Nine Gates (44 page)

They camped several times, and each night Brenda’s dreams were stranger. She never could remember them, but sometimes a word or gesture from one of her companions brought back a face or a few bars of music or a fragment of a scene, and she would find herself struggling to remember the rest.

The journey might have become tedious—even with the unusually fascinating experience of having Flying Claw as a companion—but that Righteous Drum took it upon himself to continue Brenda and Riprap’s education. Deborah encouraged him, saying she could use a refresher. She had not dwelled on matters of the art of magic and the lore of the
Lands since the days when she had been teaching her own daughter.

Flying Claw also listened intently, and Brenda was reminded that the Tiger is a warrior. She suspected that he might appreciate some of the more exotic theories Righteous Drum—often with contributions from Loyal Wind—expounded.

But there might have been another reason entirely for the general attentiveness. Righteous Drum, pedantic in conference, proved to be an eloquent and fascinating teacher. Enthusiasm gave his tales of gods and monsters a vividness that listening to them from the back of a horse that ran upon the wind did nothing to diminish.

But none of his tales had prepared Brenda for the entrance to the underworld, to the place where the suns went when they set.

Righteous Drum had explained that the common belief was that there were many suns—sometimes nine, sometimes ten. They lived in a tree at the eastern edge of the world, and one at a time were chosen to rise.

Another story said that they rose in sequence, because the world was so vast that they grew tired from their long journey, that one was traveling under the earth while another was in the sky, and still others were resting.

A famous tale told how one day a mistake had been made, and all nine—or ten—of the suns had risen at once and had refused to set until Yi the Archer had shot them down. This action had gained him both the gratitude of the parched land and the peoples upon it, and the enmity of the suns’ mother—or father—or the suns themselves.

“And which of these stories is true?” Brenda had asked.

“All of them, none of them,” Righteous Drum had answered with a smile. “Reality—which is what you mean by ‘truth’ in this case—in the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice is a very fluid concept. That fluidity carries over into the guardian domains, which take their shape from our version of reality, not the one of your world.”

And Brenda had thought she was satisfied with this, even comfortable. After all, wasn’t she having visions? Wasn’t she riding on a horse that had talked to her? Wasn’t that horse also a human hero whose achievements Righteous Drum had told them about all one long afternoon?

But she wasn’t ready for the entrance into the Suns’ River.

It began with a wide lake, an unnaturally round lake, the edges of which were bordered in fine-grained black sand, sand that suddenly changed to white about a foot from the shore. Despite the quantities of clear water—Brenda could see the sandy bottom as the golden horse carried her over—no plants grew around the edges, nor did any fish swim in the clear depths.

Although nothing appeared to feed the lake—not a river nor a stream marred the perfect black and white rings that surrounded its waters—the lakeshore did have one break. Its westernmost edge fell over the side of the world, down, cascading into infinity.

“The suns set here,” Righteous Drum said conversationally, following the direction of her gaze. His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes were shining with wonder and delight. “That is why the sands are black around the edges. Even with the quenching of the water, the heat is so great that the sands are burned.”

Loyal Wind glanced back to the east. “We have many hours before tonight’s sun sets. I suggest we do not delay.”

“We’re going…” Brenda pointed to the edge. “There?”

“That is so,” Loyal Wind said. “Did you expect the way into the underworld to be easy?”

“I… I guess not,” Brenda managed, and she saw Flying Claw nod in approval. She took some comfort that Riprap and Deborah both looked at least as appalled as she felt.

“We’re going over the edge,” Deborah said. “I hope the horses are going with us.”

“Oh, yes,” Loyal Wind assured her. “They will remain.”

“Good,” Deborah said, and Brenda saw her twining her hands in the grey’s dark mane. “Right. Shall we be at it then?
I don’t think I can let myself think much more about this without screaming.”

“Do we need to work any spells?” Riprap asked. “A Dragon’s Tail or something to cushion us?”

“If we fall,” Righteous Drum said, “no dragon’s tail, nor host of dragon’s tails would be cushion enough. We must trust to Loyal Wind and the guidance of his associates.”

“Right,” Riprap said, reaching behind him and making certain his saddlebags were laced tightly shut. “Right.”

“Trust us,” Loyal Wind said. “We will not let you fall.”

And with those words he said something to the horses and all of them broke into a gentle canter. Looking down, Brenda saw the winds upon which they ran ruffling the placid waters of the clear lake. The horses broke into a gallop, tossing their manes and stretching out their necks as they ran.

The ruffles blended into ripples, and then one by one, the horses were turning, bending, going over the edge, falling, surrounded as they fell by air damp with warm spray, air that misted them entirely but never became heavy or sodden.

A scream tore from Brenda’s throat, a scream part fear, part pure exhilaration, like she was riding the wildest, best roller coaster in all the universe. Brenda hung on, going with Leaf as he leapt over the edge of the world.

The horses were running, falling, down, down, ever, endlessly down, falling into infinity.

Or maybe not quite infinity. Shading her eyes and peering ahead, Brenda thought she saw another lake—smaller than the first, possibly, although that might only be distance. Mist billowed up from one edge of the lake’s surface, and she realized that was where the waters from the first lake hit.

This second lake was also ringed in black, then white, but the black ring was smaller. Brenda guessed that the suns lost some of their heat from the first quenching and this long fall.

I wonder that the rushing air doesn’t make them ignite, like when you blow on a coal. Or maybe I should be wondering
why the force of the air doesn’t blow the suns out? The air is wet enough. Or maybe I should stop wondering and just hold on…

As they drew closer to the surface of the second lake, the horses carried them away from the waterfall, circling lower and lower, bearing them on a course that ran parallel to the lake’s surface, rather than taking them crashing into the waters.

Now Brenda saw that on its eastern edge the lake overspilled, falling and rippling into cascades, cascades that in turn became a river, a river that disappeared into the mouth of a dark chasm, the rocky sides of which were melted from the passage of ten thousand thousand suns.

“That’s where we’re going,” she said, pointing ahead.

“That is,” Loyal Wind said, “the headwaters of the Suns’ River.”

“Looks pretty dark in there,” Riprap said. “Anyone know if a flashlight will work? I brought a couple, but I’m remembering how our watches stopped working when we went camping with Des.”

Brenda could hear Riprap forcing himself to be calm and matter-of-fact, though she knew he had to be at least as freaked out as she was. She felt proud of him—of all of them. Even Righteous Drum had never been through anything like this before.

“Flashlights will be unnecessary,” Righteous Drum said. “I have prepared the means of lighting our way.”

He glanced over at Loyal Wind, and the ghost inclined his head. “This would be a good time,” he said. “The sun does not hold its passage for our convenience.”

Righteous Drum nodded, and turned to the other four living members of their group. “If you don’t mind? This spell will not harm or restrict you in any way, but it will enable you to see as if the sun was about an hour from setting.”

“Enough light, then, that we shouldn’t stumble or whack our heads against the wall,” Riprap said.

“That is so.”

Deborah looked thoughtful, “And that is all the spell will do. Will you swear it on the Dragon?”

“I will, and do.” Righteous Drum placed his hand on his midsection. Brenda had learned enough of the Chinese’s odd association of certain emotions with certain organs to wonder if he was covering his heart, or maybe his liver. “By the Dragon, I swear that this spell will enable you to see in the dark, nothing more, and that your permitting me to use it in no way obligates you to me in any other way than we are already mutually obligated.”

“Pretty,” Deborah said, “especially for something you came up with on the spur of the moment.”

“Actually,” Flying Claw said, as Righteous Drum began tracing an elaborate series of gestures with his one remaining hand, “such oaths are common in the Lands.”

“I guess they would be,” Riprap mused. “A different world entirely.”

Brenda watched carefully as Righteous Drum worked his spell, trying to understand the gestures. She thought she recognized something of the “All Green” that the Orphans used to see magical workings, but the recognition was on an instinctual, rather than certain, level. She might just be fooling herself.

However, Righteous Drum wasn’t fooling them. When the horses carried them over the surface of the second lake, and into the chasm where the Suns’ River began running underground, Brenda found that she could see clearly. Indeed, the diminishing of the intense brilliance of the sunlight reflected off the lake came as something of a relief.

She took off her sunglasses and, leaning back, tucked them under the flap of the right-hand saddlebag. When she turned forward again, she saw Flying Claw smiling at her with approval.

“The tunnel the river has cut with its course is comfortably high,” Loyal Wind said. “But it is not quite wide enough
for us to continue riding as we have. I suggest pairs. Righteous Drum could come forward with me, and Flying Claw should drop to the back. Deborah, I had thought to have you ride in the rear because your magic is stronger than either of the apprentices’, but that would rob us of the Dog’s admitted martial abilities should we be attacked. Do you have a preference?”

“Put me in the middle with Brenda,” Deborah said without hesitation. “I’m not in practice either magically or with what weapons arts I know. And in the middle I will be better able to use my magic to help if trouble comes from either side.”

“Very well,” Loyal Wind said.

“Do we expect trouble?” Riprap asked.

“No,” Loyal Wind said, “but you have been a soldier. You know that trouble comes when you least expect it.”

They readjusted their marching order, Brenda feeling decidedly like the last person picked for the team. Then she straightened, patting the golden horse—who at this moment was merely a transformed sorcerer—on the side of the neck.

No one is leaving me for last. Like Deborah, from here I can help if trouble comes from either side.

“I’m ready,” she said, and hoped she really was.

“Some serious
questions have arisen regarding how the Orphans are handling this situation,” said Dr. Broderick Pike.

He and Pearl were sitting in his office, a pleasant although not overly large space in the private areas of the Rosicrucian Museum. The room’s larger window was behind his desk, and
through it, Pearl could see the top of a lotus column portico, the elegant sculptures enhanced—but not obscured—by white climbing roses.

Pearl crossed her hands in her lap. She met Broderick’s gaze with an illusion of mild interest—illusion because beneath her exterior calm she was fuming at being asked to this meeting, furious that the Orphans should need to answer to anyone at all.

“Yes?” she said, raising her eyebrows in gentle inquiry.

Dr. Pike looked uncomfortable, and Pearl reminded herself that he was a friend—if not a certain ally.

“Tell me,” she added, allowing herself a smile, one that she hoped held rue, not anger.

“Tracy Frye claims that two valuable mah-jong sets she bought, legally and legitimately, were stolen from the house where she was staying.”

“Really?” Pearl had expected this, and discussed how to best answer with the others. “Stolen? Why, then, has she not gone to the police?”

Broderick tilted his lips in a smile that did not reach his eyes. “You know perfectly well why not. She has no proof the police would accept, but plenty that many of us do accept.”

“Such as?”

“Pearl! I asked to be the one to speak with you because of our long association—friendship, I had hoped. I know perfectly well that what Tracy Frye and Franklin Deng did was at the very least in bad taste.”

“Blackmail always is,” Pearl said. “And my saying that doesn’t mean I am admitting to anything.”

“Blackmail,” Broderick said with a slight nod. “Very well. The other matter is more serious—and possibly one where you might find yourself dealing with the police.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The accusation has been made that you are keeping prisoners on your property.”

“Ah…”

There was a long silence while Pearl considered how to handle this. When she and Shen had spoken to the Rock Dove Society in New York, they had deliberately not mentioned the prisoners. Now, however, she wished she had done so, but perhaps it was not too late?

She remembered the three figures they had seen skulking on the side street near the garage. Someone had suspected for several days that something was out of the ordinary at Pearl’s house.

Pearl made her decision. Briefly, as if filling out a police report, she told Broderick Pike about the attack at the practice field at Colm Lodge. She did not enumerate the number who had died, but she did not hide that there had been deaths. Nor did she hide that her own people had been injured—severely in the case of Righteous Drum and Brenda Morris.

“Now,” Pearl said, “you’re a smart man and a wise one in the bargain. I don’t need to tell you why Shen and I didn’t mention this to the Rock Dove Society.”