Five Odd Honors

FIVE ODD
HONORS

T
OR
B
OOKS BY
J
ANE
L
INDSKOLD

Through Wolf’s Eyes

Wolf’s Head, Wolf’s Heart

The Dragon of Despair

Wolf Captured

Wolf Hunting

Wolf’s Blood

The Buried Pyramid

Child of a Rainless Year

Thirteen Orphans

Nine Gates

Five Odd Honors

JANE LINDSKOLD

A T
OM
D
OHERTY
A
SSOCIATES
B
OOK
New York

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

FIVE ODD HONORS

Copyright © 2010 by Jane Lindskold

All rights reserved.

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Tor
^®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN 978-0-7653-1702-5

First Edition: May 2010

Printed in the United States of America

0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Jim
From a Tiger to her Dragon

Many thanks to those who read this and assured me that weird was the only way the story would work. These include: Jim Moore, Bobbi Wolf, Phyllis White, and Yvonne Coats. My editor, Melissa Singer, gave the manuscript lots of her time. My agent, Kay McCauley, kept my spirits up.

Special thanks to those readers who have contacted me to share their responses to the earlier books in this series.

FIVE ODD
HONORS

Brenda Morris
sat down at her computer, her fingers flying as she wrote a letter she knew she’d never be permitted to send.

“Dear Shannon,

“In your last e-mail, you sort of yelled at me for not staying in touch better this summer. No. I haven’t gotten stuck-up working for a movie star. Nothing like it.

“It’s just that, well, there’s so damn much I’m not allowed to talk about, and it’s the stuff that I really want to talk about. Take Pearl—my famous boss’ as you called her. No. Go back further. Start with my dad hauling me out here to California to introduce me to a guy it turns out he’s known since they were both, like, ten. Maybe younger. I’m still trying to work all of this out. Take getting to that guy’s office—his name is Albert Yu and he’s famous, too, in a really weird way—and finding it trashed. And Albert Yu’s missing. And when we finally find him, well, he’s still sort of missing. And soon my dad is, too . . .

“Then there’s finding out that Dad talks Chinese like a native, and that this skill is perfectly normal compared with the fact that he’s a sorcerer of a real obscure sort. And so’s Pearl. And so’s Albert. And . . . Jeez . . . so am I, at least a little. Yeah. This summer, I’m interning in magic and self-defense.

“Hell. Can you see why I can’t talk about it?

“You said you wanted me to tell you all about the people I’ve been meeting, the things I’ve been doing, that you already know I make a great chocolate mousse, thank you very much. Tell you the good stuff .

“Okay. How about this? I’ve met a white tiger the size of a house. No, I’m not exaggerating. His name’s Pai Hu. I’ve talked to dragons and turned into a rat. Really.

“I’ve made some new friends, and seen them bleeding, half crazy with terror. I’ve been cut by a sword. I’ve seen one of my new friends, a really cool old man named Waking Lizard, sprawled, deadddddddddddddddddd”

Brenda’s hand stuck on the keyboard, that final letter stuttering out like her own heartbeat, as she remembered the horrible realization that victory tasted a whole lot like defeat.

She didn’t realize she was crying until the hot, wet drops hit the backs of her hands.

“Shannon,” she said aloud, her voice tight with tears. “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t even tell you about the guy I . . . I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Brenda touched a few keys, let the words shine bright, then struck them away to nothingness, wishing, just a little, that all her problems could be erased so easily.

Thundering Heaven
has betrayed us,” the ghost of Loyal Wind reported, his voice tight with suppressed fury.

He who when alive had been the Horse manifested much as he had in the prime of life: a tall man, his shining black hair cut close to a well-shaped head. The styling of that hair showed some vanity for, although it was worn short, the sideburns were long and neatly squared. He wore a full mustache and a small chin beard. Loyal Wind’s clothing was simple, a long tunic, trousers, and riding boots, but the fabric was the best, the embroidered trim sumptuous.

The one to whom he spoke, Nine Ducks, she who in life had been the Ox, was nothing like him. Even in death, where the choice of appearance reflected the spirit’s mental state more than any fidelity to the life lived, Nine Ducks manifested as an old woman, bent and leaning on a cane.

Appearance of age notwithstanding, Nine Ducks possessed a tremendous vitality of spirit. She was attired in a shenyi—the long, full-sleeved robe praised by the philosopher K’ung for embodying a unique combination of functionality and symbolic import. The elaborate embroideries that covered the golden-yellow fabric invoked luck, prosperity, and longevity.

“Thundering Heaven has betrayed us?” she said. “How?”

“He has taken Bent Bamboo, the Monkey, into his keeping.”

“Is Thundering Heaven holding the Monkey prisoner?”

Loyal Wind frowned. “I am not certain. Thundering Heaven may simply have made certain that the Monkey would hear only one version of recent events. For what ever reason, the Monkey will not see me. Without his cooperation, I cannot reach him.”

“And without the Monkey,” Nine Ducks said, straightening, although she still leaned upon her cane, “we cannot move forward with our plans to open the gates into the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice. Why would Thundering Heaven do this? Surely he does not wish our exile to be extended. Surely a hundred years and more is enough.”

“Thundering Heaven is complex,” Loyal Wind replied in a tone that indicated he did not approve of such complexity. “Or so I have been told. Debating Thundering Heaven’s motivations can wait. Among the living, our allies include the Rat, the Tiger, the Hare, the Dragon, the Rooster, the Pig, and the Dog. Among the dead, you and I—Horse and Ox—have agreed to join forces with the living. Even so, if we are to open the final gate into the Lands, we must have the Snake, the Ram, and the Monkey.”

Nine Ducks nodded. “And among the living, these three are useless to us. We must have the cooperation of the dead.”

“Yes.”

Loyal Wind extended one callused hand. Where nothing had been before, there stood a powerfully muscled chestnut stallion, strength and swiftness singing from every line. The stallion was caparisoned for battle. As Loyal Wind swung into the saddle with easy grace, the ghost’s attire shifted to match the warlike gear worn by his steed.

“The living must be informed about this turn of events,” Loyal Wind announced, looking down at Nine Ducks. “I have a connection to them which I can exploit to make contact, even though they have not summoned me.”

“Very well. You tell the living,” replied Nine Ducks, pushing herself to her feet with her cane. “I will warn the dead.”

Brenda Morris was growing accustomed to having really odd dreams, but this one was about to get star billing.

She’d been half reclining on the grassy bank bordering a dancing, laughing stream. A handsome young man was seated next to her.

The young man’s eyes were wide, round, and exactly the color of freshly opened spring leaves. His hair, the red-gold of dark honey, was curly, cut just long enough to look untamed without being in the least feminine. He had a wonderful mouth, full-lipped and sensuous. A moment before, he had been singing.

At least Brenda heard music: robust and rhythmic as any rock-and-roll piece, but flavored with harps and flutes rather than electric guitar and drums. She didn’t know what you called this type of music, but she knew she liked it. She also couldn’t remember the name of the young man who was sitting next to her, but she felt fairly certain he was about to kiss her, and she liked that, too.

Brenda felt a little odd about how much she hoped the young man with the green eyes and the red-gold hair would kiss her.

This was a dream. Certainly it was all right to let a man kiss you in a dream, even if . . . you loved another man? Something like that.

For a moment Brenda had a vision of that other young man, the memory of his face suspended between her and the youth with green eyes. This face had slanting, almond-shaped eyes, dark and serious. It was framed by silky black hair worn as long as her own, caught back with a leather tie.