“Anyway, back in the first days, there were no Sacred people. The Upper Kingdom was governed by lions, and the Ancestors ruled all the Kingdoms from the Seat of the Nine Peaks Mountain. There were many plagues in those first days, and medicines were sent by messenger to DharamShallah. One day, the medicines and the messengers stopped, and for months there was nothing. A team called the Four Daggers traveled up the Mountain to see what had happened.”
“Waiting.”
“What happened, Scholar?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t get that far. There was adventure and intrigue and a conspiracy involving a corrupt magistrate, but I got summoned to Pol’Lhasa before I could finish so I don’t know how it ends. I do know that once there, they found that all the Ancestors were dead and a young woman named Seiya Fehr was caring for a new race of people.”
“The Sacred ones.”
“Yep. Them.”
“But…” Sherah frowned, the tiny spots on her forehead drawing together like a whirlpool. “Why does this voice think I am this woman?”
“Oh, didn’t I say? Seiya Fehr was a cheetah.”
And she reached a hand up, placed it against the metal imprint.
“I bet your hand would fit here. It’s a sign.” She looked over at the Alchemist. “I think we are in the Nine Peaks Mountain.”
“But we are underground.”
“Are we? We are in a mountain, that’s for sure. But I don’t think it’s a mountain.”
“A mountain that is not a mountain?”
“That’s a mystery, isn’t it?”
Sherah looked around, Kylan clutched to her chest. The baby cooed at the young bear, reached for him with tiny hands. The bear held up his bamboo but would not let it go.
“Waiting.”
“What is it waiting for?” the Alchemist asked.
“Hmm, power, I think. At least, that’s what Solomon called it.”
“Power…”
“Yes. Ancestral power. Imagine you could harness fire and wind and thought and motion… well, you can. Hmm. So like a Seer or an Alchemist but not a person. A thing. A source. A process. I think we’ll have to be very careful.”
The Alchemist lowered her golden eyes, hiked her child onto one hip.
“It is dangerous?”
“Anything Ancestral can be. But it can also be very good. At least, that’s what Solomon said.”
“Initiate Power Level. Waiting.”
“What does it want of me?”
“I have no idea. Hmm, tell it, ‘Level One Slow Push.’ That should just turn up the glim.”
The Alchemist swallowed, looked up at the ceiling.
“Level One Slow Push.”
The ground rumbled beneath their feet. In fact, to Fallon it seemed as if the room moved. Slowly, the green glow turned white, illuminating the shadows and brightening the dark.
“Scholar. Behind you.”
“What? Oh—”
Fallon turned, looked up. In one of the cases, was an Ancestor.
The Alchemist moved to her side, eyes wide. Clearly, the man was dead. His hairless pelt was split from hip to chest, his tongue pushing out of his dislocated jaw. His eyes were closed but white tendrils floated from beneath one lid like a cracked egg.
“Solomon was the only one of his people who lived through this,” she said. “I can see why...”
“I have never seen one before,” Sherah breathed.
“Not even Solomon?”
The cheetah shook her head.
“Wow,” said Fallon. “They’re funny looking, if you ask me. But don’t tell Solomon I said that.”
“Level One Slow Push Achieved. Recommend sustain Level One for seven point two hours before initiating Level Two.”
The cheetah looked at her.
“These levels,” she said. “How far do they go?”
Fallon shrugged, resumed her study of the room.
“I don’t know. It could be ten. It could be ten hundred. This was the IAR. I learned the EUS way of things. It seems every empire has its own ‘Way of Things.’ Oh wow, look…”
Another set of cases, tall and linear and filled with thick white frost and scales.
Fallon turned, emerald eyes wide.
“Dragons…”
***
Wake them
***
It was worse than he could have imagined.
The men of Khumul were out in force, with bows and clubs and axes and chains. The children struggled in their arms while aSiffh fought against ropes holding him tight. Even Zorig, older than any of the villagers by half, was held by another man, an arm wrapped around his throat. The udgan snaked between them all, shaking her pipe and cackling with soundless glee.
On the steps of the mountain were the Uürekh – Nüür, Ma’ar, and Raal. Like the villagers, the bears brandished their clubs and waved their axes, but they terrified simply because of their size and dual heads. Between them stood Setse, hair rising and falling in the biting Tsaparang wind.
“She tried to find a better way for her baby!” He heard her over the din. “The baby was an Oracle!”
“She was lured by lies and fear!” the alpha shouted back. “Oracles are a curse on the world! They all should be left in the snow for the crows.”
“Then leave us!” she cried. “Leave us to the snow and the crows…”
And she swept her arm for emphasis.
“You gain nothing by coming here, lose nothing by leaving.”
As he picked his way down the mountain steps, he swept his eyes over the scene below, tried to figure out a strategy that would allow them to survive the night. He could set them on fire, each and every one. He could fling them helpless, top over tail, into the chorten; send them reeling into the Ancient Forest, break their bones against the Pillars of Clay.
Whispers, he realized. Balm was stronger than he’d realized.
“You cursed me!” Tuuv howled and a cry rose up from the men. “You cursed the entire village! Remove the curse, witch, and we will leave.”
“I am no witch,” said Setse. “I serve the Khan of Khans, and therefore, his people.”
“You lie with a cat, you ride with a horse, and now you fight alongside the Uürekh.” He raised his hands. “Tell me how you serve the Chanyu!”
Another roar from the villagers and it surprised him to find his blood boiling at the affront. The bonestick and the lure of necromancy. Death was the last, best master, and he had been dead so many times. There were dark things waking in the mountain and they called to him.
“Release the children,” Nevye shouted, and all eyes swept up to fall on him. “Release them and we will release the curse!”
“Cats lie as swiftly as they die!”
And once again, an arrow was sent whipping towards him, only to be plucked out of the air by Hunts in Silence. The owl settled on his shoulder, dropped the arrow into his gloved hand.
Death was simply a matter of perspective.
He paused under the lintel of the first set of steps. She looked up at him, threw him a fleeting smile before turning to face the villagers once more.
“You said that Oracles should be left in the snow for the crows,” Setse cried above the wind.
The villagers cheered, shook their fists.
“Go ahead,” she shouted. “Kill them.”
The cheering died away.
“Kill these children. Kill the sons and daughters of wolves and jackals, the children of the Moon. Kill them in front of me, a girl who has only lived to serve her people, but please, kill your children because you are so strong.”
The howl of the wind; the whimper of the young.
“Kill them in front of a cat, emissary of a despised people. Please, show him how honour is executed in the Land of the Chanyu.”
Silence.
“Kill them in front of the Uürekh, whom we all consider animals. Show them the Way of the Wolf. Show them our pride and our spirit and our will of iron. Show them what makes us p
eople and them not.”
He dared not look at her. He was certain his heart would burst.
“Khan Baitsukhan killed the Oracles, because he thought killing them would make him strong and now, he is dead!” She looked around at all the faces. “I was there when the Khanmaker dropped his head at the feet of our new Khan. I was there. This cat was there. We don’t just see. We know.”
The wind lifted her hair like fingers reaching for the dying sun.
“Our new Khargan does not kill Oracles. He values them. We train them. This is his command. I will not lie to you, people of Khumul. Houlun Elbegdorj died because she was afraid, afraid of life with an Oracle as a child. Our women are known for having spines of iron. They can face death and laugh like any soldier. What does that say, Chanyu my people, when our women are afraid to live?”
The whipping, snapping, biting wind.
Slowly, one man lowered Altan to the ground. The boy ran from him, scrambled up the mountain rocks to stand beside the Blue Wolf, reached up to take her hand. Another villager, another child, and soon, all the Oracles were freed. They faced each other, now, Oracles and Uürekh against the men of Khumul and their udgan.
“Remove the curse,” growled Tuuv.
“There is no curse,” said Setse.
“It is removed,” shouted Yahn Nevye, a heartbeat behind.
Not the same. Not the same. She did not look up at him.
“Go in peace,” he shouted from the stair. “And remember this day. Tell others of the new will that shapes your people, the iron will that is needed to hold fast in the face of Ancestors. The Field of One Hundred Stones was only—”
Whispers and voices, hissing and death.
He hesitated.
The children began to cry.
“Necromancy,” said Setse. “I feel it.”
“Balmataar,” said Nevye. “He is using fire and necromancy.”
“But why?”
And they all looked to the peak of the mountain. Black smoke was rolling out from the Red Temple.
“He’s trying to wake the rats.”
***
Wake them
***
The floor rumbled beneath their feet and for a brief moment, Kirin was certain the room had moved. It was only a brief moment, however, for in that moment, the Red Commander lunged.
Immediately, his lethal company followed, rushing like an avalanche. It was fitting then that the Blood Fang drew first as Kirin swung to slice leather at the commander’s waist. A second sword came at him and he parried with the Jade, swinging the Blood wide and forcing them back. To his right, ala’Asalan did the same, the sheer reach of the blade rending armour and pelt alike. To his left, Kerris swung his old katanah with grace and skill, and Kirin’s heart swelled at the sight of his brother, fighting like a lion.
Three Snow pressed him, iron swords barking from the fore. A blast of heat from his knee and he cursed the odds, swinging the Jade to take off the attacker’s hand, leaving his chest exposed. Iron sliced at his doh, but the thick leather barely moved and he loosed a savage kick, sending the man into the arms of a Xióngmāo behind him. The man gasped, eyes wide, before he crumbled to the floor. The bear looked up, blood dripping from her long, unsheatheable claws.
Interesting, Kirin thought. And unexpected.
There was a moment of silence as the balance of power shifted.
A Chi’Chen spun on the woman, his sword flashing and slicing the thick white of her throat. The bear sank to her knees, red spraying across her robes.
The room erupted in birdlike shrieks as the Xióngmāo rushed forward, forcing the Snow backwards. Monkeys whirled, their swords ripping into cloaks and pelt alike but the lions moved forward as well, catching the Snow between steel and claw. Ala’Asalan sang and two pale heads sailed down the corridor, frowning as they went.
Pinned between the two forces, what was left of the Snow suddenly froze, swords raised in the air. Cats, dog and bears stepped back, obeying the unspoken art of war.
As one, the Chi’Chen troop dropped to their knees, turning their blades and gripping the hilts with both hands.
“Wait,” Kerris cried but it was too late. The remaining swords thrust inwards, piercing hearts and bowels and lungs. Small, shiny eyes bulged, blood bubbled up on pink tongues. One by one, they pitched forward, the tips of their blades bursting up from their backs.
There was silence in the strange blue room, save for the wail of the djenghorn. It sounded like a funeral gong.
“Noble warriors,” said Kirin. “Noble deaths.”
“Chanyu never fail like that,” said Long-Swift. “Chanyu fight to last tooth.”
Kirin sheathed his katanah, strode up to the Xióngmāo. Four of them were dead, one nearly, and the others regrouped to form a line, dazed, bloody but all bear.
Fist to cupped palm, Kirin bowed.
“Thank you,” he said in Chi’Chen. “We owe you our lives.”
They pointed at the dying bear. She gazed up at them with large brown eyes.
He knelt beside her, slid the tanto from his boot. The Xióngmāo surrounded him, laid clawed hands on their comrade’s shoulder, waiting. He lifted the soft white chin, forbade her to look anywhere else but the blue of his eyes.
“You are a brave soul,” he began, “And a loyal servant to all the Kingdoms of the world. I have been honoured to fight at your side, and I am honoured to usher you onto the Last Road. May your path be straight and your journey sweet.”
The bear blinked slowly, with barely a flicker as the tanto slid home. Kirin held her and the weight increased, sagging into his arms as the chi left her body. He laid her gently on the stone and rose to his feet, allowing them a moment to grieve. Soon, the bears moved in, lifting the slain and shuffling out of the room, leaving them to the quiet and the blood.
And for the first time, Kirin noticed the walls. Animals in cases of ice and gel, animals that looked like people but not.
“Kerris,” he breathed. “What is this place?”
His brother turned to him, hands on hips, a crooked grin spreading across his grey face.
“Where the Ancestors ended,” he said. “And where we began.”
***
Wake them
***
“What the hell, Ward?” he grumbled as they rushed through the corridor. She was tall and her legs covered the floor at an impressive speed. He was panting just to keep up. “What do you mean, war?”
“Just what I said, Seven,” she said. “The Kuri have breached the Pit’s defenses. Those scorpion-things are their dogs. They can bust through just about anything.”
“But where’s Reedy?”
They rounded a corner, slowing as a group of people looked up.
His heart skipped a beat. Human. They were human, and they looked like they had been through a war.
He swallowed.
“Seven,” said Ward. “This is the First Line of Slab Three. People, this is Jeffery Solomon, Super Seven of SlabOne.”
Heads nodded but no one moved to stand. He scanned the group, counting eight men and women clad in tattered black. Their heads were stubble and it was clear they had only been recently awakened. Days? Weeks? Months? He had no idea how long he’d been under.
“You wake?” asked one man, glaring from behind his helliad. He had tattoos on his chin and was the size of a shed.
“I don’t know,” said Solomon. “Are we in Dreamtime?”
“Reedy cancelled Dreamtime,” said a woman with almost as many tattoos.
“He tried to cancel us!” said another.
“He can’t cancel us,” said the man and he rose to his feet. It was like a mountain rising out of a sea. Solomon felt very small. “We’re his First Line. He needs us.”
“Seven, this is Duck,” said Ward. “Duck, Super Seven.”
The big man nodded but did not extend his hand. Solomon was glad. He wasn’t sure it would survive the grip.
Ward inclined her chin toward the others.
“Mag, Ben, Rolly, Flack, Oola, Five and Dance.”
They murmured greetings. Tough as nails.
“So, Reedy,” he said. “Where is he?”
“Dunno,” said the woman called Mag. “We not seen him for weeks.”
“Who’s in charge of the Qore?”
Duck grunted.
“Reedy IS the Qore.”
Solomon glanced at Ward. She shook her head.
“Ward, am I really here, or am I in cryo?”
She reached around, pinched the wire at the nape of his neck. He flinched.
“Real, Seven. You don’t have a wire in Dreamtime.”
“I don’t create helliads out of my imagination in realtime, Ward.”
“You don’t have a helliad, Seven.”
“I sure as hell did. I blasted those damned scorpion-things with it.”
“Where is it?”
“It scattered down the hallway when I fell back…”
“I was in the hallway, Seven.” She shook her head. “There was no helliad.”
He frowned, ran a hand through his tangle of hair. There was a whisper, a memory of a voice calling his name.
“Where’s Persis?”
“Asleep. I don’t know where.”
“In the Ezekiel Wheels?”
“I said, I don’t know where.”
“This is Dreamtime,” he said. “This is a damned game that Matthias Reitman is playing in Dreamtime.”
“This isn’t Dreamtime, Seven,” said Ward again. “You just woke up too fast—”
“I didn’t wake up at all.” He stepped back, held out his hands. “Solomon, Jeffery Anders. SLS7554b37Q. Passcode Tango9931. Seeker 4. I want a helliad rifle.”
And like before, there was the folding of the world and a helliad rifle in his hands.
“See?” he said. “A helliad.”
Ward glanced at the others, then back at him.
“You’re not holding anything, Seven.”
“What the hell? Ward, look!”
And he held it out again.
Ward shook her head.
He stepped back, looked down. There was no helliad. There was a hookah.
Snow in the Year of the Dragon Page 27