The Curse of Arkady (4 page)

“Here, here!” cried Eleanora softly. Lace framed her face and the dark ringlets of hair about it, although tiny dark circles of fatigue outlined her eyes. Her musician's hands were folded gracefully upon the table.

Dr. Anita Patel, however, shook her head sadly. “We found too many. More than we can train or protect. When we disassembled the camp, we had to take their crystals and the memories of all but this handful. We had good intentions and not nearly enough resources to do what we wanted to. This is a disservice. I, for one, am not in favor of moving forward on the Academy. Not yet. It is too soon.”

“What?” Her words brought Gavan leaping to his feet. “You can't mean that! I'll sit here all day and listen to bantering about quills versus ballpoint pens when writing out spells and incantations, but I will not argue about whether the Academy goes forward. It has to. There is no other way!”

“SILENCE!” roared Aunt Freyah, as she brought down her gavel sharply. “Points of order, ladies and gentlemen! You are all out of turn except for Master Crowfeather here!” Her dark eyes snapped, and the soft halo of her silvery hair fairly shimmered in her anger. “Shall we keep to parliamentary rules of procedure?” Her voice rose with every word.

Wincing, Gavan seated himself. He folded his arms across his chest and hoped he did not look as if he were sulking.

That he did not succeed was obvious when Aunt Freyah rapped the table sharply again, shattering his thoughts.

“Ow!” He sank back and looked at her reproachfully.

She twirled the gavel in her veined hands. “And we will keep to our seats at all times! We are not heathens, nor is this a brawl.”

He looked at her. “It will be a brawl if it comes to a fight over the Academy, Auntie. There is not a Magicker alive who can stop me from opening its doors to take in our future and see that training is done properly.” He rubbed his brow that now rang from her fervor to restore order as well as the headache he'd developed from Allenby's speech-making.

“I don't think that's really the question at the moment, Gavan,” Eleanora said quietly. “We'll have a school open, but will there be any students who will be able to attend?”

“Preeeeecisely,” said Allenby.

She curved her lips into a smile. “Without warnings such as Tomaz sent out, there can't be. Even with warnings, we have to face issues like Jonnard.” Her face paled at the mention of the traitor who had nearly sabotaged all their efforts.

Tomaz tapped his turquoise-and-silver watchband. “We have not been able to track him. He hasn't gone back to his home, and traces there of him seem to have vanished.” He gave a rueful expression. “Computers are remarkably easy to hack, it appears.”

“He was trained for nearly a year before camp opened. Anita, you recruited him, didn't you?” Soft, accented words from Isabella Ruelle who sat quietly near the table's end, her dark blonde hair pulled back from a face dominated by a hawklike nose, marring beauty into handsomeness. She wore a lacy mantilla about her shoulders, her dress of deep maroon brocade both contemporary and stylish and yet speaking of her Spanish heritage. She was seldom seen outside of Europe since the awakening, and Gavan knew he ought to be pleased by her attendance.

He was not. Despite her soft voice, Isabella trained the Leucators, the inner force of the Magickers that bore a resemblance to the Inquisition, and Gavan was prepared to swear Isabella enjoyed it.

The East Indian doctor nodded slowly. She adjusted her sari about her slender figure, and the belled anklet she wore from time to time chimed slightly. She had a tattooed bracelet of henna about one wrist that she glanced at before speaking. “Yes, myself and Hercule Fizziwig. He seemed a raw but likely candidate. He had a lot of charm. I can hardly believe . . . well, as it appears now, he recruited us.”

“Where is Fizziwig anyway?” Gavan pondered.

Freyah looked about the table, waggling the gavel in her hands. “Let's see . . . he . . .” She scrunched her face up. “Ah, yes. He went off to celebrate Cinco de Mayo.”

Concern ran around the conference table except for Tomaz Crowfeather, who turned in his chair to look at Aunt Freyah. “That,” he said flatly, “was in early May.”

“No one has heard from Fizziwig since early May?” repeated Gavan.

“Some things are provident,” Freyah answered. “You don't question them, you just accept them.”

Hercule Fizziwig had not been among the more trackable of the Council. Everyone was used, more or less, to his unannounced journeys and research forays. She pointed the gavel at Rainwater. “You haven't exactly been asking for him either.”

“True, but—” Gavan sat back in his chair. “I can't believe no one's said, ‘Where's old Fizziwig?' No one?” He glanced at each of his fellow Magickers.

“Afraid not.”

“Considering Jonnard, we will have to try to find Hercule as soon as possible. If there is one traitor among us, there well may be more.” Isabella tapped her fan on the tabletop. “Or I could assign a Leucator . . .”

A shudder ran around the room at the thought of a shadow mage from beyond the Havens, a dark, hungry mirror image which would not stop till it found and attempted to join with the Light image who had spawned it. Yes, it would find its quarry, but if allowed to join, all would be horribly corrupted. It took an iron will to control a Leucator. She smiled, her lips outlined in brilliant crimson lipstick. “That
would
be rather drastic. Perhaps called for later.”

Sousa, who'd been sitting at the far end of the table, his long tapered fingers fiddling with the battered cornet in front of him, said quietly, “More likely the Dark Hand has done him in.” A man who rarely spoke out at meetings such as this, preferring to let his music speak for him, Sousa lapsed back into silence.

“Neither is beyond consideration. By his name alone, in hindsight, one might believe Jonnard to be related to Brennard. There were many rumors Antoine had a son, long before there were rumors he'd gone over to the Dark. We don't know how old such a son could have been.” Eleanora put one hand to the back of her neck and rubbed slightly, as if in some pain. “An heir he had no intention of letting Gregory ‘taint' with his teachings.” She winced faintly again, and did not see the worried look Gavan gave her or the glances traded between Freyah and Tomaz.

“We were all fools. Too eager to find new students.” Allenby took his handkerchief, and wiped his shiny pate. He then refolded the damp cloth square many times before stowing it back in a vest pocket.

“They were all children,” Anita Patel protested slightly. “How could we not trust them?”

“Most of us wouldn't be here today if we had trusted like that.” Freyah tsked in emphasis, while the doctor's flush darkened her already deep complexion and she looked away. “However, if he is related to Brennard, I don't think anyone here can dispute the fact that charming, or rather, charmed, would explain how the boy managed to endear himself to us. Jonnard Albrite.” She made a scoffing noise. “Albrite, the son of the Dark One. They must be laughing at us still!” The gavel whirled in her hands.

Gavan straightened in his chair. “Laughing—but defeated. And they'll stay that way, if I have anything to say about it. If we can put that aside, the one question I have has yet to be answered. Are we going to be able to get help with warding Ravenwyng?”

All eyes turned toward the massive, silent man who sat at the far end of the table, cloaked in a dark, hooded garment that hid his features uncannily well. But Gavan did not need to see him to know what the Moor looked like. Known only as Khalil, and as ancient as Brennard or Gregory, the towering man carried a presence as vast as it was aged and powerful. Had he slept through into modern times or lived it? No one knew, and Khalil was not telling.

Khalil reached up with both hands and dropped his hood. A face carved by harsh sun and sharp desert winds looked back at all of them. “At this time,” he said, “the Warding of Ravenwyng is left in your hands alone.”

Gavan's mouth twisted. Nicely put, to make it sound as if the elders had declined to meddle in his affairs. The two stared at one another for a long moment, but Khalil said nothing further.

“All right, then.” Gavan tapped his cane on the floor, working his fingers about the wolfhead handle. “Allenby, I put you in charge of tracking down old Fizziwig and seeing what he's up to, and, please, remind him what is going on. And, while we're sitting here, I will let you all know that I haven't forgotten I am neither the wisest nor the most talented among us. But I have the drive. The will. And there will be an Academy at Iron Mountain, come hell or high water. Since you all came prepared to wrangle, but not to give aid,” he stood, “this Council is dismissed.” He turned abruptly and strode off, leaving Freyah with her mouth open, and the gavel hanging from her fingertips.

In bursts of crystal color, most of the others left. Eleanora put out her hand and caught Freyah's wrist. “Stay for a moment.”

“Of course, dear. What is it?” Freyah settled back in the chair. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with delight. She'd always been one for a spirited discussion, Eleanora thought fondly, and smiled.

“You've always been one to help, so I can't understand why you're holding back now.” Eleanora gazed into those brilliant blue eyes. “Your Haven would be perfect for the Academy.”

“It's too small,” answered Freyah firmly.

“You know that with our help it can be enlarged. We wouldn't need much more . . . two or three acres.”

Freyah shook her head so vigorously, her silver curls bounced about her face. “No. No, you'll stretch it too thin and destroy everything. Eleanora,” she took Eleanora's hand in both of hers, “I worked hard for that tiny niche when it seemed no other Magickers had survived. I worked for it, and I made it. There's no great Gate to protect it. All it has is me, and it's all I've got. So I will keep it mine and I will protect it from foe or friend as fiercely as I can!”

“But . . .”

“No buts. I like it the way it is, and that's the way it shall stay. When you are ready, I'll be there for Iron Mountain Academy, but you've a long way to go, haven't you? Too many cooks spoil the broth. You don't need my energy, and my Haven does. There I'll spend it till the need is clear.”

Eleanora tried to keep her mouth from curving unhappily and failed. “We need you now, Aunt Freyah.”

“No, dear. You just think you do.” Freyah quietly put Eleanora's hand on her knee, and stood up. “I know you think I'm a selfish old woman, but I have my reasons and my ways.”

“It would save everyone so much trouble and strife . . . ”

“No!” Freyah's word cracked like a whip. “Someday you may understand, but trust me now. My Haven stays as it is, or there will be nothing
but
trouble. And I'll not explain. We're both adults, and you should know to trust me.”

“Oh, I do. Still . . .” Eleanora had not quite given up, and she had refrained from saying “but.”

Freyah wagged an index finger at her. “No ‘stills' either! Not another word.” She tapped the great crystal in her necklace and disappeared in a shower of color, like a sprite into a burst of firework sparks.

Eleanora waited until she was certain the air was entirely empty, and then let out a great sigh.

“Y
OU know,” Alicia said, watching Jason, her long legs crossed in soft violet pedal pushers that matched her T-shirt, her hairbrush in hand. She perched on the edge of her rosebud-pink canopied bed. The whole room gave him the heebie-jeebies because it was so sickeningly feminine, with pink and lace everywhere. He'd had a look at Bailey's room once, cheerfully tossed and rumpled and haphazard like his own. He felt like an alien in Alicia's room, not to mention what he had to give up in privileges to come in and use her computer. “Dad would get you your own computer if you asked him to,” she continued smoothly, and gave him an innocent smile.

He wasn't sure he wanted one. He said so, even as he sat over her keyboard, pecking out the letters for his e-mail.

“For one thing, it would help you with your homework. You'd learn keyboarding, and everyone has to know the computer sooner or later, for writing reports.”

“Maybe.”

“And you could play games on them.
Dungeons and Dragons
and stuff.”

Jason stopped typing and gave her a glance. “I'd rather read books.”

“Well, of course,” she agreed. She ran her brush through her hair. “But you wouldn't have to borrow mine, and you could research, and your account would be private.”

He stopped typing again. “Private?” She'd given him a screen name to use on her main mail account, and he had his own password and everything.

She tilted her head. “Jason, if it's on my computer, I can get to it.”

“But—”

“Trust me,” she said quietly. “And doesn't your camp friend Trent have a computer? He can show you all the ins and outs. There's a lot you can find on the Net much faster than in a library. I record stuff on mine, like a diary.” She smiled again. “Only I know how to make sure it stays locked.”

He highlighted a sentence to delete it on his mail, then sent the letter. The idea of Alicia pawing through his e-mail drove a cold shudder right through him. “Think he would?”

She shrugged, and moved past him to the desk, where she stood, waiting to sit down. “Ask him.”

He couldn't get out of her room fast enough for either of them.