To Walk in the Way of Lions

by H. Leighton Dickson

  “Now that would be interesting.”

  “We should go home. Restore the monastery, rebuild the Council. There is no honor in chasing a dead man.”

  “True.”

  She was quiet for some time, and when he finally mustered the courage to glance at her, he found her eyes boring tiny holes into him. It was a strange thing. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.

  “Kerris,” she began. She never called him by his name. This was strange indeed. “Kerris, do you think—“

  She never finished her strange sentence, as the Seer suddenly sat up and wiped his eyes with his gloved hands. He glanced around at them, barely acknowledging their presence, before rising to his feet, taking several steps backward and raising his hands in the air.

  There was a faint whistling sound, and the limp body of a very large hare dropped from the sky and into his grasp.

  “Haha! Thank you, dear heart!” he cried out to the falcon as she swept past high above them. “Yes, yes, east now. Find us tonight!”

  The bird dipped a wing and began to follow the river east. Sireth, for his part, finally looked at the pair by the fire, and to the Captain, now stirring from his slumbers. He tossed Kerris the hare and smiled.

  “Breakfast.”

  ***

  “Something is happening,” said Sireth benAramis as he washed the last remnants of roasted rabbit and dates down with his tea. “In fact, some-things are happening, and I believe that I am being deliberately blocked from discovering what they are.”

  “What would be blocking you, sidi?” asked Kirin. The fresh game had been a most welcome surprise, and the very smell of it had made the horses restless. Perhaps they would feel like hunting soon. He felt as if their fates may have begun to change.

  “I don’t know the answer to that. It seems that every time I get near, it slips out of my mind. I have never experienced anything quite like it. It is almost like a cloud of blackness, of deception…”

  “And the sundial,” Kerris now, emptying the last of the tea into skins. “Nothing came of that?”

  “Only devastation,” he answered. “Devastation and fire and man.”

  “Man?” Ursa sat forward, picking her teeth with a tiny bone. “Why Man?”

  Kirin glared at the Seer.

  “Ah, well…” he began, catching himself.

  “The sundial was a remnant, yes?” said Kerris. “From the Ancestors’ time. Do those things make good conduits?”

  “Yes,” said Sireth carefully. “They make good conduits.” He rapped the dusty earth with his tufted tail, once, twice, three times. As if it would help him think.“But there has been something missing, something since…”

  “Since?”

  He frowned, the rapping of his tail stilled. “Since before KhahBull…”

  “What was before KhahBull?” Kirin tried to remember. It seemed so long ago.

  “Well, if you’re talking about a battlefort,” said Kerris. “That would be Pesh’thawar…”

  “Pesh’thawar…?” the Seer repeated the word over and over, as if tasting it could trigger the missing thing. “Pesh’thawar…”

  “Nothing happened at Pesh’thawar,” said Kirin.

  “Many things happened at Pesh’thawar,” corrected Kerris.

  “Yes, yes…She kissed me…” The Seer rose to his feet, turned to face the rising morning sun. His brow was drawn, and Kirin couldn’t tell if he was remembering or seeing. He ran a finger along his lips. “Why did she kiss me…?”

  Ursa’s tail lashed once, and she spit the remains of the bone on the dusty ground.

  Suddenly, he breathed in sharply.

  “There, there and there.” He swung his hand south, east then west. “Danger from all sides. Evil and danger and death. We are surrounded and we will not escape…”

  They looked at each other, and the Captain rose as well.

  “Can you see Solomon?”

  “No. But it has begun and it cannot be stopped. Evil and danger and death. Horses and dogs and alchemy. Fire, much fire.” Sadly, he smiled. “And death…”

  “You see this, sidi?” Kirin was standing very closely now, brow furrowed, hand having fallen to the hilt of his sword of its own accord. “It is a vision?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I can tell.”

  “Is Solomon there?”

  The Seer closed his eyes, scrunched his face, but finally shook his head. “I… do not see him. He may be but I do not see him.”

  Kirin dropped his head as the will began to drain from his body. Without Solomon, this was pointless, as Kerris had so rightly said earlier. Without Solomon, there was no quest, there was no honor, there was only death, and death, without honor, was simply death.

  “It is coming again, the blackness,” the Seer went on, making scratching motions with his claws at the sides of his forehead. “Right here, trying to take away even this vision. Even this! And I have no idea how to fight it!”

  “Come with me,” and Ursa grabbed his wrist. “I can help you fight.”

  “Major,” said the Captain. “This is not that kind of fight.”

  As one, they looked at him. “Yes, “ as one they replied. “It is.”

  And as one, they turned and walked away from the fire, the horses and the lions, toward the sole tree, a dry pistachio, that stood on the plain.

  There was a moment where only the wind could be heard.

  “Right,” said Kerris. “I’m going fishing.”

  Leaving Kirin standing by the fire, wrestling with his honor, his desire, and the sorrow that they brought.

  ***

  “Sit.”

  Obediently, he sat.

  She circled him once, twice, eyes fixed, moving like a coiled snake, before she slipped her long sword from its sheath and plunged it into the dry earth between his knees.

  “Steel,” she hissed, pulled out the short and did the same with it, a palm’s breadth away from the first. “Like steel.”

  And she proceeded to create a fence with her blades - knives, daggers and shir’khins, a fence of pure silver steel. She knelt in front of him, nabbed his bearded chin between thumb and forefinger, as if he dared look anywhere else but her.

  She leaned in closely.

  “Your soul is your weapon, but you have forgotten how to use it.”

  “Yes,” he muttered.

  “You are a fighter, but you have forgotten this as well.”

  “Yes.”

  “You must remember. You must become steel once again. Look at it.”

  He did.

  “Look at its color, its shine, its symmetry. Study it.”

  His breathing became deep as he focused on the steel. The gold of the grass and the blue of the sky and the white of the snow leopard were gone. The blackness, the shadow that crept at the corner of his memories faded into silver. All there was now was steel.

  She had moved in behind him, seated herself with her knees on either side of his ribs, clasped her hands on either side of his head. She had literally wrapped herself around him, a blanket of snowy white, but still, all there was, was steel.

  “You are the last Seer of Sha’Hadin,” she was saying. “Study the steel, and become it once again.”

  steel, steel, alchemy and steel, Shakuri and alchemy, fire and steel, stolen by a woman’s kiss high in a battlefort at Pesh’thawar, blackness again and a hole in the blackness, find it, tear it, use the steel, become the steel

  He closed his eyes and was released.

  ***

  Fallon Waterford was certain her third horse would die out from under her.

  They had been going all night at a full gallop, and to the credit of the horses, they had not slowed their pace overmuch. Actually, Fallon found that sitting was much more comfortable at these greater speeds, as the animal stretched out its neck and back, flattening the top line and reducing the rocking motion to almost nothing. It would only hurt if you fell off.

&
nbsp; The blackness of the night had been broken only by the large moon and the odd torch held out in the Alchemist’s hand. This was no candle, just torch, and not even the rushing of the wind could dim it as they rode. It served to light their path as well as the moon, even better Fallon thought, and prevented what could have been some terrible stumbles across unknown terrain. Then again, these were Alchemist horses, as unnatural as their riders.

  It was mid-afternoon now and still they had not slowed. Her heart was in her throat and she couldn’t tell which frightened her more – the thought of something so terrible that would send Sherah al Shiva fleeing into the night, or the thought of meeting up with Kerris Wynegarde-Grey once again. Both caused her stomach to twist into knots and she tried to keep her mind on balancing at these fantastic speeds. If she fell asleep, she would surely fall and break something important.

  As if reading her thoughts, the Alchemist pulled her mare up sharp, hauling the black neck in a marked U, so that the animal actually skidded on the dusty ground. It took the tigress several moments to bring her own horse around, and she was met with the sight of the cheetah, bent over on her mount, clutching her middle as if struck. Her golden eyes were wide, in pain or fear Fallon could not tell, and her mouth gaped open as if she could not catch her breath.

  And from that open mouth came a scream as horrible and soul-rending as anything Fallon had ever heard, more so even, for this horrible, soul-rending scream had no sound.

  Behind her, the little red pouch stretched and writhed, twisting like a living thing.

  Fallon didn’t know what to do.

  Finally, the cheetah released a long held breath, and straightened up on her night-black mare, pushing the thick mane off her face and wiping her forehead with her arm. There were fresh tears in her eyes.

  “Sherah…?”

  “It is over, little sister. We will be free soon.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Quickly, they will be waiting for us.” And she spurred her mare onward again, as if nothing at all had happened.

  Fallon watched for a moment, before digging her heels into her own steed and followed.

  And so they rode, two black horses side by side, into a strange, hilly golden land, toward lions.

  ***

  “Sahidi.”

  “Go away.”

  “Sahidi, please, we have a problem…”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “The others are disturbed.”

  “Disturbed?” Ice-blue eyes rolled sleepily. “And how, pray, is their disturbance worthy to cause mine?”

  “The soul purse is moving.”

  With a growl and a lash of his white-striped tail, Jet barraDunne threw off his cover and swung his feet to the floor. He hated being awakened, even if it was late in the afternoon. They had been traveling for months. They deserved the occasional day spent in a soft bed. But still, a moving soul purse was not a good sign.

  “I knew she would betray us,” he muttered as he clambered out of the fine bed the Magistrate had prepared for him. “She stole my horse. She probably started that damned fire as well. Call everyone here. We will discuss what this means, once I’ve had a cup of tea…”

  And the First Mage of Agara’tha reached down to light the lantern near his bed with a simple motion of his fingers and went in search of his clothes.

  ***

  She had no more than ten summers when she killed them all.

  They had lived in a three room hut in the peaks of Kangchen’Dzongah, a good day’s trek from any village, but her father made chaang, and he made it strong, so men from all over came to drink at her father’s house. There were always men at her father’s house.

  It had started before she could remember.

  At first, it had been him alone and at night and only occasionally, but soon, as demand grew for his chaang, it also grew for his only daughter, youngest of nine born to a quiet and frightened woman. In the years they had lived in those mountains, only five had survived their first winters. It was the way of things. Before she saw her eighth summer, most nights were not her own, and even her brothers were given leave to use her as they willed. She was a pretty thing, and small, and her pelt as soft as a kitten’s. She grew to despise the creak of the floor as the curtain was pushed aside, the smell of chaang on their breath, the lies they would whisper as they moved on top of her and then left. She learned to hate very early, and she learned it well.

  One day, while playing by herself in a rock cut, she found a blade.

  It had no hilt – it was just a blade, but she slipped it into her boot and took it home and tucked it underneath her shoulders as she prepared for bed. That night, when her father came in, she slit his throat and watched him die in her bedding. Then, after she bundled her few clothes, she moved like a ghost to each of their beds, killing brother after brother in much the same silent way, until she stepped into the great room and found her mother sitting by the fire, skinning a chiwa in silence.

  They looked at each other a long moment, before her mother turned back to her work, saying nothing. Her only daughter slipped the blade back in her boot and left the house in the middle of the night, never to return.

  It will be terrible, what the dogs will do to her.

  He let out a long, deep breath, reached up to catch one of the hands that still clasped his face and pulled it to his lips. He kissed her palm.

  “Remember that no one can touch you,” he said softly. “They can do what they will to this, to the flesh, but no one can touch who you are inside. Inside, you are steel. Remember this.”

  moonlight and silver

  Her mouth was at his ear. “I will.”

  he will die in her arms

  He kissed her hand once more, before rising to his feet and gazing out at the southern horizon.

  There was a cloud of dust approaching.

  ***

  Kirin had to admit that he was impressed. His brother was quite the fisherman. He had managed to scramble down the steep incline of the river gorge and find sufficient footing on the shale bank below. Together, they skinned fish after fish, letting the thin white flesh dry in the afternoon sun.

  alMassay whinnied and Kirin was on his feet in a heartbeat. He noticed the Major and the Seer standing in the distance, hands raised to block the sun as they stared at something on the horizon. Horses, he knew it instinctively. Two, by the size and shape of the dust cloud they left, and he knew also who it was likely to be.

  His heart leapt inside his chest, even as he cursed their foolishness.

  “Do you think…?” Kerris had fallen in at his side, and Kirin threw his brother a quick glance. He seemed to be holding his breath.

  Closer and closer the riders came, until it was obvious, even with the billowing black cloaks. The pelts were unmistakable.

  Fallon sprang from the back of her horse even as Kerris was running to meet her, and he caught her in his arms and swung her around and around and showered her with kisses which she most eagerly returned. Kirin was dumbstruck at such a display so he turned away to await the Alchemist, who would undoubtedly halt her mare just steps from him and await his hand to dismount.

  She did no such thing.

  Instead, she walked the sweat-flocked animal past him without even a glance. Her gaze was locked upon that of the Seer, and it wasn’t until she was immediately before him that she halted and dismounted to stand facing him, eyes narrowed, chin held high.

  The Major was as taut as a strung bow.

  First one, then the other, the last Seer of Sha’Hadin removed his gloves.

  Kirin didn’t like this one bit. He strode towards the trio, hand on the hilt of his katanah.

  The Major stepped in front of him, hand on the hilt of her own.

  The Seer reached out, grabbed the cheetah by her milky white throat and swung her against the bark of the pistachio tree..

  “No, sidi,” growled the Captain. “What are you –“

  “Hush,” hissed t
he Major, flashing a glance at the pair against the tree, then at her Captain. “This is beyond us.”

  The Alchemist did not fight. In fact, she almost willed it now as the Seer pressed into her, eyes closed, fingers reaching into the crush of her hair.

  “No, stop this now!” Kirin tried to push the Major aside but grey arms stopped him now. And orange. And white.

  “Kirin, please no…” It was Kerris and Fallon, together with the Major. An uprising, his first thought, a betrayal, and yet…

  The Seer adjusted his grip, fingers cupping the back of the woman’s skull now, pulling her close to him, eyes still tightly closed, his own brow furrowed deeper, deeper still in a battle for remembrance and survival and steel. She gasped, her body twisting as if to get away but her hands clapped deliberately over his, clearly not wanting him to let her go. Suddenly, he released her and took a few staggering steps back, breathing deeply as if dazed.

  “Forgive me,” Sherah whispered and she sunk to her knees, her back to the pistachio tree.

  benAramis swung around, glanced first at the Captain, then – for some reason, the Captain’s brother – before extending his claws and taking several steps toward the black mare and the little red satin pouch bobbing at the end of a spider-silk tether…

  Sherah al Shiva closed her painted eyes.

  And with the force of a legion of Seers, he slashed the pouch with his black claws and every cat – the Major, the Scholar, the Captain, the Seer and the Guide - was thrown backwards with the impact. Souls, hundreds of souls, burst forth, and memories, lifetimes of memories, their memories filled them once again. Ursa with the memory of tea in a snowy mountain pass, Fallon with the memory of a white face in a bowl under the moon, Kirin with the memory of rats and armies and brothers and an Empress alone at a desert oasis, Sireth with the memory of dead men and dead wives and Alchemy and finally Kerris, poor Kerris, in memory after memory of bad choices and those not-so-bad, of snakes and avalanches and dances and jail cells and brothers, memory after memory stolen by Alchemy and beauty and volition, and every one of them was sent hurtling backwards by the force of it all, save the cheetah on her knees under a pistachio tree.