Nine Gates (61 page)

Flying Claw wheeled, facing Brenda for the first time.

She blanched as she saw the horrible expression that distorted Flying Claw’s handsome features into something monstrous. He was twisting around, his sword now free from its sheath, spinning and leaping with horrid feline grace. His target appeared to be the back of Pearl’s neck.

But Pearl was also spinning, twisting with a contortionist’s skill to bring Treaty up to parry that descending blade. The blades clanged off each other. In that metallic song of triumph, Brenda understood how the old lady, taken off guard, had managed that remarkable move.

Flying Claw was not fighting Pearl Bright—he was fighting the sword Treaty. And since, for some obscure reason he had chosen to violate the alliance that bound them, Flying Claw would lose.

“No!” The word ripped from Brenda’s throat, ragged and multisyllabic.

Without thought, Brenda left her assigned place in their neat ranks. Without effort, she found the wind she had summoned. Grabbing hold and climbing aboard, she used the wind to carry her up and over the intervening ranks that barricaded her from her beloved and his doom.

As she passed over the others, Brenda was vaguely aware that numerous battles had broken out below her. Her dad was lunging toward Albert. Shen and Righteous Drum were screaming at each other. Golden yellow billowed around them in a visible aura.

Deborah had run forward and was trying to break up the various arguments, her round face livid red with anger.

Glancing back, Brenda saw that Nissa was trying to run up the road. Riprap was blocking her way.

But Brenda found none of this touched the raging desire and fear that was causing her to hurtle toward where Flying Claw battled Treaty. She urged the wind on which she rode to greater speed, and knew in a moment she would be there, that she must do something, if nothing more than die valiantly at his side.

She was so focused on her intention that she came up short, head rocking back against her shoulders, when something rose to bar her progress.

Honey Dream had risen into the air. The Snake rested lightly on a wind, her balance, even the flow of her inky hair, perfect and lovely. Acutely, Brenda felt her own awkwardness,
her own lack of a true place within this assembly. More than ever she wanted to rescue Flying Claw from Treaty, save Pearl from committing an atrocity, and so prove both her love and her right to be in this company.

She’d show her dad that he shouldn’t keep secrets from her, that he shouldn’t treat her as a child when everyone else was treating her like somebody important. But first, she must rescue Flying Claw—and to get to him…

“Get out of my way,” Brenda snarled at Honey Dream. “Flying Claw’s in trouble.”

“I want,” Honey Dream said, her voice tight, the words a grating staccato flow, “to rip out your throat, to gouge out your eyes.… I hate you for rescuing my father, stealing my beloved, but…”

Honey Dream drew in her breath in a ragged gasp. Brenda, who had been trying to get around this unwelcome obstacle without success, stared in astonishment—for, despite the cruel words, Honey Dream was not making the least move to harm her. In fact, she seemed to be doing the opposite. The other woman had her fists balled into each other, clenching them so tightly that the knuckles were white.

“But,” Honey Dream continued in a harsh whisper, “I will not. I remember thinking otherwise. I remember being grateful. I remember seeing my love for what it was.… These impulses are not me. Not me. Echoes of old desires, older hates…”

Brenda didn’t want to listen. She wanted Flying Claw. Now. She could hear that clash of metal on metal, and knew that he was holding his own against Treaty—but for how long?

Honey Dream moved to one side, and Brenda raced forward marveling at the ease with which she found footholds in the air.

See, Dad?
she thought with venom she hadn’t known she felt.
See how fantastic I am? Why have you been holding out on me? Why have I been good enough to do your job when it
wasn’t convenient for you, but I’m not good enough to know your secrets?

Honey Dream was beside Brenda, stumbling as she struggled to keep pace. “Look, Brenda. I’ll help you rescue Flying Claw. Then will you listen to me? Something isn’t right here!”

Brenda snarled. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help. I can do anything I need to do, and I’m tired of being pushed around. I have nothing against you, but if you get in my way, I’m going to make those damn red robes of yours into applesauce.”

Brenda didn’t hear Honey Dream’s reply—if there was a reply. Her head pounded. Her heart ached with desperate desires, desires only half admitted to until this moment. Her ears ached from the surrounding noise. It had been so quiet before, so peaceful. Why was everyone screaming? What was that horrible howling noise?

Brenda looked ahead. Flying Claw and Pearl were still fencing, blade striking blade so hard that blue sparks flecked the air. Twentyseven-Ten stood to one side, his own blade drawn, a look of supreme satisfaction on his features. Brenda didn’t need to ask to know that the former prisoner was thinking that whatever the outcome of this duel, some desire of his own would be satisfied.

Thorn lay crumpled on the ground, blood trickling from his forehead, washing his face with red. Brenda thought that he must have tried to break up the fight, and met this poor thanks.

How am I going to pull it off?
she thought.
There’s got to be a way …

Honey Dream had grabbed hold of Brenda’s sleeve and was holding her back.

“Why is it that you can’t see how insane this is? Would Flying Claw break a treaty? Never! Not without good reason, and there is no good reason.”

Sure there is
, Brenda thought.
Pearl must have said
something, done something. She can be so annoying, such a know-it-all…

But the thoughts rang hollow in her head. Pearl had been very annoying lots of times, but neither as Foster nor as Flying Claw had the young man raised a hand to her. Brenda didn’t want to admit it, but Honey Dream was correct. Something was wrong.

Brenda shook her head, trying to clear it, because even as she was thinking this, another part of her was shouting at her to get a move on, to get down there, to go after Flying Claw. Hit Pearl. Do something.

No treaty keeps you from hurting Pearl
, that other voice said persuasively.
You’re fine. In the clear. You might even gain her gratitude, for there’s no way that Flying Claw—that noble youth—would strike an old woman when she was down.

Brenda squinched her eyes shut tight and bent forward, teeth clenched, hands pressed to her ears. She shook herself, straightened, opened her eyes again, strove to see, really see, not to interpret.

And she saw. Pearl and Flying Claw were indeed fighting, but it was a weird and desperate duel. Treaty wanted the young man’s blood, but Pearl was trying to regain control over the blade. Time and again a blow that would have severely injured, even killed the young warrior went astray because the old woman holding the hilt had kilted it aside.

For his part, Flying Claw was concentrating almost wholly on defense, parrying, parrying, refusing openings where he could have broken through Pearl’s erratic guard.

“They don’t want to fight,” Brenda said aloud.

“And someone else has noticed,” Honey Dream said. “We’ve got to stop him!”

For Twentyseven-Ten’s face had lost its expression of bland complacency. He was drawing his sword, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet, looking for the opening that would let him strike without being struck in turn.

Did he realize that in doing this he would be opening himself to Treaty’s vengeance? Did he care? Did he think that the sword would choose to finish with one target before settling on a second and that by then Pearl would be too exhausted to handle the sword to any effect?

Even as she wondered, Brenda was swooping down, running in the air, then on solid somehow springy ground, propelling herself with aching muscles as fast as she could, her target the back of Twentyseven-Ten’s knees. She didn’t know what Honey Dream was doing, but she knew the other woman would be in there somehow.

How odd
, she thought,
to trust Honey Dream.

But the thought was her own, no other’s, and she knew the Snake worthy of trust.

Faster and faster, Brenda raced. Her focus was absolute, the world resolved to the few square inches that were her target. Faster she went, then she hit solidly, squarely, launching herself with the momentum of her wind into a tackle that took Twentyseven-Ten out behind the knees.

And Honey Dream was there as well, angling with far greater elegance and artistry, plucking Twentyseven-Ten’s sword from his momentarily loosened grasp, bringing it around so that the flat caught him along the side of his helmeted head. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Brenda made sure of this. Then she struggled to her feet, inspecting her array of bracelets, looking for something, anything that would enable Flying Claw and Pearl to break from their battle.

Dragons, winds, twins, variations of them in different combinations. Winding Snakes, perhaps? But no, that would take too long. Wriggling Snakes—that had promise, but could it get past Pearl’s defenses?

An insight, brilliant as such always is, came to Brenda. Fearing that thought would quell the impulse, make her realize just how dangerous what she intended was, Brenda dashed forward, letting her daypack fall from her shoulders
as she moved so that it dropped first from her left shoulder, than fell down her right arm so that she could grasp it in her right hand.

She swung the pack underhand, letting the weight and momentum carry it so it smashed into Treaty’s blade and Pearl’s hand. Pearl’s hand loosed its grip on the sword’s hilt, and the pack knocked it free.

Flying Claw’s blade, raised to parry and not finding the expected counterblow, hit the pack squarely, slicing through the nylon fabric so that first-aid kit, binoculars, a roll of hard candy, a package of chewing gum, a half-eaten high-protein bar, and assorted other detritus scattered on the ground.

Pearl was cradling her sword hand. A moan escaped her lips despite obvious efforts to hold it back.

“I think my hand is broken,” she said in shock.

Brenda didn’t stop to apologize. “Deborah! Nissa! Pearl’s hurt!” she yelled, and was relieved to see Deborah part from the knot of shouting men up above.

Brenda didn’t wait to see if anyone else was coming, or even what Flying Claw was doing. Waking Lizard was speaking, the urgency in his voice drawing Brenda in.

“We must break that,” he was saying, pointing to the top of an unremarkable stack, “then not only should the madness cease, but so should the force that’s drawing away at the guardians.”

His audience consisted of Honey Dream, Des, Chain, and Shackles. Deborah was easing Pearl to the ground, talking comfortingly. Brenda turned to join Waking Lizard and the others. Later she’d let herself feel immensely guilty about what she’d done to Pearl. For now, the only way she could make her impulsive action good was to help.

Honey Dream made room for Brenda, giving her a stiff, approving smile, but the Snake’s words were for Waking Lizard.

“Close it? Can we do so without trapping the guardians?”

“Good point.” Waking Lizard frowned, twisting his beard around his right index finger.

“Amputation is kinder than death.” The words were Flying Claw’s. “And I believe the guardians may be able to regenerate what they have lost. We must move quickly. Whatever created this monstrosity has increased its pull.”

No one asked how he knew, but Brenda suspected that Pai Hu was still able to communicate with the Tiger.

“It wants,” Waking Lizard said, his eyes wild. “Can’t you feel the desire? That’s what has been driving us all crazy. It is empty and longs to be filled. It is incomplete and longs for completion. Let’s give it a bellyful.”

“No,” Honey Dream said. “That’s all wrong. This thing is trying to swallow a universe. How can we give it enough? Let’s think…”

To Brenda’s surprise, Honey Dream turned to her, dark brown eyes intense and focused. “Do you think this thing is live or un-live, made or broken?”

Brenda answered from her gut. She didn’t much trust her intellect at this point.

“Un-live and made.”

“What is a made break? What is a constructed hole?”

“A constructed hole?”

An momentary image of Dylan and Thomas when they were smaller, digging with their metal construction trucks and square-tipped sandbox shovels.

“Hey, Breni. We’re digging a hole to China!”

Brenda herself, only a little older, wistfully remembering when she’d believed such things could be done.

Her voice shaped the answer. “A constructed hole? A made break. A tunnel. A gate.”

“A gate,” Honey Dream said. “That’s it! This is a gate. Waking Lizard spoke truth when he said this thing is hungry—incomplete, but I do not think it is the gate that is incomplete, but rather whatever is on the other side.”

Des said, his expression eager, “If whatever it is wants completion, and if it can find what will complete it here, then it cannot be alien to our understanding. In fact, I suspect it is very familiar. Whoever made the gate will have
taken steps to protect it, to assure against unwanted intrusion.”

“That’s always the problem with gates,” Waking Lizard said softly. “They work two ways.”

Brenda remembered the seeming eternity ago when they had set up the pine door in Pearl’s warehouse.

“Guardians? Men Shen?”

“Two points, weedhopper,” Des said. “But these will not be our Men Shen. Men Shen are as infinite as the gates and doors they guard. Even so, I believe we can use this to our advantage.”

Brenda looked back over her shoulder. Something was changing. Dad and Albert, Shen and Righteous Drum were no longer arguing. Dazed expressions on their faces, they were stumbling down to join the rest. Farther back, she could see Riprap standing tall, Nissa cradled limp in his arms as if she weighed no more than Lani.