Five Odd Honors (17 page)

He guided them through the gardens as well, coming at last to the gate through which they had entered Yen-lo Wang’s precincts. There, a short distance away, stood their pine door, both prosaic and extraordinary as it stood alone amid a swirl of mist.

When Albert turned to thank the functionary, the man had vanished.

“I think it’s time to go,” Albert said.

When they were all—ghosts included—back in the ware house, Pearl turned to Albert.

“Yen-lo Wang asked a tremendous number of questions, but even so, that went too easily. He didn’t even ask for a particular gift or sacrifice in return for permitting the ghosts to be re-embodied.”

No one disagreed.

“I noticed,” Albert said. “The great judge of the Fifth Hell seemed worried. In turn, that makes me very, very worried indeed.”

Yen-lo Wang’s
granting permission for the five dead to re-enter the world of the living launched a new stage in their preparations.

Over the next several days, Brenda grew accustomed to the sound of chanting and the scent of incense coming from Pearl’s office where the re-embodiment of each of the five ghosts was taking place at a rate of one per day.

Sounds and smells were about all Brenda got out of it, because, since she wasn’t the Rat, there wasn’t really a role for her in the various rituals. Even Gaheris Morris showed up, since the Rat is Ox’s partner on the zodiac wheel and stands in opposition to the Horse.

Not being needed for the rituals didn’t mean Brenda wasn’t busy. Early every morning, she joined whoever was going over to Colm Lodge for physical training. Later in the day, she’d either make an amulet bracelet or work with Des on some aspect of her magical training. Often she did both, since Des, as the Rooster, was only needed for one of the re-embodiment rituals—that of his partner the Monkey—and with two Dragons in their company, Des’s knowledge of magical lore was not as much in demand.

There were always routine chores that had to be done: meals to be prepared, runs to the grocery store, shuttling people back and forth between Colm Lodge and Pearl’s house, and dozens of other tasks. Brenda threw herself into these, often in the company of Nissa or Riprap.

Due to a quirk in which families had remained faithful and which had fallen away, the three apprentices were rarely needed for the rituals. Their partners on the wheel—the Tiger and the Pig—were both more magically sophisticated and were better choices to stand in for the Houses of Expansion and Family when needed. Their opposites—the Rooster and the Dragon—were not among those who needed to be reincarnated.

“Reincarnation,” Brenda said to Nissa one afternoon when they were coming back from a trip to the grocery store, “isn’t quite the right word for what we’re doing, is it? More like re-embodiment.”

Nissa swiveled from where she’d been leaning into the backseat so that she could retrieve Lani’s new favorite toy—a plush bunny wearing a many-pocketed vest, a gift from Gaheris Morris—from where her daughter had dropped it on the floor.

“Re-embodiment,” Nissa agreed. “I’m glad we’re almost done. Even with Colm Lodge to hold the overflow, there are five more mouths to feed, five more odd people to explain. Pearl’s already stretching the truth with the answers she’s given to Dr. Pike so that he can disseminate them to the various members of the indigenous magical traditions who remain overly curious about our business.”

“Nosey.” Brenda agreed, thinking of Franklin Deng and Tracy Frye.

“And Pearl and Albert are stretching their bank accounts to feed and clothe everyone,” Brenda added, with what she immediately knew everyone would say was a Rattish concern for money.

“But the rejoining,” Nissa said, bending and retrieving the toy—“Next time, Vesty-Bunny stays on the floor, Lani—of the ‘ghosts’ with the various branches is working.”

Brenda heard an implied question in Nissa’s inflection, and answered. “That’s what Dad says. Since the Ox is partnered with the Rat, he could sense the switch—especially since he was ‘listening’ for it.”

“Tomorrow,” Nissa said, “they’ll be done. Bent Bamboo, the Monkey, is the last. After that, we go through the Nine Gates and it’s over.”

Or is it?
Brenda thought, knowing Nissa was talking confidently to ease apprehensions they all had. Returning the three to the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice wouldn’t do much good if their enemies were still in power—enemies who had already shown themselves to be willing to cross the guardian domains to go after what they wanted.

Aloud, Brenda said, “Where is Lani staying while we’re away?”

“Joanne is having a singing and dancing workshop,” Nissa said, “and she says Lani can stay with her if we’re—uh—late getting back. Lani’s looking forward to going to Joanne’s, aren’t you?”

In the rearview mirror of the car, Brenda caught a glimpse of Lani looking preternaturally serious for a moment, before brightening her face into a smile.

“I’m gonna have fun!” Lani said. “We’re gon’ learn a frog-hop dance. An’ eat cake an’ hotdogs.”

Lani’s being brave,
Brenda thought.
She knows something’s up, and she’s pretending she doesn’t. What if something happens to us? What if we don’t come back?

Luckily, they were now at Pearl’s house. Threading the car through the tightly packed, narrow streets provided sufficient distraction and grounding in a reality that did not involve re-embodied ghosts and mystical realms that Brenda could manage to put her fears from her.

But the
next morning, when her alarm clock went off at the beginning of the Double Hour of the Dragon—that is, seven in the morning—the nervousness was back.

No one except for Gaheris Morris had argued that Brenda shouldn’t be part of their company through the Nine Gates. Brenda had been glad that her dad cared about her safety, but equally glad that he didn’t win out.

“Brenda is part of our company,” Righteous Drum had insisted. “She was the one who rescued me, and among those who fought along the Tiger’s Road. The guardians of the four directions consider themselves in her debt and the Nine Yellow Springs sing her praises.”

“And,” Honey Dream had added with a slight return of her former waspishness toward Brenda, “Brenda is weird. She breaks the rules without knowing she’s doing so. We might need that peculiar flexibility.”

So Brenda rose and headed for the shower. She and Nissa had worked out a schedule the night before. Nissa was already up, dressed, and gone, driving Lani to Joanne’s.

Brenda was standing head down, plaiting her hair into a single, heavy braid, accented with a purple ribbon, when there was a soft rap at her bedroom door.

“I’m decent!” she called.

The door swung open, and Des came in carrying a small bundle of black fabric.

“I have a present for you,” he said. “Actually, from me and Flying Claw.”

Brenda straightened. “What?”

“I’d noticed,” Des said, “that you seemed to feel rather underdressed during our last venture beyond the gates.”

Brenda, who had indeed felt that jeans and a shirt, while sturdy and comfortable, didn’t quite fit in when just about everyone else was wearing an embroidered shenyi, had to agree.

“After I was delegated the job of getting ceremonial wear for Nissa and Riprap,” Des said, referring to a discussion that had occurred soon after the Tiger’s Road venture, “Flying Claw came to me. He said he thought you deserved something, too. I agreed.”

Brenda’s gaze stole over to the neatly folded bundle; she couldn’t get the slightest hint about what it contained except that much of it was black. That made sense. Black was the Rat’s color.

Des was going on, “As you must have noticed by now, the ceremonial costume traditionally worn by the Thirteen Orphans is the shenyi, which dates back at least to the Ch’in dynasty. When I went to measure Riprap for his shenyi, he pitched a fit, said he’d be no use to anyone if he had to wear long skirts—that he didn’t even wear a bathrobe that came lower than the middle of his calf. After putting him in a robe—even finding one his size was a challenge—I had to agree. I spoke with Shen and Albert, and we decided that training Riprap to walk in skirts could wait. I was given permission to modify the costume.”

Brenda thought she could guess where this was heading, and didn’t know whether she felt insulted or relieved. In the end, she decided on relieved. She had worn long skirts to a couple of proms and to her graduation, but that didn’t exactly qualify her as graceful or at ease.

Still, a single word squeezed out, “Nissa?”

“I tested her, and she qualified for a shenyi,” Des said. “However, I had to argue Deborah into wearing hers. Once she learned Riprap was going to get a trouser suit, Deborah had lots of reasons why she needed one, too.”

“But you talked her around?”

“Pearl did. Deborah has had her shenyi for years, and charms have a way of accumulating power over time. That tipped the balance, but you might have noticed Deborah’s been wearing her shenyi a few hours every day, just to get used to it.”

Brenda had, but had dismissed it, figuring that the Pig was simply helping out with some aspect of the many arcane rituals that had filled the last several days.

Brenda accepted the bundle, not hiding her eagerness.

“So this is my ‘trouser suit’?”

“Unfold it,” Des said, with pardonable pride. “I swiped a pair of your jeans and one of your more tailored shirts so the seamstress could use them to estimate your size. The outfit isn’t skin-tight by any means, but I think . . .”

Brenda let the comfortable flow of his words, discussing fabric, sizing, the question of precisely how long to make the tunic, go by without comment.

Black proved to be the color of only the trousers—and only of the upper part to the knees at that. Below the knees, the fabric was divided in equal bands of what Brenda now knew were the remaining significant colors: green, red, white, and yellow—this last more closely a shimmering gold. Each band was of equal size, and divided by a slim border of black like the border between panes of a stained glass window.

The tunic was an orchestral celebration of the five colors, the pieces fitted together in what Brenda knew were significant patterns. There was a billowing white cloud she knew represented luck, and an elaborate scarlet chrysanthemum she remembered indicated a wish for a long life. There were others, smaller, that she couldn’t immediately recognize, but suspected invoked similar blessings.

After all,
Brenda thought, fingering the soft, satiny fabric reverently,
of the five blessings, luck and longevity are going to matter a lot more than prosperity, happiness, and wealth. On the other hand, maybe happiness would be a good thing.

“You had this made?” she said, looking at the elaborate garment and remembering something in the flow of Des’s words.

“That’s right. Friend of mine. Does costume work. She’s absolutely brilliant—and fast. Has to be, what with the first dress rehearsal usually leading to half the costumes on some productions being torn apart and reworked because they look lousy from the floor. Want to try it on?”

“You bet!”

Des moved as if to go out the door, then paused. “I forgot to show you Flying Claw’s contribution. Look at the end of each sleeve and the cuffs of the trousers.”

“You mean that little green leaf?” she said after a moment’s inspection.

“That’s it.” Des grinned. “He says it’s a variation on the bamboo—a charm for longevity, especially geared for clothing. It doesn’t make it invulnerable or anything. Think of it as magical spray that helps the fabric resist stains and snags. Apparently Tigers are pretty hard on their clothes.”

Des slipped out the door on that line, and Brenda was left staring at the delicately embroidered leaf.

“Great,” she said to the empty air. “Apparently, my friends not only think I’m too clumsy to get along in a skirt, but a slob who’ll tear up my clothes as well.”

Still, she felt quite happy as she pulled off her jeans and tee shirt, and donned the new clothing. Both top and bottom fit wonderfully. Des’s friend had apparently followed the traditional form of the loose trousers and tunic, but hadn’t felt she needed to do so slavishly. Unlike the clothing shown in many pictures Brenda had seen from the years when the California gold rush had brought large numbers of Chinese into the United States, neither tunic nor trousers were baggy. They weren’t form-fitting by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn’t feel as if she was wearing a satin flour sack either.