Tiger House
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E-BOOK & PRINT |
The horde of dragons writhed above the palace, circling in a black tornado. Dark wings snapped and bursts of brimstone tainted the air. A chill wind tugged at Tekagi’s black veil and midnight tresses. Her false fingernails, curved metal claws edged with black diamonds snared the fine mesh. The cloth ripped beneath her scalpel strokes when she flexed her fingers.
From her perch in the highest tower she surveyed the scene below. A palace draped in mourning. Half-mast flags whipped against poles. Everyone adorned in black. Today they would bury a tyrant … an emperor … her father.
A shadow filled the doorway. Tekagi turned toward her servant. “Is it done?”
Tufts of tiger fur clung to the creases in his leather tunic. He patted the handle of the curved blade slung through his belt and nodded. A smile fluttered across her lips before she schooled her features into a mask. Dry-eyed, she descended from the tower.
The emperor’s mausoleum towered above all his predecessors’ like a vulture nesting among sparrows. Years before he had overseen every hideous detail of its construction. A snarling tiger’s face decorated the entrance and a life-size dragon sculpture etched in black marble squatted on the roof. Real flames belched from a furnace inside the sculpture’s belly. Tendrils of smoke leaked from its mouth and eye sockets.
The crowd parted as she stalked toward the coffin. Today her presence would be tolerated, standing among the elite. Tomorrow she would have to fight with tooth and claws to hold onto any remnant of past privileges. The funeral veil masked her features as she studied the faces surrounding her. Hypocrites … liars … enemies. Their velvet-tongued words of sorrow didn’t match the bloodlust sparking in their eyes.
Each of the major Ten Houses was allocated equal speaking rights. Lies and falsehoods dribbled from one noble tongue after another. Tekagi hid a yawn behind her fan. Finally, the last platitudes were spoken over Emperor Oranjun’s corpse. She wasn’t fooled. The Ten did not mourn her father or his two oldest sons.
Later, in a private ceremony she would bury her brothers’ corpses. The plague had ravaged through the palace like wildfire, indiscriminately killing noble, servant and slave. Fancy robes and jewels offered no protection against fever and death. Only one of her brothers still lived, but death’s breath rattled within his lungs. The fates had yet to decide his destiny.
The adjudicator shuffled forward. She wondered how one so ancient had managed to survive the plague. He leaned over her father’s body and seized the shaft of the dragon scepter. Even in death her father did not easily relinquish his grasp on his emblem of power. Each bony finger had to be uncurled one by one from the shaft. The adjudicator stumbled and almost fell when the full weight of the scepter rested in his hands.
Every noble stared at the scepter’s diamond dragon head. Foolish men from minor houses wet their lips, wearing their ambition for all to see. Tekagi wanted to spit on them. They were not worthy wielders of this coveted prize.
The old man’s hands quivered when he lifted up the scepter and touched the dragon head against the dead emperor’s forehead. The diamond tip glowed once before fading away. He whispered, “Farewell, Emperor Oranjun, may the fates guide you through the underworld.”
Six palace house guards marched forward and grasped the coffin’s jade handles. Gongs sounded as they bore the casket inside the mausoleum. Moments later they returned, empty-handed, and resumed their stance among the guards.
The dragon scepter knocked once against the tomb’s cedar doors. They slammed shut like shutters in a gale. Overhead, the dragons screeched and the sky shuddered as a thousand leathery wings flapped into an unholy formation. Bruised clouds swirled into a vortex, and inside this maelstrom of wind and wings, purple lightning crackled. One by one, the dragons streamed into the hurricane’s eye and disappeared, sucked into the void. Thunder smashed and the vortex imploded behind them.
The adjudicator thumped the scepter into the ground three times. “By the fates, the war dragons will not return until a new emperor wins the dragon scepter.”
The crowd parted as Tekagi threaded her way toward the funeral cart waiting by the main gate. Tiger pelts adorned the two caskets. Only emperors earned the right to be entombed within the Dragon Palace. The sons were relegated to less hallowed ground.
A few of her most treasured belongings were also piled on the cart. No longer an emperor’s daughter she was being cast out of the palace. A limp tiger tail trailed over the side of the cart. She ran the tips of her obsidian finger stalls along its striped length before tucking it beneath a tapestry.
Tekagi tapped her fan against the cart’s side and the driver flicked the horses’ reins into a funeral march. Head bowed, she followed a few paces behind, flanked by her two bodyguards. As Tekagi exited through the palace gates and headed to Tiger House she patted the snake bracelet on her upper arm, and vowed, “I will reclaim my birthright. Let the Emperor Games begin.”
From her perch in the highest tower she surveyed the scene below. A palace draped in mourning. Half-mast flags whipped against poles. Everyone adorned in black. Today they would bury a tyrant … an emperor … her father.
A shadow filled the doorway. Tekagi turned toward her servant. “Is it done?”
Tufts of tiger fur clung to the creases in his leather tunic. He patted the handle of the curved blade slung through his belt and nodded. A smile fluttered across her lips before she schooled her features into a mask. Dry-eyed, she descended from the tower.
The emperor’s mausoleum towered above all his predecessors’ like a vulture nesting among sparrows. Years before he had overseen every hideous detail of its construction. A snarling tiger’s face decorated the entrance and a life-size dragon sculpture etched in black marble squatted on the roof. Real flames belched from a furnace inside the sculpture’s belly. Tendrils of smoke leaked from its mouth and eye sockets.
The crowd parted as she stalked toward the coffin. Today her presence would be tolerated, standing among the elite. Tomorrow she would have to fight with tooth and claws to hold onto any remnant of past privileges. The funeral veil masked her features as she studied the faces surrounding her. Hypocrites … liars … enemies. Their velvet-tongued words of sorrow didn’t match the bloodlust sparking in their eyes.
Each of the major Ten Houses was allocated equal speaking rights. Lies and falsehoods dribbled from one noble tongue after another. Tekagi hid a yawn behind her fan. Finally, the last platitudes were spoken over Emperor Oranjun’s corpse. She wasn’t fooled. The Ten did not mourn her father or his two oldest sons.
Later, in a private ceremony she would bury her brothers’ corpses. The plague had ravaged through the palace like wildfire, indiscriminately killing noble, servant and slave. Fancy robes and jewels offered no protection against fever and death. Only one of her brothers still lived, but death’s breath rattled within his lungs. The fates had yet to decide his destiny.
The adjudicator shuffled forward. She wondered how one so ancient had managed to survive the plague. He leaned over her father’s body and seized the shaft of the dragon scepter. Even in death her father did not easily relinquish his grasp on his emblem of power. Each bony finger had to be uncurled one by one from the shaft. The adjudicator stumbled and almost fell when the full weight of the scepter rested in his hands.
Every noble stared at the scepter’s diamond dragon head. Foolish men from minor houses wet their lips, wearing their ambition for all to see. Tekagi wanted to spit on them. They were not worthy wielders of this coveted prize.
The old man’s hands quivered when he lifted up the scepter and touched the dragon head against the dead emperor’s forehead. The diamond tip glowed once before fading away. He whispered, “Farewell, Emperor Oranjun, may the fates guide you through the underworld.”
Six palace house guards marched forward and grasped the coffin’s jade handles. Gongs sounded as they bore the casket inside the mausoleum. Moments later they returned, empty-handed, and resumed their stance among the guards.
The dragon scepter knocked once against the tomb’s cedar doors. They slammed shut like shutters in a gale. Overhead, the dragons screeched and the sky shuddered as a thousand leathery wings flapped into an unholy formation. Bruised clouds swirled into a vortex, and inside this maelstrom of wind and wings, purple lightning crackled. One by one, the dragons streamed into the hurricane’s eye and disappeared, sucked into the void. Thunder smashed and the vortex imploded behind them.
The adjudicator thumped the scepter into the ground three times. “By the fates, the war dragons will not return until a new emperor wins the dragon scepter.”
The crowd parted as Tekagi threaded her way toward the funeral cart waiting by the main gate. Tiger pelts adorned the two caskets. Only emperors earned the right to be entombed within the Dragon Palace. The sons were relegated to less hallowed ground.
A few of her most treasured belongings were also piled on the cart. No longer an emperor’s daughter she was being cast out of the palace. A limp tiger tail trailed over the side of the cart. She ran the tips of her obsidian finger stalls along its striped length before tucking it beneath a tapestry.
Tekagi tapped her fan against the cart’s side and the driver flicked the horses’ reins into a funeral march. Head bowed, she followed a few paces behind, flanked by her two bodyguards. As Tekagi exited through the palace gates and headed to Tiger House she patted the snake bracelet on her upper arm, and vowed, “I will reclaim my birthright. Let the Emperor Games begin.”
