To Journey in the Year of the Tiger

by H. Leighton Dickson

  “Your preparations for tonight?”

  “Complete, sidi. However...” She indicated the goblet off to one side, its contents bubbling over one of her many candles. “It will need to simmer for several hours to boil the ingredients down to the ideal concentrations. Too little will have no effect, leaving the Seer to the mercies of his vision and too much, well, too much would not be good.”

  “I see.”

  She picked up a small mortar and pestle, wiping out the contents with a long speckled finger, and putting it to her tongue.

  “Then, it must be cooled. Again, several hours.”

  “It must be ready by the commencement of the Second Watch. Is that understood?”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned to leave, pausing only slightly when she purred “Of course.”

  He shook his head and left the room.

  She, however, waited until he was well and truly gone before uncurling her hand, to reveal a slip of dried cobra skin, withered and crushed into whisper-thin ash. She drew her lips together and blew it from her fingers.

  ***

  They sat side by side at one of the great long tables in one of the great long dining halls of Sha’Hadin. It had begun to snow just as they had ridden into the ravine and they were soaked through to the bones. The lynx Tiberius had kindly offered them robes while their clothing dried by one of the many hearths in this lowest level of the monastery and the mugs of hot, sweet tea he had provided had them almost feeling feline again.

  “500 people, can you imagine?” Fallon Waterford was looking around with wide eyes. “I mean, I can barely manage to feed myself, let alone prepare meals for 500 people. And not just one meal, but lots of meals. 500 breakfasts. 500 lunches. 500 dinners...”

  “What about a snack?”

  “Well, yes, that too. I mean, you can’t have 500 monks sneaking around the larders and pantries for some midnight peck, now can you? How in the world do they do it?”

  “I meant for me. I’m starving.” Kerris waved a grey hand in the air. “Hello? Hello, anyone paying attention? Two very important people from the Palace need food right about now!”

  Several brown-robed monks, hoods drawn, scurried about carrying pitchers and jugs and plates of goat cheese but no one attended his request. One, however, had the misfortune of having to go past their table so Kerris lunged for him, snagging a stick of crusty bread with a long grey claw. He grinned, broke it in half and tossed piece one to her.

  “Good manners,” said Fallon as she shoved a piece in her mouth. “Very monk-like.”

  “It’s amazing what you learn in the Palace Courts.”

  “What else did you learn?”

  “Ssssssnake charming.”

  He slid his hand along the table. She stabbed at it with a fork.

  And they began to laugh like naughty schoolchildren, giddy and weary from their afternoon encounters until a figure loomed over them from across the table.

  “Will his Lordship be needing a bath?”

  Kerris rolled his eyes at his brother. “Yes, actually. Fill up one of the wine vats, nice and hot. My friend and I will be taking a little dip.”

  Fallon almost spat out her bread. It was obvious the Captain was not in the mood, for his hands were on his hips and his brow was low and dark.

  “You took out my horse,” he growled.

  “I took out all the horses, Kirin. You can’t ride all day like that then leave them to stand in a stall for who knows how long. They’ll seize up. You know that.”

  “What I know is that I needed to speak with the Scholar and she was unavailable.” He narrowed his blue eyes at her. “The Alchemist said sidala was bored.”

  “Bored? Bored?! I - I wasn’t bored, I - I was... I was...” Finished, she wanted to cry, I was finished! She sank into the table. “Oh mother...”

  “Oh relax, Kirin. She was probably choking from all the incense in ‘the ‘Chamber of the Dead’.” He waggled his fingers. “You know how you get those headaches.”

  “Right now, Kerris,you are giving me a headache.” He lowered himself onto the bench across from them, hands folding in front. “Sidala, I do require your services. If my brother can bear to be silent for more than a heartbeat.”

  Kerris stuffed the bread stick into his mouth.

  “The Alchemist stated that the cause of death is Terror. Do you agree with that?”

  “Um, well, sort of.”

  He glared at her.

  “Sorry.” She straightened up on the bench, pushing her hair off her face. “Okay. Okay.‘Terror’, as she put it, was definitely a factor in the deaths. A very major factor actually but the actual physical cause of death, deaths, however, would have to be heart seizure. All of their hearts were the same, all constricted within their chests. There was some secondary scarring, and the lungs were—”

  “Did you open the bodies? Or the Alchemist?”

  “It was Sherah. I think she enjoys that kind of thing.”

  “Lovely,” muttered Kerris through a mouthful of bread.

  “Did you watch her?”

  This seemed to take the Scholar off guard.

  “Um, no sir. I didn’t really think it was necessary. I was in the same room, however, if that makes any difference?”

  The Captain said nothing, simply stared at his hands, jaws clenching and unclenching in concentration. Finally, he looked up.

  “Any evidence of poisons?”

  “No sir. No poisons, at least none that I can trace. No poisons, no crea—” She stopped herself. “No poisons. Sir.”

  “Very well. What else can you tell me, sidala?”

  “Well...”

  “Sidala...”

  “Sorry, but I just can’t figure out this ‘cold’ thing,” she yelped, waving her hands in the air. “I mean I know the mountains aren’t like the jungle but really, sir, these people really should invest in some window glass. They were all suffering from extreme frostbite.”

  The Captain’s head snapped up. “Explain.”

  “All their fingers and toes were severely blistered from either extreme heat, or more likely, extreme cold. I mean, I know they all wear gloves here, but really...”

  “This could not be caused by old age?”

  “Not a chance. Sir. It was exposure, right and sure.”

  “Right and sure?” asked Kerris. “Is that like front and centre? Or well and good? Or safe and sorry?”

  “More bread for my brother!” Kirin snapped his fingers and it was on the table within seconds. “The Seer claims that the vision that falls upon them is like that of being trapped within a mountain glacier.”

  “Ooh, that fits!” she exclaimed. “That fits exactly, sir. That would explain the hearts and the lungs and the fingers and toes...”

  She fell into thought, her mouth open as if awaiting a spoon.

  “But then that doesn’t begin to explain how in the world this, this mountain glacier could kill all six of them, for six nights running. And all in the Second Watch? I mean, mountains do not have sundials, sir.”

  “I see your point. However, that question can wait until later. What we must concern ourselves with, first and foremost—”

  “Oh, there’s another one!” yelped Kerris, before quickly stuffing a fat crust of bread into his mouth.

  “Is the survival of this last Seer. The Alchemist has combined several medicines which she assures me will greatly increase his chances.”

  Fallon frowned. “I would be interested in knowing what she’s using.”

  Kerris rolled his eyes but to his credit, his mouth was closed. Kirin glowered at them.

  “Sherah al Shiva has been chosen by the First Mage of Agara’tha, specifically for her skills in herbs, poisons and their like. The Empress has placed her trust in the First Mage and therefore, in his choice. Do either of you question the Empress’ wisdom?”

  The only response was silence.

  “Good. Now, these ‘medicines’ should effectively slow the heart, thicken
the blood and,” he paused as he recalled the Alchemist’s exact words. “Dull the senses. This should render him less susceptible to the ‘Terror’, as they both have called it. So, sidala Waterford, what I need from you is some method to curb the cold or the perception of cold, before it can trigger a killing panic. Can you do this?”

  She sat, chewing the inside of her cheek for several moments before beginning to talk in a very rapid voice.

  “Well the main problem with that is this thing starts off internally.” She tapped her head. “Then ends up manifesting itself externally.” She waggled her fingers. “And with whatever ‘medicines’ Sherah is using, I would hesitate to suggest some other such drug like something to cause a fever, which would reduce the likelihood of a cold reaction but could quite easily send his body into convulsions. Not really a desirable response, oh no no. But if we take the opposite tack and warm the body up externally, the question now is will this be enough? Will blankets and a good warm hearth be enough to reach whatever is going on inside?”

  She tapped her head again, took perhaps her second breath in all of that then plunged back into deep, cheek chewing thought.

  So the three of them sat, very quietly now, all staring at the table, and wondering if anything they might do, would be Enough.

  “Sidis, sidala.” It was Tiberius, brown-robed and smiling, the tufts of his ears peaking out from under his thick silver hair. “We of Sha’Hadin cannot begin to express our most profound gratitude for all your efforts on our part. But if you would permit, our cooks have prepared a special goat stew for tonight’s meal. I have had three bowls readied as you decide the future of our monastery.”

  He stepped aside to allow three monks passage and three wooden bowls were set before them, brimming with steaming, savory stew. It set their mouths watering instantly.

  “Whatever our fate, we wish you peace and fulfillment. Please enjoy.”

  And with a most serene bow, Tiberius left them to their food.

  Kerris dug in instantly, stopping only to toss two bits of bread to his fellow diners.

  “See here, sidala, goat stew for 500! That’s a lot of goats, don’t you think?”

  She wiped the broth from her chin and smiled at the Captain.

  “Your brother and I were debating the problems of feeding 500 hungry monks three times a day, and then some. I mean really, not to even mention the amount of meats and vegetables and fruits and milks, I mean milk. Just imagine the kitchens! Imagine all the pots and woks and kettles and fires! It would be worse than the jungle at midday! It would be so incredibly hot—”

  As one, she and Kirin glanced up at each other.

  “The kitchens!”

  As one, they bolted from their benches, wooden spoons clattering to the table in a splatter of gravy.

  Kerris watched them go.

  “Either of you going to finish this? No? Well, alright then. Can’t let two perfectly good bowls of stew go to waste. All those poor little goats...”

  And with the tip of a grey claw, he snagged each bowl and dragged them across the table.

  ***

  Sireth benAramis squeezed his eyes even tighter. But nothing seemed to help, to be able to distract his mind from the angry growling and tossing going on in his bed. The afternoon had been wasted, for it had been impossible to meditate even sitting by the open window with the snow blowing onto his face, cooling the fears that raged inside him. Someone else, it seemed, was raging much better.

  “Major. Sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “You are a soldier. Soldiers obey orders. Your orders are to sleep. Now, please, sleep!”

  “It is cold and this bed scratches.”

  Just like you, he thought grimly but immediately cursed himself for his lack of patience. He was accustomed to solitude, to long private hours in soul-searching contemplation, broken only by others who valued those pursuits as much as he. But now, to be thrust into the company of this thornbush of a woman for the last twelve hours without respite, he found himself in need of all the resources at his disposal to keep himself from scratching back.

  “Would it help if I gave you a robe?”

  “No. It probably itches. That would be worse.”

  “What would be worse, Major, would be to fail to obey your Captain’s orders because of your stubborn pride. I will not bite you. I will not even look at you. I simply wish to meditate. In silence. Can you understand that, Major?”

  She sat up, scowling. Her hair fell across her face and her pale narrow eyes peered out as through tall grass. She looked very, very dangerous.

  “I understand. I understand more than you think, Seer.”

  She spat the word like a challenge.

  He sighed, refusing to take it up, and turned back to the open window, letting his hands fall loosely into his lap. He breathed in the snow.

  “Mongrel.”

  The snow on his face, the cold mountain air...

  “Coward.”

  The snow... the air... the snow...

  “Answer me!”

  He sighed again.

  “You do not seek answers, Major. You seek bloodshed. But shedding my blood will neither quench your thirst, nor wash away that which eats inside of you like a python. Not all the blood in the Kingdom can help you with that.”

  With a frustrated snarl and a heavy thump, she tossed herself back onto the mattress.

  The snow was falling heavily this late in the afternoon, blocking the sun and turning the sky a dull grey. He closed his eyes and was elsewhere.

  “What is your favorite place?”

  “I have none.”

  “There is a place,” he began softly. “Deep in the South and far to the East, where the jungle grows like none you have ever seen...”

  “I hate jungles. There are too many bugs.” Her words, however, were slower. “I hate bugs.”

  “This jungle has no bugs. In fact, the trees grow so tall that their tops completely cover the sky. The only color is green, the green of ferns and limes and moss and broad leaves. The air is warm and rich and sweet like poppies and everything smells of rainwater and damp, damp earth. No one lives there. No towns, no villages, no roads through this particular jungle and the only sound you hear are the sounds of birds. Beautiful songbirds and chattering macaws and of course peacocks, with their great fan tails and funny little crowns. In the middle of this jungle there is a waterfall as high as a mountain. At night, it pours the moon’s silver. It is said that from this waterfall, come the souls of white tigers and grey lions, and perhaps even snow leopards...”

  There was no protest, no growl nor rattle of sword. Rather, soft deep breathing in slow, natural rhythm. She was asleep.

  Sireth shook his head.

  “Pleasant dreams, my wild little Empress. You need them.”

  ***

  Kerris was beginning to enjoy himself. He had been wandering for hours, still dressed in the great brown robes of a monk and he had drawn the hood low over his face. He was going nowhere in particular, simply enjoying the sensation of being on the move. He walked as the monks walked, with hands folded inside their wide sleeves, following one long corridor after another, nodding in solemn fashion to every passing monk he met.

  They weren’t fooled, but he didn’t care. To Kerris, the game was everything.

  The inscriptions and carvings on the walls were intriguing. He had seen many in similar caves during his lifetime of wandering, and invariably they all led to some sort of treasure. He prided himself on his treasure-hunting ability, for he always managed to bring back a trinket or two for the Empress or his mother or the Queen Mother or Imperial Mother’s Mother. Because of him, they had stores of treasures, some even dating back to the times of the Ancestors. A particular favorite had been a small chest, smaller than a saddlebag, which once opened, produced music. It was strange music, to be sure, not at all like the flat wailing tones of the tomepipe, or the minor chords of the yangquin. No, this was like the tinkling of bells, a
nd the Empress had been thrilled. She had financed his next journey. He had a pocket full of shark teeth and a single, exquisite pearl, waiting for her in return.

  He was deep in the monastery now, utterly lost but not bothered for the earth here was friendly, when he caught the faint echo of incense.

  “Hmm,” he mumbled to himself. “I wonder...”

  The scent led him deeper, down a dark curve in the corridor to a half-opened door. Outside that door, a leopard slouched on a wooden stool, sword across his lap, sleeping. Kerris grinned as he sneaked past. Kirin wouldn’t hear about this breach from him, hat was certain. It would mean the guard’s head and Kerris had always maintained that heads worked much better when attached to necks.

  He slipped into the room.

  There were no torches burning, no oil lamps, only a single flickering flame on a far table.

  He looked again.

  Only the flame. At the end of a wick. No candle.

  “Alchemists,” he snorted and removed his hood.

  He was in the Chamber of the Dead.

  “Hello? Hello, sidalady cheetah? Anyone home?”

  There was a rustle from behind and slowly out of the shadows, came Sherah.

  Half-silhouetted from the small flickering light, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders, moving like a panther on the prowl, she was magnificent. He puffed out his breath in awe.

  “Sidala.”

  “Sidi. How may I help you?”

  She was still moving toward him.

  “I need your opinion.”

  “Opinion?”

  “Yes. I had a little run in with a very unusual snake.”

  “Snake?”

  She was directly in front of him now, sliding her strong hands up the folds of his robe.

  “Um, yes. Cobra, actually. Appeared out of nowhere.”

  “Nowhere?” Up his throat, along his jaw...

  “Yes. We managed to dispatch it, of course. No harm done.”

  “We?”...past his temples, into his hair. He closed his eyes.