During the break, Albert had lit some incense on the family altar. The light sandalwood scent was soothing, the exotic odor cutting them off from the ordinary world as neatly as the house’s soundproofing eliminated the noise made by the early arrivals to the Rosicrucian Museum.
“Everyone ready your Triple Knitting,” Albert said. “Nissa, don’t be ashamed to use a bracelet.”
“I’ve got this spell down,” she assured him.
“Honey Dream, I trust your judgment,” Albert said, settling himself into a chair on the western edge of the table. “When you sense that everyone is connected, begin.”
Of such little things are alliances forged, Pearl thought, seeing Honey Dream straighten a little at Albert’s words. Far more than any treaty, no matter what my father thought.
She forced any memory of Thundering Heaven from her mind, and concentrated on building her spell. Around her, Pearl could feel the others slot their own spells into place. Honey Dream was perfectly patient, waiting for the resonance between five such different forces to fall into harmony. Then she began.
Pearl felt rather than saw the fall of the dice, the selection of the two tiles that connected the Snake’s universe to that of the Tiger. Honey Dream was settling into her appointed seat on the south side of the table as Pearl tossed her own dice, one pair to select the wall, the second to select the two tiles.
To her delight, she felt a faint growling purr. Pai Hu would assist.
Pearl repeated the process. Without glancing at Nissa, she settled into the empty chair on the north side. Nissa took over, handling the dice without the least diminishment of her Triple Knitting.
Now to seek Gentle Smoke. The Exile Snake had died some years before Pearl’s birth, but Pearl had known her heir, had heard stories of the Exile Snake’s wisdom and, perhaps even more important, solid common sense. To these Pearl added more recent memories, from the time since the ghosts had come to stay at her house. Ghosts who had accepted a return to mortality—a return that in some cases, as for Loyal Wind who longed for redemption, might have been welcome, but for Gentle Smoke who had died at a relatively advanced age, with daughter and granddaughter, both, to carry on her line, might not have been so welcome.
These were not coherent thoughts, set down in orderly fashion, rather a flow of images, of emotions, of shifting perspective. Pearl’s portrait of Gentle Smoke made one cord in a five-strand rope of shaped ch’i, a rope that made its way, snakelike (how appropriate) out of this Land of the Burning, into the facilitating force of Pai Hu, out of the guardian domains, through an opening she knew was the last of the Nine Gates, and . . .
Pearl felt her entire upper body rock back as if someone had slammed a fist toward her face and she had jerked away in self-defense. Her ears heard corresponding gasps from each of her four companions, but she, like them, made no other reaction, every iota of ch’i and attention focused on adapting, adjusting, reconfiguring.
They had penetrated into the Lands. Currents sucked the ch’i from their spell as she would juice from an orange slice. Automatically, she started to pull back, to regroup, but Honey Dream protested. An image of Gentle Smoke flooded through the confusion. Pearl agreed, gave accord, pressed all the force of the Tiger into finding Gentle Smoke, to touching the Snake.
Honey Dream gave their seeking form and focus. In a very real sense she and Gentle Smoke were echoes of the same greater thing, the Sixth Earthly Branch. There were not words for what they sought to do, but it was not unlike looking for a single shape among scattered jigsaw puzzle pieces, the one with two “arms,” one “leg,” and a lopsided head, printed in the blue of the sky that is also the blue of the sea.
Finding, discarding, finding, almost matching, close, close, doesn’t quite work, pushing away options, glancing at the template, finding, finding, and there, there was Gentle Smoke, far, far away, her mind clear, her body was wracked with shrieking pain.
“Taken,” came Gentle Smoke’s voice, faint as a whisper, vibrant as a gong struck on a still night. “Li Szu. Past the mountains. Forest walks. Taken by Thundering Heaven. For the Branches. If you come, taken—”
The contact broke—no, was cut—and Pearl knew Gentle Smoke feared what would happen if anyone detected this powerful surge of ch’i in the desiccated place the Lands had become. Flung back into her body, Pearl felt her muscles trembling and gripped the sides of her chair lest she tumble to the floor. Her face was wet, and she realized the wetness was tears.
“Taken,” Albert said, and his voice rasped. He, too, wept. “Taken, and although she wished to hide it, I think tortured as well.”
Honey Dream’s face showed no tears, but not, Pearl realized, because she felt no compassion for her sister snake. She was too furious to cry.
“Tortured,” Honey Dream confirmed, “and worse. They know Gentle Smoke does not fear death, so they must make her fear living more.”
Righteous Drum was pale, his eyes red. “The branches. They want the Earthly Branches—as we did.”
“But they,” Nissa said softly, “are far more ruthless.”
“Flying Claw,” Honey Dream said, her voice low and hot, “had nothing to offer them—and his death would release the Tiger to their use. Likely he is dead.”
Pearl found her voice. “We must go after them.”
“You cannot go into the Lands,” Righteous Drum protested. “You possess what our enemies want: affiliation with the portion of the Earthly Branches that came with the Exiles back into the Land of the Burning. They will be watching for you.”
Pearl met his gaze without flinching. “They have Des, whom I have known all his life. They have Riprap, who has become a friend. Despite my unkindness to Flying Claw, he has honored me by calling me aunt. I will either save or avenge him.”
Albert nodded agreement, but it was Nissa who spoke. “The Exiles came back to life for us. At least we owe them an honest death.”
When he started instructing her, Parnell decided that the root of Brenda’s difficulty was that she could not tap ch’i external to her own.
“And when you run out of what you have, acushla, you collapse and get sick. I’m not blaming your teachers, mind. They were trying to teach you and the others, while at the same time struggling to learn who was hunting you all. Those amulet bracelets were a good compromise, but the time has come to move beyond them.”
For the last several days, therefore, Brenda had been letting her college studies slide. She still went to lectures and did the bare minimum of preparation for those classes where she had to be ready to respond. Otherwise, she spent her time on Parnell’s lessons.
He’d warded a half dozen locations, all near areas where, according to him at least, natural energy was more abundant. The plan was to teach her to tap that energy, then learn to focus it into one of the amulet bracelets.
“Killing two birds with one stone, so to speak,” Parnell said cheerfully. “The ch’i, as you call it, won’t be wasted, and you’ll build your arsenal up a bit.”
“The clay is going to get pretty grungy,” Brenda protested.
“I don’t think that is important,” Parnell assured her.
Brenda was coming out of one of the warded areas after a long morning’s lesson when her phone rang.
“Breni?”
“Nissa!” The joy Brenda felt at hearing Nissa’s voice instantly faded. Maybe it was because she’d been concentrating so hard on intangibles, but there was a tense note in Nissa’s voice. “Is something wrong? Has Pearl had another attack?”
“Well,” Nissa paused, “not quite. Actually, I was calling you about that role-playing game we started this summer. You remember, the one about portals into another land?”
She needs to talk about magic and stuff , and knows we’re not supposed to over the phone or even in e-mails, Brenda thought.
Aloud she said, “Sure. How could I forget? It took the whole summer, and I had to leave right when things were getting interesting, when we were sending out scouts.”
Parnell, who had been walking alongside Brenda, politely ignoring the conversation, now stiffened. Brenda wondered if she should let him eavesdrop, then shrugged. How could she stop him? She had no idea what Parnell was capable of doing. Even if he walked away, he might return in another form, or have one of his little allies listen for him.
Brenda slowed and motioned toward a bench near a spreading maple. Then she held her phone out from her ear, and hoped Parnell could hear.
Nissa was saying, “That’s it. I knew you’d remember. Listen, do you want to know what’s happened since?”
“I’ve always wanted to know,” Brenda said, “but whenever I asked, no one would tell me anything.”
She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice, but suspected it crept in nonetheless. “I figured that since you had another player for my character, you didn’t want me to play anymore.”
Nissa’s Virginia drawl intensified as it always did when she got emotional. “I can see why you’d think that, honey, but that was just one player’s choice. The guy who took over your role said that he didn’t think you’d want to be distracted—and that he couldn’t play if he was worrying about you.”
Dad, Brenda thought viciously. Dad was the one who didn’t want me to “play.”
But the momentary anger faded in light of the realization that Nissa now refused to maintain the ostracization.
“Tell me about the game,” Brenda urged. “How are our scouts? Did they find the way through the maze?”
“They did,” Nissa said. “Took them quite a while. Some of the sections were really hard to figure out. But it might have been better if they didn’t make it through.”
“Why?”
“It was all a trap. Remember the guy who tried to keep us from getting the Monkey?”
“Yeah.”
“He was waiting. They’re prisoners.”
“Prisoners!”
“We only learned three days ago,” Nissa said. “We had puzzles of our own to solve, but we finally figured out how to get in touch with G.S. She’s in bad shape, but we don’t think her life is in danger.”
Brenda’s heart was hammering so hard she could hardly hear over the pounding of her pulse in her ears.
“Why not? I mean, I’m glad, but . . .”
“Because we think the people who captured her want . . .” Nissa paused.
Brenda realized that Nissa wasn’t just following protocol. She was afraid that someone might tap in, someone who could fill in the gaps on this weird conversation.
Who? One of the indigenous? Dad? Some other enemy?
“Want?” Brenda prompted.
“The same thing everyone seems to want,” Nissa said. “Remember earlier in the game?”
The Earthly Branches.
“I do. God! Nissa, what can I do to help? This is horrible. Do you know if the others are okay? Did G.S. say more?”
“She said very little, but I think . . . We can’t count on everyone being okay. There’s one scout who doesn’t have anything they want.”
One scout? Brenda mentally ran through the list: the five ghosts, Riprap, Des, and—
“Oh, God! No!”
“I think you’ve guessed,” Nissa said, her voice heavy. “We’re not leaving it lie. We’re doing all we can. Shen got here yesterday, but even with his help it’s going to take time.”
“What can I do?”
Nissa let the question hang so long that Brenda thought the connection had been broken. Then she realized that Nissa was honor bound not to ask.
“Hey!” Brenda said. “I’ve got a great idea. I’m ahead on my classes. Why don’t I come out and help you guys? Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll tell my room-mate I’m going on a road trip, that I might be away for a few days after the weekend.”
The relief was evident in Nissa’s voice, but she didn’t push.
“Sure you won’t get in trouble? Can you afford the tickets?”
“I’ll work it out—sometimes you can get some great last-minute fares online. Midterms are ages away. My roommate will cover for me. I probably won’t even tell my folks.”
“Good. Your dad dropped in for a few days, but he’s off again. He’s the busiest . . .” Brenda heard “most uncooperative” in Nissa’s inflection. “. . . fellow.”
“Yeah. I wish . . .”
Brenda let that thought trail of . She was already angry at her dad. Moreover, Parnell was pointing to himself, thumping his index finger against his chest.
“Uh, Nissa,” Brenda said, “I’ll get right on those plane reservations, but there’s one thing. A friend is coming with me.”
“Breni? Is that wise?”
Brenda looked at Parnell. His green eyes were bright and determined, and she knew that if she refused to let him come with her, he’d show up anyhow and the explanations she would need to make then would be worse.
“I think it’s the smartest thing I can do. He’s a great game player, and he might have some clever moves we can use.”
Loyal Wind had lost track of how many days had passed. His joints—especially his shoulders and knees—never stopped screaming at the odd angles they must hold, but he had grown accustomed to the horrible smell and had even stopped feeling hungry.
Thirst remained, a persistent nagging counterpoint to the ache in his limbs, but the filthy liquid in which he crouched had long ago ceased being anything like water. Occasionally, Loyal Wind gave in to the thirst and sucked a little of the wet stuff up from the palm of his hand. It didn’t stay down long, but at least for a short time his mouth stopped feeling so dry.
He itched, and couldn’t reach to scratch. After a while, he couldn’t feel his feet. That, actually, was something of a relief.
The cacophonic plaints of his body had settled into a twisted version of normalcy when the slot on the door to the cell slammed open. Light seared his eyes, even though he squeezed them tightly shut in reaction to the first bright ray. He heard the rattling of metal keys, the lock creaking open, felt the change in the air when the door was opened.
Loyal Wind didn’t move until hard hands grabbed his upper arms andpulled him out. His legs tried to straighten, failed. He fell forward, unable to move cramped arms to catch himself.
The hands caught him again.
“His feet are swollen. He’s not going to be able to walk.”
“Drag him, then.”
“He stinks!” the first voice protested.
“Hold your breath.”
They dragged him. Some sensation returned to his feet, enough so that Loyal Wind felt tender skin, immersed in liquid for so many days, scraping against stone. He felt a trickle of blood grease his passage.
One of the draggers noticed, too.
“Shit! Pick him up. We’re going to have to clean this up, and blood stains are a bitch.”
“He stinks!” came the protest, but rough hands shifted their hold.
Loyal Wind’s joints cried out, but he didn’t let a sound past his teeth. If his jailers thought him conscious, they might try to make him walk. Loyal Wind knew he couldn’t walk. He didn’t think he could even crawl.
He concentrated on what he could do, easing open his eyelids to the thinnest slit. His line of sight was limited to the floor, but after nothing but darkness, the varied shapes and hues of grey stone were quite interesting.
Eventually, they passed through a door, across a gravel path, and into another building. The air felt different here. Moist. Steamy. A strong floral scent penetrated Loyal Wind’s deadened sense of smell.
The bath house.
The jailers handed Loyal Wind over to the bath house attendants. There was little conversation, but forms were signed.
When the jailers were gone, Loyal Wind risked raising his head. His neck hurt astonishingly, but he could see that the two attendants were squat-figured, flat -faced, middle-aged women of the peasant type. They were inspecting him as they might a basket of dirty sheets.
“Clothes no good,” one said.
“Cut ’em off. Give him a rinse first.”
“Yeah. Otherwise we’ll be scrubbing the big tub for days.”
That was the extent of the discussion. Loyal Wind’s clothing, saturated with filth, rotten where it had sat in the water, was cut from him. In a few places, the fabric stuck and had to be peeled away.
The action hurt exquisitely, but the bath attendants didn’t comment when tears rolled down his face.
They laid him facedown on a bench. Without ceremony or explanation,
they dumped buckets of tepid water over him. Loyal Wind saw the color of the water that swirled down the drains in the floor. Gagged when he saw it was the brownish-black of raw sewage, highlighted here and there with green and orange that might be fungus.
When the rinse water ran more or less clear, the attendants turned Loyal Wind over and poured water over his front, even into his face, although one did hold a hand over his nose and mouth. When he whimpered and tried to rinse his mouth, she held a thick pottery cup to his lips, let him drink just a little.
Then Loyal Wind was put into a large tub filled with steaming water. His hair was washed three times, then cut. His beard and mustache were clipped, as were his nails. The attendants never spoke to him, but they did heed his whimpers of pain when they raised an arm or moved a leg too suddenly. They didn’t apologize, but handled him more gently thereafter.
When the bath was over, Loyal Wind still could not walk—his feet were hideously swollen—but this time he was not dragged. With impressive strength, the women lifted him out of the water and onto a massage table. Head dangling luxuriously, Loyal Wind submitted gratefully to rubbing that eased his tormented joints. The final step was application of an ointment that smelled strongly of lanolin.
Still naked, he was placed in a chair with wheels on the sides. One of the bath attendants wheeled him into the hallway. Loyal Wind dreaded seeing his jailers again, but waiting for him, forms in hand, was a severe-looking woman of middle age. Her features were finer, even attractive, and Loyal Wind wondered how she had come to be here.
Five Odd Honors Page 34
