She made no move, knowing that to do so would be to rob the servant of honor. The girl rushed to the bedside, folding back the layers to allow the Empress to ease her tiny feet into the slippers set there for her. With great care, the girl took the carefully folded red kimonoh and slid in over the arms which were spread wide in waiting, and she wrapped the sash several times, binding it at the back with a cinch. She took the pair of satin pillows also laid carefully out, and dropped first one, then the other onto the floor so the tiny slippered feet would not touch cold, early-morning floor, lifting and laying each as the Empress made her way to her prayer room, which had pillows galore for her feet, and every other part of her.
The Empress turned and slid the rice-paper wall to close herself off from all intrusion, and the maidservant knelt on the floor obediently, lit a stick of incense and waited for a very long time afterward.
***
We had but eight summers to our credit, and Father had decided it was time to take us on a hunt. Now this was not a normal hunt, where fathers and sons go out into the jungles to take down a bushbuck or gazelle or wild boar. No, with the family Wynegarde-Grey, everything had to be perfect, larger than life. An event.
The party was comprised of twenty or so attendants and fellow nobles of other various royal houses. I cannot remember the details, although perhaps I could if I put my mind to it long enough. We rode Imperial horses and in palanquins and slept in tents that could house families, let alone kittens. Ate the finest pheasant and gazelle and guinea fowl, all prepared by servants. It took us weeks to arrive at the destination somewhere deep in the heart of Hindaya, and within seven hours, we had our trophy – a one horned behemoth with skin like armor in plates across its flank. It was an ugly creature, and I was confident that we had done our Kingdom a favor in ridding it of such a beast. I had sent many arrows into its hide, but Father delivered the killing blow. I had never seen such blood. I’m not sure how it affected me. I will never know how it might have affected Kerris for he was not there.
It was going on evening when we found him, playing with sticks at the edge of a huge river. He had been completely unaware of our hunting success, never being particularly concerned with the lessons of tooth and claw, sword or bo. Father had initially been furious with him, but with Kerris, it is so taxing to remain angry, especially when he had made what he thought was an important discovery about the nature of river currents, so Father simply laughed and scooped him up, allowing him to clamber up his back for a shoulder ride back to the camp.
I had never been given a shoulder ride. Not back to the camp. Not anywhere. That was not Father’s way. He was the Captain of the Queen’s Guard. He commanded legions of men. He did not ‘give shoulder rides’ to kittens. I understood this fact. Kerris never did.
And so, I followed them several paces behind, and the servants followed me, and as we neared the camp, Kerris began pointing at the sky, claiming the skies were calling him again. Now, he had talked about such things before, but no one truly believed him. He always had such an active imagination. But that evening, as the noble guests of the Wynegarde-Grey hunting party waved and cheered Father’s return to camp, the skies began to thunder, and Kerris released his hands from Father’s neck and raised them to the sky.
It was unlike anything anyone in the camp had ever seen, and other than myself, would never see again. The lightning forked downward and split, just at the point where Kerris’ small grey hands reached them, and both kitten and sire were picked off the ground and flung wildly backwards into the trees. Myself, and one of the servants also, were thrown, but we weren’t as close, so it was only Father who died.
Kerris remained asleep for days. His mane – which had then been longer and straighter than mine – was burnt short and given such texture that it would never, could never be tamed again.
And now that I think about it, neither would he.
-an excerpt from the journal ofKirin Wynegarde-Grey
***
Everything was so loud.
Too loud. His heart beating like a war gong, the blood rushing through his ears, the breath entering and leaving his body. The sound of weeping, the sound of arguing, the sound of whispers. Too loud, for there was also the ringing.
He tried to sit up, to command someone to stop the infernal noise, but long, strong hands pushed him back down and he could not see, everything was black and loud and suddenly, a bitter taste on his tongue, sharp and powdery and the world grew quiet once again and he welcomed it.
***
Chancellor Angelino Devine d’Fusillia Ho was worried.
It had been days. Five days to be precise. Five days since the Empress had locked herself away in her prayer room and had not come out. Five days of the Empress living on tea and incense alone. Five days of lying to her many ministers, telling tales of weariness, of travel, of schedules and appointments. He paced, back and forth, back and forth, outside her chambers, weighing the indiscretion of bursting in on her and demanding an explanation, against the very good likelihood that he would lose his station, not to mention his head, if he did so.
He had not heard from Jet barraDunne in weeks.
This was wrong, all wrong, and he had been a fool to allow himself to be talked into it. The falcons of Sha’Hadin were all dead or gone, cliff-side nests destroyed by some unnamed hand. Monks and priests and acolytes had fled the monastery, and Yahn Nevye had done little to improve things there. In fact, it seemed he had made the situation worse.
So, Sha’Hadin had no Seer.
Agara’tha had no Mage.
Pol’Lhasa had no Captain of the Guard.
And now, it seemed, the Kingdom had no Empress.
Yes, he fumed under his breath. He was right to be very, very worried.
As if on cue, the great gold and blue door that signified her chambers’ entrance peeked open a crack and a small, fine-boned handmaiden slipped out. She gasped as she was met by the Chancellor – she had not been expecting him there, it was obvious - but she composed herself well and bowed in a woman’s bow, with the knees and the eyes. It was perfect.
“Sidi,” she whispered.
“Where is she?” he demanded. “Why has she withdrawn like this? This is unacceptable. Completely unacceptable! There are decisions to be made. Treaties to be signed.Policies to be accepted.”
“She has been fasting, sidi. And meditating, She wishes to speak with you now.”
“Naturally.” He huffed and smoothed his robes. “Now?”
“If it pleases you, sidi.”
“It pleases me.”
And Chancellor Angelino Devine de Fusilia Ho swept into the most holy of holies, the sacred chambers of Empress Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu.
***
It was noon before the Scholar awakened.
In point of fact, it may have been earlier, but she only sat up as the sun was zenith in the sky, and she looked around, confounded.
The Alchemist was the first to notice as her horse was following immediately behind the little cart, and like so many months ago on the carapace of the Great Wall, she stepped off her saddle and into the cart, the little pouch bobbing with her as she went.
Her elegant hands felt the Scholar’s forehead, her cheek, her throat. She peered into the great emerald eyes, which seemed to be peering right back. She smiled.
“How are you feeling, little sister?” she asked softly and Fallon blinked a great wide blink, making an odd gesture with her mouth as she did so.
“FINE!” she shouted. “JUST…CAN YOU KEEP IT DOWN A LITTLE?”
The Alchemist smiled again.
“WHY IS EVERYTHING SO LOUD?!”
The little cart rattled to a halt, and suddenly, there were several faces peering in on her, nestled as she was between the canteens of water and bags of rice. The Seer hopped from his horse, clambered up to sit on the side of the cart, reached for and took her hand in his.
“Khalilah, you are with us.”
“YES! WHY WOULDN’
T I BE?”
She saw the Captain ride into view and he studied her, brow dark. She thought he looked very tired. “It goes away,” he seemed to be telling the others. “It was like that for me for how long? Two days?”
“TWO DAYS? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”
The Alchemist laid a hand on Fallon’s knee. “You needn’t shout, little sister. We can hear you.”
“OKAY!”
The tigress looked around her. She was indeed in the cart, which was being pulled by one of the desert horses, and they had taken the fabric from one of the tents and constructed a covering for her to keep her from the direct sun. The terrain was somehow different than before, flatter, more golden, and she wondered how long she had been riding like this and why.
So she asked.
“HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN RIDING LIKE THIS, AND WHY?”
The faces exchanged looks with each other. It did not look like a good thing.
“You have been asleep for five days, little sister,” purred the Alchemist. “Nothing would rouse you.”
“OH!” She tried to remember but it was just out of reach. There was simply too much noise inside her head.
“But you are well, now, Khalilah. You are back with us.” The Seer squeezed her hand, and it seemed that tears were welling in his eyes. She wondered how the blind one could cry.
She noticed her hand.
“OH…” And again, the looks exchanged. Ursa was in view now, riding the grey. Fallon thought that was good, but that her hand now looked remarkably similar to both horse and rider.
She pulled it from the Seer’s grip.
It was white.
In fact, it looked as if she had pulled on a white striped glove, for the orange started somewhere just beyond her wrist. She glanced at the other hand, stunned to find the same strange sight.
She glanced up at the faces. “MY HANDS? WHAT’S HAPPENED TO MY HANDS? WHY ARE THEY WHITE LIKE THIS?”
The Alchemist reached down, pulled the shift away from her feet. White feet. Like stockings, returning to orange just past the ankles. And her tail, white stripes alternating with black, melding into orange somewhere halfway. She began to have difficulty breathing.
“UM, UM, OH MOTHER, IS THIS A DREAM? WHAT HAS HAPPENED? PLEASE, SOMEBODY TELL ME!”
There was a terrible silence. No one would look at her. Finally, the Captain prodded his horse closer.
“You were struck by the lightning, sidala. You are very lucky to be alive.”
She did not shout this time. “The lightning…?” And much to everyone’s amazement, a huge smile split her face. “OH yes, the lightning! It was wonderful! He just reached out into the sky and called it down. He didn’t use words, of course. At least, I don’t think he did. Just caught it with his hands and everything went so so very white… then black…”
She was giddy from the memory, and she clapped her hands, then winced. “Ai… too loud…” She put her hands to her head, pressing them into her hair. She paused, frowned, scrunched up her fingers. Again and yet again, the looks between the others. She nabbed a lock, pulling it up to her eyes.
White.
“…mother…” she whispered.
The Alchemist reached out and stroked her head. “It is not all white, little sister. There is much orange and some black. But there is white.”
“It…it feels weird.”
“It ripples. Like white water over rocks.”
“It looks lovely,” assured the Seer. “Different, but lovely.”
She stared at him, not sure whether she could trust him or not. He would say anything to make her happy.
The Alchemist reached up for her satin pouch, which somehow seemed a little fuller than before, and brought it down so she could see her face. True, it was a distorted, red version of her face, but in it she could see the ‘difference.’ Her hair, which had flowed like a waterfall from her forehead now leapt like white water, bending and curving in many directions, curling in and over itself, and in the front, there were two large streaks of white, pure white, that started at her hairline and bent and curved and leapt to the tips. It was wild, untamed, dangerous. Not at all her.
But it was her face that startled her the most. Like her hands and feet, her face had significantly more white than before. Around her eyes, nose and mouth, down her throat, the splashes of white were now broad strokes of it, the orange almost secondary, and she looked as though her father had been a white tiger. Her now white hand dabbed at it, touched it, stroked it. It was so very different, and she found herself suddenly grow weary in the wake of it.
“Sleep, little sister,” purred the Alchemist, and her long strong hands pushed the tigress back down into the cart. “Sleep and we will discuss these things later.”
“Five days?” the tigress mumbled under her breath. “I’ve been asleep for five days. I can’t wait to tell Kerris…”
And she slipped off to add to the sum.
There was silence for a heartbeat, before the Captain wheeled his great Imperial horse away from the cart and bolted off into the desert.
***
Chancellor Angelino Devine de Fusillia Ho slipped out of the great gold and blue doorway which was the entrance to the chambers of the Empress. He closed the door quietly and stood for a long moment outside in the corridor, his body waving ever so slightly as if unstable.
Swiftly, methodically, he walked down the long high-walled corridor, turned and turned again, down innumerable corridors, down flights of stairs and through innumerable doorways, until finally he pushed open one door, a black-stained cedar door which was the entrance to his own chambers, not quite so great, not quite so holy, but his own nonetheless.
Once inside, he stood for a long moment before buckling to his knees. He laid hands flat on the floor, and released breath after breath after breath.
He could not believe it.
He could not believe what she had told him.
He could not believe he had lived to see this day.
And he raised his hands to the ceiling, a smile so wide splitting his already wide face and laughed a silent laugh, disbelief and praise and thanksgiving all combined as in worship to the Unknown God of fate and Irony.
The Empress, his dear, beloved, wildly willful Empress, had agreed to marry.
Lions and Tigers and Bears
The Daraband was packed that evening, as he sat at a table under one of its many treed canopies. In fact, the trees in TheRhan’s northern business district formed a ceiling of branches that swept from building to building like netting. Some unfamiliar trees were flowering now, preparing for late summer fruit and the smell of them made the night air heavy as with incense.He cupped a large bowl of hot tea and allowed his eyes to roam the crowds, gritting his teeth at the sheer number of faces. He had been waiting for some time now, in this packed and bustling “underground’ marketplace, alone and growing impatient and he wondered how much longer he would be able to control his rising temper.
With silent grace, a jaguar slipped onto one of the stools next to him and Kirin looked up from his tea to study him. A jaguar, one with seven rings on his left ear and very little left of his right, a stud in one lip and several tattoos branded on his pelt. Older than himself, younger than the Seer. Slight, steely, street-wise.
A possibility.
“You the Captain, then?” the man asked, his accent rough and uneducated. Imperial was not his native tongue. Kirin should have dismissed him at once. But there was something about his eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “And you? Rhan Agoyian?”
“Just Rhan. Where you going, then?” Desert green eyes. Sharp, hard, intelligent.
“To Shiryia. The very edge of the Kingdom.”
“Why?”
“That is none of your concern.”
The jaguar named Rhan Agoyian smiled and pulled out a flask of what was probably sakeh. He took a swig, gave an exaggerated swallow, and turned those sharp eyes on the lion. “None of my concern, is it? Then I guess I�
��m done here.” And he rose from the table, moved to leave. The Captain reached for his arm.
“Please sit, sidi. It is Imperial business, but… I will tell you what I can.”
“Fair enough.”
The man sat back down. Waited. Kirin took a deep breath, stared into his tea. The night was cooling down, the nightlife heating up. Lanterns and candles and torches burned from every crevice, and the smells of roasting meat, smoke and liquor floated on the breeze. Someone was playing a lone setar, another a tey. There was laughter and conversation everywhere. Most cats would love this. The Captain, however, was not ‘most cats.’
Agoyian seemed to sense this. He shrugged. “Right, listen. You don’t need to tell me nothing. I’m fine with that. I’m very good at what I do. I can take you to the border, but I won’t go beyond. That clear?”
“Yes.”
“You know my fee?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll not be accepting Imperial promises. I have a wife and sons back home.”
“I understand.”
“Just answer me a few questions, and we’ll have ourselves a deal.”
Another deep breath, a long sip of tea. It felt good in his throat. “I will try.”
“You alone or you have a party?”
“There are 8 of us, plus horses.”
“All Imperials?”
“3 civilians.”
“You from Pol’Lhasa then?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you get this far without a guide?”
His heart thudded once. Pushed his emotions deep, deep down. “We had a guide. He is no longer with us.”
The jaguar smiled, but his eyes did not. He leaned forward, wagged a hand in the air. He was wearing fingerless gloves. He had black claws. “Now see that? That intrigues me. Why is your guide no longer with you? He dead?”
“No.”
“Just gone, then.”
“Yes. Just gone.”
“A guide leading an Imperial party, being paid with Imperial coin, just up and leaves. Funny how that happens.”
To Walk in the Way of Lions Page 10
