Kerris grinned and leaned out next to her, cupping the mug in both hands for warmth. She tried not to watch him out of the corner of her eye, cursed the maddening pace of her heart, the sudden unwelcome loss of thought.
“This preoccupation is childish and foolish. I’m acting like a little girl.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“You said something about a little girl?”
The heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized she had been thinking out loud.
“I – I – I…” She waved a hand out over the edge of the Wall. “I never dreamed I would see this, all this, when I was a little girl.”
“The Lower Kingdom?”
“Uh-huh. The Lower Kingdom.”
“Quite far from the pheasant farm, eh?”
“Yes.” She looked away quickly, a new heat rising on her cheeks. She took another gulp of cocoa.
“It’s not so bad, really. Some of it’s quite lovely.”
“Kerris your-name-was, have you ever seen a dog?”
“Many times.”
“Have you ever killed one?”
“No.” He smiled. “Not a dog.”
“I don’t think I could.”
“No, I don’t think you could, either.” His smile broadened when he looked at her and suddenly, he was reaching for her. “Hold still.”
She froze, heart pounding. His fingers touched her chin, his thumb brushed her mouth, and with one smooth motion, he wiped the foam from her lip.
“There. Now you don’t look like our friend Seer.” Still smiling, he made no move to take his hand away. Instead, he stroked her chin with the lightest of touches. “Say, you’re soft, aren’t you? I never knew a tiger to be so soft. Did you have a good scrub?”
She swallowed, not hearing a word he was saying. In fact, she could have sworn she heard music.
“Hmm?” she squeaked.
“Actually, you have quite lovely markings. I never noticed before.” He stopped, glanced around. “Do you hear something?”
She almost melted into his arms. “You mean the music?”
“Yes. Music.”
“Oh that. It’s only in my head. I hear it all the time. Not like this though. Usually just funny little kitten songs. I never knew anyone else could hear it. But really, nothing to worry about.”
“You do hear it, then.” He stepped away from her, moving to the tower’s easterly edge and peering out over its side. She could see him smile in the moonlight.
The music in her head was louder now, a wailing, rhythmic pulse like wind on blood, calling her by name, calling. She followed, leaning out between the cornice high above the eastern rim. On the Wall down below, among a circle of candles and incense, Sherah was dancing.
***
“Curse that woman,” growled Sireth as he stormed along the westerly Wall, away from the tower. “She is destroying my concentration.”
Ursa was doing her best to keep up. “What are you talking about?”
“That infernal music.”
“Music? What music? You have gone mad.”
“The music!” He whirled on her. “Can’t you hear it?”
“I hear nothing but your grumblings, Seer.”
“Bah!” He threw his hands into the air and continued, his long strides carrying him fast and furious, muttering as he went. “This is not Alchemy. This is Vision-sharing. She should not be able to do this.”
“So, stop her.”
The words stopped him.
“What? What did you say?”
In the rough linen tunic and baggy trousers she wore, she looked very small, but she challenged him with one flash of her eyes.
“You are one of the Council of Seven. You advise the Empress. You speak to falcons and dead people. It should be nothing to stop the songs of a witch.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, you’re right.”
He was very still for a moment, before he nodded.
“It is done.”
“What? That’s it?”
“That’s it. Thank you for reminding me, once again, of what I am. You are very good at that.”
She did not seem to know how to respond, so he held out a gloved hand, careful not to touch her.
“Come.”
“Where?”
“Walk with me.”
She refused his hand but fell in at his side, taut as a strung bow. They walked a little further in complete silence, until he found a spot, a particular place on the Wall where the energies converged, the feng shui pleased and the moon shone brightly across the stones. He turned several small circles before folding his legs and lowering himself to the road so high above the ground. He motioned her to sit as well, and to his surprise, she did.
“What do you know of meditation?”
“Nothing I care to.”
“Ah. But you have studied Chai’Chi?”
“Yes.”
“It is the same.”
She snorted. “Far from it.”
“You are familiar with the Warrior Pose?”
“Of course.”
“And how long can you hold it?”
“Forever.”
“Major Ursa Laenskaya, you are a soldier. Your body is a weapon. You must care for it, keep it constantly sharp for battle. Your tools are a sword, crossbow, dagger and claw. But I think your best tool is your body, for you know it so well. It obeys your simplest thought. If it were wounded, you would know. You would feel wrong and you would not fight well.”
She was nodding so he continued.
“I, on the other hand, am a Seer. My soul is my weapon, if you will. Vision and Farsight, these are my tools, my sword and crossbow. I know my soul so well and it obeys my simplest thought.
“Since that night in the kitchens of Sha’Hadin, my soul has been wounded. It is not my own and for me, this is wrong - I am wrong. And if I am to heal it, I must meditate, focus my thoughts and emotions into a single, pure weapon, a steel that can pierce any darkness, destroy any guile. What the Warrior Pose does for your body, meditation does for my soul. It is not a luxury, it is not a ruse, it is my life. And without it, I cannot fight well.”
She looked away so he studied her profile, her deep set eyes and high cheekbones, her short straight nose and small mouth. Now and then, the wind lifted her hair, swirled into her face and she made no move to push it aside. It was as if the hiding were part of her mystery. Nothing at all like Shakuri, he thought. Perhaps, much more like himself.
She turned back to him. “Meditation is discipline for the soul.”
“Exactly.”
“Teach me.”
His smile froze. “Ah.”
“It is not even close to the Second Watch. We have time.”
“Yes, bu—”
“If my soul becomes disciplined, my entire being becomes a weapon and I am pure as steel. I become a much better fighter. Teach me. To refuse would bring dishonor.”
“Very well.”
He removed the thick leather gloves, turned his palms upwards and reached the tips of his fingers to her. She took a deep breath and gave him her hands.
***
She was cloaked in stars, her hair the wind, her eyes candles, as she danced on the Wall in the moonlight. Neither Kerris nor Fallon could pull themselves away, so hypnotic her movements and the music, exotic and rhythmic, pulsed their very blood. Dimly, Fallon became aware of the Captain as he moved in beside his brother, drawn in the same way. The leopards now, all watching, each one joining the cheetah in her movements as if they danced with her, their feet hers, long arms and sinewy body simply they themselves captured in a dream. She was a whisper, a spirit, a ghost cat moving through shadow. It was marvelous.
Abruptly, the music ended and the spell with it. In fact, as they stood high above her, there was nothing below save a woman in rough linens, lighting candles. She sat cross-legged, humming.
Kerris scratched his head. “Oh hello, Kirin. Is anybody hungry?”
“I wonder if they have any cocoa,” said Fallon, and the pair ambled back to the tower. The leopards, loathe at finding themselves so far from their posts, slipped away as silently as they had come. Only the Captain lingered a little longer.
***
breathe in, heartbeat beat beat, breathe out, heartbeat beat beat, breathe in, heartbeat beat beat deep, breathe out, heartbeat beat beat, deep dark, beat beat beat, deep dark places, beat beat beat, shame, beat beat, deep dark shame, peace, shame, beat beat, peace, calmanger, shame anger beat beat, calm and strength, peace, beatbeat beat, peace and strength, strength like steel, beat beat beat, like steel, eyesone thousand eyes black robes fire and blood and alchemy
It was like a fist, the way he pushed her out and Ursa snarled, about to give him a fist of a different sort when the falcon sliced the air between them. It circled frantically but could not, would not, land. The Major looked back to the Seer.
His head was bowed deep into his chest, back rounded, fingers reaching to the stars.
“It is not time, not yet time,” she growled. “Solomon, is this you? Solomon?”
There was no response. The falcon was still circling and she raised a hand to it.
“The Captain! Go find the Captain!”
And knowing nothing of falcon-speak, she formed a picture of the golden lion in her mind. Path arched her wing and soared toward the tower.
He was moaning now, shaking his head and gasping for air. It reminded her of the first night in Sha’Hadin, when Solomon had seized him, so she grabbed his shoulders, determined to break whatever grip he was caught in. It worked and she felt the tension drain from his muscles.
“Sha’Hadin...”
“What?” His voice was a whisper, so she bent in. “What of Sha’Hadin?”
“Sha’Hadin...” He looked up at her, his face streaked with tears. “Has fallen.”
***
“It is done.”
Empress Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu could have been carved stone, she stood so still, a statue, silent and straight and barely breathing. Her elaborate robes fell in razor-edges to the floor, her golden headdress caught the lamplight, reflected it along the scarlet walls. The stained glass high above was dark, for it was night, and a heavy cloak of clouds hid the moon. Across her shoulders, a mongoose raised its tiny head, its small eyes glittering like black pearls. She stroked its throat with a thin finger.
“Tell me again this was necessary, Jet.”
“It was necessary, Excellency.”
“The transition has been smooth?”
“As polished glass, Excellency. The brothers are relieved at having order restored. Some have even petitioned for leave to visit family and friends now that the monastery is in such good care.”
“Good. I cannot tell you how much this matter disturbs me.”
“I am aware, Excellency. However, this is only a temporary solution until the Council, or some semblance of it, returns.”
She would not let him see her heart. “They will return, Jet.”
And she waited, for she knew it would come.
“Of course.”
With a long breath, the Empress turned to study the man standing directly behind her. He was an impressive figure, his black and silver robes a startling contrast to his white striped pelt. Jet barraDunne, First Mage of Agara’tha, alchemist and priest and noble council, a white tiger from a line of white tigers that had served the Royal House for more years than she could recount. His hair was white-streaked steel, the top roached like a horse’s mane, the length of it gathered in a long braid down his back. It was impossible to determine his age, though she knew him to have had more than forty summers and, as was whispered among the Courts, almost as many wives. His eyes were as white as the moon.
“Take heart, Excellency,” he said, his voice round with the accents of the Middle Courts. Not at all the voice of a common tiger. “I have managed to locate Yahn Nevye from his sabbatical in Sahood. He has only been away from Sha’Hadin two years and has agreed to assume responsibility for the monastery for as long as needed. Naturally, he will stay on to rebuild the Council if benAramis so wishes.”
“We should tell them.”
“benAramis will know.”
“Even so, I wish to tell them.”
“Of course.”
The Empress turned away, folding her hands within her wide sleeves and moving slowly back towards the throne. He fell in behind.
“Is there word on their party?” she asked.
“They have made the Wall at Sri’Varna.”
“Intact?”
“They have lost four leopards.”
“So soon? That is not good.” She lowered herself into the ages-old seat, the only thing simple and unadorned in the room. “I will dispatch one of my falcons at daybreak. They must know that Sha’Hadin is in good care. Then, they can continue their journey unmindful.”
“Naturally.”
“You disapprove?”
“Not at all, Excellency. I understand your concern...” He stared at the floor, a gesture of respect but it made her study him all the harder. He had no need to finish the thought. He knew her, knew of the secret places within her, her reticence in choosing a suitor and the reasons for it. She had held an incomparable standard since kittenhood in the Imperial Nursery, a kittenhood shared with the brothers Wynegarde-Grey. He had never spoken of it however, never would, and she trusted him with this knowledge. It could destroy her.
“Thank you, Jet.”
“Is there anything else, Excellency?”
“No.”
“Then I shall be leaving for the monastery in the morning.” He bowed. “Good night, Excellency.”
“Good night, Jet.”
Thothloryn Parrilaud Markova Wu let her golden eyes roam the Throne Room, now empty save for the Leopard Guard lining the walls. Lamps and lanterns burned well into the night, for in truth, they were never allowed to go out and were refreshed daily with oil and cloth. Three peacocks slept at her feet, their tiny crowned heads buried in the blue of their backs, their great tails folded and still. She could feel the rapid, even breaths of the mongoose on her shoulder and knew it too was asleep. All was quiet in the Throne Room of the Empress. All was in order.
She missed him.
The wealth of the Kingdom was hers for the asking, temples of gold, incense and idols, all hers to hoard or give away. Soldiers and armies and horses, mountains and deserts and jungles, people by the thousand, hers to command. During her short reign, she (with the help of Kaidan) had brokered peace with the Chi’Chen, forced the bab’Hundi back tenfold in their quest for land along the Aegypshan border and furthered the Wall like no other before her. It was a noble lineage of Sacred blood, a mantle of power which she wore so very well.
And yet, she missed him.
“When you return,” she promised the emptiness. “When you return.”
The emptiness did not answer.
***
The Captain of the Guard shook his head.
“You are certain of this?”
Sireth threw up his hands and continued pacing. The disrespect set Kirin’s teeth on edge. He ground them tightly to rein in his temper.
“Of course you’re certain. Forgive me. Tell me again what you saw.”
“I saw Sha’Hadin overcome by Alchemy!”
“Are you speaking from a clear glass, sidi?”
The Seer glared at him and steeled his own jaw, apparently as angry with himself as with the Captain. He took a deep breath. “No.”
“Then tell me what you saw.”
“I saw eyes, and the Cliff of One Thousand Eyes. The seven gates of Sha’Hadin, with cats in black robes flowing through, 5 of 5 per gate. I saw soldiers in black leather filling the Valley of the Seers, carrying swords and spears and the Standard of Agara’tha. I saw the snuffing of torches, the drawing of chalk circles and the spilling of blood in the Hall of the Seers.” He turned his face to the Captain. “I saw Tiberius, bea
ten and weeping in the snow.”
It was like a blow to the stomach and Kirin battled to keep it from crowding his thoughts. “This could not have been a future event?”
“No. They have a different sense.”
He turned to the Alchemist. She was leaning against a wall, braiding feathers into her hair.
“Why would Agara’tha do such a thing?”
“We do not know they have.”
“I know!” snapped Sireth, tail lashing.
“So you say.”
“You knew about this, didn’t you?”
“Did I?”
“You may beguile the others, Sherah al Shiva or whatever your birthname was, but you will not catch me in your games.”
“I do not play games.”
Fallon Waterford sat forward, another mug of hot cocoa in her hands.
“I hate to say this, Sireth, but it’s really just your word against hers. We have no proof that anything at all has happened to the monastery.”
“I saw it too,” said a quiet voice and all eyes swung toward the Major.
The Captain put his hands on his hips.
“You? How?”
She cast a furtive glance at the Seer before responding.
“He was teaching me to meditate. It is discipline for the soul.”
“And you saw this...this ‘taking’ of Sha’Hadin?”
“Part of it, yes sir, I did.”
As if vindicated, Sireth folded his arms and cocked his head, brows raised. Kirin turned to the Alchemist.
“And you know nothing of this plan to take the monastery? The First Mage never mentioned anything of the sort?”
“How could I? I am here. They are there.” She held his gaze, undaunted. “Unlike the Seer, I do not engage in Soul-Travel.”
There seemed to be something about her, however, something in her tone or rather, not in it. It puzzled him.
“Well, let’s look at it this way,” said Fallon. “What would Agara’tha have to gain by taking the monastery? What could Alchemists possibly want with Seers? Or what would Alchemy need of Farsight and Vision?”
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 28