The room was silent as he reached the foot of the Throne, the ages-old seat of power for three dynasties. Two ministers were standing at her sides, one of Arms and the other of Defense. They were holding a sword each and he knew them instantly but could not dwell, for he dropped to the floor, elbows and forehead touching the warm stone.
All was silent, save for the hissing of the torches.
“We are entering a time of war,” she said, her voice soft as swallows, piercing as the North wind. “With enemies amassing on both Eastern and Northern Borders. The Chi’Chen may very well be a peaceful force but they are still a threat to our security. And kestrels are bringing reports of a Legion of Legions gathering in the city of the Enemy. On the outskirts of the Empire, rats are now reported using tools in their swarms. We are beset by enemies within and without.”
She paused, letting her golden eyes sweep the room like brooms. No impurity could exist in the corners of this room.
“But more than these, we are faced with another threat, a threat more dangerous than dogs or monkeys or rats.”
The entire room was hushed. On the floor, Kirin could barely breathe. He was grateful for the stiff leather of the yori. It gave him support and strength.
“More than these, there is the threat of Ancestors.”
He could hear nothing. No one was breathing. No one could believe.
“Ancestors are alive in this world, far far to the West. The star in the Year of the Tiger awakened them and we have sent our dear Kaidan, ambassador of the Upper Kingdom, to verify this. He is back now with an Army of Chi’Chen soldiers at the Gate of Five Hands. For this reason, we have commissioned a new Shogun-General. Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, formerly a Captain of the Imperial Guard. He alone has experience with Ancestors.”
He wanted to crawl away, hide under a table, a chair, anything.
“The Council has approved this commission and so, without delay, I have ordered the presentation of the Blood and Jade Fangs. Ministers…”
He could hear their feet move, drew in a deep breath.
“Captain Wynegarde-Grey, look at me.
His head was spinning. He couldn’t believe.
It seemed someone else was lifting his head.
“Kirin Balthashar Wynegarde-Grey, you are a lion born of a noble house. You were Captain of the Imperial Guard, like your father before you. This is not enough. The Brotherhood of the Fangs is an historic one, a complex one. The Sword of Blood is violent and thirsty. It has slain over one thousand dogs in its history, twice as many rats. It longs to kill, it lives to sow death. Are you worthy of the blood, Kirin-san?”
He could see the Minister of Arms holding it out before him. It was a katanah, its long steel fashioned out of Khamachada iron. It gleamed red in the lantern light.
No, he said with every thought, every sinew, every muscle. I am not worthy. Yet his mouth was silent.
“The Sword of Jade is poetry unmatched. It sings when it moves, it dances when drawn. To die by the Jade is a death of music, of beauty, of art. Are you worthy of the Jade, Kirin-san?”
The Minister of Defense stepped forward, holding out the short sword, a khodai’chi of Khamboh’jah iron, oily green in hue.
“Are you worthy of the brothers?”
Are you worthy?
He didn’t understand.
“Are you worthy of these blood brothers?”
Her golden eyes pleaded with him to answer, but he didn’t understand the question. Was he worthy? Was he?
He was kneeling here before them all, unrecognizable because of the yori and kabuto and suddenly he remembered the leopards One and Two. He smiled to himself. They had been very clever.
Slowly and with great care, he raised his arm and lifted the helmet from his head, allowing the single queue of golden mane to drape down the back of his neck. The pelt of his head, unmaned by dogs, visible for all to see. The pride of lions gone in service to the Empire.
There was a gasp from the Ministers, from the Under-ministers and the clerks. Indeed, from everyone in the Throne Room of the Empress, including Chancellor Ho. Once his shame, now his glory and to his utter surprise, the entire room dropped to their knees now. One by one, elbows and foreheads to the floor, they bowed before him, the very First Shogun-General of the Fanxieng Dynasty.
He met her eyes now, could hear her songs dancing inside his head.
“Yes,” she said. “You are worthy.”
And she smiled.
The Enemy
“Sweetling of days,
Sweetling of days,
The nights have grown colder
And you have grown older,
Sweetling of days,
Remember my song.”
It was a scrap of memory from childhood and filled him with warmth and the ache of loss.
“Sweetling of days,
Sweetling of days,
The River has dried up,
Our tears have all cried up,
Sweetling of days,
Remember your home.”
It was not his grandmother’s voice and when he opened his eyes, he was not surprised to see tree boughs, frost and drapes of dark silk.
Setse was singing.
He flexed his shoulder where he remembered the arrow had struck. It was tight but there was no pain. Vaguely, he remembered a second arrow and he drew his knees, causing the bearskin to bunch and fall.
“Good morning, Rani,” sang his sister. Her voice was music on the wind.
Smiling, he propped himself up onto his elbows, mindful not to sit too high. The boughs were low and would likely drop snow all over him if bumped. There were candles still in the centre of the little gar and he could see Setse across the flames. She was rocking something in her arms, beaming like a spring morning.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Alive.” He remembered the sound of her falling, the crunch of her body in the snow. “And you?”
“Very well. She is a good healer.”
“Who, Setse? Who did this?”
“Rah. She’ll be back soon. She’s gone to collect roots for medicine and pine needles for tea.”
He sat up straighter, ran his hand along his neck and shoulder, finding a poultice of moss, tree sap and mustard seeds.
“Who is she, Setse? Where did she come from?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Witches come from everywhere,” she said and she dropped her eyes down to the blanketed shape in her arms. She resumed her singing.
“Sweetling of days,
Sweetling of days,
The dark days have tarried,
Our dead we have buried,
Sweetling of days,
Remember your clan.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“What is that? What are you holding?”
“Ulaan Baator will come now,” she said, still smiling.
His heart thudded inside his chest and he rolled to his knees, crawled past the candles to his sister’s side.
“He has only a few months,” she said. “Perhaps four. I couldn’t understand her times. She’s speaks the language of the People but her accent is strong…”
From within the folds of the blanket, a tiny golden hand was reaching up, touching his sister’s face. He could see the tips of golden claws, sliding in then out of the fingers in a motion that reminded him of his grandmother kneading dough.
“Setse,” he growled. “Where did you get that?”
“Rah. She asked me to watch him.”
He couldn’t believe what she was saying, even less what he was seeing.
“She’s brought him all the way from the Southern Sea, where it rains in winter, not snow.” Setse looked up at him. “Isn’t that strange? Rain in winter?”
“Setse, put it down.”
“His name is Kylan.”
“Put it down.”
She frowned, hugged the child to her chest. Immediately, it began to whimper and flail.
“She asked me to watch him, Rani.”
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“Kill it.”
“No! It’s just a baby, Rani!”
“It is a child of the Enemy, Setse. Kill it now.”
“Rani, no! Never!”
The child began to wail and he could see tiny pinpricks of red in his sister’s chin.
“Put it down, Setse. We can leave now and be back in the mountains before she gets back.”
He reached for her but she shrank back, clutching the blankets tightly to her chest.
“No, Rani! She saved us! Both of us!”
“She’s a witch, Setse!”
“That’s what they said about me, Rani! That I was a witch! Just because I see things, because I know things!” Suddenly, she froze, her blue eye glittering and glassy. She began to speak in the language of the Enemy.
The flap of the tent swung open and a wraith slipped inside.
He scrambled for his quiver, quickly knocked an arrow, drew the string but couldn’t loose it. His finger refused to move. For the very first time in his young life, Jalair Naranbataar saw the Enemy standing before him.
She was wearing black leather and a cloak of thick bearskin and her face was hidden in the shadows of her hood. But in those shadows, he could see her eyes, gleaming like the flames of her many candles. She smelled powerfully of incense and magic and when she lifted the hood, he was amazed at what he saw. It was not the face of a monster. Not the face of nightmares or legends told to frighten children. In fact, he thought, as the arrow pointed directly between her large eyes, that she looked less like the night and more like the sun.
“Good morning, little brother,” she said and then she smiled.
He swallowed, redressed his grip on the bow.
“What do you want?” he growled. “Why did you bring us here?”
“Your wounds are healing well.” Her voice was deep, smokey. “The arrow is not shaking.”
“I said, what do you want?”
“I want to feed my baby.” She blinked slowly and he felt the strength draining from his muscles. “And then I would like a cup of tea. Do you drink tea, little brother?”
“Green tea?” asked Setse.
“Of course.”
“I would love green tea,” sang Setse, and she kissed the baby on the forehead. “We don’t get green tea at home. Only bone tea. It’s good for strength but it tastes very bad.”
The witch moved toward his sister and Rani followed her with his arrow.
“Don’t touch her,” he growled, baffled as the woman folded her long legs and dropped to the snow next to his sister. Setse passed the baby over and with a minimum of tucks and folds, the baby was nursing happily. Setse clapped her hands.
“I knew it,” she sang. “Ulaan Baator is coming, isn’t he?”
“He will come,” said the woman.
“You see, Rani? I knew it. Blue Wolf, Yellow Cat. Everything will be good now. Everything will be made right.”
He had none of the gift himself, but somehow, Naranbataar knew that it nothing would be made right for a long while, and that before it was right, life would become very, very wrong.
***
“This is impossible,” said Yahn Nevye as the three of them stared down the long stretch of cord and rattan that made up the rope bridge. Far below, one of the Shi’pal’s little sisters leapt through the gorge like a team of white stallions, throwing up an icy spray that felt like daggers on their cheeks. “No horse will cross that. We should go father.”
“Idiot,” growled Ursa. “You know nothing.”
She turned to her horse, the blue roan from Khanisthan, cupped his long face in her hands, stared into its large dark eyes.
“You are not a soldier, but you are brave and strong-hearted. You will follow me across this bridge and I will name you Xiao.”
“Brave? You would name a horse Brave?” The jaguar peered again over the edge. “You speak to horses as though they understand.”
“Pah,” she snorted. “I speak to you as though you understand.”
Nevye looked to benAramis. The Seer merely shrugged.
“The horses will follow,” said the Major. “They are all brave. Watch and learn, little chicken.”
And with a hand on the reins, she stepped a booted foot out and onto the rattan that crossed the gorge. Snow fell from the canes, disappearing into the white spray as if home. The ropes that formed the rails quivered and squeaked but held.
Two boots now, and she began to cross, the bridge swinging a little at her weight. She did not turn and slowly, the horse stepped a hoof onto the rounded shapes of the canes.
It hesitated, but she did not stop and soon the reins were taut. Behind the men, the horses snorted and shifted in the snow. Mi-Hahn chirruped on Sireth’s shoulder as together they watched both snow leopard and desert horse begin to make the narrow crossing. And still she did not turn.
“Xiao,” she cried over the roar of the river, not looking back. “Xiao. You are Xiao.”
With wild eye, the horse took another step. And another. And another.
The bridge was swaying with each hoof fall, creaking under the weight, and they both grew very small as they crossed the wide gorge over the River. In fact, it seemed like hours but finally, the Major had laid a hand on the pike of the far side and the horse scrambled up behind her. They pushed through the snow drifts and were on solid ground once again.
She stroked its long nose, ran a hand along its blue neck.
“Xiao,” she said. “Now and forever, you are Brave.”
On the other side, Sireth smiled and turned to his horse. “Well then, what shall we call you, my red desert friend?”
Mi-Hahn cried out and left his shoulder for the great expanse of grey that was the sky. The horse snorted and together, horse and Seer began to cross, the bridge creaking and swaying under their weight. A cane cracked, splintered under a heavy hoof but before long they too were scrambling up the drifts on the other side.
Tan mongrel turned to face red horse.
“Dune,” he said. “You move through snow as if it were sand. I shall name you Dune.
One by one, the packhorses followed, the bridge swinging sideways with each crossing. Another cane splintered and disappeared into the spray of the river but none were lost until only a jaguar and one horse were left. Across the gorge, Ursa stared at the horse.
It shook its head, tossed its mane, but soon, it too was following the others. The bridge creaked and a hoof went through, leaving a hole large enough to lose a cat but it crossed. Yahn Nevye was the only creature on the far side of the gorge.
Ursa narrowed her eyes. “Little chicken?”
“That is madness,” he called over. “Did you see those canes?”
“The horses weigh far more than you.”
The man swallowed, glanced down at the rushing Shi’pal far below. He looked up. “How do I know that this isn’t a ruse? You might cut the ropes as I cross!”
Sireth smiled.
“If she wanted you dead, brother, we would not be having this conversation.”
“I’m not good with heights,” called the jaguar.
“We are in the mountains, idiot.” And rolling her eyes, Ursa Laenskaya mounted Xiao and headed out, plowing through the drifts as though the horse were a yak.
“I might fall through those canes! Look at that hole!”
“Don’t look at the hole,” called Sireth. “Don’t look at the gorge. Just look at me. Look…”
Nevye stared at him.
“That’s right. Just look at me.”
For once, the jaguar did as he was asked.
“There is no gorge. There is no river. There is only a path that takes you from the table to the chair.”
“I know what you’re asking. You think me a novice.”
“I think nothing of the sort.”
Nevye swallowed but kept the Seer’s gaze. “You can do this?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Not in the least.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just
look at me. That’s right. The rope is not a rope, it is a chair…”
And Nevye placed a foot onto the canes of the bridge.
“…A chair made of rope and rattan. Reach your hand to grab the back of the chair. Very good. Just ropes and canes that I gathered from the forest. The paths to the rattan fields were not smooth paths. They rose and fell with the forest floor. There are stumps and dips and the roots but the canes were very good and worth the occasional twisted ankle. The ropes are strong, the rattan even stronger and the chairs I made were very fine. I made them all the time in Shathkira, a little village in Lan’ladesh—”
Sireth hissed as Nevye’s foot went through the hole and he dropped like a stone.
“—Feel the chair, Yahn. Hold the back of the chair.”
“I am,” growled the jaguar. His eyes were glassy, held as they were by the Last Seer of Sha’Hadin. He was hanging on to the ropes with both hands as one leg dangled above the gorge. The split-toed sandal sailed down, down, down. “It’s a stupid chair.”
“Yes,” said Sireth, and he raised a hand. The sandal rose with it. “But do remember the forest floor is not smooth. You must lift your feet carefully when you walk.”
Nevye pulled his leg up, placed it onto the canes, continued to walk. The Seer released a long breath.
“People paid good money for my chairs. It was a good job and I made a good living. Perhaps, I can convince the Major to give up the army and take up a simpler life, a smoother life of trees and canes and bamboo…”
And with that, Yahn Nevye stepped into the drifts in front of the last Seer of Sha’Hadin.
He released a long breath, looked around.
“I was in the jungle,” he said after a moment.
“Indeed,” said Sireth.
Nevye moved toward his horse but paused, lifted one foot out of the snow.
“Where…where is my other sandal?”
“Your foot went through the gap in the rattan and you lost it. I caught it.”
Nevye looked up as the Seer handed him the split-toed sandal.
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 83