Thirteen Orphans

by Jane Lindskold

  “I’ve been underestimating what you’re capable of,” Pearl said.

  “Underestimating?” Nissa said. “I’m not sure about that. I managed to pull off Sparrow’s Sanctuary, and then got myself trapped.”

  “But you pulled the spell off,” Des said, “after a relatively short period of training. This shows a considerable amount of potential. Brenda … Well, Brenda just keeps getting more interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Brenda said. “Des, you say that like it’s a curse. I like being interesting.”

  Pearl thought, I bet you do, my dear, and since I’m currently on your black list for how I have treated handsome Foster, I’m going to leave explaining this to Des.

  “May you live in interesting times …” Des said. “Some say that’s a curse—although not necessarily ancient Chinese, no matter what you’ve heard—because interesting means out of the ordinary.”

  The expression Brenda turned on Des was guarded without being hostile.

  “Why don’t you tell me why I’m ‘interesting’ when Nissa is merely loaded with potential. I don’t see that I did anything she didn’t do—and I certainly didn’t make any worse mistakes.”

  “That’s just it,” Des said. “You did what Nissa did—and you shouldn’t have been able to do so.”

  “I don’t get it,” Brenda admitted. “Why shouldn’t I be able to do what she can? Why shouldn’t I be able to do more? I’ve had more training, and you told us from the start that magical ability isn’t limited to the Thirteen.”

  “Right on all counts,” Des said, “but you did one thing that you should not have been able to do until you are a member of the Thirteen—you manifested a rat. A little rat, true, but a completely useful rat, one whose senses you could employ. As far as I know, this has never happened before.”

  “Oh,” Brenda looked thoughtful. “I saw Nissa’s rabbit, and so I thought about rats. I didn’t really try to do it. I mean, later, I realized I’d trapped myself, and I wanted to figure out a way out of my own trap, but I didn’t think ‘Well, let’s summon up a rat.’ It just happened.”

  “And that is what’s interesting,” Des said. “I can think of no reason why it should have ‘just happened.’”

  “But it was a good thing,” Brenda said. “Right? I mean, it made it possible for me to get back when you called.”

  “I wish I knew” was Des’s cryptic reply. From the way he said it, it was also clear that he wasn’t going to offer more in the way of encouragement. Brenda obviously knew her teacher well enough to read his mood, and stopped pressing for his approval.

  Riprap had been listening intently, quietly working his way through enough potato wedges that Pearl felt a little queasy. Now he interrupted.

  “I think I need to know a little more about what happened there. I mean, I heard what Pearl told Des, but I don’t understand it. What’s this about getting trapped? How could that happen? And turning into hares and rats? Am I likely to turn into a dog?”

  “It’s entirely possible,” Des said, “but not in the way you’re thinking—at least not unless you work on it. It’s late. I’m tired. You’re tired. So I’m going to just touch the basics.”

  Riprap nodded, but there was a stubborn set to his shoulders that said that while he’d take the short version now, he wasn’t going to stop there. Pearl wasn’t surprised. Dogs were persistent. Like so many qualities, it was both a strength and a weakness.

  “Okay, Des,” Riprap said. “Start with this. If I turn into a dog, do I, like, have any choice about it? I mean, I really couldn’t handle being a Pekingese or one of those little fluff dogs. I just couldn’t.”

  Des chuckled. “No worries. I’m not saying there haven’t been Dogs who manifested as Pekes, but you do have some say in what happens—a lot more than you realize, and a lot less.”

  “This is not helping,” Riprap said.

  Des nodded. “Let me back up a bit. None of you have really asked where the dragons you’ve learned to summon live.”

  Nissa said, “I thought that they came from the same place that our ancestors did, that we were tapping the homeland of the Thirteen Orphans. You did say that creatures that we think of as mythological were common there.”

  Brenda nodded. “Me, too. Especially since those dragons were all so, well, Chinese. I mean, I’m part Irish, part German, too. Shouldn’t I get a dragon like the one in Wagner sometimes?”

  Des rubbed his forehead with the side of one hand as if massaging away a headache.

  “Brenda, I’m not even going to get into that right now. Nissa, you’re right and you’re wrong. The spells existed before the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice existed—although perhaps not in precisely these forms. So you’re not summoning from there—you’re summoning from a third place, accessible from both, that touches both here and there.”

  “But what about what you told us?” Riprap said. “About dragons being associated with water—and with wind and rain? That makes it sound like they’re here.”

  “They are,” Des said. “Do you believe in an afterlife? Or a soul?”

  Riprap blinked at him. “I guess. Sure. Maybe not like my mama’s church does, but I know there’s something that’s me that you might call my soul.”

  “Can you find it? Weigh it? Measure it?”

  “No,” Riprap said, nodding as he did so. “And you’re saying that’s the way it is with these dragons?”

  “And with other creatures as well,” Des said. “They don’t need to be material any more than what you might call your soul would show up on an X-ray. Dragons are in the oceans, but no fisherman is going to catch one in his nets—although they did so often enough in legend.”

  “Are we losing the point here?” Riprap said. “I asked about how Brenda or Nissa could get trapped while crafting a spell, about why they turned into animals. What does this have to do with souls?”

  “That’s the part of them that got trapped,” Des said simply. “Brenda and Nissa got so involved in their spells that their souls leaked out into the crafting. Sorcerers often do so intentionally. It’s a technique that makes for very solid creations, but it has some dangerous side effects, even for a skilled spellcaster.”

  Pearl saw Nissa glance over at her, and nodded confirmation.

  “And rats and hares?” Riprap asked. “And dogs?”

  “What shape does a soul have?” Des replied. “Explaining more would take hours and probably only raise more questions for you. Nissa was spellcasting in her role as the Rabbit, so it’s not surprising that her soul took that form. Brenda … I suppose she could simply have thought of herself as a little rat, but there was something there … .”

  Des shrugged. “I’m too tired to work it out now. Is that enough to hold you?”

  Riprap nodded. “For now, coach. For now.”

  Brenda woke the next morning to sunlight streaming between the slats of the blinds that covered her bedroom window and pain racking the inside of her skull that made the worst hangover she’d ever experienced seem like a gentle love tap. With tremendous effort, she managed to get her pillow over her face, blocking out the worst of the light.

  From the bathroom she heard the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up, repeatedly and violently. The sound alone was bad enough, but when a trickle of sour vomit stench drifted her way, Brenda pressed the pillow more tightly over her face, stuffing her head with the light floral scent of the fabric softener.

  She heard the door between her bedroom and the hallway open, then close. Someone was moving around, and in a moment she was aware that the room had gotten darker. She relaxed slightly, heard the toilet flush, and then a spray can being plied. In a moment, a different floral scent blended with that of the fabric softener.

  Funny, Brenda thought, all those novels where you read about kings and queens and exotic perfumes. I bet the corner drugstore has more perfumes than all the caravans of the fabled Indies.

  Brenda knew her geography was muddled, but forming eve
n a partially coherent thought made her feel better. She decided to try another one.

  “Whoos der?” she muttered indistinctly into the pillow. Then she moved the part of the pillow that wasn’t over her eyes and tried again. “Who’s there?”

  “Riprap,” came the deep voice. “And don’t worry. You’re decent. Poor Nissa. She didn’t care if she was decent or not. All she cared about was getting cleaned up.”

  “Whass wrong?” Brenda managed through lips that felt swollen and stiff. “Did yer takeow give us food poisn’?”

  “My understanding,” Riprap said, “is that both of you ladies are suffering from ch’i depletion. Last night, by the time Des intervened, you were running on adrenaline and nothing more. Des hoped all the fatty stuff last night would have given your bodies something to convert to energy. Guess you didn’t eat enough.”

  Brenda thought about it. “Thin’ I was queasy then, already.”

  “Quite possibly,” Riprap replied.

  She could hear him moving about her room, and she guessed he was assuring himself that the sunlight at her window was well and fully blocked. Brenda appreciated his efforts. Right now the least bit of light felt like red-hot daggers being pressed into her eyes.

  “Why din Des warn us?” Brenda asked. “Wooda eaten more.”

  “He says he didn’t want to stress you further. Bad enough what you’d been through without telling you how you might pay for it in a few hours. He says that sometimes the suggestion can trigger the response. He hoped ignorance would be bliss, but no such luck.”

  “Pearl?”

  “She’s still in bed, so tired she looks transparent, but otherwise she’s fine. She says she has you and Nissa to thank for that.”

  “Urggh.”

  “Think you can keep some water down? Des says we can’t risk you getting dehydrated.”

  “Thin’ so.’

  “I’m going to move the pillow, put my arm around you and hold you up just a little. The water’s in one of Lani’s sippie cups.”

  “Urggh.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s clean. No stale fruit juice.”

  “Please, don’t. Jus’ thinkin’ gonna make me sick.”

  “Gotcha, girl. Now, ready?”

  Brenda felt a broad, strong arm effortlessly prop her up. Then the sheltering pillow was removed, and she squished her eyelids tightly shut. Riprap had done a good job, though, and the darkness was as complete as she could wish.

  She felt the plastic edge of the cup against her lips and sucked eagerly. The water was chilled but not cold, and went down well. The cup was removed far too quickly.

  “Hey!” The sound was almost like a baby’s whimper.

  “Let’s see if you keep that much down before giving you more, Brenda. I’ve mopped up enough messes for one morning.”

  “Oh …”

  But Brenda kept both that water down, and what Riprap let her have later. She sank back into sleep, and when she woke this time there was no light glimmering around the edges of the window. From the reduced hum of street noise, Brenda guessed it was night.

  She felt better now, although very thirsty. She propped herself cautiously upright, then swung her feet onto the floor. There was a faint buzz of pain behind her eyes, negligible after what she had experienced earlier. Making her way into the bathroom, she drank several cups of water from the tap, then felt weirdly triumphant when they went down and stayed.

  Brenda listened, and thought she heard a noise from downstairs. For the first time it occurred to her to look at a clock. Eight in the evening. Probably most of the household would still be awake.

  She found clean clothes and padded barefoot down the stairs. Nissa wasn’t present, but Lani was, busy building something elaborate out of wooden blocks, her expression serious. Brenda wondered whether Lani was so quiet because she was worried about her mother, or because she was hoping no one had noticed she was up past her bedtime.

  Riprap was seated at the long table near the kitchen—the same table where the disastrous game of mah-jong had been played the night before. Tonight, however, the tiles were nowhere to be seen. Instead there was a scattering of six-sided dice and a score pad.

  “I’m teaching Foster to play Yahtzee,” Riprap explained. “Seemed safer than mah-jong. How’re you feeling?”

  Brenda considered. “Transparent, like I’m not all here. Otherwise, not bad. Where are the others?”

  “Nissa’s still in bed. Pearl, too. Des brought her a tray, and they’re talking. Foster went into the kitchen for some coffee.”

  As if his name had been a signal, Foster walked in, a big pottery coffee mug in one hand. He gave Brenda a shy smile that made her heart flip-flop.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “Feel better,” she repeated. She looked at Riprap. “What are doctor’s orders in regards to eating?”

  “Des and Pearl say anything dairy is fine. Fresh fruit or veggies are fine. We got about a case of yogurt today. There’s ice cream. You’re to avoid meat. Something to do with the ch’i from dead things.”

  “Yogurt actually sounds good,” Brenda said. “Though why it should, I don’t know.”

  “Guess ch’i depletion isn’t like having the flu,” Riprap said. “Maybe you need all those active little cultures.”

  Foster had been listening, and Brenda thought he perked a little when Riprap mentioned ch’i. Then again, it might have been nothing—or at most a familiar sound in the midst of a babble of the unfamiliar.

  Brenda went and got herself a carton of blueberry yogurt, considered, then stacked one of raspberry on top. She poured herself cold water from a pitcher in the fridge, and carried her meal out to the table. She took a seat a couple down from Riprap and watched the game as she slowly spooned yogurt into her mouth.

  Once again she couldn’t help but notice that Foster was an aggressive player. He took risks, too, more than once going for a five-of-a-kind when he should have tried for a combination that would get him fewer but more certain points. Riprap wasn’t exactly passive, and the two of them played with a great deal of laughing and groaning.

  Eventually, Lani came over to watch, clambering up into the chair between Riprap and Brenda. Not long after, she leaned against Brenda, then drifted into sleep, sliding down so that her head was in Brenda’s lap.

  “Good,” Riprap said. “She had a tough day, poor thing, what with her mom so sick. Moms aren’t supposed to get that sick. Still, Lani was pretty good. Played with me and Foster and let Nissa rest.”

  “Nissa is going to be all right, isn’t she?” Brenda asked anxiously. She’d been so busy concentrating on her own small triumphs in handling the artificial light, and keeping food and water down, that she hadn’t really had much thought to spare for anyone else.

  “Des says so. He says that you both ran yourselves dry and that your bodies rebelled.”

  “Stupid bodies,” Brenda said. “Stopping us from refueling.”

  “As I understand it,” Riprap explained, “it’s more like they stopped you from doing anything that might be more draining. Makes sense in a weird way.”

  Foster had been listening, but as their conversation was in English, he probably didn’t catch much.

  Brenda looked at Riprap. “Any word from Pearl about … y’know, what we asked?”

  Riprap shook his head. “Nothing. Des might push her for an answer, but I didn’t dare. Even worn transparent she’s scary.”

  “I think Pearl counts on that,” Brenda said. “She is an actress, after all. She’d know how to scare even you.”

  “I hadn’t considered that,” Riprap said. “Interesting. One thing I’m sure of, though. She really is worn out. Bonaventure and Amala are stretched out next to her, each to one side of her legs. She doesn’t even have the energy to shoo them away.”

  “I’ll give you that Pearl would be really tired, not just acting,” Brenda said. “I know how I feel.”

  Riprap nodded. “Honestly, I’m a little scared to try a w
orking on that scale now that I’ve seen what the penalties are for playing too rough.”

  He looked embarrassed, and glanced over at sleeping Lani.

  “She looks like she’s out enough that I can carry her upstairs without waking her,” he said. “I need to check on Nissa anyhow, and someone should tell Des and Pearl you’re back on your feet.”

  “Mostly,” Brenda agreed. “I think I want more yogurt. If you take Lani, I can get it before my leg goes to sleep. She’s got a heavy head.”

  Riprap nodded. “Babies do.”

  He slid Lani up easily, and she only stirred to cuddle up against his chest. “I’ll be down in a little.”

  Brenda went and got some more yogurt, peach this time. Riprap hadn’t been joking when he said they’d bought a case. She noticed it was all fruit flavors, though. No chocolate custard or other of the flavors that were meant to make people think they were eating dessert.

  Foster was sitting at the table, sipping his coffee, studying his score sheet. He looked at her when she came in and motioned to the dice.

  “You play? You know?”

  For answer, Brenda slid into the chair across from him and took hold of a dice cup and set of dice. She shook them for emphasis, and then spilled them out onto the table.

  “Who goes first?”

  18

  “Avon calling!”

  Pearl opened her front door to find Gaheris Morris standing on the stoop, his eyes bright and his expression—there was no other word for it—cheeky. He held a briefcase in one hand, and was dressed in a sports shirt and neat trousers, what she knew was his work uniform for casual California.

  “Gaheris!” Pearl stepped forward and embraced her visitor, her mind spinning as she tried to remember where Foster was. Possibly in the family room, possibly out in the garden with Lani. Des had insisted on extending the young man’s parole that far, saying that there was no way the little girl should be expected to stay inside all the time, and with Nissa still weak, they really needed Foster as an extra sitter.

  Pearl had given in with what grace she could. She was still dodging the language question, and this gave Des a small victory. Besides, they did need another sitter. The gardener and the chauffeur had been introduced to Foster as a young cousin from China. She guessed that if Des didn’t get Foster under cover before Gaheris saw him, the same excuse could be used on Gaheris.