“But that’s him. I really didn’t feel I failed—well, except in the matter of an heir, and I’ll come back to that. I know I’ve mastered the Tiger’s lore. I made certain that several people—Albert and Gaheris in particular—who might have otherwise lapsed received the best teaching Shen and I could provide. I’ve mentored Des. Stayed in touch with your family. Been friends with Deborah—though that’s easy. She’s very nice.”
“She is,” Nissa agreed. “What about the heir thing? Is that alone enough to give you nightmares like this?”
“I can’t imagine why,” Pearl said. “True, I’ve done a lot of thinking about heirs lately, what with Gaheris getting controlling regarding Brenda, and watching you decide just how much Lani can handle. However, I’ve always felt that the Tiger would provide. I have two brothers. They have children. Now that we’ve reconnected to the Lands, perhaps my heir is there.”
Nissa nodded, and for a moment an image of Flying Claw stood between them, as clearly as if they’d summoned him.
Pearl went on. “So I don’t feel guilty on that count, either.”
“Perhaps the nightmares are a sending of some sort,” Nissa said. “Do you think Thundering Heaven is the source?”
“That makes the most sense,” Pearl agreed. “I met his challenge and bested him, but that doesn’t mean he’ll honor his defeat. I believe our shared link to the Tiger might provide enough of a channel for him to reach me, even if he is in the afterlife and I am still living.”
“And sleep,” Nissa said, “makes one receptive to communications from elsewhere. Look how Loyal Wind was able to reach Brenda, though they had a far less intimate link.”
“Precisely,” Pearl said.
“It makes a lot of sense,” Nissa said, “but is there any way we can confirm our suspicions? An augury?”
“There might be,” Pearl said. “It wouldn’t be as precise as a fairy tale’s three answers from a captive demon or the like, but augury and related subjects were among the arts that Li Szu did not advise Shih Huang Ti to destroy. There are many traditions, including those the Orphans themselves developed.”
Nissa glanced at the clock on Pearl’s bedside table. “But not now. It’s two in the morning, and Lani is sure to get up by seven. Tomorrow is Lani’s show, but maybe we can try something afterwards. Lani’s sure to be tuckered out.”
“Why not?” Pearl said. “I think an augury will only confirm what we already suspect, but that confirmation will be useful.”
Nissa touched the baby monitor. “Do you mind if I put this back?”
Pearl considered. She valued her privacy, but as long as someone might be attacking her, it seemed foolish to indulge herself.
“You may.”
Nissa did so, then bent and gave Pearl a very matter-of-fact peck on the forehead.
“Sleep well. Sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams yourself—and thank you.”
Pearl did sleep well, and woke eager and invigorated.
Watching Lani sing and dance energized her further. Pearl felt positively tigerish when, after Lani had been carried up to bed—no need to convince the child to nap—she and Nissa went into her office.
“Are we going to use mah-jong tiles, then?” Nissa asked as Pearl pulled out the leather case with an abstract tiger painted on the lid.
“I thought we should,” Pearl said, “since the Orphans did design some interesting variations on standard auguries. I thought we might as well make this an extension of your lessons.”
Holding the box containing the Tiger mah-jong set in her hands, Pearl frowned down at it.
“But perhaps,” she said, “we should either use your set, or we should use one of the more generic sets from the studio.”
Nissa caught on at once. “Because this set is made from Thundering Heaven’s bones?”
“Well, we are inquiring after his actions,” Pearl said. “If he is able to touch me through our shared link to the Tiger, then he might be able to affect something made with his own bone.”
“Good point,” Nissa said, and Pearl was pleased to see not even a pro forma shudder of distaste. “I’ll get my set. From what you’ve said about Thundering Heaven, I doubt that my great-great-grandmother thought well of his treatment of you.”
“Straw Cymbals wouldn’t have had the chance to protest,” Pearl said. “She died two years before I was born.”
“Straw Cymbals?” Nissa said. “Is that what ‘Nao Nao’ means? That’s what my mother told us her name was.”
“Straw Cymbals,” Pearl agreed. “When Nao Nao died, your great-grandmother Naomi Nita was already twenty. She was good to me, and because of her kindness I found myself very ready to stay in touch with the Nita clan.”
“I’m glad,” Nissa said. “Now, let me run upstairs and get my set.”
She was down a few moments later, holding in her hands a case on which the Rabbit was painted in a stylized fashion that resembled a form used more commonly in paper cuts. Pearl remembered when those designs had become the “thing” among the Orphans. The second Ram had started it, and soon everyone was clamoring for her to do one for them.
A brighter memory.
Pearl spilled the tiles onto the card table that had become a more or less permanent fixture of her office. Someone was always spilling tiles over it, working out the right configuration for a particular spell.
Nissa helped Pearl arrange all the tiles facedown, then automatically joined in as Pearl began “washing” the tiles, as the gentle mixing of the tiles across the flat surface was termed.
“Now give me a moment,” Pearl said, “and I’ll concentrate on framing the question.”
“And what question is that?” Nissa asked guardedly. “I want to know, and I want you to promise you won’t waffle.”
“I’m going to ask if Thundering Heaven is the source of last night’s nightmare.”
“That’s it?”
“The more specif c, the more likely we’ll get a clear answer. We can always ask another question.”
“And if we ask something more general like ‘who is behind it’?”
“Then we’re not likely to get a clear answer.” Pearl ran her hands over the tiles. “This isn’t a Ouija board.”
“Would one of those work?” Nissa asked.
“Probably not for us,” Pearl said. “Neither you nor I were raised to think of those as anything other than toys for kids or tools to trick gullible old women.”
“I can see that,” Nissa said. “All right. Ask your question.”
Pearl shuffled the tiles, feeling ch’i channel from her into the bone and bamboo rectangles, almost hearing the echo of reply. Suddenly, she was eager. “Next we build the wall.”
“Just as if we were playing a game.”
“Right.”
Hands moving with quick experience, they took the one hundred forty-four tiles and stacked them into a square two tiles high.
“Now what?”
“Now we deal a hand,” Pearl said. She handed Nissa one of a pair of dice. “Roll for who breaks.”
Pearl rolled her die. She was unsurprised when Nissa rolled a one, and herself a six.
She rolled both dice, counted around the walls, then handed the dice to Nissa.
“You roll for the actual break,” Pearl said.
Nissa obeyed, then counted individual tiles. She lifted two sets out, set them aside, then looked at Pearl.
“How can we deal with only two ‘players’?” Nissa said.
“We don’t,” Pearl said. “We’ll just count off the first fourteen tiles, and see what we get. I’m expecting lots of green since that’s the Tiger’s color.”
She counted off the fourteen tiles while Nissa watched, then flipped them face up, almost without looking, but her fingers slowed as the various combinations were revealed.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “This makes no sense at all.”
Then Pearl looked at the spread tiles again, and a cold wave of purest
fear hit her.
“Or maybe it does.”
The far side of the sea of fire provided a vista of unimaginable loveliness.
Mountains rose from the fiery lake, unblackened, untainted by the heat. The lowest slopes caught the reddish orange light of the coals, giving it back as molten mirrored rubies blending scatterings of dark orange citrine and shimmering yellow topaz.
Higher up the slopes, foliage began. First, there was wispy grass, dry and prickly, but miraculous in growing at all. Higher still, sparse concentrations of stunted shrubs grew in twisted contortions. About halfway up the slopes, where the heat would be no more than unpleasant, the first trees began: sparse-needled cypress giving way to elegant evergreens.
“Steer toward that area to the right,” called Copper Gong from her place at the lead. “There seems to be the start of a pass there, as well as a beach where we can easily land.”
Loyal Wind spotted the indicated space almost at once, a stretch of silvery sand easily wide enough for all of them and their gear. He wiped his parched lips on the back of his hand, thinking of the large canteens in their luggage. The water would be hot, but even so, it would taste wonderful.
The flotilla of kites moved in the direction of the beach, silk butterflies arrayed in a snowflake pattern against a cinder grey sky that shaded into a hard, unforgiving blue against the peaks of the mountains.
Copper Gong was the first to bring her kite in to land. As her feet hit the shining sands of the beach she yelled out. Recalling the west wind with a sudden blast of ch’i, she launched herself into the air once more.
“Hot!” she called, circling back and upward. “The damn sands are hot!”
“We should have expected that,” Flying Claw said, chagrin on his handsome features. “The sands are next to a sea of fire. Of course they are hot.”
Des, who had been coming in to land after Copper Gong, and had been brought up short by her warning, spoke as he struggled to get his kite under control once more.
“We didn’t run into the same problem on the other side, because the cascading water cooled the shore. Flying Claw, do you think we can take these kites deeper into the mountains?”
“Maybe,” Flying Claw replied, “but not for too great a distance. We’re relying on the heat from the sea of fire for additional loft.”
“So when the heat isn’t enough to lift us,” Copper Gong said, “the surface below should be cool enough for us to stand. We’ve got to do something. Even my brief touchdown singed my sandals.”
She held out one foot so those below her could see the blackened soles.
“Is everyone willing to attempt to fly farther?” Flying Claw asked. Following a chorus of agreement, he went on, “Let me take point. I’ll warn you when I feel myself losing loft.”
“What about all that trailing baggage?” Riprap said. “Want to hand it off?”
Flying Claw shook his head. “We will need to come down when the baggage can no longer stay aloft.”
He took himself higher, maneuvering his paired kites as Loyal Wind might have a chariot team.
“There’s a pass here,” he called back. “It’s fairly wide. I think you can follow two abreast.”
They did so, Loyal Wind taking up the rear behind Bent Bamboo and Nine Ducks. The Monkey had been positively meek since his near crash. Perversely, this worried Loyal Wind more than if Bent Bamboo had been his usual flamboyant self. From the way Nine Ducks rode herd on the Monkey, Loyal Wind knew his apprehension was shared.
They brought the kites down on a wind-scoured stretch of rock. From there, the pass narrowed and cut sharply upward.
Before his feet touched the ground, Loyal Wind had been analyzing the terrain, guessing that this wider area would have been shaped by wind and water pushing through that narrow area ahead. Then the soles of his boots slid on the surprisingly smooth surface and he immediately reassessed.
Holding the kite up, Loyal Wind knelt and struck the ground with his knuckles. It rang like a deep-toned bell muted in layers of felt, the sound dull but undeniable.
“Metal,” said Bent Bamboo, rising from where he, too, had been testing the surface. “We’ve had a forest of stone, a wall of water, a sea of fire, and now a mountain of metal—molded to boot.”
“Molded?” asked Gentle Smoke.
“Why would it ring if it wasn’t hollow underneath?” Bent Bamboo said. “At least this portion isn’t unduly hot.”
Nine Ducks frowned. “Metal. This isn’t good. If this is an artificial landscape, we’re not going to find food or water here.”
“Probably not,” Bent Bamboo agreed. “Although we may be able to manipulate this surface to create some water. Remember, according to the ancient laws of elemental progression, metal is destroyed by fire but gives forth water.”
“I memorized that progression,” Riprap said, “as part of one of Des’s lessons, but I’ve got to say that I’ve always had trouble with the logic of that. I mean, some of the combinations make sense, like water quenching fire, or even fire creating earth. Why would metal have been thought to make water? From what I’ve seen, water rusts metal—or at least iron. It isn’t good for copper or bronze or silver either.”
“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 darkne
ss 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 horselike 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.
Five Odd Honors Page 26
