To Journey in the Year of the Tiger Read online

  “But it’s so hard to write in MandaRhin! It’s so different from anything else. Bad enough to memorize it but to have to write it as well! Oh mother! Imperial is so much easier! I don’t know, Sica, sometimes I think I’ve bitten off far more than I can chew here, and believe me, I can chew a lot…”

  The pheasant tucked its head under its wing, dismissing her.

  “Yes, yes, I know. Mother would be proud, but father, father would be pulling out his fur. ‘You’re a girl!’ he would say. “What girl needs to know how to write poetry in MandaRhin? Just find a fine young tiger and settle down like your sisters. Have kittens, be happy.’”

  Her golden-orange face grew wistful, the exotic stripes of darker fur creating worry-lines along her brow. Truth be told, there may have been some ink.

  “I wonder if he’ll ever understand. I am happy now, here, in the University. The things I am learning, Sica! The ideas! The books - Oh, the books! I have never dreamed there could be so many books, all in one place! Who needs men when you have such books?”

  The pheasant rebuked her.

  “Okay, men would be nice too.”

  Grinning, she reached out to close the window, drawing the iron latch toward her with a click.

  Naturally, her reflection came with it.

  The face in the glass was that of a tigress, not having yet reached her 18th summer, with a slim, graceful build atypical of her Race. Her pelt was tawny-orange, her arms, legs, back and tail banded with black. Splashes of white accentuated her long throat, curved ears, and bright, wide eyes. Rings of kohl exaggerated her lashes and arched over her brows to create a perpetual expression of wonder. The stripes ran off her forehead like a river delta, her mane from her face like a waterfall. It cascaded to her shoulders only to curl upwards on itself once there, and each strand of hair was tipped in snowy white. Her mouth was small but generous, and frequently contorted into a variety of smirks and smiles, pouts and frowns, for she was both a creature of sunlight and a creature of stars.

  She stared at that face in the window glass.

  What had her mother always said?

  “’But Fallon, dear, you have such nice markings...’” She yawned, stretched, blew a stray lock of hair from her face. “Yep. Right up there with Good Family and Plentiful Harvest.”

  Her mutterings were interrupted by a knock at her door. She froze, stared a moment at the pheasant, then scurried to the door and flung it open. There was a panther standing before her, a shoulder-to-hip standard identifying him as a messenger from the Palace.

  In her surprise, she closed the door in his face.

  “Oh dear, oh mother, oh dear… A messenger from the Palace. Oh dear…”

  She opened the door again.

  “Oh! Hi. Um, I was, um... just resting, here – there – for a moment...I thought you might be a man. I mean, well, you are, um, a man…but..um, oh never mind. So? Who are you?”

  “Fallon Watherford?”

  “No. I’m Fallon Waterford. We haven’t yet determined who you are.”

  There was no reaction, none whatsoever. The guard handed her a scroll and without so much as a nod, stepped back into the University’s dark hall, hands folded stiffly behind his back.

  She stared at the scroll.

  “Is it written in Imperial?”

  He nodded.

  “Well then, it’s a good thing I can read Imperial, isn’t it? I mean, what if I didn’t read Imperial? What would you do then?”

  He stared at her.

  “Because I’m having a real problem with MandaRhin, let me tell you. Even writing Hanyin. Mother, that is tough. Imperial is so much easier. You can’t read, can you?”

  He continued to stare.

  “Well then, never you mind. Thanks for this. Thanks a lot. Really sweet of you to deliver this in person... to me. Fallon Waterford. That’s me. Not you. Me.”

  She closed the door and sagged against it.

  “Oh, Mother. I really am hopeless, aren’t I?”

  The scroll was sealed with the Empress’ personal seal and she swallowed back a rush of nerves. But quickly, her curiosity got the better of her and she peeled it open, her eyes growing larger by the moment.

  “Oh no, oh dear, oh no. Oh, Fallon Waterford, what have you gotten yourself into this time? The Palace? Me?”

  She glanced down at her garments, at the loose man’s tunic and leggings and kujuh coat of forest green, at the russet suede over-vest and bootlets and belt. Her father’s clothes.

  “I can’t go to the Palace like this. I’ll have to change my clothing, brush my hair, to brush my face, my tail!”

  She peered out the door. The guard was still waiting.

  “I can’t go to the Palace like this! I’ll have to change my clothing, brush my hair, my face, my tail!”

  “Now.”

  “Okay.”

  She stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her.

  ***

  A pair of ocelots were talking softly as they passed through the antechamber toward the prayer room called Green Tea. It was for Imperial guests, and some of the best gossip could be found just outside Green Tea’s rice paper doors.

  “It is a dragon,” said one. “A fire dragon, lost in its search for the sun.”

  “It is a dragon, to be sure,” said the other. “But Kaidan’s dragon. The one he rode to the moon. It has fallen in love with the moon and is going back.”

  “With Kaidan?”

  “Nonsence,” hushed the other. “Who would belive such a thing. Without Kaidan, of course. He has other things to do than visit any place twice. I hear he’s a-courting the virgin Shagarmathah…”

  “No!”

  “Indeed!”

  Kirin rolled his eyes. ‘Kaidan’ and his adventures. Popular myths. Stories for kittens. People confounded him sometimes. But still, their curiosity was understandable. There was a new star in the heavens. It was brilliant and bright and had set everyone’s imaginations racing as it rose and fell with the moon. Diviners and worshippers alike were set on discovering its meaning. He paid it no mind. Stars had little to do with panthers or armies or negotiations. Although they could help with New Year’s spectacles, if only he had the skill to move them.

  The woman at his side growled at the ocelots, and they hurried to leave the antechamber. With a snort, she resumed her pacing and the chamber filled with the sounds of sharp, angry clacking. Kirin gritted his teeth and tried instead to focus his gaze on the great red and gold door at the far end of the hall. It was impossible because of the clacking of her high boot heels. In fact, he’d often wondered if she indulged those heels in order to compensate for her size, as she was a rather small woman. Those heels, along with her long, marbled tail lashing from side to side and her long, marbled hair swinging in straight, coarse lines across her back, it almost worked. Add to that the facts that she wore a uniform of white doeskin, bore both long and short swords and sported blades strapped all over her thin, muscular body, she was rather imposing. A snow leopard among snow leopards. Swift. Fierce. Lethal. She was his right hand.

  And right now, she was giving him a headache.

  “Patience, Ursa,” he sighed. “They are on their way.”

  Her ice-blue eyes flashed at him.

  “The summons went out over an hour ago, before the sunrise. This is insubordination and it is completely unacceptable.”

  “Can civilians be insubordinate, Major?”

  “Obviously. Can they even speak Imperial?”

  “We shall soon see.”

  “Pah. I have no with to be discussing Imperial matters in Hanyin.”

  He grinned and turned his back but from the corner of his eye, he watched her. She was perhaps the most striking woman he had ever known. A study in the colors of ice and snow and cold winter skies, her pelt as silver as a full moon and just as untouchable. Beautiful, remote, and confrontational, she had clawed her way through the ranks at breakneck speed, literally carving herself a path through those who
stood in her way. It was only when he had realized that she was closing in on his job that he had found it necessary to remind her of one of the First Laws of Nature.

  Lions are bigger.

  Good thing too, for she had almost killed him.

  Unconsciously, he raised a hand to rub the old wound and was distracted by the feel of braided leather. He had not had the time to inspect his uniform, the laces, straps and buckles that outfitted him and he hoped he looked honourable. His hands searched for creases – found none. He adjusted the brigandine across his chest and shoulders, straightened the epaulliets and tightened the golden sash that had loosened at his waist. Like the Major, he wore both long and short swords and his hands fell to the scabbards of their own accord. Katanah and Kodai’chi, a warrior’s blood brothers. He sighed, not for the first time wishing he’d had a mirror in his office. Only perfection was acceptable when the Captain of the Guard was summoned into the presence of his Empress.

  He felt Ursa’s eyes upon him and he straightened, focusing back on the door at the end of the hall.

  Finally, a muffled clang echoed through the antechamber. A quartet of panthers accompanied a pair of civilians and Kirin could tell immediately who was whom. Their very strides gave them away, as different were they as day from night. He noticed the one, eyes wide and overwhelmed by the splendor of the Palace. The other however, seemed unmindful of the gold and ivory and kept her painted eyes fixed on him. Finally, the guards peeled away, breaking formation with precision, and he was faced with the two women known to him as the Scholar and the Alchemist. Complete strangers whose very lives now rested squarely on his shoulders.

  He gave a very small bow, cupping his fist in his palm. A mere courtesy, for he needed bow to no one save the Chancellor and the Empress. Perhaps not even the Chancellor.

  “Fallon Waterford. Sherah al Shiva. Thank you for coming.”

  The Alchemist did not return the bow, merely lowered her heavy painted lids. The Scholar, on the other hand, bowed quite formally though not quite perfectly. At his side, Ursa was scowling.

  He straightened to his full height.

  “I am Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, Captain of the Imperial Guard. This is my adjutant, Major Ursa Laenskaya—”

  “Wow,” the Scholar interrupted.

  He stopped, stunned.

  “You have a great voice.”

  He turned to her, the tigress, the Scholar. Fallon Waterford.

  “Sidala?”

  “I mean, not just that you speak Imperial so well – I’m still learning myself but your accent. It’s very old, Old Courts. But you’re a lion so that’s natural I guess. I’ve just never actually heard a lion before or met one, now that I think about it. There aren’t that many in the University but I’m sure they’re smart, even if they are so very pretty…”

  She snorted with laughter.

  “And your name, Kirin Wynegarde-Grey? Means ‘unicorn.’ At least, the Kirin part does. It’s really old, isn’t it? And your sire name, wow. So, do you have any?”

  “Any?” He blinked, confounded.

  “Yes. Greys?” She was chewing her bottom lip, deep in thought. “The suffix ‘Grey’ is significant, perhaps indicating a predilection for grey pelts in your line. Pretty rare among lions, really. So I was just curious... to see, um, if there were any... um, greys...”

  She suddenly seemed to catch herself, for her eyes grew very round.

  “...in in in your line, I mean...”

  He released a deep breath.

  “There are.”

  “Wow,” she said again and she smiled.

  The one called Sherah was eying him the way a hungry kitten might eye a marzipan.

  Ursa was growling.

  And for the first time in his life, the Captain of the Guard felt out of his depth.

  “Sidali,” he began, clasping his hands firmly behind his back and using the most formal address for them all. “The Empress has summoned you here, along with the Major and myself, on a matter of great importance. Therefore, I should not have to remind you that, as in all things pertaining to the security of the Upper Kingdom, we demand your absolute discretion. Nothing less than complete and utter dedication to the work will be accepted. Failure is not an option.

  “So first I must ask you if you are willing to accept this standard, even before the task is made known to you. As the Captain of Her Excellency’s Guard, I order you all to search your hearts and your souls and your wills before you answer. If you say no, then go in peace. No shame shall come to you, no dishonor on your houses. But if you say yes...”

  He studied the three faces spread before him.

  “If you say yes, then nothing less than your hearts and souls and wills will be demanded of you. Your lives will be hers and thus, as her Captain, mine. Your deaths, if it come to it, will also be hers and therefore, mine.”

  His blue eyes tried them like fire.

  “So, this is the charge. Ursa Laenskaya, how do you speak?”

  “Yes.” Without hesitation.

  “Fallon Waterford?”

  “Oh yes.” The tigress swallowed, nodded earnestly. “Yes sir.”

  “Sherah al Shiva?”

  There was a languid pause. She arched a black brow.

  “Of course.”

  Not quite an answer, he thought, but it would have to do.

  “Very well. On your oaths, I now amend your birthrights, granting you status in the Court of Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu, Twelfth Empress of the Fangxieng Dynasty, Matriarch of Pol’Lhasa, and Most Blessed Ruler of the Upper Kingdom.”

  Because of her name, he bowed to them, fist to cupped palm.

  As one and likewise, they bowed back.

  And with that, the great red and gold door at the end of the corridor swung open, summoning them all into the Court of the Empress.

  ***

  The Throne Room of the Empress Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu was breathtaking, the most splendid, most regal, most tranquil court in all of Pol’Lhasa. Its walls were scarlet-stained cedar, with beams of ebony and columns of ivory to support its high winged roof. Carved timbers ran the length of the ceiling resplendent with behemoths and dragons, cranes and monkeys, depicting scenes from legend and myth. Temple chimes sounded in the breeze, brightly colored peacocks strutted freely within the walls, and banners of blue and gold hung from the very tall windows. Stained glass painted light from the early morning sky.

  From ornate to simple, torches burned in many lampstands filling the Throne Room with incense and with a serenity that defied the rushing of feet. Just stepping inside, one felt peace.

  A nod as they passed from Chancellor Angelino Devino d’Fusillia Ho. Quiet, authoritative and brilliant, he was of Sacred blood and the Right Arm of the Empire. He was also of Pershan descent and his lush white pelt was barely contained within his orange and blue robes. It was accepted amongst the Courts that he knew Everything. His flat-faced expression was somber as they walked past him toward their matriarch and they dropped to their knees at her feet.

  Like a carving herself, she sat perfectly still, perfectly straight, upon the ages-old seat, the symbol of Dynastic power for 12 generations. She had not yet her 22nd summer, but her golden eyes glowed with wisdom beyond summers. Her lips were painted red as cherries, high cheekbones dotted with white. With the carriage of a swan, she was the spirit of the Mountains incarnate, as beautiful as she was iron, as fragile as she was stone.

  And like the Chancellor, she was Sacred with a pelt as black as night. The Sacred Ones were a small race, a people thin of bone and delicate of feature, and the many layers of red and gold that draped her body did nothing to hide the slightness of her frame.

  She was glorious.

  She regarded them now from that ages-old seat - the four bowed figures in gold and green, black and white. Behind and before them, the Leopard Guard waited in absolute stillness and for several long minutes, not a word was dared spoken until she herself gave leave.

  “Rise.”<
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  As one they obeyed and she surveyed them all the more closely, weighing their very souls in the depths of her eyes. Perhaps, she allowed her gaze to linger a moment longer on the face of her Captain…

  Yes, it did indeed linger much longer on her Captain. It was rumored amongst the Courts that he held her heart in the palm of his hand and that her spirit leapt like a lamb whenever she looked upon him, like a lamb newborn playing on steep, wonderful, dangerous slopes.22

  “Captain.”

  “Excellency.”

  “And your brother? The summons was for him, as well.”

  The Captain lowered his eyes. “Kerris... is traveling, Excellency. I do not know when to expect him home.”

  “He is home.”

  “Excellency?”

  She smiled with her eyes. “Your brother is charmed in more than coat, Captain. His party has returned to DharamShallah this very night. I believe he is presently deep in his bed, dreaming of sea shells and monkeys.”

  “I was unaware, Excellency,” he replied, gritting his teeth. “I shall send for him at once.”

  “No. As I have said, he lives a charmed life. Let him sleep. But make certain he knows of my good will.”

  “He will know, Excellency.”

  She offered him her hand. It was as slim and delicate and completely covered as she. He took it as if to kiss her many rings, but the rustle of silk told him to wait. She rose from her throne and began to step down the three steps to the mosaic floor.

  “Walk with me.”

  She did not withdraw her hand.

  Cupping it as one might hold a baby bird or an eggshell, he fell in at her side, breathing deeply to control the lightheadedness that suddenly threatened to overcome him. This was an honor indeed for none but a chosen few were allowed to touch the Imperial person. He did not need to see the look from Chancellor Ho. He could imagine it well enough. Certainly, the Green Tea would be buzzing by noon.

  They walked in quiet of the throne room toward a far curtained corner, glowing in tones of scarlet and jade. The three women fell in behind, none daring break the spell of the moment. For his part, the Captain could have held that hand for a lifetime.