Five Odd Honors

by Jane Lindskold

  At Yen-lo Wang’s request, Albert presented his entourage and the six supplicants. The kowtow proved a challenge for stout Deborah. Shen’s stiff old knees didn’t like all that bending and groveling much either. Pearl did her best not to act smug as she went through the motions without even a popping knee joint.

  For the ghosts and for young and supple Honey Dream none of these formalities offered any problems. The grace and exactitude of their obeisances did much to erase any bad impression that might have been left by the more awkward members of the company.

  Yen -lo Wang surveyed them all thoughtfully, then spoke. “You come to me with a request.”

  Albert inclined his head in acknowledgment. “We do, Yen-lo Wang. We ask that these five who have entered your keeping be permitted to return to the state of the living, so that they may again take upon themselves their affiliation to the Earthly Branches they once embodied. This will enable the Ninth Gate between the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice and the Land of the Burning to be opened so that three who were barred from their homeland may return.”

  “This is all you desire from me?”

  “Yes, great Yen-lo Wang.”

  Yen -lo Wang asked more questions, which Albert answered adroitly, always emphasizing the dead’s need to carry out a vow they had taken when alive. He carefully avoided the question of whether the Exiles were perhaps violating an earlier vow by trying to return to the Lands, even after death. To Pearl’s surprise Yen -lo Wang himself never raised the matter.

  Instead, the judge of the Fifth Hell turned his attention to the six supplicants. First he asked Honey Dream how she, Righteous Drum, and Flying Claw had come to be barred from their homeland. Pearl knew Yen-lo Wang had to be perfectly aware of the situation, but guessed he was seeing what spin Honey Dream would put on the matter.

  The young Snake spoke well, with none of the flashes of temper she often demonstrated when her personal desires were involved.

  After questioning Honey Dream, Yen-lo Wang cross-examined the five ghosts. Copper Gong, the Ram, was passionate about her desire to fulfill her own ancient vow of finding a way to have the Exile legally remitted. The other four, although less fervent, spoke of duty and responsibility.

  At last, Yen-lo Wang leaned back in his throne and motioned that they were to all wait while he deliberated. Once or twice he held out a hand and a clerk ran forward with a transcript of the spoken testimony. Other times he requested a particular scroll of the teaching of some philosopher or called a clerk to brief him regarding a case that might offer precedent.

  Pearl schooled herself to the waiting stillness she had learned long ago as an actress, when rehearsals—especially once she graduated to film—seemed to consist mostly of waiting while some light or camera was joggled into place. She caught Deborah glancing longingly at the chairs neatly arrayed behind the table where underclerks busily wrote up heavens knew what complicated assessment of the situation, but the Pig did not move from her stance. Shen had slumped slightly, but as his expression was thoughtful and intent, this might have been as much because he was distracted as because he was tired.

  When Yen-lo Wang at last addressed them, Pearl nearly jumped, then mentally chided herself for permitting herself to be caught off guard.

  “I will grant your request,” Yen-lo Wang said without preamble. “There are precedents, and the need is great. Indeed, as the Ninth Gate cannot be opened except by the entirety of the Thirteen Orphans, and so many of the Thirteen Orphans have fallen away from their training and thus would not be available to participate, one might say the participation of those who are now my subjects is vital if this goal is to be achieved within the lifetimes of Honey Dream and her associates. However, my granting of the ghosts’ liberty will extend only for as long as is necessary, no longer.”

  “Thank you, your August Majesty,” Albert said, not bothering to conceal his relief. Pearl, who knew Albert well, saw something else beneath the relief, a touch of confusion or surprise.

  That expression vanished almost as soon as she noticed it, but she thought Yen-lo Wang had noted it as well.

  Effusive and appropriate thanks were offered on all sides. Then the olive-drab-clad functionary stepped from the crowd of his fellows to lead them from the palace.

  He guided them through the gardens as well, coming at last to the gate through which they had entered Yen-lo Wang’s precincts. There, a short distance away, stood their pine door, both prosaic and extraordinary as it stood alone amid a swirl of mist.

  When Albert turned to thank the functionary, the man had vanished.

  “I think it’s time to go,” Albert said.

  When they were all—ghosts included—back in the warehouse, Pearl turned to Albert.

  “Yen-lo Wang asked a tremendous number of questions, but even so, that went too easily. He didn’t even ask for a particular gift or sacrifice in return for permitting the ghosts to be re-embodied.”

  No one disagreed.

  “I noticed,” Albert said. “The great judge of the Fifth Hell seemed worried. In turn, that makes me very, very worried indeed.”

  Yen-lo Wang’s granting permission for the five dead to re-enter the world of the living launched a new stage in their preparations.

  Over the next several days, Brenda grew accustomed to the sound of chanting and the scent of incense coming from Pearl’s office where the re-embodiment of each of the five ghosts was taking place at a rate of one per day.

  Sounds and smells were about all Brenda got out of it, because, since she wasn’t the Rat, there wasn’t really a role for her in the various rituals. Even Gaheris Morris showed up, since the Rat is Ox’s partner on the zodiac wheel and stands in opposition to the Horse.

  Not being needed for the rituals didn’t mean Brenda wasn’t busy. Early every morning, she joined whoever was going over to Colm Lodge for physical training. Later in the day, she’d either make an amulet bracelet or work with Des on some aspect of her magical training. Often she did both, since Des, as the Rooster, was only needed for one of the re-embodiment rituals—that of his partner the Monkey—and with two Dragons in their company, Des’s knowledge of magical lore was not as much in demand.

  There were always routine chores that had to be done: meals to be prepared, runs to the grocery store, shuttling people back and forth between Colm Lodge and Pearl’s house, and dozens of other tasks. Brenda threw herself into these, often in the company of Nissa or Riprap.

  Due to a quirk in which families had remained faithful and which had fallen away, the three apprentices were rarely needed for the rituals. Their partners on the wheel—the Tiger and the Pig—were both more magically sophisticated and were better choices to stand in for the Houses of Expansion and Family when needed. Their opposites—the Rooster and the Dragon—were not among those who needed to be reincarnated.

  “Reincarnation,” Brenda said to Nissa one afternoon when they were coming back from a trip to the grocery store, “isn’t quite the right word for what we’re doing, is it? More like re-embodiment.”

  Nissa swiveled from where she’d been leaning into the backseat so that she could retrieve Lani’s new favorite toy—a plush bunny wearing a many-pocketed vest, a gift from Gaheris Morris—from where her daughter had dropped it on the floor.

  “Re-embodiment,” Nissa agreed. “I’m glad we’re almost done. Even with Colm Lodge to hold the overflow, there are five more mouths to feed, five more odd people to explain. Pearl’s already stretching the truth with the answers she’s given to Dr. Pike so that he can disseminate them to the various members of the indigenous magical traditions who remain overly curious about our business.”

  “Nosey.” Brenda agreed, thinking of Franklin Deng and Tracy Frye.

  “And Pearl and Albert are stretching their bank accounts to feed and clothe everyone,” Brenda added, with what she immediately knew everyone would say was a Rattish concern for money.

  “But the rejoining,” Nissa said, bending and retrieving the toy—“N
ext time, Vesty-Bunny stays on the floor, Lani—of the ‘ghosts’ with the various branches is working.”

  Brenda heard an implied question in Nissa’s inflection, and answered. “That’s what Dad says. Since the Ox is partnered with the Rat, he could sense the switch—especially since he was ‘listening’ for it.”

  “Tomorrow,” Nissa said, “they’ll be done. Bent Bamboo, the Monkey, is the last. After that, we go through the Nine Gates and it’s over.”

  Or is it? Brenda thought, knowing Nissa was talking confidently to ease apprehensions they all had. Returning the three to the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice wouldn’t do much good if their enemies were still in power—enemies who had already shown themselves to be willing to cross the guardian domains to go after what they wanted.

  Aloud, Brenda said, “Where is Lani staying while we’re away?”

  “Joanne is having a singing and dancing workshop,” Nissa said, “and she says Lani can stay with her if we’re—uh—late getting back. Lani’s looking forward to going to Joanne’s, aren’t you?”

  In the rearview mirror of the car, Brenda caught a glimpse of Lani looking preternaturally serious for a moment, before brightening her face into a smile.

  “I’m gonna have fun!” Lani said. “We’re gon’ learn a frog-hop dance. An’ eat cake an’ hotdogs.”

  Lani’s being brave, Brenda thought. She knows something’s up, and she’s pretending she doesn’t. What if something happens to us? What if we don’t come back?

  Luckily, they were now at Pearl’s house. Threading the car through the tightly packed, narrow streets provided sufficient distraction and grounding in a reality that did not involve re-embodied ghosts and mystical realms that Brenda could manage to put her fears from her.

  But the next morning, when her alarm clock went off at the beginning of the Double Hour of the Dragon—that is, seven in the morning—the nervousness was back.

  No one except for Gaheris Morris had argued that Brenda shouldn’t be part of their company through the Nine Gates. Brenda had been glad that her dad cared about her safety, but equally glad that he didn’t win out.

  “Brenda is part of our company,” Righteous Drum had insisted. “She was the one who rescued me, and among those who fought along the Tiger’s Road. The guardians of the four directions consider themselves in her debt and the Nine Yellow Springs sing her praises.”

  “And,” Honey Dream had added with a slight return of her former waspishness toward Brenda, “Brenda is weird. She breaks the rules without knowing she’s doing so. We might need that peculiar flexibility.”

  So Brenda rose and headed for the shower. She and Nissa had worked out a schedule the night before. Nissa was already up, dressed, and gone, driving Lani to Joanne’s.

  Brenda was standing head down, plaiting her hair into a single, heavy braid, accented with a purple ribbon, when there was a soft rap at her bedroom door.

  “I’m decent!” she called.

  The door swung open, and Des came in carrying a small bundle of black fabric.

  “I have a present for you,” he said. “Actually, from me and Flying Claw.”

  Brenda straightened. “What?”

  “I’d noticed,” Des said, “that you seemed to feel rather underdressed during our last venture beyond the gates.”

  Brenda, who had indeed felt that jeans and a shirt, while sturdy and comfortable, didn’t quite fit in when just about everyone else was wearing an embroidered shenyi, had to agree.

  “After I was delegated the job of getting ceremonial wear for Nissa and Riprap,” Des said, referring to a discussion that had occurred soon after the Tiger’s Road venture, “Flying Claw came to me. He said he thought you deserved something, too. I agreed.”

  Brenda’s gaze stole over to the neatly folded bundle; she couldn’t get the slightest hint about what it contained except that much of it was black. That made sense. Black was the Rat’s color.

  Des was going on, “As you must have noticed by now, the ceremonial costume traditionally worn by the Thirteen Orphans is the shenyi, which dates back at least to the Ch’in dynasty. When I went to measure Riprap for his shenyi, he pitched a fit, said he’d be no use to anyone if he had to wear long skirts—that he didn’t even wear a bathrobe that came lower than the middle of his calf. After putting him in a robe—even finding one his size was a challenge—I had to agree. I spoke with Shen and Albert, and we decided that training Riprap to walk in skirts could wait. I was given permission to modify the costume.”

  Brenda thought she could guess where this was heading, and didn’t know whether she felt insulted or relieved. In the end, she decided on relieved. She had worn long skirts to a couple of proms and to her graduation, but that didn’t exactly qualify her as graceful or at ease.

  Still, a single word squeezed out, “Nissa?”

  “I tested her, and she qualified for a shenyi,” Des said. “However, I had to argue Deborah into wearing hers. Once she learned Riprap was going to get a trouser suit, Deborah had lots of reasons why she needed one, too.”

  “But you talked her around?”

  “Pearl did. Deborah has had her shenyi for years, and charms have a way of accumulating power over time. That tipped the balance, but you might have noticed Deborah’s been wearing her shenyi a few hours every day, just to get used to it.”

  Brenda had, but had dismissed it, figuring that the Pig was simply helping out with some aspect of the many arcane rituals that had filled the last several days.

  Brenda accepted the bundle, not hiding her eagerness.

  “So this is my ‘trouser suit’?”

  “Unfold it,” Des said, with pardonable pride. “I swiped a pair of your jeans and one of your more tailored shirts so the seamstress could use them to estimate your size. The outfit isn’t skin-tight by any means, but I think . . .”

  Brenda let the comfortable flow of his words, discussing fabric, sizing, the question of precisely how long to make the tunic, go by without comment.

  Black proved to be the color of only the trousers—and only of the upper part to the knees at that. Below the knees, the fabric was divided in equal bands of what Brenda now knew were the remaining significant colors: green, red, white, and yellow—this last more closely a shimmering gold. Each band was of equal size, and divided by a slim border of black like the border between panes of a stained glass window.

  The tunic was an orchestral celebration of the five colors, the pieces fitted together in what Brenda knew were significant patterns. There was a billowing white cloud she knew represented luck, and an elaborate scarlet chrysanthemum she remembered indicated a wish for a long life. There were others, smaller, that she couldn’t immediately recognize, but suspected invoked similar blessings.

  After all, Brenda thought, fingering the soft, satiny fabric reverently, of the five blessings, luck and longevity are going to matter a lot more than prosperity, happiness, and wealth. On the other hand, maybe happiness would be a good thing.

  “You had this made?” she said, looking at the elaborate garment and remembering something in the flow of Des’s words.

  “That’s right. Friend of mine. Does costume work. She’s absolutely brilliant—and fast. Has to be, what with the first dress rehearsal usually leading to half the costumes on some productions being torn apart and reworked because they look lousy from the floor. Want to try it on?”

  “You bet!”

  Des moved as if to go out the door, then paused. “I forgot to show you Flying Claw’s contribution. Look at the end of each sleeve and the cuffs of the trousers.”

  “You mean that little green leaf?” she said after a moment’s inspection.

  “That’s it.” Des grinned. “He says it’s a variation on the bamboo—a charm for longevity, especially geared for clothing. It doesn’t make it invulnerable or anything. Think of it as magical spray that helps the fabric resist stains and snags. Apparently Tigers are pretty hard on their clothes.”

  Des slipped out
the door on that line, and Brenda was left staring at the delicately embroidered leaf.

  “Great,” she said to the empty air. “Apparently, my friends not only think I’m too clumsy to get along in a skirt, but a slob who’ll tear up my clothes as well.”

  Still, she felt quite happy as she pulled off her jeans and tee shirt, and donned the new clothing. Both top and bottom fit wonderfully. Des’s friend had apparently followed the traditional form of the loose trousers and tunic, but hadn’t felt she needed to do so slavishly. Unlike the clothing shown in many pictures Brenda had seen from the years when the California gold rush had brought large numbers of Chinese into the United States, neither tunic nor trousers were baggy. They weren’t form-fitting by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn’t feel as if she was wearing a satin flour sack either.

  As a final touch, Brenda coiled her braid into a loose knot at the back of her head, and hung at her waist the carved stone frog charm Des had given her before their first venture into the guardian domains.

  First, she thought. This makes the third—or is it fourth?—trip. What ever, I’m certainly not ready to take it all for granted.

  Reunited with the Horse.

  Loyal Wind closed his eyes and shivered with delight. One of the Orphans had told him that in a legend from one of the cultures of the Land of the Burning, the Horse was said to be the wind condensed into living form. Loyal Wind thought that image was nicely poetic, but every right-thinking person knew that the Horse was an embodiment of Fire.

  Loyal Wind burned with that fire now, and until it had been restored to him, he had not realized how much he had longed for its warmth.

  Now, as the Horse, he carried Flying Claw, the young Tiger of the Lands, ahead of the rest, scouting the location of each of the Nine Gates, making certain that there were no difficulties.

  Since eight of the nine gates had been created as a gift by the rulers of the guardian domains, no trouble was expected.