Thirteen Orphans (44 page)

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Authors: Jane Lindskold

Tags: #Fantasy

BOOK: Thirteen Orphans
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Nissa stared at her, but even as Pearl felt a release in the pressure in her chest, a slowing in her breathing, sense returned to Nissa’s gaze and the turquoise eyes lost their wildness. From above, Pearl heard a whoosh of relief from Riprap and a sharp, satisfied snap as Des closed his knife.
“Spelled to repel intruders,” Des said. “Actually a fairly routine enchantment. Those who have a right to be in the building would have no reaction at all, but anyone else, whether conventional burglar or unconventional ‘guest,’ would feel some fear, probably centered around those admittedly untrustworthy stairs.”
“Was there a ward to alert the occupants against intruders?” Pearl asked.
“Not within the characters I cut away,” Des replied, “at least I didn’t see anything. However, if the one who set the spell there is attuned to his casting, he’s going to know it has been effaced.”
“So we may have rung the doorbell,” Riprap said. “We’d better get moving in case whoever answers the door doesn’t do so politely.”
But no one came to the door at the first landing, nor to any of the doors on the other lower landings. As Pearl climbed the stairs to the final landing, she realized that this lack of acknowledgment was making her more tense and edgy than any overt attack possibly could have done. She imagined eyes watching from behind the curtained windows although the curtains hung still and limp.
“Open the door,” she said to Riprap, her own voice giving her confidence, “and let us in.”

 

The park was empty except for a voluptuous yet slender figure seated on one of three swings that were the centerpiece of a playground, and a robin busy questing among the damp grasses under the trees.
The park’s sole human occupant was dressed neither as exotically as the first time Brenda had seen her, nor as erotically as the second, but even in faded jeans and a crew-neck T-shirt that would have been nondescript but for the Chinese character painted splashily across the breast, Brenda had no difficulty in recognizing Honey Dream, the Snake. She even recognized the character written on the shirt. Unsurprisingly, it read “Snake.”
Foster recognized Honey Dream at once as well.
“That’s the woman who called me that name—Fei Chao—as if it was
my
name,” he said. He was unbuckling his seat belt and moving to get out of the car even before Brenda had turned off the engine.
Brenda felt bittersweet pleasure that Foster was apparently attracted to the Snake solely because she held information he wanted. He was moving away so quickly. She’d wanted to say …
What could you say?
Brenda chided herself, reaching into the backseat and lifting the duffel bag out.
I think I love you, but not for who you are, because you don’t know who that is, but because of who you have chosen to be? Better shut up, Brenda. Foster is gone. Flying Claw, the Tiger, is all who remains.
The Snake had risen when Foster got out of the car, her expression hungry. In one hand she held a small brocade bag, the bottom rounded by something small and heavy. Brenda thought she knew what that had to be, but she didn’t rush forward to claim it. Instead, while the Snake was completely absorbed in watching Foster rush toward her, Brenda dropped an amulet bracelet to the pavement, and broke it under her heel with a stomp that owed more to her desire to wipe that greedy, longing look from the Snake’s face than to the need to activate the stored spell.
The spell was called All Green. Des had crafted it so that Brenda would be able to confirm whether the crystal the Snake had brought to trade for Foster was counterfeit or not. It would also permit her to see the aura of magical workings for the next few hours—an ability that should give Brenda warning if the Snake tried anything less than kind.
As All Green took effect, Brenda felt her vision momentarily blur. When it cleared, the brocade bag dangling from the Snake’s hand glowed with a faint black aura. That was good. Black was the Rat’s color, a hue not nearly as ominous in its associations within Chinese culture as within Western society. Brenda had to remind herself of that as she followed Foster across the park to where Honey Dream waited.
Tense as a coiled snake,
Brenda thought wryly.
Or is that a cliché? Is it a cliché to think an image that’s true, even if sort of trite?
Brenda forced herself to focus, remembering what Des had said about emotional upheaval being something that could be used against her, but it was almost impossible to keep calm. The rattle of her thoughts—inane as some of them might be—was preferable to the misery slowly seeping into her soul, a despair that grew almost palpably heavier as she advanced to where Foster now stood face-to-face with the Snake.
“Why did you call me that name?” Foster was saying. Brenda knew the tension in his shoulders. She’d seen it when they were playing Yahtzee or cards, and he had given up playing the conservative game and was going to put all his faith on one throw, one draw.
“Why shouldn’t I call you by your name, beloved Flying Claw?” the Snake said. “You’re all worked up, but don’t worry. In just a moment, I will have given you everything you desire.”
Her tone implied that his desire included a lot more than answers to a few questions. Brenda wanted to punch Honey Dream solidly in that smiling mouth, but she kept her attention focused on that black glow.
Think about Dad. Think about the time you’re winning for the rest. Think, Brenda.
Foster was angry now. “What do you mean? What …”
“I mean,” Honey Dream said, “I have the means of restoring your memory, unless Brenda there is going to try something clever. You’re not going to try something clever, are you, Miss Morris?”
Brenda looked at her. “You talk a lot, you know that? My mom always said that when a person talks a lot that person is really nervous. I’m here to do business. What about you?”
Foster looked at Brenda, his brow furrowing. “Business?”
“This … lady,” Brenda said, facing him, “tells me she can get your memory back.”
“She can? How? What?”
Brenda reached out and put a hand on Foster’s arm. “Foster, explaining would take longer than you want—especially since if this lady can do what she claims, you’re going to understand everything much faster than I can talk.”
“So you’re doing it all for ‘Foster’?” Honey Dream said with a sneer. “Not one bit for Daddy?”
Brenda let her hand drop from Foster’s arm. The warmth of his skin lingered on her fingertips. She faced the Snake squarely.
“Believe it or not, I’m doing it for them both—and for me. You’ve put me through hell, Miss Honey Dream. I’ll admit that, since I know that’s what you’re longing to hear. I’ve had a lot of sleepless nights lately, and I’m going to have more. But I’m doing the right thing. Now, will you keep your side of the deal?”
The Snake laughed. “Now who’s talking too much? Fine. We’ll get down to business. Where’s the sphere that holds Flying Claw’s memory?”
Brenda slid her hand into her pocket and took it out, cupping the solid heaviness of the crystal in the palm of her right hand so the Snake could see it. The green tiger frozen within was beautifully lifelike, right down to the shading of his stripes, darker green against the pale.
“My dad’s?” Brenda countered. “And the spell you promised?”
The Snake opened the brocade bag and took out a crystal sphere, identical to the one Brenda held, except for the black rat within. The Rat sphere glowed in Brenda’s enhanced vision, its authenticity assured.
“As for the spell,” the Snake said, “come over to that table.”
She motioned toward a concrete picnic table.
“Why?”
“Because I promised to give you the means to restore your father’s memory, but I’m not going to reveal
my
father’s secrets. I’ve already written the key elements, but after you see the paper isn’t blank, I’m going to complete the spell, then seal it before you can read it. You’ll still be able to use the spell to restore your father’s memory, but not copy it.”
Brenda thought this care to keep her from even glimpsing the written spell expressed a lot more faith in Brenda’s ability to read Chinese than she deserved, but she wasn’t about to tell her that.
Honey Dream had been walking over to the concrete table as she spoke. Now Brenda saw there was a daypack on the bench. Honey Dream removed a calligraphy set, the elements not dissimilar to the ones Brenda had neatly put away in the classroom at Pearl’s house after her last study session.
Foster had trailed after Honey Dream, but now he looked over at Brenda. “Are you sure about doing this?”
“I am, Foster,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the Tiger sphere as if she could touch the memories within.
“But Pearl …” he said. “She’s not going to like this.”
“Auntie Pearl,” Brenda countered, “doesn’t like a lot of things, but what I’m doing right now is something she’s going to need to learn to live with. I’m not giving her a choice.”
The Snake had taken a piece of red paper from a folder in her pack. It was partially covered with a long line of Chinese characters. Brenda recognized the one for the Rat at the top, but that was it, except for a vague recognition that the style of the characters was archaic. She wondered if using archaic characters was necessary, or an affectation on the part of the Snake—like a Goth using some archaic font on her e-mail.
“Listen carefully, Brenda,” Honey Dream said. “I’m going to brush the final characters onto this, then roll it into a bamboo tube. The first time the paper is taken from the tube, the spell will manifest as ink dripping from the interior of the rolled piece of paper. Hold the sphere under the ink, and when the ink flow ceases, your father’s memory will be restored.”
“Does Dad need to be near when I do this?” Brenda asked.
“That would probably speed the process,” the Snake said. “It will also keep Gaheris’s memory from returning in disorderly fragments. Remember, though. You get one shot, so don’t try and be cute and see if you can copy this off before the spell dissolves.”
Brenda extended her hand in mute acceptance of both the terms and the spell. The Snake took her brush, wrote a few final characters, blew lightly on them, then rolled the paper into a tight spill that she dropped into a slim piece of hollow bamboo. The entire process took less time than Brenda would have needed to load her own brush with ink. She felt a familiar touch of envy.
“Here,” the Snake said, putting the bamboo tube into Brenda’s outstretched hand. Brenda pushed it into her pocket. “Now shall we trade the spheres?”
As neatly as if they’d practiced the exchange repeatedly, Brenda held out the Tiger crystal to Honey Dream and accepted the Rat crystal in return. Foster watched in silence, but the tension on his face was painful.
Brenda started to turn away, then felt the forgotten weight of the duffel in her hand. She held it out to Foster.
“Your things,” she said. “The robes you were wearing, and your sword. I figured there might be more trouble if you remembered you should have them and then didn’t, so I brought them along.”
Foster accepted the duffel, but didn’t look inside. “Thank you.”
Brenda began to walk briskly in the direction of her car. The Snake called after her.
“Don’t you want to see how the transformation works?” Her tone held bragging invitation and challenge. “Don’t you want to see what the real Flying Claw is like?”
Brenda swallowed hard. She didn’t want to see Foster as anyone but Foster, not really, but then again, she did. And she hadn’t forgotten that the longer she had the Snake under her gaze, the longer the Snake wasn’t charging off somewhere and maybe messing up what the others were doing. The trick was balancing the two obligations. She wouldn’t do the other four any good if they had to rescue her.
“Sure. I’m game.” Brenda didn’t move back to the table, but leaned against a convenient tree a few paces from where her car was parked. She hoped she looked casual and relaxed. She’d hate for the Snake to know how wobbly her knees were.
The Snake’s expression settled on Foster, proprietary and satisfied. Her next words were addressed to him.
“Black and red were easy enough to do,” she said, somewhat confusingly, until Brenda recalled that red was Snake’s color, as black was the Rat’s. “But if I’d dug out green paper and green ink and started working with them, my father surely would have noticed. But those were the colors I needed. You, Flying Claw, wrote your own spell—the one that was turned against you—I wanted to balance the resonance.”
She is nervous,
Brenda thought.
Mom is right about people talking when they’re nervous.
“But one of the few good things about this horrible land into which the Exiles were sent,” Honey Dream went on, “is how easy it is to get just about any material goods, so I bought appropriate ink and paper.”
Foster studied her. “Why wouldn’t your father approve?”
“He would approve of my getting you back,” the Snake said, “but not about my trading the Rat sphere to Brenda. You’ll understand in a minute. Just wait.”
“I am getting very tired of waiting,” Foster said. “Especially now that you and Brenda both have promised me that great revelations will come when that waiting is ended.”
Honey Dream smiled at him, “I understand, my impatient beloved. Just a few moments more.”
Foster seemed to flinch slightly at the caress in her tone, but Brenda wasn’t sure.
Probably wishful thinking on my part,
she thought.
Honey Dream poured green ink onto a new inkstone, and loaded a fresh brush. Now she dipped the neatly shaped tip into a pool of green ink and drew it across the paper with flowing, graceful motions. The first character was the one for tiger, but after that, Brenda’s knowledge failed. Moreover, Brenda stood several feet away and the ink was darker only by virtue of its wetness than the paper upon which the Snake wrote, making discerning the fine lines impossible.
Ink-brush calligraphy takes years to master, but completing a piece can take only moments—something that frequently deceives the uninitiated into believing that such art would be easy to master. Brenda had learned enough to appreciate what the Snake’s skill told her. They seemed to be within a few years of each other in age, but clearly the Snake had been to a much more demanding school than Brenda’s. Yet the Dragon claimed there were “many Snakes,” “many Tigers”? What a terrifying world they must come from.

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