captain well, and she began to wonder if they had at some point crossed a line and this ‘demonstration’ had become something more, perhaps an assumption of the challenge made and accepted so many months earlier. She wondered if there might not be blood spilled after all.
The Seer seemed to press the attack onto the Captain’s left, causing him to brace and pivot on the knee that had been damaged by the rats. Ursa had to admit it was a good strategy, for she could see the strain on her Captain’s face. Still, after several long claw-biting minutes, it was clear that the lion had the advantage, being younger, stronger and in his prime as a soldier, and finally, after both swords and staff had locked impossibly in perfect balance, the Seer staggered backwards, and dropped down on one knee, panting.
He laid the bo onto the grass, out of breath. He smiled. “I yield.”
A cheer went up from the group, as secretly they all needed the Captain to win. They were all dependent on him for their very lives. He needed to prove himself in this arena, and naturally, he had. It was the way of things, and for once, the ‘way of things’ felt very, very good.
The Captain, on the other hand, shook his head and extended a hand. “No, sidi. It is a draw.”
The Seer raised a brow. “Preservation of honor?”
“Of course.”
“Unnecessary. But thank you.”
And the Seer accepted the offered hand and was pulled to his feet. As one, they bowed to each other, fist to cupped palm, and another cheer rang out from the group. Fallon Waterford jumped to her feet and turned to the snow leopard.
“You can teach me to fight like that?”
“You?” Ursa grunted. “You are hopeless.”
“Teach me now. Right now. Give me a lesson right now. Please, oh please!”
Ursa crossed her arms and appraised the eager tigress. She made a sarcastic noise in the base of her throat. Her long marbled tail whapped the ground once, twice, three times. “Very well. I will give you a lesson. If you fail, you will wash all the tack and the horses. Do you understand, little tigress?”
Eagerly, Fallon nodded her head.
“Very well. Mountain pose. Arms at your sides. Weight evenly distributed on both your feet. Knees slightly bent, head up, chin out. Perfectly straight and balanced.”
“Okay, okay, yes, I’ve got it. Now what?”
Ursa appraised once more. “Now stand.” And with that said, she turned her back and walked away towards her Captain and her charge.
“Stand?” called the Scholar. “For how long?”
The snow leopard did not turn. “Until I say.”
Unfortunately for Fallon Waterford, Scholar in the Court of the Empress, the snow leopard did not return for some time.
***
That day had promised to be a perfect day.
In fact, if ever a day could be promised as a perfect day, that day could have been it. The morning had begun with a remarkable fight between lion and mongrel, to a draw no less. The horses had grazed then hunted down, cornered and killed a big desert mountain sheep, which the cats had roasted and shared with feline and equine hunters alike. The Alchemist had found a bee’s hive and raided it for it’s precious stores, filling skin after skin of the sticky combs. Kerris had slipped in and out of the hot springs like a turtle slips in and out of the swamps. And Fallon, poor over-eager Fallon, stood. Just stood. From early morning to well past noon, she stood, fearful of the Major’s wrath, aching from tip to tail from holding the position. No one inquired of her, for they knew her well enough. Indeed, it was approaching supper and still, she stood.
The Seer was meditating atop an outcropping of rock, knees folded, arms loose while the falcon slept in a crevice higher up. From here, he could see the vast expanse of flatness that was the desert province of Hiran. It was flatter still that Khanisthan, flatter and yellower and even more tea-stained than ever. But you could see anything coming toward you, whether it be storm cloud or caravan, behemoth or army. Truly, some things were an advantage.
He opened his eyes.
It was growing golden-dim, the strange sunlight dwindling for hours before true sunset, most unlike jungle or the Great Mountains. A wind had picked up, and clouds had begun to gather, and the Seer had the sense of rain. Of storms, actually, although he was no Geomancer. It was likely only age that sent the aching through his bones.
Of course, he thought to himself, it could also be the beating he had received this morning at the hand of the Captain. That, he decided, would be with him for days.
Slowly, he became aware of eyes watching him.
“Yes, Major?” he asked. He enjoyed the way she was looking at him.
She was poised as if to spring. “You did well with the bo this morning.”
“Yes.”
“You learned this at the monastery?”
“Yes.”
“You were trained in the sword as well.” It was not a question.
“Yes. But I do better with the staff.”
“Are you sha’Holin?”
“No. Simply Seer.”
“Hm.”
He studied her in the fading sunlight, her narrowed eyes, so pale, so skeptical, her tiny mouth, pursed in thought. Her wild curtain of hair, silver and marbled like rough fabric, lifting and falling in the rising wind. Yes, he thought. A storm was coming.
And suddenly, without warning, she sprang. Like a falcon diving for a hare, or a carp leaping for a dragonfly, she was upon him, pinning him to the ground and being the monk that he was, he did not resist, merely fell back under her to the hard rocky ground. Her arms were steel cords, her tail lashing, her long straight hair covering his face and shoulders. Her eyes were fierce, pupils wide, and he feared for a brief moment that she wa
s about to finally kill him.
Instead, she kissed him.
It was a fierce kiss, more teeth than anything, and it was done before he even knew what to think. She withdrew back into a crouch, eyeing him, tail lashing in agitation.
He propped himself up on his elbows to study her. His lip was bleeding and he wiped it with his glove. He glanced from her to the glove and frowned.
“What…was that?” he asked.
“Idiot. That was a kiss. Not like you would know.”
“A kiss? That is not like any kiss I’ve ever had before…”
“Pah. I am not surprised.”
“That was more like an assault.”
He had still made no move to get up.
“What would you know?”
“I would know a kiss given in love.”
“Idiot. There is no love.”
“There is only desire and the sorrow that it brings.”
“Yes.”
He cocked his head.
“Oh yes my wild Empress, there is desire. And there is sorrow. But there are many many other things. And there is indeed love.”
“Brahmin.” She spat the word.
He smiled. “Untouchable.”
“That too.”
“I meant you.”
She snarled, and he braced himself for another ‘kiss’, but it did not come. He rolled up and onto his knees. First his cheek this morning, now his lip. Would he come through this journey with pelt intact? “Come closer.”
To his great surprise, she obeyed.
“Closer.”
And still she came. They were knee to knee.
The sky was purple now, leaving the pink behind in streaks near the earth, last tendrils from the golden light of the sun. High above them, the falcon chirruped, awake and aroused from the disturbance and just beginning to think about mice, rabbits, pigeons and her stomach.
“If …I loved you,” began Sireth, “I would kiss you very differently.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Yes,” he continued, pulling at the fingers of his gloves, one by one. Her breathing changed but her expression did not. “I would be very deliberate and very careful when I kissed you. And when I say ‘careful’, I mean, ‘full of care’, like this…”
To Walk in the Way of Lions Page 8
