Raven and the Dancing Tiger

by Cutter, Leah

  Then Peter took a deep breath and stepped back. No. Chris had been wrong. Jesse, too. Peter couldn't challenge the prefects, not now, not ever. Not unless he wanted to end up broken and clipped.

  Cai turned his back on Peter and wouldn't look at him, curled up in a miserable ball in the rear of Peter's mind.

  Peter's shoulders slumped and he turned away. He ignored the prefect's triumphant caw.

  He wasn't about to challenge anyone. He was going to toe the line, watch his place, and get out of here in one piece.

  Or two, really.

  He and Cai were going to survive.

  * * *

  Peter didn't see Jesse again. Graduation was only two short weeks away. He barely looked up from his books to eat. He took his presence from Jesse's door, and didn't seek him out. He practiced endlessly in the Warrior Room, going through forms alone or with anyone who could come, driving himself into exhaustion so he'd sleep. When he didn't, nightmares of hurt and crying ravens destroyed what peace he found.

  Cai came around, of course, but there was a distance between them.

  Peter told himself that was good. Walk, don't fly. He needed to survive out in the rest of the world, hidden and safe. He stopped trying to make charms for extra credit, returning all his supplies back to a smiling Prefect Aaron.

  At the end of the school year, as Peter boarded the bus to Denver, to fly back to Seattle, he told himself that he'd see Jesse the next year. Let the summer cool off the hurt. Maybe Peter could look him in the eye after a few months break.

  But Jesse wasn't there when Peter returned: He'd graduated. Not a lost boy, no, just eighteen and on his own.

  Peter made it through the next two years as well, though he felt like maybe he was the lost boy.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Peter sat comfortably in lotus position on a mat, alone in the darkened meditation room. The only light came from the trio of candles on the altar to his left. The remains of incense still tinged the air. He controlled his breathing, keeping it to a steady count, concentrating on remaining calm.

  When the prefects came to get him, the challenge would begin.

  Fight soon, Peter told Cai.

  Cai did that disconcerting bouncing summersault that made Peter smile.

  Happy? Peter asked, though he knew Cai didn't really understand abstracts. Blue sky?

  Instead, Cai sent Peter an image from the previous winter. It had snowed in Seattle, Peter had the day off, and they'd sledded down one of the big hills in the neighborhood. Cai had loved it, and wanted to go down again and again.

  Peter shook his head as he breathed. Cai seemed overly happy they were fighting Tamara. Was he that certain they'd win?

  Cat gone, Peter said.

  Them gone, Cai replied, with an image of a flock of elder ravens.

  No, no, Cai, cat. Peter thought about Tamara, her orange-streaked fur, her wicked claws.

  Cat and them, Cai insisted.

  Did Cai think Peter was going to challenge the elders after he fought Tamara? Why would he think that? Peter had no intention of going after anyone else.

  But Cai remembered those rooms, downstairs.

  Cai showed Peter an image of himself with long, feathered fingers. He looked bigger and stronger than normal, muscles bulging out of his shirt, eyes raven-sharp, nose beak-like and hooded.

  Raven warrior? Peter asked, uncertain. Us?

  Us, Cai replied firmly.

  * * *

  Peter didn't have to look to see where Sally sat on the far end of the Warrior Room; he felt her warm presence tingling under his skin the moment he stepped into the room. He looked anyway, giving her a reassuring smile and nod when she looked at him with a serious expression.

  The prefects and the elders all sat there as well, on chairs placed on raised bleachers. The raven clan wore dark suits, starched white shirts, and power ties, looking like a gathering of the bird mafia.

  The tiger warriors sat on the opposite sides, their dress also more somber, dark reds and forest greens only lightly decorated with gold. They still wore their traditional long tunics and loose pants, Indian style. They leaned on their chairs, chatting with one another, while the ravens sat solitary, stiff and silent.

  Tamara was already there, her scent masked by the sweeter incense from her practice and the other tiger warriors. Like him, she wore a black martial arts jacket and cropped pants. Red piping ran along the edges of her uniform, while white was the contrast for his. Peter wished he could get a better look at the shield of her clan stitched on the left shoulder in red and gold. He wore a similar white-and-black patch, representing the raven clan.

  They faced each other, barefoot and fully human, in the center of the room. Prefect Becker and the priestess stood with them. They called to their gods and started blessing the combatants and those watching.

  Peter couldn't hear them. A great roaring filled his head, sounding like the ravens greeting him the first time he'd come to Ravens' Hall. He watched Tamara and let the rest of the room fade, taking in the sleek muscles of her arms, the sinuous curve of her smile. Her eyes changed golden tiger-bright. He matched her with a dark raven stare.

  The priests moved away. Tamara crouched and her body wavered.

  When Peter tried to gather Cai closer, he pulled back, forcing Peter to look up.

  Magic charms decorated the walls of the Warrior Room, mostly for protection and silence. On the ground ran more magical lines, containing the two combatants.

  One, though, ran sickly and green, like rotten algae draining from a river. Peter shivered when Tamara stepped on it, though it didn't tangle her feet like he thought it would.

  It was only for ravens.

  Peter shot a quick look at the prefects and knew they'd placed it there. Despite the strong words from Prefect Aaron, he knew that the raven clan wanted him to lose.

  They'd just guaranteed he wouldn't.

  Now Cai came closer to Peter. He continued to circle with Tamara, waiting until she took the first swipe with her half-human, half-tiger claws to fold in on himself, easily avoiding her.

  "Neat trick," she yowled at him. "Won't save you."

  Without any other warning, Tamara pounced.

  The glass armor slid on easily. Peter breathed a sigh of relief as Cai brushed against his soul, with him inside the armor, but it was short-lived. As he'd discovered while fighting Rudi that morning, the glass armor only provided some protection against another clan's claws.

  Plus, he had no natural weapon of his own, nothing to attack with, when he wore the armor. So they grappled, whirling and kicking. Peter landed a few blows but Tamara had her own armor that deflected his blows easily.

  Something was missing. Peter had known that when he fought with Rudi. He needed to do something else. He tried the dancing steps, but Tamara already knew those tricks.

  Cai called his attention to the sickly green line. They'd avoided it so far. Tamara didn't seem to sense it.

  Tamara rounded on them again.

  Cai pushed them toward the green line.

  No! Peter screamed, scrambling.

  Cai pulled back, drawing away from Peter.

  Peter's gut sank. He was going to lose. They were going to lose if Cai wouldn't help fight.

  But Cai kept insisting they step on that damn green line.

  Peter knew it was a bad idea. He could see how sickly it was, how it would drain them.

  Then Cai cawed at him, loudly challenging. Though he didn't ever use abstract terms, the feeling was of broken wings and lost boys, of the absolute trust Peter had when he jumped off a balcony, knowing Cai was there to catch them.

  Peter gave a croaking scream and threw Tamara away from them, to give them a moment. Then he looked up at the crowd of elders and deliberately stepped on the line.

  Prefect Aaron gave a smug smile, as did most of the other elders.

  The sickening feeling from being betrayed was nothing like the sense of weakness that threatened to take over all of P
eter's body. It was like being suddenly struck with the flu, all his bones turning to milk and his muscles aching as if they'd been pummeled.

  With that came the horrible sinking feeling of his armor floating away. It wasn't painful, as when the prefect had lowered it; instead, it turned thin and tinny, as if the slightest blow would shatter it.

  When Peter stepped off the line, Cai came roaring back, cawing loudly. Peter let Cai come all the way forward. Maybe Cai had some sort of plan as a raven, some better attack.

  But Cai didn't fully emerge. Peter didn't fully submerge. Instead, they intermerged.

  The glass thickened into long feathers, growing out of Peter's fingers, blade sharp and hard as steel. Peter's arms gained muscle, strong enough now to fly them anywhere if they had true wings. His bare feet grew armored while his toes grew talons. Even his nose grew hooked and hard.

  He was neither raven nor human, and not a half-breed, either, but fully a raven warrior.

  He could hardly breathe for the wonder of it, finally understanding. The glass was for scared birds, and his generation had been raised scared by the prefects, by the constant charms and spells lining every wall in Ravens' Hall, by being hounded by the recitations and the sins of the elders.

  To be a raven warrior was to trust, and not be fearful.

  With an explosion of feathers, Peter cast himself across the room at Tamara, using the hopping Lindy steps. Fear not only filled her face, but she stank of it.

  Her people had been right to be afraid of the full raven warriors.

  Peter slashed at her with the feather-like knives that grew out of his hands. Pecked at her with his armored beak, scratched at her with every whirling kick.

  His glass armor wasn't as thick as it had been, and couldn't protect him as much. He felt her claws sliced his chest, his arm. But he still went on.

  It wasn't just her he had to fight, now that he understood why this had been stolen from all of the students at Ravens' Hall.

  Quicker now, Peter attacked in a flurry. He got a solid punch to her side, following up with a stomping blow to her knee, a quick kick ball-change step with another solid hit.

  Tamara went down.

  Peter couldn't show any mercy. He aimed for the other knee. He needed her down, now, while he still could fight. Plus, the other knee was his revenge for Jesse.

  She wouldn't be dancing again.

  The challenge was won by whomever could walk from the ring.

  Peter stepped proudly from his downed attacker, backing up out of the challenge circle toward the tiger clan, watching the faces of the elders and the prefects, knowing this wasn't how they'd wanted it to go.

  Too late for them, just as it had been too late for Jesse.

  Tamara lay crumpled in the center of the ring. She'd been as much of a victim of her clan and their teachings as he had been. In another life, they could have been friends, maybe even lovers, commiserating over their lousy upbringings.

  Then he smiled at Sally, who gave him a brave smile back.

  But Tamara never could have been his mate.

  Prefect Becker strode forward. "The challenge goes to Peter!" he proclaimed. At least he seemed happy with the outcome.

  Peter glanced over at the tiger clan. They seemed sad, but they didn't look as though they'd fight the outcome. And more than one now threw a curious glance, or a scared look, at his new form.

  However, the time to mend the fences between the two clans was later.

  "This challenge is settled," Peter said, stepping forward, his voice more deep than he'd anticipated. "Now, I challenge you," he added with a sweeping gesture at the gathered raven clan. "The practice of clipping is barbaric. It must be stopped. Immediately."

  "Congratulations on becoming a full raven warrior." Prefect Aaron's voice rang out over the cries of outrage from the other raven warriors and the muttering speculation of the tiger warriors. Tamara was being removed from the circle on a stretcher by her people, who bowed their heads as they passed him, recognizing that he'd won.

  The smell of her blood—not human, not at all—made even Cai sad.

  But she wasn't the true enemy, and possibly never had been.

  Peter faced Prefect Aaron as he stepped out of the chairs, continuing to address him in a loud, booming tone. "But Peter, really, what would you have us do with the recalcitrant ones?"

  "Teach them to be whole," Peter said.

  "They can't learn," the prefect said, shaking his head as he walked closer.

  Cai gave a warning caw. Peter stayed alert, not letting the prefect get too close.

  "They can," Peter insisted. "I did, despite your teachings. The others can as well."

  "Are you certain it was despite, and not because?" the prefect asked, stopping less than a foot away. "You stepped on the line destined to take away your power. Do you think it was there to weaken you? Or to finally let you find your destiny?"

  Peter shrugged, refusing to be derailed. "It doesn't matter. What matters now is that you stop. The rooms downstairs must be dismantled."

  "I will defend those rooms, and that way of teaching, with my life," the prefect stated.

  "Then be prepared to lose," Peter said, drawing himself up, readying himself for a second battle.

  Cai gave an encouraging caw. From somewhere Peter didn't understand, suddenly he felt refreshed, ready to fight again.

  There was so much to learn with Cai, now, again. He wished he could do a somersault, to give Cai that giddy feeling in return.

  But before Peter could engage with the prefect, the older man flowed past Peter, moving much faster than Peter could see.

  One moment Prefect Aaron stood before Peter, the next, he was gone.

  Peter knew where he'd gone, as well. Down to those damn rooms.

  Peter looked over at Sally. She looked grim, but she nodded. He wasn't out of danger yet, but she trusted him to do the right thing.

  So Peter flowed out of the room, moving as fast as he could. He thrilled at how quickly he could move in this form, how easily he slid down the stairs, how drawn he was to the shadows.

  For the first time, he truly understood the histories, and why his people had been known as warriors and assassins throughout their long lineage.

  Prefect Aaron stood outside the clipping rooms, his own raven warrior visage in place. He loomed under the fluorescent light, between the scratched and dirty walls. The hallway was too small: Peter couldn't spread his arms out without cutting the wood. The concrete felt cold and harsh under his talons.

  Peter didn't wait this time. He flowed into the hallway, then kept flowing, straight at the prefect.

  Suddenly, all the forms they'd practiced made sense. The parries and blocks were for bladelike-feathered fingers, not hands or knives. Peter pushed with a flurry of moves, driving the prefect down the hallway.

  But the prefect merely smiled and pushed off the far wall, pivoting and turning, trying to drive Peter into the corner.

  Peter pushed back, hooking his talons up into the wood and flipping over the prefect, coming up behind him and getting a good cut across his back. It was like the flips he'd learned dancing.

  "Clever boy," the prefect said, his clear tones ringing in the enclosed space. "But still, a boy."

  The prefect drove forward now, attacking with blades, beak, and talons. Peter tried to hold his ground, but the prefect was merciless. Peter took one step back, then another. It was like how Rudi had hounded him, at first.

  "You will tire, my son. And you will lose."

  Cai laughed, a squawking sound that Peter echoed. "That's what you said last time." He remembered the "drop dead" pose Rudi had done, and he repeated it, adapted for a raven, one wing outstretched and acting as a distraction as the other drove in.

  The prefect now took a step backwards. "You cannot control them," he said with gritted teeth as he defended himself. "You will see. You will learn. Some of them cannot be saved."

  "I know," Peter said, drawing himself up and pausing fo
r a moment. Chris had been a bully from the first day. He might have always ended up a lost boy. "But the raven clan needs to change. Or we will lose them all."

  "You're wrong," the prefect said, attacking again. He also left his back open again.

  With a quick leap, Peter somersaulted over the prefect and sliced his back open, cutting through the armor, muscles, and tendons.

  The prefect turned, his right arm still out, ready to defend himself. His left hung loose at his side.

  "It doesn't have to end this way," Peter told him.

  "I will give my life to this school," the prefect said, attacking again. He started to mutter words under his breath as he fought.

  "Araf fy gelyn, cymylu ei feddwl, heb ei llafnau ddiflas—"

  Peter didn't have a choice. The prefect was trying to slow him, stop him. Already his energy started to fade.

  With Cai's echoing cry in his ears, Peter rushed forward again, a dancing hop-step. The prefect fought, kept trying to stop him, even as Peter knocked the prefect's feathered blades against the wall, sliced open the muscles across his chest, spun and kicked his head to the side, dislocating his jaw. The prefect fell and slumped into the ground, shrinking down to merely human.

  He was dead.

  Cai gave a loud, rocking caw, celebrating the death of his opponent.

  Peter knew he'd have to mourn later. And alone.

  The words the prefect had last spoken continued to echo—Peter had thought he'd imagined them, but they were growing louder. The spell was gaining momentum. Peter fought the exhaustion that suddenly washed over him, Cai boosting the strength in his arms again.

  Charms in the walls that Peter hadn't paid attention to sprang to life.

  Cai screeched loud and long, countering the human words. He continued to caw, fighting them how he could.

  Peter attacked the wood now, destroying the hidden knots and camouflaged charms. He spun and pecked as Cai showed him every last one.

  Finally, not just the prefect lay in a huddled mess; so did all the defenses on the walls.

  Peter shivered, his strength flowing back into him. Traps within traps. He knew he needed to go through the halls of the school and strip away the charms there, too. The charms for watching and keeping kids in line.