Snow in the Year of the Dragon

by H. Leighton Dickson

  The fabric roof glimmered and shone under the weak sun. Stitched into the silk, embroidered birds flickered and flew as if in a dream. Chimes floated as they passed, underscored by the quiet hum of conversation. Conflicting scents teased her nostrils – flowers and sweat, lemons and blood. Monkey women moved freely, some dressed, some not, and many reclined around the cushioned edges, holding bellies round with child. Many were in the process of birthing and Fallon’s heart ached at the sight. Life, she thought. It just went on regardless of wars or hardship or destiny.

  Women stared at them as they passed. Children ran between tables and legs and chairs and stalls, squealing with laughter and fury. Fallon smiled, remembering Soladad the wild and Kirin the quiet, and once again, her heart ached at the memory.

  She wanted to go home.

  They were directed toward a far table covered with small clay pots and glazed ceramics. Liquids bubbled over tiny flames and it reminded her of the Alchemist and her noxious potions. Jae’un spoke to the owner, a woman with a ring of white pelt around a pink face. She slid forward two small corked pots, one clay, the other ceramic.

  “War is a hard time for babies,” said Jae’un. “You decide.”

  Fallon blinked.

  “Decide?”

  The Stonelily laid a hand on the ceramic.

  “Baby.”

  Then on the clay.

  “No baby.”

  And suddenly, she knew.

  She turned her eyes to the Alchemist, once an enemy, now dear friend, holding her own baby on her hip.

  “What do you want, sister?” Sherah asked.

  Fallon looked down. Ceramic or Clay, Life or Death. It had been hard enough carrying twins in NorAm, then birthing them in Bai’Zhin. The sheer complexity of feeding them, cleaning them, raising them, keeping them alive in the cold mountains; all the while riding with the Winding Rivers; all the while hoping that Kerris could rally the Chi’Chen and broker peace with the Chanyu. The fate of the kingdoms had always rested on his shoulders, on his ability to stay focused without distraction or compromise. With Kerris, it was difficult. With babies, it had been impossible.

  She brushed her fingers across the ceramic. So smooth, so shiny, the glaze a perfect blend of sand and sky.

  “How do you know,” she began quietly. “What’s a vision and what’s a prophecy?”

  “Vision is not prophecy,” said Sherah. “Seers see what will happen. They do not make it so.”

  “Can a vision change?”

  “Of course. Vision is not stone.”

  Fallon found her hand moving to the clay now. She picked it up, felt the warm, rough surface, unglazed and raw.

  “So do we choose between life and death, or has Dharma already set our paths out for us?”

  “Dharma is a cruel mistress,” said the Alchemist. “She does not forgive.”

  “I’m so confused,” the Scholar sighed. “Destiny, Dharma, war, life. I don’t know which way to turn my head.”

  The Alchemist thought a moment, kissed Kylan’s forehead tenderly. He cooed, hid his face into her neck.

  “There is no destiny,” she began. “Only choice and consequence.”

  Choice and consequence could change a world, Fallon thought. She wondered if she could ever have a normal life after these last few years.

  There was a bump on her leg and she looked down, certain her heart had leapt to her throat.

  It was a bear.

  Not a normal bear. Not the great black, brown, or winter bears of the northern lands but a strange monkey bear child with short limbs and long torso, white face with black patches. It looked up at her with great brown eyes, held up a stalk of well-chewed bamboo.

  She smiled and took it. The child caught her free hand, turned it over in his, as if studying her palm and fingers. He turned his face as a second figure lumbered over to stand behind him, and her heart thudded in her chest. Another bear, larger, older, dressed in robes of brown, possibly a female. Woman, Fallon corrected herself. A bear woman, and beneath the hood, she could see the blunt white muzzle and banded eyes. She was so different from a normal bear, but then again, Fallon had to admit she had very little knowledge bears of any kind. Much like monkeys.

  Surprisingly, she felt no fear, nor flashing memories of the attack in the mountains of Hirac.

  Truth be told, she was more afraid of the Snow.

  “Hello,” she said but the Stonelily grabbed her arm.

  “You do not speak to the Xióngmāo.”

  “Why?” asked Fallon. “I mean, this is why I came to the markets, in all honesty. I wanted to meet a bear. And now, I have. I have so many questions.”

  “It is forbidden.”

  “But why?” she repeated. “Do they serve you?”

  “They serve the Suns, as we all do.”

  Kylan squealed and reached down for the child, touching his face with golden hands. The young bear chirped like a bird.

  “But how do they serve?” asked Fallon.

  “Choose your medicines, Lightning of Kaidan,” Jae’un growled. “The Suns do not approve of idle questions.”

  “But I am so full of questions,” she sighed. “Idle or otherwise.”

  She sighed and handed the bamboo back.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d love to talk to you, even if you can’t talk. I’m sure I could learn something from you and your people. I guess it’s not my destiny to be an ambassador.”

  With a deep breath, looked back at the pots.

  “I’m not enough,” she said softly.

  She plucked the clay pot, held it up to the shopkeep.

  “What is the charge?”

  The Chi’Chen woman folded her hands over the white striped ones.

  “No charge for guest of the Rising Suns,” she said. “Be strong, sister Lightning.”

  Once more, Fallon felt her throat grow tight and she nodded quickly, slipping the clay pot into the pocket fold at her hip.

  “We go now,” said Jae’un, but the large bear stepped between. She held out a clawed hand and pointed. Suddenly, all sound in the Tent of Women ceased.

  “Me?” said Fallon.

  The adult stepped forward, took the tigress’ striped hand. Turned it over and over in her own, pressed the pads to reveal black claws. The bear turned and reached for the Alchemist’s hand as well, flattening its palm against hers, held them together with a curious expression.

  “Xióngmāo?” asked Fallon. “Was that the word?”

  Jae’un snorted.

  “Xióngmāo,” said Fallon.

  Abruptly, the Xióngmāo turned and lumbered toward the far end of the tent. The child looked back at the tigress, shrugged and followed, its own gait awkward and cumbersome. The short legs, thought Fallon, combined with long torso and swinging arms. No wonder most bears went on four. At least, so the stories went.

  The bears paused at a flap in the tent, held it open to reveal a rectangular opening into the mountain. They looked back, holding the flap as if for them. Both bears pointed.

  Everything – hearts, breath, thought – ceased in the Tent of Women

  “No,” said Jae’un, shaking her head. “It is forbidden.”

  “The Xióngmāo wish it,” said Sherah. “And the Lightning wishes to learn from the Xióngmāo. You will allow this.”

  “I cannot. It is forbidden by the Suns.”

  “Is it?”

  The Alchemist passed Kylan into the tigress’ arms and swung strangely close to the monkey.

  “You will allow this.”

  “I cannot allow this. Move away from me.”

  “Sister, hush.”

  Jae’un blinked as the cheetah reached out to touch her chin. The woman did not fight, however, as Sherah cupped her pink face, stroked her wrinkled brow.

  “You must allow this,” she purred. “Kaidan will be pleased and the Suns will be proud.”

  Incense and eyes, thought Fallon, so much more than magic. Her powers were more dangerous than spears or a
rrows or swords.

  “You will take us to where the Xióngmāo live.” The Alchemist smiled. “And the Suns of Shin Sekai will be honoured.”

  The bears were waiting – holding the flap, pointing and waiting. Fallon bit her lip, glanced between the cheetah and the monkey. Sherah stepped back and the Stonelily blinked several times.

  “Come,” said Jae’un. “Before the noon guard changes.”

  And she spun, marched toward the end of the tent, slipped under the flap of the bears.

  The Scholar looked at her friend.

  “I don’t know how you do that,” she said. “But then again, I don’t know a lot of things, really, even though it’s my job and all. Scholar in the Court of the Empress, remember? But still, I’m very glad we became friends, even if Kerris isn’t.”

  The kohl-painted lids lowered.

  “Of course,” she said softly.

  And together, they turned, disappearing into the mountain with the Xióngmāo, and life resumed in the Tent of Women.

  ***

  A crowd had gathered in the War Room of Pol’Lhasa.

  It was not a normal thing, for the War Room was a place reserved for the most austere and serious of occasions, and for the most austere and serious of ministers. Standing and sitting, kneeling and silent, they were all gathered around the form of Sireth benAramis, the Last Seer of Sha’Hadin, seated cross-legged on the War Room’s mosaic floor. He had been there for hours, said one rumour; days, said another. Had neither eaten nor drank, slept, nor moved, save to light more sticks in petition to the Great Golden Lion. Naturally, all men of learning and wisdom and power wished to join him, and the room was thick with incense.

  Ho had tried to engage him, provoke him, elicit him in conversation but the mongrel had not obliged, keeping eyes closed as one in a deep trance. The Chancellor was at a loss. He longed to chase the ministers from the War Room, remind them of their duties and toss all the sticks of incense out the first open window. But the atmosphere was somber, the entire Palace fully engaged, and Ho not entirely certain of his right. And so he stayed and prayed and left, all the while his thoughts running like wild horses behind his eyes.

  But the Empress.

  Sireth could feel her walking along the polished halls, even through the chaos of thoughts that surrounded him. He had made her his target, the one object of his thinking, and he hoped that his plan would be successful. He knew it was possible, but had never attempted such a thing before and the timing had to be perfect. Her life, and quite possibly that of the Shogun-General’s, depended on it.

  So all was off limits save Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu. His wife, the courts, the threat of Ancestors, even the missing touch of Jeffery Solomon – not allowed. Only the Empress, young and Dragonborn, carrying the Way of Things on her shoulders and the future in her womb. He had been with her in Lesson Three when she’d bled, with her when she’d blocked, felt her heart swell with pride at the accomplishment. His wife was a merciless teacher.

  Now, she moved like a tapestry down halls of teak, light patterned in shadow, beauty and colour and regency and steel and suddenly, all thoughts in the room turned, all whispers hushed, and he knew that she was here.

  He opened his eyes.

  Flanked by his wife and the Bushona Geisha, Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu paused at the War Room’s double doors.

  All men dropped to the floor, knees, elbows and foreheads to the warm stone. The Empress’ golden eyes met his, held his for a long moment, before they turned to the statue towering over the small wooden seat. He could feel Ursa’s ice blue gaze on him but he kept his own fixed on the woman in the War Crown. Slowly, respectfully, she swept into the room.

  He closed his eyes and everything changes.

  The Geisha remain at the doorway while the sham’Rai steps through, and the Empress crosses the floor to stand before the Great Golden Lion. She stands there for a long moment and he can feel her fear, her hesitation, her iron will. He becomes one with her as she reaches to pluck a stick from the basket, her fingers fully covered as they brush the thin wood. He feels them as if they are his own.

  It is Power. All eyes look to her for life.

  He is her blood as she dips it into the charcoal brazier. He is her pulse as she watches it sizzle and catch.

  It is Poetry. She will make history tonight

  He is her breath as she blows across the tip, her arm as she raises it high to slide it between the many others in the great golden jaws.

  It is Perfection. She meets her destiny like a Dragon.

  Sleep, he says.

  He watches through his mind’s eye the slow buckle of the knees, the folding of the slim torso, and the sham’Rai springs to catch her as she falls. The room erupts in chaos as, before an entire room of witnesses, the Empress faints. Perhaps it was the incense, far too thick for such as she. Perhaps it was the pressure for war is, after all, a man’s game. But they know, they all know, that the Great Golden Lion, Protector of the Upper Kingdom, has heard their prayers and has given them a sign.

  It will be a full day before they are made aware that the Dowager Empress is with child, and they know that the Great Golden Lion has not only given them a sign, but also a miracle. It is magic, but cats are, after all, a magical people.

  Such a dangerous game.

  When he opens his eyes, Chancellor Ho is watching him from the door.

  ***

  They said nothing as they ascended high into the mountain-city of Shin Sekai, and it was all that Kirin could do to steady the racing of his heart. He was not his brother. In fact, he felt more in common with the Khargan than he did Kerris. Ancestral ‘tek’ was not a part of his world, and every hair on his body told him it was both dangerous and wrong. The device moved slowly, jarringly, and he could imagine the bears raising it hand over hand, hand over hand. After what seemed like hours, the platform jerked to a stop. A moment longer before the mesh doorway rattled open and the heat struck him like a fist.

  Kirin could honestly believe he was walking into another world. The New World of the Rising Suns.

  A jungle with trees of iron stretched to the very high ceiling, covered in moss and heavy with vines. Bridges and catwalks crossed the heights and beneath those, fields as far as he could see, with rows of waving gold alternating with squares of leafy green. Water bubbled in clear tubes, anchored to walls with cable and chain, and mist hovered over the earth, dripping from the leaves and the cables and the iron.

  So deep inside the mountain, there was light, and he realized that once again it was the mirrors. Huge angled slabs of bronze that reflected light throughout the expanse, creating the illusion of daylight and accentuating the reality of deep shadow. The smells of this place carried him away – poppy and lemongrass, oranges and wheat and soy and cabbage and bamboo and wet earth and, to his surprise, fish. He shook his head, realizing that he too would have abandoned a city like Lha’Lhasa had this alternative been presented.

  “Kr̥ṣi,” said Moto as they began to walk. “The Gardens of the New World. We can feed thousands from these grottos. The Suns have blessed us with their bounty.”

  Through the fields and iron trees, robed figures – Xióngmāo, Moto had called them – moved with quiet purpose, pruning leaves, loosing earth, digging and planting and pulling and harvesting. He watched them as they walked past. They did not look up. They did not acknowledge the party of monkey, cat and dog. They worked in solitary silence, and not for the first time, Kirin thought of Sha’Hadin.

  Soldiers were not like that. Soldiers needed each other; they needed the strength of the army perhaps even more than their own.

  “When we found it,” Moto continued, “There were years of food preserved by the Xióngmāo in vast storage vaults, more years than we can count. First the army came, for with such food, an army can work forever.”

  They passed a plot of sunflowers, watched the bees crawl over them before zipping off to the next. Water trickled down and wild birds flitted between th
e trees. Pines and cedar and fir, and the smell of green was overwhelming. Amid it all, the Xióngmāo worked, tending all with quiet purpose.

  “Then, the Capuchin Council chose to move the council seat, for while Lha’Lhasa is holy, Shin Sekai is divine. Soon, the markets sprang up and the people began to clamour for housing. The Xióngmāo opened the mountain and invited us in with the blessing of the Ancestors. It was then that we found the Rising Suns. It was our destiny to join our fates to theirs.”

  He glanced at Kerris. His brother made a face.

  The Gardens carried on as far as he could see but Moto led them toward another corridor with blue triangles and featureless white walls. The ceiling was low and the floor sloping and Kirin noticed a hum growing as they went.

  “And so,” continued Moto, “You ask us to prepare for a war that we do not need, against a people who have provided so much. Tell me, why should we fight when the Ancestors have given all this?”

  The corridor led them to a set of rusted double doors, guarded by Snow and flanked by two bears. As the Xióngmāo slid open the doors, Moto turned and spread wide his arms.

  “Prepare to be enlightened,” he said. “And welcome to the glory of the Rising Suns.”

  The room was cold, large and completely dark, until one by one, shafts of light sliced down from the high ceiling with dramatic flair, illuminating nine tall, cylindrical cases of glass. Easily the height of three men, the cases towered above them, darkened with shadow and coated with ice. Steam billowed and hissed around the bases, and Kirin narrowed his eyes, for atop each cylinder sat a monkey.

  “I think we’ve found the Capuchin Council,” Kerris muttered.

  On top of each cylinder, nine Chi’Chen sat, cross-legged and robed in scarlet and blue. Wires ran from their temples, tubes from their spines, cables from their wrists; all attached to nodes and disappearing deep into the cylinders themselves. At each base stood a Xióngmāo.

  “Feast your eyes upon the glory of the Rising Suns,” sang Tomi Moto, and he dropped to his knees before the towers. “May their union live forever.”

  The Xióngmāo hauled on a set of chains, and above them, the beams of light split, dancing across the cylinders and refracting through the icy surface. Within the cases, shapes could be seen; hulking four limbed figures grotesquely distorted by thick, gelatinous ice that moved like muddy water.