Nine Gates (45 page)

Broderick inclined his head slightly in agreement.

“You can also understand why the matter of my guests—or prisoners, if you prefer—should not become a police matter.”

“No identification,” Broderick said. “Unknown people raise uncomfortable questions.”

“Worse,” Pearl said. “Strangers who will speak a form of Chinese any translator will find very peculiar. Men who will bear on their bodies the scars of archaic weapons. Given the current climate regarding immigration, do any of us really want questions asked? And one of them—Twentyseven-Ten—is a talented adept. At least one other can work minor magics. We have hobbled their abilities, but if they are taken from our care…”

She trailed off, knowing she didn’t need to say any more. Broderick was nodding his head in avid agreement.

“Do you wish me to keep this to myself?” he asked. “I can. I can swear under oath that I have questioned you, and as to this matter, I agree with your course of action.”

“If I had wished to swear you to silence,” Pearl said, “I
would have done so before I began. I trusted your common sense. I still do. The Orphans have adversaries among the members of the Finch and Rock Dove Societies, and probably within affiliated societies as well. Do you think all of them would put the greater good before their own vendettas?”

Broderick smiled, and this time it was a real smile that touched his eyes.

“No. I don’t. I choose to interpret your cryptic comment about blackmail to mean that whatever went on with those mah-jong sets was meant to pressure you into a course of action contrary to what you and Shen promised the Rock Dove Society you would undertake. In such instances, not everyone needs to know all the details.”

He unfolded his hands, tapped his nose with his forefinger, as he considered, then sighed.

“But I think it would be wisest if I confided in a few chapter heads. I will bind them to silence, however, and so the information will go no further. One final question.”

“Yes?”

“Have you made any progress in establishing these Nine Gates you mentioned at the Rock Dove Society meeting?”

“Yes. And more progress is being made even as we speak.”

I hope
, Pearl thought, as they went through the various formalities of departure,
that I am telling the truth. The others have been gone for several days, and the auguries as to their success are far from certain.

The walls were what made it all real. Although the rock was cool to the touch, it showed signs of having been exposed to tremendous heat. There was smoothness where the rock had run molten, bumps that were tiny bubbles, and pocks where those bubbles had burst. The molten rock showed ripples, as if terrific wind had accompanied that heat.

The sun—suns—had repeatedly raced down this river, so
hot that their passage melted stone, and Brenda Morris
believed
.

She kept looking at those walls, extending her hand to touch the rough-smooth stone, imagining she could feel heat still lingering, that the walls were warmer than they should be.

They
were
warmer than they should be. Brenda patted Leaf’s neck and he cooperatively moved over so she could rest her hand against the stone. It was warm. Warmer than it had been a few minutes ago. About the exterior temperature of a mug that held freshly poured coffee or tea.

She swiveled in her saddle, looking back. For once she had no eyes for Flying Claw, though she did notice that, whether by chance or design, he rode directly behind her.

Is that light back there or am I imagining the glow? Is it some relic of Righteous Drum’s spell?

She faced forward, closed her eyes to clear them of any image but the memory of the tunnel behind them. Swiveling once more, she opened her eyes and studied the tunnel again.

Brighter. Yes. And that means …

“I think we’re in trouble, folks,” Brenda said, keeping her voice as level as possible. “The wall is getting warmer. Feel it. It’s almost hot. And there’s light behind us. It’s dim, but growing brighter.”

A moment of motion as the other five checked her comments, then Loyal Wind said, “I feared this. The sun is catching up to us. I had hoped that we could outpace it but…”

He nudged his mount, but the chestnut had already increased its pace, stretching out from its wind-riding canter into a full gallop. The other horses did the same, and Brenda felt her hair and clothing whip straight back.

“Can we outrun it?” Deborah asked, her voice tight.

“No.” Loyal Wind replied. “We can only hope to reach a wider spot in the tunnels before the sun reaches us. If we do not, then we must dive into the river and hope the water provides a sufficient shield.”

“Breathing optional?” Riprap, his deep voice booming off the walls. “I mean, you may not need to breathe, but the rest of us…”

“There are spells,” Righteous Drum called back, “shields. We may need to trust to them.”

“Against the sun?” Deborah said, but Brenda could see that she was already reaching up under the cuff of her shirt, moving a cluster of amulet bracelets into play.

Loyal Wind gave a wintry smile, his eyes narrowing as he looked back over his shoulder to judge the approach of the sunlight. Brenda followed his gaze. No need to guess, anymore. The light was definitely brighter, not headlight-bright, but about the brightness of a handheld flashlight.

“I revealed my concern to Righteous Drum,” Loyal Wind said, “but we did not wish to alarm you over something that might not arise. This is the best course of action he and I could come up with. Your spells need not last long, for the sun’s passage should be swift.”

“Easy for you to say,” Riprap said. “I’d have liked to have a chance to contribute to the game plan.”

“There was not time for endless debate,” Righteous Drum said.

Loyal Wind seemed to hear personal criticism in Riprap’s words.

“If we remain, the horses and I are no safer than you, for in this world the dead are as prone to damage as the living—perhaps more so.”

“If?” Riprap said.

Definite criticism colored his words, and Brenda didn’t blame him. The Dragon’s Tail she’d selected seemed fragile protection against heat that could melt stone. Hadn’t Des told them that Dragon’s Tail worked less well against nonspecific threats. Maybe some combination of winds? But winds fed fire, didn’t they?

“We can disperse,” Loyal Wind said, ashamed, “and that would be our best course, to disperse and to rejoin you later.”

Brenda leaned forward, bringing her head next to Leaf’s neck so that she could see his head clearly. For the first time, the golden horse showed physical signs of its tremendous exertion. Its eye was wild. Foam flecked his lips. Brenda didn’t know if a ghost horse who was really a transformed sorcerer could founder, but she had a feeling it could.

“Loyal Wind, you’re right,” she said. “You’ve got to get out of here, you and the horses. The tunnel seems to be widening ahead, but there’s not much space, really not much—and if we end up having to go underwater, it’s going to get crowded with six people
and
six horses.”

Flying Claw’s voice came from behind her. “I agree. The area ahead is definitely becoming wider. Take us to the widest possible place, let us off, then go to what safety you can find. If the worst happens, someone must survive to bring word to the others.”

“I agree,” Riprap said, and Brenda saw Deborah beside her, and Righteous Drum in the first rank, nod.

The horses tore over the water, and from behind Brenda could now feel the heat on her back. It wasn’t bad, yet, no more than the pleasant glow of a summer day. Glancing back she saw that the light was now too much to look at directly. It filled the tunnel and she turned her head away, remembering that one should never look directly into the sun.

The horses pressed themselves, faster, ever faster. Brenda saw pink coloring the foam around the mouth of Deborah’s grey. She gripped the golden horse’s silvery mane, and leaned forward, trying to take her weight onto herself rather than asking the horse to bear it.

She saw their destination ahead, a place where the tunnel widened enough that there was a shoulder, not much wider than that of a country road, but wide enough that they could stand to either side of the now steaming waters.

But the rock is melted
, Brenda thought.
Even at the farthest edge, it’s melted. We’re gonna get cooked.

As the tunnel widened, so did the river. The horses, which
had been running in ragged pairs, now separated. The right-hand set—those carrying Righteous Drum, Deborah, and Riprap—veered toward the right bank, those carrying her and Flying Claw veered to the left. Only Loyal Wind remained in midstream, but he had turned to face directly behind. Brenda saw he held his bow in his hand, strung, an arrow nocked to the string.

She remembered the tale of Yi the Archer who had shot down the suns and knew that Loyal Wind wasn’t abandoning them, that he’d wait there while they dismounted, while they got their spells up, while the horses got away.

Knowing this, Brenda practically flung herself from Leaf’s back as soon as they reached the shore, splashing one foot into the shallows. The water was hot, not just warm, but hot—like uncomfortable bathwater.

She stumbled on stiff legs, slapping Leaf on his rump and yelling, “Get out of here! Get out while you can!” In her next move, she slammed a Dragon’s Tail to the ground, and felt the Tail wrap her in what protection it could offer.

Brenda’s feet and legs didn’t feel like they were part of her, but they reluctantly obeyed as she turned and moved toward the wall. There was no tidy alcove, no convenient cleft into which she could thrust herself, but there was a dip, slightly deeper than the rest of the surface.

She pressed herself into this, and grabbed Flying Claw by the wrist when he started to take a place slightly more exposed.

“This isn’t a time for manners,” Brenda snapped. “Get in here. I don’t think our spells will conflict.”

“No,” he said, his eyes wide and slightly startled. “Your Dragon’s Tail has meshed with my own.”

Brenda felt this, but didn’t bother to think about it. Leaf and Flying Claw’s blood bay had vanished, but Loyal Wind still stood midstream. Steam was rising from the waters, wreathing the lower part of his horse, and shrouding the other bank.

“If you have any great ideas for fireproofing or heat resistance,”
Brenda said, “I’d go for it now. Loyal Wind has given me an idea.”

She fumbled along her wrist until she came across the bracelet containing the most powerful spell she’d brought with her: the Twins of the Sky.

She smashed it to the stone floor. When the Twins in their archaic Chinese armor and cloud-embroidered robes of blue and white rose in response, Brenda motioned toward the onrushing wall of heat—a visible, tangible thing.

“If you can do anything to keep that back,” she said, “I’d be very grateful.”

The Twins produced long-handled weapons, something like spears, and with a slight nod that included her as well as each other began spinning them in front of each other. Brenda felt the heat diminish slightly, but she feared it would not be enough.

So, it seemed, did Flying Claw. He was etching patterns in the air in front of him, patterns Brenda could tell were in the shape of Chinese ideograms, but not ones she could read. The result, however, was that of rain falling on them both, rain that turned to steam as soon at it hit the increasingly hot stone underfoot, but rain that cooled the rock around them.

No longer did Brenda find it necessary to look upstream to see how close the sun was. The light was overwhelming, so overpowering that it seemed the most natural thing in the world that she bury her head in Flying Claw’s shoulder and that he bury his face in her hair.

The heat grew intense, then overwhelming. The air became almost too hot to breathe.

Brenda could smell her hair starting to singe, felt one of the metal studs on Flying Claw’s armor burn straight through her shirt and against her wrist. She adjusted her grip, and felt the arms she only then realized were holding her tightening, tightening as if by the sheer force of his embrace Flying Claw could protect them both from the overwhelming heat and light that surrounded them.

The heat grew more intense. The light burned through no matter how tightly Brenda screwed her eyes shut.

Brenda felt the Dragon’s Tails untwine, then fall apart, heard the cries of despair as her Twins of the Sky evaporated beneath the force of the sun’s touch, but by then the worst was over, the waters of the river still steamed, the rock upon which they stood creaked and hissed as it began to cool, but the rain from Flying Claw’s spell continued to fall around them.

Sighing in relief, Brenda rested her head against his chest for a moment longer.

“We made it through,” she murmured, holding her parched lips up to the rain. “I can’t believe it. We stood on the edge of the sun, but we made it through.”

Flying Claw looked down at her, and although his face was streaked with sweat and the glossy black of his hair was dulled, his eyes shone with happiness.

“We made it through,” he repeated, and brushed her forehead with his lips.