“Move,” Ursa snarled.
“I will not move,” said the lynx.
“The Empress has summoned me.”
“We have summoned you,” came another voice, and the others appeared from the pillars all around her. There were six now, since the death of the fuchsia silk. Yellow, red, teal, plum, blue and jade. She was surrounded by a riot of colours.
“Why?” Her hands fell to the hilts of her twin swords. “This is not honourable.”
“You are not honourable,” said the jaguar clothed in red. She slid a pair of red painted nun’chaku from her obi, snapped them at the end of a golden chain.
“You are not welcome,” said the leopard beneath all the teal. She slid a teal-dyed dagger from piles of shiny black hair.
“You have upset the way of things,” said the cheetah wrapped in jade. She slid a polished jade staff from her back, held it with both hands, tip to the floor.
“You have upset the Empress,” said the ocelot in blue. She slid a fan from her sleeve, flicked it open to reveal a wide blue blade.
“I do not wish to kill you,” growled Ursa. “But I will.”
“Your skills are not Enough,” said the panther in plum, drawing a set of sai from the plum blossoms on her back.
“The traitor was one of you.” Ursa slid both katanah and kodai’chi from their sheaths. “Maybe all of you.”
The women began to circle.
“We are the Bushona Geisha,” said the yellow. “Loyal to the Empress with our very last breaths.”
“You are useless,” snarled Ursa, swinging her swords as she pivoted in the center. “Incompetent. Ridiculous. Who trained you?”
A red blur and Ursa spun, slicing with the katanah to catch the chain of the nun’chaku, its fierce motion halted. The red geisha smiled and released one end. The other swung free, back into her palm.
Silence. Breath.
The teal lunged, but her dagger was blocked by sham’Rai steel. The jade bo next and Ursa ducked, kodai’chi flashing to catch the wood in its blade. She swung down, striking the tip of the staff on the mosaic floor and yanking it out of the Geisha’s grip. With a cry, she stomped her boot down onto the staff. It snapped free of the kodai’chi and into her hand. She had now three weapons. Without hesitation, she swung the staff and sliced the katanah in a savage arc, tearing a ribbon through green silk. The plum sprang forward, twin sais gleaming but the snow leopard pivoted and swung both short sword and staff in a wide arc, forcing them all to step back.
Silence. Breath.
As one, they fell upon her but she was a blur, a slip of silver in coloured chaos. Steel met steel, blade met flesh, and blood sprayed across the floor. The jaguar went down, cradling her shin. The panther staggered back, holding her head where the bo had struck. Before they could even see, shir’khins whipped through the air, thudding into pillars and obis and flowers and suddenly a cry from the ocelot and all fighting ceased. She held up her fan. It had blocked a star a mere hands-breadth from her forehead. The corridor, once filled with the sounds of steel, fell silent once again.
“I do not wish to kill you,” Ursa snarled. “But I will.”
Slowly, the Bushona Geisha sheathed their weapons, drew themselves into straight lines, a fence of colour streaked with red.
“We serve the Empress,” said the cheetah. “But we have failed.”
“We have grown soft with our years in the Palace,” said the ocelot.
“Help us to become steel,” said the leopard.
“Sharpen us,” said the jaguar.
“Teach us,” said the panther.
“Teach us, Heike, first of the Bushona Geisha,” said the lynx.
As one, they bowed.
Ursa straightened but did not sheath her weapons. Blood made a river down the side of her nose. She could feel the heat of a slash to the belly, the sting of a crack to the spine. She could hear footsteps and whispers as the once empty corridor came alive again with onlookers.
She should bow, she told herself. It was the Way of Things. They had fought bravely, if sloppily. They deserved it.
Clearly, she had been married to the mongrel for too long.
“I am not Bushona Geisha,” she said, loud enough for the onlookers to hear. “And neither are you. There is no more Bushona Geisha. That was an indulgence of women, nothing more. We are in a time of war and need warriors, women warriors, to protect the life and honour of our Empress. You are not colour wrapped in flowers. You are more than pretense and show and fluttering eyes. If you wish to remain in the Palace, you will wear armour like the men, but you are not men. Neither are you women. You are weapons, forged to serve the Empress. You are Steel.”
The women bowed before her were not breathing.
“Sit,” she commanded. “Learners pose.”
As one, they did and she was proud of all the blood.
She moved to the panther.
“You are not Plum,” she said. “You are Power.”
The panther lowered her eyes, nodded.
She moved to the jaguar.
“You are not Red,” she said. “You are Rage.”
The jaguar lowered her eyes, nodded.
She moved to the ocelot.
“You are not Blue,” she said. “You are Blade.”
The ocelot lowered her eyes, nodded.
She moved to the cheetah.
“You are not Jade,” she said. “You are Judge.”
The cheetah lowered her eyes, nodded.
She moved to the leopard.
“You are not Teal,” she said. “You are Terror.”
The leopard lowered her eyes, nodded.
She moved to the lynx.
“You are not Yellow,” she said and she paused, frowned. “You did not fight. Do you not have a weapon?”
The lynx met her eyes. Slowly, she smiled.
“I do,” she said. “But I wished to see which way the wind blew.”
Silence. Breath.
Her hand was a blur but so was the katanah. A ping and a chuck.
Silence. Breath. A ribbon of red at her throat.
The silver head tips, drops to the mosaic with a thud. The yellow pipe is still in her hand. Both follow the head to the floor.
Ursa snarls, for the katanah has deflected the needle but not before it has grazed her cheek.
Her throat tightens, her eyes go red. Red, then teal, then plum.
She hopes her husband will live to avenge her.
The corridor spins into a riot of colour and then white.
***
“Brown, abba. His eyes are brown.”
A young face looms over him, soon joined by an older one.
“You’re right, Ardeep. Unnatural.”
There is only desire, and the sorrow than it brings.
He closes his eyes and surrenders.
***
It was late and he was tired, so he sat on the edge of his cryo bed, legs hanging over the side, absentmindedly fiddling with the GS kit in his hands. The Kuri had camped beneath the Wheels, and Ward had reluctantly set a guard to protect them should any of the Pit’s First Line come to call.
Reedy is the Qore.
Something was wrong, he thought to himself. Something didn’t add up, but the pieces were dancing elusively around the edges of his mind.
He’s in a permanently altered state.
He frowned. The man had talked at length about the IAR, had displayed a remarkable knowledge of their organization and strategies, right down to the number of labs and the name of the program.
They called it the Chimera virus.
How did he know what he knew? Was it because of the Qore?
People don’t turn into animals, Persis.
He looked down at the kit.
Sireth? Can you hear me?
He’d been on the surface for almost two years.
People don’t turn into animals.
His very human hands were trembling as he opened it.
You don’t list
en. You never listen.
He pressed his thumb onto the kit’s white circle. Numbers and letters sprang up into the ionspace above it, wheeling and spinning like the screens in the Qore.
We just need to know where we fit.
Spinning green and yellow and white.
Hopeful monsters. That’s all we are now.
Spinning, spinning, stop.
People don’t turn into animals.
His heart stopped as well.
People don’t turn into animals.
One line flashing red, a second flashing orange.
But what if they did?
He closed up the kit, tucked it carefully inside the cryo unit. He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for a heartbeat to begin.
***
Emperor Hiro Watanabe stood, hands on hips, in the Square of Frost Flowers and the alcove that had previously held the severed head of General Li Yamashida. Not surprisingly, the head was gone, replaced hours ago by the head of Tomas Jun-Pak, last to set of the Rising Suns. He had been executed publicly, but without fanfare, and Kirin thought it fitting. Honour restored by the shedding of blood. Now, in the fading skies of twilight, the Emperor stood in front of the people, surrounded by the Sacred Snow in polished gold and colourful tassels.
Kirin nodded to himself. These were the monkeys of his experience. Strong, proud, fierce, yet extravagant. Such a contrast to the austerity of Shin Sekai, and he wondered how the city would respond.
The Square was filled with people. Tents and kilns were gone, replaced by citizens and soldiers alike. Cats stood beside monkeys, Chanyu beside Xióngmāo, and he looked up at his brother, now standing at the Emperor’s right hand. Hard to remember all the years of disappointment and shame, and he felt a pang of regret. Not the first, he reckoned, and certainly not the last. Regret, it seemed, was embedded in the Bushido code, despite its lack of virtue.
The great-geared mirrors that had once illuminated the labyrinthine canyon had been wheeled into the Square. It took several Xióngmāo to focus the last of the sun as the Emperor stepped forward in a brilliant beam of light. He raised both his hands in the air and a hush fell over the crowd.
“People of Shin Sekai, I bring greetings from Bai’Zhin, the Dancing Crane of our glorious empire. May Luck and Long Life grow like bamboo in your many gardens.”
Silence from the masses.
“You have endured much at the hands of your leaders, but have been made stronger for it. Your reputation has reached the ears of the Imperial Court of the Sun, so much so that I, who has never set foot outside the walls of our fair city, had to see it for myself. This is as much an honour for me, then, as it is for you.”
Silence and shifting wind.
“You may believe that I have come, along with the magnificent River of Steel, to address accounts of insurgence and revolution among those known as the Rising Suns.”
Dangerous words for dangerous times. Kirin clasped his hands firmly behind his back, hoping for a change in the wind.
“Of course, I could t believe no such thing, for there is no Empire as proud and gracious as our Empire of the Sun. No offence intended to our esteemed and honoured guests...”
He smiled first at Kerris, then at the Khargan. They smiled back, and Kirin noticed that Swift’s smile was as terrifying as it was big.
“But I assure you, people of my people, that this is not true. All things, like all roads, must end, most especially as a new year begins. As we can see, Shin Sekai is no more, carried to the skies by the…”
The Emperor glanced at Kerris, who made a subtle gesture with his fingers, and Kirin realized that it was highly unlikely that Watanable had written this speech.
“…by the majestic, mysterious Nine Peaks Mountain of our Ancestors. Those called the Rising Suns have been carefully guarding the secrets of the Ancestors, and we thank them for ushering us into this new era of knowledge and enlightenment.”
Murmurs now, a few nods from the crowd. All around the Square, the Emperor’s Sacred Snow, distinguished from those of the Rising Suns by their armour and tassels and elaborate helms, stood ready to keep the peace in ways he’d rather not witness. He wondered if the rest of the Snow had met fates similar to that of Tomas Jun-Pak.
“But as it stands, the Nine Peaks Mountain is a place of learning and study, the seat of all Ancestral knowledge. And according to our esteemed representatives from the Upper and Northern Kingdoms, it is also a center for war and the assignment of war. Unfortunately as such, it is not, any longer, a city.”
Murmurs and confusion. He watched as the Sacred Snow wheeled several small cannons out into the Square of Frost Flowers. The crowd glanced around in concern but the Emperor went on, unmindful.
“We are here to assist the relocation of the fine people of Shin Sekai to the most holy, most revered city in all the empires, the jewel in the crown of Chi’Chen culture, our proud matriarch Lha’Lhasa herself. The city sits empty on the plains of the Chi’Chenguan Way, yearning for her people to return. For its part, the Nine Peaks Mountain will return to its glorious heritage as scholarly pillar of all the kingdoms, and will lead the way into a new era of empirical cooperation and prosperity.”
The cannons squealed as their muzzles pointed high into the night sky.
“So, kind people of Shin Sekai, as you gather your belongings and begin the sojourn to your historic home, I urge you to celebrate the recent New Year, which is, of course, the Year of the Dragon. It is said that a Dragon year brings no peace, only fire. Dragon years are like the sea – violent and unpredictable, with incessant waves of calamity, upheaval and change, and it is bad luck for those born in the Year of the Dragon.”
Kirin’s heart thudded at the thought of Ling, Dragonborn Empress and holder of his heart. He prayed she would see only peace and life and good fortune. He also prayed he would see her again but dragon years were unpredictable and he’d much rather see her safe.
Life was hope, the Scholar had once said. And after all he’d been through, he was still very much alive. Hope could not be too far behind.
“But we do not accept this ancient wisdom. Rather, this year, we will make our own wisdom. I decree that there will be no bad luck in the Year of the Dragon, only good, for this is a unique Dragon year with a unique Dragon. This year is not a Water Dragon, nor a Fire Dragon. It is not a Dragon of metal, nor wood, nor wind. This is a new year, never before seen in the history of all our peoples. This year, the Weeping Dragons have been released from under the Nine Peaks Mountains and all the world will celebrate with dragons of flesh and blood and scale and bone.”
He paused dramatically and Kirin knew the timing was Kerris, all Kerris.
“People of Lha’Lhasa,” shouted the Emperor. “Meet your true protectors – the Weeping Dragons!”
While his sister-in-law had insisted there had been dragons, he was a man of pragmatism, not faith. Now, as the great mirrors swung upward and the beams swept up the sharp, gleaming walls of the Nine Peaks Mountain, he found he was holding his breath, hoping for a miracle and wishing for more than a bit of magic. There! He saw them, four coiled shapes glistening with starlight and mirror. One gold, one black, one pearl and one long, the Weeping Dragons of story and myth hissed and snapped and roared as a cry rose up from the people down below.
Suddenly, the one of the cannons boomed, sending a projectile high into the twight. It erupted with a bang, and fireworks exploded across the sky. Far below, the people in the Square erupted as well, their cheers drowned out by the boom of the second cannon, and then the third. Fireworks and dragons. People loved nothing better. It was a clever tactic and he glanced at Kerris, knowing it was all his brother’s doing. Kerris caught his look, smiled a smile that said this was only the beginning.
After the hardship of the last few weeks, a new beginning was a welcome thing.
Kirin sighed, cast his eyes across the sea of people. Monkeys, cats, dogs and Xióngmāo, celebrating the spectacle that was both future and past. They had l
ittle idea of the Ancestral threat gathering all around them. Today, it was about something far different, and he wished he could let himself partake, if only a little.
In the shadow of a doorway, he saw her, shrouded in black silk. She was holding a bundle and his heart sank as she rocked it from side to side, humming as if it could hear. The Khanil is not well, the Khargan had said and he wondered if she would grow stranger, more arcane in the coming days. Grief and Dharma, loss and pain. He watched her smile at the bundle, lean her face in to give it a kiss, felt the cold sweep of dread at the sight of a tiny golden hand, reaching up to touch her chin.
The Khanil is not well
She was holding the baby.
Naranbataar will be wounded, she’d said.
He knew what she’d done.
Bring him to me.
Her heavy-lidded eyes searched the crowd, found him in a heartbeat.
Dragon years bring no peace, only fire.
She had killed the boy to save her child.
Violent and unpredictable
To save his child.
Calamity, upheaval and change
To bring it back from the dead.
Necromancy
She smiled.
He looked away, unable to find a place to rest his eyes. Not the dragons, nor the fireworks, nor the dancing of the Chi’Chen as they celebrated a belated New Year. Not the face of his brother, nor the face of the Emperor, least of all the face of the Khargan, her husband.
High above, the fireworks danced across the sky, spraying the night with streaks of red and green and yellow. The timing was remarkable then, as the lights completely hid the blinking REDmarks as they circled the new city. The drone of the engines were drowned by the pop and bang of pyrotechnics. Even the thousands of men and horses under tents along the Chi’Chenguan Way did not suspect what was happening as fifteen REDmarks landed silently on the top of a flat mesa-topped mountain to the north. If they had suspected, they would have put it down to dragons, for the creatures had been unleashed in a most spectacular way.
Snow in the Year of the Dragon Page 34