The Major growled and lashed her tail, and stomped through the sand to where he was standing. She snarled up at him, the wind whipping her long hair into and out of her face. She held up a bunch of tangled cords, pendants swinging wildly at the end of them. She had taken great care to remove the blood.
He stared at her. “My pendants…”
“I found them at our old camp site. They were broken. I have fixed them.”
He reached out to take them from her hands. “Oh my…”
“They are stupid and catch on everything. You should throw them away.”
“Thank you,” was all he could say, as he began to slip them, one by one over his neck. He looked up at her, beaming, the sun, moon and stars all rolled into one. “You are marvelous.”
“You…are spoiled.”
“Just spoiled? Not insignificant? Not an excuse for a lion? None of that? Have I really changed that much?”
She snorted, and he leaned in to lightly kiss her cheek.
“If you hug me, I will kill you.”
“Sorry I couldn’t stick around for you, love. I know how you’ll weep.”
“If you hurt her, I will kill you.”
“I love you too, dearest and gentlest.” He whacked his stick a few more times before ambling over to the Seer. “You are a crazy man for marrying that one. She’ll be the death of you.”
“I know.” benAramis smiled at him. “The other land will not bring you the peace you seek.”
“Ah. Spoken like a true monk.”
“It is simply my job.” But still, he was smiling. “You would find a home in Sha’Hadin. I could train you.”
Kerris laughed. “Oh yes. Kerris the monk. I can see it all now.”
“Perhaps I can.”
The laughter died, but the smile remained and the blue eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you can at that…”
And he took several steps away, until all that was left was Tao. Yin and Yang. Silver and Gold.
They could not bring themselves to look for a very long time. The wind was strong, the gulls crying overhead. The waves rushed upon the sand. There was nothing at all to be done but go.
“So, um, Quiz…” Kerris began. “When you get home, let him go just outside the gates. Just take his blanket off and let him go. He’ll find a herd, somewhere. Say, you should stop by the Magistrate’s at Sharan’yurthah. See if that little bay colt is there. He likes you. He’d make a good little mount, even if he does have a straggly tail and all…”
“Yes,” said Kirin quietly. It was difficult to talk. “I will do that.”
“And, ah, give Mummie a kiss for me. Tell her I went off on another adventure. Oh and here!” He dug inside his trouser pocket, pulled out a palm filled with shark’s teeth and one large exquisite single pearl. “For Lyn’ling. A treasure from the bottom of the sea.”
Kirin took it in his gloved hand, stared at its perfect beauty, marveled how it, of all things, had made this journey intact. He closed his hand around it. “I will give it to her.”
“Right. So, then I’m off –“
“Kerris. Wait.”
Slowly, very carefully, Kirin undid the buckles of the obi at his waist, folded it so that it sat in his hands, underneath the long sheath of the katanah. Both sword and obi he held out to his brother.
“For you.”
Kerris took a step back. “Ah no. It was good for a time, you know, when I needed it. Or thought I needed it. Or wanted it. But it’s yours, Kirin. Always has been.”
“No Kerris.” His stare was strong and serious. “I am meant for different things now. I don’t know what they are, but I am quite certain they don’t involve a long sword. You have earned the right to wear it, so wear it well. Protect your wife and children. Protect our honor, as a family, as a People. You are our ambassador, now, and always have been. You are the best of us, Kerris. Carry it with you and wear it with pride. It is the Destiny you were always meant to have.”
With trembling hands, Kerris took it. And then the Captain did something he had not done on the entirety of the journey, from Pol’Lhasa to Sha’Hadin, from Sri’Varna to Sri’Daolath, from KhaBull to TheRhan to Sharan’yurthah.
With fist to cupped palm, the Captain bowed.
Kerris clutched the long sword to his chest and stood up, just a little taller. He took a step back, unable to speak.
“I love you, Kerris,” said Kirin.
A yak hide boot stepped back again, this time into the water. And again, and again. Until he lifted those yak hide boots into the small boat and sat at the point, as Solomon picked up the poles he had called oars and began to row the small boat out far and farther, with Kerris still clutching the sword to his chest.
Kirin stood on the shore as the small boat, tiny now in the distance, met up with the sailing one. Great canvas sails snapped open and billowed, catching the wind in a way that made him catch his breath. And the great sailing boat began to move, slowly at first, pushing its way through the waters and away from land. Away from the Upper Kingdom. Away from him. Away.
And still he stood on the shore until the sailing boat was little more than a speck, and it was then that he turned and ran across the sand toward the stone stairs that led up to the ruined city. He ran up the steps without slowing. And still he ran toward the docks, toward the high mountain cliffs that stopped the waters and he stood out at the very farthest point, as far out over the water as he possibly could, and watched. The white sailing boat, like a sea bird now with wings unfurled, was a white dot, growing smaller and smaller until nothing but waves remained in its wake.
Kirin Wynegarde-Grey dropped to his knees and wept.
***
It took them the better part of a week before they came upon the great wall of tigers that lined the border of the Upper Kingdom. In fact, the alarm had been sounded at first sight of their dust, and cauldrons of flame burned from high points everywhere. They had some trouble entering the Kingdom, for there was nothing of the Captain’s Imperial uniform left, save the sash. It was clear he was a lion, but beyond that, all assumptions were suspended and the small party riding a mountain pony and two reclaimed packhorses were escorted into the gates of Sharan’yurthah, and the welcoming home of the Magistrate.
His little bay friend was awaiting him.
They stayed with the Magistrate and his wife for three days, resting, sleeping, dining, and shopping. The Captain had indulged himself in several desert headdresses, for he could envision his kheffiyah quickly becoming as tattered as his sash. He found several to his liking, in various styles, but all in some form of Imperial gold. There was even one that boasted a golden metal helm with a point and red tassel that waved in the breeze. It reminded him of a sham’Rai helm he had seen in a museum once and he thought it quite impressive. He also purchased for himself several pair of gloves, all of thickest leather, but some with elaborate embroidery, naturally in gold.
The tail leathers that Ursa had made for him were holding up well, and he made it a point to commission another set as soon as he arrived home.
Home.
Kestrels were sent ahead of them as they were escorted, under a new Imperial banner, to the northeastern garrison of Sri’Verenshir, and finally, the Wall. This would be their road now for the better part of this next year, for there was no need for speed, and the Wall ensured safety and civility. For Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, Sireth benAramis and Ursa Laenskaya, the Year of the Rabbit would always be remembered as the Year of the Great Wall, as day after day was spent on its stone path. From Sri’Verenshir to Tabrizh, from Sri’Lankhoran on the shores of the Kashphian to Challus. It was a long road, but a good one, as there were battleforts aplenty on the way and generally good food and good company. None of the soldiers along the way knew exactly what to make of the little party, which had been heralded as an Imperal one, but appeared to be anything but. A man obviously a lion, obscuring his mane, binding his tail, wearing an Imperial sash and riding a mountain pony. Another man, obviously not a lion, able
to control fire but not the wild young falcon under his care. And the woman, well, she frightened them all. They were followed, every step of the way, by a little bay colt, which was now more eyes and legs than anything else. Indeed, this party was a strange sight.
The New Year came and went, and the Year of the Rabbit was celebrated by all but these three on this long, winding road. The Festival of the Blue Dragon, Night of Sevens (which only the Seer celebrated), another Ghost Festival, all were met with similar disregard, as little could affect the reflective mood of the trio. They had lost much. They had learned much. They were going home.
The mountains had returned. Their mother, the Great Mountains, rose high and higher the longer they rode on their disparate horses along the Wall. The lights of TheRhan had been seen, as had those of KhaBull but the Wall took them north again, swinging upward into the heart of the Phun’jah like a curved blade. The winds howled, the winter snows set upon them once again, but they party did not care overmuch. They had battleforts, they had hot stew and tea and straw for sleeping. Life was good, for it was life.
Again, to the company of the fine men of Pesh’thawar and Sri’Gujarath, who barely recognized the travelers, but to their credit, said nothing. And the colt was growing tall, his spirit untamed but his eye was bright and Kirin felt the old stirring of companionship once again. He had taken to calling the creature aSiffh. Apparently, in Shaharabic, it meant ‘forgiveness.’ It seemed appropriate.
Young Mi-hahn was growing as well. While still as ‘happy and joyous’ as ever, she had indeed learned a few things from the Seer. She had learned to be a fierce hunter, returning from her nightly forays with mice, rabbits, pigeons and the occasional piglet for the roasting. She had learned to wear the hood and bells of her profession, although she regularly protested and loudly so. She had learned to carry a parchment, although journeys between Seer and Major were as yet her only outings. One night, very near the Winter Festival in the Year of the Rabbit, in a battlefort high in the Great Mountains near Sri’Varna, Sireth announced that Mi-Hahn was hearing falcons.
The fire was warm for the night was very cold. They were back in the Mother’s Arms. Her embrace was frigid and strong and her hug broke many things. Sireth sat, eyes closed, bare hands laid in his lap. The falcon was sleeping on his shoulder, her tiny head tucked under her wing. The Major sat against a far wall, knees up, hair obscuring most of her face. Kirin watched her quietly. He knew she was dreading the next days, the days when they would come to a crossroads, one way to Sha’Hadin, the other to DharamShallah and Pol’Lhasa and duty. He knew how she would be feeling. He himself was feeling it now.
“Hmm,” muttered the Seer, and he opened his eyes. “Tiberius says hello.”
Kirin smiled. “He is there, then?”
“He would never abandon Sha’Hadin. Although there are few left, I’m afraid. Yahn Nevye is not a gifted Seer. Or a good man.”
“What will you do, then?”
“Kill him, I suppose.”
Behind them, Ursa snorted.
benAramis grinned sleepily. “Well first, I must ask him to leave, But if he does not, then I shall kill him.”
Kirin grinned now too, finally accustomed to the Seer’s humor. “But what about Unification?”
The man sighed. “Unification is essential, Captain. I see that now. The separation of Gifts from Arts was unnatural and unproductive. But some things cannot be tolerated, and betrayal is the first of these.”
Kirin nodded. “You will be met with resistance.”
“As I have all my life, Captain. It is nothing new. But Jet barraDunne died out there and so now Agara’tha is without a First Mage. Perhaps it is the perfect time for a coup.” And he laughed softly to himself. “Imagine that, Captain. A mongrel in charge of both Sha’Hadin and Agara’tha. I shall undoubtedly be the most powerful man in all the Kingdom.”
A silver tail lashed. “That is why you have me.”
“Indeed,” and he leaned back and kissed her. “That is why.”
Kirin smiled to himself.
“Can life become any stranger?” he asked after a while.
“Perhaps it can,” said the Seer, after another while. “You have yet to return to Pol’Lhasa.”
There was silence, save for the crackling of the fire. Kirin sipped his tea, feeling the hot liquid scald his tongue and throat. “There is nothing for me in Pol’Lhasa. I will return to the Palace, give my report to the Empress, give her the pearl from Kerris and be dismissed from my post. Perhaps they will allow me to clean out my chamber. Perhaps it has been already done.”
“And why should they dismiss you from your post?”
He sighed. “I have failed to obey orders. Express orders from the Empress herself. I have dishonored her and my commission.”
The Seer did not answer for some time. He was a man who did not believe in Bushido, in the Way of the Warrior, but he was a man who did believe in respect and dignity and integrity above all else. Almost all else. “And what,” he began slowly, carefully, as if weighing his words, “If you are met with an entirely different response?”
“She is married. She is most likely carrying a child, an heir to the matriarchy. She has put honor and duty over all things. What other response could there possibly be?”
“Hmm, yes. I see.” And he sipped his own tea, the Major’s ice-blue eyes on him like fire.
They slept by that fire, awakened in the morning and left the battlefort for Sri’Varna.
***
It was three days ride before they met that crossroad, the road which left the Wall and followed a very different path up the impassable mountain that led to Sha’Hadin. And so they stood, the last three, Major, Seer and Captain, on a road which was not broken, merely bent.
Fist to cupped palm, he bowed to them.
The Major bowed back, perfectly.
The Seer, naturally, did not.
He strode over to the Captain, his friend. Clasped him on the shoulders.
“There is a lifetime of journals up there, Captain. Over one hundred years, they say. They need to be read. They need to be recorded. You would be well suited to that job, I should think.”
The Captain paused. It was tempting. The journals of Petrus Mercouri, Ancient of Sha’Hadin. A simple room, an open window, a cup of tea and books. Tempting indeed,
“Perhaps after I have taken care of things. Perhaps after Pol’Lhasa. I will look in on my mother, see if she is well. There may be things I need to order…”
“Yes,” said the Seer. “Perhaps then.”
And the man executed a most formal bow, fist to cupped palm, in perfect fashion. Audacious.
“Major,” said the Captain, turning to her. She straightened at his words. Ever the soldier. He could see that she was holding her breath. Her fate hung on his next words, and he knew that he could shatter her world with the slightest one. “Major, you are charged with the security not only with the security of the last Seer of Sha’Hadin, but also of the monastery and its surrounding area. I will do what I can with the resources that will be left to me. I can send you swords, lamps, troops, horses. Whatever you need, the Empire will provide.”
“Sir,” she said. “All I will need is a new uniform.”
He nodded, impressed.
“And boots, sir. Very high boots.”
He suppressed a grin. “I will do what I can.”
With a hand on the neck of the mountain pony, he turned and walked away, choosing yet another path, not the Wall, but still one that led to Pol’Lhasa.
***
It was dark when he reached the Mother’s Arms at the Roof of the World, but the interior of the Inn was bright with life. He had checked both pony and colt in at the stable and smiled at the bedpost sign that still sat, piled high with snow. The odors of ale, sakeh, sweat and smoke assaulted him as he pulled open the familiar wooden door. It still boasted a notch from a well-flung katanah.
A homecoming of another sort.
He crossed the f
loor, with only a few heads turning in his direction this time. He sat himself at the bar, laced his gloved fingers, waited for the tiger who would surely come. He did, fatter and surlier than ever, wringing a cloth across an iron pot. The tiger eyed him with suspicion.
“You drinking, friend?” In Hinyan.
“Yes. A sakeh, if you please.”
“It’s strong for a lion’s blood.”
Kirin smiled. “Shyrian Arak is stronger.”
“You from Shyria, then? That why you wearing your desert hat? Keep your precious mane safe and warm?”
That drew a few sniggers from the crowd. Odd, Kirin thought. No one seemed to be paying attention, yet not a word was missed.
“I have been many places this past year, sidi. Shyria included. It is said that their Arak is ten times the drink of our sakeh.”
The tiger scowled. “Shryian Arak is weaker than dog piss. I’ll bring you my sakeh. You decide.”
“Fair enough.” And the man turned to grab a plain ceramic pot, began pouring the golden liquid into a mug that had seen better days. Passed it over into the gloved hands. Kirin took it and swallowed.
He set his molars. Kerris had warned him, over a year ago. Blow your boots off, he had said. Oh, how he missed him.
“I am also in need of a room, for one night. And stabling for my horses.”
The tiger narrowed his small yellow eyes, studying him. “We’re full.”
Kirin cupped the mug, smiled at the man. “How is your ear?” he asked evenly.
The flash of recognition, and the tiger straightened, swallowing hard. “One room for one night. Yes, sidi. Of course. I’ll have one prepared immediately.”
And the Captain of the Imperial Guard spent his last night away from home on a lumpy mattress in unwashed bed linens. But, like many nights of late, he did sleep well.
***
The House Wynegarde-Grey.
It sat far outside the city, for they had much land, and from the mountains he could see the smoke from the many hearths rising up against the purple sky. It was not yet twilight, but it was winter and therefore, dark. The road from the Inn had been clean of snow and they had made good time today. Quiz had been quick, eager almost to get home, and it was all Kirin could do to keep the pony from breaking into a headlong gallop in his rush to his stall. Little aSiffh was game for a race, but for Kirin, it was important to take the time.
To Walk in the Way of Lions Page 37
