Snow in the Year of the Dragon

by H. Leighton Dickson

  It was hard to look anywhere but the grotesque cylinders, the bobbing eyes, the floating flesh. Kirin took a deep breath.

  “The Nine Thousand Dragons is united for one purpose only,” he said. “Tell us how you fall and we will attend or retreat at your word.”

  “What is your purpose?” asked one and it moved a hand from left to right. In the cylinder beneath, the creature slowly waved its hand from left to right.

  Unnatural. Unnerving. Worse than the Eyes of Jia’Khan.

  “We are here to seek your support,” began Kirin. “Ancestors have risen in the West and we need to present a united front, otherwise all the kingdoms will surely fall.”

  One of the Chi’Chen leaned forward. Slowly, the creature beneath did the same.

  “And who will lead this united front?” the monkey asked. “Which Empire shall direct its course? That which finds its seat in Pol’Lhasa?”

  “Or that which finds its seat in Bai’Zhin?”

  Hisses once again, then another leaned forward, cast his eyes on the Khargan. The creature beneath him did the same.

  “Is there a seat in the North, Sumalbaykhan of the North?”

  “Ulaan Baator,” the Khargan growled. “At the heel of Khazien, Mountain of the Khans.”

  Hoots of laughter, howls of mocking.

  Kerris stepped forward. The Snow snapped to attention and the howling ceased.

  “I have in my possession,” he began, slipping a scrap of folded yellow from a pocket. “A parchment from six months ago, drafted by Emperor Watanabe and signed by you, the Capuchin Council, committing to the building of a united Empirical front.”

  He unfolded the paper, smoothed it between his palms.

  “It was, in fact, the impetus to dare step into the Lower Kingdom to broker peace with our enemies.”

  “We have heard,” hissed one from high above.

  “You cut off the head of the Wolf,” whispered another.

  “And replaced it with a head of your choosing.”

  And all eyes, living and dead, turned on the Khargan. Long-Swift growled, laid back his ears.

  “And now you presume to do the same with us.”

  The Snow lining the walls raised their swords as Kerris held up the parchment.

  “Are these not your names?” he asked. “Is this not the sworn pledge of the Capuchin Council? Does your word now mean nothing in the eyes of the world? Is that the glory of the Rising Suns?”

  Once again, the Council erupted into shrieks and howls, slapping of hands and tossing of heads. The weapons of the Snow were aimed and ready. Kerris was playing a dangerous game, provoking the wrath of unstable men. It would take little to set them off.

  “You have exchanged the Chi’Chen way of life for this one of darkness and arrows,” the grey lion continued, forced to shout now over the din. “Thinking the secrets of the Ancestors will remake you, set you on a path to enlightenment and glory. You could not be more wrong!”

  Life was full of dangerous games.

  “Spoken like the Emperor’s pet!” snapped one.

  “Chi’Chen are made in the image of the Ancestors,” howled another. “Their legacy is ours by right!”

  “The New World is ours!”

  “And all of her secrets as well!”

  “Your people are terrified!” Kerris snapped and suddenly, the chaos died, an eerie silence falling across the room. He shook his head, slipped the parchment back into a deep pocket.

  “This is not the people I remember,” he said. “The quick minds and quicker smiles. The deep thoughts and strength of honour. What have you traded to possess these Ancestral secrets? Because I can tell you, it was a very poor bargain.”

  The room was silent.

  “Your people have lost their spirit,” said Kerris. “They have lost their music. They have lost their joy. All I see is grey lives living in grey stone and fear. That is not a life worthy of a Chi’Chen.”

  Even the Snow were listening.

  Kirin felt his heart push out against his ribs. Despite all his flaws, Kerris was a master diplomat. His words were more powerful than a thousand swords.

  “Shin Sekai is sacred to the Ancestors,” said one, after a long moment.

  “Nothing is sacred to the Ancestors,” said Kerris. “Except their own survival. To them, we are animals made to fight in pits.”

  High above them, the Council exchanged glances.

  “You will not treat with them as equals,” said Kerris. “Their weapons are unlike anything you’ve seen. They fly in metal dragons and command armies of bones.”

  “They are without match in the Art of War,” said Kirin. “You need to be prepared to defend your people when the time comes.”

  “The Snow—”

  “Are not enough,” said Kerris. “Alone, none of us are.”

  “Will you support us?” asked Kirin. “Will the Capuchin Council stand when called or will they continue to hide in the city of the Ancestors?”

  Silence still. He had offended, but he didn’t care. Diplomacy went only so far when dealing with madness.

  “The Ancestors are not fools,” Kerris went on. “They are opportunists. If they perceive weakness or fear, they will move. If they encounter unity and strength, they will hold and consider. It is all we can do.”

  Silence again. Kirin was relieved at this simple thing.

  Icy bubbles rolled up from the bases of the cylinders. Kirin watched as they flowed through, moving limbs, waving hair, bobbing eyes.

  “We will consider,” said one of the Chi’Chen after a long moment.

  “Can you assure me,” Kirin began, “That the Nine Thousand Dragons are safe from the arrows of the Snow?”

  “Return to your apartments,” said another.

  “Feast on the riches of the New World,” said another.

  Kerris swore under his breath.

  “You will be summoned once we have reached a decision,” said another.

  “Leave now, emissaries of the Other,” said another.

  “Yes, leave.”

  Tomi Moto rose to his feet.

  “The Suns have spoken,” he said. “Blessed be the Rising Suns.”

  “No wonder the Chanyu prefer the Moon,” grumbled the Khargan.

  The Snow moved from the walls, forming a line to usher them out but Kirin spared a glance over his shoulder. One by one, the beams of sunlight disappeared and the Rising Suns, along with their long-dead familiars, sputtered into darkness once again.

  “They didn’t answer your question,” said Kerris.

  “I noticed that,” said Kirin and he glanced between the men on either side. “A young dog is the only hope for the Dragons now.”

  ***

  The horses made good time, and he found staying on the back of the pony an easy task once he found the rhythm. One, two, one, two, one, two. His spine soft, hips loose to take the jarring. The pony seemed to move faster than a horse, and he wondered if the short legs made double the time.

  The abandoned city had come and gone with only the crows watching from the ramparts. The mountains were closing, narrowing off the Chi’Chenguan Way as Naranbataar and the four riders moved steadily toward the Celestial Mountain Gate. The Snow did not speak and the terrain was flat, so for hours, he had little to do but think. Both the Khargan and the lions wanted him to use the Ancestral weapon to release the Nine Thousand, but that was far easier suggested than done. The entire Chi’Chenguan Way was guarded by archers. Their arrows posed no problem now, as the plateau was wider than an arrow could fly, but the Way narrowed as they drew closer to the Gate. Soon, he would become an easy target and once arrived, it was unlikely that they would simply let him through. The Snow were many things, but naiive was not one of them. His mind turned the plan over and over again, and his world began to grow very small.

  There was little choice. If the Nine Thousand Dragons were indeed gathering at the Celestial Mountain Gate, they would also be easy targets for the Snow. Hundreds of arrows rai
ning down like hail would make short work of dogs, cats, monkeys and horses alike. The crows would feast for weeks on the dead.

  The Breath of the Maiden bumped on his back with the one-two rhythm of the pony and he slid his eyes to the four Snow flanking him. They stared straight ahead, their posture perfect on their little dun horses, and he wondered if he would have to kill them once he reached the Gate. And if so, how? He didn’t even have a sword. He wasn’t a soldier. He was just the brother of an Oracle. Either one of these men could kill him before the Maiden ever left his back.

  And it suddenly occurred to him that he would likely die today.

  He did not fear death. None of the Chanyu did. Some believed it was passage to the Great Grass Plains of the Moon, a glorious promotion from the hardships of life to a realm of slow deer, fat rabbits, and wotchka. Rani was not one of these, however. Death was death, the end of all things, and while he did not fear it, the likelihood of it happening today was a sobering thought.

  He had to make it count.

  And it was with such unrelenting thoughts chasing shadows through his mind when the steep, carved wall of the Celestial Mountain Gate came into view. At its base, an army of horses and a hundred Chi’Chen archers scaling the wall.

  ***

  In the Court of Teeth and Claws, the Boy with the Golden Eyes sits, building a pyre of rat and bone. His lips are moving; his hands are still, hovering over the pyre as he rocks back and forth. He hates the Yellow Cat and that hate is a powerful thing. It is like smoke, pungent and raw, and he sets the hate deep within the pyre of bone, fans it with a thought of the Blue Wolf who shuns him. Next, with eyes still closed, he calls the white-hot fury that lives inside his chest, the fury of a lifetime of despair, of betrayal, of mockery. He calls it out of himself, blows it like a burning, twisting leaf onto the smoke and feels the fury take hold. The bones are dry, the rats are greasy, and soon they erupt into an oily blaze. The frost in the room sizzles and snaps and he opens his eyes, smiling at his work.

  He does not see the movement of the teeth and claws behind him.

  ***

  It was called Seed.

  Looking down at it from the top of the One Hundred Steps, the palanquin was a tiny speck, barely large enough to hold a Sacred minister, let alone a man of his height. Carried on poles by four panthers, it was taller than it was wide, with narrow walls made of hammered gold and a rooftop adorned with dragons. Ebony grates served as windows, and it was impossible to see within. Carved cranes curled gracefully around each of the four corners, holding bells in their beaks that chimed with each gust of wind. Up here on the roof of the Roof of the World, there was much wind.

  “A palanquin called Seed,” said Sireth, his hair and robes whipping like wings. “Well, it’s about the size of one.”

  “Can you even fit?” asked Ursa. At his side, her sham’Rai armour gleamed in the sun.

  “I will fold myself in many folds, like an origami crane.”

  “Pah.” She passed him a basket. “Here. You will have tea and noodles.”

  He took it, tucked it under his arm.

  “I will not stay in the palanquin long. I intend to get out at the very first inn or little village and walk the rest of the way.”

  “And the palanquin? It was Ho’s idea.”

  “I’ll buy the panthers a drink, then continue on foot.” He looked at her. “Chancellor Ho will be utterly confounded.”

  “Good. You have your dagger?

  “In my boot.”

  “The panthers should not try to kill you, but if they are on orders from the Chancellor, they will.”

  “I will dispatch them with the chakra of my mind.”

  “You are not funny. You have your hookah?”

  “And Palace opium.” He tapped the satchel at his waist and waggled his brows. “Brought all the way from Cal’Cathah. Chancellor Ho’s personal stock.”

  “For you, it will be poison.”

  “We’re friends now. I told you.”

  “You are a terrible liar.”

  He tore his eyes away to study the panorama spread out beneath them. It was remarkable, a rugged landscape of snowy mountains and sleeping city. Ice and stone and rooftops and smoke stretched like canvas under an endless sky.

  “Look, what cat ever gets to see this? It’s a gift.”

  “I thought you loved the jungle.”

  He looked back at her.

  “I have learned to love the snow.”

  He could have sworn there was a smile but it was fleeting. Her pale lashes flicked down as she slipped a tiny silk bag from her obi.

  “The Empress has asked me to give you this.”

  He took it and immediately felt the heat sear his palm.

  “It was given to her by Kerris Wynegarde-Grey after one of his many trips. She thought it would help.”

  “Hmm. Ancestral. I can feel it even through the silk.” He grunted, slipped it into the basket. “This should help immensely.”

  “You will stay in Agara’tha until you see Ancestors?”

  “I will stay until I have the Alchemists trained and you have the Bushona Geisha trained. Then, you can join me.”

  She grunted.

  “Then I will never see you again.”

  “Don’t despair, my love. Life may surprise you.”

  As if on cue, Mi-Hahn soared up from the city, riding the winds on speckled wings. He stretched out his hand to meet her, moved her to his shoulder and she chirruped at them both.

  “If you need anything,” he said. “Call her.”

  “If you need anything,” she said. “Tell her.”

  He reached out, caught Ursa’s white hand and raised it to his lips.

  She watched him out of ice-blue eyes, did not rush the kiss, merely tolerated it, and turned her back to him once released. It seemed she would leave without another word but she paused, turned back.

  “I am proud to be your wife,” she said. “You are vain and stubborn and difficult and you do not listen, but you are resourceful and noble and very clever, and I am honoured to be your wife.”

  He could die a happy man.

  With that, she turned then and made her way back to Pol’Lhasa’s great double doors. They swung open, instantly swallowing her in the loud, bustling chaos that was the Palace. And then she was gone, along with his breath.

  He prayed he would live to see her again. He prayed she would live to vindicate him if he didn’t.

  He turned to look down the One Hundred Steps to the tiny palanquin called Seed. Four panthers waiting to carry him along the narrow roads that led to Agara’tha. He wondered if these panthers were servants of the Empire, members of the Panther Elite or Alchemists themselves. If the latter, he might not make it to the monastery at all.

  With a deep cleansing breath, he took the first of One Hundred Steps.

  ***

  This new chamber was dark, lit by eerie, green light, and full of moss and bears. In fact, it reminded Fallon less of the Marh’eeyen Ahrkhives than the CD research complex in Shenandoah, where she had asked for her clothes, her husband and some tea.

  It was a laboratory with glass cases packed along the walls from floor to ceiling. Inside those cases, animals. Birds of all shapes and sizes. Snakes and lizards, rodents and mongoose and guyan pigs and hares. Larger cases held larger animals, from pika deer to horses to the great horned behemoths that roamed Hindaya. Some intact, others in a state of decay, they seemed to be frozen in ice or clear wax. It sent a chill up her spine and she wondered if she could ask the Alchemist for the baby. Holding him seemed safer than holding the hand of the little bear at her side.

  He looked up at her, blinked his large dark eyes. As if he sensed her misgivings. As if he knew.

  She reached down and scooped him into her arms. He was heavy, and he pressed his wide face into her neck. She sighed, remembering her children and the clay pot in her pocket. Life and Death. Sun and Moon, Yin and Yang. Complex, entwined, balanced, at war.

  The
y were being followed by several dozen Xióngmāo now; those that had laid their brooms and rags aside as they’d passed. Bear prints lined the walls. Cat prints too, discernable by the length of the fingers and the pads on the palms. Ancestral prints without pads, and she remembered the remarkable dexterity of Solomon’s hands and fingers. Undoubtedly, one reason the Ancestors lasted so long.

  There were other doors along these walls but they were sealed shut. No prints, no pads, no blue triangles above the frames. She wondered what they could hold, but truth be told, she didn’t really want to know.

  They paused at another half closed doorway, and they were forced to squeeze sideways to make it through. At their heels, the Xióngmāo followed like a clutch of pheasants. It was hotter in this new chamber, the air was stale, and Fallon knew they were nearing the heart of the mountain. Kerris had talked of the anger of the bubbling water. She wondered where he was and her heart ached anew.

  The walls were still lined with cases, but she found herself slowing, staring at the creatures inside.

  “This evil,” hissed Jae’un.

  “Sister,” Sherah said softly. “We should leave.”

  Fallon swallowed and glanced at the cheetah. Her golden eyes were wide and she was clutching her son to her chest. It was strange to think that the Alchemist, the mysterious, all-knowing, otherworldly Alchemist, was afraid.

  Because in these frozen cases were dogs.

  Not the Chanyu of the Lower Kingdom but like them, animal versions of them that clearly moved on four legs like horses or goats. No erect, catlike stance, no clothes, no fingers, no hair distinguished from pelt. It was strange and disturbing and Fallon felt dizzy as they moved through the chamber. From dogs to bears next, animal bears, not people. Fallon had never been certain that bears were, in fact, a people, but these creatures were as different from Gowrain as these dogs were from the Chanyu.

  Cold needles swept down from her ears, for she knew what they would find next.

  Silence now as slowly, they walked between cats trapped and lifeless in cases of glass. Large and small, striped pelts and spotted, maned and furred and silver and gold. All the races of the Upper Kingdom before there was an Upper Kingdom, before their people had been people, back when they were merely animals in glass cages, subjects of the Ancestors.