The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (33 page)

“Brown
eyes?”

“No
offence,
sidi,
but brown eyes are
unnatural.”

“Yes,
of course. Please continue.”

“Dogs have brown eyes. Are you
certain there isn’t any dog in your particular mix?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“No
matter. I found an odd book once. The pages were stiff and clear, save for
paintings of red and blue, and they looked to me like paintings of like
paintings of innards.”

“Innards?”

“Yes.
Blood paths and hearts and lungs and stomachs and the like. It was gruesome. I
think they were a gruesome people.”

“Why
do you say that?”

Kerris
leaned forward. “Have you ever been to
Calcah’thah?”

Sireth
leaned forward. “I grew up in
Calcah’thah.”

“There
are still parts of the city that none of us can reclaim. It is devastated.”

“I
know.”

“There are areas in
Hiran
and
Shyria
that even still nothing grows. Cats who pass through become
sick within a fortnight. I think they were a powerful, gruesome, warrior people
who killed themselves off in a great war. Or many great wars.” He shrugged, as
if catching himself in a blasphemy. “I think.”

Sireth
sat very still. These were not things he wanted to know.

“But
they were marvelous, as well. Here. Look at this.”

He pulled the sleeve from his wrist.
Something flashed in the firelight.

“What
is it?”

“Not
sure, entirely. The Scholar thinks it’s a sundial. But you know her. Actually,
I bought it for her, but she didn’t want it. Threw it back right in my face.
She’s a puzzle, that one is...”

He slipped it off and passed the
bangle over into Sireth’s eager
hand melting flesh melting heat blasting
blinding light fire consuming death death lungs burning burning blood bursting
eyes mouths ears
bursting death dying earthshake shake and collapse
wailing kittens six kittens cool water spray oceans lion tiger man

Sireth gasped for air as Kerris
finally managed to wrench the bangle from his iron grip.

“Are
you alright?
Sidi?”

He
couldn’t yet speak for his head was still pounding, the power of the Vision
strong in his soul.

“What
happened? You weren’t breathing.”

He
nodded.

“Did
you see something?”

“Devastation,”
he whispered.

“Right.”
Kerris slipped the bangle back on his wrist and rose to his feet. “Well, I um,
I should go up. Kirin has maps, and all. And supper. Are you coming for supper?
I’m quite hungry, aren’t you?”

“Hunger
is simply a matter of perspective.”

“Yes,
well from where I’m standing, the perspective smells quite good. Are you sure
you’re alright?”

The
Seer nodded again.

Kerris
took several steps toward the door, paused before leaving.

“Be sure not to mention this to
Kirin, will you? He has enough to think about.”

“I
won’t.”

“Right
then, I’m off.”

And with a snatch of his wool
cloak, he disappeared out the chamber. Sireth sat for some time longer before
he slipped his own tunic over his head, revealing not only spots and stripes
but a tapestry of horrid black, white and blistered scars that would have paled
even the greyest of lions.

***

Fallon filled her chest with cold
air as if this action might bypass the necessity for kitten-bearing. Her belly
was similarly inclined, filled full with lamb and dumplings. The curry had been
too mild for her tastes. Her father’s had always made her tongue tingle for
days afterward and again, she found herself smiling at the memory of family.

She
sighed. She had always assumed everyone felt the same about family.

She
had left the brothers in the battle tower, poring over map after map and
speaking together in quiet voices. In this rough linen clothing, it was almost
difficult to tell them apart from behind, save for the occasional swat of a
tufted grey tail, and yet, they were so different. Hard to believe they were
twins. Ursa and Sherah had disappeared shortly after the evening meal, and Sireth
had not taken supper at all. She worried about him and his sullen ways. Such
solitude could not possibly be good for the soul.

She
leaned out over the parapet, between the rectangular rises and dips in the
cornice. The north wind plucked at her hair and she leaned out even further,
imagining what it might be like to be the first to see an approaching army, to
dash to the great oil lamp in the tower and light it ablaze so that all of the
Kingdom would know by daybreak. She imagined hundreds of troops marching in
unison down the length of the Wall, the Imperial Standard waving over their
head. Harder to imagine, however, was the ensuing battle, the hooks and cables
flying upwards, spears raining down, blood seeping between the stones like
mortar. No, this she could not imagine at all.

It
did not look so different,
she thought as her eyes scanned the borders of
the Lower Kingdom. These were still the Great Mountains, Mother to cats of all
Races. And yet it seemed she belonged to dogs as well, her peaks as rugged and
bountiful as those in
DharamShallah
. Perhaps dogs had jungles as well
and fertile valleys and dry plains and perhaps not all was desert and desolate
wasteland. Perhaps dogs were as proud of their Mother as cats and just perhaps,
she was Good Mother to both.

“Ah, there you are. Hot cocoa?”

She turned to see Kerris standing
directly behind her, holding up two steaming mugs of foam. Her eyes grew round.

“I
love hot cocoa. My father used to make it all the time.” She took a big gulp,
wincing as the bitter brown milk scorched her tongue. “Yep, forgot the honey.
Just like father.”

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?”