The Magickers (37 page)

He waited till she was out of sight before reading the schedule over again. Marked in bold handwriting next to the printout was his grounding from the lake for the next two days, and Trent's as well. It didn't seem fair somehow in the heavy summer heat that hung over the camp, yet he knew they'd probably earned it. But he hadn't told anyone what he thought he'd seen. Had he seen anything? Or had he just panicked in a brush snag? Or if he had seen something, what would happen to her . . . it? Would they rush out on the lake to net her? Even worse, with the mark of the wolfjackal on him, and not wearing his protection . . . had he drawn it somehow? Could he bring evil down on the camp simply by being here? He didn't quite know what to do or think. He had the uneasy feeling it was a secret he should keep, but he didn't know or understand why. He moved away from the schedule, sighing.

“That's a heavy sound.”

Jason let out a squeak. He turned and looked up into Tomaz Crowfeather's weathered face. “Do you guys always sneak up on someone?”

“Us guys? Meaning Indians or counselors or . . .”

“Magickers,” answered Jason.

Tomaz chuckled. “It is not hard to be silent when someone else is deep in thought. Care to walk with me? I have some tracking to do. I see your canoe time is canceled for a few days.” He read over Jason's shoulder a moment.

“Sure.” Jason didn't feel like he had a choice but to volunteer. Tonight was family calling night, and as he had no real burning desire to talk to Grandma McIntire, he had plenty of time. As Tomaz moved off, he fell into step. “What are we looking for?”

Crowfeather rubbed his heavy silver-and-turquoise bracelet. Then he answered slowly. “I am not quite sure, Jason. Let us hope I will know it when I see it.” He paced slowly and deliberately and they walked in silence until they reached the edges of most of the cabin clusters. Once or twice he knelt to look at paw prints.

The third time, Jason fidgeted, then asked, “Wolf jackals?”

“No. See here?” Tomaz indicated the pad and toe imprints. “This is a lighter animal. Small pad. But, also larger toes. That is the sign of the coyote.” He smiled faintly. “The yellow trickster has spent most of the last century spreading across the continent. Where we hunted the wolf, and drove him near to extinction, the little wolf sneaked in to take his place. The coyote is very smart, very quick.” Tomaz straightened.

“If you know it's only coyotes, why do you patrol every day?”

“Because I don't know it's always coyotes.” The Magicker faced into the wind and inhaled deeply as though he could catch scents carried on it beyond the norm. “The manna here is rich and heavy in spots. Other things could be carried in.”

Jason repeated slowly, “Other things?”

Tomaz only said, “The world is full of many things, Jason, wonders that long ago took refuge in, for them, a safer place. Sometimes the tide carries them out, however.” He spread his arms and chanted a few words, and stood, palms turned upward and cupped slightly as if he could catch the wind.

Jason stood quietly and just watched. For a moment, he wanted to tell Tomaz what he'd seen in the lake. But he hesitated. If only he could feel the Magick like that. If only he could inhale it and hold it deep inside, making it a part of himself. If only he could feel it in his bones. Did the bite keep him from that? Or the granite band in his crystal? Was he flawed too?

“Takes a long time to know yourself,” Tomaz said quietly.

“Is that what we're doing here? Really?”

Tomaz studied him for a moment. Then he gave a slow nod. “Yes, mostly. We can use manna. We can bend it, even shape it, to our will. But if we do not know ourselves, do not know what we might be capable of, we do not know if we
should
do what we
can
do.”

“Is the Dark Hand deadly?”

Tomaz scratched his brow. “Perhaps,” he said quietly. “Based on what I have seen in my lifetime, yes, perhaps. One thing I know for sure, is that they must be treated seriously and cautiously. My view, however, is not popular.”

Jason skirted a thick gorse bush as Tomaz strode the other way, his sharp gaze scanning the dirt and even the prickly bush leaves for bits of fur. “It's not?”

Tomaz shook his head. “There are many who say we are all Magickers. All one family. Even the black sheep. I say . . . they are not black sheep. They are sidewinders, snakes in the grass. Treacherous and deadly.” He paused, and squatted next to a wild berry bush, its pickings lean, still greening in the summer sun. Instead of berries, he plucked a thick black tuft of hair off it. He rolled it in his fingers, then smelled it as Jason watched. Then Tomaz dropped it, stood, and dusted his hands off. “Bear,” he said.

“Goes with berries, huh? They really have bears around here?”

“Yes. A young bear, from the print or two I've seen. Adolescent. But I've not seen any adult prints about, which is what I find baffling.” Tomaz tugged on his vest. “A bear will stay with its mother, two, three years, even if another cub is born.”

“What does that mean?”

“I am not sure . . . yet.” Tomaz surveyed the edge of the wilderness fringe. “Tell me, Jason, can you feel it?”

He looked around. It was hot. He could feel the bright sun's rays streaming down, and a slight breeze off the lake fighting with them, but he didn't think that's what Crowfeather meant. He thought a moment, and then thought of the ley lines they'd been mapping. Like a glowing net over the grounds, they shimmered, but only in the computer simulation done of their positions. He shoved a hand in his pocket to curl his fingers around his crystal.

Without thought, he swung to his right, took a step or two forward, and put his free hand out, grasping at a ribbon of nothingness in the air. He felt . . . he felt a surge . . . like a quickening heartbeat, or the effort he put into a fifty-yard dash. His jaw dropped.

“There,” said Tomaz. “You have it. Let it go, because you're not going to be using it.”

Jason blinked once or twice, wondering how. Nothing worked until he held a mental image of simply relaxing his hand and dropping it, empty. The sudden, sharp moment faded. “That was . . . that was it, wasn't it?”

“A manna stream, and you went right to it. From the way you homed in on it, I doubt you even need dowsing rods to find them. Some people have that instinct.”

“I did good!”

Tomaz grinned. “You did great. However . . . finding them is one thing. Using them, another.”

“Why can't everyone be a Magicker, then? If they could only sense the manna? Like singing. Most of us can sing a little. Some of us can sing pretty well. And a few can sing well enough to break glass and stuff.”

“It's far more complicated than that, and it's not an ability like singing. Truthfully, few of us have it. Think of it like the gene for pole vaulting. Most of us wouldn't even know we had it or try it out. But those of us who do, can vault so high . . . and maybe land safely, or maybe not. It's a rare few who can jump high enough to set records. Landing safely is still dangerous.”

Jason thought of Henry Squibb, getting more and more nervous and clumsy and unsure of himself. Did he have the Talent to jump high and land safely? Would he be sent home like the campers last week, ten suddenly so homesick they left camp, each after drinking the feared Draft of Forgetfulness, and the others watching them go, knowing that the homesickness had been charmed on them. The only thing wrong with each of them was that they hadn't been enough of a Magicker. Could Henry survive much longer? He leaned more and more on Jonnard's power rather than his own. Jason tried not to sigh in worry.

Tomaz clapped Jason on the shoulder. “The senses are a wonderful thing, Jason, yet they can deceive you. I wish I could tell you to trust your heart, if your eyes and your mind worry about something. But I cannot. Sometimes the heart is the easiest to deceive, and that is why I fear the Dark Hand. Deception is their greatest ability.” The sun glinted off the turquoise-and-silver inset watch he wore. Tomaz consulted it, and said, “If I don't get you back, I'll be grounded, too.”

With that, they trotted back into Camp Ravenwyng.

 

They met behind the mess hall in the twilight. Neither of the girls was there.

“All right.” Jonnard looked about. “Bailey and Ting can't sneak out after Lights Out, they've decided. Too risky. Jennifer is involved in some project with Eleanora, so she's in and out. She might catch them. So, it's up to you two while Henry, Danno, and I run the Hunt.” It's too bad we didn't know the girls weren't going to help sooner. We could have done this back at Skybolt.”

He handed Jason a paper sack. Jason looked in it. Two large cans of shaving cream sat in it. Jonnard glanced at him. “Do I have to tell you what to do with that?”

“Nope!” Jason grinned and handed the bag to Trent, who looked inside, with Danno peering over his elbow.

“Good.” Jon scrubbed a hand across his chin. “My mother thought I might sprout a beard this summer, and she likes to be prepared.” He shrugged. “I didn't, and it would be a shame for those two cans to go to waste. Anyway, they took the bait. Rich and Stefan are meeting us at eleven thirty.”

“If anyone can stay awake.”

Jon looked at Trent sharply. “You can do anything if you prepare and plan for it. Jason?” He looked at Jason then.

“I'll be up.”

“Good. We probably won't have much time out there. They're sharp, they'll guess they've been taken pretty quickly.”

“Where is Henry, anyway?” Danno said.

“FireAnn kept him after herb and botany class. He was having some trouble identifying poison oak, kept trying to do it by touch. He'll catch up in a few.”

“Gah.” Danno shuddered, then began to rub and scratch at his hands in sympathy. “Henry always learns the hard way.”

“Hopefully, after tonight, Rich and Stefan will learn not to mess with us.” Trent stowed the paper bag under his elbow, and added, “I took a look at their cabin earlier. Even if they lock the door latch, they usually leave a window wide open. We'll get in, one way or another.”

“All right. Good luck to everyone.” Jonnard saluted them before moving off into the growing darkness.

“Good plan,” said Danno.

“Yeah. The only thing that can go wrong is if Stefan bears out. Then, we've all got a problem.” Trent scratched his nose. “Or maybe not. He can only chase one of us at a time!”

Jason grabbed Trent's sleeve. “Come on, bearer of great news. It'll be Lights Out soon enough.”

Inside their cabin, they hunched over his flashlight and sketched out prime areas of attack. The beds and closet, of course, though Trent voiced a whispered opinion that Stefan was likely never to have used a closet in his life. Snide Rich was equally likely to have his things folded within an inch of their life and put neatly away.

“The object here,” Jason mulled, “is to trash them without trashing them too much and getting in trouble with Rainwater.”

“It's a challenge, but I think we're up to it.” Trent stifled a yawn. “As long as we're awake.”

“I'll be awake.”

“Good. I'm gonna . . . lie down . . . for a minute or two.” Trent crawled onto his bed and in seconds, the cabin filled with his soft snoring.

Jason crawled into his bed, cradling Trent's flashlight in his hands under the covers, reading one of his cabin mate's many
X-Men
comic books. Not the least bit sleepy, his duty was to watch the time for the appointed hour. He heard soft steps go past the cabin several times and then a heavier tread, which might be Hightower, Jefferson, or Crowfeather patrolling yet again. Finally, he heard an exclamation from Henry Squibb, high-pitched and excited, quickly smothered. He checked his watch and saw it was nearly time. He crawled out and woke Trent. They both hurried, putting their shoes on in the dark. Trent grabbed up the paper sack of shaving cream plus a few other goodies they'd found and waited by the shuttered front window, peeking through a slit in the slats.

Trent beckoned to him. “They're here.”

Jason clicked off the flashlight, not wanting anything to give them away. He joined Trent and peered through the wooden slats. Even for Henry, the boy looked pale, and he paced nervously about in front of Skybolt. “I hope Jon knows what he's doing,” he muttered. “I don't think Henry's up to this.”

“Why?”

“I think he's scared, and not of Stefan and Rich. He wouldn't go at all, but he trusts Jon.”

Before Trent could answer, Stef and Rich came up, and grabbed Henry by the elbow.

“We have to hurry. Someone's out patrolling. I heard them pass by the cabin.”

“Move out, then,” Jon ordered and Jason watched them go. He could barely see the group, pillowcases in hands, as they trotted off. Stefan took up the rear in the lumbering run he'd developed. He even
moved
like a bear most of the time.

Trent nodded, and yanked open the door. “They're gone, let's roll!”

They sprinted through the dark to the cabin occupied by Rich and Stefan. Later, Trent would claim he could find the cabin by the stench alone as he spun the yarn out. As they reached the steps though, it seemed no different than any of the other cabins although it seemed to be set apart from the rest, evergreens and bushes hugging it close. The door was latched firmly, but as Trent had predicted, the side window was wide open. He easily slipped the screen down and boosted himself through, then stuck his head and hand out for Jason.

“Hold your nose,” he advised. “It reeks in here.” And it did, as Jason hung over the windowsill and then swung his legs over. It smelled strongly of old sneakers and something else, musky and animal. The next cabin inspection was only a few days away. Open windows or not, Jason did not see how Sousa or the others could not fail to notice it. Stefan-bear had a distinct odor that hung over nearly everything in the cabin.