Five Odd Honors

by Jane Lindskold

  “In anticipation of Pearl’s success,” Honey Dream said, “last night my father and I reviewed possible ways to enable the ghosts to resume their bonds with the appropriate Earthly Branches. We have a few thoughts.”

  Righteous Drum took over. “Although our research of late has focused on the setting of the Nine Gates, Shen has been gracious enough to tell us something of the magic by which the Earthly Branches were bound to their specif c holders.”

  Brenda saw Pearl give Shen a sharp, almost admonishing, look.

  And no wonder, Brenda thought, covering her inclination to grin at Shen’s surprised expression with a quick spoonful of yogurt. Shen seems to have overlooked how easily that information could be turned against us—that Righteous Drum came here expressly to separate the Earthly Branches from their holders.

  But since Pearl didn’t say anything, Righteous Drum had the option to overlook her unspoken criticism and continue.

  “The spell used has been codified under the All Pair Honors. The pattern of pairs will be somewhat different for each of the five ghosts. In order to break the binding tie, we will then work the sequence in reverse.”

  Honey Dream opened a notebook and leafed through it quickly, showing five pages, each with their own neat notations. Since the writing was in Chinese, it meant nothing to Brenda, but several others of those gathered nodded as they read what was written there.

  “We have worked out,” Honey Dream said, “what we think would be the most auspicious sequencing of pairs from among the Winds and Dragons—what you term the Honors suits. We would desire that you confirm our calculations.”

  But, Brenda thought a trace maliciously, even though Honey Dream hadn’t done a thing to deserve it, you bet we’ll all agree that you and your daddy have been brilliant. I’m okay with that, actually. I certainly couldn’t have done it.

  “Fine,” Des said, “so we can release the tie between the Earthly Branch and its living affiliate. Great. How do we convince it to bind with a ghost? My understanding is that, in your tradition as well as ours, the tie has always been with a living person.”

  “True,” Righteous Drum agreed. “Therefore, we must, if only for a short time, resurrect the dead.”

  “What?”

  Brenda wasn’t sure who made that exclamation. It might even have been her, because suddenly everyone was talking at once.

  “Summoning the dead is bad enough,” Des said, his voice rising above the babble, “but this? This is all wrong. Not only is it against nature, it could get us in a lot of trouble with the indigenous magical traditions. Pearl’s already had some polite queries about the Orphan’s mah-jong sets.”

  No one needed to ask why. Somehow—Brenda suspected a very nasty woman named Tracy Frye had contributed to the rumors—the indigenous magical traditions had learned that the Orphan’s mah-jong sets were made from bone and bamboo. That in itself was not a problem—almost all the old mah-jong sets were made from bone and bamboo. The problem here was that the bone was not cattle shin bone, as was more common, but human bone—taken from the corpse of the appropriate member of the original Thirteen Orphans.

  Righteous Drum waited for the babble to calm down a bit. Now he spoke, his tones those of a professor giving a lecture.

  “I do not know what your tradition holds, Desperate Lee,” he said very formally, “but in our own, there are many tales where the judges of the underworld have permitted a ghost to return as one of the living in order to set right some matter that only they could facilitate.”

  Des slumped a little, but Brenda could tell he was still very uncomfortable.

  “I know, I know. The story of the disloyal friend and the stolen money. Or those tales of the faithful son or daughter who returns to serve the needs of an elderly parent even after death. But this talk of raising the dead makes my skin crawl. . . .”

  “Des,” Riprap said, “we’re not talking zombies here.” He looked quickly at the others. “I mean, I don’t think we are, are we?”

  Righteous Drum and Honey Dream both looked puzzled. Brenda guessed that there wasn’t enough of a connection between zombies—which were Caribbean, weren’t they? Or did they come from New Orleans?—and what ever the closest thing was in Chinese culture for the spell to translate.

  Flying Claw, who by virtue of his time as “Foster” had been exposed to a wider variety of American culture, clarified. “Zombies. Kuei Hsien. Or something close to that. Mindless walking dead.”

  Righteous Drum shook his head. “No, Riprap, that is not what we intend. Mindless dead would not serve our purpose at all. Indeed, the body matters little in this case. It is the spirit and permission for the spirit to function in the world of the living that matters.”

  Riprap looked at Des. “Any problem?”

  Des sighed. “I’ll try to relax. Righteous Drum, do you have a procedure in mind for achieving this ressurection?”

  Righteous Drum nodded. “Yes. We must appeal to the judges of the underworld for permission for the spirits to return. We will base our appeal on the grounds that these five Exiles have unfinished business that only they can appropriately resolve.”

  Brenda spoke up. “Do you think they’ll listen? These judges, I mean.”

  “Yes,” Righteous Drum said. “Especially since what we say is only the truth. Also, there is the issue of the disrupted balance created by our presence in this world when we belong in the other. The judges are very concerned with order. In the tradition of the Lands, order or the lack thereof could be said to matter as much or more than those more elusive terms ‘good’ and ‘evil’ that are so often tossed about in this society.”

  Deborah nodded. “I can see that. I doubt Brenda and the other apprentices have been exposed to the teaching of the great Chinese philosophers, but a common thread running through many of their works is that of maintaining the social order. If society is ordered, then justice will automatically follow. If society is not ordered, then chaos—and the abuses of justice that thrive in a chaotic society—will follow.”

  “I can see that,” Des said, “for the Confucians and related philosophers—and of course for the Legalists, but does that really apply to the Taoists?”

  “It does,” Deborah said firmly. “The yin-yang symbol is very important to Taoist philosophy. What does that stand for other than an ordered universe where all traits are balanced?”

  “All right,” Des agreed. “I was thinking about all the varied and contradictory stories that come out of the Taoist tradition, but looked at the way you do, you’re right.”

  “Valuing order makes sense, I guess,” Brenda said, thinking of long discussions she’d had with her friends in the dorm about what was the difference between a soldier killing in a time of war and the same person doing the exact same thing for personal reasons. One was a just act, the other murder.

  But the poor sap ends up dead just the same, Brenda thought.

  “So do we talk to the judges first or second?” Riprap said, ever practical. “I mean, if we release the ties between the Earthly Branches and the heirs before we find out if the judges will let the ghosts join us, then haven’t we created more problems?”

  Albert nodded, a decisive snap of his head that Brenda just knew would have driven her dad up the wall.

  If Dad bothered to be here, she thought, then banished the impulse to feel annoyed. Gaheris Morris would be here when they needed him. Did they really need one more voice around the breakfast table?

  “I think Riprap has a point,” Albert said. “First we speak to the judges. Then we arrange to release and reassociate the Earthly Branches. Finally, we pass through the Nine Gates and reopen the way into the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice.”

  “How do we speak to these judges?” Nissa asked. “Last time we had to send people to the underworld the journey took days—and a couple of those who went nearly got killed along the way.”

  Righteous Drum smiled, which Brenda thought was very brave of him, given that he was one of the o
nes who’d almost died.

  Of course, I was the other one, she thought, but I was too dumb to realize how bad things were until the very end.

  “We made friends on that other journey,” Righteous Drum said, “and those friends will help us now. The Nine Yellow Springs consider themselves ‘men’ or family with us. They will permit those we choose to speak for us to make the journey swiftly and easily.”

  “That’s good,” Nissa said. “I guess. When are whoever is going planning to leave?”

  “Tomorrow at the earliest,” Pearl said firmly. “We all need to rest from the events of last night.”

  “Tomorrow,” Righteous Drum agreed, “should be soon enough.”

  “So who will speak for us?” Albert said. “I will go, of course. This appeal should be made by the emperor in person—even if I am an uncrowned emperor without a throne. How large an entourage would be appropriate? Any suggestions as to who I should include?”

  “An entourage of three or four would be all that would be needed.” Honey Dream spoke with the assurance of an authority on such matters. Brenda remembered that as the Snake, Honey Dream would have been trained in court etiquette and procedure—even if Brenda often had found Honey Dream less than perfectly tactful in day-to-day matters. “The judges will more likely be impressed by the gravity of your argument than by mere numbers.”

  “Very well,” Albert said.

  Honey Dream went on. “The ghosts should join you. In this circumstance, they will be the ones on whose behalf you are making petition, so they wouldn’t really count as part of your entourage. For the same reason, I am not sure whether any of us from the Lands should be part of the contingent. We, too, are seeking aid, and therefore could be considered petitioners.”

  Albert nodded and sat for a moment deep in thought, his elegant finger stroking along the line of his neat beard.

  “Shen,” Albert said finally. “I’ll want you. The residents of the House of Mystery are skilled in both magical and courtly matters. Since our Snake will be represented by a ghost, and Honey Dream thinks she had better stand down, you’re our best choice—especially since this transition between living and dead is a highly magical matter, and magic is the Dragon’s specialty.”

  Albert glanced at Righteous Drum. The other Dragon inclined his head in unspoken agreement. Shen nodded his acceptance, waiting, Brenda noted, until he was certain he would not offend his counterpart.

  Honey Dream could take lessons from Shen on how to make diplomacy look effortless, Brenda thought.

  Albert went on.

  “Since we are seeking to expand our number, I think I also want a representative of the House of Expansion. That would be the Tiger or the Rabbit. Pearl, you have seniority among the Orphans, so even though Tigers are not known for diplomacy, I should take you. The Chinese culture respects age.”

  Pearl nodded. “I’ll come, present my old grey head for inspection, and keep my mouth shut.”

  Nissa looked distinctly relieved.

  Brenda would have liked to take bets on whether Pearl really would keep her mouth shut, but Albert’s thoughtful gaze was scanning the assembly. Brenda felt her heart race, even though she knew she wasn’t likely to be chosen. Even so, a competitive part of her wanted to wave her hand in the air and shout, “Choose me! Choose me!”

  Albert was thinking aloud. “With the Tiger we have a representative of the House of Expansion. With the Dragon, we represent the House of Mystery. Since this is a matter of reuniting sundered families, and restoring sundered familial bonds, I think my last representative should be from the House of Family. Riprap, I know you’re brave and valiant, but with Pearl along, we don’t need more of those particular qualities. I think the Pig would be the best choice. Domestic ideal. Deborah?”

  “I will be at your side,” she said, pointedly ignoring Riprap’s frown. Clearly he didn’t think choosing an older woman over him was a good idea, and Deborah responded to his unspoken protest. “I don’t think it hurts that, like Shen and Pearl, I’m definitely among the senior citizens. Our young emperor will be supported by his elders.”

  “I’m hardly young,” Albert protested mildly, fingering traces of silver in his beard, “but I’m vain enough to appreciate the designation. Does anyone wish to make alternate suggestions?”

  His question was primarily directed toward the three from the Lands. Flying Claw immediately shook his head. Honey Dream and Righteous Drum gave the matter thoughtful consideration.

  “I think you have chosen wisely,” Righteous Drum said. “In fact, if you wish one of us to accompany you in the role of petitioner, then I would agree.”

  Albert considered. “If one of you came, I’d like to take Honey Dream, because she’ ll be able to give us advice on court etiquette. However, I’ ll leave which of you comes up to you, since your petition is secondary.”

  Honey Dream inclined her head with a studied grace. Brenda looked, but she didn’t seem in the least miffed that her father had just contradicted her advice, however mildly.

  “If I am needed,” she said, “I will come.”

  “We’ll do some auguries,” Albert said, “and check the advantages and disadvantages. We’re going to need to do auguries in any case, in order to ascertain the best date and hour for our departure. When we know that, we’ll contact the ghosts.”

  The group around the table began to disperse, the Dragons, Des, and Honey Dream joining Albert in Pearl’s office to work the auguries. Pearl, apparently more drained by her battle than Brenda had realized, excused herself to get some more rest.

  Nissa’s attention had been claimed by Lani, and Deborah was patiently explaining to Riprap why he hadn’t been overlooked, and why—even if the entourage could be as large as four—he didn’t need to insist on accompanying them.

  A little embarrassed, hearing her own “Choose me!” in Riprap’s intensity, Brenda slipped out of the kitchen onto the back patio. She heard soft footsteps behind her and looked to see Flying Claw on her heels.

  “Want to go for a walk?” he asked, and his smile—shy and yet friendly—made her heart sing and removed the slight sting of imagined rejection. “I have always enjoyed walking with you.”

  “I’d love to,” she said.

  So close, but so far from, “I love you.”

  With the blessings of the Nine Yellow Springs, the First Gate carried Albert Yu and his small entourage directly to the underworld.

  Their initial step had carried them over the threshold of the pine door from which the gate had been made and deep into the heart of a cloud of fine particles. Pearl had felt the sting of the swirling dust against the skin of her face and hands—the only part of her skin her elaborate ceremonial shenyi left exposed.

  As suddenly as it had arisen, the dust cloud dropped, momentarily fragmenting frozen sunlight, before vanishing entirely.

  Pearl gripped the hilt of her sword, Treaty, and looked about her. There had been arguments—there were always arguments and debates when the Thirteen Orphans made a plan—about the rightness of carrying weapons before Yen-lo Wang.

  “But I am the Tiger,” Pearl had said, thrusting the sword into its sheath as if daring anyone to remove it, “and a Tiger is never without her fangs and claws.”

  No one had taken her challenge, and Pearl noted with a quiet smile that Shen carried at his belt the iron pen case that, like the Lama in Kipling’s Kim, he could use to do more than merely hold his pens, brushes, and ink. She wouldn’t be in the least surprised to learn that Albert and Deborah also carried weapons.

  “Seems,” Deborah said, looking around as she smoothed down the skirts of her shimmering black shenyi with a restless gesture that showed she didn’t wear long skirts very often, “that someone is waiting for us over there. Several someones . . . I recognize Loyal Wind from our trip to find the Nine Yellow Springs, so I’d guess the others must be our remaining ghosts.”

  Honey Dream, who had accompanied them after a series of intricate auguries had shown he
r presence could possibly be beneficial, said, “You’re right. The old woman standing next to Loyal Wind is Nine Ducks. She looks much happier than she did the last time I saw her.”

  Honey Dream raised her voice slightly and called, “Greetings, Grandmother Ox. As a representative of three barred from their homelands without even the polite formality of an exile, I thank you and your associates for your assistance in our journey home.”

  Nine Ducks smiled as she came forward, hands outstretched in familial greeting. As with all their company, the Ox was attired in a shenyi, the color of the fabric—in her case yellow—appropriate for her Earthly Branch affiliation. The embroidered designs showed not only the Ox in various poses—reclining, grazing, charging—but also various emblems invoking long life, good luck, happiness, and prosperity.

  Behind Nine Ducks, in the order of their zodiac signs on the wheel, came the ghosts of three people. Two of them—the Snake and the Monkey—had died shortly before Pearl’s birth. The third, the Ram, had been one of the grand old ladies who ruled over various gatherings.

  First came Gentle Smoke, the original Snake of the Thirteen Orphans. Gentle Smoke had been in her late seventies when she had died, but now she chose to appear much as she had at the time of the Exile—as a woman in her late forties.

  How odd, Pearl thought. She looks so young, yet all the stories I heard about her when I was growing up stressed her advanced age at the time of the Exile—how fearing that menopause would rob her of her ability to bear an heir Gentle Smoke had seduced a local lord and made him father of her children.

  Gentle Smoke was no va-va-voom beauty like her counterpart, Honey Dream. Small and very slim, she moved with almost boneless grace. Her features were elegant. The fashion in which she wore her glossy dark hair—pulled back from her face and gathered in an elaborate double-bun style—emphasized perfect cheekbones and a full-lipped mouth the damask hue of a newly opened rosebud.

  Yes. No great beauty, Pearl thought, but a woman to make a man look twice and dream disquieting dreams. Combine this with a Snake’s supple tongue and no man, no matter how happily married, could long resist. And marital fidelity was not considered a necessity for a man.