The Magickers (43 page)

Before the word faded, Jason felt his guts wrenched yet again and they were snatched into chill darkness, then dumped unceremoniously in a patch of clover in front of a small, thatched cottage.

Jason blinked.

Aunt Freyah came out, brandishing a broom in her hand. Then she stopped. “My, my. A visit is always welcome, I say. Can't look a gift horse in the mouth! Up with you before those foul beasts track you in!” With that, she swept them to their feet and into her home.

30

S
HOOING them inside to a sunny and cheerful parlor with huge overstuffed chairs covered in bright fabric with immense sunflowers on it, Freyah sat down and watched them sharply. “Unexpected, but always welcome,” she said and beckoned for them to sit.

“A warning. This is a Haven only so long as no unpleasantness enters. Whether in Evil as those who chased you to my Border, or in your thoughts and hearts.” Freyah folded her hands.

“Aunt Freyah, you know we'd never—” Eleanora looked appalled.

“I find it is always better if a guest knows what to expect.”

Gavan plopped Jason down in a chair, before turning away a bit, whispering, “She is a true Magicker. She pulls all this out of herself. Enjoy it . . . as she grows older, she is losing the strength to do much else. We'll try not to upset her if we can.” He turned his back completely and walked away a pace or two.

She watched Gavan sharply. “How much trouble are you in?”

“No one said anything about trouble.”

Freyah raised her eyebrow. “I doubt you are here to ask me about firing the greenware in the kiln. All that wonderful artwork is finished, is it not? And with a pack on your heels, there is always trouble.”

Eleanora bobbed up and down a moment as though having trouble holding her height. Jason watched her until he grew a little queasy, and his stomach complained. Gavan took out a handkerchief and pressed it to the side of his head, which throbbed horribly, although it no longer felt as if hot blood oozed through his hair. He wiped the blood off deftly before pocketing the handkerchief.

Freyah's sharp black-eyed gaze was on him instantly. “What's wrong?”

All he could think of was Gavan's warning not to upset her. “Well, I . . . I haven't eaten . . .” He faltered. He couldn't remember since when. Or where, for that matter. Well, he could remember where he was when he usually ate, but not where this was. They'd gone from stormy night to sunny day.
When
were they, and
where?
It was confusing to think, so he stopped. He caught sight of himself at a mirror's edge across the room and saw that his wound did not show, although he looked rather pale.

She rocked back in her chair, color flooding her already apple-bright cheeks. “Not eaten! Honestly, you two, what sort of heathens are you?” Without waiting for a response from either Gavan or Eleanora, she fished out a huge wicker picnic basket from behind her chair. Nearly the size of a clothes hamper, its woven sides glistened a pine yellow. “The stomach is directly responsible for the well-being of the rest of the body. Particularly at his age. Eat now, talk later.”

She flipped open the hamper top, and wonderful aromas filled the air. His knees went weak. He could smell freshly baked turkey. Cherries. Chocolate fudge.

Gavan made an impatient movement with one hand, but Eleanora gave him a look that could have dropped a wolfjackal in its tracks.

Freyah put a napkin over his knee, snapped her fingers, and a dining tray came scampering over on aluminum legs to stand by Jason, supports quivering.

Freyah looked at the serving tray. “George,” she said firmly. “Do stop that.”

The tray bobbed in a quick curtsy and froze into position as Jason stared in amazement. Freyah sighed as she reached into her picnic hamper. “He loves company,” she said apologetically. “The more food I can heap on him, the prouder he is. Never dropped a crumb, he has! Just like his sainted father whom I finally retired into a picture frame.” Freyah glanced across the room at a picture with an ornately braided metal frame, a fond expression crossing her face.

Gavan drummed his long fingers. Turned away from Freyah, he studied the other end of the room. Jason peeked but could not see what Gavan was eyeing.

Eleanora found a height she liked and stuck to it, the hem of her skirt shimmering about her ankles. She smoothed her outfit down over her knees as if she'd meant to come to tea and not retreat from a full-blown attack. “Aunt Freyah. Would it be a bother if we ate as well? I know I haven't seen a meal in quite a while, and I'm almost certain Gavan here—”

“Can do very well for himself, thank you!” Gavan interjected.

“. . . is famished as well,” finished up Eleanora smoothly. She smiled brightly at Freyah.

“Well.” Freyah's chin dimpled as she looked into the basket. “Well, well. I hadn't really planned for more than the lad here. . . .”

“You planned for him?” Gavan found something interesting on Aunt Freyah's face to stare at.

“I, well. Hrmmmm.” The rounded woman stirred uncomfortably on her plush armchair. “That is to say.” But she didn't say it. Instead, “I sensed a Gatekeeper had begun to test his skills.”

Eleanora shot Gavan a look as she leaned forward and hugged Freyah. “Now, Auntie. I've seen you pull all sorts of wonders out of that basket before. You could easily feed four, no doubt. We won't impose, but if you've anything extra at all, I know we could use a bite or two. Before we talk about things necessary and a bit odd.”

Jason found himself looking down at a small tag affixed to the side of the reed hamper basket where it nudged his knee. It read “Feeds 5-6.” He blinked. The serving tray in front of him gave itself an impatient shrug.

Freyah took a deep breath. “Well, then. Let's see what I can muster up! Eat dessert first, I always say! The rest of the meal may be uncertain at best.” And with that, she dug her dimpled hands into the picnic basket's interior and began to pull out china dishes covered with food. An ivory china plate with crimped edges came out, filled with fresh baked cherry tarts. Then an etched crystal dish piled with chocolate fudge cupcakes, their icing creamy and swirled into little peaks. Both Jason and George fairly shook with delight as she set them down on George's tray.

“Help yourself. Milk over here.” She pointed, and the little sideboard behind them bloomed with four chilled glasses of frothy milk.

Eleanora sighed wistfully, her hands empty, as she settled into a chair. She stared wistfully at the pastries. “Aunt Freyah.”

Jason grabbed a cupcake and devoured it in two gulps. Never had anything more wonderfully chocolate melted on his tongue. He washed it down with half a glass of milk before sitting back happily, eyeing the plates. Another cupcake or a tart? The throbbing in his head had nearly disappeared.

“Both,” Aunt Freyah said to him, smiling as if she could read his thoughts.

“Good idea.” Gavan filled his own hands with both, his golden-brown hair falling over his brilliant blue eyes, heedless of the mournful look Eleanora gave him.

Eleanora sighed. “Aunt Freyah.”

“Now, eat your fill, but don't eat too many. Vegetables and main course to come, you know!” Singing happily to herself, a wordless and nearly tuneless tune, Freyah sat back with a tart in her fingers and nibbled delicately at the edges.

“Aunt Freyah,” said Eleanora yet again.

Freyah blinked. “What, child? What, and what again? Spit it out!” She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, you can't. You haven't eaten a thing. But I thought you said you were hungry.”

“Vegetables and main course to follow . . . which would be what?” Eleanora asked primly.

“Oh.” Her aunt leaned forward to rummage around in the picnic basket, saying, “You would ask before he's quite ready, and you know it makes him ticklish.” A faint giggle from the depths echoed her statement before she looked up in triumph. “Aha. Carrot and raisin salad and turkey sandwiches on squaw bread. Not ready yet, though.”

Jason managed to gobble his cherry tart a little slower than his cupcake. The cherry was both tart and sweet, juicy in its filling and the crust buttery light. He chewed, his whole mouth delighted by the flavor, and his stomach growing happier by the swallow. He looked up to see Gavan licking the top frosting off his cupcake, before popping the cake part in, a pleased grin on his face.

Eleanora crossed her arms. “Well, really.” She looked pointedly away from all three of them as they ate.

“What's wrong?” Jason peered at Eleanora.

Gavan speared another cherry tart with his long fingers. He ate half before saying to Jason. “You know. Diet. Girlish figure, all that.”

“I know?” Jason began to repeat, puzzled. Then, “Oh.” He grew quiet. He looked at the back of Eleanora's head in sympathy.

Freyah snorted. “She wouldn't have to worry about her weight IF she ever walked with her feet on the ground instead of in the clouds. Got some decent exercise.”

“I don't have to. I choose to. It's important I carry myself well, or else everyone else towers over me.”

Taking her linen napkin off her lap, a shower of chocolate crumbs falling to the floor and then mysteriously disappearing, Freyah dabbed the corners of her mouth. “Of course, I made them nonfattening, but if she wants to be a martyr—”

“Oh!” Eleanora's head swung around like a shot. “Auntie! Bless you!” Eleanora dove onto the plates, her quick, neat little hands easily outsprinting Gavan for the last cherry tart and cupcake.

“Indeed? Bless me? Now, there's a thought!” Freyah sat back, patting her silver curls into place about her face, with an enormously pleased expression. A tinkle of china came from inside the basket, ringing like a bell, and she leaned forward to peer inside. “Second course!”

With that, she pulled out saucers heaping with carrot, raisin, and pineapple chunk salad, followed by a simply enormous platter of turkey sandwiches. Gleaming silverware shot out of the wicker picnic basket like a fountain. George leaned sharply right and left to catch all of it on his tray top, the utensils clattering noisily into place.

Freyah and Jason clapped. “Well done, George!”

The tray quivered with pride.

“Graceful and strong,” Eleanora cooed and patted one of George's few open spots. The tray sidled a little closer to her in the gap between Jason and her chair, whereupon she took advantage of the shorter reach to snag a sandwich plate and balanced it on her knee.

Jason grinned as Gavan frowned, then took a slightly smaller sandwich, its multigrained bread and thick crust nearly overwhelmed by thick slices of turkey, lettuce, and a cranberry sauce filling. He managed it in three bites. Jason took his time with his, savoring every juicy and tasty bite of the turkey, slices of white and dark meat neatly layered, and coated with a tangy white mayo. Every mouthful tasted like the best, warmest memories he had ever had of Thanksgiving. When he finally sat back, it was with a very full and happy stomach.

Freyah gathered up all the empty plates and put them back in the wicker picnic basket which immediately began a crunching and crackling sound. She smiled fondly. “His favorite part,” she said. “He does love to eat the china.” The basket churned and bobbed as it consumed the remnants of their lunch. She closed the lid, patting it. A muffled burp ensued.

Jason smothered a laugh.

Eleanora dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth, her eyes sparkling as she smiled at Jason. Freyah, however, smoothed her face into seriousness. She pinned her sharp gaze on Gavan. “Now, then. Trouble. Explain it.”

“We didn't say there was trouble . . .” Eleanora protested faintly.

“No, no,” Gavan added. “Nothing about trouble, at all.”

Freyah stared.

“That is to say,” Gavan continued. “Not that each of us doesn't face adversity in some small way, every day.” He brushed a lingering tart crumb off his cloak, avoiding her unblinking dark eyes.

One eyebrow rose, punctuating the black stare which threatened to become a cold glare.

Gavan cleared his throat. “That is.”

“Nothing important, Aunt Freyah, really,” supplied Eleanora. Gavan shot her a grateful look as Freyah now began to stare at Eleanora.

The room chilled. Jason shivered slightly, drawing his legs up to curl into his armchair. George darted to the side and came back with an afghan curled on his tray. Jason took it, and tucked it about him. “If no one wants to tell her, I will.”

All three Magickers looked at him.

“Someone with spunk,” Aunt Freyah remarked.

He shook his head. “No,” he said slowly. “I think it is mine to tell because I was the one who did it.” He put his hand to the side of his neck and rubbed it slowly, still feeling a sharp pain ebbing away. Eleanora's mouth curved sympathetically as she watched him. Gavan muttered something in a low voice, as he wrapped his cloak about himself, sinking into his chair, long legs jutting out. He did not, however, move to stop Jason from speaking.

“I found the Gate.”

“Excellent. However that does not explain the three of you being dumped on my doorstep, does it?” Freyah looked to Gavan sharply, her silvery curls bobbing. “Pleasantries aside, I warned you. I told you there would be trouble if you pursued this course. You stubbornly did as you wished.”

“There is a massive manna storm sweeping our way.”

Her eyes snapped. “Again. Do you presume me to be an old fool or just old? Of course, I know a storm is headed our way.”

“I intended to use it, if I could, to bring the camp inside the Gates. Barring that, to open up Iron Mountain Academy again, if I can free it.”