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.
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!
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 p
rotective 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.
A Chinese man, probably in his fifties, stood on the doorstep. He was square-bodied and round-faced, dressed in an old-fashioned Chinese scholar’s robe, complete to a cap with wing flaps on the sides. He was clean-shaven, his black hair cut in a modern style. His posture managed to be both erect and formal, and yet to suggest that he spent a great amount of time stoop-shouldered, peering at closely written texts. Brenda did not need to look at the ornate dragons embroidered on his robes to know that this was the third of their enemies: the Dragon.
“I am Righteous Drum, and I have come for my daughter,” the Dragon said with a bow. “I believe she is here.”
“She is,” Brenda said, not bothering to bow, as she figured the motion would look really silly with her wearing a sleep shirt and shorts—and an acid-burned sleep shirt at that. Well, he probably couldn’t see more of her than her face peering around the edge of the door.
“Please permit my daughter to come out to me,” the Dragon said. “Otherwise, given that breaking the very interesting and quite intricate wards about this house would be an unwarranted expenditure of energy, and doubtless attract unwanted attention, I would need to find ways to convince you that my daughter does not belong in your custody.”
Brenda listened to the flow of words with mild astonishment. The Dragon’s tone was courtly and so polite she felt embarrassed about keeping him outside.
“Uh, just a moment.” Brenda closed the door as Pearl had instructed and called up the stairs. “It’s the Dragon, at least, I think it has to be, even though he introduced himself as Righteous Drum, since he’s asking for us to return his daughter.”
“That is all he wants?”
“That’s all he has said so far,” Brenda said.
“Ask him what assurances I have that he won’t attempt to breach my defenses if I open the door to let his daughter out.”
Brenda opened the door the amount the chain permitted and repeated Pearl’s words.
“My daughter is a pride and joy to me,” the Dragon said, “but if an old man’s desire to see his child free is not sufficient, then tell your Tiger that I have inspected the wards and am not certain I would care to attempt to break them without more preparation.”
Brenda closed the door again. Feeling a swell of pride for the work Nissa had done with her help, she repeated what the Dragon had said word for word.
“Interesting. Tell Righteous Drum I have a mind to trade his daughter for something else … . He has stolen the memories from several of my friends and allies. Ask him how many of those he is willing to return to have the Snake returned safely.”
Brenda heard a cry of indignation from above, and swallowed a smile as she opened the door and relayed Pearl’s message.
The Dragon did not look surprised.
“None,” he said, and the very stiffness of his reply showed his agitation. “There can be other Snakes, but what I have reclaimed from those this Tiger calls her friends and allies is irreplaceable. Tell the Tiger that if she does not release my daughter, I will go forth and do physical damage to those from whom thus far I have held my hand. Moreover, not a one of your friends or kin will be safe from my rage. If my daughter is returned to me, then I will withhold my hand from all of them.”
Brenda felt certain the Dragon meant exactly what he was saying, but tried to keep her voice level as she relayed the words. Her thoughts were far from calm, though, imagining Mom or the boys killed by some weird assassin.
“Interesting,” Pearl said in almost conversational tones. “Ask the Dragon if he would swear to withhold his hand from my friends and kin on my blade, which is called Treaty, and grows impossibly ferocious if oaths are broken. Ask him, too, if he would make the Snake swear to this as well, and if he would stand bond in life and afterlife for any of his allies who might be tempted to violate the spirit as well as the word of his vow.”
Brenda repeated this, and watched Righteous Drum’s face anxiously as he listened.
“I will so swear,” he said, “but only when my daughter is at my side, free of constraints against her leaving.”
“Tell him,” Pearl said, “we’ll be right down, just as soon as I put on some slippers.”
21
Pearl didn’t really need her slippers, but rather liked that parting line, so, herding the Snake in front of her with the dual prods of Treaty’s edge and a quickly etched ideogram of coercion, she made her way first to her bedroom, then down the stairs into the front foyer.
Brenda stood there, holding the door open to the width of the chain, alternating fascinated glances out at the waiting Dragon with checking on Pearl’s decorous progress. Her expression stiffened whenever she glanced toward the Snake.
Pearl didn’t need to ask why. Certainly the Snake had attacked Brenda, but Brenda had held her own quite well, especially for a complete novice. No, what rankled was the claim that Foster was the Snake’s “beloved”—a claim that forced Brenda, once again, to confront how very little about that young man she really knew.
But it was quite likely that Foster would soon no longer be a problem for them. Certainly, the Dragon would want the Tiger returned along with his daughter.
However, when they entered into their negotiations, Foster was not mentioned. The Dragon wanted his daughter returned, and made quite clear that if Pearl did not return her, then those members of the Twelve who were not already under Pearl’s protection would suffer, as would friends and family of the protected four. Pearl noted that when negotiating for the young woman’s life and freedom, he referred to her not by her title, but simply as “my daughter.” She knew from this that she negotiated not with the Dragon, as such, but with a father.
Pearl didn’t know whether she felt sad or envious that here was a father who could value a mere girl child.
Pearl knew she would need to return the Snake to her father, but she wanted assurance that once the Dragon had his daughter returned to him, he would not break his word and start taking hostages or otherwise attacking the friends, families, or allies of the remaining Twelve.
After all, the very fact that Pearl was willing to return the Snake to assure those people’s safety proved their value.
Refining the wording of their complex agreement was torturous, but Pearl noted with approval that Brenda did not fidget. The young woman took notes of the discussion as Pearl requested, but never forgot to keep a watchful eye on the Snake.
Brenda’s notes were written in English, but whether through magic or learning, both Dragon and Snake could read that language. A written text permitted no deviations, no “Oh, did I say that?” afterthoughts, and Pearl thought the Dragon approved of her care rather than otherwise—but then while dragons were known for their pedantry, tigers were not. However, Pearl was a Tiger who had been a Hollywood movie star, and she fully understood the importance of reading the fine print.
The person who grew increasingly restless as the negotiations went on was the Snake. Her father consulted her as to various points, but as captive her ability to influence the terms was limited. Still, Pearl was lenient and let the Dragon address his daughter through the chain-guarded opening of the door. After all, the Snake was going to need to swear to this agreement before Pearl let her go, and better the Snake did so with no reservations.
At last a text was arrived at that Pearl felt protected their friends and allies as thoroughly as she could manage. The Dragon reviewed it, politely asking Brenda to clarify a word or two, for the young woman’s handwriting showed that she was more accustomed to composing on a computer than by hand. Then he glanced at his daughter.
“Do the provisions of this document suit you, Honey Dream?” Righteous Drum’s tone made quite clear that he thought they should.
“But, Father,” the Snake exclaimed. For once there was no trace of a hiss in her voice. “You have negotiated no provision for the Tiger’s freedom!”
“There can be other Tigers,” the Dragon said sternly. “Indeed, there will be those who will think there could have been other Snakes as well, especially after learning of your behavior this night. However, you are my daughter, and I permit myself a father’s indulgence.”
Pearl had a sudden insight as to the Dragon’s willingness to make terms. I bet he didn’t want to involve any “civilians” from the start. His tactics show great care to avoid injury to anything but his victims’ memories. I wonder if the other members of his Twelve made this a constraint before he was permitted to come here and attempt whatever it is he is attempting.
Thirteen Orphans Page 32
