Five Odd Honors (13 page)

“You mean this idea,” Bent Bamboo said, “that you have about some of us resuming our association with our Branches, taking them onto ourselves so that the Ninth Gate can be opened and the Exiles—both more recent and the original Thirteen—return home again.”

“That idea,” Nine Ducks agreed mildly. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Lots,” Bent Bamboo said. He turned away from them and went to fetch two glasses of ice water from the prep area behind him. “For one, how is that going to solve the problem of the Earthly Branches being split between the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice and the Land of the Burning? Have the living realized that merely opening the Ninth Gate will not be sufficient, that this will not cause the Branches to rejoin? Are the newcomers from the Lands—Righteous Drum and all—prepared to accept this?”

Loyal Wind sipped his water, deciding this was Bent Bamboo’s way of fulfilling the traditional offering of food to a guest. The water tasted very good: crisp, clean, and bright, like a handful of newly fallen snow.

Keeping his voice low—for he could not quite believe that the chattering people around them were simply adornments of a lonely ghost’s fantasy—Loyal Wind replied. “The Orphans—at least those who have remained aware of their heritage to some extent—are aware that simply opening the gate will not solve the problem. They have promised that, if necessary, they will do what they can to put their new allies in power again. In turn, the new allies seem resigned to accepting that the Earthly Branches are split and will remain so.”

Bent Bamboo had listened politely. Now he returned to the service counter. When he turned to face them, he set before each a cut crystal dish of sherbet hued in brilliant shades of yellow, orange, red, and vibrant, unrealistic green. The confection smelled vividly of tangy fruit juices. Loyal Wind reached for his spoon without hesitation.

If there was one good thing about being dead, it was that no one could poison you.

“So there is an understanding for after the Ninth Gate has been opened,” Bent Bamboo said heavily. “That’s good. From what Thundering Heaven hinted when he was convincing me to join his side, the balance of power has shifted since Righteous Drum took his two young associates off on what was supposed to be a quick jaunt.”

Loyal Wind wanted to know more, but he also didn’t want to seem surprised. “We have had some indication of this, from prisoners our living associates took when they were attacked. Also, Waking Lizard . . .”

“The Monkey who died,” Bent Bamboo said, his tones even more gloomy.

“Waking Lizard spoke of strange weapons and new tactics,” Loyal Wind went on. “However, he was the first to admit that he was no warrior, and could do little more than repeat secondhand what he had heard their Horse—”

“Who also died,” Bent Bamboo interrupted, sotto voce.

“—had said before what would be his final battle.”

“Died,” Nine Ducks said, tasting the word far more thoughtfully than she had the sherbet she had been spooning up with quiet enthusiasm. “Have you encountered either Waking Lizard or this other Horse here in the afterlife? Waking Lizard is likely still working his way through the intricacies of judgment and adjustment. . . .”

“Monkeys are not entered in the judges’ books,” Bent Bamboo said, “or so the legends say.”

Nine Ducks ignored him. “But that Horse . . . I wonder. Now that I consider, probably he is also still caught up in transition. Not more than a few months can have passed since his death. So much has happened in so little time.”

Loyal Wind felt Nine Ducks was forgetting their purpose in seeking out Bent Bamboo.

“Those others are no longer essential,” he said. “What is essential is learning whether or not Bent Bamboo will join us in helping to open the final gate.”

“Am I the last hold out?” Bent Bamboo asked.

“You are,” Nine Ducks said. “I have been speaking with the others. Even Gentle Smoke, the Snake, whose heir lives but is very elderly, and therefore unfit to make this journey, has agreed to temporarily retake her hold on the Sixth Earthly Branch and assist us.”

“Temporarily,” said Bent Bamboo slowly. “So that’s all we get out of this—to turn a key in a lock, then go back to our afterlives?”

“We had better hope we can do that much,” Nine Ducks said bluntly. “The Earthly Branches have clung to their association with the living, shunning the dead. The plan the Orphans have come up with assumes that we will be able to reassociate ourselves.”

“So it’s not certain,” Bent Bamboo said. A slow smile spread over features that had been somber. “Well, nothing like a challenge. Count me in.”

“Who was that woman?” Brenda asked the morning following Pearl’s battle against Thundering Heaven.

Morning was something of an exaggeration. After sitting up so late, just about everyone in the house hold had slept in. It was closer to lunch by the time everyone had assembled around the long table.

Their number had been augmented by two. Des had driven over to Colm Lodge, briefed Righteous Drum and Honey Dream, and then brought them back to Pearl’s house.

Brenda marveled that Des could have done this—and not because he’d managed to remain clear-eyed and alert despite the late night they’d all had. Des, like the Rooster, awoke alert and with a clear head.

No, what made her head ring as if her hold on reality was shaking was that all of them had been witness to Pearl’s response to Thundering Heaven’s challenge. All of them but one: Flying Claw claimed to have seen nothing other than his companions drifting into a light trance, leaving him to sit alone, aware that momentous events were occurring but unable to witness them.

Last night, they’d told Flying Claw enough to assure him that Pearl was the victor. Then they had all stumbled to their beds, more exhausted than their late vigil merited. Clearly, the contact with Pearl’s vision had drained their personal ch’i.

Crowded together into their shared bathroom, brushing their teeth and hair, Nissa and Brenda had speculated why Flying Claw alone hadn’t shared in the vision.

“Maybe it’s because he’s a Tiger, and c ouldn’t know the secret of the Tiger’s test,” Brenda had said, patting back a yawn.

“Maybe it’s because he’s not an Orphan,” Nissa said, adding hastily as Brenda, too tired to hide how this statement wounded her fragile sense of belonging, started to protest. “I mean one of us, one of our tradition. Stop being a pill, Breni. You’re not the Rat. You never let us forget it. However, you are Gaheris’s heir apparent. You are one of us.”

“I know,” Brenda said around her toothbrush. She leaned into Nissa, in a sort of sloppy hug. She spat out toothpaste and wondered if she had the energy to rinse her mouth. “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. I’m too tired to figure out anything complex now.”

“In the morning,” Nissa agreed. “That will be soon enough. It had better be.”

So now it was morning, and if Brenda didn’t feel exactly chipper, she didn’t feel much more groggy than she usually did before her first cup of coffee.

She poured that coffee, and grabbed a large chunk of pecan coffee cake from one of a series of bakery boxes set on the counter. It was after she’d drunk half the coffee and was heading back for a container of yogurt that she asked her question.

“So,” Brenda repeated, pulling her head out of the refrigerator in case everyone hadn’t heard. “Who was that woman?”

“Woman?” Righteous Drum asked. He glanced over at Des with vague indignation. “You didn’t tell us about any woman other than Pearl herself.”

“I didn’t,” Des said, “because I hadn’t had a chance to ask anyone else if they’d seen her. I mean, it was just a split second, there at the end, right after Pearl forced Thundering Heaven to take back his human form. Is that what you’re talking about, Brenda?”

Brenda nodded, her mouth full of raspberry yogurt. It tasted amazingly good, better than usual, and from this she deduced that even after eight hours’ sleep she was still suffering from mild ch’i depletion. Apparently, one didn’t ride along on someone else’s vision without paying a price.

For a moment, Brenda felt a touch indignant. Pearl, sitting there at the end of the table, looked fine, but then she’d stored up a ton of ch’i beforehand. Why hadn’t the rest of them been warned that their vigil might turn into something more? Why hadn’t they been told to prepare?

Because, moron,
Brenda answered herself,
they didn’t know. The Orphans have always passed their connection to the Branches along by a biological inheritance chain. This was the first challenge any of us has ever had to face.

She grinned to herself.
And Pearl met that challenge just fine.

Des had been polling their assembled company. It turned out that everyone had seen the woman—or wraith, as Riprap insisted on calling her, saying what he’d seen had looked female only by virtue of some gut instinct.

“I mean, what I saw did not look like a woman,” Riprap clarified. “Skinny, translucent, almost transparent. Long hair flying all over the place. A really nasty expression, like she wanted to eat Pearl’s liver.”

Everyone nodded, and Pearl added, “I also had the distinct impression that the wraith was female. I don’t know why, but I feel firmly convinced that was so.”

“So we weren’t,” Nissa said, looking up from the crayon-scrawled piece of paper Lani had just thrust into her hands, “seeing part of Thundering Heaven—maybe his po ghost, I mean.”

“I drawed a ghost,” Lani said. “A pink one. A girl ghost.”

Nissa nodded. “That you did, Bunny. Go draw us a boy ghost, okay?”

Righteous Drum had been considering. “I don’t think so. There is nothing in our tradition to account for such a thing.”

“A mystery,” Shen said, “and one we should not forget. However, before we get sidetracked, I want to tell you all that Loyal Wind has been in touch. Bent Bamboo, the Monkey, will join us. Nine Ducks has secured the cooperation of Copper Gong, the Ram, and Gentle Smoke, the Snake.”

“So with the addition of the five ghosts, we have a full company,” Pearl said. “The Thirteen Orphans can at last be assembled.”

“If,” Shen said, glancing with a touch of apprehension at Des, “we can convince their affiliate Branches to join with ghosts.”

Brenda knew why Shen had looked at Des. From the start, Des had been the least enthusiastic about this plan, largely because he had a healthy distaste for what he insisted on referring to as necromancy.

But Des only inclined his head in a small, reassuring nod.

“I’m all right with it, Shen. What’s the plan?”

“We never did quite work out the precise details,” Shen said, “since doing so seemed a waste of time until we knew if we could convince the ghosts to cooperate. How shall we begin?”

Honey Dream, quiet, suspiciously passive—at least to Brenda’s way of thinking—to this point, spoke. Like the rest of her, Honey Dream’s voice was lovely, even if she was inclined to get a little bit too much into the Snake thing and hiss on her s’s.

“In anticipation of Pearl’s success,” Honey Dream said, “last night my father and I reviewed possible ways to enable the ghosts to resume their bonds with the appropriate Earthly Branches. We have a few thoughts.”

Righteous Drum took over. “Although our research of late has focused on the setting of the Nine Gates, Shen has been gracious enough to tell us something of the magic by which the Earthly Branches were bound to their specif c holders.”

Brenda saw Pearl give Shen a sharp, almost admonishing, look.

And no wonder,
Brenda thought, covering her inclination to grin at Shen’s surprised expression with a quick spoonful of yogurt.
Shen seems to have overlooked how easily that information could be turned against us—that Righteous Drum came here expressly to separate the Earthly Branches from their holders.

But since Pearl didn’t say anything, Righteous Drum had the option to overlook her unspoken criticism and continue.

“The spell used has been codified under the All Pair Honors. The pattern of pairs will be somewhat different for each of the five ghosts. In order to break the binding tie, we will then work the sequence in reverse.”

Honey Dream opened a notebook and leafed through it quickly, showing five pages, each with their own neat notations. Since the writing was in Chinese, it meant nothing to Brenda, but several others of those gathered nodded as they read what was written there.