But we did not expect Thundering Heaven to turn against us, and the question of where that strange sword of his came from remains unanswered. And if that is disquieting, even more so is the sense that there are questions we lack even the information to ask.
The gates were not difficult to locate. Flying Claw’s “brother Tiger,” the great White Tiger of the West, Pai Hu, had given a small blessing to the two Tigers in their company. Both Pearl Bright and Flying Claw could feel the direction of the next gate as soon as they passed into the appropriate section of the guardian domains. Pearl was guiding the larger part of the group, letting her restless younger counterpart range ahead.
That main group was indeed large, for in addition to the Thirteen Orphans it included Honey Dream, Thorn, Shackles, and Twentyseven-Ten .
These last three were uneasy allies, as Loyal Wind saw matters, but he had reviewed the treaties that bound them to service, and thought they would remain faithful to the letter of these documents. He would remain watchful to assure they remained faithful to the spirit as well.
The guardians had not set the gates side by side. In most cases they had even gone to some trouble to conceal them from casual detection. In a few cases—as when the Vermillion Bird of the South set the Second Gate high on a cliff face—reaching the gate offered some difficulty.
Initially, Loyal Wind wondered if this challenge had been intentional, or if the Vermillion Bird had not considered the near impossibility of mere humans reaching a gate set within a sheer rock wall. When they found that the Dark Warrior had placed the Fourth Gate on an island in the middle of a deep, still lake, Loyal Wind ceased to wonder. The four guardians remained edgy.
The challenges increased in difficulty the farther they progressed, and Loyal Wind knew he himself should be more nervous, but the dual joys of being permitted to once again cross into the land of the living, and of being reunited with the Horse made him feel as if he had joined the Eight Immortals in one of their unending drinking bouts, experiencing all the delights of wine without the complication of a hangover.
After many hours of travel, they reached the Ninth Gate. This was set in the domain of Ch’ing Lung, the Azure Dragon of the East, and Ch’ing Lung had made certain that not even the most clever of his denizens would interfere with it.
As the Tiger is the lord of all the land animals, so the Dragon is the lord of the waters. Yet the element specifically associated with the direction east is wood.
“It’s where?” asked Shen Kung, hurrying up to join them, the other Dragon, Righteous Drum, only a pace behind.
“There,” Flying Claw said, pointing into the depths of a lake. “Loyal Wind and I circled the lake several times so I could triangulate. At first I thought the gate was on the other side of the lake, but it’s there, in the depths, in the midst of that clump of trees.”
“Trees?” Des Lee said. “Don’t you mean seaweed or kelp or something?”
“Take a look,” Flying Claw said. “It looks like a forest to me.”
“You’re right,” the Rooster said. “Trees. Deciduous mostly, with a tasteful scattering of evergreens.”
Loyal Wind had shifted back into his human form after their scouting was concluded. Now he offered his own observations.
“We have seen nothing move there, not even the trees.”
“Like they’re frozen?” Brenda Morris asked.
“Like that,” Flying Claw agreed.
“So,” said Pearl, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword, “it’s not like we have monsters to fight.”
“No,” Nissa Nita said, shivering a little like a frightened rabbit, “we just have to figure out how to get down there without drowning.”
“Easy enough,” Brenda said. She turned to Shen Kung and Righteous Drum. “We can do what we did before. I mean, Dragons can extend the ability to breathe water to those they carry—and this time we won’t be doing anything that should exhaust anyone.”
Righteous Drum nodded. “An elegant solution, and precisely the one I suspect Ch’ing Lung expected us to employ.”
“Wait,” Pearl Bright said. “Before we start ferrying ourselves down there, there’s something that needs to be done. If we are to be able to cross into the Lands—that is, if we need to—the Exile must be rescinded. Even if we aren’t needed there—and I for one hope we will not be—then the Exile still must be rescinded so that the original Thirteen will be free to return to the Lands.”
Honey Dream reached into the sleeve of her shenyi and extracted an ivory scroll case.
“I have the ritual here,” she said. “Gentle Smoke was a tremendous help in the design.”
Standing side by side, as they were now, Loyal Wind found himself thinking how very different the two Snakes were. Honey Dream was the more impulsive, the more temperamental. By contrast, Gentle Smoke, smiling softly now at the compliment her younger associate had paid her, was practically the embodiment of the diplomatic truth that sometimes it was wisest to be overlooked until one must strike.
“I was pleased to assist,” Gentle Smoke said. “My training in the laws and rites of the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice is a bit outdated, perhaps, but not so much as to be useless. After the Exile, I found myself thinking what a great deal of time I had spent committing to memory what was now unnecessary information. I must say I was pleased to be proven wrong.”
Honey Dream gave a quick smile of appreciation. “Far from useless. Far from.”
The younger Snake resumed her authoritative manner.
“Line up,” Honey Dream ordered, “in the position of your place on the zodiac wheel. Albert, you stand in the center.”
The Thirteen Orphans, living and dead, did as instructed, leaving Brenda Morris, looking slightly forlorn, off to one side.
“Now,” Honey Dream said, “link arms. No, don’t hold hands.” This to Bent Bamboo, who with a return of his more usual lasciviousness had grabbed Copper Gong’s hand very firmly in his.
There was shuffling and nervous laughter as they did this, variations of height and size making for some awkward combinations. When they were all in place, Honey Dream nodded approval.
“I know this will be awkward, but without losing your current connection, extend your hands and fingers—lower arms, too, if you can manage it—toward Albert Yu. That connects him to the whole. Gentle Smoke and I were uncertain whether his exile needed to be rescinded, since the stolen child never formally agreed to exile, but we thought we shouldn’t leave that to chance. Albert, extend your arms toward the others, but don’t touch anyone in particular. Now revolve slowly, so that you are not aligning yourself with any one person.”
The dignified Albert Yu did so, but Loyal Wind heard him mutter, “I feel like an idiot,” and Pearl Bright softly hush him.
Honey Dream now turned to her father and Flying Claw.
“We rehearsed this several times already. We read the words on the scroll together.”
Three voices—two deep and masculine, one melodiously feminine—began, “As the affiliates of the Earthly Branches, legally chosen, our bonds sealed, we assert our right and our duty to rescind . . .”
Loyal Wind became aware that he was hearing something other than the stately progress of those measured words “exile accepted,” “exile revoked.” Something like a wind rushed in his ears, or perhaps it was the racing sound of a bonfire newly lit and crackling toward the heavens. Air rushed and snapped. Bonds that had been sealed around his soul, always felt, but for the sake of sanity nearly forgotten, loosened, loosened, then slipped away entirely.
Tears coursed down Loyal Wind’s cheeks, blurring his vision, but he did not break the circle of linked arms to wipe them away.
Even when the ritual had been worked that enabled him to pass out of the afterlife into the world of the living, even when the Horse had come back to him, and he had ridden once again filled with the Celestial Flame, Loyal Wind had not felt such joy, such a sense of being complete in himself.
&nbs
p; He gloried in the sensation, and through the rush of wind and fire heard three voices raised in final salutation: “Now, your long journey is ended. We welcome you home once more.”
Loyal Wind let his arms drop from those of Gentle Smoke and Copper Gong. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes, mopping away the haze of tears. He saw the others—even those who had never been to the Lands, even Brenda Morris, who was not the Rat in truth, doing the same.
Typically, it was Pearl Bright, always so careful to guard her warmer emotions, who first got hold of herself.
“Well, that seems to have worked. Beautifully done, Honey Dream. Now, shall we see about getting ourselves to the bottom of the lake?”
The two Dragons took themselves off to one side where they could divest themselves of their robes and change their forms. Everyone had stored extra ch’i in anticipation of this journey, and Righteous Drum applied just a bit extra to provide himself with the means of propelling himself not too clumsily despite his missing forelimb into the waters of the lake.
“I want to be one of the first down,” Riprap said. “I’m tired of being useless.”
“I’ll go as well,” Albert Yu said. “I would like an opportunity to compose myself.”
“Do we need to take our clothes off?” Riprap said, fingering the deep golden yellow trouser suit he wore.
“No need,” Righteous Drum said from where he rested in the shallows. “As long as you remain in contact with us, you will stay dry.”
“But at the bottom?” Riprap said doubtfully.
Shen Kung, distinguishable from Righteous Drum only by virtue of possessing all his limbs, replied, “I wouldn’t be concerned. I think that Ch’ing Lung will have made provisions for breathing and other matters of physical comfort in the location of the gate. After all, he would know that we all must assemble there in order to open the gate back into the Lands.”
“And if he didn’t?” Riprap said, not argumentatively, but with that thoroughness Loyal Wind had come to expect of him.
“Then we shall adapt our plans,” Shen said. “Come along.”
But the Dragons’ trust in Ch’ing Lung’s forethought proved merited. The Ninth Gate was enclosed within a translucent bubble that held air and was sized to accommodate their entire party—twenty in all—without strain.
Shen and Honey Dream were busy with ink brushes, marking an elaborate zodiac wheel on the beautiful double-paneled polished mahogany door, which was the physical manifestation of the Ninth Gate.
Loyal Wind felt anticipation building, anticipation that sang in harmony with the joy that had filled him when the Exile was rescinded. Even after death, when all barriers should have been lifted, the Exile had persisted. Not one of the Exiles’ ghosts could see the Lands, nor feel the offerings that Righteous
Drum had assured them had continued to be offered by those whose lives and property had been preserved by the Exiles’ sacrifice.
And in just a few moments . . .
Righteous Drum was deep in conversation with a spirit Loyal Wind could only faintly perceive—a chiao, also often called a marsh dragon. The chiao was similar to the traditional lung, but had a somewhat smaller head and neck, and possessed no horns. The colors that adorned its scales were quite spectacular: its flanks in brilliant yellow, its breast sunset red, its back striped in shades of green.
This chiao had been a particular friend of Righteous Drum in more peaceful days in the Lands, a research associate of sorts, one of those who had helped Righteous Drum and his original allies set the foundations for the bridge that had carried them from the Lands into the Land of the Burning.
Loyal Wind silently urged the others.
Hurry! Hurry! I have waited over a hundred years for this moment. Suddenly each breath is too long to wait. Why are you taking so long? The gate stands. Surely the four Guardians who created the gates would not have erred. Hurry!
His expression still troubled, Righteous Drum turned away from his conversation with the chiao and addressed the twenty people who waited.
“My friend assures me that the Ninth Gate will open. Further, he assures me that it has not been detected by our enemies.”
“Father,” Honey Dream said, “this is all good news. Why are you so troubled?”
“Chiao—lung in general—do not perceive the world quite as we do, therefore I cannot precisely say. My friend speaks of unrest within the bones of the earth itself, of disruptions within what is and what should be. I sought clarification, but all I could gather was that we should be extremely cautious. Something is very wrong.”
Pearl Bright, the studied tranquility of her features giving away that she, too, was impatient to have this final ordeal ended, said softly, “But we could have guessed as much from what we learned from our newest allies.” She inclined her head politely at Twentyseven-Ten, Thorn, and Shackles. “We saw things at the end of the Tiger’s Road that remain unexplained. Then, too, there was Yen-lo Wang’s peculiar cooperativeness, against all expectation. Here is one more confirmation.”
Des Lee shifted his shoulders within his ceremonial shenyi as if loosening them for action.
“Pearl’s right. Delaying won’t tell us anything. Let’s open the gate.”
Albert Yu glanced at Righteous Drum, and only when the Dragon nodded agreement did he move to the front of the gathered group.
“We rehearsed this back at Pearl’s,” Albert said. “One at a time, each in order of your place on the wheel, place your hand on the appropriate mark on the door. Then take the brush, write your name, and sign within the space. Step away quickly so the next can follow. I will open the door.”
“I still think . . .” Riprap began.
“No,” Albert said. “We settled that earlier. Danger or not, this is my place. My ancestor alone did not agree to exile. Moreover, it’s about time one of my family started acting like a leader.”
Riprap shrugged, but judging from the glances he exchanged with Flying Claw, both young men were agreed that if they were attacked, their first job would be getting Albert out of the way and themselves through first.
Loyal Wind didn’t disagree with their feelings. Indeed, he might have been conspiring with them, except that three would crowd the available space.
He decided instead to keep a careful eye on Twentyseven-Ten , Shackles , and Thorn, for these three were the least reliable of their company. True, they had sworn oaths, but oaths—even those magically enforced—had been broken in the past. He noticed that Brenda Morris was also watching those three, and smiled.
She’d be a good Rat someday.
Then an odd thought hit him. The Orphans had taken their affiliations with the twelve Earthly Branches with them when they had been exiled. Two parallel series of associations had developed over time. What would happen now that the Exile was about to end? Would those separate associations continue? And who would have prior claim? Those truly of the Lands or these hybrids from elsewhere?
Unease welled within Loyal Wind, but it was too late to ask questions, even if he had wanted to do so. The Houses of Construction and Expansion had made their marks. Gentle Smoke was finishing for the House of Mystery. It was his turn, as the first member of the House of Gender. He stepped up and wrote his name, then beneath it the sign for Horse.
He handed the brush to Copper Gong, stepped back and watched her quickly write her name and sign. The brush went to Bent Bamboo, then to Des Lee, to Riprap, and finally to Deborah Van Bergenstein. The Pig finished writing her sign, handed the ink brush to Shen Kung, who methodically began to stir the bristles in a cup of water he held ready. His gaze never left Albert Yu as the Cat strode forward.
Mien lordly, head held high, Albert Yu laid his hand on the door pulls. The inked characters flared with light. Although each had been written in black ink, now they shone with the colors associated with each of the twelve branches.
Beneath Albert’s hands, the doors moved easily, so easily that Albert had to let go of one side or be inelegantly stretched
between the panels. The Cat stepped gracefully to the right, and when he was wholly clear, a brilliant flash of white light lit the revealed space.
Despite its brilliance, this light did not blind, but revealed. And seeing what it revealed, Loyal Wind shouted in shock and dismay.
Nor was his voice the only one to do so.
Pearl heard someone shout.
Perhaps Pearl herself had been the one who had spoken, but what would she have said? What could anyone have said?
The vista exposed by the opening of the Ninth Gate defied the mind’s ability to impose order.
Take the elements of a classic Chinese landscape painting: a placid lake, a rocky hillside, twisted trees, flowering shrubs, mountains in the background, a pagoda or little shrine to draw focus to the foreground.
Now render this landscape not in usual blue-blacks and greys of more or less diluted ink, but in the vivid colors of the natural world. Emphasis on vivid. These were ur-colors, primal and forceful: pinks that played cymbals, greens as salty as fresh tears, blues that smelled of wintergreen and orange blossom, purples that tickled your skin like fluff from a dandelion.
The painter of this scene must have been the bastard son or daughter or perhaps hermaphroditic hybrid of Salvador Dalí and M. C. Escher. Orientations were askew. Half the mountain range pointed quite correctly toward the heavens, but each distinct element of the other fifty percent seemed to be choosing its own orientation at whim: down, up, side to side, shifting just as you thought you had the hang of it.
The lake surface bulged out then retracted, a shimmering nacreous soap bubble that won’t quite burst. That’s probably a good thing, because there’s something in that bubble, something that seemed to be trying to get out. Light glinted from razor-edged claws.
That pagoda housed something that was eating the flowering shrub, regurgitating the petals in a confetti rainbow that scatters itself on the rocks and sticks there—but only for a moment, because the rocks they are a’rolling.
The entire scene is unfixed. It spins and twists, each moment revealing some new aspect until there is nothing left but the idea that once there was something in front of your eyes that resembled a classic Chinese ink brush painting, while what you’re looking at now resembles nothing so much as a paint box that has had water, oil, and a smattering of insects (don’t forget spiders, ants, and centipedes) spilled in it, and they’re all walking in different directions.
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