Sword and Sorceress XXVII (14 page)

With swift, dancer’s steps, Siri raced
down the tree branch. She felt it bend beneath her slight weight as she
approached the end, her path narrowing with each step. She sprang, twisting as
she sailed through the air to land near the head of the creature, facing back
the way she had come. A serpent head—wide enough to swallow a pig whole—rose
from the riverside reeds to meet her. The river masked the true size of the
scaly threat, but Siri had seen many river snakes in her travels. This one was
the mother of all of them if the head were any indication. At a guess, she
figured it to be longer than a dozen men laid end to end. “What hell have you
escaped from, demon?”

She hadn’t really expected a response.
But her life had a way of defying expectations. As a child of the Inside-Out
God, she had learned to adapt.

The serpent’s tongue tasted the air, two
sets of eyelids blinking an assessment; a warning. “Thisssss village is mine,
priesssssssst! Itssssssss people are my tribute!”

There were only a few guidelines given
to the traveling priests that were the same, regardless of which god they
served. Among the first was this: if you encounter a beast which speaks, kill
it without hesitation. The world which had come before this had been destroyed
by gods long-banished, and there was always the fear that they would return to
destroy the world anew, wearing the bodies of beasts like they did in the
before times.

Siri’s right arm swung powerfully,
seeking to crush the skull of this threat before it could strike, but her
target was no longer there. The massive jaw was already in motion, and struck
at her leg as she shifted. The teeth were small, but the jaw crushed with the
might of a falling mountain. She cried out as she felt the bone in her shin
creak near to breaking. She brought both maces to bear on the jaw of her
attacker, and it was enough to win her release but nothing else.

Siri limped back several steps to
reassess the situation. Every time she put her full weight on the injured leg,
a jolt of searing pain shot through her body, daring her to cry out.

The serpent heaved its muscular length
from the water to mass on the shore beneath the swaying head, easily halving
the distance between it and Siri. Timeless yellow eyes surveyed Siri from far
above her head, well out of reach of her maces. Muddy brown scales flecked with
gold glistened in the starlight. “Sssssstand asssssside and you ssssssshal be
ssssssspared. Oposssssssse me and your ssssssssskin sssssssshal decorate my
nessssssst.”

“I am a delicate little flower,” she
replied, shifting back and to the side while the massive head followed her
every motion, “but I am no one’s decoration. This village is under the
protection of Mahrut. It is you who should withdraw before you taste the rage
of the Inside-Out God.”

The demon serpent lunged through the
sultry night air. Instinctively favoring the healthy leg, Siri reacted like a
dancer, and spun to the side as the powerful jaw dug a furrow in the turf where
she had stood only moments before.

Siri gave herself over to the motion,
surrendered to the dance as she continued to spin. The steps of a dance used to
welcome back the moon flowed through her body unbidden. Arms crossed above her
head, swept down and across her body, connected with the nose of the serpent as
it took another swipe at her. Siri never noticed.

Mahrut moved through her, pounding
through her veins, thundering in her head. She was a road and Mahrut traveled
her, rode her madness, channeled rage from her every sinew. The demon serpent
swung his head left, then right, unable to predict the priest’s movements as
twinned maces fell like thunder, striking scales from his body with every blow.

Hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of
murderous muscle coiled from the water, tried to encircle Siri, tried in vain
to contain her movements. But every contact sent her spinning in another
direction, unpredictable as a flower on storm-tossed seas. Just when her
capture seemed inevitable, muscular coils encircling her in a tightening grip,
she managed to slip the grasp by running up the body of the serpent. It was
like trying to grab a handful of water. The demon serpent became so obsessed
with predicting her next step that he failed to realize how close she had
gotten to his head.

As Siri danced upon the shifting coils
of the enemy beneath her feet, she became distantly aware of the rage of the
Inside-Out God moving through her, massing in the base of her spine. Power
surged through her as she took two, swift steps up the scaly length of her foe.
Maces held wide swung inward like the jaws of an iron trap, crushing the
serpent’s head where they met in the middle.

Suddenly free of Mahrut’s presence, Siri
was pitched to the soft mud of the riverbank with the serpent’s death throes.
The thrashing body destroyed a pair of canoes on the shore, hers included,
before it finally came to rest. Siri was distantly aware that she had underestimated
the length of the beast by the length of two villagers at least.

Around the village, shutters were thrown
wide, doors cracked open to spill flickering light upon the dusty streets. Siri
took a moment to catch her breath as the bravest among the farmers and
fishermen made a careful approach. She stood and returned the maces to her
belt. Without a word, she slid into the waters of the river and vanished
beneath the languid waters before anyone could think to stop her.

She was oblivious to the nervous chatter
that started up on the riverbank. She was listening to another voice, the
whisper of Mahrut and the sibilant threat of a giant serpent. A nest, it has
said. And a nest might mean more danger in the future.

Though her lungs burned for air, she trusted
Mahrut to show her the way. Just as Siri felt she could hold her breath no
more, her head broke the surface in a muddy cave somewhere on the river’s far
bank. She held the symbol of Mahrut aloft, muttering a short prayer to him in
gasping breaths, and the copper pendant glowed with a red light. In a hollow of
mud and discarded snake skins, she found dozens of smooth, black stones. No,
Mahrut told her, eggs. The cave was spacious, but not spacious enough to hold
more than one of the giant serpents, and of that she was thankful. She only
distantly remembered defeating the first demon and doubted she could do the
same again if she had to, and certainly not in this confined space.

Once her breath had been regained, Siri
methodically smashed each of the eggs, killing their half-formed cargo. There
was nothing else keeping her there. She took a deep breath and swam back for
the shore.

When her head broke the surface, she
could hear the voices coming from the village. The awestruck farmers were
already spinning tale about the madwoman who had saved their village from the
demon, while others argued that it was merely a large snake and nothing more.
There was even one loud boast from a voice that had barely broken into manhood
that claimed that he could have done the same had he but known it was a
serpent. As she made her way quietly to shore under the cover of darkness, more
and more the talk turned to how long the strange priest had been gone beneath
the river’s waters. With a conflicted mix of gratitude and regret, they sounded
ready to consign her body to the river, the final victim of the great evil that
plagued their small community.

“It takes more than a river to kill Siri
Viraj, wielder of the snake-hammers!” she shouted, wading from the shallows
just downstream from the clump of villagers.

A cry of surprise went up from those of
weaker constitution, and Siri was pleased to hear that one of those was the
boaster from earlier.

“It had a nest,” she said wearily as she
shook poured water from her copper helm. “She,” Siri corrected herself, “she
had a nest. Your village should be safe now.”

The village elder emerged from the
crowd, his wife hugging him closely, huge eyes peering from behind his
shoulder. “You have done a great service to our village,” he said. “If there is
any way we can repay Mahrut or his servant…” he let his voice trail off. He had
already told her about the village’s lack of wealth. There was a nervous smile
on his face as if he pondered if there were rewards beyond riches that he had
not considered.

Siri licked river water from her upper
lip. She looked past the villagers to the corpse of the giant serpent. Demon or
not, her twinned maces had not slain anything that grand before. Its blood had
blessed her weapons, baptized them in violence and madness. Mahrut whispered in
her ear, and she smiled. “Does anyone in your village know leatherwork?”

A broad-shouldered young man stepped
from the crowd, nodding in acknowledgement.

“Cure some of the leather from your
demon,” she commanded. “Wrapped around the hafts of my weapons, they shall
serve as a warning to all those who cross the path of Mahrut.”

She passed the maces over to the tanner.
The village was safe for the now, at least. When she left the village, she
would be outfitted with weapons befitting a demon slaying priest of the
Inside-Out God. Until then, there would be lazy afternoons, simple curries, and
if she was very fortunate, dancing.

Storm over Taktsang

by
Catherine Soto

I am pleased to
have another story of Lin Mei, her brother Biao Mei, and their cats. Shadow and
Twilight have grown from the helpless kittens Lin Mei found into useful
partners in her adventures. Given her periodic errands for the Emperor’s
Intelligence service, Lin Mei does lead an adventurous life.

Catherine
Soto sold her first story to SWORD & SORCERESS 21, and she has been writing
about Lin Mei and her brother ever since. When not writing or at the obligatory
day job, Catherine hangs out at the Asian Art Museum or explores sushi bars,
although this year she’s been spending more time at the public library. She’s
also working on a novel about her characters. There’s a Kindle book called THE
TEMPLE CATS, which is a collection of her first five stories (from SWORD &
SORCERESS 21-25), so she at least has a start on it.

****

“We have seen worse,” Biao Mei said.
There was a moment of silence as Narrayam Dorjhe looked at him.

“I am sure you have,” he replied
quietly. Lin Mei sat very still, watching closely. The lama turned his gaze to
her.

“And do you have anything to add?” he
asked. She shook her head ever so slightly.

“No, Rimpoche,” she replied, using the
honorific carefully. “I do not.” He looked at her for a moment, his eyes
seemingly looking at some dark interior in her soul.

“I’m sure the experience must have been
upsetting to you,” he commented. Was there a hint of mockery in his words? Lin
Mei chose her words carefully.

“The sight would have upset the most
hardened of souls,” she replied. There was another moment of silence as
Narrayam seemingly weighed her words.

“Of course,” he said. “It was rather
unsettling for all concerned.” He stopped to take sip of tea. “Thank you for
taking the time to talk to an old man,” he said, setting the tiny teacup down. “You
may go now.”

They made their bows and left quietly,
emerging into the shadows of the mountain looming above the temple complex.

“That was not so bad,” Biao said.

“No,” Lin Mei agreed, eyeing the
forested heights. “It was not.” Nearby, too nearby in Lin Mei’s opinion, young
monks were washing away the blood stains on the cobblestones. What remained of
the dead monk had been taken away by the rogyapas, the body-breakers, who had
taken his earthly form away to the upper reaches of the mountain, there to be
dismembered and left for the elements and the carrion birds. From the main
temple they could hear the sonorous droning of the monks, as the lengthy and
complex funerary rituals designed to cleanse the temple complex of the
defilement of death had already begun.

“I wonder why the tiger did not take the
body with him,” Biao mused.

“I do also,” Lin Mei said quietly,
eyeing the scene. “The wall is not that high. It would have been easy for a
tiger to leap over, even carrying a man.” On the wall was a single paw print,
in the dead monk’s blood, where the large cat had scrambled over. Lin Mei’s
eyes narrowed as she saw the print. “Let us go see to the cats,” she said,
striding off. Biao Mei shrugged and followed.

Shadow and Twilight were sleeping on a
mat on the corner of the quarters they had been given. That was good news at
least. They had been tense and nervous all night long, prowling the confines of
the room. Lin Mei had probed their senses, using the bond she had developed
with them. She had sensed danger, malevolent and violent, just outside the
building which housed them. And in the morning, just as the droning of the
conch shells called the monks to their morning meditations, the body of Kalsang
Rampa had been found. Lin Mei and her brother had heard the commotion and run
outside to investigate. As caravan guards they had seen more than their share
of bloody scenes, and so had been called by the Abbot, Narrayam Dorjhe, to give
both their testimony, and experienced opinions.

“You should attend the purification
ceremony,” Lin Mei observed. “It will make the monks feel better.” Biao Mei
nodded.

“Good idea. And you will go for a walk?”

Lin Mei smiled. “It’s a cool morning. It’s
just right for some fresh air.” She was skilled at teasing out truth from
gossip. Also, as a young woman, she would not be welcome within the sacred
temple confines of the monastery.

Breakfast was a mixture of tea, toasted
barley flour, salt, and butter, all churned to froth in a wooden container. Lin
Mei smiled wistfully as she considered the horror with which her mother would
have reacted to such a barbarian repast. But she and her brother had been long
out of the Empire. And even longer from their parent’s home. She shut down that
line of thought abruptly. She had other things to do.

Outside the monks had finished their
gruesome task. The alleys between the buildings were empty. Well enough, with
almost everyone at the ceremonies she could conduct her investigation without
interruption.

She eyed the wall. It was high enough to
provide difficulty for a man trying to climb it, but she had once seen a tiger
vault over a similar wall while carrying a young water buffalo. Above and
beyond the walls she could see the steep face of the mountain, dotted by
scraggly evergreens that had taken root in the cracks in the rock. It would be
a hard climb even for a tiger.

She eyed the narrow alley where the monk
had been killed. It was paved with rounded cobblestones still wet from the
night’s rain as well as the efforts of the monks. On an impulse she walked down
to the small building where Kalsang Rampa had labored copying sacred
manuscripts. The door was unlocked and she pushed it open to find an aged monk
going over yellowed scrolls.

“May the Enlightened One’s understanding
light your path,” he greeted as she came in. “How may I assist you?” Lin Mei
made a bow.

“I am Lin Mei. I express my sorrow at
the loss of your fellow monk,” she said. “I only met him yesterday for a short
while, but I found him to be kind and gentle.”

“That he was,” the old man agreed. “I am
Kunchen Lobsang. Would you please sit?” he asked, pointing to a yak-hair mat.
She sank to the mat as he turned to lift a pot of hot water from some coals in
a small hearth. “May I offer some tea?” he asked.

“That would be most kind,” she replied.
It would have been impolite to refuse. In moments she was holding a hot mug of
black tea flavored with butter and salt. She waited for her host to drink first
before taking a polite three sips.

“It is very sad that such a learned monk
would be taken by a beast,” she ventured.

“All is impermanent,” he replied. “Even
the mountains will weather away in time. Still, it is sad.” He took another sip
of tea.

“It was fortunate that he was able to
finish copying the manuscripts for the Daci’en monastery,” he added. Lin Mei
put a properly sorrowful expression on her face and bowed low in
acknowledgement. It also hid her face while her mind raced. She was certain it
had not been an idle remark. But what did he know?

“I am certain the monks at Daci’en will
be most pleased,” she said. “I am also certain they will be equally sorrowful
at the news of his passing.” She did not add that she and her brother had no
intention of returning to the Empire any time soon.

“Daci’en has a great collection of
sacred texts. It is well-known to be favored by the Son of Heaven,” the old man
said.

“It does,” Lin Mei agreed. Where was
this going?

“The death of Kalsang Rampa is a great
loss,” the old man went on. “Not only was he an industrious copier of sacred
texts, but his knowledge of languages, such as the Hind and Tifun tongues, made
him even more valuable as a bridge between the kingdoms of this land.”

“I was unaware of his accomplishments,”
Lin Mei responded. She knew this already. And the old man was sure to know
that. Abruptly she drank the last of her tea in one long sip.

“I am thankful for the refreshment,” she
said, bowing her head low to the mat. He bowed low in return, a generous act
from one such as him. With a few more pleasantries she left.

Outside, in the cool air of the
mountains, her mind raced. Years of service in the Empire’s Intelligence arm
had made her sensitive to the slightest hints of intrigue. She wondered if she
was making too much of an old man’s ramblings, but dismissed the idea. Kunchen
Lobsang was still alert and keen of mind. His had been no idle words.

On impulse she walked to the gate. The
monastery was on a ledge that narrowed at both ends. Here it was just wide
enough for the gate. There were no guards to stop her, and she wandered out on
the path leading down to the plain stretching out far below. Here, where the
mountains met the steppes, was the strategic Ang-Xi Corridor, only four day’s
ride across at this point. Beyond were the nomad lands. The mountain behind her
was only the first ridge of the vast ranges that separated the steppes from the
rich land of Hind to the South.

Difficult and dangerous, the mountains
were home to the Tifun Empire, a warlike and barbarous realm. The Tifun Khans
were masters of the mountains, and from the peaks their armies had defied all
others. Those thoughts sent her mind back to the reason she and Biao Mei were
there, to a meeting in Kendar weeks before.

#

 “The Empire is two gourds on a vine,”
Ro Min had said. “The Eastern heartland is connected to the Western
Protectorates by the Ang-Xi Corridor, which lies between the Tifun Empire to the
south and the nomads to the north. The Empire can hold off either, but if they
should unite they could cut the corridor and divide the Empire in two.” She did
not add that Kendar was in the west.

“There have been rumors of messages and
gifts between the Tifun Khans and the nomad khans,” Lin Mei had said.

“That is true,” Ro Min replied. “The
messages concern us most. The Empire’s Ministers for the Barbarian Lands have
used diplomacy and gifts to keep the nomad tribes divided and hostile to the
Tifun Khans. But of late the Tifun Khans have pursued a policy of friendship
between their lands and the nomads. Tifun covets the Empire’s Western lands.
Not only are they a source of wealth, but they control the trade routes around
the mountains and down into the land of Hind. The loss of the Western
Protectorates would greatly harm the Empire.”

“And place the armies of Tifun on the
Empire’s borders,” Lin Mei observed.

“That is so,” Ro Min agreed. “We have a
man in the Taktsang Palphug Monastery. It is on the border of Tifun and
overlooks the Ang-Xi corridor. You will go and meet him, and bring back any
messages he may have.” She stopped to take a sip of tea.

“His task at the monastery is to copy
sacred texts. Your mission, if anyone needs to know, is to bring back copies of
those texts. Any messages he has for the Western Agency,” she added, referring
to one of the two major spy services of the Empire, “will be hidden in the
texts.”

Lin Mei studied her for a moment.

“This is a task that could easily be
done by anyone else,” she noted. “You have some other reason for sending us?”
Ro Min smiled.

“I have seen how the young Prince Firuz
looks at you,” she said. “Even if he is an exile, he is still a prince, and
attention from someone in the upper ranks can be troublesome.”

Lin Mei nodded. On a prior mission to
Khotan she and her brother had encountered a party of royal refugees fleeing an
invading army. The young prince had been a witness to the events surrounding an
attempted palace coup against the ruling Iskanderi, a coup Lin Mei and her
brother, with help from their two cats, had foiled. He now had a severe case of
hero worship, bordering on infatuation.

“By the time this mission is done, he
should be in the Capitol,” she said. Ro Min had smiled in conspiratorial agreement.

“I have spoken with his mother,” she
said. “Prince Firuz will be the toast of the Capitol, with many young ladies
vying for his eye. She will see he is suitably distracted.”

“Who is this man we shall meet?” Lin Mei
asked.

“A young monk named Kalsang Rampa.”

#

Kalsang Rampa was now dead. Lin Mei set
her lips in a thin line. Somewhere inside her was an annoying feeling that it
was no coincidence. With thoughts darker than the clouds overhead she stared
off across the plain below.

Her heart stopped. Off in the distance,
barely visible under the towering clouds was another cloud, dust kicked up by
hooves. She eyed the cloud, noting the size. This was no caravan.

She ran back inside. “An army on the
approach!” she shouted to two monks she saw just inside, pointing off in the
direction of the horizon. With worried frowns they followed her outside. For a
few moments they looked somberly off into the distance, before the older of the
two snorted with a muffled laugh.

“No, younger sister,” he said with a
good-natured smile. “It is the return of Tenzin Yonten from Qartik.”

“Qartik?” she asked, puzzled. She could
recall no such land.