Snow in the Year of the Dragon Page 4

  “I shall have tea prepared in the Council Room,” said Chancellor Ho, appearing at their side. The man was a vapour. He moved like a snake. “We shall question the esteemed Seer on the progress of the Shogun-General and the Army of Blood. We have very few direct accounts.”

  “Soon,” said the Empress. “I wish to speak with my Seer and his guardian personally, in my residence. If that is acceptable to the Seer and his guardian.”

  “Perfectly,” said Sireth.

  For her part, the Major nodded swiftly, saying nothing.

  “Very well,” said Ho. “I will have the tea brought to the Imperial Apartments. To which room, Excellency?”

  “The Sun-Silk Bay. It has a splendid view of Kathandu.”

  “The Sun-Silk Bay, yes. Most excellent. I shall go and prepare the tea myself. I am accomplished in Chado.”

  She laid a hand on his arm.

  “Forgive me but you have misunderstood, Chancellor. I meant that I wish to speak with my Seer and his guardian privately.”

  The man blinked slowly but Sireth knew he did not misunderstand. There were wheels spinning behind the great yellow eyes.

  “But surely your Chancellor will not be excluded,” he said after a moment. “Not on matters of Imperial importance.”

  “I can assure you nothing of imperial importance will be discussed,” said the Empress. “Merely private matters of women.”

  “But your Seer is not a woman,” said Ho. “Perhaps he will take tea with me while you discuss these private matters with his guardian?”

  “My Seer is gifted with Farsight and Vision and can see things even the Mistress of Women cannot see.” She smiled. “But do prepare the Council Room, Chancellor. We shall call for you soon enough.”

  Ho bowed and stepped back, hands within his wide sleeves. Sireth could feel the poison brewing.

  The Empress turned in a rustle of silk and seven brightly coloured women surrounded her, preparing to usher her from the Throne Room. Neither Sireth nor Ursa spared a glance for the Chancellor as they followed.

  ***

  The blast of a djenghorn rang through the canyon as the party rode up to the Celestial Mountain Gate. Through the many holes, barbs could be seen as Chi’Chen archers awaited the signal to loose their arrows upon the intruders. But no sign was given and soon, the group of monkeys, cats, dogs and horses reached the massive gate. Two men dismounted their battle horses, three men moved forward – cat, dog and monkey. Arrows slid out through the wall, ready to be loosed.

  In the group behind, Fallon swallowed and tried to steady the banner in her trembling hands. She looked down at her husband. He was watching the three, waiting for the politics to be played out, and she realized that he was holding his breath. He was the organizer of all of this, of peace and war and negotiation and strategy, and yet, he sat behind them all on a shaggy mountain pony.

  Absentmindedly, he rubbed his shoulder and her throat tightened. He had taken five arrows at the Field of One Hundred Stones and nearly died. The deaths of the Needle and Storm had granted him a reprieve but the wounds had reopened and begun to fester. Sireth had warned about the dangers of Necromancy and there had been no more powerful Necromancers than Needle and Storm.

  Death, it seemed, was dogging them still.

  “Do you remember the story of the Four Dragons?” she asked.

  He looked up at her.

  “The Weeping Dragons?”

  “Yes. The Pearl Dragon, the Golden Dragon, the Black Dragon and the Long Dragon.”

  “I do remember that one, actually.”

  “This reminds me of the Gate of Shanshen, the Mountain God.”

  “Where he buried the Weeping Dragons.” He looked at the gate. “The earth kills everything.”

  “You have a truce. You said so.”

  “I did. We do. Still, the earth is angry.”

  Her heart sank.

  “We’re not going to die here,” she said.

  “I’m sure we won’t, luv,” he said.

  “We can’t. We don’t have six grey striped kittens. We only have two.”

  “That’s an encouraging prophecy,” he said.

  “Besides, second is destiny and we haven’t fulfilled ours yet.”

  He smiled then, a flash of sun behind the clouds.

  “I am destined to have more kittens with the woman I love. That’s good enough for me.”

  Suddenly, General Li Yamashida began to shout.

  “He’s speaking too fast,” she moaned. “Can you translate for me?”

  “Ah right, he says… he says he is Li Yamashida, General of Emperor Watanabe’s Winding River that winds no more… That he is traveling with esteemed companions, Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, Shogun-General of the Upper Kingdom… and Swift Sumalbaykhan, Khan of Khans, ruler of the Chanyu and all the People of the Moon.”

  “It sounds so impressive.”

  “He says… we are here as representatives of the Nine Thousand Dragons, an Army united and battle-ready to take on Ancestors rising in the west… that Emperor Watanabe himself has sanctioned this action and that we are here to petition the Rising Suns… for more warriors to defend the Eastern Kingdom against such a foe.”

  “It was hard enough getting the Winding River,” she muttered. “I remember ‘cause I was there.”

  A voice shouted down from high atop the Celestial Mountain Gate. It was a monkey but not a Snow. His face was silhouetted in the morning sun, all but hidden in robes of purple and blue. Suddenly, an arrow thudded into the snow at Kirin’s feet. It was followed by a second into the snow at Swift’s. Neither man flinched.

  Yamashida went on, his voice strong and unwavering.

  “I have with me,” Kerris translated, “A decree from the Risen Sun himself, our Most Divine Emperor Hiro Takahashi Watanabe… to be presented by his dear and loyal friend Kaidan, emissary of the Upper Kingdom.”

  “Oh, that’s you,” Fallon said.

  “We wish an audience with the Capuchin Council. Oh wait… the other fellow up top… he says the request is denied.”

  “Oh, that’s bad.”

  “Now Li says that we insist… simply because it is the express wish of the Emperor and he has proof of this wish… signed in the Emperor’s own hand and sealed with the Emperor’s own seal. And in fact, because of all of this… that it is not a request.”

  “Oh, that’s good.”

  The robed monkey turned and shouted over his shoulder. The same phrase was picked up and echoed across the Gate and throughout the canyon, relayed from man to man to man before fading away on the moaning wind. Then, there was silence.

  Fallon glanced at her husband. His face was impassive as he watched and waited. This was his arena, the diplomacy of cultures and negotiations of terms. She looked up at the banner above her head. Hope had forged this symbol, and she realized that, of all things, hope was a war unto itself.

  There was a sound.

  A sound like the grumble of angry snow; a sound like the low, deep grinding of giants: a sound that grew like the approach of a distant storm.

  “Are you doing this?” asked Fallon.

  “Not me,” said Kerris, and he frowned. “The earth is angry here.”

  Beneath their feet, the ground began to tremble and stones tumbled down the mountainside, snow rising in their wake.

  “It’s the Gate,” Kerris shouted over the din. “Old metal is moving stone.”

  “Metal?”

  “This is not Chi’Chen work,” muttered Kerris.

  She turned her emerald eyes to the massive shape before them.

  “Wow.”

  Roaring now, the Gate screeched and rattled as if pulled by many, many chains.

  Suddenly, a great cloud of snow blew from the base and all the horses squealed, snorting and dancing as their riders struggled for control. Light streamed in icy shafts from beneath the Celestial Mountain Gate.

  It was astounding to watch something the size of a mountain rise off the ground. Rows of stones �
� from inside to out – folded upwards, lifted by giant mechanisms, wheels within wheels hauling lengths of chain, bolts of cable and masses of connected rock upwards with great shuddering groans. Slowly, methodically, the Celestial Mountain Gate became the Celestial Mountain Bridge, and after what seemed like a lifetime of roaring and screeching, the snow settled back to the cold earth. There was easily room for a vast army to pass beneath this Celestial Mountain Bridge, but this morning, there was no army on the other side, no horses with riders or soldiers with spears. Only a single small figure, silhouetted by the light behind.

  Fallon narrowed her eyes. A pair of thin legs beneath a wooly robe, hands tucked into sleeves, head covered in a thick furry hat. He held a lantern above his head with his long curved tail.

  “Is that a monk?” she asked.

  “A monkey monk,” said Kerris.

  She beamed at him. He made the sun to shine and the rain to fall, this husband of hers. She couldn’t imagine the world without him. She wondered if it would end.

  The wind was the only sound now, the wind and the flapping of banners and the squeaking of quiet leather as they waited for something to happen.

  Finally after a lifetime of ages, the silhouette gestured, waving them to follow before turning and disappearing back the way he had come, leaving only the wind.

  The three men turned to each other – General of the East, Shogun-General of the West, Khargan of the North. They said nothing but everything. Both Kirin and Yamashida strode back to their horses, mounted. Long-Swift reached down to pluck the arrows from the snow. He slid them into his boot.

  “Here we go, luv,” said Kerris and together, the party moved out and under the Celestial Mountain Gate, into the holiest and most sacred of places of all the Kingdoms. Lha’Lhasa.

  Respect

  “Hey, Ward,” called Solomon. “Come and see this.”

  There was bumping from the cabin but the jian didn’t appear.

  He sighed, let his hands fall between his knees as he sat in the Griffen’s open hatch. It was a beautiful night in Central Australia, the sky as red as the mountain that towered before them. It was a peculiar mountain, a single wide flat mesa-top plinth that pushed out of the plain like a gravestone, glowing gold in the sunset. Once, this mountain had been a monument to the inexorable strain of tectonic plates and a symbol of the proud independent spirit of Australia. To Jeffery Solomon, after weeks of being restricted to the inside of a helijet, it was a bloody marvel. He was glad Ward had agreed to stop for the night and even more so, here at the base of the rock that had once been Ayers.

  They had set the Griffen down several hours ago but the temperatures on the plains had been prohibitive. They had no e-suits to protect them from the heat, and they’d sat, noses pressed against the dirty plex until the sun had started to set. Even still, once the helijet doors had swung open, the heat had struck them like a fist.

  In the distance, he could see Armand Dell wandering between the scrub grasses, a hazy silhouette as he studied each flower, each blade, each twig in the witchetty bushes. He was an interesting young man, thought Solomon, passionate about his calling as a zoologist but in reality, he was a lab tech with as much experience with animals as Solomon had with women. And about as much sense.

  “Stop working,” he called over his shoulder. “Persis, Damaris, get out here. This sunset is incredible.”

  “I’m not coming out,” Sengupta’s voice echoed from the cabin. “The spiders here can eat you.”

  “There are no spiders. Ward? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” she called.

  “Then come out and prove it.”

  “I’m busy.”

  He thought a moment, then reached up to the back of his neck, pinched the wire hidden beneath his dark mop of hair.

  “Super Seven to Jian Ward. I order you to stop working and come see this sunset. Seven out.”

  “Hey,” she snapped when she finally poked her head out the door. “Don’t do that. Everyone can hear you when you do that. It’s intrusive.”

  “Yah. I get that a lot.”

  He heard her sigh, felt the prickle of his neck as she moved to stand behind him on the carbon step-rail of the hatch. He could feel her warmth, smelled the scent of unwashed humanity and old, old tek.

  “Dell shouldn’t be out so far,” she muttered.

  “He’s looking for animals,” he said.

  “This is a desert.”

  “He says there are lots of animals in a desert, especially around the base of that monolith.”

  She looked down at him, arched a tattooed brow. “Monolith?”

  “Yah, single rock. Ayers Rock, Uluru, you know…Symbol of Australia… Geological marvel…”

  “I’m impressed.” She blinked slowly, clearly not.

  “That rock should be dust by now,” he said. “But look, it’s got to be easily eight hundred ms high – that’s maybe three times higher than when we went under. It’s still rising out of the earth. Now that’s impressive.”

  “It’s a big rock,” she said.

  “Most of it is underground,” he said. “You know, like a tooth.”

  “It looks unnatural.”

  “Ancient peoples used to worship it.”

  “No wonder they’re gone,” she grunted.

  “We’re gone and it’s still here.” He leaned back, looked up at her. “Doesn’t anything impress you, Damaris?”

  She pursed her lips, kept her eyes fixed on the sandstone tower gleaming in the setting sun. But she surprised him by stepping down to sit next to him in the hatch.

  “It does impress me, Seven,” she said quietly. “Many things do. I just don’t say it, that’s all.”

  He studied her profile, golden now in the last light of evening. Her lashes were long and thick, set off by the tattoos on her brows. She was a study in contrasts, rather like the smooth stone of Uluru before them. Elegance and hard edges. She was most likely older than him, unless you counted the centuries in cryo. She was a newborn if you counted those.

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  “I’m sorry about what I said,” she said. “About your friends. I’m just trying to figure it out, that’s all.”

  He nodded.

  “We’re all trying to figure it out.”

  “I was one of the first born in CD Shenandoah,” she said. “That’s all I know. This…”

  She gestured with her chin.

  “This is alien to me. Dangerous.”

  “We can’t go back, Damaris,” he said softly.

  “I know, Seven. But change is hard.”

  She looked at him now and he could see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes.

  “Earlier, you said that we just have to learn where we fit,” she said. “I know it’s true. But Seven, where do we fit in this wild new world?”

  He sighed.

  “I dunno, Ward, but I have to believe we can. Despite Cece Carr and Paolini and the whole freaking shadow council that lives in the dark, I have to believe. I have to hope. Maybe I’m an idealist or maybe I’m a fool. Maybe both. That’s just how I’m wired. I don’t believe in fate or kharma or destiny. I believe that we make what we make and we reap what we sew. Therefore, best to sew good seeds and work your damnedest to see them grow.”

  She stared at him a long moment.

  “Both,” she said finally. “Definitely both.”

  He grinned.

  “How far is Kalgoorlie?”

  “Fifteen hundred klix, or thereabouts,” she said, happy with the change in subject. “But that’s not definite. There aren’t any sats or working C-spikes anymore. We’re flying from old news.”

  The wires crackled in their skulls.

  “Seven! Jian! Look!”

  They turned their eyes to the zoologist. He was standing in the middle of waist-high witchetty bushes, pointing to a cloud of dust growing on the flat horizon. They both rose to their feet.

  Dark shape
s could be seen in the cloud moving swiftly toward them. Ward pulled the goggles over her eyes, adjusted a dial on the temple.

  “Bipedal,” she said.

  “People?” he asked. “People this far from Kalgoorlie?”

  “Not people,” she grumbled. “Animals.”

  The ground began to thunder.

  “Animal people? Like Kerris and Fallon people?”

  She disappeared into the Griffen. Persis Sengupta peered out.

  “Please tell him to come back,” she said and this time, he couldn’t argue. He pressed the wire.

  “Dell,” he said. “Hey Dell, get back here, just in case.”

  He waved his arm. The young zoologist waved back.

  “Macropus rufus!” Dell’s voice echoed over the scrublands. “Macropus rufus! It’s okay!”

  “What the hell is a Macropus rufus?” Solomon grumbled.

  “Red Kangaroo,” said Sengupta. She was a linguist, perhaps the only one who could translate the language that was Armand Dell.

  “Kangaroos?” said Solomon, looking back at the shapes within the cloud. “Those are kangaroos?”

  Ward reappeared behind them, a Helliad rifle hiked under her arm.

  “I thought kangaroos were supposed to jump,” said Sengupta. “Those kangaroos are running.”

  The cloud was almost upon him, the earth thundering under their feet.

  “Those aren’t kangaroos,” said Ward.

  “Please, Seven, tell him to come back.”

  He didn’t need to be asked again. He touched the wire at the base of his skull.

  “Dell, come back now!”

  “Amazing!” came the voice inside their heads. “They’ve adapted a bipedal gait! They move like dromaeosaurids, more specifically Deinonychus antirrhopus! Absolutely amazing!”

  “Dromaeosaurid?” said Sengupta. “Beast feet? I don’t understand…”

  The cloud had stopped moving, completely enveloping the zoologist in its haze. They could see the creatures now, dark silhouettes gleaming red in the setting sun.

  “Beast feet, yes!” came Dell’s voice in their heads. “A term used for Raptors, Rexes and the like. But these are roos, not dinos. Amazing. Look at those tendons…”