He leaned forward and kissed his brother’s head.
Breathed deep, reached for the long sword. Rose to his feet. Felt the weight in his hand, the leather of the hilt, the balance of the blade. Fought the tears that sprang to his eyes, fought them back and felt his heart grow cold and hard, like the steel of the sword itself. Released one long last deep breath before taking the two-handed stance beside the kneeling figure.
Silhouetted in the crevice of a cliff, a young tigress turns away and sobs.
Pressed into the stone of a cavern, an Ancestor turns away and covers his head with his hands.
And with a silent nod to the Tao wheel that has directed his life, a grey lion raises a blade high in the air.
***
A wise man once said:
“Is there a noble truth in suffering? Birth is suffering, ageing is suffering, and sorrow and lamentation, pain, grief and despair are suffering.”
You may know this quote.. You should by now, from your studies. Sacred Emperor Pali Sidarthah Gatannah Bhuddashtha, Second Dynasty, back in the time when there were Emperors and Pol’Lhasa was still in Shibeth. The Seers know this. The Alchemists know this. I even wonder sometimes if the army and the Empire’s Counselors know this. But most people, while they may know this, do not live as if they do.
Another wise man once said:
“There is no such thing as honor, Captain. There is only desire, and the sorrow that it brings.”
Perhaps if that man had been there, in that cavern on that particular day, to witness what was surely the greatest sacrifice in the history of the Upper Kingdom, he might have changed his mind. For on that particular day, in that particular cavern, there was indeed suffering and desire and sorrow, but there was also honor.
Kirin Wynegarde-Grey had never felt so proud.
“Kerris…”
His brother rose to his feet.
His voice was barely audible. He was certain his jaw was broken.
“Kerris.”
The blade held high in his brother’s hands.
“Kerris,” he forced the words out through clenched teeth. It was painful. “Kerris, no.”
From the corner of his eye, he could make out his brother, blinking, shaking his head, gripping and regripping the sword. Finally, he glanced downward. “Kirin?”
“Kerris. Please, sit.”
“But…”
“Sit.”
“But I thought…”
“Sit.”
The long sword trembled as it touched down on the stone floor. The grey lion sat.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the battered hand moved, the split fingers reached, touched his brother’s face. Through swollen lips, the Captain smiled.
“Thank you, Kerris, for what you did,” the words, while still painful to utter, were coming easier. “And for what you were willing to do. You have a noble heart and I am truly grateful.”
“Kirin, I don’t understand…”
Blue eyes slid to the Ancestor, then back again. “You are not the only one who has forgotten things on this journey. Honor is more than golden mane or tufted tail, or even an Imperial banner. Honor may lived out in many ways, but it always begins in the heart. I had forgotten that.”
Kerris looked down, not comprehending. For him, the Tao wheel had been suddenly shattered. He was unsure where the pieces were falling.
“I have been preparing for death my entire life, for an honorable death is the crowning glory of the Shah’tyriah. You, Kerris, are of the same caste, noble warriors both of us. But after what I had done to you, I deserved what the dogs have done to me. It was my punishment, and I welcomed it. I yearned for them to kill me so my dishonor would end with my life.”
He noticed tears in his brother’s eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. He was glad Kerris was not fighting them. He stroked at them with his severed fingers.
“You do not kill, Kerris. But you were willing to, for me. You were willing to lay aside your deepest convictions to restore my honor. And you have, Kerris. You have restored me. For I am not whole, and I never shall be, but in this sorrow, this suffering, there is truth, there is nobility and there can be honor.I have learned that on this journey, from the Seer, from the Scholar, from the Alchemist, from the Major and lastly, from you. Most importantly, I have learned this from you. And I am grateful.”
Kerris swallowed, not able to speak.
“I know how to die. I always have. But now, I ask one only thing of you, brother.”
“Anything,” Kerris whispered.
“Teach me to live.”
And those words shattered the grey lion as surely as the damned Tao wheel had been shattered, and he collapsed into weeping, while his brother pulled him close and held him, with clawless fingers, to his chest.
Fire, Earth, Metal, Wood, Water and Air
I must confess that in all my trials as Captain of the Imperial Guard, I have never undergone anything like I did in those sad dark days. The pain from my hands was unlike any I had experienced in my life. I could not even adjust my own clothing, hold a sword, push myself to stand. It was with me every moment of every hour, and not only in my hands. While I could doze, I in no ways could sleep. I could not lay down my head even in my arms. It was terrible.
I would never ever again serve as Captain of any Guard, let alone in Pol’Lhasa. My life as a lion was gone, torn from me in the same manner as my mane, and try as I might, I could not keep that knowledge from running over and over through my mind. I was as undone as any man could be for, underlying it all, was also the knowledge that I had tried to kill my own brother.
I did not deserve to live.
But neither did I deserve yet to die. I had begged Solomon t o kill me, that day when Kerris had left us alone, and the fact that I was begging proved that I had lost my honor indeed. I did not even deserve an honorable death.
I had no claws to end it myself, and Solomon was of no mind to help. He urged me to live, for my brother’s sake, but I would hear none of it. Ultimately, it was only Kerris’ actions that convinced me. If he was willing to kill and then die, for me, then I - if I possessed one shred of honor left in my body – should be willing to live for him.
It would prove to be the hardest thing I would ever do.
- an excerpt from the journal of Kirin Wynegarde-Grey
-
This time, it was because of the water.
They had managed to bring the Captain down to the river, Kerris bearing the brunt of the load. The Captain could not use his hands to make his way down, so his brother had almost carried him, and there were many times when then they had slipped on the steep wet stones. But after much trying, they did make it down to the banks of the high river, and the cold rushing water awaiting them there.
They started first with his hands. The Captain knelt on the riverbank and with a deep breath, allowed Solomon to take both and dip them entirely under the surface of the cold, cold water. A shudder literally shook his body at the shock of it, but his courage had never been in question, and so he kept them there a very long time. Then, at both Solomon’s and Kerris’ insistence, he slipped first one foot, then the other, then his entire body into the river, allowing the water to cleanse and heal and restore until finally his head, his red, bloody, livid head. He lay back in the water, allowing Solomon and Kerris to hold him in place, for the current was strong, and he was in danger of being swept away, but finally, after a long, very cold morning, he was allowed to crawl out and collapse on the soft bank, exhausted, raw and quite numb.
Kerris stayed in, searching for fish, Kirin’s thick leather obi around his waist, katanah sword half-submerged at his side. Fallon sat on the bank, her own bare feet dangling in the water, composing songs in her head.
“I think I’m going to write a book,” she said finally.
“Good,” he answered absently.
“About our travels to the Edge of the World and Beyond.”
“Wonderful.”
“I think
I will call it “To Journey in the Year of the Tiger.”
“Nice.”
“Do you think we’re ever going to make it home?”
“No.”
It was a strange answer, not the one she had been hoping for, so she glanced up to study him. Even as he had busied himself with his brother’s restoration, she could tell he was not right, not the same Kerris who had laughed and drank and eluded her on the highways of the Upper Kingdom. There was little sun now, mostly moon, and she wondered if that wasn’t the reason he spent so much time alone or with horses. Hard to know if someone was sad if you didn’t have time to know him at all.
He had said he could have loved her. That he would have. She decided to take some time to think about that, to see if she was able to say the same.
Thigh deep in river, he began turning in circles, hands hovering just above the water, sheath of the long sword slicing ripples as it moved. She continued watching him.
“Strange technique,” she called from the bank. “Are you hoping to mesmerize the fish like a snake charmer mesmerizes cobras?”
“Hmm? No, someone is playing with the water.”
“Um…” She looked around, made a face, puckered her lips. “Um, you are the only one playing with the water …”
“Not here. And I think it’s the Seer. Although, I don’t think he’s entirely a Seer anymore…”
He reached up and plucked several strands of his hair out of his hair. Reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick. It said ‘two.’ Twisted the hair around the stick and set it on top of the water. They both watched as the current swept it away.
“That was a strange thing to do,” she said.
“I know…” and he put his hands on his hips. “It just seemed the right thing.”
“What is my name?”
“What?” He turned to stare at her. “What’s that?”
“My name. What is my name?”
“Fallon Waterford. Scholar in the Court of the Empress.”
She grinned. “Just checking.”
And for the first time in many days, he smiled back.
***
Water, he realized, was amazing.
As different from fire as night was from day, light from dark, Yin from Yang. In fact, they were polar opposites on the Temperament Charts, and it finally made sense to him, as he stood thigh deep in a river they had found this morning. They needed each other, the fire and the water. To know one was to instantly understand the other, and he was discovering that he could easily control both.
The Major was fishing from a log along the bank. She had refused to go in, but had knelt in her many loose layers, dabbing her tail along the surface of the water, slashing with her claws as fish after fish rose from the bottom to see. She had a tasty twitching pile, and young Mi-hahn sat on the branch of a nearby tree, waiting her turn. Falcons, it seemed, were not natural fishermen.
The water was cold, but obedient, and it rose out of its bed to meet his hands. He found he could send it up into the air, back down into its swell, and across from palm to palm. The Major had watched only briefly before bending back to her task, muttering all the while about idiots and their idiotic birds.
She had called him crazy to go in rather than stay safe and dry on the shore, and he had told her it was simply for the attempt at mastering the water, but truth be told, he was scratched and bruised and aching from top to tail. Their lovemaking had lasted until the first light of dawn, and there were many times when he had begged her to stop, but then she would begin something new and he would abandon his complaints and lose himself in her all over again. She was impossible and impressive and for some reason, she wanted to be with him. It was a mystery.
He dipped both hands under and pushed with his mind, corralling a fish that had swam too close. He made a fence with moving walls, and it swam around and around its watery pen, unmindful. Slowly but without moving himself, he herded it over to the log where the Major was bent. She snorted, snatched it up, tossed it on the pile.
“I am doing quite well,” she grumbled. “I do not need your help.”
“Obviously,” he said, and called a wave to stand high, higher in a point along the surface.
He had an idea, called all of it to make a wall between himself and the snow leopard. It began slowly, but it did begin, and even though he wore the blindfold, he closed his eyes to concentrate.
Lion tiger water man
It was like a beacon from a distant land, old, faded and calling, but it was there, somewhere in the water. He reached out with his hand, waited, found it being carried on the current from upstream, caught it as his fingers dipped into the water. It was a small stick. There were fibers attached.
“Major,” he called. “The Captain is alive.”
And without waiting for her response, he began sloshing through the water back to the solid earth of the riverbank.
***
“Are you certain?”
“Well…no. Not at all.”
“Oh.” And she leaned her head into his back and hung on a little tighter. “Okay…”
The pony was moving downhill at a rather quick trot, lifting his short legs high over the stumps and roots and fallen branches that dotted the steep forest floor. They had been riding for the better part of the afternoon, following the river, which he had claimed would lead them to the Seer. It was a hunch, no more, but again, she had seen too much on this crazy journey not to believe one of Kerris’ hunches. He was right about many unusual things.
But it was almost sunset now, and the canopy of trees made seeing harder and harder as they went. Finally, he sat back and the pony slowed, snorting with the thrill of the hunt. Quiz obviously wanted to go on, but Kerris was insistent and the mountain pony skidded to a stop, legs twitching with energy. The grey lion dismounted, held out a hand for her to do the same, ran that hand along the pony’s shaggy neck.
“Go find us some supper, Quiz,” he said softly. “I’ll have a fire ready when you get back.”
The mountain pony spun and disappeared into the shadows cast by the trees.
For the second time that day, he put his hands on his hips and looked around, and she realized that he was doing a lot of that lately. It was one of his brother’s traits, and with the Captain’s sword at his side, in this dim light they looked very similar indeed. She wondered if he knew he was doing it, but somehow, didn’t think so. It was a mystery.
“Right,” he muttered. “Firewood.”
She bent down, picked up a stick, tapped it on the ground. “That’ll be tough. Everything is so wet from the rain.”
“You brought the char, yes?”
“Yep.” But char on wet sticks still won’t work, she thought to herself as she began puttering about for firewood. She wondered if dogs weren’t a possibility in this forest. She wasn’t afraid, but still, didn’t want to be too far from Kerris’ side. Or his dog-killing sword.
A falcon cry pierced the air and they both looked up. It was impossible to see sky, only streaks of purple past the canopy. Her pupils grew wide as they took in as much light as was possible, but still, it was difficult to see.
“Do you think that’s Path?” she asked after a moment.
“Path? Who’s Path?”
“The Seer’s falcon, silly! Do you really forget, or do you just not pay attention?”
Suddenly, the canopy itself was rustling and leaves rained down on their heads. A shape, darker then the dark treetops, was hurtling towards them, and in a heartbeat, it had raked the tigress’ head, pulling several strands of white-tipped hair from her scalp.
“You –You miserable little bird –“ she started but it was back, landing on her head this time, wings flapping, talons raking, hooked-beak jabbing, and she shrieked and shouted, flailing her arms at it to no avail.
Kerris grabbed the hilt of the sword and took one step in her defense but was knocked off his feet by a rush of silver. Together two cats hit the ground. A dagger was pressed hard against
his throat.
“Prepare to meet your gods, dog,” growled a familiar voice.
“Ah, well, those gods might be a-slamming some heavenly doors tonight …”
“You,” Ursa snorted. “I thought you were dead.”
In the darkness, Kerris grinned. “Sorry to disappoint, love. Tried. Didn’t take.”
She grunted, rolled off him and onto her knees, peered through the darkness at the tigress. The falcon had stopped its “attack”, was now content simply to sit atop the young woman’s head like a hat. Fallon looked at her, baleful and confused.
“This isn’t Path,” she moaned.
“Path is dead,” said Ursa. “That’s Mi-hahn. She’s an idiot.”
“It’s a good thing she’s not sensitive,” said another voice, and the Seer stepped out of the shadows. He smiled at her. “Kahlilah.”
And the bird took off as she rushed into his arms.
***
The Seer had started the fire. He hadn’t needed the char, nor did the damp wood seem to bother him. He had simply put his hands over the pile they had accumulated, set it sizzling as the water burnt off and soon after there were flames, with little more than a thought. Kerris was most impressed. Fallon Waterford, however, was more curious than ever.
“So you died?”
“Yes, stupid girl,” growled the Major. “I said that three times.”
Fallon ignored her. “And somehow you came back?”
“I don’t know how, Kahlilah. But I am here.”
“And you can do things, Alchemist things.”
“Well,” he made a face. “I’m not convinced that it’s Alchemy…”
“But you can start fires, move water, change things…that’s more than you could do before, right?”
“Yes, Kahlilah. More than I could do before. But in point of fact, I don’t think I ever tried.”
Leaning against a tree, arms folded across her chest, the Major snorted again.
Fallon edged closer. “And your pelt, not to pry or anything, but um, you used to have really ugly scars. It looks, um, well it looks…”
To Walk in the Way of Lions Page 32
