Thirteen Orphans (36 page)
“Little magics,” the other woman sneered. “I learned such in the cradle.”
She began muttering what Brenda thought might be a banishment. That wouldn’t do. Brenda punched forward, aiming for the other woman’s mouth. The Dragon’s Tail cushioned her hand, rather as a boxing glove would have done. It stopped some of the force of the blow as well, but enough went through that the muttering stopped.
Brenda was beginning to like this. She’d never been a brawler, but there had been a time or two when one of her rivals in high-school politics had escalated their disagreements beyond intellectual debate. Brenda remembered a few of the tricks and reached for the other woman’s long, silver-banded braid. The Dragon’s Tail made her grip clumsy, but she managed a tug that sent her opponent off balance. The intruder stumbled backward, out of Brenda’s immediate reach, cursing at the sudden pain.
But Brenda could feel that her luck wouldn’t last. There was something deadly and dangerous about this woman, and although the Dragon’s Tail had given Brenda a momentary edge, her true advantage had been that of surprise, and surprise was now gone.
“Bitch!” the other hissed, and sheathed her momentarily useless dagger, drawing out in the same motion a slip of red paper on which characters had been drawn with brushstrokes that Brenda—a novice at the same art—recognized as the work of a true artist.
Artistic appreciation or not, Brenda wasn’t waiting around to see what that slip of paper could do to her, or to her surroundings. Des had warned them that the Dragon’s Tail could not protect them from a fall or from a rain of fire or from a magical attack. Brenda could feel that the Dragon’s Tail wasn’t as firmly wrapped as it had been, and didn’t think it was going to hold much longer.
There were other bracelets in her room, right on top of her dresser, so Brenda broke and ran, darting back into that darkened haven. As she did so, she was all too aware that Gaheris Morris still stood where he had all this time, waiting to ascend a quiet stairway.
The other woman—the Snake, as she must be—threw the red slip of paper. It struck the doorway and Brenda smelled the acrid scent of acid, even as she heard it sizzle against the paint. Brenda fumbled in the semidarkness for the shallow box in which she kept her bracelets, cursed herself for an idiot, and spared a moment to turn on the reading lamp.
Light made finding the box easy, but more importantly, it made it possible for Brenda to read the English letters penciled lightly on the back of the tiles, identifying the spells. Des had suggested the crib, saying that since none of his students read Chinese, and so many of the same characters were combined and recombined for each spell, it was a good idea.
“After all,” he’d said, “what use will they be if you need them in a hurry? You can’t go looking them up.”
Brenda blessed her tutor’s forethought, and kicked herself for not seeing that this—just like the wards around the house, and a dozen other small precautions—had been a warning and a reminder that those they were up against were truly dangerous.
First to hand was another Dragon’s Tail—not surprising, since Des had insisted that they get this protective spell down cold. Brenda cracked it against the floor, felt a second tail coil around the first, sustaining and enhancing. Then she dug after a Dragon’s Breath. The Snake had tried to throw acid on her. Maybe she’d like a touch of dragon’s fire in return!
Brenda heard the Snake coming through the bedroom door and wheeled, smashing the Dragon’s Fire bracelet onto the floor and holding out her right hand, palm raised as Des had made them practice. In practice, the gesture had felt rather silly, like something out of one of those chop-socky flicks her folks loved, but now it felt entirely natural.
Flames, orangey-red into white-hot, flared from Brenda’s hand, directly at the Snake, but they wrapped around her almost caressingly, leaving her unburnt.
“My father is the Dragon,” the Snake hissed, “did you think he would leave his daughter unguarded?”
She flung out another of her bits of red paper. It flew with the speed and accuracy of something far more solid, as if it had momentarily been transformed into metal or wood. Brenda dodged, but felt a searing pain as acid fizzled and sizzled through her Dragon’s Tail barrier, tracing lines through her sleep shirt and blistering the skin below.
Brenda heard her own inadvertent cry of pain, but she was too scared to back down. For the first time, she really understood why a trapped rat is dangerous. Deep down inside, knowing they have nowhere to go, they become vicious.
She had a cluster of bracelets hanging from her fingers. Dragon’s Breath was apparently useless, and she didn’t think Winding Snake would work against this woman as it had done against Foster. What did that leave her? What didn’t snakes like? Cold. Mongooses …
There had been a spell Des had taught them for summoning a specific wind. Windy Nines. She hadn’t made that one, but she had done another … . Frantically, she searched through the tiles, all too aware that the Snake was readying another of her pieces of paper.
The paper was flying toward her as Brenda threw down the bracelet for Windfall. It blasted forth with a swirling tornado that ripped the red paper into confetti in midair and then swirled as a barrier between Brenda and the Snake. The pages of the novel Brenda had been reading before bed fluttered and began to shred, and the lace curtains at the window flapped wildly, but for the moment Brenda was safe.
Stalemate!
she thought in relief.
she thought in relief.
The Snake’s long hair was tossing in the wind, tendrils coming loose from the braid that had restrained it, but the young woman’s tight-fitting dress hardly moved, except to show the heaving of the Snake’s rounded breasts as she snarled at Brenda.
“I’ll rip your head from your shoulders and swallow you whole, Ratling,” she snarled, moving closer, raising hands empty of all but long, polished nails. “I told you the Dragon is my father. I know ways to pry apart those tails that you have wrapped around you.”
Brenda didn’t doubt that the Snake meant what she said. The bracelets Brenda held might contain another trick or two, but tricks were all she had. Brenda fumbled behind her and found the ladder-back chair that stood in front of her little writing desk. It wasn’t much, but it might hold, and maybe Dad would break whatever hold this woman had over him and come to her rescue.
It was a slim hope, but a trapped rat doesn’t back down.
Then Brenda heard a sound from the hallway outside her bedroom and felt a reverberation of ch’i that felt like a growl.
Pearl Bright stood in the doorway, a long sword in one hand and an expression of uncompromising ferocity on her face. Up until this moment, Brenda had always thought “old” with a degree of pity. Now she saw age for the magnificent thing it could be: the power of knowledge, the strength of certainty.
Pearl moved her sword so that the shining length of the silver-bright blade rested point against the carpet and took a step into the room.
“You made a mistake, Snakeling,” she said, her tone conversational, but holding menace nonetheless. “You found a guide to invite you within my wards, but didn’t you bother to consider that I would have other wards active—and that certainly I would notice alien sorcery within these walls?”
The green-gowned Snake was no less exquisitely lovely than before; her glossy black hair had lost none of its shine. Her strong, young body lacked none of its supple strength, but suddenly she looked overdressed, awkward, immature, even, Brenda sought for the vaguely old-fashioned word: callow. That was it. She looked callow.
By contrast, Pearl, standing there in a lightweight summer bathrobe printed with peonies, was the incarnation of power.
I mean,
Brenda thought,
Pearl took the time to put on her robe. She was aware a magical battle was going on, and she took the time to put on her robe!
Brenda thought,
Pearl took the time to put on her robe. She was aware a magical battle was going on, and she took the time to put on her robe!
Momentarily, Brenda felt indignant that Pearl had not raced to her rescue. Then a realization brightened her soul, and she gripped the ladder-back chair with new determination. Pearl had believed Brenda could hold her ground or she would not have delayed. Brenda was sure of that.
That Pearl had believed in her was something to be proud of—if Brenda lived long enough to feel pride, for although the Snake had given Pearl most of her attention, she had not forgotten Brenda. The cool, mocking glance she gave the hands holding on to the ladder-back chair made Brenda alternately hot with embarrassment and chill with visceral fear.
But the Snake spared no words for Brenda, and what she said certainly gave away more than she had intended.
“I am no snakeling,” she hissed, “but the Snake, sole and true. My father is the Dragon and our family is old in power and in wisdom and in cunning.”
Pearl lifted the point of her sword from the carpet and with motions so quick and light that Brenda could hardly follow them traced patterns in the air. They left a glowing trail behind them in a deep forest green, Chinese ideograms, but not one of the handful Brenda had learned.
“I charge you to hold your attack,” Pearl said, and flecks of golden fire sparked from the ideograms, “and answer my questions truthfully.”
The Snake raised her dagger, and moved as if to cut Pearl’s ideograms. Brenda watched in astonishment as the Snake’s hand was held fast by the ideograms, which traced out ropelike extensions to wrap the arm that held the dagger. It began to squeeze, forest-green light pressing against the ivory of the Snake’s arm, pushing into the flesh with such force that Brenda did not doubt that had the Snake not given way and let her arm fall uselessly to her side, blood would have welled forth.
“This blade is called Treaty,” Pearl said, her tiger’s growl more pronounced. “My father had it forged in China when it became apparent that a certain treaty of which I am certain you are aware was being honored more in the breach than otherwise. Spells cast through Treaty are especially potent against those who are in violation of that old bond—like you, Snake.”
The disdain in the old Tiger’s voice as she spoke the title made it more of an insult than “Snakeling” had ever been. Brenda saw the Snake’s eyes narrow to angry slits, but the intruder said nothing.
“Now, I have questions for you,” Pearl said, “and think of the consequences before you answer them less than truthfully. How many of you came from the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice to this place?”
“Three.”
“And they are?”
“I, who am the Snake, my father, who is the Dragon, and my beloved, who is the Tiger.”
Brenda felt her hands tighten over the back of the chair. Of course Foster had to have had a lover. He was too gorgeous not to have had. He might have dozens, and this slinky bitch was just the latest. What a fool she had been!
But still, it made her angry to hear this woman boast of Foster in that way. Everything was defined in relation to her: her father, her beloved. Self-centered, egotistical, spoiled, arrogant … had she included self-centered in the list?
Brenda made herself focus, knowing that her anger was born from fear, and fear was not a sign of strength, but the reverse.
Pearl cut the air with her sword. “Why did you come here?”
The Snake might be bound by Pearl’s spell, but she wasn’t going to cooperate any more than necessary.
“To get something.”
“What?”
“Something that was taken from our land that should not have been.”
“What?”
“Something you have and know you have, although unknowing that you should not have it.”
Pearl raised the sword blade again. Brenda held her breath, wondering whether Pearl was going to trace another ideogram—perhaps one compelling more full cooperation—in the air. Could Treaty’s shining blade cut through whatever protective spells the Snake still had up?
A loud, thunderous knocking sounded against the front door of Pearl’s house. Pearl tilted her head slightly, and Brenda felt certain she was reading the input from one or the other of her many wards.
“Brenda,” Pearl said, “go downstairs and open the front door, but leave the chain in place. Ask whoever is knocking what his business is, then close the door and call up to me.”
Brenda reluctantly let go of the chair, but kept a firm grasp on her remaining bracelets as she strode past the now smirking Snake and around Pearl into the hallway. Brenda wasn’t sure what she could do with the handful of spells those bracelets represented, but they were the best weapon she had.
As she ran down the stairs, Brenda found herself wondering if the Rat had owned some sort of sword like the one Pearl had. Maybe she’d even seen it, tucked in a trunk at home with the delicate heirlooms and ornaments her parents had put away until the boys got past the age that they seemed to break things just by walking into a room.
Owning a sword would be cool, not that Brenda had the least idea how to use one. Still, she could learn. Des had those weird Rooster’s Talons. She’d seen him practice both alone and with Pearl. Maybe she could get in on a session.
Aware that her mental blathering was because she didn’t want to think too hard about who might be on the other side of the door, Brenda went down and turned open the locks—all but the chain, which she left on as Pearl had instructed. She glanced at the brass-colored links and saw they were etched with tiny characters. Doubtless they held a spell or so in their length.
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