Raven and the Dancing Tiger (26 page)

Cai, on the other hand, gave a warm caw of greeting, ready to welcome whatever Rudi proposed.

"You've had warrior training, yes?" Rudi asked. "I've seen it in your dancing. Most would think it was martial arts, right?"

"Yes. I've trained since I was seven."

"However, you've never fought against a different clan before, have you?"

Peter shook his head, warming to the idea. "You can help me spot weaknesses, ones that since all raven warriors have, none of us would see."

"Exactly," Rudi said with a wolfish grin. "Let's dance."

* * *

After changing into sweats and a T for practicing, when Peter came back into the Warrior Room, he was surprised to find Rudi dancing solo to the swing music he had playing on his iPod.

"Come on, Peter," Rudi said, holding up his arms as if he wanted to dance.

Awkwardly, Peter came forward, moving stiffly into position.

"See, it's just swing," Rudi said. "You lead."

Peter shook his head. He didn't see how this was going to help him fight Tamara. But he tried, dancing side by side with Rudi, then swinging him out.

Rudi was a good dancer, better than Peter: more precise, and with more flair. They danced in easy circles around each other, snapping their fingers and slapping hands as they turned. Peter worked hard to keep up with Rudi and was grinning by the end of the dance.

"Let's try again," Rudi said as a faster tune came on.

This time, Rudi didn't flow. He kept his turns military precise. His hand was always exactly in the same spot when he turned, making it easy for Peter to catch it. The stiffness made Peter more precise, and he flowed easily into a block when Rudi's hand moved up fast for a strike.

"Good, good," Rudi told him. His feet were still moving to the same Lindy Hop rhythm, back-step, side, side, but his hands were now attacking, off beat, making Peter swing wildly and miss.

"You
gotta
listen," Rudi said seriously as he threw a flurry of punches, one after another, hounding Peter around the room. "Listen to the beat. Make it your own."

Peter moved faster than Rudi; it was the only way he was staying out of reach.

The next song started much louder. Peter found his feet automatically falling into Lindy Hop steps, his hands finally finding the right rhythm as well. He changed and started to attack, causing Rudi to dance away, snapping his fingers and hooting. "Yes, yes!"

When the song ended they both circled each other, panting and wary.

"It isn't just one or the other," Rudi told Peter. "It's Lindy Hop and swing. It's precision and that beat. It's here and Seattle."

Peter shook his head, wanting to deny the truth of what Rudi had said. His worlds were different, separate, not overlapping.

But just as he wasn't strong enough on his own, without Cai, he couldn't just be of one world.

He had to be of two.

"Come on," Peter finally said, raising his head and smiling at Rudi. "Let's dance."

* * *

Not only did Peter's body hurt after his session with Rudi, his brain hurt as well. Still, he hadn't been able to practice intermingling his worlds as much as he'd wanted. Prefect Aaron had come in and interrupted their practice. It seemed there was a tradition of the two combatants meeting before the battle.

Peter didn't want to go, but the prefect had assured him that as a point of honor, nothing would happen. Though they'd be alone, the room would be monitored as well: Any sign of a transformation, and the prefects would come storming in.

That didn't make Peter feel any better.

He still took a quick shower—alone, as he'd sent Sally off with the prefect—then he let Prefect Becker lead him to the other half of the hall, where the tiger warriors waited.

The hall looked the same as every other dorm hall: beige paint, tough brown carpet that hid stains from careless boys and was easy to clean, and not enough perches along the too-smooth walls. It felt strange, though. Maybe it was the underlying scent of patchouli and cardamom, or maybe it was the tiger warriors themselves. They didn't move like birds, alert and cautious, but like cats, leisurely and seemingly indifferent.

Two guards stood outside one of the doors: a tiger warrior and a raven warrior. Peter nodded at both of them after they opened the door, then he took a deep breath and walked in.

Cai was ready to help, taking a quick look around, but the room seemed normal enough. It was a bit bigger than a regular student's room, and had a round glass table with chairs just past the bed. A teapot of expensive looking white-and-blue china sat on the glass, with matching cups and saucers.

Tamara sat in one chair, dressed in a gold tunic this time, her wavy red hair flowing around her. She gazed coolly at Peter before waving at the other chair.

Peter took a seat but didn't relax. He was ready to bolt, either out the door or off the balcony, at the first sign of an attack.

"I used to be scared of you," Tamara began as she poured tea, first for herself, then for Peter.

"Why would you be scared of me?" Peter asked, accepting the cup Tamara offered to him but not drinking it. It smelled good, like a clear, fresh grass, but he didn't trust anything that came from her, whether she also shared it or not.

Cai stayed wary as well, his feathers ruffled, ready to take flight.

"Not just you. Your clan. Do you know the horror stories I grew up with? How deceitful you all are. How you and your kind betray all who trust you."

"We knew nothing about you," Peter said bitterly. It still stung that no one in the raven clan had bothered to educate them, even if the other clans had been just legends and stories.

"You know nothing
at all
," Tamara said, growing louder.

Peter sat up straighter in his chair, ready to dive away.

"I challenged you. Taunted you. And you did
nothing.
Where was the big scary raven warrior I'd always heard about? Why didn't you fight back?"

No fighting. Fit in. Walk, don't fly.
Peter knew what the recitations said, knew why he'd never reacted.

Tamara didn't wait for an answer. "And then, when you did fight—or your friend did—well. It was pretty pathetic."

Peter looked away from Tamara, out the window for a moment, as the grief overcame him again. When he looked back, she had her head cocked to one side, staring at him with a puzzled expression. "Jesse was my friend," Peter said softly. "And I will avenge him."

"You'll die cawing piteously, just like he did," Tamara said contemptuously. "Though your death won't make up for all the suffering of my people, it will be a start."

Peter found himself chuckling as he stood up to leave. "You know, maybe some of the old stories your clan tells really happened. But there are myths there, too, lies and legends. Don't think you know everything about us, or about me."

At the door, Peter paused and looked back, the truth certain in his bones. "Because a raven warrior knows when someone speaks the truth, and maybe we didn't want to tell ourselves lies about our own involvement. But it means one other thing as well."

"Yeah?" Tamara asked, bored, when he didn't continue.

"You lied, earlier. You're still scared of me."

Peter woke from a deep sleep with a start, surprised to find himself awake and alert. Though it had been two days since the fight with Chris, he was still exhausted: the tiredness had lifted only a quarter inch or so, out of his marrow but still spread out across his bones, under his skin.

He looked around his dorm room at Ravens' Hall. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary: Night hung like a black curtain beyond the balcony door; his desk was pristine for once, books all in neat piles as an attempt to please Cai; and neither the door to the hallway nor the balcony outside showed any intruders—they were safe.

What had jolted him? It was 2:17 a.m. As he lay back down, a whispering presence made itself known.

Jesse.

Peter had defiantly tagged Jesse's door with his own sense, so he'd know when Jesse came back. He sat back up in bed. Should he go and see him?

Cai pushed at him. Peter closed his eyes and stretched out his senses.

It hadn't been Jesse in his room that had woken him. No, it was something else.

Jesse was scared.

Peter didn't understand how he knew, but he knew.

Cai knew it as well.

The hallway was empty. Peter couldn't hear anyone talking or walking around. For the first time since the fight, Cai helped, showing Peter where the
spiderweb
-like charm hung in the wide staircase going down. Peter ducked under it, hoping that he didn't set it off.

Jesse's hallway was also empty. Now he saw the big charm just opposite Jesse's door: a dream catcher, watchful and strong.

Whoever had set it up already knew that Peter had left behind his presence on the door. So he stepped up and touched it anyway.

Jesse hadn't been here. No one had been in or out recently.

But his sense of Jesse was strong.

Peter closed his eyes and let himself feel. He felt a tug, and knew that it wasn't just him—Cai was directing them.

Down.

Peter didn't want to go downstairs, into the basement. Dread clenched his stomach. It was too late for Jesse; it had always been too late for Jesse.

But you didn't leave a fellow raven warrior behind. Peter squared his shoulders and went back to the staircase, no longer caring if he set off any alarms. Down he went, through the cafeteria, past the kitchen, down the dark hallway marked, "Staff Only."

There, at the other end of the building, was another staircase. Thick black silence choked the stairs. Peter knew, if he bothered looking, there would be charms and spells on every step, blocking light and sound. He wiped his sweating palms on his flannel PJs and started down the steps.

Cai ruffled up his feathers, prepared to fight, but also to flee as well. He didn't want to go down the stairs any more than Peter did, and was prepared to fly away. But Jesse was there, and in trouble.

Peter had never seen Cai so torn before.

Even with the light hidden, Peter still made it to the bottom of the stairs without a problem—the darkness cleared just a few inches ahead of him as he pushed through it. The floor was poured concrete, rough and unpainted. Instead of a long hallway, there was a short one, with only three doors. The walls were wooden, dark, and scratched, as were the doors. Black iron holders for huge bolts lay empty and
unrusted
, ready to lock someone in.

As soon as Peter stepped toward the first door, it opened.

The painful cries of a hurt raven filtered out.

Peter knew it was Jesse.

Though he only heard them for a moment, he knew he'd remember them for the rest of his life.

Prefect Aaron stepped into the hall, quickly shutting the door and cutting off the sound.

"Peter," the prefect said with a sigh. He didn't seem surprised to see Peter. His skin looked pasty and gray in the harsh lighting. He wore his black-feathered raven's cloak over night-dark robes. He seemed as tired as Peter felt.

"What are you doing to Jesse?" Peter asked. His voice squawked in the short corridor.

"He was trying to run away. We're clipping his wings, so he remembers to stay put," the prefect said matter-of-factly.

"Why?" Peter asked. "Why can't you just let him be?"

"Peter—" The prefect closed his mouth and shook his head. "I know you don't understand this. But it's for the good of the clan."

"It isn't," Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Cai cawed loudly in agreement.

"Was it better for Chris? No. It just drove him crazy. And you're doing the same thing to Jesse, I swear."

"No, we're not," Prefect Aaron said sharply. "We're trying to save him, Peter, I swear to you. We are."

"How many turn out like Prefect Kitridge?" Peter asked. "And how many like Chris?"

"Most go on to lead productive lives," the prefect said.

Peter got the feeling that either the prefect had never asked, or Ravens' Hall truly didn't know. Either way, it wasn't a statement of truth.

"You've got to let him go," Peter said. "You've already captured him, scared him, hurt him. Please, please don't break his wings."

"You're too late, son," the prefect said. "It's out of my hands now."

"No!" Peter said, pushing forward. He had to get to Jesse, had to try to save him somehow.

The prefect pushed back with surprising strength. "I can't let you go in there, Peter."

"I can't leave him behind," Peter said with gritted teeth.

"Sometimes you have to let go, walk away," the prefect said, gaining ground, pushing Peter back against the far wall of the corridor. "For the sake of your soul and the sake of the clan. You have to let some souls go."

"How can you live with yourself? How can you do this? Jesse!" Peter called out. Tears started leaking out of his eyes but he didn't care. He needed to do something.

"
Stay hidden. Stay safe.
Those aren't just words, Peter. Those are the rules we must,
we must,
live by. If we are to survive. And Jesse, Jesse would fly in the face of all of that."

"No, he wouldn't," Peter insisted, his strength weakening. He slumped against the wall. "He just wanted to leave. He wouldn't have told. Not ever."

"If he broke one rule, there's no guarantee he wouldn't break others," Prefect Aaron said, stepping back. "Leaving like he did made him a rogue. A half-breed. And we do not suffer the half-breed."

"You didn't—" Peter couldn't even ask the question.

"No. Just clipped his wings. Reminded him that we could, and would, find him, no matter where he hid." The prefect nodded in smug satisfaction. "He won't be leaving again, not quite so soon."

"What happens to him now?" Peter asked, staring at the door over the prefect's shoulder, the door that hid Jesse's suffering.

"In a day or two we'll splint up his fingers."

Peter was nearly sick to his stomach.
A day or two?
"You'll just leave him like that, scared and in pain, for that long?"