Midday on their fourth day in the mountains of metal, Flying Claw brought his kite down from a scouting venture aloft.
“I think I see an end to these mountains,” he said, and waved down his comrades’ cheering. “However, even with the binoculars I could not make sense of what lies on the other side. There’s simply too much mist.”
Mist and clouds had begun to appear after the second day of their journey, usually wreathing peaks, but sometimes settling into valleys as well. Uncertain visibility had added to their torment.
“Wood,” Bend Bamboo said. “We’ve had the other four elements. This last area must be dedicated to wood. A forest perhaps: cool, green, and well watered?”
“We could only wish,” Flying Claw said, grinning at the Monkey’s feigned optimism. “I can’t see clearly yet, but I suspect that just as we would never have expected an ocean that burned nor mountains without a trace of stone, so wood has been shaped to some characteristic alien to its nature.”
“I can hardly wait,” Riprap said, “because when we get to other side, I’m going to find the twisted idiot who created this place and wring his neck.”
Over the next few days, Parnell continued to expand Brenda’s acquaintance with what he claimed were the sidhe folk. None of them fit her childhood daydreams. More than a few were the stuff of nightmares.
After a mutually uncomfortable meeting with a critter who resembled the love child of a cockleburr and a hedgehog, Brenda found herself ticking these new acquaintances off on her fingers: Oak Gall, Wasp, Nettles, Sluggy, Tangles, and, of course, Prickles.
She and Parnell were strolling back toward Brenda’s dorm. Brenda removed her swollen finger from her mouth and stared critically at its tip. She thought she had all the stickers out.
“Well, that was fun!” she said with bright insincerity.
“You were the one who offered to shake hands,” Parnell said. “Despite ample evidence this wasn’t a brilliant idea.”
“But I’d insulted Sluggy by refusing to shake hands,” Brenda protested. “Or pseudopods or what ever that was. I was just trying not to make the same mistake twice.”
Parnell didn’t say anything, and Brenda couldn’t help but feel she was proving to be a disappointment to him.
“It would be easier if they looked more like people,” she said sulkily.
“They do look like people,” Parnell replied, a decided edge to his voice.
“I mean the way you look like a human,” Brenda said. “Like Leaf did when I saw her in dreams. Is everyone where you come from, well, so kind of weird looking? I mean, are all the beautiful sidhe just in our heads?”
“What’s beautiful, Brenda Morris?” Parnell responded with a smile that seemed just a bit sad. “Trust me. No mother robin would think even you, all the flower of young womanhood that you are, the least bit attractive. As for a human newborn . . . they’re so ugly they can even shock their own parents. But that same mother robin dotes on her naked, gape-mouthed chick, even to the point of risking her life for it.”
“I guess,” Brenda said.
Parnell went on dreamily, “You know, there’s a certain resemblance between baby humans and baby robins. Both are naked, screaming, really ugly little creatures—all noisy dependence.”
“Are you insulting me?” Brenda said. “Is that wise when you yourself say your people think you might need me?”
“You were insulting us,” Parnell replied. “And who is to say that need might not be mutual?”
They stopped in midstride, glowering at each other.
“You’re right. You’re right. You’re a hundred and fifty percent right,” Brenda said, voice rising, hands on hips. “I don’t know why I even bother to say anything.”
“What you mean,” Parnell said, his voice low, but his tone no less angry, “ isthat you think I’m wrong. Why must you pick such an annoying way to say so? It closes any chance of understanding.”
“Because,” Brenda said, words tumbling over each other, riding the waterfall of her confusion, “you are right. I know you are. I’m trying to accept that I’m just a narrow-thinking, close-minded human. I can’t help not liking that revelation. But I grew up on stories of the beautiful sidhe folk, and I can’t quite wrap my heart around the fact that apparently you all look like spiders or weird plants or slugs. I look at you, Parnell, with your green eyes and flowing honey-gold hair, and I wonder what you really look like, and then I wonder if I want to know.”
“I thought,” Parnell said, “that you would be more comfortable with truth than glamour. I have tried to give you that truth. Now, I see, I would have done better to bring you fairy folk out of your Shakespeare. Of course then, when the time came that the glamour must come down—or worse, some enemy broke it before I had a chance to explain—then would it be better or would you be standing there screaming at me for lying at you?”
There was a long silence, and Brenda let her hands fall loose to her side.
“Seems like you get yelled at either way,” she said, forcing a chuckle. “Lucky Parnell. Okay. You’re right again.”
But she didn’t shout this time. Parnell also relaxed.
“Really,” Brenda went on, “you’re right. I would have hated to be shocked by a sudden revelation even more than I hate having my childish illusions taken away from me. But, oh . . . It’s hard, especially since the Chinese stuff has been so splendid.”
“Splendid?” Parnell asked, the surprise in his voice genuine. “How is the theft of memory splendid? Wasn’t that how you first learned about your Chinese heritage, when your own kin were attacked? When you learned that the only reason they weren’t killing you all was because they feared the consequences—but not the deed?”
“No,” Brenda protested, “it wasn’t that, not that at all. But they were still human—I mean, they couldn’t be related to our ancestors if they weren’t. Their stories sort of matched those in the books. It wasn’t like what you’ve shown me.”
“Our stories have crept into your books as well,” Parnell replied, “but in those stories we are usually represented as the monsters or the enemies. Leave that. What you’re forgetting is that the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice are a direct of shoot of your own world. That is why there are the similarities, why there are humans. Places like the Lands—born of the dreams of one race—are very rare.”
“So whose dream are you?” Brenda asked.
Parnell shrugged. “Whose dream are you, Brenda? When you have that answer, maybe I’ll have mine. For now, let’s leave philosophy and try something more practical. Are you up for a field trip?”
“Now?” Brenda’s heart quickened, remembering another field trip, that first trip into the guardian domains.
“I was thinking tomorrow after lunch. You’re done with classes in the morning, I think.”
“I am. Where do you want to go?”
“To the Land Beneath the Hills,” Parnell said. “Maybe if you see us where we live we won’t seem so odd—or if we do, at least you’ll understand us a little better.”
“Islands,” Brenda said, remembering. “You said it all had something to do with islands.”
“Something to do,” Parnell corrected softly, “with the blood of islands.”
The augury doesn’t make sense, Pearl thought. Or if it does, I don’t like what I see.
Pearl forced herself to examine the tiles spread in front of her, one hand rising inadvertently to cover her rapidly thudding heart.
These panic attacks are happening far too often, she chided herself. Where is your legendary courage, Pearl Bright?
A voice within her answered, Where it has always been, Ming-Ming, mostly within your imagination. When before these last few months did you ever really face a challenge that required courage?
But Pearl ignored that doubting, self-critical voice, concentrating on the tiles. There were twelve tiles in which the same sequence of numbers repeated over and over again, then two of the blank tiles that Pearl preferred
to use to represent the white dragon.
“Pearl?” Nissa’s voice broke into Pearl’s reverie: sharp, concerned. “Pearl? What’s wrong? Why don’t those tiles make sense? Do you need some water?”
“No water,” Pearl said. “Just a moment, I’ll show you what’s wrong.”
Forcing her hands not to shake, Pearl rearranged the tiles so that they showed the order it had taken her a moment to perceive. The numbers 4-2-4, repeated twice with tiles from the characters suit, then twice more with tiles from the dots suit. She laid these in sets, then followed them with the pair of white dragons.
“Four, two, four,” Nissa said, puzzlement in her voice, “and a pair of white dragons. That’s not a limit hand I remember, but it certainly looks as if it could be one. It wouldn’t even score mah-jong, because those four-two-four patterns aren’t runs.”
“No, this isn’t any limit hand you would know,” Pearl said. “Our ancestors spoke the Chinese of the Lands, and although the pronunciations are not the same, the pun did translate.”
“Pun?”
Pearl slowed down, reminding herself that Nissa, like Riprap and Brenda, spoke Chinese only by virtue of a spell. Likely the subtleties of the language did not translate.
“In Cantonese,” Pearl said, “four-two-four is considered a very unlucky number. In fact, all by itself, the word ‘four’ is considered unlucky because four sounds very much like the word ‘to die.’ ”
“Okay,” Nissa said. “What makes this worse? Wouldn’t four, four, four be worse?”
“It would be pretty bad,” Pearl admitted, “but four, two, four is worse. Through a similar pun, it sounds like the words ‘to die and die again.’ ”
“That is bad,” Nissa admitted.
“Very,” Pearl agreed. “Depending on one’s religious leanings, the phrase can be taken as predicting many deaths in one family, or to mean that one is bound on the wheel of incarnations and will never reach nirvana. Either way, it’s not a number one wants to see.”
“No,” Nissa agreed. “And especially not followed by a pair of white dragons, right?”
Pearl waited, interested to learn if Nissa was indeed following her train of thought.
“White is the color of death,” Nissa said. “Unlike the red dragon tile, which really has nothing to do with dragons, but means ‘center,’ or the green dragon tile, which is labeled with a word that means growth or increase; the white tile is simply called ‘white.’ ”
“Des has been a good teacher,” Pearl said.
“Well, Riprap insisted that he understand why the ‘dragon’ tiles didn’t have the same characters on them if they were all dragons,” Nissa said. “We went over the meanings a couple of times from different points of view.”
Nissa frowned and ran her index finger over the tiles. “All right. I agree with you. These tiles supply a very ominous answer. What question did you ask?”
“The same one we agreed on,” Pearl said. “Was Thundering Heaven behind my nightmare?”
“This doesn’t seem to be much of an answer,” Nissa said, “but it’s too organized to be just a fluke. To die and die again . . . I suppose that could mean, ‘Yes. He wants to scare you to death repeatedly.’ ”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Pearl said. “That’s quite a good interpretation. However, I wonder. The suit most usually associated with the tiger is bamboo.”
“Because of tigers in the jungle?” Nissa asked. “Oh! And because the Tiger’s color is green, and lots of sets print at least some of the bamboo in green. I see your point. There’s not a single bamboo here.”
“No,” Pearl said. “Do you mind if I break these tiles up? Just looking at that sequence makes me nervous. I was raised within the Chinese culture, and old superstitions die hard.”
“Even though your mom wasn’t Chinese?”
Pearl nodded and when Nissa didn’t protest, she swept her hand through the tiles.
“Even so. Thundering Heaven never acclimated. He ate only Chinese food, and in those days that meant shopping in specialty markets. Since my mother’s spoken Chinese was limited, I usually helped with the shopping. A lot of the superstitions of our neighbors rubbed off.”
“I can see that,” Nissa said. “Even if the message is cryptic, we’ve learned one thing. Whoever is sending those dreams d oesn’t mean you well. I wonder . . . You asked if Thundering Heaven sent the dream and we got this cryptic answer. Can we at least clarify if your attacker is from among the Orphans or perhaps connected to one of the indigenous magical traditions?”
“You’re thinking of Franklin Deng or his associates,” Pearl guessed. “You’re wondering if they’ve slipped through my wards somehow.”
“I am. I’ve never been quite happy with Deng showing up to the rescue when you had that ‘heart attack.’ Maybe he was just keeping track of you like he said, but maybe . . .”
“I don’t see how checking further could hurt,” Pearl said. “Why don’t you make certain Lani is still sleeping soundly while I think about how best to go about it.”
Nissa came back a few minutes later, a tall tumbler of iced tea in one hand.
“Lani’s out like a light. I don’t think she slept well last night. Even little kids can get stage fright.”
“I know,” Pearl said with a soft smile that hardened at a thought. “And if Lani heard you getting up to check on me, that wouldn’t have helped. Let’s do what we can to eliminate those nightmares. She, at least, deserves sound sleep.”
“Will the auguries answer a simple yes/no question?” Nissa asked.
“Yes,” Pearl said, “and, well, no. The problem is very few questions have such simple answers.”
“How about ‘Do you like pickled beets?’ ” Nissa asked flippantly. “I could firmly answer ‘no’ to that.”
“Let’s use that as an example,” Pearl said. “What do you mean by ‘like’? The taste, the color, the texture? Would you eat pickled beets if the alternative was starvation? Would you eat them if the only other option was eating dog shit?”
Nissa raised her eyebrows. Like most young mothers, she so habitually avoided crudities or obscenities that she was shocked by the use of them by others.
“All right. I see your point. So if we ask, ‘Is the person sending Pearl nightmares one of the Orphans?’ and the answer we get is ‘no,’ that doesn’t rule out one of the Orphans working in collaboration with someone else—someone, say, who is actually doing the spell casting.”
“Exactly,” Pearl said. “Or if one of the Orphans is an unwitting tool of whoever is behind this, then we might get a ‘yes’ answer, but that might be inaccurate.”
“You mean like the time Honey Dream used Gaheris Morris to get into this house so she could try and rescue Foster,” Nissa said. “Technically, Gaheris was innocent, but an augury would have shown him as guilty.”
“Precisely. So we need to phrase our queries as carefully as possible, and then do a series of auguries to confirm that what we think we read from the tiles is actually the correct answer.”
“Sounds as if it’s going to be a lot of work,” Nissa said.
“It will be,” Pearl agreed, “and our sequence of readings will probably stretch out over several days. Doing the auguries uses ch’i, and we don’t dare deplete ourselves too greatly when our allies might need us at a moment’s notice.”
Nissa, who had been reaching toward the mah-jong tiles, froze with her hands in midair.
“Do you think that likely?”
“The last message I had from Des said that they were in the middle of an area he referred to as ‘the mountains of metal.’ It was a very short message. Had we not prepared in advance, I don’t think the message would have reached us.”
“That’s not good,” Nissa said.
“But it is not necessarily bad. Des mentioned no losses, no specif c injuries.”
“But they’re not having an easy time of it,” Nissa said. “Okay. I get it. We can’t wear ourselves out. Still, we can
do at least one other augury today. Where do we start?”
“I would like to see if we can rule out the Orphans,” Pearl said. “And after them, if we can rule out our allies who reside at Colm Lodge. I think asking something like: ‘Are one or more of the living Thirteen Orphans behind Pearl’s recent nightmares?’ might be a good choice.”
“Maybe we should start even further back,” Nissa said. “Can we query whether your nightmares are, well, natural or sent?”
Pearl considered protesting. Hadn’t she made clear that she didn’t think she was harboring any undue anger or resentment? Therefore, her nightmares must be unnatural.
Ah, Pearl Bright, she asked herself, but what if you’re lying to yourself? That has been done before.
“Very well. We’ll start with that question. Let’s build the wall.”
By the time Lani woke up, eager to reprise her big day in song and story, Pearl and Nissa had confirmed that the nightmares were indeed unnatural.
Nissa had insisted that she felt not the least trace of ch’i depletion, so they had gone on and confirmed that the source of the nightmares was connected to the incident with the car and to Pearl’s near heart attack.
“Not much,” Nissa said, reviewing the tidy notes she’d been making. “Will this information be of any help?”
“A little,” Pearl reassured her. “At least we know I’m not going crazy.”
The next afternoon, following a very prosaic lunch of bacon cheeseburgers, fries, and sweetened iced tea, Parnell took Brenda away to fairyland.
Or to the land of the sidhe, which was just about the same thing in most Irish legends.
They ambled across campus in the general direction of the Congaree River. At some point, Brenda became unsure of their surroundings. This surprised her. She’d done a lot of walking during her freshman year, getting to know her new home in detail, since this was the first place she’d ever lived on her own.
She’d been so aware of what a momentous event that move had been: on her own, no parents watching over her shoulder. Yet, after the events of the summer, Brenda’s excitement—no, she decided to be honest with herself: her sense of self-importance—seemed very trivial.
Five Odd Honors Page 27
