But if he knew anything about himself, about his stubborn grey nature, it was that he could always, and would always, climb.
No prayers this time but he summoned the thin freezing air to fill his lungs, whispered to the winter water and set his claws into the ice.
***
“Come, Kerisu,” called Bo from the next step. “Kaidan easy. Just one more.”
“Just one more,” he grumbled. He hadn’t eaten in days. Weeks. Months. A lifetime. A dead lion, crawling up the stone steps, one at a time. He was so high up now, the cold wind biting his face and neck. There was no railing and he knew that at any moment he could push to the right and he would fall. Fall through the air to the camp below. Fall down the mountain and break across the big water. At any time. He could choose the time. “Just one more.”
The troop of monkeys followed them up the stair one step at a time, spears still pointed as if he could lunge and kill them with his claws. He shook his head, pushed up another step. They knew nothing of cats, how they loved their pleasures, how easy they were to break.
Another step. He pulled his dying legs with dead arms.
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? he thought. They didn’t know anything of cats. And cats knew nothing of monkeys.
Another step, but this time, his knees pushed too.
They feared lions. It was obvious. They feared his claws and his teeth and his power but they feared what they didn’t know. And the Upper Kingdom had been at war with them because they were afraid of what they didn’t know. People were foolish, no matter what the race, no matter what the pelt. It was a wonder that the Ancestors chose any of them.
He wondered if the same could be said for dogs.
“Three more Kaidan,” said Bo. “You topping.”
He pushed up onto his hands and knees. The monkeys behind him chattered and rattled their spears but he ignored them. The look in Bo’s eye pulled him upward.
“Kaidan,” Kerris growled and his tail lashed. “Be Kaidan, will I? You want me to be Kaidan?”
Bo glanced over his shoulder, then back down again.
“Three more Kaidan. Three more and you live.”
“Then I will take those three on my feet, like a lion.”
And with a roar, he pushed to stand as Bo scrambled up to the top, waved him upwards, ever upwards. He was so weak now and the dizziness threatened to topple him right then and there, threatened to send him crashing backwards into the troop of Chi’Chen soliders. He wondered if they would catch him or let him fall.
He looked back up at Bo, his friend. He didn’t even know if the man had a last name. Bo the prison guard, who had taught him to speak monkey.
He swung one foot up.
“Kaidan,”he growled.
Step one.
The other foot now.
“Kaidan.”
Step two.
“Kaidan!”
Step three. He was at the top.
And what he saw almost sent him to his knees.
***
All those who've "climbed high" since times of old,
How many are still there today?
If on a Forbidden peak old promises break,
One can still await the days to come.
Chains of mountains look like startled waves,
Their yellow layers emerge from dark waters.
***
He stared at the wide band of yellow stone underneath a blue, blue sky.
It had been a long morning up the slope to this spot but it had been a longer night. He had made it to the top of the great blue wall of ice and collapsed, pulling his yak-hide coat and night-blue cloak around him like a blanket. Night was falling, bringing with it a storm and before he knew it, he was covered in snow. He’d only the time to call the air before the sound of wind lulled him to sleep.
That morning, he’d pushed up out of the snow, gasping and filling his chest with air. Great mouthfuls of air and he gulped it in like water. There was not enough up here on the roof of the world and he closed his eyes, called the element to surround him, fill him so that he could finish what he started so long ago. Or what had been started when the element first called him.
The snow had been fresh but his boots sure and he made steady progress across the slope. It wasn’t a steep angle either – not after the wall of blue ice but the air was so cold and he had to stop now and then to catch his breath. He had also developed an irritating cough sometime during the night, and could taste blood on his tongue.
So now, he stared down at the earth. He had been perfectly fine with the ice and the snow, the cold and the wind but here, at this strip of yellow and gray limestone, he reconsidered his quest for the summit. It wasn’t a long crossing and the rock looked worn smooth from the elements but if there were anyplace that the earth would try to kill him, it would be here.
He looked up. He could see the triangle shape that was the virgin peak, likely no more than five hours at a steady pace. He could do it, he knew. He could do it and be back at the blue ice before nightfall.
And so he knelt down, not even feeling the snow under his knees and pulled the Gowrain glove from his hand. Slowly, he reached forward, extended his claw, and with a deep breath, tapped the rock.
Nothing.
Two claws now. A drumming of the fingers.
Still nothing.
He laid a palm down, felt the cold from the mountain and the warmth from the sun.
No earthquake, no avalanche, no sudden opening of the stone to swallow him whole and crush his bones in a new crevasse. He listened to the air. Good morning, good morning, it said. He listened for the ice. So fine, no trouble, it said. The clouds were whispering and distant, no trace of storm or snow or rain. Just the wind and the blue, blue sky.
“If you don’t kill me,” he told the earth. “Then perhaps I won’t hate you anymore. I don’t want to hate you. I think, after all, you are sometimes rather pretty.”
The earth was silent, taking the compliment like a proud but satisfied woman.
And so he removed the Gowrain claws from his boots and rose to his feet. Pushed his fears out of his mind and stepped onto the rock.
***
A thousand
cold cloud peaks,
On the trail
man's tracks obliterated.
Everyday
just facing down the wall,
Sometimes
snow dust
blows in the window.
***
At the top of the steps, there was a garden. A lone cherry tree welcomed him, it’s lush blossoms swaying in the breeze. Cedars and ferns grew out of stony beds. Wind chimes made music from the air and tiny birds sang in bamboo cages. Many Chi’Chen watched him as he staggered across the path, but they weren’t soldiers. Courtesans, it seemed. Chi’Chen in elaborate kimonohs, wearing golden headdresses, holding great fans and peacock feathers and scrolls. They watched him but were not threatened by his presence nor by his appearance. They merely watched.
There were, however, many many of the soldiers he had learned were called the Snow Guard, or simply, the Snow. They were tall and golden, with pink faces and small shiny eyes. Those eyes followed him as he moved through the mountain garden and he marveled at the fact that so high above the fields, there were butterflies. Swallowtails fluttered on the cold thin air and he wondered if he had indeed died and been reborn in some sort of Tian. An afterlife filled with monkeys and mountain butterflies was a rather odd but pleasant thought.
In the center of the garden was a pagoda. It was almost feline in its construction with red winged roofs and grey stone foundations. Directly behind it, the sun was setting, painting the sky red and yellow and pink, beaming through the rafters and blinding him with its brilliance. After two months in a pit, it was the most beautiful thing Kerris had ever seen.
Silhouetted in the doorway of the pagoda, a figure appeared, framed by the sun and the butterflies. The music of the wind chimes were coming from the figure.
“Now you live,” said Bo.
Kerris turned back to the figure coming out of the light. It was a Chi’Chen man, slim and small and wearing robes of red and yellow silk. A tall box hat perched on his head and as he moved toward them, Kerris realized that the windchimes hung from the four top corners, making music with every step.
Bo dropped to his knees, touched his forehead to the stone and Kerris fought to stay on his feet. He had climbed an entire mountain to stand, after all.
The world was spinning.
“I am Hiro Takahashi Watanabe,” said the man in perfect Imperial. “Divine Ruler of the Empire of the Sun. I have long been waiting to meet you, grey lion of my enemy.”
He had taken that step and the world was spinning, changing, turning upside down.
“You do not bow?” said the Emperor. “You are brave and reckless. I could have you killed.”
Upside down and right-side up. He was dead and now he lived.
“What is your name, lion of my enemy?”
He had told the Empress of his plan and she had endorsed it. They were making history, right here, right now, all because he had taken that step. He was a grey lion. There was no place on the earth he couldn’t go.
Step. Rise. Climb. Kaidan.
“My name,” he said. “My name is Kaidan.”
And he smiled.
Finally, his knees buckled and he sank to the ground, darkness claiming him before he hit the stone.
***
Three steps.
Two steps.
One last step.
And with a deep breath, calling the last of the air in the world into his lungs, Kerris Balthashane Wynegarde-Grey placed his foot onto the Roof of the World.
Snow, rock, ice and sky.
The breath caught in his throat.
He was higher than the clouds.
All around and below him, white peaks rose from white clouds, disappearing into white valleys and distant ridges. It look liked the back of a great dragon. Several great dragons; leviathans swimming in winter waters, scales frozen at the surface. Above them, the sky so blue as to be almost painted with no clouds at all above his head. The world went on and on and on forever.
Hands on hips, he turned in slow circles, surveying the world below him and he was warm. Warm with a heat that had nothing to do with yak hides or blue cloaks or grey pelts but with pride and awe and insignificance and joy. The world was a remarkable place. He was so very glad he was still a part of it.
He lowered himself to sit, just for a moment, overwhelmed with the beauty and the splendor and gratitude. He ran a hand across his face, not surprised to find ice built up on the pelt around his mouth and eyes. His hair, peaking out from under the yak-hide hood, was frosted as well and he knew he couldn’t stay up here for very long. The elements whom he loved would kill him regardless.
He shook his head. It was so peaceful. So quiet, only the wind as music, the clouds floating beneath his feet.
In fact, he could have easily sat here, on the Roof of the World until the sun disappeared and the moon, his ever friend, rose to greet him. He could just sit here as the cold descended, freezing the life from him until there was nothing more that a scrap of grey inside a yak hide and he would be one with the elements forever.
That, he reasoned, would be a fitting end for both Kerris the grey and Kaidan the legend.
He heard the sharp whispering hiss of metal.
Odd, he thought, metal so far up here. Metal was a feline element, an element of civilization and industry and development. Metal was rare in places where cats were not but no cat had ever been up here. Few cats had ever tried.
There was an icicle rising from the pinnacle and he studied it for a moment. Icicles didn’t grow like that. They could rise from the ground but only where water might have a place to drip from. Water was a very compliant element, his favourite by far. This, this was not water.
Metal.
He rose to his feet, moved closer.
It was perhaps half his height, a thin slivery pike of steely blue. Again, he slid a claw from his finger, poked the thing. Nothing. Drew the claw down to scratch it. Nothing again. He could see something beneath the frost so he knelt down to look closer, ran a palm over the icy surface.
Inside the pike, a light began to flash.
Metal.
“Interesting,” he muttered. “Metal wasn’t only used by cats. I wonder how old you are, friend metal?”
He dug with his claw but suddenly, the light stopped and the pike grew silent once again.
The whispering died away, and he waited for several moments longer until the air told him to leave. Sighing, he removed his cloak and tied it onto the pike like a flag.
He grinned.
“A wedding present, my love,” he said to the mountain. “You will shake it off with your wind soon enough but until then, I leave you with a kiss.”
He brought his fingers to his lips then reached into the snow, dug until they brushed the rock. He felt the earth tremble at his touch.
“Thank you,” he said. “For giving me this. I will never forget.”
And with that, he pulled on his Gowrain gloves, turned and began the long, cold trek down the mountain, singing.
***
The white clouds float over the Virgin Peak
As over the Mountains of the King.
Everywhere the white clouds will follow you on.
They will follow you on everywhere—
With you they will enter the King’s mountains,
And cross the waters of the Moon.
Yonder across the waters of the Moon,
There is a cloak of night to wear,
And you may lie in a bed of white clouds.
Go swiftly home, O my friend!
Go swiftly home.
***
International Sleeplab 2, Marathon, Canada, NorAm
“Yes, sir,” said the tech. “We just received it. It booted itself up, then took itself down.”
“Just like that,” said Supervisor 1, Joshua Paolini.
“Yes, sir,” said the tech. “Just like that.”
“And it’s from the Everest pylon?”
“Yes sir. It’s an old pylon, planted before we went under.”
“That’s a very long time for it to be active.”
“Oh, it hasn’t been active, sir. Not at all.”
“Until now.”
“Yes sir. And according to the tech at 2, there’s something even more interesting than an antiquated pylon suddenly turning itself at the top of Mt. Everest in the heart of the IAR.”
Paolini folded his arms over his chest. His stare was the stuff of legend.
The tech cleared his throat.
“Uh, yes, apparently they were able to decode a scattered message.”
“Scattered?”
“Yes, like a scramble only worse. Very hard to decrypt.”
“So, 2 descattered a scattered message from a IAR pylon that’s been inactive for millennia. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, what did it say?”
The tech turned to him, his eyes large and luminous behind his retinal screens.
“Winter water.”
Paolini stared at him.
“Winter water?”
“Yes sir. Winter water, sir.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“No idea, sir, but the datatechs are going through the archives to see if it has any IAR significance.”
“Gods,” said Paolini. “I don’t want to start this again. They’re supposed to be all gone.”
“Yes sir.”
Supervisor 1 thought for a moment, tapped his lips with his finger.
“Notify the REDmarks,” he said after a moment. “We might need to send a drone over to check.”
“I’ll have to get clearance for that, sir.”
“I’m givi
ng you clearance.” He turned to leave the dark, sterile room. “I’m Jiān of this base, techboy. Wake those damned REDmarks. Operation Winter Water is a go.”
“Yes, sir.”
And the tech adjusted the wire and turned to his controls as Paolini left the room to the darkness and the whisper of Winter Water.
The Songs of Priests and Lions
My mountain home thousands of days away ―
merely a thing of dreams;
The words of priests and lions ―
Now the riddles of ancients.
Every time I see this broken man,
The green of low mountains
sweeps the horizon from end to end.
The master, having attained true Enlightenment,
has given up all the words;
Only I would search for the right phrase ―
with no other credit to claim..
Next year I will go and collect songs on
Kangchen’Dzonga,
And fill the entire Kingdom with my songs
The Year of the Dragon
Once upon a time, there were no rivers and lakes on earth but only the Eastern Sea, in which lived four dragons: the Long Dragon, the Golden Dragon, the Black Dragon and the Pearl Dragon.
One day the four dragons flew from the sea into the sky. They soared and dived, playing at hide-and-seek in the clouds.
“Come over here quickly!” the Pearl Dragon called to his fellows. His name was Zhēnzhū-lóng and he pointed to the ground far below.
All three looked down. On the earth they saw many people putting out fruits and cakes, bowing and burning incense sticks.
“What is this?” asked the Golden Dragon. His name was Jīnlóng.
“Are they praying?” asked the Black Dragon. His name was Hēilóng.
“Yes,” said Lóng-zhǎng, the Long Dragon. “They are praying to us!”
Swallowtail & Sword: The Scholar's Book of Story & Song (Tails from the Upper Kingdom 4) Page 17