Nine Gates (42 page)

Honey Dream glanced around, hoping someone would protest, but no one—not even Riprap—had a question.

Shen took over. “We’ve worked through who should go on the expedition to the Nine Yellow Springs. With the Exile Horse’s assistance, this may not be as dangerous a journey as some of you are imagining.”

“You mean it’s easy to get to Hell?” Riprap said with a somewhat forced grin.

“Put that word from your head,” Shen advised. “The old commentators may have translated the Chinese terms for the afterlife as ‘Hell’ or ‘Hades,’ but they were usually expressing their own cultural bias. Christians do not have the concept of an afterlife that is not a paradise or a punishment.”

“Okay, afterlife,” Riprap repeated dutifully. “But it’s easy to get there? How about getting out?”

Des answered, “In Chinese folktales, the afterlife was often easy to reach—sometimes in dreams, others by means of spells. Getting out often was as easy as waking up or reversing the spell.”

Riprap nodded and looked a bit abashed. “Okay. I’ll stop worrying. Who’s on the team to seek the Nine Yellow Springs?”

Shen began ticking off on his fingers. “Since this spell will involve family, and since fortuitously we have both Orphans who represent the House of Family, we would like you and Deborah—as Dog and Pig—to go.”

“Right,” Riprap said.

“Count me in,” Deborah agreed.

“Since we are constructing a link,” Shen went on, “we wanted at least one representative of the House of Construction. The Ox is out, and Gaheris Morris cannot be here by tomorrow—which is when the auguries say we should set out. Therefore, we’re going to ask Brenda Morris to stand in.”

Honey Dream thought Brenda looked a little pale, but her
nod was decisive enough as she said, “If you think I can do it, I’ll be happy to go.”

Shen nodded. “We would like a representative of the House of Expansion as well, since we are seeking to expand our connection between the Lands and this world. A Tiger would be best, since we will be linking our first gate, which is into the realm of the White Tiger of the West. I’ve discussed this at length with Pearl, and since it is essential the Lands be well represented in this project, she has nominated Flying Claw.”

Flying Claw inclined his head in a gesture that was half a nod, half a bow of respect to the senior Tiger, but otherwise he did not speak.

“Finally,” Shen said, “a representative of the House of Mystery would be best, because the House of Mystery rules magical lore. Righteous Drum and I discussed this, and I have agreed that he would be best, since in this way the Lands will have two representatives and in any…”

Honey Dream could not restrain herself any longer.

“This cannot be!” she said. “Father, have you forgotten that you are missing an arm? You cannot craft spells as you once did. Let me go in your place! The Snake also represents the House of Mystery.”

Immediately, Honey Dream knew her timing had been all wrong—as had her words. Not only had she interrupted an elder, she had reminded her father that he was weak. His eyes flared and his frown was as lowering thunderclouds.

“I am perfectly capable,” Righteous Drum said very coldly, “of doing all that will be expected of me. If you had permitted Shen Kung to finish his explanation, you would also have heard that since the Nine Springs are water, and water has been associated since time immemorial with Dragons, a Dragon would add to our chances of success.”

Honey Dream swallowed hard, and Righteous Drum continued, his voice hard.

“Additionally, the Snake is a yin sign. This is a yang undertaking. Kindly note that other than in the House of
Family, where we are blessed with both elements, our choices have all been made to emphasize yang.”

Honey Dream did not let her gaze flicker to Brenda—that female associated with a yang sign. The Orphans violated all that was right. If she mentioned this, she would risk incurring Pearl Bright’s anger, and after the old woman’s performance last night, no one could doubt her suitability for her affiliation.

Besides, Honey Dream must not let anyone realize how much she did not wish Brenda to go, or if Brenda must be included, that someone be there to make certain she did not have her way with Flying Claw.

“Father,” Honey Dream pleaded, hoping that some of the Snake’s legendary diplomacy would stir her father to compromise, “I stand corrected. May I most humbly request to accompany you, to balance you as yin does yang throughout the cosmos?”

Righteous Drum shook his head, but he looked less angry. “No. I must refuse you. Shen Kung and I have spent many hours today working calculations. The chances for success in this expedition are greater if the count of both the living and the dead are odd numbers.”

In response to the confused expression on the three apprentices’ faces, Des said, “Odd numbers are yang. Even numbers are yin. Yang is associated with expansion, aggression. Yin with sustaining and maintaining.”

Righteous Drum smiled at Honey Dream, and she saw he wished to comfort her. “When we have our gates established and linked, my daughter, then yin will be needed to supply the balance. This time you shall remain here and assist with researching what might be threatening Pai Hu. You can also keep watch on the prisoners.”

Honey Dream could see that arguing would be useless, so she bowed her head in what she hoped would seem appropriate submission. “Hoped” because inwardly she was seething.

*  *  *

Honey Dream
was still seething when some hours later she returned to Colm Lodge with her father, Waking Lizard, and Flying Claw.

Watching Flying Claw get his gear ready in the living room, or listening to Waking Lizard shower the Tiger with advice about what to do if he ran into this demon or that evil spirit, did not make Honey Dream feel any calmer.

But what made Honey Dream feel worst was what she found when she went by her father’s room. She had hoped to convince him to reconsider, to argue that aggression was amply represented, that as the ghost of Exile Horse would be solitary—and therefore yang—it would be better if the living group was yin. In short, all the arguments she thought of after the meeting had broken up.

Righteous Drum’s door had swung open when she knocked, and Honey Dream had stepped in. The room was empty, but she could hear water running behind the closed bathroom door, and knew where her father was.

On the table in front of the window rested ink, brush, and a sheet of paper partially written upon. Seeing the characters for her own name at the top, naturally, Honey Dream read further.

“My daughter, Waking Lizard will give this to you if I do not return…”

Embarrassed, hearing the flow of water cease, horrified at the possibility of being discovered snooping, Honey Dream fled. Down the stairs and out the front door she went, out into the heat of the summer night.

She thought she heard Waking Lizard calling after her, and yelled back, “I’m fine, just stretching my legs.”

She ran down the long graveled driveway, wanting to flee this place, wishing she could outrun the roiling emotions that conflicted in her liver.

Fear for her father, anger that if he doubted he would return, how could he go at all.

Love for Flying Claw, misery at her suspicion that he had never loved her as she did him.

Resentment at not being sufficiently respected, insecurity that she had not done enough to earn that respect.

These carried her through the darkness, making her feet light, giving her ears to hear the voice that called to her from just outside of the wards that surrounded Colm Lodge and its grounds.

“Hello, Honey Dream,” a man’s voice said, speaking her name in Chinese flavored with the accent of a local speaker. “The omens told me this meeting might occur this evening, and here you are.”

The speaker sounded very pleased with himself, but Honey Dream was very tired of men who were confident and pleased with themselves.

“What of it?” she hissed. “So you say, but also you could have been standing here since we returned. Spying…”

“My omens told me you would be irritable,” the voice said.

Honey Dream followed the voice and saw the shadowy figure of a tall man dressed in the ugly tailored suits that were formal wear for men in this horrible land. He stood among the trees that bordered the road, and she suspected he was visible neither from the road, nor from Colm Lodge.

“Franklin Deng,” she said. “What do you want?”

“Irritable,” Deng chuckled, “but also very clever. I had, however, expected more subtlety from the Snake.”

“Perhaps I wish you to underestimate me,” Honey Dream said, amused despite herself.

She was interested, too. Up until this point, she had relied on the reports of the others as to the nature of their adversaries—“competitors” might be a better term. She had not doubted the truth of what had been said—Snakes were very good at hearing outright falsehoods—but she had suspected bias.

“You have gone to great trouble to make yourself available
for this meeting,” she said politely. “While I will not invite you within our wards, I can extend you the courtesy of listening to what you have to say.”

“Thank you, Gracious Lady,” Deng said, and she saw him bow. “It is useless to hide that I have desires, goals of my own. What, however, may not have been accurately represented to you and your associates from the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice is how those goals are associated with your own.”

“Oh?” Honey Dream put an inviting lilt into her voice.

“Yes. You desire to return to your homeland, and to defeat those who have upset you from your rightfully earned places there. I seek to redress the imbalance to my world that came into it with the advent of the Thirteen Orphans.”

“I,” Honey Dream replied, “was told that what you desired was to learn how to work the Orphans’ peculiar form of magic.”

“That is Tracy Frye’s goal,” Deng said dismissively. “She collects magic as magpies collect bright trinkets—and cares not whether what she finds are diamonds or broken glass as long as they sparkle.”

Honey Dream heard both truth and lie in this—Franklin Deng was not as indifferent to the Orphans’ magic as he would have her believe, but he also was honest when he spoke of concern regarding an imbalance.

“What do you wish of me?” she said. “Of me and my associates from the Lands?”

“Make me your ally,” he replied promptly. “To this point, you and your associates have been forced to cooperate with the Orphans because you need them to return home. This has meant that you must accept them as equals, let them dictate your policy, when actually they should serve you, and return to you the power their ancestors stole from the Lands.”

“And you would change this how?”

“By putting the greater weight on your side of the balance.”

“We are already allied to the Orphans, our alliance sealed by treaties so complex that breaking them would likely be fatal.”

“I am not asking for you to break those treaties, only to make new ones—ones that would make you the more powerful.”

Honey Dream thought of her earlier dreams—especially that of severing the ties between the ghost Orphans and their heirs. Having met the Ox and the Horse, she could now see that managing this severance might not be as simple as she had thought. Franklin Deng offered an alternative, a very attractive alternative. When Waking Lizard had initially brought the news that they had been ousted from the Lands, their party defeated, it had seemed that an alliance with the Orphans was their only option if they hoped to return home.

Now Honey Dream could see that in their shock they had acted rashly, had let Pearl Bright, then Tigerishly confident in the flush of her victory over Righteous Drum, carry her aggression onto a new battlefield.

Even so, this was not the time to act hastily, not now. Honey Dream had learned that much at least.

“I will consider,” she said loftily, and turned away.

“Consider,” Deng said, not raising his voice, but the words penetrating seemingly to her soul. “But not for too long. Time is running short, and you don’t want to be on the losing side, do you?”

Honey Dream did not deign reply, but moved without lingering—but also without haste—up the driveway.

Behind her, she heard a faint laugh, followed by the slamming of a car’s door, the rumble as the engine caught, and its purr as it pulled onto the blacktop and eased away.

As before
, their point of departure was Pearl’s warehouse. The Men Shen permitted them passage, apparently with Pai Hu’s approval, for this time the transition was as simple as stepping over the raw pine lintel from concrete onto grass.

The White Tiger of the West was not there to greet them, but Loyal Wind, the Exile Horse, was. A large, lightly armored chestnut horse stood to one side of the pine door, cropping grass. For a startled moment, Brenda thought this was their guide, then Loyal Wind rose from where he had been sitting, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. Although he was a ghost, here he seemed as solid as any of them.

Like his horse, Loyal Wind was armored. His mustache and light chin beard did not conceal a certain sternness to his features. His eyes narrowed in assessment—and perhaps criticism—as he surveyed their small group. Brenda wondered what he thought of them.

Flying Claw and Righteous Drum were both dressed as appropriate for those of their calling in the Lands—Flying Claw in armor, Righteous Drum in pale yellow long tunic and baggy trousers, heavily embroidered with propitious signs and sigils.

In contrast, Brenda, Deborah, and Riprap were dressed for hiking. Riprap wore cargo pants, Brenda and Deborah jeans. On top, all wore layers, because Righteous Drum had admitted he had no idea what sort of weather they might encounter on their way to Hell. The two women carried light packs, Riprap one slightly heavier, but they’d left behind most of the camping gear they’d carried during their earlier “field trip,” since the plan was not to linger longer than would be necessary to carry out their task.

However, if Loyal Wind found their choice of clothing at
all strange, he did not comment. Righteous Drum made introductions, concluding by bowing to the ghost.