Raven and the Dancing Tiger

by Cutter, Leah

  As the prefect continued, he moved his hands toward Petie's waist, one on either side, fingers spread wide. Then he raised his palms up, like outlining a dome, over Petie's head.

  Smoky black-glass armor inside Petie's soul rose up.

  The world grayed and grew darker. Petie's skin rested heavily against his bones, warm and comfortable. He looked at his bare arm and didn't see anything different. But he knew, knew, something else was there.

  Cai's caw echoed strangely through the glass, distorted and distant, then suddenly nearer.

  Cai was with him, now, inside. Petie blinked and stepped back from the prefect.

  "So now you see—"

  "Yes," Petie hissed. He felt stronger, like Wolverine, with adamantium enhancing his bones. Only this was much cooler, much stronger, and much more a part of him. Nothing could get through to him.

  He was safe.

  Cai cawed.

  They were safe. Protected.

  Just because he could, Petie suddenly struck the edge of the table with his forearm. The wood gave a mighty crack but didn't break. All the items lying on it jumped and scattered. The kids stepped back, away from the table and Petie.

  "Peter!" the prefect scolded.

  Petie shook himself. He knew it wasn't really like him to do that. Something about the armor made him a bit reckless. Cai didn't like it.

  The armor was safe, and it felt amazing, but there was still something missing. It wasn't right, just by itself. But he didn't know what else he needed.

  Petie let go of the glass, of the absolute security, wanting to be back in the world.

  The armor tumbled off, out of his skin, like little maple helicopters that blew from the trees in the fall.

  The prefect reached out slowly and raised Petie's arm.

  No bruises. It didn't even hurt. Without the armor, maybe he would have broken a bone.

  "Now you see why we don't teach that at your level," the prefect scolded. "You were barely able to control yourself."

  Petie opened his mouth to contradict the prefect, then closed it again. He had been in control. It still would have been easy to let go, to fall under the armor's spell—easier than he'd realized. What had saved him was Cai with him, not outside. He shivered at the thought, then nodded and stepped back toward the table with the other students.

  The girl with the lisp stood closer to his left side, while the boy on his right gave him more space. Petie didn't care.

  He knew, now, that he did have potential. Not just sensitivity to magic. That he was going to be able to do things with it. And maybe, just maybe, he could prove himself as a full-fledged raven warrior.

  And no one—not the prefect or the other kids, or the two troublemakers, or even Jesse—was ever going to be able to stop him.

  * * *

  Petie's skin still buzzed with the thrill of the raven warrior's armor deep within him. He wasn't much of a fighter, and the three hours of warrior training that morning had left him tired and bruised.

  But the armor—he knew it was special. The prefect had said only the strongest warriors had it. It wouldn't take him over, he knew, not as long as it covered both him and Cai, and didn't come between them.

  Cai poked at Petie, reminding him of the promised blue skies from that morning.

  Petie nodded and climbed the stairs, two at a time, up to his room.

  Jesse's voice, calling out a greeting, bounced off the halls and down to Petie. He burst out of the staircase onto the floor below his, where Jesse's room was.

  Then he stopped abruptly, as if he'd walked smack into an armored glass wall.

  Jesse was talking with Chris, their heads bent together, laughing at something.

  Petie found himself back in the staircase without being aware that he'd moved. What was Jesse doing? Why was he talking with one of the troublemakers? Why was he being friendly to Chris, of all people? Maybe it was because they were the same age, and Petie was a couple years behind.

  Cai ruffled up, uncomfortable. He recognized Jesse as friend, Chris as foe.

  Petie stopped, panting, unsure what to do. At least his room was up one more floor, and not on the same floor. He could run for it. Jesse would never know. With a burst of speed, Petie continued up the stairs, focusing on his feet and not listening to Jesse and Chris laughing. This time, when Petie burst from the staircase, he kept going, his eyes watching the floor, racing toward his door.

  "Hey, whoa, no running," a girl's voice instructed.

  "Sorry," Petie said, slowing and looking up.

  Tisha stood there with a burnt orange hall sash across her chest, from shoulder to hip, over her oversized black T-shirt and jeans. Her blond hair was pulled back so tightly into a bun that it made her eyes even wider.

  "Hey, um," Petie said, unsure how to continue.

  "Yeah?" Tisha said dryly, one cool eyebrow raised.

  "I saw you today. In the lunchroom," Petie said all in a rush. "What did you mean? By the lost boys?"

  Tisha eyes widened in surprise, then she looked away. "I shouldn't never have said anything," she said. She plucked at the sash. "Got monitor duty every afternoon from now 'til forever."

  "Please," Petie said.

  Tisha shook her head no.

  "I have a friend who—who I'm afraid might be doing the wrong things," Petie said, stretching the truth just a bit. Though he was kind of afraid for Jesse.

  Tisha looked up and down the hall, making sure they were alone. Then she leaned closer to Petie and said very quietly, "It's just a rumor. None of the prefects say it's true. But the kids know, every class, a boy or two who don't make it."

  "What do you mean?" Petie asked, confused. "Is there some kind of graduation? They flunk out?"

  Cai shuffled nervously.

  "No. Boys who get lost here. And never go home."

  Chapter Eleven

  Peter deliberately picked a restaurant on Broadway, the main drag in his neighborhood, for dinner with the prefect. It was another beautiful spring day, crisp and clean, the light dimming as though a gentle cloak were easing its way across the sky. On his way there, he passed the grocery store where he'd first seen Jesse. Normally, he avoided looking too carefully at the homeless people he passed, but this time, he dared to meet their eyes, dared to say no to all of them. None of them were Jesse.

  He knew better than to hope that his once-friend had left. Peter hunched further into his hoodie, hoping Jesse had at least found somewhere warm for the night. The clouds had all left, leaving behind a clear sky and plummeting temperatures.

  The door gave no resistance as Peter pushed against it. The smells of baked cheese and cinnamon-spiced lamb greeted him. Tinny Greek music danced from the speakers, not loud enough to be obnoxious, but Peter knew it would give him a headache before the end of the night. The walls were decorated in faux-friezes and murals of Greek myths: Minotaurs and centaurs, Zeus and Athena.

  His dad and Prefect Aaron were already sitting at a table, their backs to the wall, facing the door, next to the window. The prefect was of course next to the window, with the easiest access to escape; he was the elder, and so more important.

  Dad gave Peter a smile of relief when he saw him. Had he thought Peter would stand them up? Chicken out? "Hey, Dad," Peter said as casually as he could. "Prefect Aaron."

  The prefect wore a black leather jacket over a nicely fitted black shirt. His hair still shone silver. Piercing gray eyes peered at Peter, seeking all his secrets.

  "Peter!" the prefect said, standing, holding his hand out across the table. "I barely recognized you. You've grown into such a young man. Good to see you."

  "Yes," Peter merely replied, accepting the prefect's handshake.

  Cai gave a warning caw.

  The older man's grip was still strong, his hand warm.

  As soon as the prefect tried to go a bit deeper than merely looking, Peter casually shrugged him off, dropping his hand as he did so. He was doubly glad he'd practiced his drills, keeping his thoughts glass-
smooth and clear.

  Cai stayed ruffled and on edge as Peter sat.

  Peter glanced at Dad, who'd taken off his jacket and seemed weirdly disarmed in just a plain checked shirt. His dad had no idea what had just happened, why the prefect now gave that smug smile to Peter.

  "I'm glad you're still in practice," the prefect said.

  Peter shrugged. He wasn't about to admit it had only been three days' worth. He felt really strong, though, stronger than he'd been when he'd quit. Then Peter cocked his head to the side. "Will it help? With her?"

  Both the prefect and his dad looked around the restaurant abruptly. No one sat near them, and the waitstaff were in the back, next to the kitchen.

  "Not here," Dad hissed.

  Peter laughed. "No one can hear us. Or cares."

  "It's not right," Dad insisted.

  "It's called hiding in the open," Peter said casually. "Or you could always use one of the distraction charms you have up your sleeve," he added, looking at the prefect. "Of course, that would mean we'd never get served. Or maybe you could use that silencing spell that you claim doesn't exist."

  "My. You're certainly bold as brass, aren't you?" the prefect asked, his smile still a perfect mask.

  Peter lifted his chin defiantly.

  Cai gave a loud trill, like a battle cry.

  Before Peter could reply, one of the waitstaff finally noticed he'd come in and walked over to them, her pad out.

  The three of them ordered—Peter getting his favorite, salmon with pasta, cooked in a buttery lemon sauce. When the waitress left, Peter turned his gaze back to the prefect and waited.

  "You want information. I understand that. You were always such a seeker," the prefect said.

  "What I want now is information, yes," Peter said. "But what I always wanted was reformation."

  Cai agreed.

  "We have survived for centuries—" the prefect said.

  "Now isn't like any time that's come before," Peter interrupted.

  "Because of your technology?" the prefect sneered.

  "No," Peter said. "The warriors and ravens are more different, more changed and foreign, than you realize."

  "So you're all so very special," the prefect said, still sarcastic.

  "Not special. Different. Connected differently. And your habit of clipping the wings of the rogue ravens drives them insane. It doesn't help."

  Cai shivered, his wings spread wide; whether to fight or to fly, neither knew.

  "You would have us go back to the bad old days, then?" the prefect challenged. "When any breach was considered a sign of a half-breed? There were more lost boys then, may I assure you."

  "There's no going back," Peter assured the prefect, feeling eerily calm. "There's only going forward. Or dying, while stuck in the past."

  Dad cleared his throat.

  Peter nodded. He and the prefect could continue their argument for a year or more and never get any closer.

  Cai tucked his wings in, but stayed puffed up, upset and on edge.

  "I do need information," Peter admitted. "I have no idea what or whom I'm dealing with."

  "You realize you don't have to deal with her alone," the prefect said. "Ravens' Hall will stand behind you."

  Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again. It wouldn't do to tell the prefect just how little he believed his assurances. "So what do we know about the tiger clan?" Peter asked eventually.

  "I did some research, once we had an actual sighting. I came upon a curious old poem:

  How will you know

  the mark of a clan's soul?

  The hound and tiger pace

  with only a spark of a trace.

  The raven and boar nest

  burrowed close to the chest.

  While vipers and crocs swim

  circled around their twin.”

  "There's more than one clan," Peter hissed. "More than just tigers and ravens."

  Cai cawed out in surprise. He also sent that image of Tamara, flashing once, brilliantly illuminated, back to Peter.

  "Again, we haven't had any sightings, or acknowledgement, from anyone else, for centuries," the prefect stressed.

  "Why?" Dad finally asked.

  The prefect paused, considering. He spread his hands out on the table, rubbing his first fingers together.

  Peter prepared himself for the lie.

  "The first recitation…stay hidden, stay safe. I would be very much surprised if that wasn't the first recitation for all the clans," the prefect said reasonably.

  "So what you're actually saying is that sometime in the past, you all agreed to disappear," Peter guessed. "You had contact, probably regular contact through the birds, and something made you decide to break ties and run to ground."

  The prefect looked up at Peter, still confident, still invulnerable.

  Peter didn't know what the prefect saw, what made him change his mind. But his mask crumbled, and for the first time, Peter saw actual sorrow cross the prefect's face.

  Cai was still unmoved.

  "I don't know," the prefect said, no lies coming from his lips for once. "It may have been exactly as you said. There was a…purging. Of records and histories."

  Peter nodded, hearing the unspoken of people and troublemakers.

  "You have to believe me, very few fragments exist from that time. There were some hidden books, considered apocryphal, doubly so since nothing was ever supposed to be written down. We transmit information orally so it can't fall into the wrong hands."

  "I remember the histories," Peter said. The stories of Adwar the betrayer, who sold out the clan to save his family. Why they'd moved away from the wonders of the printing press and back to the old ways, of reciting all history orally. Even at Ravens' Hall, all the notebooks in which the recitations were written down in were collected and burned at the end of every month.

  "What I've learned is not well known," the prefect assured him.

  "You're not planning on bringing it into the curriculum, then," Peter accused, his old anger flooding him. "The others need to know—"

  "What? That there are other clans? Or there may be? This is the first contact. What if she's a rogue? What if there's no clan, but merely an anarchy of families?" The prefect sat back, spreading his hands wide. "Tell me, what would you have me teach the next generation of students? There's been one contact. Are they all dangerous? Should they be killed on sight? Is there some chance for cooperation, like there was in the past? Please, Peter, instruct me."

  Peter sighed and scowled with frustration. As much as he hated to admit it, the prefect was right. They just didn't know enough yet. "What do we know about them?" Peter asked, still deliberately including himself in the raven clan.

  "They were quite populous once, primarily in India and throughout Asia," the prefect said, falling easily into lecture mode. "The coming of the British East India Company, well…they set about wiping out all resistance quite early. "

  "Did we help?" Peter asked. "Is that partly why the clans broke apart?"

  "We were a subjugated people ourselves at the time," the prefect said quietly.

  Peter nodded. What the prefect meant was, that yes, the ravens had helped. It also meant more bad blood between the raven and tiger clans.

  If the tiger warriors knew about the raven warriors, if their clan still taught about the others, well, no wonder Tamara had only ever pretended to like Peter.

  "What I could find out about our friends is that they were always battling, always challenging each other, not just for leadership, but for sport. And, given your contact, it appears these challenges have continued."

  "Why does she think she can challenge me?"

  "Honestly, I don't know," the prefect said, turning his hands up and open. He appeared to still be telling the truth. "I could only find a few accounts of inter-clan challenge. They appeared to be quite formal, and had to be approved at the highest levels on both sides. After so many centuries, I can't imagine that such a challenge would ever be is
sued lightly."

  "She seems certain—" Peter said, himself uncertain.

  "There's nothing I could find to back up her claim," the prefect said. "The record is admittedly spotty, however."

  "What happened during the challenges you could learn about?"

  The prefect pursed his lips. "They weren't, well, successful. At least, not for the raven warrior."

  "Were there any more details about the fight?" Dad asked, breaking in.

  The prefect cocked one eyebrow at Peter. "Just that they fought bravely, and died well."

  "Do you want to meet her?" Peter asked. "I don't know if she'd answer a call from me, but I could try."

  Prefect Aaron looked shocked. "No. I—just, no. I wouldn't recommend any further contact with her, if at all possible."

  Peter nodded, sitting back in the booth as the waitress reappeared with food. He hoped he wouldn't have to fight. If what the prefect said was true, he shouldn't have to.

  However, if he did fight, he didn't intend to lose.

  The raven warriors of this time really were different from the ones in the past, he assured himself and Cai, ignoring what doubt he had.

  * * *

  Peter knew his feet still touched the damp sidewalks of Seattle, but it felt as if he were flying as he walked Sally down Broadway after their third date, toward the corner where he'd dropped her off last time. Despite the cold, despite the dark of the night, despite the threats hanging over his head, despite everything, his heart was still light and he felt like taking wing.

  At the corner, Sally paused, considering. She swung their linked hands before she turned to him and said, "I'd like you to meet Pixie. Or for Pixie to meet you. Or both."

  Peter nodded and said, "Sure." Pixie would approve of him. He had to.

  "But," Sally said, still standing still, not heading down the block yet, "it's just for a few minutes. Just to meet Pixie. All right?"

  "I understand." He paused, not sure how to reassure her. "My old prefect would have my head if I didn't behave like a gentleman with you."

  She didn't need to know that Peter meant it literally. Prefect Aaron was a stickler about such protocol, and would happily strangle him if he didn't behave like a gentleman, accusing him of being a half-breed.