Five Odd Honors (38 page)

“Metal is the Monkey’s element,” Bent Bamboo said, “so perhaps you will permit me to explain.”

Riprap nodded. Des, who had been about to explain (and who, as the Rooster, also shared metal as his element), shut his mouth quickly.

Another,
thought Loyal Wind,
who has noticed that the Monkey needs to redeem himself. Perhaps playing the pedant will be enough. I sincerely hope so.

“The ancients observed that under certain circumstances,” Bent Bamboo said, “metal appeared to give off water for no apparent reason. For example, a metal pitcher, although completely sealed, will form water on its outer surface.”

“Condensation,” Riprap said. “Okay. I can see that, but concluding that the metal creates water does seem to be pushing matters.”

“Does it?” Bent Bamboo said. “Does any other of the five elements give forth water without the water first being added?”

Riprap thought about it. “No. Mud might, but that’s earth with water added. Fire definitely not. Wood, maybe, but sap isn’t really water. Okay. I can see the logic. Thanks.”

“So maybe we will be able to have water,” Nine Ducks said. “Good. I’m parched after our journey over fire, and the idea of husbanding what water we have was not pleasant.”

Gentle Smoke, ever diplomatic, said, “Perhaps some of us can test this theory while the rest of you fold down the kites.”

“Good idea,” Flying Claw said. “I thought to leave one large kite—mine perhaps—intact in case we need to send someone up to scout the terrain. The rest can be broken down and the parts stored in case we need them again.”

Loyal Wind, whose element as the Horse was fire, which made him the absolutely worst choice to join in creating a water spell, helped with the kites. By the time the last square of synthetic silk was folded into the bag and the last of the bamboo frames was untied and bundled, the conjurers reported success.

“It wasn’t easy,” Copper Gong said with satisfaction, “not without a water sign to help. Happily, we had two metal, but even so the summons took a lot of ch’i. Here, as elsewhere in the Lands, drawing ch’i from the surrounding area seems unduly difficult. However, the spring we’ve started should give enough water to refill all our canteens and water bags. Drink your fill.”

Refreshed, the worst of the dried sweat washed away, they shouldered their packs—and heavy packs they were. Nine Ducks and Loyal Wind had tried returning to their animal forms, but both found their hooves slipped too much on the slick metal. The rubberized boots they had worn in the stone forest had been left in the shell of the Zao-Fish.

Copper Gong’s Ram form could get a somewhat better grip, but not enough to encourage her to use that form. In the end, heavy packs for everyone were considered the best answer.

That night, when darkness made further progress impossible, Loyal Wind ate his cold meal—there was no wood to burn—and rubbed his aching calves. They had made poor progress and if this mountain range was of a similar size to the areas they had already crossed, they might be trapped here for weeks. Already, Flying Claw’s willingness to take his kite aloft and sort out the maze of passes and dead ends had saved them a considerable amount of backtracking.

As Loyal Wind kneaded muscles that screamed in protest at this slipping, sliding mode of travel, an idea came to him. It wouldn’t make walking easier, but it would eliminate the burden of carrying a pack as well.

“Sleds,” he said aloud. “I think we could make a sled from the couple of blankets we’ve kept. It would be clumsy, but dragging our gear would be much easier than carrying it on our shoulders.”

“Brilliant!” Bent Bamboo said with a return of his usual enthusiasm. “A very horse like solution!”

“We brought the collapsible stretcher,” Riprap added more seriously. “It has aluminum poles. We could use those for side support.”

“It’s not as if we’ll need runners or anything,” Gentle Smoke said. “All day I’ve been wishing I didn’t need to carry a pack and so could travel in my snake form. Sliding is not as much of a problem for my scales. With a sled, if we avoid the ‘rocks’ and ‘plants,’ we should be fine.”

“We’re going to need to do that anyhow,” said Des, holding up a hand wrapped in a thick bandage, “as I learned the hard way.”

He’d made the mistake of grabbing at a bit of brush to catch himself only to learn that the leaves were—like everything else—made from metal. The edges on that particular “plant” had not been sharp, but some of the grasses, although flimsy, held a dangerous edge.

When morning came, they cobbled together two sleds. There was ample rope to make harnesses, and they took turn spulling. Uphill slopes remained a trial, and downhill someone needed to trot alongside each sled to make certain nothing spilled loose during unexpected spurts of speed. Even so, they crossed much more ground than the day before, and even more on the two days following.

Midday on their fourth day in the mountains of metal, Flying Claw brought his kite down from a scouting venture aloft.

“I think I see an end to these mountains,” he said, and waved down his comrades’ cheering. “However, even with the binoculars I could not make sense of what lies on the other side. There’s simply too much mist.”

Mist and clouds had begun to appear after the second day of their journey, usually wreathing peaks, but sometimes settling into valleys as well. Uncertain visibility had added to their torment.

“Wood,” Bend Bamboo said. “We’ve had the other four elements. This last area must be dedicated to wood. A forest perhaps: cool, green, and well watered?”

“We could only wish,” Flying Claw said, grinning at the Monkey’s feigned optimism. “I can’t see clearly yet, but I suspect that just as we would never have expected an ocean that burned nor mountains without a trace of stone, so wood has been shaped to some characteristic alien to its nature.”

“I can hardly wait,” Riprap said, “because when we get to other side, I’m going to find the twisted idiot who created this place and wring his neck.”

Over the next few days, Parnell continued to expand Brenda’s acquaintance with what he claimed were the sidhe folk. None of them fit her childhood daydreams. More than a few were the stuff of nightmares.

After a mutually uncomfortable meeting with a critter who resembled the love child of a cockleburr and a hedgehog, Brenda found herself ticking these new acquaintances off on her fingers: Oak Gall, Wasp, Nettles, Sluggy, Tangles, and, of course, Prickles.

She and Parnell were strolling back toward Brenda’s dorm. Brenda removed her swollen finger from her mouth and stared critically at its tip. She
thought
she had all the stickers out.

“Well, that was fun!” she said with bright insincerity.

“You were the one who offered to shake hands,” Parnell said. “Despite ample evidence this wasn’t a brilliant idea.”

“But I’d insulted Sluggy by refusing to shake hands,” Brenda protested. “Or pseudopods or what ever that was. I was just trying not to make the same mistake twice.”

Parnell didn’t say anything, and Brenda couldn’t help but feel she was proving to be a disappointment to him.

“It would be easier if they looked more like people,” she said sulkily.

“They do look like people,” Parnell replied, a decided edge to his voice.

“I mean the way you look like a human,” Brenda said. “Like Leaf did when I saw her in dreams. Is everyone where you come from, well, so kind of weird looking? I mean, are all the beautiful sidhe just in our heads?”

“What’s beautiful, Brenda Morris?” Parnell responded with a smile that seemed just a bit sad. “Trust me. No mother robin would think even you, all the flower of young womanhood that you are, the least bit attractive. As for a human newborn . . . they’re so ugly they can even shock their own parents. But that same mother robin dotes on her naked, gape-mouthed chick, even to the point of risking her life for it.”

“I guess,” Brenda said.

Parnell went on dreamily, “You know, there’s a certain resemblance between baby humans and baby robins. Both are naked, screaming, really ugly little creatures—all noisy dependence.”

“Are you insulting me?” Brenda said. “Is that wise when you yourself say your people think you might need me?”

“You were insulting us,” Parnell replied. “And who is to say that need might not be mutual?”

They stopped in midstride, glowering at each other.

“You’re right. You’re right. You’re a hundred and fifty percent right,” Brenda said, voice rising, hands on hips. “I don’t know why I even bother to say anything.”

“What you mean,” Parnell said, his voice low, but his tone no less angry, “ isthat you think I’m wrong. Why must you pick such an annoying way to say so? It closes any chance of understanding.”

“Because,” Brenda said, words tumbling over each other, riding the waterfall of her confusion, “you
are
right. I know you are. I’m trying to accept that I’m just a narrow-thinking, close-minded human. I can’t help not liking that revelation. But I grew up on stories of the beautiful sidhe folk, and I can’t quite wrap my heart around the fact that apparently you all look like spiders or weird plants or slugs. I look at you, Parnell, with your green eyes and flowing honey-gold hair, and I wonder what you really look like, and then I wonder if I want to know.”

“I thought,” Parnell said, “that you would be more comfortable with truth than glamour. I have tried to give you that truth. Now, I see, I would have done better to bring you fairy folk out of your Shakespeare. Of course then, when the time came that the glamour must come down—or worse, some enemy broke it before I had a chance to explain—then would it be better or would you be standing there screaming at me for lying at you?”

There was a long silence, and Brenda let her hands fall loose to her side.

“Seems like you get yelled at either way,” she said, forcing a chuckle. “Lucky Parnell. Okay. You’re right again.”

But she didn’t shout this time. Parnell also relaxed.

“Really,” Brenda went on, “you’re right. I would have hated to be shocked by a sudden revelation even more than I hate having my childish illusions taken away from me. But, oh . . . It’s hard, especially since the Chinese stuff has been so splendid.”

“Splendid?” Parnell asked, the surprise in his voice genuine. “How is the theft of memory splendid? Wasn’t that how you first learned about your Chinese heritage, when your own kin were attacked? When you learned that the only reason they weren’t killing you all was because they feared the consequences—but not the deed?”

“No,” Brenda protested, “it wasn’t that, not that at all. But they were still human—I mean, they couldn’t be related to our ancestors if they weren’t. Their stories sort of matched those in the books. It wasn’t like what you’ve shown me.”

“Our stories have crept into your books as well,” Parnell replied, “but in those stories we are usually represented as the monsters or the enemies. Leave that. What you’re forgetting is that the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice are a direct of shoot of your own world. That is why there are the similarities, why there are humans. Places like the Lands—born of the dreams of one race—are very rare.”

“So whose dream are you?” Brenda asked.

Parnell shrugged. “Whose dream are you, Brenda? When you have that answer, maybe I’ll have mine. For now, let’s leave philosophy and try something more practical. Are you up for a field trip?”

“Now?” Brenda’s heart quickened, remembering another field trip, that first trip into the guardian domains.

“I was thinking tomorrow after lunch. You’re done with classes in the morning, I think.”

“I am. Where do you want to go?”

“To the Land Beneath the Hills,” Parnell said. “Maybe if you see us where we live we won’t seem so odd—or if we do, at least you’ll understand us a little better.”

“Islands,” Brenda said, remembering. “You said it all had something to do with islands.”

“Something to do,” Parnell corrected softly, “with the blood of islands.”