Tara Duncan and the Forbidden Book (15 page)

Leaving the embassy, Tara was glad to see Travia's beautifullycolored houses again. Workmen had decorated and painted every wall in the city with bright, cheerful frescoes. Gleaming roofs stood out against the sky, which Tara suddenly realized was
striped.
Astonishingly, the celestial dome above them displayed green, purple, yellow, and blue stripes.

Sparrow glanced up and sighed. “Aunt Titania has been launching new public works again, I see! Pay no attention, Tara. The urge comes over her every so often. She likes to change the color of the sky from time to time, because she thinks blue or black is a little too conventional.”

Cal gave the sky a dubious glance. Then he took a deep breath and relaxed. “Wow! It's nice to be home. I didn't realize how nervous I've been. Let's go to my house. The guards took all my daggers and other weapons, and I feel naked without them.”

Unlike her friends, Sparrow was feeling very tense. The first time she'd picked up
The Forbidden Book,
it seemed almost to writhe in her hands, as if it were alive. This had been so unsettling that she forgot to crawl on her way out, and one of the fire snakes scorched her hair, coming within an inch of killing her. She shivered at the memory. And to think she was now going to have to do that again!

The Travia streets were crowded. Lilliputian fairies flitted here and there, carrying messages, flowers, or pollen. A group of little children on tethers were practicing floating behind a female spellbinder in a blue dress. Tara smiled. It almost looked as if the woman was carrying a big bouquet of children. Trumpets blared whenever a pedestrian took off or landed. Like scoops, the trumpets had wings and carefully watched the busy crowds to warn of takeoffs and landings. The overall effect was deafening. Some spellbinders were riding pegasi, but Tara was surprised to also see one mounted on a large winged bull; people gave its sharp, gleaming horns a wide berth.

As in Tingapore, the city's merchants had hundreds of items for sale. The stands were heaped high with fruits and vegetables, some of which looked unhappy to be there. Delicious southern cantaloops grumbled in their cages. Freshly picked kalornas waved bewildered eye-petals. A kraken that clearly didn't want to wind up on a skewer was trying to climb out of its tank to strangle the krakenmonger. The P'abo imps in the next stall complained loudly about getting splashed. They sold colorful candies, including their famous Soothsucker lollipops. Animated by magic spells, the goodies marched up and down the trays, commanded by bottles of Tzinpaf.

Farther on, two elves were selling bows and arrows next to a dwarf's stall. Robin's weapons had also been confiscated at Omois, and like Cal, he felt naked without them, so he went over to buy a bow. The ones on display had taut bowstrings and were delicately carved from handsome brown wood. Spotting the black streaks in Robin's white hair, one of the elves muttered something and laughed sarcastically. Tara didn't hear what the elf said but the tone was insulting, and she saw Robin stiffen. His status as a half-elf apparently wasn't going unnoticed.

Racists,
thought Tara. 
Even though the universe's races are clearly all equal.
Her grandmother knew how to deal with such people, and Tara decided to copy her attitude. She took out her immuta-cred purse and walked over. Thanks to Sparrow's language spell, she understood the elves' musical inflections perfectly.

“Well, Robin, do these little shopkeepers have anything halfway decent?” she said contemptuously in perfect Elvish. “I don't see why you're bothering. Let's go spend our money with people who know real work!”

“Well said, miss!” roared the dwarf. “Come, see what I've got. My axes and swords are worth any of those spindly toy weapons.”

The second elf, who was about to turn Robin away, glared at the dwarf. “We sell the best bows in OtherWorld,” he said in honeyed accents.

“Oh, really?” snapped Tara. “Not that I can see.”

Robin swallowed hard.

“Eh, take it easy,” he whispered, aghast. “My countrymen can be pretty touchy, and I don't think I can handle two of them at once.”

Tara refused to back off. She and the elf were too busy staring each other down. Her anger was so intense that the living stone sensed it, and her hands began to pulse with blue light. The elf must have felt the girl's power because he suddenly blinked and bowed.

“The weapons here may not suit you,” he said smoothly. “But I think we have something that would be more appropriate for your rank, my lady.”

At a sign, the other elf stepped behind a glittering curtain and emerged with a carved wooden case. He opened it reverently, revealing an extraordinary-looking bow. As white as whaloon milk, it was inlaid with iridescent wood from the Hymlia Mountains. Runes underlined in gold and silver gleamed on the bow's body, and its upper and lower limbs glittered like diamonds. The grip was royal brrraaa horn inlaid with emeralds.

The bow was magnificent—and from the way Robin, Cal, and Sparrow were staring at it, unique.

“This is the bow of Lillandril Steel-Heart, one of our most famous women warriors,” the elf proudly announced, pleased with the impression he'd made. “It was created for her, and it has been searching for a new master ever since her death two thousand years ago. But I must warn you: If you touch the bow and are not the person for whom it is destined, you will be badly burned.”

“I know the legend of Lillandril's bow, and I also know that it would never accept a half-elf,” said Robin with a shrug, “So, don't play games with me. I'll buy a regular bow. That one over there would suit me just fine,” he said, pointing.

Tara could feel Robin's sadness, and it pained her. And then she got an idea.
A magic thing, eh? Let's see if my stone can lend a hand.

Living stone,
she called mentally.
Can you feel the magic in the bow before me?

Bow?
The stone had no idea what a bow was, of course.

Sorry. Look at the picture in my mind.
Through Tara's eyes, the living stone could see the bow in its case.

Hmpf, not powerful,
the stone whispered, mentally gauging the shiny weapon.
Not like me! But I understand when it talks.

Ask it if it is bored.

A bit surprised, the living stone complied.

Yes, bored,
she said with a sigh.
Like me before beautiful Tara, pretty Tara, came search me under black roses.

Perfect,
thought Tara, smiling at the extravagant compliments.
Tell the bow that the next person to touch it will give it more adventures than it ever had with Lillandril. And that it must not burn him.

After a few seconds, the stone replied.
Lillandril put spell. Little bow not able to lift spell all alone.

Really? You mean it burns everyone? That it actually can't choose a new master?

Yes. Lillandril put spell just to protect bow. Only she can touch it. But pfft!—sudden death.

In an ambush?

Fish bone,
the bow answered through the stone.
Lodge in throat. Drop dead. But just before big battle, so elves say she die fighting. Fish bone less glorious.

Tara repressed a mental chuckle.

I see. Living stone, can you neutralize the spell?

Hmpf,
answered the stone with a touch of contempt.
You give your magic to help?

I give,
confirmed Tara.

Then easy!

The living stone seized Tara's power and combined it with her own. An invisible tendril discreetly reached out and probed the bow, then withdrew.

Done!
the voice in Tara's mind shouted with satisfaction.

“Robin?” said Tara aloud.

“Yes?”

“Pick up the bow.”

“But—”

“Don't argue, just pick it up. Trust me.”

With a mocking smile, the elf held the case out to him. Robin hesitantly reached in and touched the bow's grip. When nothing happened, he seized the bow and took it from the case.

The elf's eyes almost popped out of his head. “By Jeduril and Brandmaril, it didn't burn him! That's impossible!”

Robin's grin was so wide, it practically took up all his face.

“It's fantastic,” he said in a tone of wonder, gently stroking the gleaming wood. “So powerful and yet so light!”

The two elves had lost all their arrogance and were now looking at Robin as if he had grown a second head. Then, with a visible effort, they pulled themselves together.

“With arrows, the bow costs a thousand gold immuta-credits,” one announced.

Yikes! A thousand credits!
Tara had all of forty-five in her purse. Disappointment was sweeping over her when Sparrow stepped forward.

“Hold on a second!” she shouted. “I know the legend of Lillandril's magic bow too. And I know that the legend says the bow can't be sold, only given to the person brave enough to seize it. Which is what my friend just did. So don't try to jerk us around, or I'll complain to the High Council of Elves.”

The annoyed arms dealers bent their heads.

“Oh, all right,” grumbled the first. “Go ahead and take it. And be sure to tell the High Council that we
gave
it to you.”

“Perfect!” said Tara, snatching up the arrows and ornate quiver that went with the bow. “It's a pleasure doing business with you.”

At his stall next door, the dwarf was hooting with laughter.

“Ha, ha, ha! Looks like our little elves outsmarted themselves! They went fishing for puffer sardines but caught a slasher shark instead! Well done, miss. That was a sight worth seeing. As a token of my appreciation, please accept this dagger as a gift. Its name is Needle. Take good care of it. It doesn't have any magic, but it won't bend and it won't break. See you again sometime, girl. May your hammer ring clear.”

Before Tara could protest the dwarf's sudden generosity—or respond with the polite, “May your anvil resound”—he had already turned away to serve other customers.

The friends walked for several blocks before Robin began to emerge from his wonderment. He was so distracted that he kept treading on Sparrow's heels.

“He's just like Fabrice with Barune,” she said sarcastically. “Hey, would you mind looking where you're going, please? You'll have all the time in the world to get to know your new toy.”

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” said Robin for the thousandth time. “Gorgeous,” answered Sparrow, also for the thousandth time. “Oh, Tara, look! That girl's wearing a copy of your glyph on her neck.”

The young shopper's neckline was low enough to reveal a shiny ornament at her throat. But it was a poor copy of the gift that the colors had given Tara in Limbo when she freed them from the Demon King. When Tara didn't keep it discreetly covered, her throat displayed a wild, baroque jewel that combined ebony, diamond, emerald, sapphire, and ruby.

As they walked, Tara began to pay more attention to the crowd. The fashion in OtherWorld was no fashion at all, she noticed. Since anyone could create whatever outfit they wanted and magic allowed every extravagance, the resulting spectacle was fascinating. There were lots of feathers, furs, and leathers of every color, plus materials she couldn't identify, probably made from the silk or spit of some exotic animal. Tailors and dressmakers only worked for the nonspells, who could be distinguished from spellbinders by their relatively sober clothing.

Sparrow pointed out a fat woman who ambled along wrapped in a kind of living dress created by a swarm of tiny brilliant balls. Another woman showed off her beautiful body thanks to lengths of muslin tossed about by a breeze she generated herself. One bystander, completely covered in purple feathers, was chatting with another whose body was encased in a shiny black carapace.

Gradually, the crowd began to thin. Cal led them through a maze of streets to an attractive house hidden behind a thick hedge of bushes that clicked their thorns at them. The bushes parted when Cal put his hands on them, but he grimaced as the thorns pricked his skin.

Suddenly Sparrow screamed and instinctively shifted into beast shape. Before her stood a monster with seven heads, each one hissing with bared teeth. Tara summoned her power and Robin nocked an arrow to his bow. But Cal stepped ahead of them, walking straight toward the drooling maws.

The monster bent down as if to swallow him, but let itself fall to the ground at Cal's feet with an earth-shaking
boom!
and rolled over on its back, yelping happily.

“Yes, Toto, it's me! How's my big boy? I've missed you!” Cal continued in this affectionate vein as he scratched around the eyes of every head he could reach.

“Toto?” exclaimed Tara incredulously. “You call this thing
Toto
?”

“Well, yeah,” said Cal, sounding a little embarrassed. “My parents gave it to me for my third birthday. At the time, Toto seemed like a nice name.”

“It's a hydra!” cried Sparrow, who was trying to get her heartbeat down from the stratosphere. She shifted back into human shape and her robe groaned as it regained its normal dimensions. “I thought hydras weren't allowed in the city.”

“Mom has a special dispensation because she often keeps valuables at home,” he said. Then to the hydra: “Go ahead and smell them, Toto. You can let them in; they're friends.”

When a head as big as Tara swung over to delicately sniff her, she almost choked. Rising from the monster's armored, olive-green body were seven black heads with seven pink, wet tongues, and Tara knew some Doberman pinschers who would envy their teeth.

“Next time, Cal, please warn me!” said Robin in a friendly way, as he released the tension on his bow. “Your Toto nearly took seven arrows in its throats.”

“Er, I'm really sorry,” said Cal, who of course had done it deliberately, having forgotten that his friend was once again armed and on edge.