Five Odd Honors

by Jane Lindskold

  Shen nodded. “I thought the same thing, but didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the narrative to clarify that point. Yes. Loyal Wind’s horse had been injured before this, but never before had Loyal Wind himself felt the injury.”

  Brenda frowned, feeling her brow crease with thought. “Had Loyal Wind gotten into fights, well, since he died? I mean, maybe this is a ghost sort of thing and has nothing to do with Thundering Heaven.”

  “I asked Nine Ducks that, too,” Shen said. “Loyal Wind has apparently been busy since his death, seeking to redeem himself for his failures in life. I won’t go into details, but there are ample battles in which a noble warrior might involve himself, even in death.”

  Albert cleared his throat. “Despite Flying Claw’s adamant opposition, we still have not resolved the first question—or rather Pearl has not. How do you choose to respond to Thundering Heaven’s ultimatum?”

  Pearl answered with admirable directness. “If ever I had been tempted to surrender my place as Tiger to Thundering Heaven,” she said, “our recent discussion of the peculiarities in his behavior would make me doubt the wisdom of that choice. However, I will be frank. I have no desire to cease being the Tiger, but I also have no desire to have my stubbornness stand as a barrier between ourselves and our success.”

  “Fairly spoken,” Albert agreed. “Does anyone have any suggestion how we can get Bent Bamboo away from Thundering Heaven if Pearl doesn’t surrender to the Exile Tiger’s demand?”

  “One course,” Pearl replied promptly, “would be for me to offer to fight Thundering Heaven to win the Monkey’s freedom—with Thundering Heaven’s taking over as the Tiger if he defeats me.”

  “But, Pearl,” Deborah objected, “your sword hand is broken. How could you fight?”

  Pearl quirked a half smile, and Brenda knew the Tiger had anticipated this protest.

  “If we fight, it would be in the afterlife, and I do not believe my physical impediments would carry over. If they do, well, perhaps I can manage with my left hand. As Riprap saw today, I am not too bad with my off-hand.”

  “I’ll agree with that,” Riprap said, but Brenda didn’t think he was completely happy about having to agree. As the Dog, Riprap’s urge was to protect, not to let someone else take the risks.

  “However,” Pearl said, “I should note that it’s not at all certain that Thundering Heaven would accept my challenge.”

  Brenda asked, “Why wouldn’t he? I mean, Thundering Heaven sounds arrogant enough to believe he’d win without much effort. We know he might not have such an easy time beating you, but does he?”

  “He might not decide to take the risk of losing,” Pearl replied. “Or he might simply prefer to have us continue in the role of supplicants.”

  “Well, then,” Albert said with a slow smile that Brenda thought didn’t look very friendly at all, “we’ll just have to make certain our proposal is worded so that Thundering Heaven will accept—that is, if you really want to do this, Aunt Pearl.”

  “I do,” Pearl said firmly. “Do we have any alternatives?”

  “We could have some of our ghostly allies go after Thundering Heaven,” Des said immediately.

  Pearl shook her head. “No. We nearly lost Loyal Wind that way. We would have if Nine Ducks hadn’t stepped in. Thundering Heaven will be expecting a group assault—I know I would. And I know how I’d oppose it.”

  “Bring Bent Bamboo out to join the fight,” Riprap said with the same analytical rapidity he brought to the lessons he shared with Brenda and Nissa. “Our side would be hampered by the desire not to harm the Monkey both because we need him, and because we suspect he’s been duped. Bent Bamboo probably wouldn’t feel the same, not if Thundering Heaven primed him right.”

  “Exactly,” Pearl said with an approving nod. “The same objection holds to some or all of the living making the journey to join the dead. Not only would we lose time, but we’d have to fight against the very person we want to rescue.”

  “And there’s Soul Slicer,” Nissa reminded. “It seems to do some really nasty things to ghosts. I have a feeling that its powers would work even better against the living. Our two souls are still in us, I mean.”

  “Interesting point,” Righteous Drum said, and Pearl was pleased to see that the Dragon from the Lands was impressed by these acute insights from one who, just a few months ago, had known very little about magic or Chinese philosophy.

  He’d better be impressed by her, Brenda thought grimly. He’s relying on her—on all of us—to get him home.

  Deborah, resignation warring with the unhappiness that had been her first reaction to Pearl’s statement, cut in with a sigh. “And we don’t have time to go find and train the boy who is the living incarnation of the Monkey. If we delayed that long, not only are we likely to have trouble from the enemies Righteous Drum and his friends left behind them in the Lands, but there are plenty of people in this world who are uncomfortable enough with the situation that they might decide to involve themselves in our business. I don’t like it, but I think Pearl’s right.”

  Albert glanced at the very expensive gold watch he wore on his right wrist. “It’s getting late in the day. The Double Hour of the Rooster is nearly upon us. Des, why don’t you and Shen come back with me to Pearl’s house, and we’ll set things up to contact Nine Ducks.”

  “I need to go back, too,” Nissa said. “Lani’s going to be missing me.”

  Brenda vacillated. Part of her wanted to stay here and see if Flying Claw might want to talk or something, but despite the fact that she was beginning to think he might actually like her—or maybe because of that—she was reluctant to thrust herself forward. Then there was the sly smile she’d seen Honey Dream give her, like the other woman could read her thoughts.

  “I’ll come with you,” Brenda said. “The snacks were great, but we should probably put some dinner together.”

  Matters ended up with all of Pearl’s household returning, with one addition. Flying Claw had been speaking to Shen and now he addressed the company at large.

  “In the Lands,” he said, “we have a ritual for challenging the established holder of a Branch affiliation. Because of my own training, I know the ritual for a challenge between Tigers. Perhaps this would be of some use.”

  Pearl smiled at him. “Thank you, nephew. I believe it might be. Thundering Heaven will have a lot more trouble refusing to fight me if we present the challenge to him with proper ritual flourish. Can you come to my house and tutor me in the details?”

  “Gladly.”

  Brenda felt her heart leap at the thought that Flying Claw would be coming “home” with them. Immediately, she scolded herself.

  He’s coming to help Pearl, not to spend time with you.

  But rationality didn’t change her feelings a bit. She still felt ridiculously happy.

  None of the living—not even Des and Shen, who stood as guards when Albert, through the intermediary of Nine Ducks, issued Pearl’s challenge—would ever know exactly what Albert Yu said to Thundering Heaven to make the Exile Tiger accept their terms.

  By the end of the Double Hour of the Rooster—about seven in the evening—Pearl’s household had all assembled in the family room. Albert, looking more weary than ever, gave them the news.

  “Thundering Heaven has accepted, but he’s not giving you much time to prepare, Aunt Pearl. He insists that if you two are to meet, the meeting must take place at this next Double Hour of the Tiger. The meeting will take place within the traditional challenge format. I had no choice but to accept on your behalf, but I will admit, I only had a hazy idea what I might be getting you into. I hope Flying Claw has been able to fill you in on the details.”

  Riprap rose angrily to his feet from his seat at the table where he’d been eating a slice of pie.

  “Double Hour of the Tiger!” Riprap protested. “That’s three in the morning! Pearl’s already been up all day. She’ll hardly get any sleep.”

  Pearl favored the strong young man
with a dry smile. “I believe meditation will serve me far better than sleep. We are fortunate Thundering Heaven accepted my challenge at all. I am not going to risk a postponement.”

  Pearl turned her attention to Albert. “Flying Claw has briefed me, and I am willing to accept a challenge within the traditional forms. However, there are few enough hours for me to gather my ch’i. If you all would excuse me . . .”

  “Of course,” Albert said, echoed by the rest. Concern showed in tone and expression as it did not in the matter-of-fact words.

  Shen reached out to snag Pearl’s hand as she went by him.

  “Ming-Ming, if I can assist . . .”

  She shook her head. “Help Flying Claw ready the altar. I’ll be down at two-thirty.”

  Pearl turned and headed, not for her office, which was too filled with distractions, but for her rooms on the second floor of the house. She had her own suite there, including a private bathroom, and now, more than ever, she felt a need for privacy.

  Initially, she could not settle into meditation. Restlessly, she paced back and forth in the space between the foot of her bed and her dresser. Back and forth, barefoot on the thick Persian carpet she had bought herself twenty years ago, and that still held its jewel tones, as bright as on the day she’d fallen in love with the edge of a pattern peeking out of a heap of carpets on a dealer’s showroom floor.

  Pearl let herself pace, using the motion to slowly calm her roiled nerves, as she had done years ago before stepping out on a stage or before a camera.

  Forth and back. Pearl moved to a comfortable reading chair, let her head relax against the padded rest. Raised her feet on the ottoman. Without looking, she tugged the nearby light off, knowing exactly where she would find the chain.

  She sought relaxation, muscle group by muscle group, starting with her feet, moving up her legs, into her torso. She located the flow of ch’i moving within her, sought to facilitate the various threads. Imagined that the ch’i was a stream within her, a sparkling ribbon, golden, as sunlight on clear water is the color of light.

  Breathed deeply, slowly, regularly. With each pass through her, down each limb, up and around, through heart and lungs, liver and spleen, stomach and intestines, the shimmering stream became brighter, shedding the poisons of exhaustion and nervous energy, collecting the ch’i pocketed in little nooks of dream and vision throughout her mind and body.

  The stream moved through Pearl Bright, collecting force and reaching out beyond her to touch the greater flow of ch’i that moved through her house. Feng shui was old news to Pearl by the time “fung shew-ee” became the hottest new trend in New Age home decorating. Her house could have served as a textbook example of how to maximize good energies and minimize bad.

  Now Pearl connected her personal stream to that greater river, cycling this environmental ch’i into herself, creating reservoirs. She concentrated on building an image of the Tiger she would most like to be, for when she crossed to do battle with Thundering Heaven she must cease being Pearl Bright and become wholly the Tiger.

  Pearl saw the concern on her associates’ faces transform into something like awe as she descended the stairs to the ground floor. All the residents of her household, except for Lani, who would have gone to bed hours ago, were present, as was Flying Claw. Each of them evinced signs of having drunk too much coffee or tea in an effort to stay awake and alert until this late hour.

  Nissa had a reddish smudge on one cheek that showed she, at least, had probably dozed in some awkward position, head resting against fist or perhaps against the headrest of a chair.

  Pearl had pulled herself from meditation a half hour before, taken a quick shower, and done an abbreviated tai-chi routine to limber up bones and muscles that, beneath honest assessment, did not need limbering.

  Her entire body was humming with stored ch’i, so much so that Pearl entertained the fancy that the elaborate shenyi she now wore, elegantly embroidered with symbols of luck and prosperity, as well as with countless representations of the Tiger in all his moods, floated around her aura instead of hanging against her physical form.

  “Are the preparations made?” Pearl asked, smiling benificently at them all, but granting special attention to Flying Claw and Shen, who would have done most of the work.

  “They are,” Shen said. As she came close to him, he said in a soft whisper, “You look fantastic, Pearl.”

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  The furniture in Pearl’s office had been rearranged. Her desk had been slid back to make more floor space. Sufficient chairs for the assembled company had been arrayed in this open area.

  The most comfortable of the chairs, a twin to the reading chair in Pearl’s bedroom, had been placed close to the altar that dominated one end of the room. Someone had draped the chair with a piece of green fabric. Pearl recognized the top from a sheet set, but the drape did add a touch of elegance to what would otherwise have been a prosaic setting, so she restrained the flippant comment she might otherwise have made.

  The altar at the far end of the room now included various items related to the Tiger, including photos of herself and of Thundering Heaven. The red tapers that usually stood at each corner had been replaced with ones in a vibrant emerald green.

  “Everyone wanted to stay with you,” Albert said almost apologetically, indicating the circle of chairs. He’d changed from his suit to casual trousers and a short-sleeved sports shirt. “I tried to tell them we couldn’t be of any help, and we might be a distraction, so the choice is yours.”

  “Anyone who wishes to do so can stay,” Pearl said. “I will not be distracted, and if people want to watch me sleeping in an armchair, then I don’t mind. I’ll even admit to being touched by your concern.”

  Flying Claw stepped forward. He wore the same jeans and tee shirt as he had earlier, and carried no weapons. Nonetheless, he managed to give the impression of being girded for battle.

  “Those of us from the Lands,” he said formally, speaking careful English, “wish to extend our wishes for good luck.”

  “Thank you,” Pearl replied. “Now, the Double Hour of the Tiger is nearly upon us. Let me go forth.”

  Nissa stepped forward to settle Pearl in the chair.

  “The Rabbit is the Tiger’s partner,” she said, “so Flying Claw said I should help light the incense and strike the bells.”

  “By all means,” Pearl said, amused despite herself. She could imagine the conversation. Nissa’s voice: bright, alert, alive with concern.

  “Is there anything I can do to help? I feel I should. Pearl’s risking herself for all of us.”

  And Flying Claw kindly manufacturing this bit of business. Certainly there had been nothing like it in the briefing he had given her earlier.

  What Flying Claw had told Pearl had been much less elaborate and much more frightening.

  Pearl let the words run through her head as she settled herself in the chair.

  “This is a battle between Tigers, so tigers you must be. The ability to manifest a tiger form is necessary, so that manifestation in itself is the first part of the test. Afterward . . .” He had shrugged and tried not to look concerned. “Tigers, especially male tigers, do not share their territory. You must defend yours against one who would take it from you.”

  Pearl relaxed into the chair and began the process of separating her spirit from her body. Astral projection, as the practice was dubbed in Western magical traditions, was not new to her. Although the magic of the Thirteen Orphans included it among its practices, there was no simple spell to facilitate the separation, no simple sequence through which she could run and “Hey, presto. Here’s the body. Here’s the soul.”

  Pearl thought this was because the process of separation must, by definition, be unique for each person. What could be more personal than finding what was the essense of oneself and then sending it forth? This could not be done without a very strong sense of who that self was.

  Fresh from hours of meditation, Pearl did not
find the process of separation unduly difficult. More difficult was shaping that self into a tiger. A superficial shaping, an image of the self as the animal self, was not too hard to manage. Even Brenda and Nissa had done this, and, despite Nissa’s Rabbit affiliation, they were hardly more than apprentices.

  What Pearl needed was one step beyond. Nissa and Brenda had only shaped the form of their animal. Pearl must shape not only the tiger’s body, but its soul as well. When she had done so, that body and soul would be as key and passport into the domain she must defend—a domain that was one and the same as her right to be the Tiger.

  Within the interior of her mind, Pearl found and recognized the soul that was and would always be Pearl Bright, no matter what changes were made to her body.

  Next, she twisted that self—herself—around, reshaping, losing hands, gaining paws, stretching her spine, extending and adding, so that she came to possess a long and lashing tail.

  With the addition of the tail, Pearl’s orientation changed, her center of gravity running parallel to the ground beneath her, no longer struggling to remain upright against the ground’s pull.

  Tigers have binocular vision, so what Pearl saw did not change, but her range of color changed subtly: not to black and white, as most humans believe “animals” see, but within a more narrow scope, with different emphasis. Darkness no longer seemed an impediment, and every flicker of motion was noted and registered.

  Pearl’s wide, damp nose caught new scents, her hearing became momentarily painful in its acuity. Then her brain adjusted to being a tiger’s brain and accepted the sharpness of both scent and hearing as normal, processing the information and sending it to her as a comprehensible image.

  Most curious of all—more curious than the loss of height or the fact that Pearl’s wonderfully flexible body was completely covered in thick fur—was that she had gained extra senses. One of these was the tactile extension granted by her long, marvelously flexible whiskers. The other was the odd blending of taste and smell granted by the vomeronasal organ, a net of specialized cells on the roof of her mouth.