Five Odd Honors (41 page)

“I’ll come along,” the big man said. “No, don’t argue. I’ll stay back and let you be as stealthy as you want, but if you get into trouble, someone should be along to back you up.”

Other than his initial look of protest, Flying Claw did not complain. He might have a Tiger’s essentially solitary attitude toward fighting, but he was not a fool.

“We won’t stay away more than a quarter of an hour,” Riprap said, synchronizing one of their mechanical timepieces with the one Des now strapped onto his own wrist. “And I promise to holler if we run into trouble.”

“Good,” Bent Bamboo said. “You’re not the only ones spoiling for a fight.”

But no cry for help came, and within the allotted fifteen minutes, Riprap and Flying Claw could be seen returning.

“We found a trail,” Flying Claw reported, “and a small pool where we can refresh our water. There were tracks on the trail, but I couldn’t make out the details—at least not in human form. They were quite old and might have been human.”

“Looked human to me,” Riprap concurred, “but if there are ogres or trolls here, I guess those could have made them as easily.”

“Or bear,” Copper Gong said sourly, her voice reshaped by her Ram’s nose and throat. “Those leave very human tracks. Nine Ducks and I will be able to check the scent when we are closer.”

The woman (now water buffalo) snorted, “So shall we load the gear and be off?”

The luxury of walking without a pack on his shoulders was enough to make Loyal Wind contemplate taking up the song Bent Bamboo had been whistling, but caution overruled the impulse.

The green boughs overhead were shady and welcoming, a wondrous change from the uninterrupted sky that had been their companion since they had left the wall of water. When they came to the area where Flying Claw and Riprap had found tracks, the Ox and Ram lowered their heads and snuffled.

“Human, I think,” Nine Ducks said.

“Yes,” Copper Gong agreed, “and so old as for the scent to be almost unreadable. Let’s get to that pond you mentioned.”

The pond was spring-fed and large enough to invite fantasies of bathing. But although the Ox and Ram waded in deeply enough to wet their bellies, no one suggested stopping for a swim. After faces had been washed, and water bottles filled (from a location well away from the sodden animals), they returned to the trail.

Scouting duties were taken over by Gentle Smoke, who slithered out of her shenyi with a certain smugness, since, unlike the other shape-shifters, she didn’t need to disrobe to avoid becoming entangled in her clothing. However, although she coursed up the tallest trees, often making forward progress without the need to touch the ground, she saw nothing—or rather nothing human.

There were numerous birds, who either fled at the sight of a snake or scolded according to their nature. Occasionally, they glimpsed smaller fur-bearing creatures. Once Loyal Wind was certain he’d seen a fox. There were plenty of insects as well, an annoyance they’d been spared elsewhere: biting things that harassed and annoyed, but didn’t do much harm.

After a time, Nine Ducks raised her heavy head and sniffed the air.

“I smell smoke: smoke with a tinge of rice to it, as if the pot boiled over and foamed into the fire.”

Copper Gong snuffled audibly. “I smell it, too.”

None of the humans could smell the trace of rice, but when the wind shifted slightly, each of them caught the inviting scent of wood smoke.

“It’s coming from the direction of that village we thought we’d seen,” Riprap said. “Do we head that direction or away?”

“Away—” Flying Claw was beginning when a strong resonant voice interrupted.

“Neither, I think.”

Turning as one, they saw Thundering Heaven emerging from a thick stand of trees a few paces farther down the path.

He was clad in armor very similar to that worn by Flying Claw, but the tiger’s face that adorned the breastplate gave the impression of bloodthirsty wrath, whereas Flying Claw’s tiger was merely fierce.

In his right hand, Thundering Heaven held the sword Soul Slicer, the blade angled to guard rather than attack. Loyal Wind did not doubt for a moment that the hold could be shifted faster than thought.

Thundering Heaven looked even stronger than he had when Loyal Wind had fought him for possession of Bent Bamboo.

Fought,
Loyal Wind thought,
and lost.

There was also something about Thundering Heaven that indicated that, like the other “ghosts,” he too had reclaimed a connection to his mortal life.

And therefore, he is very dangerous, for a ghost cannot usually do physical harm to the living.

Loyal Wind’s sword was in his hand, and he found himself longing for his magical steed. He knew how to fight on foot, but beginning a battle that way seemed unnatural.

Flying Claw had also drawn his sword.

“You! I dreaded monsters but—”

Thundering Heaven laughed, a bluff , hearty sound at odds with the menace in his eyes. “But never one of the original Thirteen Orphans. How do you know I have not come to join you, to help you in your noble quest?”

Confusion touched Flying Claw’s eyes, but Gentle Smoke, who had taken advantage of the interlude to drop from her tree, spoke from where she now rested atop the packs that Nine Ducks carried.

“Because to this point the price for your help has been one we have not agreed to pay.”

“A point,” Thundering Heaven agreed almost affably. “A point. Of course, I could have reformed. I could have been impressed by my daughter’s courage and creativity. I could have come over to the view that if she could defeat me, she was worthy of the Tiger’s stripes.”

“Have you?” asked Flying Claw, not quite relaxing, but clearly hopeful.

“Actually,” said Thundering Heaven, his affable expression transforming into something very nasty, “I have not.”

He motioned slightly, and Loyal Wind felt himself seized from behind. H etried to spin, to get his blade into his attacker, but he could not move. Looking about him, he saw that his companions were also held—and not by any human, but by the limbs and branches of the forest itself. Even Gentle Smoke, relatively small in her snake form, had been wrapped around by vines and lifted from Nine Ducks’s back into the air, where she thrashed impotently.

“I heard you speculating as to the nature of the area dedicated to the element of wood,” Thundering Heaven said, his tone conversational, his sword still held lightly even though Flying Claw snarled and strained against the branches a mere arm’s length away.

“In each area,” Thundering Heaven said, “the element was presented in a fashion somehow alien to its nature. Wood is here permitted something that is usually denied it, the ability to move with the speed and grace of an animal. Of course,” Thundering Heaven gave a self-deprecatory cough, “it does so at my command.”

Flying Claw had ceased his furious struggle, probably realizing, as had Loyal Wind, that all the action did was wear him to the point that if an opportunity for attack did present itself, he would be too exhausted to take advantage of it.

“So you reign here?” Flying Claw asked. “Is this perversion of the Lands your doing?”

“Perversion? Tut-tut.” Thundering Heaven sneered with the magnificent insolence of a cat. “My master will be of ended to hear you speak so. No, kitten. I do not reign here. The one who does is the one who created these Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice.”

“Shih Huang Ti,” Des Lee said, his eyes wide with wonder. “The first emperor himself?”

Thundering Heaven shook his head. “Shih Huang Ti but gave the orders that enabled the plan to be carried out. The true creator is another.”

“Li Szu,” Bent Bamboo said, and there was no wonder in his eyes, only fury at finding himself bound so that his strength and cleverness were equally useless. “He’s the one who created this perversion of our home?”

“Li Szu,” Thundering Heaven repeated with amused calm. “The one who is setting everything right once more. He has a good many questions for you. Will you come along peacefully, or must I have my servants drag you?”

Loyal Wind spoke quickly, before Flying Claw could offer a challenge, or Riprap, who had not ceased straining at his bonds, could do something even more foolish.

“We will come with you.”

“Wise,” said Thundering Heaven, “very wise. Conserve your strength, for if you plan to defy my master, as I sense you do, you will need every iota.”

He smiled again, the expression slow and mocking. Then he nodded to the trees and the captives’ bonds were loosed.

“Come,” Thundering Heaven said. “The creator, Li Szu, awaits. He is very impatient to get about his work.”

Parnell!” Brenda
shouted, dashing over to the tree into which he had vanished and running her hands over the trunk.

She didn’t know quite what she was hoping to find, the seam of a door, maybe? What ever it was, she didn’t find it. She leaned back against the tree, sliding down to land with a decided thump as her jeans-clad behind hit the soft grass.

Brenda was aware that she was still hoping to trigger some response by accident. How often had she seen that happen in some movie? The despairing heroine angrily thumps her fist against the wall, accidentally triggering just the right knothole or hidden switch.

Clearly that wasn’t going to happen here.

What had Parnell said before he’d vanished? He’d told her that her attitude had raised a lot of doubts about how much help she’d be. And that she had to prove herself by getting herself home.

“Prove what?” she muttered angrily.

Brenda waited awhile, hoping against hope that Parnell would show up and tell her his leaving was just a bad joke. She got a couple of drinks from the spring. When her fury at being abandoned so callously had ebbed enough for her to think straight, she considered her options.

She thought she remembered the basic route she and Parnell had taken to get here. They’d walked down a hill, into a forested valley, then eventually entered that cavern. They’d walked downhill through those dark, damp tunnels for a considerable distance. Then the trail had shifted upward again, finally emerging here.

Can I retrace my steps?
Brenda thought.
And even if I made my way through all of that and made it back to that hill, what would I do?

She remembered her comment to Parnell back at USC when he’d simply pushed the tree to one side and led her through.

“That easy?”

Her face burned hot. Now that she was on the doing side, “that” didn’t seem easy at all.

Do I even need to go to that same tree? Parnell didn’t. When he left, he did it right here. This time he seemed more to walk into the tree, but I’m not sure how he did it mattered. I’m not certain he even needed a tree. That might have just been a bit of show for my benefit.

She thought a while longer.

Damn!

Her butt was starting to hurt. Soft grass or not, she didn’t have quite enough padding back there to really enjoy such a rural seat. She rose and stretched. Might as well take a look around. That couldn’t hurt, could it?

For safety’s sake, she took one of the ribbons out of her hair (she’d done it up nice because she thought she might be going to the fairy court) and used it to mark the spring. Parnell had told her it was safe to drink from there, and so she’d better not lose sight of it.

Remembering Wasp’s somewhat malicious moods, Brenda anchored the ribbon several times, pulling the knots really tight. She hoped that would be enough to keep her marker from being removed. She knew that a more permanent mark would be to score the bark on a tree or break limbs from a bush, but remembering the sort of plantlike nature of many of those to whom Parnell had introduced her, Brenda thought this might not be a great idea.

Then she started exploring.

First, she walked down to the mouth of the cave. It was very dark. As Brenda thought about re-entering, the faces she’d glimpsed seemed creepy rather than evocative or enticing. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to go back that way—and she’d feel a real idiot if she walked up to the top of the nearest hill and glimpsed the other side of the caverns.