The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (26 page)

With a deep breath, he slipped his
hands around the Seer’s head, thumbs to temples, and closed his eyes.

“Sireth
benAramis, come back. Here. Now. To the Inn at the Roof of the World.”

nothing

“Here
you belong. Here with us. Here. Focus and find us. Find your way back to us.”

two hearts beating, but one
soul, empty, cold

Another
pair of hands on his, soft and slim and delicate, and without seeing, he knew
it was the tigress. Her voice added to his.

“Come back here with us, Sireth.
Find your way back. Please. We need you.”

Three
pair of hands, grey ones now cupping them all. Kirin felt a wash of gratitude.
Felt them feel it, as they united in hearts and souls and wills to bring the
Seer home.

***

annoying, how annoying, like a
child tugging on an adult’s tail, wanting attention, wanting to be heard,
pulling him away from the dragon, annoying, ignore it, perhaps it will go away

***

“Come back. Here. Now. Here to the
Inn at the Roof of the World. Now.”

Kirin felt an odd sensation, a stir
of emotion, irritation perhaps? He clenched his eyes tighter, and continued.

***

tugging, pulling, downwards,
falling away from the dragon, tumbling through the clouds, many voices rushing
past, many hands tugging, annoyance and irritation, go away, falling faster
now, the mountains looming larger, larger still, plummeting like a falling
star, the Sight growing sharp, hot, white hot, lights from the Inn, hotter,
faster, too fast

***

“Too fast,
sidi.
Slow down.”

***

too fast, slow down, faster,
blurring, rushing, spinning

***

Kirin’s head was spinning. Fallon’s
head was spinning. Kerris’ head was spinning.

Quickly, Kirin tried to imagine
hands, reaching upwards to slow the fall, stop it, felt the soul pass through
like a shooting star, much too fast, they were all going to hit—

Four souls burst with the clap of
thunder, throwing them in four separate directions across the room, knocking
over benches, crashing into walls. Sherah threw her arms over her head to avoid
the chaos and flailing debris. When finally all was still once again, she
peered out again, three cats lying prone and barely conscious on the floor. The
Seer, however was sitting up, eyes bright and glistening, breathing as if just
coming in from some mad cross-Kingdom dash.

“Amazing,” he panted, “Absolutely
amazing. Now, please excuse me while I go outside. I think I’m going to be sick.”

And
with that, he clambered to his feet and staggered toward the door. He didn’t
quite make it to the threshold before his prophecy came true.

Fallon
lay sprawled on her belly across an overturned bench. “Yep. Like trilling
little birds,
layahlayahlai...”

Kerris
lay propped against a table, grinning. “By the Kingdom, Kirin, we’re going to
need a great more than opium on this trip.”

Major
Ursa Laenskaya sat up, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Opium,” she growled. “I hate
opium.”

She pushed herself to unsteady feet
and stomped up the stairs to her room.

And
Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, Captain of the Imperial Guard, placed his hands over his face,
for his own vision had proved faithful, his own prophecies true. Madness and
blasphemy would rain down upon his head, for they were about to embark on a
journey, a sojourn to the Ends of the Earth, to find this Soul, this Solomon,
not tiger, not even cat, but the last of the Ancestors, revered and idolized by
every living creature in all of the Nations.

A human.

And
with his very sword, the Captain of the Queen’s Guard would kill him.

Somewhere, far to the north and far
to the west, far beyond the boundary of even the Lower Kingdom, there is a
range of Mountains splitting yet another part of the earth in two. There are
peaks that rival
Charta
, spears that
mock
Kathandu,
although none can come
close to matching
Shagar’mathah
. She
is ours alone. But there
are
mountains, up there on the Edge of the
Earth and answers to mysteries from the beginning of time. Perhaps even before
this.

This
is a land of green grass and orchards, lush slopes and steep winding rivers, of
wild goats and dahl sheep and otters, storks and cattle as sturdy as yaks.
There are no cats. There are no dogs. There are no people of any sort, for one
cannot in truth consider rats as people even if they do chatter and have the
arms of monkeys. True monkeys, those called
Chi’Chen
,
can hold a conversation.
Chi’Chen
have homes, raise families, barter and sell wares like people.
Chi’Chen
hate dogs, envy cats, enjoy
laughter. Rats kill. There is considerable difference.

This
land is full of rats.

The
temples are old, more like the temples of
Gobay
made of paper and steel
and stone. They are broken and ruined and supposedly carry on for days without
end. There are rivers of stone, also broken and ruined and these run to and
from the temples in confusing patterns, weaving and twisting like the most
intricate
KallaShakra
wheel.
For
the most part, this land is dreadful.

And yet, there are mountains.

Magnificent, towering, powerful
mountains, perhaps even a worthy consort for our Great Mother should she ever
find the need. Mountains are a source of purity and strength, so perhaps once
this land was likewise. But no more. It is the way of things.

High
in these mountains, there is a village.

Rather,
there
was
a village, so very long ago.

Kandersteg, Switzerland.

And
buried deep beneath such an old village, beneath layers of snow and soil and
rock, sat a man called Solomon, head in hands, waiting for the nausea to
subside.

 
It was black, save for
the dim emergency grid-lighting along the floor. It was also cold, which
probably was a blessing since it seemed those horrible rat creatures seemed to
have a preference for warmth. The air was stale, at least 500 years stale (but
he couldn’t shake the feeling that it might be more) and stank of rat urine,
liquid nitrogen and blood. He had been able to chip ice from several of the
cryo-tanks so he was in no danger of dehydration just yet but his stomach had
long since given up rumbling for attention, having begun the process of
metabolic enervation for what it assumed would be another long hibernation.

He
wished it were so easy.

“Hello?
Anybody there?” he called again into the darkness, knowing it would be futile.
These stray contacts were fleeting at best, chaotic at worst, and this time had
left him with a sensation of vertigo. But at least he was not alone. He was not
alone and for that, he was infinitely grateful.

It
had all started three nights ago. Actually, it had all started centuries ago,
but that was a little out of his purview. MAX, the orbital computer satellite,
had made a colossal miscalculation, somehow allowing him to waken before
the revival process had been complete. Now, his first memories of this new
time, of this new world, were those of extreme cold and panic. Even now, they
continued to haunt him with their vivid sensations. Truth be told, it was a
danger he and his colleagues had thought they had long overcome. In the
beginning, prototypes had produced the same effect and the SANDMAN Project had
almost been scuttled because of so many early fatalities.
He shuddered to
think of it. It would not be a pleasant way to go.

He
paused in his thoughts.

They had saved him.

These
strange, backwards people, people who used horses and shamen and terms like
“sidi,” had saved him.

For the first time since he could
remember, he found a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The irony
amused him. Actually, it kind of hurt, so he stopped smiling and ran his palm
across his face, finding stubble in its wake.

Somehow,
they had saved him.

The
others had not been so lucky.

Six fellow supervisors had met
grisly fates, frozen and contorted, their tanks little more than sophisticated
Arctic tombs
.
And then the rat-things had done their work, smashing in
the plexiglass and pulling what they could of the bodies onto the floor.
Solomon remembered that first morning when he had crawled warm and dry from his
unit and tumbled unceremoniously onto the cold metal floor onto part of
someone’s arm. Not the waking he had expected. Certainly not what they had
planned. And the rat-things had been plaguing him ever since, likely the start
of every evening but since he was underground, he wasn’t entirely sure. He also
wasn’t entirely sure how he had managed to stay alive for this long and avoid
their many scrabbling hands, their sharp slicing teeth, their sheer, savage
numbers.

One thing he was sure of, however,
was that unless he got the computers back online, they would surely kill him.
And he had not survived this long just to become this century’s version of
frozen dinner.

Not when he had 2000 others
depending on him.

“Okay,
Captain,” he announced to the empty room, “If you”re coming to find us, we’d
better be ready. Let’s see if I can find the welcome mat...”

He
pushed himself to his feet and staggered over to the main computer terminal in
Ops.

It
was black, like the past. Like the present. And very possibly like his own
future.

He
adjusted the wire at the base of his skull, pulled over a creaky, rattling
chair, and got down to work.

 
It is impossible to remember all the things which transpired
that night as we worked into the very hours of morning. In fact, I’m not
entirely convinced that any of us found more than an hour of sleep before we
were forced to begin our preparations for the journey that awaited us. But
truth be told, I believe none of us missed those hours for a challenge had
gripped us in invisible claws, the knowledge that we were about to embark on a
journey where no cat had journeyed before, a sojourn unlike any other. We would
be riding beyond the very edges of the known world. Even I must admit it was
exhilarating.

The Seer was repeatedly sick for
most of the night and cold too from the effects of the raw opium. But he aided
us as best he could as my brother and the Scholar drew map after map, changing
and refining them with Kerris’ familiarity and the Seer’s memory.

Soon it became apparent that
where we would be traveling, no map existed, and I began to question the
accuracy of the vision that was sending us so far from home. I also began to
question whether the journey was necessary at all for if there was indeed only
a single Ancestor so far from our Empire, it was doubtful that he alone could
bring down enough devastation to cripple the Matriarchy. But I was under orders
to kill him. Could I do this thing? Could I not? As the maps were being drawn,
I sat and wrestled with these thoughts, all the while under the golden eyes of
the Alchemist.

She disturbs me.

Not only that but my scroll is
missing. I wish to believe that, in the madness of the night’s events it was
simply discarded, swept into the fire with the crushed remains of the coals. I
pray this is the case for if one of these people were to discover that our
quest is now one of retribution then I am convinced that their assistance would
be neither whole-hearted nor unsolicited. For the most part, they are not
soldiers.

Finally, after several hours
more, I called a halt to the process, for it was obvious that the maps were of
limited value and my people were growing giddy with exhaustion. The Major had
preceded us to the upper rooms after our unceremonious ‘crash’ from unnatural
places, and I had assumed she was sleeping. I found out she was completely
otherwise, and had thoroughly dismantled one of the beds. She had carved an
intricate sign into the rough mahogany headboard and was carrying it down the
stairs as we dragged ourselves up them. I noticed her eyes still manic with
opium. The five of us stood on the steps and watched as she threw open the
Inn’s front door and pounded the headboard into the hard earth by the entrance.
She then stormed up past us and disappeared once again into her room, slamming
the door with such force that the black windows rattled in their frames. The
Scholar trotted back down the stairs to take a look and returned promptly with
the news that the Inn at the Roof of the World now had a name.

“The Mother’s Arms.”

I thought it fitting.

We retired for the rest of the
night but were up at the first light of dawn. Every bone in my body ached but
Kerris seemed bright and eager to set out. Perhaps it is simply the difference
in our natures. I am Metal, a creature of habit, preferring the routines of my
job and the stability of the Kingdom, whereas Kerris is Fire and thrives on
adventure and change. We both serve the Empress well, however, for as I work to
maintain that which we already have, he sees what might be, and works toward
that end. I could not do what he does, living such a free, independent life,
and I know for fact that he could not survive within the confines of my
responsibility. It is the way of things.

At first light, I had sent the
guards to the markets to load our packhorses with tents and supplies, for I was
beginning to believe that this journey would take weeks, if not longer. As the
horses were made ready, I made certain to give the Innkeep a promissory note
for his lodgings, for so many meals and for the destruction of at least one
window and two beds. The Major had no memory of the events of the night
previous, and I found her, fresh and well-rested, admiring her own handiwork on
the improvised sign outside the Inn. The Seer still looked ill but as I bid him
good-morning, he touched my arm and asked if I had indeed brought him back from
the lost last night. I told him that, with the help of others, I had, and then
he said to me a very strange thing.

He said perhaps I
was
Enough.

We set out immediately, for our
aim was to follow the
Shi’pal River
northwest through the Great
Mountains. Although the
Shi’pal
flows west most of its course, and then
east, and then south, ultimately it finds its source in the north, and does
indeed meet up with the Great Wall along the way. I was hoping to head due
north, and reach the Wall by sunset, for it is equipped with frequent battle
towers, cisterns of fresh water, and level footing. However, Kerris disagreed,
citing the unpredictable nature of our quest thus far, the treachery of the
northern pass and the fact that we were a large party, traveling with
heavy-laden horses. I was forced to concede. So, just after dawn, we left the
Inn,
‘The
Mother’s Arms’
, and the mountains of
Sha’Hadin
.
I knew we would not be seeing them again soon.

  
    
   
-an excerpt from the journal of Kirin Wynegarde-Grey

The morning mist had lifted,
allowing them an unparalleled view of the Great Mountains. They were a study in
contrasts, these mountains, laying down steep, U-shaped valleys of pink shale
aside level plateaus of snow. Stone hedges ran at unnatural angles, as if some
cat had devised to create Walls of his own in miniature. Rocks as large as yaks
alternated with stunted cedars to speckle the land like the back of a leopard
and in the distance, spires of white and purple ruled everything.

Kerris and Quiz had naturally taken
the fore, leading the party down the narrow, winding road from the marketplace
and into territory quite unfamiliar to any of the riders. There was little
conversation en route for the horses were trekking single-file and the precious
lack of sleep in the last few days was beginning to take its toll. Even the
Scholar’s usual banter was negated in favor of head-bobbing, bleary-eyed
silence. It was then that Kirin first considered the notion that, of all the
factors weighing against them on this impossible journey, exhaustion might well
be the most dangerous of all.

So after several hours, the river
of horses rode deep into a red sandstone valley, veering sharply away from the
majestic views of the Mountains and into the coolness of her shadows. The shade
was welcome relief from the sun however and as they descended, the spring
runoff that had been trickling across the paths remained frozen, long slick entrails
of dripping white. The walls of the valley echoed with the sound of rushing
waters but the
Shi’pal
was still nowhere to be seen. It seemed as though
Kerris were leading them straight into the very heart of the earth.

Above
them, Path the falcon pivoted on a high wind and disappeared around the crest
of a ridge that rose before them, apparently blocking their trail.

Kirin
shook his head when suddenly, as alMassay slid the last of the way into the
ravine, the ridge opened up before them into a great gaping mouth of a cavern
hidden by the angle of descent. It was wide, dark and low, a frowning mouth
with jagged teeth, and quite naturally, Kerris and Quiz were riding straight
into it. Both were swallowed in seconds.

 
The guard directly behind them swiveled in his saddle,
throwing his Captain a glance before he too urged his horse onward and was
immediately covered in a cloak of darkness. From the Scholar to the Major, the
party disappeared before his eyes and Kirin found himself holding his breath as
alMassay stepped slowly into the breach.

Every inch of his body tingled as
the blackness consumed him and every other sense scrambled to adjust. His
pupils opened wide, seeing fragments of light bouncing from buckles and straps
and swords. It was damp, smelled of old moss and bat droppings. He could hear
those bats too, clicking at the unexpected visitors, imagined them snatching at
the crest of his hair from their upside-down perches.
Unclean creatures,
he thought grimly,
almost as bad as rats.
He was glad he couldn’t see
them.

The cavern was colder than the
trail into it and the further they went, the damper and colder it became. The
rushing of waters was growing louder too, almost drowning out the clopping of
hoofs. Through the darkness, Kirin could see slices of sunlight, stabbing down
through the rock and he knew that something remarkable awaited them at the end
of this black journey. There had to be. Kerris was fond of his surprises.

The exit was as sudden as its
entrance and the Captain could tell by the exclamations that the end was upon
them. In fact, the sudden sunlight almost blinded him and he found himself
pulling his stallion short as his eyes took moments to adjust. Several horse
lengths below them, the
Shi’pal
roared through steep red cliffs, her
cold spray pricking his pelt and chilling him to the bones. On both sides, the
ravine’s edges sheered straight up to the sun

“Wow, oh wow! Oh-oh-oh wow!”

The Scholar gasped in open-mouthed
wonder, but in truth, the Captain felt the same. The Mountains never failed to
inspire him. There were constantly new sights, new marvels within her ample
bosom. She was a Good Mother.

Kerris
was waving at him. al Massay jogged up alongside.

“This
road will take us a good way,” he said, now forced to shout to be heard over
the rushing waters. “The river is full of fish and the cliffs full of pigeons.
We might even take a cliff buck or two. We won’t have to touch our stores for
days!”

Kirin
nodded. It was a good plan.

“No swimming, though,” the grey
lion said with a grin. “The current will crush you against the rocks like a
clove of ginger. Right? So, Kirin, we keep going?”

“No.”

“What?
What’s that?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It
is just past noon,” Kirin shook his head. “We’ll stop for a rest and a light
meal. Our people are tired.”

Kerris
sat back on his pony. “Well. Yes, they are. I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“I
noticed.”

“Some
hope for you yet, brother,” he said. “Right, we’ll stop here then. It’s as good
a place as any.”

And with that, he sprang from
Quiz’s back like a hare, making his way down the line to the packhorses. Kirin
swiveled in his saddle.

All
eyes were upon him.

He
cleared his throat and with gritted molars, forced a smile.

“Time
for tea.”

***

the darkness was swallowing the
sun. Shafts of light pierced the clouds but, one by one, their beams snuffed
out under the all-pervading blackness.
Pol’Lhasa
was consumed by
shadows, and like the torches of midnight, eyes flickered on all around her,
thousands of eyes, an army of yellow, gleaming eyes advancing upon her, flowing
up her many steps, surrounding her in a siege of blackness and incense...

“Kirin?”

“Hm.”

“Kirin, wake up.”

The Captain sat up, blinking the
sun and sand from his eyes. Kerris was crouching before him, his ashen grey
hair wet and sticking up all over his head.

“You’ve
been sleeping for almost 2 hours.”

“That’s not possible.”

“’Fraid
so. Ask Ursa if you don’t believe me.”

For
a split second, he was sorely tempted and the Captain’s gaze flicked to his
Major. Her back was to him but he could see she was busy rolling several rows
of fillets that had been drying in the sun. Her hair was wet too, twisted into
a tight knot on top of her head, and her white doeskin was patched with
dampness. Kirin straightened himself against the rock.

“You
haven’t been swimming, have you?”

“In
that river?” Kerris laughed. “No, thanks. Fishing gets you wet enough. We
caught four more. Big ones, too. Ursa’s a good fisherman.” He cocked his head
in her direction. “Aren’t you, Ursa my love? A regular fishwife.”

“Watch
it, stableboy,” her long tail lashed behind her. “Or you will be tasting my
hooks...”

“She
adores me, really she does. Looks like you’ve found a friend, too.”

Kirin
followed his brother’s glance, to the thick spotted tail resting across his
thigh. Beside him, Sherah al Shiva lay curled in a patch of sun, her lean,
black-clad body seeming to claim it like a spotlight. He snorted.

“Alchemists.”

“The
horses are ready, Kirin. Just waiting for riders. Well, I’d better help Ursa
with that fish. You know how she gets, living the life of domestic bliss and
all.”

And with that, he left his brother’s
side, his good-humor a distinct contrast to the Major’s growling.

Kirin
took a deep breath and looked around.

Two
leopards were only now beginning to rouse themselves from their afternoon naps.

The other two were still standing
sentry and he felt a pang of remorse. With only four guards left, their stamina
would be pressed thin as the daily duty rotations took their toll. He would
make a point of redistributing their hours some time soon.

Farther
down the rock face, the Seer was beginning to stir. The falcon was perched on
his left shoulder but this time, she shared her host with the Scholar who had
tucked herself, childlike, under his arm. Kirin found himself smiling,
wondering if the lynx Tiberius would have approved such familiarity. Surely
such innocence could damage no one’s soul.