Five Odd Honors (53 page)

“Flying Claw,” Li Szu said at last, “was a different matter. His affiliation was to a Branch of the Lands. Traditionally, in the Lands, simply willing a release can permit the Branch to pass on. In some cases, this is to a designated person, in others to someone who wins a contest or challenge.”

The means of passing varies with the Branch,
Loyal Wind thought,
as we know far better than do you. Stop showing off how much you’ve learned about this world you created by merest accident and let us know the worst.

He hadn’t missed the use of the past tense. He didn’t think the others had either.

“However, Flying Claw proved stubborn. Despite promises of considerable reward, he refused to pass the Tiger on to the one who should hold that affiliation.”

Thundering Heaven, no doubt.

“Of course, without the impediment offered by your very annoying spell, death would be sufficient to free the bond and permit someone else to claim the affiliation. However, that would have robbed us of a useful resource, a means of impressing our sincerity upon you all—especially those of you . . .”

Here Loyal Wind was certain a particularly harsh gaze was directed at him.

“. . . who continue to oppose our will. Would you like to see Flying Claw?”

Bent Bamboo snapped, his usual good humor completely vanished. “You know we would! Please, do us the honor.”

Perhaps,
Loyal Wind thought, feeling again that curious mixture of hope and despair,
more of us have held out than I thought. Those were not the tones of an obedient lackey—unless, of course, Bent Bamboo was schooled for that line. Monkeys are good actors.

But hope held up the balance against despair, at least until Thundering Heaven led out, from behind one of the screens that separated the throne from the dutiful clerks, a shambling figure, clad in nothing but a rag about his hips.

Flying Claw was no longer beautiful.

Loyal Wind had never been a man drawn to men, but nonetheless he had been aware that the young Tiger was exquisitely handsome. Now, the most logical reaction upon sighting the man who stood slumped before them would not be instant attraction, but a scream of horror.

Loyal Wind heard Nine Ducks stifle a sob, heard sharply indrawn breaths from the others. No one quite screamed, but then all of them had been through hell—and he was certain that none wished to add to Flying Claw’s torment by their rejection.

“Flying Claw insisted on being the Tiger,” Thundering Heaven said, “so I decided to help him achieve his goal. Hold up your head so everyone can admire my handiwork.”

Flying Claw did, and this time someone did utter a short, shrill scream.

Flying Claw’s nose had been broken, the nostrils slit and peeled back, creating a travesty of a cat’s broad nose. Dagger slices above and below his eyes—cut straight through the lids—created the illusion of vertical pupils. Whiskers had been carved on his cheeks. His upper lip had been slit in two. His ears had been hacked into points.

The ear mutilation was easy to see, for Flying Claw’s long, midnight-black hair had been cropped short. Patches had been shaved close to the scalp. In these places, the skin had been razored raw, blood contrasting red-orange against the black of Flying Claw’s remaining hair, a garish parody of tiger stripes.

His body was striped, too, but this striping had been done with a whip, one with multiple lashes, and those tipped with something that had torn the skin in ragged gashes.

“I haven’t figured out how to give him a tail,” Thundering Heaven said affably, rather like an artist discussing a work in progress. “I was thinking that if I flayed some of the skin from his back, then braided it to hang over his butt, that might work. What do you think?”

No one answered. The servants had stopped circulating with refreshments. Even the clerks whose brushes had provided a skittering backdrop were frozen in horror.

Into this silence, Li Szu spoke. “Flying Claw’s resistance is really quite idiotic. We can get what he so valiantly protects by slicing his throat. All he has done is serve to demonstrate how much we can do to you without killing you.”

“It’s worse than that, really,” Thundering Heaven said. “I told him that if hegave in I would repair his injuries. A Tiger respects courage in another—even when it is foolhardy. Yet still he resists.”

Loyal Wind had forced himself to look past the ruin of Flying Claw’s face, seeking to see how much intelligence remained within the young man’s eyes. He had expected insanity, or perhaps the dull resignation of pain. What he found shocked him: anger, raw anger, the focus pure and absolute.

“So,” Li Szu said, turning his attention from Flying Claw so entirely that Loyal Wind had to fight the feeling that the young man had been led from the room. “Some of you have not yet seen your way to cooperating with me. Shall we discuss your options?”

And how
,” Honey Dream said sharply, “do you expect us to get into the Lands without their creator being aware of our coming?”

“I expect,” Parnell said, “that Li Szu will know of our coming, sooner or later. What I’m thinking is that we may be able to confuse him by coming in from at least two directions.”

Pearl had not particularly liked the idea of waltzing through the Ninth Gate and into the arms of whoever—quite possibly her father—Li Szu had waiting. Now she laughed aloud as she guessed what Parnell was suggesting.

“You think you can get us in through the sidhe?”

“I can’t, but I think—and my aunt Leaf thinks—that Brenda can. Brenda bears the blood of both heritages, and has already proven that, if pressed, she can create a useful gate.”

“What?”

The outburst was general, and Brenda—who was beginning to look very tired, and no wonder, given she had admitted earlier that she’d been too worried to sleep much, even on the long flight west—roused herself to explain.

“But that,” Honey Dream protested when Brenda had finished her account, “is not the same as making a gate into the Lands.”

“Haven’t I been telling you,” Parnell said, “that the Land Under the Hills is more like what you call the guardian domains than it is like either this world or the Lands?”

Honey Dream nodded. “Still, I—”

Nissa interrupted. “How many of us can Brenda take through?”

Parnell looked a touch uncomfortable. “Well, now here’s the problem. There are those in the sidhe who don’t like the idea of strangers coming through.”

“Even if these strangers are passing through in order to help you?”

“Not everyone believes we need the help,” Parnell said. “Why should we sidhe folk be more rational than any other people? Aunt Leaf has—after considerable arguing, mind—managed to get permission for Brenda to take one other of the Orphans with her into the Lands via the sidhe. Gaheris Morris would be the most logical choice since—”

“No!” Brenda said with blunt force. “I don’t think so. I love my dad, but he has no respect for me. He’s tried to shut me out. I couldn’t . . . He’d be standing there, making suggestions. I’d get nervous.”

“Wait!” Shen interrupted. “Parnell, that touches on something that’s been niggling at the back of my head. Why didn’t you go to Gaheris with your offer? He’s Elaine’s son, after all.”

“But although Elaine is attuned to us,” Parnell said, “and is the one who ‘introduced’ Brenda to us, Brenda’s mother’s family is the one that is fey.”

Pearl cut in before Shen could bring up that the Orphans had indeed been aware of this, that Albert had in fact resisted Gaheris’s marriage to Keely on the grounds that they shouldn’t confuse the Orphans’ heritage by blending it with indigenous magical traditions. Brenda had enough conflicting demands on her without that old history coming up.

“Parnell,” Pearl said, “you can take one other in addition to Brenda into the sidhe?”

“That’s right. If Brenda won’t have Gaheris, then Shen would be best. I smell a hint of our islands about him. . . .”

Shen looked startled. “My grandmother was English. Is that what you mean?”

“That might be the connection,” Parnell agreed. “And you’re sophisticated in magic. My people respect wizards—or at least have the sense to fear them.”

Brenda cut in. “So, Parnell, what you’re figuring is that you and me and Shen go into the Lands via some sort of back door?”

“You and me and Shen and . . .” Parnell paused, and Pearl could almost hear a drum roll, “some of my friends: Oak Gall, Wasp, and the like.”

“You’re planning to invade the Lands yourself,” Honey Dream said heatedly, “with Brenda Morris as your lackey. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how men unaccountably fall for her dubious charms. I won’t . . .”

“Honey Dream,” Brenda said tiredly, “shut up. The friends Parnell is talking about are really weird little creatures. They might annoy people, but they’re not going to be able to take over the Lands. Anyhow, even if Parnell was bringing through Oisin, Finn, Cuchulain, and all the great heroes of Irish legend, if the Lands are in such bad shape that they could be conquered, then there’s nothing much your whining will do about it.”

Honey Dream blinked. Pearl was surprised by Brenda’s tone. She’d actually thought the young women were getting along better. Brenda seemed to remember, too.

“Honey Dream, I’ll swear on anything you like that I won’t cooperate with letting your homeland get taken over by anyone I help through. We can’t afford to delay while we worry about each other’s motivations. Flying Claw . . .”

Brenda’s voice quavered. She stopped speaking, swallowed hard. “Flying Claw may already be doomed, but we know Gentle Smoke was alive a few days ago. Some of the others might be, too. We owe them a chance.”

Honey Dream nodded. To Pearl’s astonishment, she reached out and patted Brenda’s hand. Her dark velvet eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“I am sorry, Brenda. I’m so afraid. . . . Not just our scouts, but my mother, the little ones. My friends. I apologize.”

“And the world ends,” Albert said. “Okay. Let’s get back to making plans. Brenda’s right. Time is short.”

“And the world ending is all too real a possibility,” Parnell said seriously. “But so is our making a mistake if we continue planning while tempers are short and bodies are crying out for sleep. We do no one but our enemies any favors if we make mistakes.”

“I agree,” Righteous Drum said. “If someone will take Honey Dream and me back to Colm Lodge, I will do my best to assure that Thorn, Shackles, and Twentyseven-Ten will aid us in this matter. I will tell them about Li Szu, and how the Lands have been reshaped. That may move them to genuine cooperation, rather than acting because we coerce them.”

“Sounds like a good tactic,” Pearl said. “They were quite unsettled when they realized they had been misled by their commander. Knowing the nature of the puppet master may give us their good will, not simply their obedience.”

“Shall we reconvene early tomorrow, over breakfast?” Righteous Drum asked. “I believe we should skip our usual morning martial arts practice.”

“I agree,” Pearl said. “The time for practice is over. The time for action has come.”

Despite her
own stirring words, Pearl’s feet were heavy as she went up the stairs. Nissa, who had been mounting to her own room a few paces ahead, paused on the landing.

“Are you going to be all right? Would you like me to make you some chamomile tea?”

“Thank you, Nissa, but if I drink any more, I’ll trade the restlessness of worry for trips to the bathroom. Dr. Andersen gave me some powders when I injured my hand. If I can’t fall asleep after an hour, I’ll take one.”

“Tiger’s promise?” Nissa said. She tried to put laughter into the words, but failed utterly.

“Tiger’s promise,” Pearl said. “My promise.”

So when an hour had gone by and Pearl had listened as one by one the various sounds of the old house had settled to silence, she rose and went into the bathroom.

She mixed the sleeping powder with water and drank it off.

She slept, and sleeping, nightmared.

Feet playing percussion on hardwood stage. Face fixed in a bright smile, eyes focusing unfocused. Remembering what she’s been taught. “Ming-Ming, let all of them think you’re smiling at them individually. . . .”