Nine Gates (2 page)

Des’s first name was actually “Desperate” and his appearance was as odd as his given name. Taller than average, lean without being gawky, Des wore both his hair and beard in a fashion that emphasized his ethnic Chinese heritage. His shining black hair was worn in a long queue. His forehead was shaved in a fashion common when both the expansion of the railroads and the California gold rush had drawn Chinese to the United States in record numbers. His long chin beard and wispy mustache emphasized his high cheekbones and beautifully sculptured features.

However, Righteous Drum’s choice of Des as a sparring partner had little to do with Des’s odd appearance. Righteous Drum wanted to see how Des could use the Rooster’s Talons, the odd weapons Des had inherited from his grandmother, to parry thrown spells. Des had been more than happy to oblige, although it was pretty clear that Des intended to get Righteous Drum to show him a trick or two in exchange.

Flying Claw and Riprap were sparring even before the
warm-up was formally finished. Waking Lizard, the long-bodied, lean-limbed Monkey, had insisted that Honey Dream begin with him because they could spar spell-to-spell, and Waking Lizard was still stiff from the injuries he had acquired in the course of his narrow escape from the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice.

That left Brenda to practice with Pearl Bright. On the surface, this should not have been a problem. After all, Brenda was nineteen to Pearl’s seventy-some years. Brenda had played both volleyball and soccer right up through high school, and although she hadn’t joined a team in college, she had remained active. Pearl didn’t belong to a gym or even have a treadmill in her house.

But although Pearl’s hair was silver and her skin had its share of honestly earned lines and wrinkles, Pearl Bright was far from the classic “little old lady.” Her daily routine included tai chi and sword drills that kept her both active and supple. Next to the older woman, Brenda—lean, almost skinny—felt coltish.

Brenda had known Pearl all her life, but only a month and a half had passed since Brenda had learned why “Auntie” Pearl was such a good friend of the Morris family.

This knowledge had made Pearl—already a bit intimidating in her role as exotic former movie star—no less a figure of awe. Moreover, being knocked on her butt by a woman in her late seventies was not something Brenda looked forward to. It was going to finish the humiliation Honey Dream had begun pretty thoroughly.

However, from the moment Pearl said, “When I give the word, cast a Dragon’s Tail as fast as you can. I’m coming at you, and if you don’t have the spell up…” Brenda had lacked attention to worry about anything but Pearl.

Pearl hefted Treaty, her elegant long sword, to emphasize the command. Brenda shivered. She didn’t think Pearl would cut her, but Brenda bet the flat of the blade would hurt a lot—even through her clothes.

“Now!” Pearl said. She didn’t raise her voice a bit, but such was the force of her personality that the command came across with the force of a shout.

Brenda moved her right hand to her left wrist, slipping off in one swift motion one of the three amulet bracelets there. She didn’t pause to check the spell since Des, who was her teacher, had insisted that all “left wrist” castings be defense.

Brenda knew she’d get yelled at if she cast something other than the Dragon’s Tail Pearl had specified, but that blade was coming at her way too fast, and nothing mattered but getting something between her and that silvery grey length of steel.

Brenda snapped the amulet against the ground, exploding the bits of polymer clay as much with the force of her will as by any physical act. Treaty was coming at her, but when it landed, the translucent greenish-brown of the Dragon’s Tail was between Brenda and the sword’s impact.

Pearl grinned, a ferocious rather than joyful expression, and shifted her grip. “Now! Stop me!”

Brenda fumbled for an amulet bracelet from her right wrist. Her left hand was much more clumsy than her right had been—Des had been after her to practice. Then Pearl suddenly wheeled, moving with a speed and grace that spoke of skills honed until the motions were ingrained into muscle memory.

Treaty wheeled with its wielder, the swing intended for Brenda moving, shifting so that the blade hit edge-on. The first Brenda saw of the man who had been coming to attack Pearl was his head sailing off his shoulders and his body stumbling back, the sword with which he had intended to kill Pearl dropping to the ground.

There was screaming all around. A man was running in Brenda’s direction, but before he could get close, Flying Claw had intercepted him. Two or three strikes were exchanged, blade-to-blade and—Brenda suspected from the little flashes of light she more sensed than saw—spell-to-spell.

Brenda glanced down at the amulet bracelet in her hand.
Dragon’s Fire. Not bad, but she needed to get closer to a target to use it. She looked wildly around, trying to figure out what was going on.

Righteous Drum was on the ground. There seemed to be a lot of blood. Honey Dream was protecting him.

Across the field, Waking Lizard lay on the ground, too, ominously still, but Brenda couldn’t see very clearly what was wrong because there was too much activity closer in.

She wouldn’t have been able to see at all, but there were several fallen—she suspected dead—bodies where Flying Claw had been standing when he and Riprap had begun their sparring. Flying Claw was aiding Riprap now, and Brenda turned her head away, sickened as Flying Claw—his handsome face ugly now with battle fever—cut a man nearly in two.

Brenda realized that the man would probably have killed Riprap if Flying Claw hadn’t been there, but blood was all over and the expression on the man’s face as he had fallen had mingled horrible pain and something like innocent surprise.

Brenda felt rather than saw Pearl racing past her, that motion her first realization of her own immediate danger.

A man had detached himself from the group attacking Riprap—probably figuring he had a better chance with the old woman and the young than the unholy terrors the men were proving to be.

His sword cut had been well aimed, sliding through the coils of the Dragon’s Tail that still protected Brenda. Had it not been for the odd angle he had been forced to use, he probably would have cut her through the middle. As it was she took a long slice through her tee shirt into the skin of her belly.

Then Brenda’s attacker turned to give fuller attention to Pearl. She cut at him, Treaty’s blade meeting some resistance. The ferocity of her attack drove him back toward Brenda.

Brenda caught her breath, too startled at the sensation of her own blood running over her skin, soaking her clothing,
to feel any real pain. The Dragon’s Breath amulet was in her hand. With sudden wrath she smashed it down.

When Brenda extended her palm, a gout of flame, reddish-orange, white-hot around the edges, came forth. Her assailant had been wearing some sort of protective spell, but it must have been weakened by Pearl’s assault because some of Brenda’s flame eddied through, catching the hair of his eyebrows alight.

The man screamed, and dropped his sword to clap his hands to his eyes. This smothered the flame, but exposed the back of his neck.

Brenda saw Pearl pause in momentary consideration, use a fleeting glance to examine the quieting field, then spin Treaty around in her hand to strike the man hard on the back of his neck with the sword’s hilt. He crumpled, but Brenda thought he might be unconscious rather than dead.

Pearl looked at Brenda.

“Serious?” she asked, indicating Brenda’s belly.

“I don’t think so,” Brenda began, but Pearl had nodded and was jogging toward the other side of the field. “Wrap it,” she called back. Then, “Des! I need you.”

Later
, Pearl thought,
I must tell Brenda she did very well, but first to make sure there is a later.

Des had come in response to her call. His assailants were down, and Pearl thought at least a couple might be alive. The same probably couldn’t be said for those whom Flying Claw, Riprap, and Honey Dream had dealt with. Flying Claw and Riprap were still engaged. Honey Dream was kneeling next to her father, working over the stump of his arm.

The arm itself lay to one side, oddly shriveled, and Pearl wondered at the force and malice of the blow that had detached it. She could spare little thought for that, for Des was trotting over in response to her summons.

He moved easily, so it was likely that most of the blood that splattered him belonged to his opponents. It had been
very good luck that the attack had come when they had all been not only armed, but wearing at least moderate protective spells.

Or was it merely luck?
Pearl wondered.
If Waking Lizard lives …

The old man—he had admitted to being eighty, making him older even than herself—lay contorted on the grass. His eyes were wide and staring, but completely unseeing. His mouth gaped open, and Pearl could see the marks of footprints on his tongue.

“We need to do a sealing,” Pearl said to Des. “Righteous Drum realized what was happening almost at once, but our enemies anticipated he would and took precautions to stop him.”

“They didn’t kill him,” Des said. “But then they wouldn’t, not until they had a chance to question him. What shall we try?”

“Is Waking Lizard alive?”

Des knelt, checked for a pulse. “He is. Weak, but alive. His ch’i is dangerously diminished.”

“Then we can’t use any destructive spells in case we kill him as well.”

She paused for thought, aware that the sounds of battle from behind were diminishing. They were safe for at least a few minutes.

“Red Coral as a barrier,” she suggested. “Confused Gates to distract. That should stop them for a while. After we’ve talked to Waking Lizard, we’ll know better what to do.”

“Do you have the ch’i?” Des asked. “I had to use quite a few spells.”

“I do,” Pearl said. “Treaty did most of my work for me.”

“Auntie Pearl?”

Brenda Morris had come up to join them, her dark brown eyes serious and intent. She’d taken off her long-sleeved tee shirt and used it to bind her middle. The black sports bra she’d worn beneath was more than modest enough, but she still looked embarrassed.

“Pearl,” Brenda repeated. “I only threw a couple of amulets. My ch’i’s intact. Let me help.”

There was as much plea as offer in the words, and Pearl knew not to reject her.

“Can you remember Knitting without a crib?”

Brenda nodded. “I’ve got that one cold—especially if you don’t insist on my using the character suit.”

She managed a weak grin, and Pearl mentally applauded her. Of the three mah-jong suits that formed the symbolic basis of the Thirteen Orphans’ magic, Brenda had the most trouble with characters.

“Actually,” Pearl said, “in this case bamboo and dots would be best.”

“Bamboo for strength and flexibility,” Brenda said, folding herself down so that she could lean against a nearby tree. “And dots?”

“Because you find them easiest,” Pearl said. “Thank you. I’ll be glad for your help. Does your wound hurt too much?”

“Not right now,” Brenda said. “I’ve got it wrapped so it doesn’t pull.”

Pearl looked at Des. “Since I have Brenda’s help, why don’t you go and secure our prisoners? I believe we have a few. See if Honey Dream needs help with her father.”

“Flying Claw is with her,” Des said. “I’m going to reinforce our security spells. If they hadn’t been up to make sure no one noticed our peculiar ‘exercise,’ we’d already have had representatives of every police force in the city, state, and county here.”

“Good,” Pearl said. “You’re right. We’re going to need time to mop up. Thanks.”

Des paused long enough to give Brenda a squeeze on one shoulder, then went. Pearl heard him talking to Riprap. Then she tuned him out. Des was far more solid and competent than his rather odd appearance would lead most to think. He’d handle his part. Time for her to do hers.

“Ready?” she said to Brenda.

Brenda nodded. “I’ve got it set. Give the word.”

“Very well,” Pearl said. She paused, worked up the sequence of Red Dragons and characters that made up the twisting lines of Red Coral, then nodded. “Knit.”