To Journey in the Year of the Tiger

by H. Leighton Dickson

  “What do you know of the Council of Seven, Captain?”

  “Your Seers, Excellency. Seven men of learning and wisdom, blessed with the Gifts of Farsight and Vision.”

  “It’s a community of 500 or thereabouts, if I’m not mistaken…” added Fallon Waterford.

  She was strolling behind them, speaking very casually and not seeming to realize her breach of etiquette. She had not been given leave to speak.

  “Mostly acolytes and students, I think. Some scholars. All who devote themselves to the search for Truth, the pursuit of the Gifts, and other such monastic endeavors. Simplicity, honesty, humility, that kind of stuff. Ultimately, only seven are chosen, seven in whom the Gifts are pure and strong. They advise the Courts on their Visions, and interpretations of Visions, and so on, from the cliffs of, um...” Her mouth twisted upside-down as she thought. “From the cliffs of Sha’Hadin.”

  Ursa was growling once again.

  “Indeed, child,” purred the Empress, “They advise me.”

  “Oh.” Fallon’s face fell. “Oh mother...”

  The silence was unbearable.

  “I see Guru Navheen has trained you well. He was always insolent with my mother.”

  “Forgive me, Excellency! I - I just –“

  The Empress smiled. “Enough, child. You are, of course, quite correct. The Seers are learned men, gifted and wiser than most. The Seven are my most trusted advisors and, with present company excepted, the truest protectors of the Upper Kingdom. These are their familiars.”

  She swept a scarlet-clad arm in the direction of two falcons, hooded and perched on a simple, wrought iron pedestal, hearing all but seeing nothing.

  Immediately, Kirin’s head snapped up. Ursa had caught it as well, for her eyes were sharp and shining.

  “Two?” he asked, for Ursa would not. “Only two?”

  “The Council of Seven... is dying.”

  Again, that unbearable silence.

  “How, Excellency?”

  “That remains a mystery, Captain. Each of the past four nights has seen the death of a Council Member, always near the Close of the Second Watch.

  “And the manner of death?”

  “Again, a mystery. The first man, Agis Marelius died in his bed. He had eighty-three summers to his credit, and the physician declared his death as natural for one so old. But when the second died, and then the third, all with similar contorted expressions and violent cries, it became clear that only ‘unnatural’ causes were at work. The falcons have been relaying messages to and from Sha’Hadin as swiftly as they fly. We expect - no, we pray, for the arrival of another at any time. Perhaps, this curse has not yet claimed a fifth, this very night.”

  Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu extended her hand to remove the first hood. Small, black eyes blinked several times before the falcon unfolded its speckled wings and lifted into the air, exchanging black iron for red silk.

  “This is Na’rang, companion of Petrus Ishak Raphael Mercouri, the Ancient of Sha’Hadin, eldest of the Council and a dear, dear friend. As of last evening, he yet lives. And this,’ She reached for the second hood. “This is Path.”

  The second falcon chirruped loudly as her shiny eyes met sunlight. She too, spread wide her wings, talon bells jingling, and rose from her perch. She did not follow Na’rang however but streaked past the Imperial forearm, landing instead on the arm of Ursa Laenskaya.

  All eyes turned to the Major who stared at the bird in horror. She shook her arm, pushed at its small body, attempting to dislodge the creature but resulting in a series of angry protests from the sharp, hooked beak.

  Ursa turned to gape at the Empress.

  “Why?! Why did it do that?! Why?!”

  “I do not know, Major,” murmured the Empress. She approached the pair with a curious gaze. “It is most interesting. Perhaps it is because her Seer is new to the Council. Sireth benAramis is the youngest ever to sit on the Council of Seven, not having yet reached the Age of Perfection. Indeed, it is said that his visions are never wrong.”

  Kirin nodded slowly. Most Seers did not attain Council status until well past sixty summers. But to have accomplished such before the age of forty-nine was unimaginable. And therefore, suspect.

  “You have not met him, Captain?”

  “No, Excellency. I was delivering your last terms to the Chi’Chen ambassador during the time of his confirmation.”

  “You have heard of him, though.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Such a man on the Council, Excellency? Who hasn’t heard of it?”

  “And what are your thoughts on the matter?”

  She was watching him carefully, weighing the meaning behind his words. He would choose them well.

  “You have allowed it, Excellency. That is Enough.”

  That seemed to be Enough, then, for her.

  The Empress reached out a gold-clad hand. The falcon sprang from its unwilling host to its Imperial one, bleating its displeasure. She smoothed the ruffled feathers before transferring both falcons back to the pedestal and replacing the hoods.

  “There is a new star in the heavens—“

  “Yes!” exclaimed Fallon, clapping her hands together. The leopards flinched but still did not move. “We’ve all seen it! Everyone in the University is so curious as to what it means!”

  Kirin sighed yet again. This child had no training. Indeed, he wondered if she possessed any sense at all.

  “Our Alchemists are working on divining the answer to that, child,” said the Empress. “And my dear Petrus believes that this youngest council member has seen something of it, but refuses to speak of it.”

  “Refuses, Excellency?” growled the Captain. “This cannot be allowed.”

  “Sometimes oil is more effective than a stick for opening a lock, Captain. That is why I sent for you.”

  He lowered his gaze, shamed by his temper. She touched his arm and he was instantly restored.

  “You four, with the addition of Kerris Wynegarde-Grey, will journey to Sha’Hadin, to discover who or what is killing my Seers. You will use any and all means at your disposal, all of your venerable skills to see that it is stopped and stopped soon. Without the Gifts of Farsight and Vision, Pol’Lhasa, DharamShallah, and all of the Upper Kingdom will be vulnerable and once vulnerable shall surely fall.”

  Her deep, soul-searching eyes burned into them like the sun. All four - Ursa Laenskaya, Fallon Waterford, Sherah al Shiva and finally, Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, Captain of the Guard. Yes, most especially, her Captain.

  “To you I bind our lives, our civilization, our future. Do not fail me.”

  And she added one final word, which when spoken from those lips, could break bone.

  “Please.”

  ***

  “He is dead,” said the physician.

  There was a long silence in the Hall of the Seers. Of course, they had known he was dead. They had felt him pass violently at the End of the Second Watch. There seemed no stopping it. Physicians, acolytes and attendants could offer little more for sympathy than silence.

  The physician nodded and left the two men to grieve alone. The central hearth was smoldering now, its embers dying as a cool wind reached its fingers inward towards their kneeling forms. Surrounding the hearth, three tiny flames flickered from three earthen bowls, the last of seven oil lamps still burning in the Hall of the Seers. Small grey fingers reached to snuff one out and darkness advanced into the room.

  “Did you see it this time?” came a rich, quiet voice. The voice of a lion, accented in the tongue of the Old Courts. “Please, Petrus, tell me you saw it.”

  “No, Sireth,” said the elder as he struggled to his feet. “Again, I did not.”

  “It must be wrong. Perhaps this time... perhaps I...”

  He did not finish, but let the words hang with a sigh. He did not move to get up.

  The old man regarded him gently. “Sireth benAramis is never wrong.

  “I would give anything to be wrong. Just this once.” />
  Tattered brown robes swept the floor as Petrus laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

  “Your vision is the only key, Sireth. Do not disparage it. It may be the only thing we have.”

  The one called Sireth pulled at his hood, hiding his angular face further in shadows and bent lower, as if calling the warmth from the hearth.

  “What now, Petrus? What if we can’t stop this?”

  “Then we can’t.”

  “I don’t understand. This makes no sense.”

  “You should sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep anymore. There is no peace in sleeping.”

  Petrus Ishak Raphael Mercouri, the Ancient of Sha’Hadin, smiled and slipped his frail hands into his sleeves. He turned to stare out the black window.

  “There never is.”

  ***

  Kirin watched her for several long moments as she sat by the great charcoal brazier in the kitchen. Ever since he could remember, she would be up with the servants, tending them as a shepherdess tends her sheep. She would not cook nor would she clean, for she was too well bred - a lioness of the Imperial Courts. But she would be there at first light of dawn, working on some tapestry or piece of porcelain that required a lady’s touch. This morning, with her tea at her side, she embroidered a slip of purple silk with beads so tiny that she held them on the tips of her claws.

  “Mother.”

  She looked up at him, eyes small and dewy and brilliantly blue, before bending back to her work.

  “Sit with me.”

  “I haven’t much time.”

  “I know, my son. But sit.”

  He could do nothing but obey, so he pulled up a magnificently embroidered stool in front of the brazier. Silently, a servant placed a cup of hot, sweet tea at his side. Her attendants sat on similar stools behind her, passing her beads and refreshing her tea as required. It had always been this way, and its familiarity warmed him more than the coals.

  “He is home,” she said.

  “I was informed.”

  “He has something for you.”

  Kirin smiled. “I am not surprised.”

  “How is Lyn-ling??

  Now he felt the warmth in his cheeks. Lyn-ling. The pet name for the Empress since a kitten in the Imperial Nursery. Only a handful of people could get away with calling her that, only nursemaids and nannies and Mother. She knew the secret places in his heart.

  “She is well.”

  “Good.”

  She nodded quietly, pursing her paper-thin lips, her small, bird-like fingers weaving intricate patterns into the silk. She did not look at him, would not, and he knew she had something on her mind. While part of him cried to get moving, the other ordered him to sit. It would be dishonorable to do otherwise. Her long golden hair was streaked with silver and pulled up into a knot of many braids. She wore a kimonoh of Imperial gold, the mark of their noble heritage. Patiently, like the maid-servants, he waited on her.

  “I have spoken with Tamre d’Elsbeth-Ford,” she said.

  His heart sank. “Yes.”

  “Her daughter has made inquiries.”

  “Yes.”

  “Dellanana is a lovely young woman. A lioness of fine features, grace and intelligence. You would be well matched.” Still, she would not look at him. “I would like you to consider her.”

  He said nothing.

  “I am growing old, my son. I do not wish to face our Ancestors with nothing to show for my life but crafts and dreams and no heirs to your father’s legacy.”

  She held up the slip of silk. It was a kitten’s presentation gown. She smiled now, few of her teeth remaining. It puckered her face like a withered apple.

  “But more than these, I wish you to be happy.”

  “I am happy, Mother.”

  “You will be more happy with a wife.”

  “I will consider her.”

  “Your brother will be happy to see you.”

  She bent back to her work. It was a dismissal. Quietly, he rose to his feet and bowed his most formal bow. She deserved it.

  “I will bring him home safely, if not soon.”

  She nodded again and he left the warmth of the kitchen, feeling a familiar weight fall heavy on his shoulders.

  ***

  Kirin padded up the winding stone staircase in utter darkness. There was no danger for each step was as familiar as a finger or a toe. Indeed, he often felt as if this place were a part of him - his heart, perhaps, or his soul. It had been their ancestral home for at least ten generations, longer if the city’s record-keeper was to be believed. And he treasured every step, every stone, every hearth in its ancient halls, every measure of what it was and what it had always been.

  The House Wynegarde-Grey.

  He stopped at the uppermost door. The outside wood was surprisingly clean, not at all what he knew the other side to be. On the other side, there would be etchings and carvings and paintings, and every gap in the wooden surface stuffed with paper or fabric or twigs, transforming ordinary cedar into something extraordinary. Something other-worldly. Something that reflected the uniqueness of the individual living behind it.

  With a subtle shake of his tawny head, Kirin pushed it open.

  What had the Empress said? Deep in his bed. Of course, she had been right. She was always right.

  He crossed the woven mats tossed carelessly across the floor and threw open the shutters, then the windows themselves, allowing great gusts of cold air and sunrise to tumble down to the blanket-covered mound in the centre of the room. The room smelled of leather, pine and old ale, and he noticed the bottles also tossed carelessly across the floor. He sighed.

  If Kerris was drunk, this would be a problem.

  The blankets began to stir. Kirin nudged them with his boot.

  “Wake up, dung beetle.”

  “Mm. Go away.”

  “The dawn sends you her greetings. As does your Empress.”

  “Kindly give the dawn and Lyn-ling my regards,” mumbled the blankets and a grey tufted tail whacked the floor. “But tell them I shall chat them both up later. I’m far too drunk for sunny conversations, thank you. Now go away.”

  “I’m serious, Kerris. You were summoned to the Palace last night. Your ‘services’ are needed, drunken or otherwise.”

  A groan escaped the blankets and a grey head appeared, propped up on grey elbows.

  “Kirin, are you serious?”

  “I just said I was.”

  “Why?”

  “I shall tell you that when you’re standing.”

  Blankets and animal skins were tossed aside as Kerris Wynegarde-Grey climbed out from his makeshift bed.

  “Welcome home, Kerris,” Kerris grumbled. “How was your trip, Kerris? Where were you off to this time, Kerris?”

  “Later.”

  “Later, Kerris. You’re needed, Kerris. Nothing quite like 4 hours of sleep, is there, Kerris? So very good for the bones...”

  He stepped into a pair of doeskin trousers, slipped a loose linen tunic over the tangle of pendants around his neck and pulled on his yak-hide boots, ones with brightly-colored laces. He ran his hands through his mane of ashen grey, which fell just below the chin - far too short for a Race that prided itself on its crowning glory. It gave him the perpetual, tousled-headed look of one just rolling out of bed.

  Not an entirely inappropriate image.

  In other than pelt, he could have passed for his brother for in fact they were twins, identical in form and feature. The same eyes of deepest blue, the same rich, rumbling voice in the oldest of accents, the same height, the same build, the same regal blood coursing through their veins. One silver, one gold.

  As different as the stars from the sand, or waves from the shore.

  “Alrighty then…Pahguah...wind stones...very special sticks...”

  He looked around the room, grabbing articles of dubious importance, stuffing them in his trouser pockets. He was a most unusual Geomancer.

  “Right.” He slapped his
thighs. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  “Inspiring,” said his brother. “A vision of readiness. Are you really drunk?”

  “Absolutely,” Kerris grinned. “Not really. Maybe. I just liked the bottles. Perhaps I shall make something of them someday. I brought you something.”

  His hand dug into one pocket, then another. He dumped the pouch. He scratched his head.

  “Uhm, hang on... Now where did I put that thing? Where’s my cloak?”

  “In the hearth.”

  Kerris spun around, frowning.

  “Hmm. Not a good place for it. It’s new, you know. I lost my old one. Can’t seem to remember where...”

  He pounced on the smoldering fire pit, snatching the cloak and shaking it out like a flag. Ashes and bits of charred wood rained to the floor as he rummaged in a deep pocket to produce a pendant, which he proudly dangled from long grey fingers. Swinging at the end of the leather was something flat, triangular and white. Kirin eyed it with suspicion.

  “Is that a tooth?”

  “A shark’s tooth, actually. The bugger tried to have me for breakfast. Instead,” he patted his stomach. “We had him. He was quite surprised.”

  “The ocean! You went to the ocean?! Kerris, you idiot!”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Why would you go to the ocean, Kerris? The Empress has no agenda there.”

  “Agenda? Who needs an agenda to go to the ocean, Kirin. Winter in Hindaya is decidedly more pleasant than winter here..” His eyes gleamed with the memory. “More tigers too.”

  Kirin shook his head.

  “And am I to assume that you went to the edge of the world - in the company of tigers?”

  “A whole pride of them, actually. They paid me too. It was great fun. I love tigers. I should have been born a tiger.”

  “Yes, Kerris. You should have.”

  Kirin took the pendant, still dangling from his brother’s fingers. He slipped it over his neck, tucking it under two layers of leather.

  “There. Are you happy?”

  “Never been happier. Well, maybe once.

  “Good. Ursa is sharpening her blades as we speak.”

  “Ah Ursa, my flower, my love. Has she killed anyone lately?”