The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (44 page)

He looked back to his brother.

“Sherhanna al Sha’er. Beautiful,
isn’t it?”

Kirin’s
gaze never wavered from her face.

“Yes,” he said softly. “It is.”

He
was oblivious then, as Kerris glanced from his brother to the woman and back
again, noting the strange thing which had suddenly come into being, and just as
suddenly, shut him out. He touched Kirin’s arm.

“So, so how’s your knee? It was
pretty buggered up.”

“Kerris,
mind your tongue.”

“Well,
it was. How does it feel?”

Kirin
flexed his foot, stretched his calf muscle, and finally, bent his leg into the
thigh, aware now for the necessity of the sarong. The flesh of the joint itself
was exposed, a portion of the pelt cut away cleanly, and drawn in with only a
few stitches, leaving most of the wounds open to drain. It felt remarkably
strong, however. He said so.

“Yes,
well that’s our dear Sherhanna,” said Kerris. “She did the same with my back
and arms, remember?”

“I
didn’t think you did remember,” said Kirin.

“I
have you for that, now don’t I? Remembering everything I don’t.”

“You’re exhausted,” said Kirin. “Go
get some sleep. I am in good hands.”

“Yes.
I can well imagine,” said Kerris. He dragged himself to his feet. “Anyway, I am
glad you’re feeling better. Really, you have no idea. So, ah...”

“Goodnight,
Kerris.”

The
grey lion stared at him a moment.

And he padded from the room, not
looking back as he closed the door behind. It had taken all his will not to
look back, not to sneak a glimpse of his brother and the cheetah and the warm
candlelight and he stood quite still for several long moments. He glanced
around the stairwell of the battle tower of
Roar’pundih.
It was dark and
imposing and bleak and he felt a rush of sadness. He had tried to fight it,
really he had. For weeks now, it had dogged him. In fact, as he stood there,
alone and dismissed, he feared it never really left him, no matter how much he
ran or how far. Even now, it lapped at him, beckoning like the waves he loved
so much.

No,
it never really left.

He
sank to the stairs and covered his face with his hands.

***

Sireth could see
Khanisthan
from
up here, from the top of the tower of
Pesh’thawar,
the very border of
the
Phun’Jah.
And the distant twinkling lights that lead to the city of
KhahBull.
They had ridden two days hard since the Captain’s recovery, through mountains
red and gold and squared, through the famed
Pass KhyaBar,
through ruins
and battle towers a plenty, all to make up for lost time. Or so the Captain
said. Still, the Imperial banner waved above them all, unifying this diverse
land with its one elegant symbol. He found himself shrugging. These were very
strange days.

He
had never been to
KhahBull
but as he sat, crosslegged under the purple
sunset atop the battle tower, he thought that it looked like every other large
city he had ever seen from so far away.
Cal’Cathah, Old Delhih, Phankoth.
Like
them, it spread out as if limitless, as if cats knew nothing of restraint. As
if the very land owed them their homes, farms and inns, and they should spread
like mushrooms over a dead tree, to consume it and beat it down and turn it to
earth.

The pattern was the same, even.
Lights burned bright in the heart of the city, scattering rings like ripples on
a pond, growing fainter as they neared the horizon. Torches and lanterns and
hearths, glowing with life and promise of life, with peace and contentment. The
jewels of the people, they were, evidence of their mastery over the natural
world. They glittered like stars, those jewels, like the carpet of bright
twinkling stars over his head. He looked up now, at the one star, the new one
–
‘dragon’,
the word whispered
at the edges of his soul – and at the constellations still familiar,
despite the distance from home.

Home.
How he missed it. He knew that even if he did return, which was unlikely, it
would not be home. For him, home was a fleeting thing, lasting only a few years
at best, before his mistress, Kharma, chased him out. Oh yes, she would forget
about him for a while, and he would have peace and respite, even the pretense
of happiness, until she remembered him and chased him out again.

He
must have been very bad in his previous life. She chased him without mercy.

Petrus?
Petrus, are you there?

He
shook his head. He couldn’t speak to the dead. It was not part of the Gifts. He
was a fool for thinking so much of it these last days, since he had stood at
the Broken Road and touched the Alchemist and heard his friend speaking inside
his head. It had to be a ploy, a ruse to distract him, to darken the glass and
keep him from quieting his soul and receiving the visions as he should, with
single-mindedness and focus.

He
closed his eyes and filled his chest with cool night air.

He
did not strive, did not reach, he just was. The visions would come. They always
did.

***

“Hey, Kerris your name was! Come
and join us!”

The figure in the doorway waved but
turned his back and trotted down into the stairwell of the tower towards the
stables.

Kirin
shook his head. “He’s gone down to check on the horses,
sidala.
He has
no use for
Chai’Chi.”

 
Fallon Waterford shook her head now, even as she swung her
arm in a graceful controlled arc over her head. She pivoted on her right foot.

“There’s more to life than horses,”
she muttered.

“I
have told him that very thing.”

Kirin, likewise, swung his arm in a
graceful controlled arc over his head. He pivoted on his right foot.

“No
talking!”

Pale eyes blazed, but Ursa
Laenskaya’s arm swung of its own accord, supremely graceful, marvelously
controlled, the arc a silver and white rainbow over her head. Her pivot was
music.
“Chai’Chi
does not respect conversations. Without focus, the
discipline is lost.”

“Yes,
Major,” said Fallon.

“Yes,
Major,” said Kirin, but he fought back a smile. For the past several evenings,
since they had left
Roar’pundih,
she had led them in the exercises of
Chai’Chi.
She was very good and surprisingly patient with the tigress who was often
as graceful as a yak. Sometimes, the Alchemist joined them, sometimes, the
leopards, and sometimes, soldiers from the towers themselves. Never the Seer.
And most certainly, never his brother.

Tonight,
it was just the three of them, Captain, Major and Scholar, and she had taken
them through their stances efficiently, no energy wasted on instruction. Next,
she would begin the Sun Salute of
Chai’Yogath
but here and everytime, it
had proven to be too much for Kirin’s knee. Here and everytime, he had opted
out to sit and watch and appreciate the poetry of the gentler Martial Arts.

Tonight
was no exception.

He
sat with his back against the stone, breathing deep and enjoying the sensation
as his muscles relented. The air smelled dry, of sand and wind and would now
for weeks as they began their journey through this very large desert province.
At
KhahBull,
they would leave the Wall, which turned and traveled
northwest to the wide expanse of water known as the
Kashphian.
They had
chosen the roads, which led them more west than north, for it seemed Solomon
was taking them deep into the unknown, through
Hiran
, then beyond. Roads
afforded a greater flexibility with possibly straighter stretches and therefore
better time. Kerris had been pleased. Naturally, Kirin had not.

So he sat, filling his chest with
cool night air, wishing once again that he was standing at the top of the One
Hundred Steps under the black beams of the Palace, counting the torches as they
flickered to life in the Imperial City. It occurred to him that he would never
count them again.

His
heart was heavy. It was the way of things.

In
the morning, they would send out the falcon. She would carry their goodbyes.

***

alchemy, alchemy had reached
Lhahore,
5 of 5, black robes and candles and red satin pouches filled with souls,
killers of falcons had reached
Lhahore,
5 of 5 on angry black horses,
following the Wall, following in a trail of blackness and incense and candles

His
eyes flew open. The Captain. He had to tell the Captain.

Sireth
bolted to his feet and swung around, when he saw the impossible, standing
directly behind him.

He
staggered at the sight, her night-black pelt, her smiling golden eyes, the
sweep of black silk that was her hair.

Impossible.

“Shakuri,”
he gasped.

She
took a step toward him. She was wearing his favorite, a sari of blue sateen,
embroidered gold at shoulder and hem. Her many earrings caught the moonlight,
as did the delicate hoop that pierced one nostril.

“Shakuri,
how?
How?”

He was trapped on the vision plain,
he had to be. He glanced around to orient himself.

“Hush.”
She took another step. “I’ve missed you.”

The
words were gone from lips, the thoughts from his mind. This was impossible.
First, Petrus, now... this...

Her
mouth twisted at the corner, her particular grin.

“Soladad is well.”

At
the mention of his daughter, he almost fell to his knees. His heart was beating
too fast.

He was dizzy from the sight of her,
his legs weak. He could barely stand.

“Soladad.”

She
was so close now, passing an ebony hand across his brow and eye, almost but not
quite, touching the scar.

“I am so very sorry for this.”

“No,”
and he pressed her hand to his cheek. It was cool where his face was hot, dry
where it was streaked with tears. There was a sudden memory of flames, but it
was gone before it brought its companion horror, and he found himself sinking
into her, hands trembling as he pulled her to him. Her hair was scented with
orange and ginger and something else he could not place, didn’t care to try.
She lifted her chin and smiled, her eyes as gold as sunrise. He had found
himself, once so long ago, in those eyes, and lost himself every time
thereafter. She was his home.

He
kissed her.

She
tasted of orange and ginger, and the salt of his tears, and he breathed her in,
felt his own breath leave his mouth. She would empty him completely and leave
him with nothing, no anger, no fury, no fear. She was his home, his peace, his
respite. He surrendered willingly, he always had. He had no secrets from her.

Strange.
She was taller than he remembered.

Like
the pull of a sinking stone, he opened his eyes.

***

Odd, Kirin thought to himself. He
had just been thinking of the falcon, and there she was, streaking to the top
of the tower in a jingle of bells. He followed her with his eyes, trying to
make her out against the purple sky, could see her only when she blocked stars
as she passed. She was flying in tight circles, crying and bleating in that sharp,
shrill voice of hers. She seemed upset.

A
woman’s scream tore the night in two, and in a heartbeat, he was on his feet
and racing into the stairwell.

***

He met benAramis on the way down.
The Seer obviously had no intention of stopping, so he grabbed the wide-sleeved
arm, swung him around on the step and was met with a gloved finger thrust into
his very face.

“If
she
ever
touches me again,” the Seer snarled, “I
will
kill
her!”

He
yanked his arm free and stormed passed the lion and the tigress, and finally
the Major, who needed only one look from her Captain to turn and follow her
charge down the winding stair. Their boots echoed as they went. Kirin quickened
his pace as he headed in the opposite direction.

It
was very dark up there on the tower, with only purple moon and starlight for
guidance. But he saw movement and rushed toward it, black and silver against
purple. She was pushing herself up from the stone floor, and at the sound of
his boot, looked up through her tangle of hair. Their eyes met. It was his
undoing, for there was blood at her mouth, and a sob tore from her throat when
she saw him. He knelt beside her and gathered her into his arms.

“I’m
sorry,” she pleaded. “I’m so sorry for this.”

And she buried her face into his
chest.

Several
long moments he held her, until finally her weeping began to subside. He
brushed the hair from her forehead, wiped the tears from her kohl-rimmed eyes.

Standing
directly behind them, Fallon Waterford watched, her arms wrapped around her
ribs, and frowned.

“You
are safe, now,” said the Captain. “No one will hurt you.”

She
nodded and took a deep breath, touched the corner of her mouth with tender
fingers. The Captain did likewise.

“What
happened?”

Fallon
couldn’t help but wonder at the tone in his voice. She could also hear
footsteps, faint at first, but frantic, growing louder as they raced up the
tower steps. Kerris leapt up through the hatch behind her, pausing only to
orient his eyes to the darkness of the sky. And he too bolted to the cheetah’s
side.

“What
happened?”

Sherah
looked from brother to brother, chin trembling, tears threatening to spill once
again over her lashes. Instead, Kirin helped her to her feet. She leaned
against his arm, and Kerris stepped back.