Five Odd Honors (20 page)

Honey Dream inclined her head in agreement, and moved a little closer to her father—and to Flying Claw, Pearl noted with mild amusement.

The three who had been prisoners—Twentyseven-Ten, Thorn, and Shackles—were a little slower to agree. Pearl understood why. Their loyalties must be soundly divided at this moment. They were the only survivors of a much larger force that had come after the Orphans and their allies. Initially kept as prisoners, they were given an opportunity to earn their way home if they joined in the battle on Tiger’s Road. They had done so, and one of their number had died. Now these three must be wondering what would happen when they returned to the Lands. Where did their best interests lie?

Twenty seven -Ten said, “Certainly nothing but a very restricted life awaits us in the Land of the Burning. What ever has gone awry, through that door are the graves of our ancestors.”

Thorn and Shackles nodded.

“Sure,” Thorn said. “Why not? You can count on me.”

“Me, too,” Shackles said.

“And the rest of us,” said Riprap. The big, black man looked almost angry. “Are we going to just leave them like this: ‘Well, go on, have fun storming the castle,’ all that stuff? I thought we’d agreed to help them?”

“We have done so,” Albert said mildly, but his was the mildness of a leader who does not expect to be interrupted. “We have aided in the creation of a gate back to the Lands—something they were not able to manage for themselves.”

Riprap started to speak—shout, more likely, Pearl thought—but Albert held up his hand.

Brenda cut in. “Wait. Albert, I mean, you were still, well, out of it, when Waking Lizard arrived. Soon after, Flying Claw and Honey Dream told us the bridge had been destroyed. What I’m trying to say is that you were there after we started working on the treaty, but not at first, so you can’t remember that we didn’t just talk about giving them sanctuary and getting them home. We decided that sitting around and waiting to be got at wasn’t something any of us wanted. We pretty much promised to go after their enemies if they could use our help.”

Brenda gestured almost helplessly toward the still open Ninth Gate. “And it sure looks to me as if they could use our help.”

“A reckless agreement,” Gaheris Morris said, “but one I agreed to, since it had been the price of my freedom. I’ll keep my part of it now.”

He glowered at his daughter. “But you, young lady, what ever the rest of us do, this is the end of the road for you.”

Brenda stared at her father in disbelief.

“What do you mean?” she cried. “I signed that treaty, just like the rest of you.”

“And I never liked that you were made to sign,” Dad said firmly. “I said so at the time, but I let Auntie Pearl and Uncle Shen talk me around. They said you’d signed the first treaty, that your signing the second one was just a formality.”

Gaheris Morris paused, then added a touch maliciously, “They said you made Righteous Drum nervous, and that if you didn’t sign he’d likely refuse . . . as if he had a choice. But I let myself be talked around, because I was assured your participation wouldn’t matter. Well, now that I see what’s out there, I’m saying you’re not going anywhere into that.”

He waved an arm in the direction of the Ninth Gate, and found himself facing Pai Hu’s unblinking amber gaze.

“Is this the time or place for a family dispute?” the White Tiger of the West said with what Brenda was certain was deceptive mildness. “The Ninth Gate is open, and decisions must be made.”

Nissa, silent to this point except when she had to speak some ritual phrase, now turned to Brenda.

“Breni, Pai Hu is right.” She turned the force of her startlingly turquoise eyes on Gaheris Morris. “I’m not even sure you’re wrong, Gaheris, but I do think you picked a bad time to start a family quarrel.”

“Would you want Lani—” Brenda’s father began, but Nissa made a shooing gesture with one hand and turned her attention to the larger group.

“Pai Hu, Shen, Righteous Drum, clarify a point for me. Is this opening of the Ninth Gate a one-time deal? I had the impression that in setting up the Nine Gates we were creating the means for us to go freely—if in a somewhat roundabout fashion—between the Lands and our world. Do we need to make final decisions here and now about who goes where when?”

“Only if you wish the gate permanently sealed immediately,” Pai Hu replied. “We four guardians are not reneging on our agreement with you to permit Nine Gates to be used by you—and your allies—to go between the Land of the Burning and the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice. We will, however, not permit any others than this immediate group to use them—at least not without considerable consideration.”

“Understood,” Nissa said.

Brenda was impressed. Nissa could be so quiet, so mild, that much of the time you forgot the underlying strength of her personality, but Nissa hadn’t managed to be a single mom, to keep secret just who Lani’s father was, to both go to college and work, and keep up with a bunch of other activities, because she was a pushover. Nissa had started out behind Brenda and Riprap in magical training, but even with Lani as a constant distraction, she’d caught up—and in some areas, Brenda knew, she’d surpassed her classmates.

At this moment, Nissa looked much as she had on the night she’d told Pearl that unless things changed in how a young man then called Foster was treated, she was packing up and heading home to Virginia—and no one had called her bluff , because they knew it was no bluff .

Now Nissa turned to Flying Claw. “Flying Claw, are you determined to go charging into that mess?”

“Someone should scout,” he said, and Brenda felt her heart do a funny flip-flop at his lopsided grin, rueful, aware of his own impulsiveness. “I thought I would be a good choice.”

“You’re right,” Nissa said, “but to scout—not to get yourself killed.”

Bent Bamboo stepped forward.

“I’ve heard a great deal about how, despite having called himself a coward, my fellow Monkey, Waking Lizard, showed courage in battle. Let me rise to the mark he has set and be the first to pass through the Ninth Gate.” He swung around, loose-limbed and rubber-jointed, to face the assembly of Orphans and allies. “Don’t worry. I’m just going to see what it feels like over there.”

There were various murmurs of agreement and a few encouraging words. Brenda looked at Flying Claw and Riprap, now standing side by side. Both were leaning slightly forward, as if they couldn’t wait for their chance.

And me,
she thought.
Am I really angry at Dad for protecting me? Do I really want to go into that—whatever that is?

Pai Hu had moved to permit access to the Ninth Gate. Somehow, without making a fuss, he had become smaller and now was only the size of a really big “normal” tiger.

A normal tiger,
Brenda thought,
with a sort of aura that means no one in their right mind would mistake him for anything but a god. Or spirit. Or hsien . . .

She stilled her mental babbling, knowing it as a symptom of nervousness, and concentrated on Bent Bamboo.

The Monkey had taken out his weapon. Like Waking Lizard he preferred a staff to a sword or spear. Brenda wondered if there was something traditional about Monkeys and staffs.

Standing in front of the open Ninth Gate, he probed over the threshold with the foot of his staff .

“Feels solid,” he said, “even if the ‘grass’ is a really interesting shade of puce. I’m going to put a foot over.”

“Wait!” Riprap called, moving forward as he uncoiled a length of rope that had hung from his pack. “It may feel solid, but the way the scene keeps changing. . . .”

Bent Bamboo didn’t protest. Brenda guessed that Monkeys didn’t have the warrior pride of Tigers or Horses.

Riprap didn’t just loop the rope around Bent Bamboo’s waist, but rigged a simple harness that passed over his shoulders and around his waist, his hands moving with quick efficiency.

“Learned a few things taking my Scouts rock climbing,” he explained matter-of-factly. “Okay. I’m your anchor. Go for it.”

Riprap stepped back a few paces. He flashed a grin of thanks when Flying Claw took up his own hold on the rope, never mind that Riprap both outweighed and outmassed the Tiger.

Don’t turn down help when it’s offered,
Brenda thought.
Pride goeth before a tumble. Damn, I wish Dad . . .

Brenda forced her thoughts away from her father. Bent Bamboo had stepped through the Ninth Gate. Against the screaming, shifting colors, strangely he, not the weird landscape, was what ended up looking less real.

Like someone took a cut-out from a magazine and superimposed it on a painting. Somehow the painting looks more real.

Bent Bamboo narrated every step. “It feels like moss underfoot. Wet moss, just on the dry side of squishy. Or like walking on clouds, not that I’ve ever done that—not like the Stone Monkey.”

I’ve got to look that story up,
Brenda thought.
Waking Lizard talked about a Stone Monkey, too. I wonder if that’s the same as the Monkey King I read about.

“There’s water here,” Bent Bamboo went on. “Or at least it flows like water and is in a streambed of sorts. It looks like tangerine juice.”

He bent down and cupped some in his hand. Before anyone could warn him, he took a quick sip.

“Tastes like water. And, no, don’t fuss at me about the risk I’ll drink poison. If we’re going to travel through here, we can carry food, but carrying sufficient water would be too heavy. We can always boil water before drinking. That should remove most taints. That raises another question.”

Bent Bamboo walked back to the Ninth Gate. “Riprap, you have any matches? Piece of paper or kindling?”

Riprap, of course, had both. He handed a book of matches and a candle stub to Bent Bamboo.

Bent Bamboo lit a match and then the wick of the candle. Although the candle didn’t change in any way, remaining—like Bent Bamboo himself—sort of photorealistic amid surreal surroundings, the flame burned normal reddish orange only for a moment. Then it shifted and began to burn a really horrid green.

“Interesting,” Righteous Drum said. “What we bring with us remains untouched—at least in the short term—but the elements become one with their environment.”

“So we should be able to travel there,” Des said. “I wonder, since the elements seem to belong to the Lands, if we’ll be in any danger breathing the air. Will it transform us? Gradually change us into what ever that is?”

“But air,” Righteous Drum reminded him sententiously, “is not an element—not in our tradition. Even so, I see your point.”

“We could wear gas masks, I suppose,” Des said, “carry oxygen, but in the end . . .”

Bent Bamboo had set the candle on a rock—a rock that cooperatively stayed in one place after he did so—and continued questing about, ranging farther and farther from the gate while Riprap patiently played out his safety line.

“I don’t feel strange,” the Monkey called back. “Or any stranger than usual. In any case, we know we’re going to risk it, so why argue?”

“I agree,” Loyal Wind said.

The other three former ghosts voiced their agreement as well.

Copper Gong added, “I think we ‘ghosts’ should be among the scouts. We are familiar with the Lands. In one sense at least, we have less to lose.”

Gentle Smoke turned from where she had been studying the constantly shifting landscape. “Having resided in the afterlife for a good many years, we have another advantage as well. Shifting landscapes and places that don’t make ‘sense’ in the usual way will not bother us nearly as much.”

“Very well,” Albert said. “However, I think you should take with you a few of the ‘living.’ There may be things you are vulnerable to that we would not be.”

“I’ll go,” Riprap cut in rapidly. “I may not be the hottest when it comes to magic, but I can take amulet bracelets. I’m good in a fight, and I have some odd skills that might come in useful.”

Flying Claw spoke up. “I will go as well.”

“Why you?” Righteous Drum said sternly. “I had intended to lead this expedition.”

“And I’m not leaving my father,” Honey Dream said.

Unspoken was
Not with him still adjusting to having lost an arm.

Flying Claw shook his head, and Brenda was impressed by his decisiveness. She’d seen him in battle, but never really as a commander.