Raven and the Dancing Tiger (23 page)

Lines of magic had been drawn on the old wooden floor, which the tiger warriors, for all their mingling and moving around, were careful to stay inside.

The raven warriors had similar lines that clumped them together.

As Peter watched both groups move into place, he had the wild idea of the ravens tumbling slowly like rocks as the bright river of tigers glided over them.

From off stage came Prefect Becker, wearing the traditional sky blue robes of a priest of Wynne. Next came a tiger warrior, also dressed differently than the others, in long black pants and a belted black tunic lined and edged with scarlet and gold. Peter assumed she was a priestess of whatever goddess the tiger warriors followed. She was darker skinned than most, and wore her long black hair in a tight braid that reached her waist.

Finally, Tamara came out onto the stage. The incense from the holy people masked her too-human scent. She wore a spring green tunic that hung below her knees, over loose white trousers and leather sandals.

Following Prefect Aaron's hand movements, Peter went to stand beside Tamara in the center of the stage, while the prefect went to join the others. He lifted his robes and stepped carefully over the line, his face growing pale, and he gave a full body shudder.

So it wasn't enough to kill either a raven or tiger warrior, just make them uncomfortable.

Peter wasn't sure if he liked that better or not.

The priest and priestess joined them in the center, facing Peter and Tamara.

"Esteemed colleagues," Prefect Becker began. His soothing voice echoed out through the empty hall. "Honored warriors from the tiger clan. We welcome you here for a matter of great importance: One of your clan has challenged one of ours. I regret that it took such a serious matter for our clans to be in contact again. I can only pray, as do my brothers and sisters, that no matter the outcome, our clans grow may close once again."

"It is a serious matter," the priestess replied smoothly. Her melodious voice sang out over the entire crowd. "Hopefully this is one that can be resolved quickly, and without too much argument."

Tamara took a step forward. "I challenge him," she said, with a sneer and a desultory wave of her hand at Peter, "to physical combat. Whoever walks away at the end wins."

"Why do you issue this challenge?" the priestess asked.

Tamara shrugged. "He challenged me first."

Peter held himself very still in the face of her lie. How could she possibly accuse him of that? None of the raven clan could possibly believe her. They knew him. He'd never challenged them, even when he'd had the opportunity. So why, if he wouldn't challenge his own, would he go ahead and challenge this tiger warrior?

"Peter," Prefect Becker said, nodding.

Peter took a step forward, so he was again beside Tamara. "I never challenged anyone."

"Yes, you did. You said you'd grown tired of waiting, of playing our little game," Tamara explained.

"I never—" Peter started.

"You sent your friend with the message," Tamara said.

"Where's Jesse?" Peter demanded, staring at Tamara.

"Dead," Tamara told him with grim satisfaction. "And eaten. Who knew raven tasted just like chicken?"

Despite the warm lights on stage, a cold chill went all across Peter's skin.

Cai gave a loud caw of mourning.

"Did you send Jesse to her, to issue this challenge?" asked one of the elders whom Peter didn't know.

"No, sir. I did not. I told him to stay the hell away from her," Peter said grimly.

"I have it recorded. His last words. His last little helpless, cawing screams."

Peter couldn't help his shudder. "I did
not
tell him to go challenge her."

"That's not what he said," Tamara replied.

"The recording's a fake," Peter insisted, though he knew that Jesse might have lied.

Prefect Becker spoke up. "I've heard parts of the tape. Only a raven warrior could have made some of those sounds."

The edges of Peter's vision grew black. Suddenly, there wasn't enough air, and if there was, Peter would just use it to heave up his guts.

Color drained out of the room as Cai pushed forward, holding Peter up as his knees grew weak.

He knew those sounds, the heartbreaking caws that Jesse's raven made when it was in pain, when its wings had been clipped. The echoes sounded loudly in his head, drowning out everything else.

Peter closed his eyes. For a moment, it felt as though he were just a tiny figure, no bigger than a doll, and a great mothering raven had tucked his head under her wing to comfort him.

Then Peter opened his eyes.

The noise struck him like a physical wave. The elders and prefects stood solidly in place, black stones rooted to the stage, yelling at the tiger warriors. They, in turn, paced dangerously around one another, slinking to the front to snarl and yell before drawing back again.

The priest and priestess also yelled, but at their respective clans, trying to regain order.

Tamara stood with her arms crossed over her chest, smiling smugly.

Accusations from hundreds of years ago were thrown, of the ravens disclosing the tiger clans' secrets to the British, of the tigers hunting and killing all ravens on sight, even scouts sent to warn them.

Peter couldn't believe the passion he heard from the querulous old birds.

Cai cheered them on, adding his own raucous insults about flying upside down in the rain.

Hope suddenly struck Peter.

The old ravens would win. He could see it, see how they'd wear down the tigers. He watched the tide shift. The tiger warriors grew agitated, but they weren't getting anywhere, just repeating the same tired insults, while the ravens had managed to inch two steps closer to the center of the stage.

Peter watched as the magic lines redrew themselves according to the ravens' passion. The tigers were stuck, but the raven warriors had taken another step closer to them.

Soon the tigers would be overrun with bickering old birds. They'd have no choice but to go home.

Tamara frowned, looking from one group to the next. "No," she said softly.

Peter found himself grinning for the first time in days. He'd still have to get his revenge for Jesse, of course, but at least he wasn't going to have to fight for his life.

Suddenly, Cai gave a warning caw.

Something was different. Some scent teased Peter. Something that didn't belong.

Tamara sensed it as well, her smile returning. She turned to face Peter. "I do have some extra incentive," she said smoothly. She gestured over to the side of the stage.

Brin
, the bartender from the dance hall, stood just off stage. Her hair was still shaved close to the skull, and dyed in a tight pattern of orange-and-black tiger stripes. All her piercings had been changed from shiny metal to muted black. She was dressed in all black: black vest and shirt, black jeans and Docs, like some kind of punk stage manager.

She took a step to the side. Behind her stood Sally. She gazed out on the stage unseeing, as if in a trance.

Peter could smell the magic on her, even from halfway across the stage.

Without a word, Peter marched across the stage to where Sally stood, swaying slightly.

Behind him, the elders of both clans continued their empty insults and millennia-long grudges.

Peter walked over and took one of Sally's hands. It was cold and limp in his. "Let her go," he hissed.

"Accept my challenge," Tamara replied.

Peter glanced behind him. The ravens would win their fight, eventually, but that didn't mean Sally would be free. The tiger clan might let Tamara hold onto her out of spite.

Peter glanced at
Brin
, who stood with her arms cross over her chest, like a bodyguard, though he wasn't sure what sort of protection she could actually provide. Hanging over her shoulder were three black feathers. Raven feathers.

Jesse's feathers.

"Enough," Peter said.

Cai came forward as well. "Enough!" he croaked.

Silence dropped over the stage.

"If you free her, completely free her, right now, I will accept your challenge." Peter ignored the stifled sigh from the other raven warriors. He didn't care if maybe they could have negotiated something, or yelled their way into a partial peace.

He needed Sally safe and clear. Right now.

Brin
took an ugly straw doll out from the inside of her vest.

Sally's attention was suddenly riveted to it.

Brin
danced the doll to one side, then the other.

Sally's gaze remained locked to it.

"Now," Peter directed.

"All right. Fine,"
Brin
said. She drew the doll up, then snapped it in two.

Peter caught Sally as she suddenly sagged, the strings cut.

But only for a moment.

Sally gathered herself together and pushed herself forward. Before Peter could stop her, Sally had stepped up to
Brin
and punched her in the mouth, making her stagger back.

Peter found himself standing in front of Sally, both he and Cai ready to defend her, without even being aware that he'd moved.

One of the tiger warriors braved the magic lines, growing pale and shivering as she walked across, putting an arm over
Brin's
shoulder and leading her away, off stage.

"We have a deal?" Tamara's voice rang out across the stage and through the auditorium.

Peter looked back at Sally. She seemed unhurt. She glared at the other tiger warriors, at Tamara, but her anger softened slightly when she glanced at Peter.

He held his hand out to her.

After a moment, Sally took it, squeezing hard, her fingers warm and alive.

"Deal," Peter said.

Cai poked at Peter where he rested, blissfully unaware at the back of Cai's mind after a long day of classes at Ravens' Hall. He wanted to ignore the ravens' call, but he couldn't. He knew they were still in raven form, and he looked forward cautiously: The prefects had warned more than once about pushing forward too hard and transforming mid-air.

He needn't have worried. They stood on the ground in the middle of a small, grass-filled meadow, circled by pines and oaks with new leaves. Something large and sweetly rotting lay on the edge, just under the trees. The sun was still up, though long shadows of the trees crossed all the way from one end to the other.

A loud caw, challenging Cai, came from just behind him. After they turned, Cai showed Peter an image of Chris, superimposed over the raven before them.

Peter understood. Cai didn't see anything wrong with the carrion now behind them. But Chris was already on such thin ground: Peter didn't know what would happen if he had another infraction of the rules.

Cai gave a loud caw in return, his wings spread wide as if to stop the other raven, ready to fight.

Chris, as a raven, was bigger than Cai, but Peter had no doubt that Cai was fiercer.

However, Chris was insane. How crazy was his raven soul?

Chris stormed at Cai, hopping and leaning forward to peck at him. It didn't matter how Cai pecked back, how Cai's wings beat at him. The raven wouldn't stop.

Cai wasn't scared. He was rarely scared. But he was disturbed. The other raven should have gone away. He wasn't acting normal.

Let me,
Peter told him.

Cai didn't want to let go. This was a rival. A rival who was doing the wrong thing, something that would hurt the clan, or at least that was what he understood. With great reluctance he let go, and Peter came forward, transforming into a naked, suddenly cold human in a field. The grass pricked against his bare feet, and the wind raised goose pimples all across his back and up and down his arms.

"Chris," Peter said. "You can't. Let it go."

The raven screamed loudly in frustration, darting forward as if intending to peck Peter's hands.

"No!" Peter yelled. "No! Go back! Back to Ravens' Hall!" He took a few steps toward the raven, yelling and waving his arms.

The raven shivered, and transformed back into Chris. He stayed crouching near the ground, snarling, his eyes not human.

"Chris. Chris! Come back, man," Peter said, worried.

With a croaking growl, Chris raced across the short distance between them, throwing his arms around Peter's thighs and tackling him to the ground.

"Wait, what? Stop!" Peter said, pushing up at Chris.

When Chris threw the first punch, cracking Peter's head back
hard
into the ground, Peter realized the time was here, now, and the fight was on.

Peter punched Chris back, socking him in the ribs, getting Chris shifted off his legs so he could roll away, his mind calm as his training took over.

Chris struck out with a blindingly fast punch that Peter dodged easily, landing his own on Chris' shoulder, spinning him. He followed up with a kick to Chris' ribs. Before he could close, Chris' fist came out of nowhere and drove him back with a blow to his own shoulder.

Peter thought about raising the warrior glass armor, but quickly discarded it. This wasn't about a safe fight. This was rage and disappointment and finally hitting and hurting as much as they wanted.

This was a brutal dance.

After landing two more good strikes to Chris's chest and ribs, Peter took his own blows, quick and hard, one to his shin and another to his left arm. Just one inch to one side or the other and Chris would have taken out either his knee or his elbow.

As quickly as it came up, Peter's fury drained away. He worked to be more careful, blocking more, not taking as many hits. He realized he was tired, suddenly. His bruises started to make themselves known, up his left side, across his feet. They both breathed harshly in the cool afternoon, panting curses and grunting when forced to. Blood dripped freely from Chris' nose, and the Peter's cuts from landing on the rough ground stung as sweat crept across them.

Peter held up his hand, intending to take a breather. There was no reason to keep going. They'd both beaten each other up good.

But Chris wouldn't stop. He kept coming at Peter, even as he swayed.