Five Odd Honors

by Jane Lindskold

  “But what’s real?”

  “Real?”

  “I mean, we’ve got you Irish creatures. I’ve met dragons and tigers that are just like what Chinese mythology would have led us to believe in. Right? From what Pearl and Des and the others have told us, there are tons of indigenous traditions, each with their own ideas. So what’s real?”

  Parnell grinned at her. “I can tell you were raised in a monotheistic, scientifically oriented culture, Brenda. Try this instead. It’s all real.”

  “All? But the various traditions contradict each other!” Brenda unfolded herself and started talking faster, waving her hands as if that would get her point across. “I mean, Christians and Jews and like that say you live and die once. Tons of other religions say you get reincarnated. Some cultures say everything has a spirit in it—even rocks and buildings. Others say that only humans have souls. How can they all be right?”

  Parnell grasped one of her flailing hands and gave it a soft squeeze. “Relax, Brenda. Try to think about it this way. Opposites, contradictions, what ever you want to call them, are more real than anything else. In a sense, we know what everything is by knowing what it’s not.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “What is green? Bluer than yellow, yellower than blue.”

  Brenda had flinched when Parnell took her hand, but she didn’t pull away. To be honest, those warm, slightly rough fingers were a distinct comfort. She forced herself to look at Oak Gall. The craggy, knobby, barky face was studying her. She wondered if she was the first human Oak Gall had ever met, if this was as startling for him as for her.

  Parnell went on. “You’re like a little bug who lives at the South Pole.”

  “Are there bugs at the South Pole?” Brenda said, trying hard to sound more relaxed. “Wouldn’t it be too cold for them?”

  “Don’t try to distract me, Brenda.” Parnell squeezed her hand one more time, then let it drop. “You yourself are too distracting by far. Now listen.”

  “Sorry. Okay. I’m a bug at the South Pole.”

  “You’re like a bug at the South Pole. All you’ve ever seen are degrees of cold and ice and snow. Little Bug You judges everything by all this cold. You won’t even believe there could be something as impossible as fire. You’ll believe in greater and lesser degrees of cold as an intellectual exercise, but not in something as hot as fire.”

  Brenda straightened slightly, thrust her legs out in front of her. She’d always been like her dad in that she preferred to work through problems. Dithering was not her speed—not for long, at least.

  “Okay,” she said. “So now Little Bug Me goes out into the world away from the South Pole. Not only do I learn about fire, but I learn that there are places where snow and ice can’t exist. I see. So this universe or multiverse or what ever that you’re telling me about is like that. Everything, even flat-out contradictions, exists—and you don’t need to go elsewhere to find it. It’s right here, if you know how to look.”

  “That’s about it.”

  “Parnell, do you really believe all that? That anything is possible if you know how to look?”

  “Believe? Sure.” He flashed a grin at her. “Understand? Not really, but I’ll take that view over the one that tries to eliminate the contradictions to the point of not seeing what’s in front of my nose.”

  Brenda looked over at Oak Gall. “Like him.”

  Oak Gall grinned at her. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did.

  “Like you,” said the tree-bark creature.

  Despite the accident—as everyone had started calling it, to avoid the uncomfortable word “attack”—Pearl had insisted that Nissa stay in Virginia long enough to get her life in order. However, by the middle of the second week in September Nissa and Lani were back.

  Pearl had insisted on driving to the airport to get them; she wasn’t going to let herself be jinxed by one piece of bad timing. The car had been kept inside a garage since the accident, as had the van. When it must be parked and left, some very interesting wards were set. So far, no one had shown interest in either vehicle.

  “I heard from Des,” Pearl said when they got into the house and unloaded the luggage. “They’ve crossed the wall of water—on the back of a fish, apparently. They’re working out plans to cross the sea of fire.”

  “I don’t envy them,” Nissa said. “I talked to Brenda today. She sounded keyed up, but not cranky. She suggested that Lani and I go ahead and take overher room right away, said that at the rate things are going, she might manage a visit at Christmas, but not before, and maybe not even then.”

  “She has a point,” Pearl said reluctantly. “I don’t like Gaheris’s attitude, but I do understand. Brenda has her education to think about. Still, I hope she’s finding a way to keep in practice with her magic.”

  “I doubt it,” Nissa said. “Brenda’s sharing a room with her friend Shannon. I can’t see when Brenda would have the privacy to go over the various routines, not to mention that she has classes to take up her time. Honestly, Pearl, in a way Gaheris is behaving almost as badly as his father did. He probably wouldn’t have let Brenda get involved with the Orphans if she hadn’t been thrown right in the middle of the mess.”

  “Maybe,” Pearl said, uncomfortable with the thought, but unable to deny Nissa’s point. “Maybe so.”

  Pearl’s house came back to life with the return of Nissa and Lani. Even the cats, Amala and Bonaventure—who Pearl had assumed had enjoyed the return to their more usual quiet—brightened. Bonaventure even deigned to lower his considerable dignity to chase a ball or piece of string for Lani.

  Wang, the gardener, was thrilled to have his little assistant back. Joanne immediately started pestering to have Lani rejoin some of the play groups she’d enjoyed over the summer.

  Nissa had decided that she could wait for the spring term to continue her pharmacological studies. Almost before she had unpacked, she resumed her daily amulet making, joined in the daily martial arts practice at Colm Lodge, and began insisting that Pearl start tutoring her in some of the more sophisticated techniques as she had promised.

  All in all, life rapidly became very pleasant indeed. Pearl wondered why she could not divest herself of the feeling that this was merely the calm before the storm.

  The scouts would have liked to take a full day to rest after slogging through the wall of water, but such a luxury was beyond their resources.

  “At least we don’t need to worry about getting fresh water to drink. Or bathing.” Riprap commented. “Or making a fire to cook dinner. I’m finally warm again.”

  Copper Gong was less optimistic. “Enjoy it. When we pass through this sea of fire we’ll all be hot and dehydrated soon enough.”

  Bent Bamboo bopped the Ram lightly on the head with one long-fingered hand. “Give it a rest, woman. You wanted to get back into the Lands. We’re here. You should be gloating at your triumphant return.”

  “I wanted to get back home,” Copper Gong said. “This place . . .” She waved a hand to take in the waterfall thundering down to one side of them, the gently undulating sea of molten ooze and ruddy coals on the other. “This place is nothing like home.”

  Nine Ducks, who was lying back against a heap of bedrolls, resting after working the spell that had dampened the sound of the falling water, looked at her longtime associate with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance.

  “Absolutely nothing has gone according to plan since the days when our emperor began to lose his hold on the Jade Petal Throne,” Nine Ducks said. “Isn’t that so, Flying Claw?”

  The young man had been staring gloomily over the sea of fire.

  “I agree, Grandmother Ox. Since their creation, the Lands have always behaved in ways that—at least to those from the Land of the Burning—would be considered strange. However, some scholars have long argued that the attenuation of the Twelve Earthly Branches, which began with the departure of the Exiles, contributed to changes the like of which have not been seen in the over tw
o thousand years the Lands have existed.”

  “We can’t,” Des said, breaking the silence, “do anything about any of that. What we can do is decide just how we plan to cross a sea of fire. Even if we managed to somehow fireproof our boots, I don’t think we can hope to walk.”

  “I agree,” Flying Claw said. “When we first arrived, I thought this was lava, but it is not. There is no sense of earth about it. This is purest fire. What we see as coals are not the husks of burnt material, but the eyes of the element itself.”

  “You’re creeping me out, man,” Riprap said. “But I get what you’re saying. Is there a creature that lives in fire the way that fish live in water? Can we make ourselves a fire fish or what ever and use that for the next stage of the journey? What about phoenixes? Don’t they live in fire?”

  Des laughed. “You’re thinking of the western version of the phoenix. That’s a unique bird that once in a while—five hundred years, I think—lays an egg, then burns itself to ashes. The new phoenix comes from the egg and is hatched by the heat.”

  “The Chinese don’t have a phoenix?” Riprap persisted. “I’m sure they do.”

  “The Vermillion Bird of the South,” Nine Ducks said, “is sometimes called a phoenix by Westerners. So is the feng hua, which, although a mystical creature, has two sexes and is not in the least unique.”

  “Although seeing one,” Gentle Smoke said softly, “is nearly as good an omen as seeing a ch’i-lin. I would not mind seeing a feng hua.”

  “To see a feng hua,” Loyal Wind quoted from an ancient bestiary, “you must have a wu t’ung tree, and I fear there is not a single tree in this place.”

  “True.”

  There followed a rather morose silence, as if they had all somehow expected the feng hua to manifest.

  “So, no creatures who live in fire,” Riprap said, returning to his original point. “How about some version of dragon?”

  Flying Claw, who had returned to his thoughtful study of the sea of fire, now turned his attention to them.

  “I have been thinking about this problem,” he said, “since Li of the Iron Crutch first told us what the hsien had described. When we were in the Land of the Burning, I made some preparations. I also consulted Righteous Drum, since sophisticated magic isn’t my province.”

  “And you’re only telling us now?” Riprap said indignantly.

  “You and Des were very busy,” Flying Claw replied with more mildness than might be expected from a Tiger. “As was everyone else. Moreover, I did not wish to speak until I was certain that there would be no better way for us to make our passage. I am still not certain my suggestion is the best.”

  “Go on,” Riprap prompted. “I’m burning with curiosity.”

  “Let us hope,” Flying Claw said, smiling a little at the pun, “that my plan will not leave more of you than that afire.”

  Des cut in. “Does this have anything to do with those squares of material you asked me to get for you—and the glue and bamboo?”

  “And needles and thread,” Flying Claw agreed. “Yes. What I propose is that we make kites to carry us over this sea of fire.”

  “Kites!” Bent Bamboo said, looking both appalled and intrigued. “You think we could?”

  “Heat rises,” Flying Claw replied. “We will use kites to carry us above the fire, then summon winds to propel us. Since air is not an element, I do not believe we will find it as tightly bound.”

  He paused, then added, “Actually, I know we won’t. I’ve tested. The winds are as free as ever we could wish. Since we are west of Center, the west wind will be best—not so much because of how it blows, but because this is the quarter belonging to the West.”

  “The White Tiger’s direction,” Copper Gong said, sounding pleased for once. “That should offer us some additional support, since Pai Hu is an ally.”

  “We’d need a great deal of material,” Gentle Smoke said dubiously, “if we are to make eight kites, each large enough to carry a person.”

  “We have found a way around that problem as well,” Flying Claw said. “When I consulted Righteous Drum, he suggested that we make our kites small and then enlarge them magically.”

  “As we did with the Zao-fish,” Gentle Smoke said.

  “Yes. Righteous Drum knew of your plan, and told me of your clever solution to the problem of our needing to carry too much material. Des helped me research the best fabric for making kites, and how to bind it securely to the frame.”

  Des nodded. “I thought you had some sort of scouting device in mind.”

  “I didn’t wish,” Flying Claw said, “to be presumptuous.”

  Flying Claw is young enough to worry about seeming a fool, Loyal Wind thought, yet old enough not to run about flapping his lips, bragging that he has a brilliant solution to all our problems. If he lives, this Flying Claw could be quite a formidable Tiger.

  “I remember that fabric,” Riprap said. “I packed it. I thought it was part of Des’s store of gifts for any potentially friendly hsien we might meet.”

  He went over to the luggage and dug out a plastic bag containing more than a dozen square pieces of brightly colored fabric.

  “There should be a bundle of bamboo rods,” Des said, “and a bottle of glue. Oh, and the ribbons for the tails. Get the sewing kit, too. I put in a couple spools of a particularly strong thread the man at the hobby store recommended.”

  He spoke to Flying Claw, his tone mildly reproving. “I wish you’d told me what you had in mind. The fellow at the store tried to convince me to get some lightweight fiberglass rods as well. Those would have been stronger than bamboo.”

  “Probably,” Flying Claw agreed, “but I think bamboo will serve us very well here. Not only is bamboo one of the suits in the version of magic you Orphans use, but ‘Bent Bamboo’ is the name of one of our company. Resonance and sympathy are key to strong magic.”

  “You have a point,” Des agreed. “What do we do first? I haven’t made a kite since my son and daughter lost interest in children’s games.”

  “I drew plans,” Flying Claw said, “and made copies on the machine in Pearl’s office. Lani knew what buttons to push, and I figured out all the rest.”

  He looked proud of himself. Loyal Wind, who had often been confused during his sojourn in Pearl’s house, where clerks and servants were replaced by various machines, completely understood.

  Flying Claw shook the plans out of a bamboo scroll tube. “These are a workable design for a kite that will carry a single person. My late master was fascinated by the possibilities of flight, and since I had always loved kites, I became his assistant.”

  “Flying Tigers,” Loyal Wind heard Riprap mutter bemusedly, and wondered why Des chuckled.

  “Do we make our own kites?” Nine Ducks asked.

  “That would be best,” Flying Claw said. “I asked Des to select fabric in each of our colors, two pieces each, so that we all have plenty. I will assist as needed.”

  “Good,” Nine Duck said. “I haven’t made a kite since before Desperate Lee was born—and that only counts my life in the body.”

  Loyal Wind had made kites more recently—at least if he counted only the life of his body. The military used them to carry lines across gorges and kite fighting was considered quite a martial entertainment.

  Flying Claw’s plans were very neatly drawn. As he reviewed them, Loyal Wind was surprised to see that the end result of his labors would be a simple diamond kite.

  “I thought you might have selected one of those kites shaped like a bird in flight,” he said.

  “My master tried those,” Flying Claw said, “and found that human legs trailing behind were destabilizing. In this design, the entirety of the passenger is contained beneath the diamond. The fabric tail provides balance, just as it would in a more usual kite.”

  “If you say so,” Loyal Wind said, trying to keep the doubt from his voice, but obviously not succeeding. Flying Claw tapped the plans and went on with his explanation.


  “This is actually a modification of the diamond kite. There is an additional rod, slightly bent, that makes the kite very stable. We could even do without a tail, but there is no reason we should not permit ourselves the added flourish.”

  Riprap looked up from his copy of the plans. “This looks a lot like what we call an Eddy Kite. I helped make some when a kite enthusiast came to talk at the Y. You’re right. They have lots of lift.”

  “I thought all you did was play baseball and basketball and sometimes soccer,” Flying Claw teased.

  “I made basic diamond kites with my kids at the Y every spring,” Riprap said. “Can’t always play baseball. Kites are a great alternative when the winds are high. Now, do you want us to use glue or stitching?”

  “Both,” Flying Claw responded promptly. “Oh. That’s right. You can’t read my instructions. I apologize.”

  “Yeah, I don’t read Chinese,” Riprap said with a shrug. “Only speak it courtesy of that spell. Don’t worry. Your plans are clear enough for most of this. Are you sure glue will hold?”

  “Des provided a glue specifically made to bind this fabric,” Flying Claw said. “Then I took it to Righteous Drum and he and Honey Dream ensorcelled it for firmer binding. The stitches are reenforcement. They also provide the means for anchoring the physical elements of the enlargement spells and the target points that will enable you to use the winds not only to move, but to steer. The kite fabric, thread, and bamboo have also been treated to resist heat.”

  “You seem to have thought of everything,” Riprap said admiringly, making a few notes with a pencil on his copy of the plans.

  “My late master,” Flying Claw said, and there was no mistaking the sorrow in his voice, “was a creative and intelligent man.”

  Loyal Wind remembered Flying Claw’s master well, although as Horse and Tiger they had rarely worked in concert. Both were martial in orientation, but the Horse preferred the herd and the Tiger single combat or stalking.

  Well, old friend, he thought, carefully placing the stitches where indicated on the red fabric of his kite, you trained your student well, although I doubt you had the least inkling in what very odd circumstances your teachings would be used.