Raven and the Dancing Tiger

by Cutter, Leah

  Faster than even Cai had anticipated, Chris stepped forward and slapped Peter's hands away. "I don't want your pity," he hissed.

  "Then what do you want?" Peter asked, annoyed. He took another step closer to Chris, instead of backing away. He was tired of this, tired of their bickering.

  Cai gave an encouraging caw.

  Sooner or later, they were going to fight. He was just going to have to accept the consequences of it, when it happened.

  "Nothing from you," Chris said, turning away. "I was wrong. You can't do it. No one can."

  Peter looked at Thomas, who merely shrugged.

  "Whatever, dude," Peter said, turning back and going into his room, closing the door gratefully, leaving the troublemakers outside. He sat back at his desk, but he was too wound up to study. Was Chris right? Could he change into the true raven warrior form?

  Eyes closed, Peter brought up the image of a warrior, tall and strong, with knife-like feathers for fingers, a beak for a nose, bird-like claws for feet and toes.

  Peter stood and raised his arms like he'd seen in the old paintings, spreading them wide, like he was about to take flight. He asked Cai to help.

  Cai pushed Peter along, lent his strength.

  For a moment, Peter felt himself growing stronger, his fingers elongating. He was suddenly harder, and even from behind his closed eyes he knew the world had taken on sharper angles.

  It was exhilarating, as well as frightening.

  Then the glass armor took over, sliding up and over both of them, cutting them off from all harm.

  Peter opened his eyes, sighed, then gave a quick shake, letting the armor fall as he sank back into his chair.

  Maybe Chris had a point. What had been done to him was wrong, and Peter knew it, deep inside, no matter what the prefect said. It hadn't helped Chris at all, hadn’t curbed his impulses or made him fall more into line. Chris seemed to think that Peter could do something about it.

  Somebody should. Peter knew someone should challenge the prefect, challenge the way they handled the boys.

  But Chris was also wrong. Peter couldn't do anything, not for anyone else, maybe not even for Jesse. He just had to survive the next two and a half years.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Peter snagged his hoodie as he raced out the door, locking it automatically and then spending a precious few seconds leaving more presence there, in case something came looking for him next. He raced down the stairs, trying Sally's phone again, but it went straight to voice mail.

  He could not fly there. It might be faster—"as the crow flies” wasn't just a saying—but he'd also arrive naked, and that wouldn't do. He'd have to see if he could find a cache someplace close to her apartment where he could keep clothes.

  In the meanwhile, he ran.

  Peter wasn't a natural runner, and he certainly didn't go jogging in his spare time. But he did dance, which gave him good sprinting ability. Cai also lent his strength to Peter's legs, powering them, while Peter chanted the words for a speed spell. They raced up the block, tore across the crowded intersection at Broadway, wove between pedestrians, then ducked onto a quieter street, running as fast as they could to Sally's apartment building.

  Peter had never pressed all the buttons on an intercom before, but he was desperate, and needed to get in. Luckily, someone buzzed him in without question.

  Cai pushed forward as Peter entered, staring at currents and seeking hidden spells. They didn't find any near the entrance, but closer to Sally's door was a spot of thin smog, as if someone had been smoking something foul.

  Peter deliberately stepped into it, trying to trace it, but it faded as soon as he did. It was just the trail of something already gone.

  "Sally?" Peter called as he drew closer to her door. It was closed. He knocked, loudly. "Sally? It's me, Peter."

  A yip came from just inside the door. "Okay, I'll open it," Sally said.

  The door opened and Sally stood there, looking pale and shaken. Pixie stood in front of her, on guard.

  Peter knew better than to try to approach Sally. "Pixie, it's me. I won't hurt Sally. I promise." He knelt slowly and held out his hand. Pixie gave it a cursory sniff before moving to the side.

  Sally watched Pixie go, then quickly pushed Peter back and stepped out into the hall, closing the door abruptly behind her.

  "Sally?" Peter asked.

  Pixie gave a single bark.

  "It's okay. I'm here with her. I'll stay with her," Peter told Pixie. He didn't want Pixie to do anything more to spook Sally.

  Pixie gave an unhappy bark, then silence descended.

  "He'll pay attention to you," Sally said, turning on Peter. "But he wouldn't leave my side, wouldn't leave me alone, after what happened."

  "What happened? Are you all right?"

  "I don't know what happened." Sally stepped back as Peter stepped forward to hug her.

  Peter dropped his hands, feeling useless.

  "You're the same as her, aren't you?" Sally accused.

  "God, no, what?" Peter asked, surprised.

  "You're—special. Like she is. Like Pixie is."

  "I don't know what you mean," Peter lied. His heart sank down to his feet. What could he tell her? How could he get her to trust him?

  "Look, just one of you, okay, I'd be thinking it was me. But not if it's you, and her, and Pixie. It's just too much, you know?"

  Peter shook his head miserably. "No, I don't."

  "Look. If I left here tonight, alone, would Pixie try to follow me? Magically appear at my side?"

  "I don't know," Peter said. When Sally glared, he told her, "I really don't." He had no idea what Pixie was capable of. As Sally appeared to be thinking that over, he added, "But I think you can trust him. He's a good guardian."

  "And what are you?"

  "I'm just me," Peter said simply. "A guy who met this wonderful girl who he’s crazy about."

  Sally rolled her eyes. "Please. Cut the schmaltz."

  "I don't know what you want me to say."

  Sally looked up and down the hall before finally saying, "That girl. Tamara. She came here."

  "Oh God, I'm so sorry. What did she do?" Peter asked, horrified, his stomach clenching.

  "I didn't let her in. I couldn't. Pixie wouldn't let me." Sally crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Peter.

  "That was smart," Peter said. He wondered if that was what he'd run into in the hallway—something that Tamara had planned on releasing in Sally's apartment, but couldn't. "What else?"

  Sally stared hard at Peter. "She made threats. About you. About how I should give you up because you were going away. This weekend. That you were going to die."

  "I am going away this weekend. But I swear to you, I won't let her win," Peter assured Sally. This time she let him take a step closer. "Then what happened?"

  "After she left, something—I don't know what—started prowling around outside the apartment." Sally shivered. "Something big and, well, I know this sounds crazy. But I think it was evil. Evil and unreal, not of this world."

  Peter nodded, taking another step closer. Sally let him touch her shoulder, but she still stayed rigid. "And then?"

  "It's like it was inside my place while it was outside, at the same time. Some shadow thing, with claws and fangs. Chasing me. Pixie was going crazy. And then—" Sally took a ragged breath. "I don't know what happened. But it's like she'd drugged me, remotely, somehow. Pixie was no longer little Pixie, but this huge hound, the size of a small horse, and he kept challenging whatever the hell that thing was. Barking at it, these deep, hollow woofs."

  Peter nodded, though a part of him wondered what exactly Pixie was. He had to be from the hound clan, but they were different than the raven clan.

  "Finally, the thing slithered away into smoke and disappeared. And Pixie became Pixie again."

  Sally looked up at Peter, her eyes huge in her shadowed and pale face. "I dropped my phone and stepped on it, while I was running away. I'm sorry, otherwise I would h
ave called you back."

  With one last shudder, Sally let go and came all the way into Peter's arms, holding him tightly. "You know what it was, don't you?" she accused him. "That thing that chased me in here. That magic."

  Peter did know the type of charm he'd use to create such an effect. He couldn't tell her though, couldn't admit it. He felt himself stiffen, trying to hold himself back, trying not to nod. "How could I?" he managed to squeak out.

  "You can't tell me."

  Again, Peter fought with himself not to respond. He couldn't. The recitations were too clear. And he was about to face not just the prefects of Ravens' Hall, but the elders of the raven clan as well. His conscious had to be clear. "I don't know about magic," he said, a little more firmly.

  "Will it come back?"

  Peter shut his eyes and made himself lie. "I don't know what it was." But he would look, check outside, to make sure no charms or spells remained.

  "Thank you," Sally said, nodding as if she heard what Peter didn't say. Then she pulled back to look at him. Color had come back to her cheeks, but her eyes stayed serious and dark. "You have to go this weekend."

  "Yeah," Peter said. The less he said, the better it would be.

  "You will tell me everything when you get back," Sally told him.

  "Everything about what?" Peter asked, attempting for nonchalance.

  Sally cocked her head to one side. "If you want to see me again—if you want even a chance at this thing between us working—you have to tell me the truth, Peter."

  Peter merely stood there, blinking at her. For one split second he thought about soothing her, putting some of his presence into his hands and stroking them down her arms, calming her and leading her to forget her questions.

  But she would never forgive him, nor would he ever forgive himself for doing it.

  He wasn't his dad.

  "I can't promise," Peter said, taking his hands off Sally and shoving them into the front pockets of his jeans. He continued, addressing the floor. "I don't know what I'll tell you after this weekend."

  "The truth, Peter, if you want there to be an us."

  Peter nodded. Despite all his brave words, he didn't know if he'd survive the weekend.

  The silence lengthened through the hall. "Be careful. Be safe," Sally finally said, opening up the door to her apartment.

  Pixie immediately came out and stood between them.

  "You too," Peter finally said, looking up at her. "Listen to Pixie. Keep him with you. All the time. He'll keep you safe." If the hound clan was anything like the raven clan, and Pixie considered Sally one of their own, he'd defend her to the death.

  Sally nodded and closed the door.

  Peter took a deep breath, hunching his shoulders. If he did survive the weekend, he'd figure out what he could say to keep her.

  Until then, he had a fight to prepare for.

  * * *

  "The delegation of tiger warriors has arrived at Ravens' Hall," Prefect Aaron announced to Peter after checking his phone. They'd ridden first on the airplane from Seattle to Denver, then in the limo that had picked them up at the airport, in tense silence.

  Peter stiffened, his jeans sliding across the pale leather seats that still smelled new. He'd hoped that maybe they would have called it off. He checked his own phone for the time. 2 p.m. "Are they early?" he asked. The tribunal wasn't scheduled until much later that night.

  "No," the prefect said. "They were supposed to be there this morning, to attend a lunch with the elders."

  "Maybe they didn't want to socialize," Peter guessed.

  "Ah—yes," the prefect said, looking up from his phone. "They may still be harboring ill will toward us."

  "Figures," Peter muttered, turning to look back out the window. The tint on the glass colored the sky, making it dingy, though it couldn't hide the wide-open space.

  "Of course, you realize that is in your favor."

  "Excuse me?" Peter turned and stared at the prefect. "How do you figure that?"

  "The raven warriors will take care of their own," the prefect admonished. "Especially in the face of an external force."

  Peter wanted to believe him. He really did. But he just couldn't.

  And neither could Cai.

  "So if they fail in their request for a challenge…" Peter asked.

  "Oh, I'm sure there will be much yelling and possibly even rending of garments over how unfair it all is, how corrupt and tainted. There will be threats, but no real retaliation. We aren't barbarians, after all."

  "And if they succeed? And there is a challenge?"

  The prefect sat back against the pale seat, an old, dark bird. "Then we train. And prepare. And fight."

  "Tonight?"

  "No, no. Tomorrow. Or the next day. Plenty of time for you."

  Peter heard all that the prefect wasn't saying: Time to get his affairs into order, to say his goodbyes.

  Cai ruffled up, angry.

  And this time, Peter fed Cai's anger, kept it hot and at the ready.

  He was tired of everyone assuming he'd fail.

  The raven warriors of his generation were different than those of old.

  This time, he'd show them all just how much.

  * * *

  The last time Peter had been to the school auditorium had been for graduation. Then, the prefects in their black-feathered robes had sat on the old-fashioned stage. Gold curtains hung across the back, with the black-and-white shield of Ravens' Hall emblazoned on them. Students and parents had filled every seat, and even though the lights had blinded him, Peter had easily placed his Dad's cheers as he'd walked across the stage.

  Now, not a single student sat in the auditorium. The wooden stage held both prefects and elders on one side in their black-feathered cloaks, standing against a scarlet curtain. The group moved slowly, cautiously, like old men and women in a garden, muttering to themselves.

  Tiger warriors stood on the other side of the stage, dressed in flamboyant yellow and orange tunics flowing over baggy pants. Most wore flimsy sandals and shiny ankle bracelets. They talked and laughed with each other, clumped together in happy groups, as if they were at a garden party.

  Peter didn't see Tamara with the other tiger warriors. Most of them were women, which he found strange, their bright voices cutting through the deep undercurrent of the men's voices. About half were dark skinned, like his friend Vamshi. The other half were pale like Tamara, most of them with red hair as well.

  Peter stood at the front of the stage, the rows of empty seats echoing behind him. He felt seriously underdressed in his jeans and good dark gray shirt, but he hadn't thought to pack a suit. Prefect Aaron stood beside him, dressed like all the other elders. They still didn't speak together, but stood stiffly side by side.

  A quiet chime sounded from off stage. Though Peter barely heard it, it had an immediate effect on the tiger warriors, who broke off their conversations and flowed into two lines.

  Cai gave a quiet caw and made Peter keep his attention on the tiger warriors. Finally, he saw what Cai had sensed.

  Lines of magic had been drawn on the old wooden floor, which the tiger warriors, for all their mingling and moving around, were careful to stay inside.

  The raven warriors had similar lines that clumped them together.

  As Peter watched both groups move into place, he had the wild idea of the ravens tumbling slowly like rocks as the bright river of tigers glided over them.

  From off stage came Prefect Becker, wearing the traditional sky blue robes of a priest of Wynne. Next came a tiger warrior, also dressed differently than the others, in long black pants and a belted black tunic lined and edged with scarlet and gold. Peter assumed she was a priestess of whatever goddess the tiger warriors followed. She was darker skinned than most, and wore her long black hair in a tight braid that reached her waist.

  Finally, Tamara came out onto the stage. The incense from the holy people masked her too-human scent. She wore a spring green tunic that hung below her knees,
over loose white trousers and leather sandals.

  Following Prefect Aaron's hand movements, Peter went to stand beside Tamara in the center of the stage, while the prefect went to join the others. He lifted his robes and stepped carefully over the line, his face growing pale, and he gave a full body shudder.

  So it wasn't enough to kill either a raven or tiger warrior, just make them uncomfortable.

  Peter wasn't sure if he liked that better or not.

  The priest and priestess joined them in the center, facing Peter and Tamara.

  "Esteemed colleagues," Prefect Becker began. His soothing voice echoed out through the empty hall. "Honored warriors from the tiger clan. We welcome you here for a matter of great importance: One of your clan has challenged one of ours. I regret that it took such a serious matter for our clans to be in contact again. I can only pray, as do my brothers and sisters, that no matter the outcome, our clans grow may close once again."

  "It is a serious matter," the priestess replied smoothly. Her melodious voice sang out over the entire crowd. "Hopefully this is one that can be resolved quickly, and without too much argument."

  Tamara took a step forward. "I challenge him," she said, with a sneer and a desultory wave of her hand at Peter, "to physical combat. Whoever walks away at the end wins."

  "Why do you issue this challenge?" the priestess asked.

  Tamara shrugged. "He challenged me first."

  Peter held himself very still in the face of her lie. How could she possibly accuse him of that? None of the raven clan could possibly believe her. They knew him. He'd never challenged them, even when he'd had the opportunity. So why, if he wouldn't challenge his own, would he go ahead and challenge this tiger warrior?

  "Peter," Prefect Becker said, nodding.

  Peter took a step forward, so he was again beside Tamara. "I never challenged anyone."

  "Yes, you did. You said you'd grown tired of waiting, of playing our little game," Tamara explained.

  "I never—" Peter started.

  "You sent your friend with the message," Tamara said.

  "Where's Jesse?" Peter demanded, staring at Tamara.

  "Dead," Tamara told him with grim satisfaction. "And eaten. Who knew raven tasted just like chicken?"