The Curse of Arkady (6 page)

“What's that supposed to mean?” Jason answered uneasily.

“It means,” the other boy said, “I'd rather play with you than against you. And if you don't do a good job, I still get to level you.” Still grinning, Canby lifted his heavy hand and moved away. The other boys scattered to let his broad body through as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea. Was it Jason's imagination or did the whole breezeway outside the gym shake as he passed through it? Jason stifled a sigh. His silver lining had a cloud named Canby.

“This means extra practice. First year first stringers and alternates go to both practices.” Sam fell in with him as they headed for first bell. “I don't mind, do you?”

Jason shook his head emphatically. “Are you kidding? At least the coach is giving us a chance!”

“Yeah, and my dad can quit ragging me about the money he spent on soccer camp.” Sam let out a pleased grunt punctuated by the warning bell for first class sessions.

With good news under his belt and the start of a brand new day, Jason felt ready for anything. Even as he thought it, the hairs prickled at the back of his neck.

Almost.

Was he prepared for the Curse of Arkady?

Not that he'd had any chance to be. No one had uncovered anything yet. Even Trent, with his knowledge of computers and search engines that devoured information from the Internet and spit it back out at incredible rates of speed, hadn't been able to find a reference. Truthfully, he hadn't expected there would be any. Magickers were sworn to an oath of silence about themselves and their abilities. None of the elders but Tomaz had even breathed a hint.

Jason thought he knew why, but he hadn't discussed it with anyone yet. He called it the Churchill Axiom, based on the famous quote by the World War II British leader: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Grandma McIntire was good for something, he supposed. She'd taught him that one, explaining that the imagination could trap you worse than reality. The adult Magickers hadn't warned their new recruits about the curse to prevent the students from inviting it simply by worrying about it.

Tomaz Crowfeather, though, was different. Not just in that he was Native American, and dressed in comfortable faded jeans and vest over a soft white shirt that might one day be embroidered with a laughing coyote or the next day with a coal-winged raven, or that he wore hammered silver and turquoise jewelry on his wrists and belting his waist. Not in that his view of Magick was a little different from that of Gavan Rainwater or Eleanora Andarielle or any of the others. But he himself was different in his Magick. His was the longest unbroken line of Magickers since the fallout between Gregory the Gray and Brennard, which had outright killed many and sent the others, shocked, either into a deep sleep or hurtling through time. Centuries ago Crowfeather's ancestors had absorbed the British Magicker blood into their own shaman line, and taught the talents accordingly. His Magick could be traced all the way back to Gregory the Gray and even earlier, if he wished to do so.

Tomaz didn't. He wasn't the type to stand on ceremony. He revered his ancestors, but he felt that he must stand on his own two feet and his own proven ability. Each man, he had told them during the summer, was responsible for his own footprint upon the earth. His Magick, strong in its own way, was a blend of Talent that the others understood, and even more power that they did not. Perhaps that was why Tomaz had answered his own conscience and sent them all a warning. Whatever the curse was, it was dangerous enough that Crowfeather had defied the Council. An involuntary shiver ran down Jason's back. If it worried Tomaz, it sure as heck would scare the beans out of him!

Sam peered at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just got the creeps for a second.”

“Canby is enough to give Hannibal Lechter the creeps.” Sam waved as he veered away to his morning home room class, and Jason ducked his head and trotted to his own. He wouldn't let the burly boy cloud the day if he could help it. He'd made the team!

 

At home, the Dozer and Joanna seemed suitably impressed, although his stepmother wore a slight frown. “More tackles?” she asked, referring to the accident which had sprained his ankle badly at summer's beginning.

McIntire patted his wife's hand. “Now, Joanna,” he said. “Boys need to be boys. Besides, Jason has speed and agility. He should be able to outrun most trouble. When are the games, son?” He inhaled deeply, puffing out his massive chest.

“After school most days. And practice on others.”

“You'll be busy, then.” He tapped the bowl of his pipe. “Make sure those homework grades don't suffer!”

“No, sir. They won't.”

“Good. Good.” He rumbled a bit, then cleared his throat. “Bit of a mess upstairs by your room. See you get it cleaned up before dinner!”

He hadn't been upstairs yet. Puzzled, Jason nodded and left the kitchen nook where Joanna and the Dozer were having an afternoon iced tea, he home surprisingly early. Alicia was nowhere to be seen, but she had an after-school Young Filmmakers class at the High School for the Gifted which she attended. Just as well. She wasn't the easiest stepsister in the world to get along with, almost as much of a pain as a real sister. He almost thought she couldn't help being perfect.

She'd spent her summer at a camp in Colorado aimed at the arts and had made a short film there which had promptly won an award for outstanding merit at camp's end. She returned home with an enthusiasm for moviemaking. Not that he was into competition, but the fact he had helped save Eleanora and FireAnn and Gavan and all the others from the Dark Hand of Brennard could hardly be talked about, and he'd gotten no award but the satisfaction. Finding out he had a Talent for opening Gates as well . . . well, if he so much as opened his mouth about it, his family would think he'd gone crazy. Still . . . a pennant with “Hero” stitched across it or something would have gone nicely on his attic bedroom walls!

Jason plowed to a halt in the upstairs hallway right where his trapdoor ladder could be dropped out of the ceiling. A clutter of boxes filled the corridor. He took a long, slow look, then couldn't help grinning. A computer! In box after box. . . . lying in the hallway, waiting for him to open his bedroom and take it up. And not just any computer. This was state of the art. As fast as chips could make it go, these days. Awed, he let out a whoop and then stood and stared. From down below, he could hear the pleased, rumbling laughter of the Dozer.

Alicia peeked out of her room. So she was home, after all. She wrinkled her nose. “Got it, huh?”

“Wow,” was all he could manage before pulling his ladder down and eagerly beginning to haul the boxes up. His willowy blonde stepsister emerged from her own room long enough to hand boxes up to him and wish him luck.

It was even easier than it looked, and since McIntire had made sure his home was cable ready, all Jason he had to do was plug in, and he was connected to the Internet. He found himself writing Trent. His friend's name flashed on and, in surprise, messaged him.

Hey! What are you doing on-line? I thought the great Alicia wouldn't let you till after dinner!
typed Trent.

And so Jason did, prompted by a few comments from Trent. They typed back and forth, just like talking face to face, only taking a little longer because Jason wasn't very quick at typing yet. Trent seemed impressed by his computer, but more importantly, it made communication wide open for them now. The telephone had long distance charges and people could pick up on the line. This way, they could share anything and everything they wanted. Trent showed him how to set up the computer with a password so that only Jason himself could get in. Jason found himself sitting back in his chair, still grinning broadly. He'd missed Trent and the others more than he could say. They were Magickers. They were family.

They traded news. He'd made the soccer team, Trent had made the cross-country team. Trent loved his history teacher, Jason had doubts about his math teacher. Trent told him that Stefan had made his school's first line football team, promoted from the junior varsity team. That surprised neither of them. The great hulking Magicker was a shapechanger from human to bear . . . often unpredictably. In either form, he was big and bulky. And they talked about Jennifer, slim and pretty and older than either Bailey or Ting. Trent had a thing for her which he'd kept pretty quiet all summer, but Jason could see it creeping out as they worried about where she was and why she was pulling back.

Being a Magicker is not the easiest thing in the world,
he commented.

Are you kidding?
Trent shot back.
It's about the only thing in the world!

Maybe she's worried her family would never accept it.
Jason sat back, watching his computer screen for Trent's response. Heck,
he
worried about that.

Trent came back with a written shrug. They talked about other stuff, then Trent had to go, to finish chores and start dinner before his dad came home from work.

Jason took some time to set up his e-mail ring for everyone before signing off. Then he clattered down his trapdoor ladder and downstairs, bursting in on McIntire and Joanna. “Wow! It's great!”

“You have everything set up, then?”

“No problem. Thank you! It's terrific.”

Dozer nodded in satisfaction. “I'm glad it worked out. I want it used sensibly, though. No late hours. Don't do anything to make me have to ground you.”

“No, sir, I won't.” He started out of the kitchen, paused and turned. He looked at them. “I really mean it . . . thank you!”

“We're pleased,” Joanna said, smiling. She held her arms out, and he hugged her, and the Dozer slapped him on the back with his great, callused hand. The moment passed, and he tugged away. His heart was filled with warmth, but it was quickly emptied by the faint sound of Joanna's voice as he retreated.

“Do you think that's wise?”

“Wise?”

“There's so much on the Net he could be exposed to . . .”

“Ah.” William McIntire grunted. “My dear, if he wanted it that badly, he'd find it anywhere. I once had a friend who underlined every dirty word in the Bible. Took so much work he lost interest.”

His face red, Jason returned upstairs to collect all the empty boxes and clean his room up for dinner. She'd be watching him, he knew. She worried a lot about being a good mother. Sometimes it was a real pain. Sometimes it produced a real pain, like Alicia. With a sigh, he began to put his room in order. He'd have to be careful. Very careful.

T
HE lid of the trash bin clattered down resoundingly, its BOOM echoing around them. Sam muttered, “This is getting old.”

Papers and assorted trash crinkled around Jason as he got to his feet and listened for silence outside. He nudged Sam. “Yeah, but this time, it's our teammates who did it. It's an initiation!”

“Bah.” Sam leaped to his feet and grunted as he tried to budge the lid over their heads. “I hate the smell. I hate being shut in!” He pounded his fists on their cell. “I hate the dark!” He pounded harder in growing panic.

Every movement drummed through the old metal bin and sent a thick, foul odor rippling through the stuffy air. Jason heard nothing further outside and put his arms up, determined to get them out before school officials noticed their being canned. “Take it easy,” he said. He cupped his crystal in his hand, but the rock stayed cold instead of answering his focus. Baffled, Jason carefully pulled it partway out of his pocket. It wouldn't do to drop and lose it in all the trash around his feet!

He rubbed his fingers over it. Lantern light or maybe even a bit of levitation, he thought. The hard, faceted surface of his crystal met his fingers. The welcome flare of a bonded crystal acknowledging his touch did not happen. Jason bit his lip. Arkady's curse at work? Shoving the rock back into the deep recesses of his pocket, he decided he'd have to rely on hard work. “Help me shove,” he said, as he braced himself to push.

The two of them pushed and heaved, with sweat running down their faces before they finally got the lid banged open and could clamber out. Suddenly his crystal flared out, with a bright sunlit ray, but Sam had turned away and did not see it. A golden aura settled around them as Jason choked in surprise. Quickly, he brushed his hand over it, squelching it. The warm rock settled back into its inert coolness while he stretched in relief. Welcome fresh air washed over them, and as they did a little victory dance, a cough sounded. They turned around slowly. Jason felt his face go warm.

Vice Principal Murphy stood waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Again?”

Jason shrugged. “It happens.”

“Any particular reason? Did you see who did it?”

Both boys shook their heads. Murphy sighed. He pointed a finger at Sam. “You can go, son, but you—” He pointed a finger at Jason. “You need to stay. You seem to attract trouble, Adrian. Weren't you the boy who had his clock cleaned by Canby last spring? Wound up with his leg in a splint?”

“That was me,” he admitted reluctantly.

“You're on my list, then,” said Murphy.

“List?”

Friday afternoon had all but cleared the school out, and so Sam hiked up his backpack, giving Jason a look of apology before heading off. Jason dusted himself off, giving the vice principal his attention. “List?” he repeated.

“My list of trouble just waiting to happen. Let's head to my office,” Murphy answered. “This will be short and sweet. We all want to go home.”