Bran Hambric: The Farfield Curse

by Kaleb Nation

  "Where are you?" Bran said quickly, his throat dry and his forehead becoming warm with alarm. All was motionless. He stepped toward the box he had seen the figure dart behind, his hands shaking. There was a black cloth hanging over some crates, and for a second it seemed to rustle, almost as if someone was behind it. Slowly, Bran came forward, reaching for the cloth.

  "I know you’re there," Bran hissed, and in a sudden motion, he swept the material away, holding the board out, ready for anything…

  But he was met with his own reflection.

  He jumped. For a moment he was startled but a second later, he recognized his face. It was an old mirror, leaning against the boxes. But there was no one else.

  Chapter 12

  The Telephone Call

  Sewey Called them together ten minutes later.s"There’s no getting around it," he said. "We’ve been robbed." "But nothing’s missing!" Rosie said. Bran had kept quiet about the missing papers. "We’ve been robbed nonetheless," Sewey said. "By what?"

  He nodded matter-of-factly. "By gnomes." Balder and Mabel gasped, and Baldretta hiccupped. "What gnome?" Sewey asked aloud, raising a finger. "The gnome from the roof. This—" He gestured around at all the mess. "—is definitely a gnome mess." "And no witnesses," Rosie realized grimly. "All the neighbors were gone for the picnic!" "Right!" Sewey said. "The perfect time to break in!" Mabel said with a gasp. Sewey nodded with a glum frown. "Goodness! Let’s call the police right away, then!" Rosie said. "Can’t," Sewey told her. "The Law clearly states if a gnome enters one’s house, the homeowner is just as guilty as the gnome; because after all, he was harboring a criminal!" "Goodness!" Rosie said. Baldretta crossed her arms with disgust.

  "Maybe he found what he wanted and now he’ll just go away," Mabel said.

  "Don’t be so sure," Sewey warned. "Mark my words, that gnome is somewhere out there—and if my name is Sewey Wilomas, he’ll be back for more."

  The conversation was beginning to wear on Bran’s nerves, so he started for the door to go outside. He couldn’t stand being in the house anyway: it felt as if every inch of what he had deemed a safe haven had been invaded.

  "Where are you going?" Sewey asked him sourly.

  "Outside," Bran said.

  "Where?"

  "Just outside," Bran murmured, pushing past and shoving the front door closed behind him. Sewey was too upset or bewildered to follow. The family had hardly ever seen Bran angry before, but Bran didn’t care. He just wanted to be away from them and the house and everything else.

  He paced the little bit of lawn they had. He knew if he started to concentrate, his thoughts would end up back on what had happened at the park and the bookstore and then in his room. He didn’t want to think about any of it anymore.

  But eventually, he found that he had wandered beside the house, to the spot where Mr. Swinehic had found the paper that the creature had dropped. The grass was still slightly messy from where Shambles had scratched up the dirt in his haste to get away. Bran pushed it around with his foot, wandering aimlessly until his eyes caught the ladder, still sitting against the house.

  "Now that will probably stay there until it rusts," he muttered. Sewey was awful about getting things out of his shed and leaving them lying about. But the ladder gave Bran an idea, so he moved for it, and started up. He got to the top and climbed to the roof, the same place he had been just a few nights earlier, when the creature had appeared. He went to the chimney and sat against it, just breathing the cool air that was moist with the approaching storm clouds. Everything was gray and blue. But up there, Bran felt safe.

  He gazed around at all the houses. He could see far, even though clouds were drowning out most of the sunlight. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to be there with the storm coming, but right then, he didn’t really care.

  He let himself mull over all that had happened: the bookstore, the secret room, his mother’s note. Then he thought about the strange man at the library: the one who had acted so odd, pointing him right to Highland’s Books for apparently no reason. But Bran was finished with believing in coincidences. He felt as if there was some great puppet-master twisting the strings above him, tweaking him so that these things would happen. But what was it all for?

  He felt the folded newspaper in his pocket, and it gave him a start immediately. He had made it from the bookstore without it being discovered. He drew the sheet out. It felt odd having it in the open, even though no one could see it from the ground. It was a welcome distraction, so he smoothed out the creases and peered at the front page headline:

  CITY OF WINDALE MAGES STRIKE:

  TROUBLE FOR THE FLOATING CITY?

  Below the headline was a photograph of a city on the edge of a cliff, with a sharp drop-off into the sea, waves crashing against the rocks and throwing foam into the air. There was, however, one strange feature. At what appeared to be a few hundred feet away from the top of the cliff, hovering over the water, was a second city, its buildings poking into the clouds and an airplane just flying in. There was simply nothing underneath it at all.

  He skimmed the report: apparently, the two cities had been one on the seaside coast, before a terrible crumbling of the rock underneath nearly spelled the demise of half the population into the ocean. They were narrowly saved by a large, around-the-clock group of Netora mages who kept the doomed city aloft telekinetically. It seemed that the group, after nearly a century of work, had begun to tire of the long hours and were ready to drop it, much to the understandable disagreement of the Windalers.

  There were other articles on each side, one a review of a book called Kitchen Magic by Barbara Smithens and the other detailing a disagreement between a group of archmages and the Primirus, which the article alluded to as the head of the Mages Council. Bran pulled the pages apart but inside there were no other plies of paper: a simple, one-sheet newspaper. It seemed quite odd to Bran, even as he ran his eyes over the articles, detailing the news and what was going on outside: disagreements, the death of a famous mage, statistics of mages in political office. It was all very eye-opening that so much went on outside Dunce. The city walls had severed off an entirely different world.

  While he was glancing down the page, Bran’s finger absently brushed against a large black box printed in the bottom corner. Suddenly, the paragraph that Bran had been reading fizzled and disappeared. It caused him to jump, but just as quickly as it had disappeared, a new article was in its place. In a second, all the letters and photographs had changed, as if the paper had scanned forward automatically.

  "So that’s how you turn the pages," Bran realized, touching the black box in the corner. Again, the words fizzled away, and were replaced by the next set. It held him in awe simply watching the words change like the switching of a channel, the whole newspaper held in less than a millimeter of paper.

  As he jumped through the pages with a newfound interest, he saw lists of things beyond his imagination, so simple to the outside world that they were casually placed in a newspaper. He saw coupons for vials of dirt from various places in the world for Netora mages to use to teleport, and discounts on magic stamps that sent letters gliding to their destinations. There were advertisements for books similar to those Bran had seen in the back of the bookstore—different editions with tear-out cards for ordering—and promotions for a new computer program called Magebinder, which promised to cut any mage’s research time in half. It was another world to Bran, so strange and different from what he knew inside of Dunce. It was the same feeling as in the back of the bookstore: as if he had been living abroad and the paper was speaking of the homeland he had been away from for years.

  He finally looked up, almost dizzy from all he had read. His eyes went wandering over the edge of the roof, and inadvertently happened to rest on a vehicle parked at the end of the street. It was a black van, the same type he had seen earlier, behind them on the way to the park.

  It seemed to be just sitting there for no reason, which was odd, because he hadn’t noticed a van there b
efore, and he knew the neighbors didn’t own it. Such a creepy feeling passed over him that he momentarily forgot about the newspaper in his hands. He could see nothing, but it felt like there were people behind the dark windows, watching him.

  All of a sudden he heard the front door burst open below him.

  "Bran!" came the voice of Sewey. "Where are you? Telephone!"

  "The phone?" Bran said, breaking his gaze from the van and hurrying to his feet. He never got calls. He folded the newspaper up and hid it again as he climbed down. Sewey was standing at the door. The wire on the handset stretched all the way back to the kitchen.

  "Where the rot were you?" Sewey hissed, holding the receiver against his shoulder.

  "On the roof," Bran said.

  "The roof?" Sewey snorted. "How foolish. Well, it’s for you."

  Bran hesitated. "Is it Great-Aunt Cornelia?"

  "No, she’s in the asylum now," he said. "It’s some girl."

  "Odd," Bran said. He held the phone against him to drown out the noise as he hurried to the kitchen, and then he placed it to his ear.

  "Hello," he said.

  There was silence, so long that he thought whoever it was had hung up. But then he heard someone take a deep breath, almost as if they were as surprised as he was.

  "Bran," a girl’s voice said, "are you by yourself?"

  He didn’t recognize her as anyone he knew, but deep inside he felt he had heard the voice before, somewhere. He hesitated at her strange question, glancing at the kitchen door where Sewey was pretending to dust things with his hand.

  "Somewhat," he replied hesitantly. "Who’s this?"

  "You don’t know who I am," the girl said. "What’s important is that I know who you are."

  He thought she sounded a little nervous. It instantly put him on his guard, and thinking it might just be a prank call, he smiled slightly and decided to play along with her game.

  "Just knowing my name isn’t going to get my attention," he replied. "I’m sure everyone in town knows it by now."

  "But everyone else doesn’t know," she hissed, "that you’re a mage."

  In an instant, Bran’s smile disappeared. His heart almost stopped at those words. He glanced in Sewey’s direction to see if he had heard, but he was gone, and Bran lowered his voice.

  "What did you say?" he whispered, hoping he had heard her wrong.

  "I know who you are, Bran," she said. "If I was out to get you, all I’d have to do is call the police right now and tell them everything."

  "I’m listening," Bran said quickly, and he really was. He pressed the phone harder to his ear.

  "Bran, you’re in a lot of danger right now—danger you don’t even know of," the girl said, her voice filled with a strange edge of fear. "Your magic is just a part of it."

  "How did you see me do it?" Bran asked, keeping his voice low. "Were you at the park?"

  "I didn’t see you do anything," she said. "I know you can. I know who you really are."

  The words seemed to resonate inside of him, making his heart beat faster. Who he really was? Did she really know the answers?

  "I can’t say it over the phone," she said. "I need you to meet me, tonight."

  "Tonight?" Bran said with alarm. "I can’t get away from here, they’d know I was gone."

  "Can’t you get out through a window?" she asked.

  "I live in an attic," Bran said. "If I go through that window, I’ll fall two stories."

  She let out a breath, and he could tell she was thinking hard. He was at a loss as to why she was so desperate to talk to him that night, but after what she had said, every nerve within him was on edge. Somehow, someone had found out his secret; if she knew, who else did?

  "Where can you meet me?" she asked, almost desperately. "What about at your house—when will everyone be gone?"

  "I can’t tell you that!" Bran hissed, instantly wary. "What do you mean, when will they be gone? I don’t know who you are."

  "Bran, they’re going to get you!" she burst. At this, every trace of anger disappeared in him. There was a strong desperation in her voice that couldn’t have been faked. She was afraid of something, he could feel it.

  "You have to meet me somewhere," the girl pleaded. "Can you make it to the bank where Sewey works?"

  Bran blinked. "How do you know Sewey works there?"

  In a second, he was alert again. This girl, how did she know all this about him? Why was she trying so hard to get him to come away in the middle of the night? Bran was struck with a thought—what if she was from the burglar and trying to lure him somewhere? It sent a warning through his flesh, and the words she had said were wiped away.

  "Listen, whoever you are," he said angrily, before she could reply. "I’m not going anywhere tonight. If you want to come here, you can, but it’ll be during the day and they’ll all be here."

  "Never mind," she broke in. "Just be ready tonight. Go down the alley across the street; turn right, and then left, then down to the first door on the right."

  "What?" Bran asked, blinking. "What do you mean by that?"

  "You’ll want to remember it," she assured him. "I’ll see you tonight."

  "Wait a minute!" Bran said, but he heard a click on the other side, and the line went dead.

  "What?" he said, louder. "Hello? Are you there?"

  His words were met with silence. She was gone, and he slammed the phone down, and didn’t believe her for another minute.

  Adi stayed at the park for a few more hours, trying not to appear as shaken as she really was. The instant she had a chance to leave, she rushed to her car and drove off with her thoughts whirling around her like a tornado. If she had been anywhere other than

  Dunce, things would have been so much easier, but if anyone found out about Bran, there was no telling what they’d do. What if he told on her? Then it would be over for everyone hidden in Dunce. There were so many loose ends, so many people who knew—too many people who knew she was a mage.

  She turned, driving nowhere in particular, and looked up to the clouds, which promised rain. She sighed; she didn’t know anything about Bran. No one knew anything about Bran.

  That means I can’t meet his real parents…she thought grimly. But maybe there was another mage related to him. She decided she would have to look his name up in the Mages Database on her computer, and took a quick glance in the backseat. Her laptop bag was still there.

  She parked in the deserted lot of the library. Inside was quiet, with very few people among the shelves. A librarian waved as she came in. Everyone probably thought she was coming in for some volunteer work, but Adi was on a mission and hurried upstairs to the study area. She swept the room with her eyes to make sure no one was watching, and started her computer up. Swiftly, she reached into a hidden pocket in her bag and pulled out a single disc, pushing it in.

  It took her a few minutes to pull up the database, with two different passwords for safety, but finally she was in. She scrolled down the names. The program was simple and updated annually, listing nearly each and every mage’s name and record, living or dead. The database wasn’t released to the public, but she had pulled some strings to get permissions from the Mages Council—and even then, only because she was in the Special Services and Operations Division.

  She set the records to sort by alphabetical listing and started down the list. The screen lit up her face as her fingers moved across the keyboard, scrolling all the way to H-A-M-B:

  "Hambart, Trisha." She slid her finger down the list. "Hambort, Dr. Jay. Hambribe, Minny."

  She came to the next one: hambriC, emry . Her finger stopped. The record stood out on the screen because it was in red, and she had never seen a name in the records in that color before. She didn’t know what it meant, but it certainly made it look important.

  That’s strange, she thought. If this woman was related to Bran, he would be very surprised to know that there was, or had been, someone in the world who shared his last name.

  When she click
ed, it seemed to take quite a while to load. Adi wondered what could be holding it up, but then a window popped up in front of everything that read:

  Restricted Access

  Please enter your special access ID to view record

  "Hmmm," Adi said, but she put in another password anyway, confused as she was. She had never had that happen to her before with the database. She didn’t know what could possibly make it so encrypted.

  Her thoughts were left hanging, though, because the moment the record appeared on the screen, she saw something she had never, ever expected to read.

  Her eyes darted down the screen rapidly, her heartbeat quickening as she read the words. All the suspicions she had about Bran were destroyed in an instant—and were replaced with raw fear.

  "It can’t be…" she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. She brought her hand up to her forehead, her face going pale.

  "The Farfield Curse…" she gasped, and cold, icy fear took a grip on her heart.

  Part II

  Chapter 13

  Burglars on Third Street

  Bran opened his eyes, but he was not in his room anymore. He was falling through the sky like a stone, but around him, there was only darkness.

  There was nothing under his feet, nothing over his head, and no walls around him. It was a dark, icy prison, his body racing downward and upward and in all directions at once. Fear crawled through him. He felt eyes upon him, coming from all directions. The motion began to slow, then speed up, then slow again, confusing him; he had no track of time before he felt his back touch with something solid and his fall came to a stop.

  He stared up into the blackness, unable to move, unable to do anything. His breath echoed around him as if he were in a large, metal box. He heard something: a terrible, evil laugh.