The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom

by Dickson, H. Leighton

  Kirin didn’t like this one bit. He strode towards the trio, hand on the hilt of his katanah.

  The Major stepped in front of him, hand on the hilt of her own.

  The Seer reached out, grabbed the cheetah by her milky white throat and swung her against the bark of the pistachio tree..

  “No, sidi,” growled the Captain. “What are you –“

  “Hush,” hissed the Major, flashing a glance at the pair against the tree, then at her Captain. “This is beyond us.”

  The Alchemist did not fight. In fact, she almost willed it now as the Seer pressed into her, eyes closed, fingers reaching into the crush of her hair.

  “No, stop this now!” Kirin tried to push the Major aside but grey arms stopped him now. And orange. And white.

  “Kirin, please no…” It was Kerris and Fallon, together with the Major. An uprising, his first thought, a betrayal, and yet…

  The Seer adjusted his grip, fingers cupping the back of the woman’s skull now, pulling her close to him, eyes still tightly closed, his own brow furrowed deeper, deeper still in a battle for remembrance and survival and steel. She gasped, her body twisting as if to get away but her hands clapped deliberately over his, clearly not wanting him to let her go. Suddenly, he released her and took a few staggering steps back, breathing deeply as if dazed.

  “Forgive me,” Sherah whispered and she sunk to her knees, her back to the pistachio tree.

  benAramis swung around, glanced first at the Captain, then – for some reason, the Captain’s brother – before extending his claws and taking several steps toward the black mare and the little red satin pouch bobbing at the end of a spider-silk tether…

  Sherah al Shiva closed her painted eyes.

  And with the force of a legion of Seers, he slashed the pouch with his black claws and every cat – the Major, the Scholar, the Captain, the Seer and the Guide - was thrown backwards with the impact. Souls, hundreds of souls, burst forth, and memories, lifetimes of memories, their memories filled them once again. Ursa with the memory of tea in a snowy mountain pass, Fallon with the memory of a white face in a bowl under the moon, Kirin with the memory of rats and armies and brothers and an Empress alone at a desert oasis, Sireth with the memory of dead men and dead wives and Alchemy and finally Kerris, poor Kerris, in memory after memory of bad choices and those not-so-bad, of snakes and avalanches and dances and jail cells and brothers, memory after memory stolen by Alchemy and beauty and volition, and every one of them was sent hurtling backwards by the force of it all, save the cheetah on her knees under a pistachio tree.

  The returning falcon cried in her shrill sharp voice and the sun began to set across the long golden plain of Beyond.

  ***

  A dark room, a group of five men dressed in black, a circle of chalk on the stone floor, and candles. In the center, a red satin pouch emptied and lifeless next to a large silver bowl, flattened like a wok, and in it, smoke and mist and vapor swirling in eddies around the rim.

  Souls.

  One cat stretches out a hand, raises a blade, slices a finger. Blood drips into the bowl and the mist reacts, retreating, condensing, congealing as if avoiding the blood, but in a sudden and unexpected turn, the smoke leaps up and out of the bowl, swirling in dizzying circles above for several heartbeats before bursting into sparks and then nothingness.

  The cats are stunned, for such a thing has never happened in their experience. Only one presumes to know what has happened, the one with the silver eyes.

  He stands and leaves the room.

  There is only blood in the bowl.

  ***

  Kirin knelt down by the fire.

  “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

  Kerris turned baleful eyes on him. “Terrible,” he groaned, and tugged the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Woofed up all of that lovely rabbit. And the dates. Pity.”

  “He’s thrown up three times.” Fallon leaned forward, her hand rubbing across his back. “And he’s still shivering.”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Your head still hurts. I can tell.”

  “It’s still attached, love. That’s what matters.”

  “But you’ve remembered so many things…”

  Kerris took the tigress’ hand, gave it a squeeze, smiled at her fondly. “Even a cobra that wasn’t there.”

  She beamed.

  He looked back at his brother. “But Kirin, what was that? I mean, what exactly happened, to all of us, back there?”

  “I’m not certain, Kerris. But I mean to find out.” He placed a palm over his brother’s forehead.

  “Kirin, I’m fine.”

  “I’ll get another blanket.”

  “Get me a great big bowl of Arak and we’ll talk.”

  The golden lion grinned. “You’re fine.”

  He stood and placed his hands on his hips, his long hair pulled back and waving in the breeze. It was evening, and the sky was red, beautiful painted vibrant red, in streaks from horizon to horizon and he turned away from the fire to the silhouette of the pistachio tree and the figures waiting below.

  The falcon sat perched on the shoulder of her most familiar host, well fed with the last of the hare, and hooded, seeing nothing. Both the Major and the Seer were standing near the tree, and he felt the weight of their gaze as he approached, but he only had eyes for the woman still seated with her back to the tree. She had not moved from that spot, nor had she touched the tea the tigress had brought for her.

  He towered over her now.

  “You will answer my questions, sidala. You will answer them truthfully, without ruse, without riddle, or I will take off your head, right here, right now. Do you understand this?”

  “Of cour—“

  She stopped herself.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He exhaled, swallowed, formed his first question out of the buzzing swarm of questions in his head.

  “That thing, what is it? What…has it been?”

  “A soul purse.”

  “What is a soul purse? What does it do?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes great and golden, but he made his heart steel.

  “It does nothing, sidi, but hold its contents. It is the bearer that acts.”

  “And you are the bearer?”

  “Yes.”

  “And its contents?”

  “Souls.”

  “Elaborate, please.”

  “It, I…” She was struggling for the words.

  “Unification,” growled Sireth, arms folded across his chest. “It is their fuel.”

  Kirin shook his head. “I do not understand.”

  The Seer stepped forward. “The Arts cannot do the things this woman can do. They cannot start avalanches, melt ice, change their appearance, summon storms, not with their powders and potions and gems. That requires a power they do not naturally have.”

  “The Gifts have this kind of power?”

  “No, not at all. But this woman is able to do all these things and more. She is able to move in and out of minds like a wind, and that is the realm of the Gifts. Higher gifts, to be sure, but Gifts nonetheless. She has been trained in both, I guarantee it.”

  Kirin glanced back at the Alchemist. “Is this true, sidala?”

  She looked down at the earth.

  “And you have been stealing our souls to fuel your craft?”

  She said nothing.

  “Answer me now. I am short on patience.”

  “We do not steal souls, sidi. We harness them.”

  “Semantics, sidala.”

  “It is an Art in itself.”

  “The question, sidala?”

  “It is not for me,” she said finally. “It is for our Order. It is for Agara’tha. For the future of the Empire.” She swallowed, as if summoning her convictions as a shield. “It is all for the Empire.”

  “You should kill her now,” hissed the Major.

  “I’m not convinced our Empress would consider the ‘harnessing
of souls’ a worthy pastime for her servants, sidala.”

  “I do not, nor have ever, answered to the Empress, sidi. You for one surely understand the chain of command.”

  He had to admit that he did.

  “Captain…” It was Ursa. She was staring at the Seer.

  He glanced over at the man, who was standing completely still, glassy eyed and staring into the distance. He knew the look instantly.

  “Sidi?” he asked.

  “There are Alchemists in Sharan’yurthah.”

  “Sidi?”

  “Five of five, only five left, many have fed Our Mother, the Great Mountains. Jet barraDunne himself leads them. They have been following since...” He frowned. “Since the instatement of Yahn Nevye in Sha’Hadin. Yahn Nevye…” He frowned again, cocked his head like a bird. “Yahn Nevye…belongs to Jet barraDunne?”

  “He is the one who has assumed control of the monastery,” said Kirin. “I thought you said he was a Seer?”

  “He is, but he has been on sabbatical…” His voice trailed off as he thought.

  “Yahn Nevye has been studying at Agara’tha,” Sherah added, still looking at the earth. “He is a skilled student, the first and the best with both the Gifts and the Arts.”

  Kirin raised a brow. “He is a believer in Unification?”

  “Unification is very good for the Empire.”

  “But very bad for people,” Ursa growled.

  “Oh, Petrus,” groaned benAramis, and now he too sagged against the tree. “What of Sha’Hadin? What is to be done now?”

  “Major, please take the Seer to rest by the fire.”

  “No,” he protested. “Forgive me. I’m fine. I’m just sickened by all this—“

  “It’s not a request, sidi. I need to speak with the Alchemist alone.”

  Both the Major and the Seer stared at him.

  “Captain—“

  “That is an order, Major.”

  Slowly, warily, the pair turned their backs to him and began the slow trek to the glowing fire as the night settled her dark cloak all around them. Tonight, once again, the moon came out to play.

  He knelt down beside her now.

  He studied her face, so perfectly formed. Eyes wide, large and golden, lips full and pouting, the streak of black from lashes to cheek, coiled like a serpent. The swell of black that sprung from the peak and tumbled across her face and neck and back. The tiny spots gracing her forehead, her throat, her shoulders.

  He would be cleaving that magnificent head from those shoulders soon enough.

  “Do you remember, sidala, that night in the battle tower of Pesh’thawar? When you asked me if there were orders I had ever been given but were loathe to obey?”

  She nodded again, and he vowed to make her death swift and clean.

  “What were your orders, sidala?”

  She looked down.

  “Tell me, or I will kill you now.”

  She pulled a tiny parchment from under the black folds of her cloak, held it out to him. It smelled of orange and lotus.

  The parchment from the Empress, lost at the Inn at the Roof of the World. He swallowed, taking it. He slipped it into his sash.

  “I am Kunoichi,” she said softly.

  Kunoichi. Ninjah. Assassins cloaked in the night sky and smoke. He had never met one.

  “I see. Your orders were to kill The Seer.”

  “No, sidi. Not the Seer.”

  He frowned, puzzled.

  “Then whom?”

  Her breathing changed and her chest heaved with an uncharacteristic emotion. “You, sidi! My orders were to kill you.”

  And she buried her face in her hands.

  He sat up, puzzled, and puzzled some more. He looked over to the others, faces reflected gold and red in the firelight, to Kerris especially, still weakened and sickly and wrapped in a blanket, the tigress’ hand on his back. He looked to the first stars beginning to shine in the purple night sky. He looked to the dark canopy of the pistachio tree and finally, back to the woman sitting beneath.

  “Me?” he puzzled once again. “Jet barraDunne wants to kill…me? But why?”

  “Because of the Empress,” she breathed. “Because you love her and she loves you and she will not marry and that is dangerous for the stability and perpetuation of the Empire!”

  He cocked his head. How could they know this? How could they possibly know?

  “Chancellor Ho despises you because of this. He despises your entire family, you and your father before you and your brother, our fabled ‘Kaidan’ who negotiated peace with the Chi’Chen. A peace which has further undermined the safety of the Kingdom. He hates you all so very much. And Jet will do anything to please the Chancellor…”

  Kirin released his breath slowly. It made a certain sense.

  “But the Empress has announced that she will indeed marry.”

  “That is a new thing. It was unknown to any of us, sidi. As it was to you until that night.”

  That had been almost a killing blow. He had leaned on her door that night, willing himself to knock, to go in, to find comfort, escape, something in her arms, but he simply could not. He had wanted but would not. And not for the first time had he cursed his damned honor. That terrible, terrible night.

  He steeled himself.

  “So, the avalanche? The ice on the Shi’pal? You are the firestarter?”

  “I am a firestarter, sidi. But so is the Seer. That is how he killed the lion.”

  “A ruse. Shall I kill you now?”

  “Forgive me, sidi. But it is true. He is a firestarter. You should know this. And my orders were to kill you or to compromise you, so that the Empress would be free to marry.”

  “Compromise me?”

  She lowered her eyes.

  And suddenly, he understood all too well. He sat back on his haunches, felt the strength drain from his muscles. He had almost given her that, that night and on many others. Jet barraDunne would have been proud.

  He felt himself detaching, leaving his mind and body and voice and this time, there was no Arak to be blamed.

  “And Kerris, then?” he asked woodenly. “Why did you bother so with Kerris? What could he possibly mean to you?”

  “Forgive me, sidi, but there are many ways to compromise a man. Your brother is like wild honey. Your conflict with him led you to compromise yourself.”

  Her observations were on target, arrows loosed straight into his heart. He had not needed much help in losing himself or his honor, and he realized for the first time that his own proud, arrogant heart had put his brother’s life in jeopardy.

  “I know what Solomon is,” she said softly.

  “Yes.”

  “I understand the following of orders.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I also know you, what your Bushido will demand of you. I do not wish you to do it, sidi. Please.”

  He stared at her a long moment. “Have you shared this with the First Mage?”

  She looked down. “No, sidi. There are many things I have not shared with him.”

  She was a hawk, a beautiful, wild, wilful hawk. He wished he could have had the opportunity to tame her.

  “If you are Kunoichi, you have killed before,” he said softly. “And you have had many opportunities to do so on this journey. Why could you not kill me?”

  “You know why, sidi. Surely, you must know.”

  He lowered his eyes.

  She moved like a snake, and suddenly, she was on her hands and knees before him. “I could not kill you, sidi, and try as I might, I could not compromise you. I have never believed in honor. I have never believed in Bushido. I have never seen it lived out in a man, but you…”

  Her eyes gleamed and he almost fell over.

  “I have never met anyone like you.”

  He sat for a long moment, feeling like a stone cracking in a fire.

  Finally, he sighed, a long, deep cleansing breath. He reached out, stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, fighting the
ache swelling within him.

  “You are a match for me, Sherah al Shiva, Sherannah al Shaer, or whatever name you choose for yourself. I have never met anyone like you.”

  She smiled through her tears.

  “Any other time, sidala. Any other circumstance. I would be honored to love you.”

  She lowered her eyes once again.

  He rose to his feet, hand falling to the hilt of his sword.

  ***

  They stared at the dancing flames of the fire, each one of them wondering over the discovery of new memories, how they had gone missing and how, in turn, they had not really been missed.

  The falcon chirruped and they heard the crunch of boots on sandy soil.

  “Sidi,” said Kirin, appearing like a ghost out of the night, hand upon the hilt of his sword. He pulled a sliver of parchment from his sash, dropped it into the fire and the flames leapt, casting a strange light upon his face. “Did your falcon discover a way across this river?”

  “Ah, yes. Yes, she did.” The Seer blinked as he recalled. “The eastern route brings us to a rather large lake, impossible to cross.”

  Kerris flashed his brother a glance. Kirin ignored him.

  “The western route, however, brings us to a very wide part where the banks are quite flat. We should be able to swim the horses across.”

  “How far?

  “About a half day’s travel.”

  “In the morning, then,” said Kerris. “Time to get some sleep.”

  Kirin looked around at the four faces. “We are going now.”

  There was a marked silence.

  “Now?” asked Kerris again, for no one else dared. “Kirin, it’s nightfall. You can’t ask us to travel over unknown country in the dark. How many more horses do you want to lose?”

  “There’s a full moon,” countered his brother. “We need to leave. Now.”

  “They are still following us, aren’t they,” said Sireth. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.”

  “Who?” Fallon this time. “Who’s following us?”

  “Later,” said Kirin, and he grabbed a saddle from the ground and went off in search of his horse.

  ***

  After almost 9 months on the trail, one could literally saddle a horse in the dark. It was as ingrained now as breathing, and before long, all mounts had been tacked, including the three packhorses. There was, as the Captain had said, a full moon which showered light almost as if in the day. Even Fallon was able to tack up both her new horse, and the Alchemist’s black mare without any help at all.