“Very good,” Albert said. “Aunt Pearl is sleeping now, but I’ll tell her what you said.”
“Thanks, Albert.”
The connection went dead, but Brenda stood there for a while, staring at her phone.
Shannon called softly, “Something wrong?”
“A little,” Brenda said, sliding the phone back into her purse. “My mentor was in an accident. She’ll be okay. Someone called to let me know in case I saw something on the news or on the Web and got worried.”
“That’s right,” Shannon said with a sort of reflected pride, “she’s sort of famous, isn’t she?”
“Pearl would be the last person to think so,” Brenda said. “I bet this won’t even make a small line in entertainment news.”
“Still,” Dermott said. “It’s good to be careful. You would have gotten a nasty shock.”
“Yes,” Parnell agreed, and Brenda had the feeling he was talking about something quite different than merely getting startled by reading the information that a friend had been in an accident. “It’s good to be careful. Very wise indeed.”
The scouting party pressed hard, covering the distance between the lake where they had encountered Li of the Iron Crutch and the Lands side of the Ninth Gate in three and a half days.
“I’m always amazed,” Des said, dismounting stiffly from Nine Ducks’s back and stretching, hands on hips to work the kinks out of his back, “by how much faster any return journey seems.”
Flying Claw, who had been acting as their group’s cartographer, slid from Loyal Wind’s saddle and laughed.
“Is that a sly criticism,” he said, “of my desire to stop every few li and make accurate notes?”
“Not in the least,” Des said, “but I’ll admit I was relieved you didn’t decide to do so on our return trip.”
“I almost wish we had stopped to check the maps,” Flying Claw said. “I am certain we traveled further on the way out than we did upon our return.”
“We did,” Copper Gong said, a trace tartly. Her acerbic temperament had not been improved by more than a week with the Monkey on her back. She had all but thrown Bent Bamboo in her eagerness to return to her human form.
“Side to side, over to that ridge to check a rock formation that looks like a palace, but turns out to be a heap of unusually shaped boulders. Sending Bent Bamboo up the nearest tall tree to view the land from above, having Gentle Smoke probe in tight areas to see if we must go around or if we can widen the trail. Widening the trail only to find we must go around in any case because the gorge is blocked half a li further in.”
“Deviate a fraction and you lose a thousand miles,” quoted Gentle Smoke, who had returned from her snake form and was now tucking loose ends of her elaborate two-bun hairstyle into order. “I agree with you, Flying Claw. I also thought the return journey was shorter than even our taking the most direct route could account for.”
Riprap, who had been rebalancing the packs Nine Ducks carried, glanced over at Loyal Wind.
“You didn’t do anything to speed us along, did you? Like the trick you worked with running on the winds when we traveled to the Nine Yellow Springs?”
“I did not,” Loyal Wind assured him. “I was only able to manage that because of the unusual nature of our mounts.”
Bent Bamboo, also returned to his human form, scratched his head in a very monkeylike gesture. “If we’re all ready, why don’t we start back? The others will surely be worrying. We haven’t communicated with anyone for several days.”
Des frowned. “Because of static or something very like it. You’re right. Let’s get a move on before we meet a rescue party coming the other way.”
Their progress through the Nine Gates went as smoothly as could be desired. In the warehouse that held the First Gate, Nine Ducks and Loyal Wind again resumed their human forms.
They left some of the gear—tents, bedrolls, and the like—spread to air in the warehouse and loaded the rest into the van. Des pulled out his cell phone. “It’s getting on to evening. How about I call Pearl and see if she wants to meet us at Colm Lodge? We can pick up some takeout along the way, and brief everyone at once.
“Takeout,” Bent Bamboo agreed enthusiastically. “Pepperoni pizza. Hold the cheese.”
Loyal Wind noticed how Des’s expression, cheerful when he greeted Pearl, grew suddenly sober.
“That doesn’t sound good. We’ll come there, then. Right. Be there in not too long.”
He tucked the cell phone back into his pocket.
“Pearl wouldn’t go into details, but apparently things here didn’t stay quiet. Something happened a couple of days ago. On the good side, Righteous
Drum and Honey Dream are over at Pearl’s house, as is Albert, so we’re going there.”
“Did she say . . .” Riprap began. “No, of course she didn’t. This is Pearl. We’re all packed. Let’s get going.”
The van pulled up in front of Pearl’s house in what Riprap commented was something like record time.
“Our luck must be in,” he said, sliding open the door to the van and helping Nine Ducks out. “You were going at least ten miles over the speed limit the whole way back.”
“Irrational, I know,” Des said sheepishly, “but I couldn’t help myself. I’ll show my infinite self-restraint by taking the van around to the garage. Meet you all inside.”
When Honey Dream answered the door, Loyal Wind noted that although she was dressed in contemporary clothing, she wore her snake fang dagger at her waist.
“Come in,” Honey Dream said, opening the door very wide and making shooing gestures as if they were a flock of chickens. “You are all well?”
“All,” Flying Claw reassured her. “Des has taken the van around to the garage, but it was easier to unload people out here. Are you well? Your father?”
“We are well. Even Pearl is well, although it was a near thing. Come. We’re all sitting in the family room. I have made tea, and Albert has made something called tuna salad.”
They were greeted by Pearl, who looked quite pale, even as she assured them that in a day or two she would be “right as rain,” and added, “I lost a lot of ch’i fighting that monster, and I’m a bit slow gaining it back.”
Righteous Drum rose to greet them, and from how he moved and helped with pouring tea, Loyal Wind could guess that he had been working long hours and practicing using his remaining arm.
This is not one who will be content to let others fight his battles much longer, Loyal Wind thought with admiration.
Over tuna salad sandwiches, potato chips—a delicacy Loyal Wind had already decided was excuse enough for returning from the dead—and various drinks, Pearl, assisted by Albert, related what had happened to her three and a half days before, including the fact that the incident had left the various indigenous magical traditions more anxious than ever for resolution of the question of what dangers might emerge from the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice.
Albert said, “Of course some are insisting they be permitted to ‘assist’ us in our efforts.”
“Franklin Deng, I bet,” Des cut in.
Albert nodded. “No takers. Others are less eager to intrude in our feuds, especially after I pointed out that Chinese magic is rather specialized, and does not abide by the rules most of those who have studied within Western magical traditions would know.”
“No spirit closely affiliated with metal,” Honey Dream said as smugly as if she had invented the idea, “in a culture that does not recognize metal as an element—a culture in which many magical traditions abhor iron.”
“So the members of the indigenous traditions are still arguing among themselves,” Albert said. “They will have noted your return. Eventually, I will need to tell them something—if for no other reason than to keep them from speculating.”
Pearl added, “One good thing has come from this mess. Nissa is telling her sisters that I have had a mild heart attack. They’re good-hearted young women. Their protests regarding Nissa a
nd Lani moving here melted into nothing when she presented to them the specter of an ailing old woman living alone in a big house. She’ll be back within a week or so.”
Nine Ducks said, “Do you have any idea how the attack on Pearl was done? Are you certain it was from the Lands?”
“We are fairly certain,” Righteous Drum said, “that the hsien was closer akin to those of the Lands than to here—a summoning, therefore. However, we are still at a loss to explain how the summoning was worked. I have examined Pearl’s car, but whoever set the trap was clever. The activation of the summoning was done in such a way as to destroy any physical traces of the spell itself.”
Riprap pursed his lips. “Like the way wiping fingerprints leaves a smudge that tells you there were prints there, but you don’t have the prints.”
Righteous Drum looked somewhat puzzled by this analogy, but Albert nodded crisply.
“Precisely. We know a spell was set on the car, and we know that the person who did so expected someone to look for a trace.”
“That’s not much,” Riprap said dissatisfied.
“It is quite a bit,” Albert countered. “It shows that Pearl’s attacker knew magic might be suspected—that we wouldn’t simply dismiss this as a tired woman who has been under a great deal of stress having a heart attack at the wheel.”
“Thank you,” Pearl said, “for omitting the ‘old.’ Honestly, I do feel as if I’ve had a heart attack—based on how I’ve heard the after-effects described. I’m willing to bet ‘heart attack’ is what a medical examiner would have ruled.”
“You don’t think Deng was responsible?” Riprap asked, his big fists clasping and unclasping. “Trying to get an ‘in’ with us by charging to Pearl’s rescue?”
“Of that,” Albert said, “I am fairly certain.”
“Fairly.”
“Nothing in this world is certain,” Albert said in a tone that closed that topic. “Let’s move on to what brought you back.”
Loyal Wind said, “Go ahead, Des. Tell him. We will help if you forget anything.”
Des emptied his teacup, then launched into an account of their meeting with Li of the Iron Crutch.
“We think,” Des concluded, “that it’s possible that all the humans are within that central area.”
“If,” Copper Gong said darkly, “they are anywhere at all.”
“I prefer,” Gentle Smoke chided, “to believe they are.”
Righteous Drum leaned back in his chair, but Loyal Wind could see that he longed for action.
“My daughter and I will not give up hope of finding our family. Do you intend to try and learn what is within that series of barriers?”
Des nodded. “Yes. The barriers seem to be oriented around the five elements—incredibly extreme examples of each one. If we’re to get through, we’re going to need the means to either resist or adapt to each one.”
“As the dragon Li T’ieh Kuai told you about could breathe water,” Honey Dream agreed, “and so was less troubled by the wall of water. My father and I have spent many of the last several days writing down various spells we thought would be useful in the future.”
“And,” Albert said, “we have a fairly wide array of amulet bracelets stored upstairs. Before she left for Virginia, Nissa made at least one a day.”
“We can’t strip you of your defenses,” Nine Ducks objected, “especially not after what happened to Pearl.”
“Even so,” Pearl said firmly, “we can spare some.”
Flying Claw reached out and grasped Pearl’s hand firmly. “Thank you, Aunt. We will accept your generosity, but several of us have decided that we should also prepare to deal with these challenges in a nonmagical fashion.”
Loyal Wind felt he should speak up, for the Horse is a commander of troops, and well studied in tactics. “As we made our return journey, Flying Claw and I discussed what we might encounter. We speculated that if we were the ones who had somehow banished a collection of the most magical creatures in the Lands—as hsien tend to be—then we would not rely solely upon magical barriers to keep them out.”
Flying Claw cut in, enthusiasm coloring his words. “If it were me, I’d find a way to create areas where magic wouldn’t work or where ch’i was hard to gather.”
Loyal Wind nodded. “I agree. If you know your enemy has many archers, see if you can summon a wind. Riprap and Des had several good suggestions.”
Riprap took over. “We’ll bring gear from here, things that aren’t in the least magical, but might help us to overcome the various obstacles. Little things, like padded footwear for crossing the hard stone of the petrified forest. Bigger things, like waterproofing—maybe even oxygen tanks—for getting through that waterfall.”
“We tested,” Des said, “and in the Lands, as in the guardian domains, electronics and elaborate mechanical engines don’t seem to work. However, simpler mechanics do work. Artificially made fabrics retain their qualities. My nylon tent handled a drenching downpour just as well as it would here.”
“I like your plan,” Albert said. “You might have to make several trips once you learn what is beyond the fire barrier. ‘Metal’ might be represented by a wall or a sea of molten iron or something else entirely. Still, you can plan for what you’ll need to cross the petrified forest and get through the waterfall. Getting across those burning coals, though . . .”
“That might take magic,” Des admitted, “but I was wondering what would happen if we diverted some of that water into the coals. Hoses. Siphons.”
“I like it,” Albert repeated. “I’ve my laptop in the front hall. If everyone is refreshed, we’ll start planning.”
Loyal Wind watched as everyone—except for Pearl, who asked Riprap to turn her easy chair to face the table—took seats around the long table. Honey Dream had a list of the spells she and her father had been working on, and Riprap ran upstairs to make a quick catalog of amulet bracelets.
Voices rang out, quick and eager, the five ghosts contributing as much as the living.
What odd perspectives we bring to this battle, Loyal Wind thought, feeling a surge of pride. The thoughts of the living and the dead. Experience in peace and war spanning many minds and more than a hundred and fifty years. The strange technological lore of the Land of the Burning combined with the magics not only of the Lands but those which the Orphans developed in their exile. I will admit that, like Copper Gong, I had begun to lose hope, but now . . .
If I did not wish to be guilty of overconfidence, I might even pity our opponents.
Then Loyal Wind looked at where Pearl sat pale and wan enfolded in the hold of her bulky chair and revised his opinion.
No. Never pity. Those who hunt tigers must expect to be bitten. Our enemies will be awaiting our return.
Brenda called Pearl daily after Albert’s report of Pearl’s “accident.” She was reassured that other than massive ch’i depletion and a few minor cuts, Pearl was doing well. Pearl also told Brenda that the scouts had returned from their “camping trip” and had made some adjustments to their gear before returning to the Lands.
Brenda wanted to know more, but knew that Pearl would not say more over the phone. Gaheris Morris was even less help, but he did add that the scouts had been in San Jose for a couple of days before they had departed once again for the Lands.
He also made it very clear—in the nicest way possible—that what the scouts or the Orphans were doing was no longer any of Brenda’s business.
“Study hard, Breni. Figure out what you want to major in. You’ve done your part and more.”
So Brenda tried to distract herself, hanging out with Shannon (with and without the increasingly omnipresent Dermott), meeting up with other friends, buying textbooks, going to her first few classes. Even a few days gave her the distinct feeling that sophomore year, with its pressure to settle on a major, was going to be different from freshman year.
Then there was Parnell. The Irish transfer student had soothed Dermott’s bruised ego sufficiently tha
t the two had become buddies. They would often arrive at Brenda and Shannon’s room together. Since there always seemed to be a point where Shannon (or Dermott) would “suddenly” remember an appointment or something that had been forgotten or simply get lost in the sort of private gooey talk that makes everyone but the participants nauseated, Brenda found herself more and more often in Parnell’s company.
Not all that much time had passed since their initial meeting, but Brenda was beginning to feel Parnell had potential to be a real friend. She wondered if he might want to be a bit more.
Parnell claimed to have kissed the Blarney stone—repeatedly—and the way he said this gave the impression that the stone in question had been quite enthusiastic about their osculatory interludes. Despite his gift of gab, Parnell was very good at encouraging thoughtful conversation, above and beyond the jokes and quips most guys his age thought passed for wit.
It didn’t hurt that Parnell was handsome, with his dark honey surfer boy locks and brilliant green eyes, nor that Flying Claw had been “home” and apparently hadn’t bothered to leave her a message.
Surely Flying Claw has figured out how to use a cell phone by now. Surely he could have found time to call if he was in San Jose for several days. I wonder if Honey Dream is working on him again. Of course she is! I wonder if he minds. . . .
It didn’t hurt that, when Brenda was in Parnell’s company, Brenda found herself on the receiving end of some more or less covertly envious glances.
Most of all, it didn’t hurt that wherever Parnell had been brought up, dating was still practiced. Dermott hung around Shannon looking hopeful and possessive—and his behavior was a huge step up from the majority of guys who seemed glad to take advantage of those times when a girl was in the vicinity, but who didn’t make much effort to maintain a relationship.
Parnell, by contrast, could be positively courtly. He had the gift for opening doors without making the action seem like he thought Brenda was too stupid to figure out a door latch. He’d treat her to coffee or lunch—and was gracious when she returned the favor. He even brought her flowers once. Wild flowers, true, picked from a landscaped median strip, but the first time any guy had brought her flowers.
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