Five Odd Honors (9 page)

“I,” Pearl said into the startled silence, “feel rather the same way. However, before we accede to my wishes, I do think Thundering Heaven made at least one very valid point. You must consider that he might very well be a far stronger Tiger than I. I am not a young woman. Sometimes, especially early on a rainy morning when my arthritis is acting up, I would even admit to being a rather elderly Tiger. Freed as he is from the limitations of the flesh, Thundering Heaven would be far stronger than I am, far more versatile.”

“Stronger,” Riprap replied, flexing his own strong hands so that the muscles corded and rippled in his arms, “but more versatile? I’m not so sure about that. And judging from how Thundering Heaven treated Loyal Wind, I’m not certain he’d be as wise. What Thundering Heaven did was ugly, really ugly, especially when you consider he attacked someone he claimed to wish to ally himself alongside. There’s something really wrong there.”

“ ‘Wrong,’ ” said Shen Kung as if tasting the word. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking since Loyal Wind and Nine Ducks contacted me. There’s something very wrong here. Righteous Drum, what is the lore of the Lands regarding the spiritual nature of ghosts? I seem to recall that it is connected to the nature of the soul.”

“That is correct,” Righteous Drum said. “The soul has two primary parts: the hun and po souls.”

Shen inclined his head, inviting the other to continue. Brenda was impressed by Shen’s diplomacy. Shen and Righteous Drum were both Dragons—considered to be both the most scholarly and the most magical of the Twelve. This was not a contradiction, for in Chinese lore, scholarship and magic went hand in hand. Knowledge literally was power.

But Brenda had already figured out that knowledge was not the same as wisdom, and that therefore the likelihood of competition between the two Dragons was quite high.

Shen was the elder, with many more years of study behind him, but Righteous Drum—himself a man of mature years—had shown himself very aware that his studies, if of lesser duration, had taken place within the very libraries from which Shen’s teachers had brought away only memories.

Righteous Drum accepted Shen’s invitation to continue. “The hun soul is the soul that is associated with intellectual achievements and the higher emotions. The po soul is associated with the more bestial urges and the baser emotions. Upon death, so we are taught, the hun soul departs the body through an opening at the top of the skull. On rare occasions, the po soul may cling to the body until decomposition sets in, and, in rarer cases, even thereafter. That is why fresh graves are places to approach with caution.”

Brenda leaned forward, intent on a contradiction. “But like Riprap said, something is wrong here. Really wrong. I mean, Thundering Heaven is acting like you said a po soul would act: angry, raging, out of control.”

“Not completely out of control,” Shen corrected gently. “From what I was told, Thundering Heaven did a very good job of presenting an intellectual argument as to why he should take over as Tiger. A po soul—as I understand the lore—would never have stopped to talk.”

“Not only that,” Righteous Drum agreed, “it wouldn’t be able to talk. Speech is one of the higher functions.”

After making his declaration, Flying Claw had remained standing. Now he looked over at Pearl, something like desperation twisting his handsome features. Brenda’s heart ached at his pain. For a moment, Flying Claw had looked more like Foster—the amnesiac he had been when she had first gotten to know him, all lost and confused—than like the warrior he was.

“Honored Aunt,” Flying Claw said, somewhat awkwardly giving Pearl a title of relationship that, while not strictly accurate, reflected the new accord between them, “I know Thundering Heaven was not the most gentle of fathers to you, but is this how he truly was?”

Anger and sorrow touched Pearl’s features, and Brenda thought that Pearl looked as if she wanted to say, “Yes. Underneath. Beneath the proper front he showed to most people, my father really was that vicious,” but honesty won out over old wounds. Pearl shook her head.

“No. He wasn’t. My father could be cold and harsh. He could be unkind, but he was not a raging killer, nor was he a monster. As far as I know, Thundering Heaven never used his blade except in defense of himself or of those he had sworn to protect. He was a hard father, but he did not beat me beyond what anyone of that time would have considered acceptable—and even when he was angry, he usually did not need my mother to convince him that added training would be a more useful punishment than violence.”

Flying Claw looked relieved.

And no wonder
, Brenda thought.
By his own account, Flying Claw idolized Thundering Heaven—not the man, but the reputation he left behind him in the Lands. Because of Thundering Heaven, Flying Claw trained from childhood in the hope of someday becoming the Tiger in his turn.

Nissa’s soft Virginia drawl broke in. “I’m sorry if I’m getting away from the point, but there’s something else that’s been puzzling me. Where did Thundering Heaven get that sword—Soul Slicer, I think he called it? Is it a traditional weapon or something like that?”

“I’ve never heard of a sword called Soul Slicer,” Des said, and his comment had weight because with the possible exception of Shen, he was the most fanatical of their number about obscure elements of Chinese myth and legend. “Have any one of you? Does Soul Slicer belong to the lore of the Lands?”

Heads shook all around.

“So where,” Nissa persisted, “did Thundering Heaven get that sword? Can ghosts just conjure things like that, the way they can change their bodies?”

“I do not believe so,” Righteous Drum said. “Ghosts—even hun ghosts—are limited to what they brought with them from the world of the living. That is why offerings to the dead are so important. The gifts of the living—food and money and even clothing and other luxuries—sustain the dead. Without these offerings, the dead are doomed to become hungry ghosts who in their desperate need are yet another threat to the living.”

Riprap looked over at Pearl. “I don’t suppose you gave Thundering Heaven anything like that sword, did you? As a substitute for Treaty, maybe?”

“No.” Pearl went on, answering a question Riprap clearly wanted to ask, but knew would be impolite. “Nor did I repay him in death for his lack of kindness to me in life by neglecting the proper offerings. Twice a year, on New Year and Ching Ming, my brothers and I have made the proper offerings—both of money and of paper representations of items our father might need to make him comfortable in the afterlife. My brothers started the custom of making offerings in October—on or near to the date of our father’s actual birthday—a very American touch, since the Chinese don’t usually celebrate birthdays. Still, it’s a nice gesture.”

“And would your brothers have given Thundering Heaven anything like Soul Slicer?” Riprap persisted.

“No,” Pearl said. “To my father’s undying resentment, my brothers did not have a trace of magical ability in their veins. They couldn’t even work a simple charm. They grew up interesting hybrids: Chinese Jews. Both went into finance, and both did very well.”

“So your brothers go through the motions,” Riprap said, satisfied but obviously disappointed. “That’s it.”

“I’m afraid so,” Pearl said. “I don’t think we’ll find the origin of Soul Slicer in their actions.”

Albert frowned. “Thundering Heaven’s actions are very peculiar for a ghost—at least for a ghost in the Chinese tradition. I wonder if Thundering Heaven lived long enough in the United States to adopt some European ideas about the undead. Wrathful yet calculating creatures like vampires are common enough in European traditions.”

“That doesn’t seem likely,” Pearl said. “My father may have married a woman of Hungarian Jewish descent, but he remained adamantly, proudly, a Chinese of the Lands until his death. I’m not sure he would have known what a vampire was—a chiang shih, yes, but not a vampire in the European tradition.”

Deborah rose and refilled her glass of lemonade. “So we have a ghost who is not acting at all as a ghost should behave, bearing a sword that is a puzzle all in itself—a sword that seems particularly suited for battling other ghosts. Shen, did Loyal Wind happen to mention if that magical horse of his had ever been injured before—and if, when it was, had he felt the injury himself? Something about how you recounted the battle made me think this connection between him and his horse had been unusual.”

Shen nodded. “I thought the same thing, but didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the narrative to clarify that point. Yes. Loyal Wind’s horse had been injured before this, but never before had Loyal Wind himself felt the injury.”

Brenda frowned, feeling her brow crease with thought. “Had Loyal Wind gotten into fights, well, since he died? I mean, maybe this is a ghost sort of thing and has nothing to do with Thundering Heaven.”

“I asked Nine Ducks that, too,” Shen said. “Loyal Wind has apparently been busy since his death, seeking to redeem himself for his failures in life. I won’t go into details, but there are ample battles in which a noble warrior might involve himself, even in death.”

Albert cleared his throat. “Despite Flying Claw’s adamant opposition, we still have not resolved the first question—or rather Pearl has not. How do you choose to respond to Thundering Heaven’s ultimatum?”

Pearl answered with admirable directness. “If ever I had been tempted to surrender my place as Tiger to Thundering Heaven,” she said, “our recent discussion of the peculiarities in his behavior would make me doubt the wisdom of that choice. However, I will be frank. I have no desire to cease being the Tiger, but I also have no desire to have my stubbornness stand as a barrier between ourselves and our success.”

“Fairly spoken,” Albert agreed. “Does anyone have any suggestion how we can get Bent Bamboo away from Thundering Heaven if Pearl doesn’t surrender to the Exile Tiger’s demand?”

“One course,” Pearl replied promptly, “would be for me to offer to fight Thundering Heaven to win the Monkey’s freedom—with Thundering Heaven’s taking over as the Tiger if he defeats me.”

“But, Pearl,” Deborah objected, “your sword hand is broken. How could you fight?”

Pearl quirked a half smile, and Brenda knew the Tiger had anticipated this protest.

“If we fight, it would be in the afterlife, and I do not believe my physical impediments would carry over. If they do, well, perhaps I can manage with my left hand. As Riprap saw today, I am not too bad with my off-hand.”

“I’ll agree with that,” Riprap said, but Brenda didn’t think he was completely happy about having to agree. As the Dog, Riprap’s urge was to protect, not to let someone else take the risks.

“However,” Pearl said, “I should note that it’s not at all certain that Thundering Heaven would accept my challenge.”

Brenda asked, “Why wouldn’t he? I mean, Thundering Heaven sounds arrogant enough to believe he’d win without much effort. We know he might not have such an easy time beating you, but does he?”

“He might not decide to take the risk of losing,” Pearl replied. “Or he might simply prefer to have us continue in the role of supplicants.”

“Well, then,” Albert said with a slow smile that Brenda thought didn’t look very friendly at all, “we’ll just have to make certain our proposal is worded so that Thundering Heaven will accept—that is, if you really want to do this, Aunt Pearl.”

“I do,” Pearl said firmly. “Do we have any alternatives?”

“We could have some of our ghostly allies go after Thundering Heaven,” Des said immediately.

Pearl shook her head. “No. We nearly lost Loyal Wind that way. We would have if Nine Ducks hadn’t stepped in. Thundering Heaven will be expecting a group assault—I know I would. And I know how I’d oppose it.”

“Bring Bent Bamboo out to join the fight,” Riprap said with the same analytical rapidity he brought to the lessons he shared with Brenda and Nissa. “Our side would be hampered by the desire not to harm the Monkey both because we need him, and because we suspect he’s been duped. Bent Bamboo probably wouldn’t feel the same, not if Thundering Heaven primed him right.”

“Exactly,” Pearl said with an approving nod. “The same objection holds to some or all of the living making the journey to join the dead. Not only would we lose time, but we’d have to fight against the very person we want to rescue.”

“And there’s Soul Slicer,” Nissa reminded. “It seems to do some really nasty things to ghosts. I have a feeling that its powers would work even better against the living. Our two souls are still in us, I mean.”

“Interesting point,” Righteous Drum said, and Pearl was pleased to see that the Dragon from the Lands was impressed by these acute insights from one who, just a few months ago, had known very little about magic or Chinese philosophy.

He’d better be impressed by her,
Brenda thought grimly.
He’s relying on her—on all of us—to get him home.

Deborah, resignation warring with the unhappiness that had been her first reaction to Pearl’s statement, cut in with a sigh. “And we don’t have time to go find and train the boy who is the living incarnation of the Monkey. If we delayed that long, not only are we likely to have trouble from the enemies Righteous Drum and his friends left behind them in the Lands, but there are plenty of people in this world who are uncomfortable enough with the situation that they might decide to involve themselves in our business. I don’t like it, but I think Pearl’s right.”