Tara had glimpsed the briefcases full of dollars and euros. From the library window she had seen not only the local farmers and businesspeople, but also big limousines and watchful bodyguards with the ill-disguised bumps of their revolvers. And her grandmother was often away, traveling to unknown places.
Two village girls came every day to do the housekeeping, and three other people lived in the manor besides Tara and her grandmother: Deria, Tachil, and Mangus. Deria was a young brunette who never let Tara out of her sight and gave the odd impression that she was there to protect her. A beautiful woman with a curious aura of wildness, Deria was like a cat, always on the alert. It was impossible to catch her unawares (and not for want of trying!) or get her off balance. Tara had watched as Deria trained, easily lifting weights that Tachil would have struggled with. Tachil was tall and skinny, and the woodcarvings he was always making threatened to take over the big house. He was in charge of the garden, which he tended with maniacal care. Mangus, the cook, was short, fat, and balding. He enjoyed life, was always laughing, and produced some amazing dishes. Betty and Fabrice thought it odd that the gardener and the cook lived at the manor house, but Tara was so used to it, that she would miss them terribly if they ever left.
She heard a rustling behind her. Pet magpie on her shoulder, Deria strode into the study to announce Isabella’s next visitor. Tara was annoyed to sense that her grandmother was relieved to end their discussion.
“I’m terribly sorry, Tara’tylanhnem, I must meet with this gentleman. Go on child, I’ll see you later.”
There was no point in insisting, Tara knew. She shrugged and left, dragging her feet. She went up to her room and jumped onto her bed.
Tara lived in a spacious, comfortable manor house that had been restored in the nineteenth century. She was especially fond of two places in it. One was her room, in the left-hand tower. It was big and very sunny, and had a view of the lawn that sloped gently down to the nearby forest. At dawn and twilight, Tara could see deer, stags, and even wild boars roaming at the edge of the woods. The other place was the library. She had loved reading ever since she was little, especially mysteries and adventure stories.
Tara was about to get up when the ringing phone startled her. Deria had put the call through.
“Tara?” came a whisper on the phone.
“Fabrice?” Tara answered, instinctively whispering as well. “What’s up?”
“You’ll never believe it! You’ve infected me!”
“What?”
“Your gift, that thing of yours. I did it too!”
“Listen, Fabrice, if this is a joke—”
“It’s no joke,” he said, his voice shaking with excitement. “There was an accident. I went to the north tower to see the renovation that the workers had just finished. They hadn’t bolted the scaffold properly and it came crashing down just as I was walking underneath.”
“Really? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You must be contagious, because when I saw the scaffold falling on me, I did like you do: I held out my hands and sort of pushed. And it worked! The whole thing flew up. But I’ve got a heck of a headache now.”
Tara sat up in bed, thunderstruck.
“And you think it’s really me, who—”
“I don’t know. I don’t know any more than you do. Listen, we’ve got to get together. Because my father saw it all.”
Tara groaned. “What did he say?”
“That’s where things really got weird. He took me in his arms and started to cry. Then he said this was the best day of his life and the biggest gift I could ever have given him.”
Tara was speechless.
“Are you still there? What should I do? Should I tell him about you too?”
“No!” said Tara instinctively. “I’d prefer if we talk about it tomorrow. Meet me in front of my place at nine o’clock. And until then, not a word, okay?”
“Okay.”
Fabrice sounded disappointed, but he didn’t argue.
As soon as she hung up, Tara grabbed her forelock and started chewing on it. What if Fabrice was right and she really was contagious? Tara ruminated on this for ten full minutes, then sighed. There was no point in worrying; she would see tomorrow. There was also no point staying locked in her room. She may as well go down to the library and see if she could find something distracting to read.
Moving like a shadow, Tara made her way to the big library with its thousands of books. Opening the door, she gave a sigh of pleasure. Tara had access to almost all the works, although one section of the library had some that were under lock and key. That always tickled her. Was her grandmother afraid that the books would run away, or what?
She was glancing at the familiar titles in silence when a murmur made her stop her search. She could hear something.
To her surprise, she realized that the sound was coming from a point high above the fireplace.
The voice was her grandmother’s. She was on the phone, and sounded so angry, she could probably be heard at the other end of the village. Tara couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, however. She had to get closer to the source of the sound, but it was ten feet off the ground!
She quickly climbed the rolling wooden ladder used to reach the highest books. Stretching as far as she could, she leaned toward the upper part of the mantelpiece and cautiously stepped onto it. She was crouched pretty precariously, but could now hear the conversation.
“You’re the guardian of the Transfer Portal, Besois-Giron!” her grandmother yelled. “You were forbidden to tell your son the truth. That’s unacceptable!”
Yikes! The count was getting a royal chewing out. He must’ve answered something, because Isabella’s voice dropped to the point where Tara had to strain to hear.
“What do you mean, he is like us?” hissed Isabella. “You must be joking!”
“ . . . ”
“He did what? He pushed the falling scaffold back? Emanations? What emanations?”
“ . . . ”
Her grandmother’s voice became dangerously threatening.
“Let me see if I understand this, Guardian! You’re telling me that you, a descendent of a long and faithful line of totally nonspell guardians, have produced a spellbinder, your son Fabrice, because the emanations of the Portal somehow affected your wife? That hasn’t happened in nine hundred years, so why should it happen now?”
Tara caught her breath. A what?
Still furious, her grandmother continued: “I didn’t tell Tara anything because I have to protect her! If nobody knows Tara might be a spellbinder, she’ll be safe. Anyway, she hasn’t shown the least sign of magic up to now.”
“ . . . ”
“That’s out of the question! Telling her the truth and presenting her to the High Council is completely off the table. Before her father died I swore to him that she would stay out of all that. And I’ll keep my word even if I don’t agree. In the meantime I want no further contact between the two children, understand? Fabrice must go to OtherWorld. Oh, and one more thing, Guardian. This is not a suggestion; it’s an order.”
Isabella slammed the phone down, ending the conversation. Tara clung to the slippery marble, her ears ringing with what she had just overheard.
Her grandmother knew. She was a . . . spellbinder! But what did that mean, being a spellbinder? And Fabrice was one too, apparently. Except that in his case it wasn’t usual. The count was the guardian of a portal that gave off some sort of emanations. But a portal to where? And what was this mysterious high council?
Her head buzzing with questions, Tara didn’t know what to do. And she suddenly felt that her grandmother was a stranger to her.
Then she stood bolt upright on her perch: Betty! Her best and most faithful friend, who had never breathed a word about anything Tara ever told her. She would talk to Betty. Tara wasn’t a mutant after all; she was a spellbinder. And she did magic, not telekinesis.
Tara leaned tow
ard the ladder, very cautiously stretched her leg out, and began to shift her weight from the mantelpiece to the ladder.
But she had forgotten one small detail.
The ladder was as close as possible to her, but was free to roll the whole length of the library in the other direction. And that’s exactly what happened.
With a gulp of surprise, Tara felt her support slipping away. She jerked her leg back but instinctively hung onto the ladder. So she wound up with her tiptoes on the mantelpiece and her hands desperately clutching the ladder, with her body bridging the empty space in between.
She stayed suspended like that for a couple of tense moments, unable to make a move.
The problem was that the bookcase hadn’t been designed to take the weight of a girl twisting every which way in an attempt to regain her balance. A sharp snapping sound froze Tara’s blood. She looked at the top of the bookcase and turned pale. With a dull creak, the metal fasteners that held the bookcase against the wall were popping out one after another.
Tara could feel sweat running down her back. She absolutely had to climb back onto the mantelpiece before a total catastrophe happened. Eyes wide, she watched as the last fasteners gave way. With an apocalyptic rumble, the bookcase slowly began to topple. Tara was yanked off the chimney, the books tumbled out, and all was lost.
Strangely, her fall was both fast and slow. The air seemed to thicken, as if to bear her up. She could feel her white forelock crackling like electricity was running through it. Amazingly, she landed on her feet, but was horrified to see half a ton of books falling toward her.
Terrified, Tara stretched her arms out to protect herself. Books now blanketed the entire room, but miraculously stopped a few inches from Tara’s feet, forming a perfect circle around her.
Speechless, the only thing she could say was, “Oops!”
Then she took a deep breath and added, “I may as well go pack my bags. Grandma’s gonna kill me!”
A cough near the door caught Tara’s attention, and she turned around, her heart pounding. Attracted by the noise, Mangus was standing there, gaping at the catastrophe.
Tara gave him a hesitant smile.
“I’m . . . I’m terribly sorry, Mangus. I climbed the ladder but I slipped and everything fell down.”
“I see,” answered Mangus calmly, who could hardly ignore the disastrous spectacle of books covering the floor. “And did the young lady find what she was looking for?”
Normally, Mangus’s archaic phrasing amused her, but the fat, balding young man now seemed more threatening than amusing.
“Yes, Mangus. I even found more than I expected. Listen, I have to go see Betty. I forgot I have to tell her something. And I’ll come back to straighten everything up. I promise.”
Mangus squinted at the mantelpiece, where the mark of Tara’s sneakers could be clearly seen, at the book carnage, and finally at Tara, standing unhurt in the center of a perfect circle.
“I’m sorry to have to do this, young lady,”
Waving a chubby hand upward, he said: “By Pocus you’re paralyzed on the spot. You might want to move, but I’d rather you not.”
Tara was immediately immobilized, as if frozen stiff. She could move her head and speak, but the rest of her body no longer obeyed her. She could breathe but not control her breathing. She was standing upright but couldn’t move her legs.
“What have you done to me?” she yelped. “Help, Grandma! Help!”
Isabella, who’d thought an elephant was skipping rope overhead when the books and the bookcase crashed down, was already on her way upstairs. Within seconds she burst into the room, eyes blazing and her outstretched hands giving off a curious blue glow, ready to pulverize anyone threatening her granddaughter. When she saw Mangus, Tara, and the thousands of books on the floor, she stopped dead in astonishment, and the glow on her hands faded.
“She climbed onto the mantelpiece and overheard your conversation, my lady,” Mangus calmly explained. “She was going to tell her friend Betty about it. That did not seem appropriate to me. Moreover, I think that she has unconsciously used her power, as she remains unhurt despite falling.”
“Praise Demiderus!” Isabella exclaimed. “You did well. Did you cast a paralyzing Pocus?”
“That is correct, my lady. I was afraid she would escape, as she is very quick.”
During this time, Tara was struggling to regain control of her body. Panicked by the realization that she couldn’t, she turned on her grandmother.
“You lied to me! You’ve been lying ever since I was little. But I have too! I didn’t use my power unconsciously, I’ve been using it for a long time, and I know what we are. We aren’t like other people, we’re different, we’re—”
“Spellbinders.”
Her grandmother may have been surprised to learn that her granddaughter was aware of her gifts, but Isabella’s confirmation left Tara just as astonished.
Score: 0-0.
Tara swallowed hard.
“We’re spellers?” she stammered.
“No, we’re spellbinders. In the old language, people who can bind spells. Non-spellbinders, or nonspells, as we call them, must’ve heard about people who cast spells, and called them sorcerers or wizards, instead of using the right terminology. In short . . . will you promise not to run away if I free you from the Pocus?”
“I won’t run away if you swear to tell me the whole truth,” answered Tara, determined to learn as much as she could.
Her grandmother stiffened.
“I can’t tell you the whole truth, so I refuse to swear. But I can reveal some details that concern you. Take it or leave it. That’s nonnegotiable.”
Tara understood that her stiff-necked grandmother was in no mood to argue. So she wisely decided to be satisfied with what she had to tell her—at least for the time being.
“I won’t run away. Please free me from this Pocus thing.”
Mangus was about to obey when Isabella stopped him.
“Wait!”
The cook stopped and watched her carefully.
To her granddaughter, Isabella said: “Tara’tylanhnem, let’s see what you can do. Close your eyes and visualize a net with a turquoise mesh around you.”
Tara obeyed. She closed her eyes and was startled. In her mind she could see herself wrapped in a blue net that kept her from moving. She opened her eyes and was surprised when it disappeared. She closed them, and it reappeared. But suddenly she knew exactly what she had to do, as if a voice had whispered it in her ear.
She took a deep breath and imagined the net disappearing, but this time for real.
A loud
When Tara opened her eyes again, she noticed that Mangus was staring at her in amazement, and her grandmother with satisfaction.
“You didn’t even need to recite the spell! Your gift is extremely powerful for your age. What a waste! But a promise is a promise, and I can’t break this one, even if I’m dying to.”
“That’s one of my questions, Grandma. We’re these spellbinder things, but why and how? We have gifts, and you spoke about a portal, guardians, emanations, Fabrice and the count, and a council. And what’s this promise about?”
“Oh my,” said Isabella with a groan. “I didn’t realize you’d heard so much! I would have to explain thousands of years of history to you, and you’re only twelve. There are lots of things that you wouldn’t be able to understand. Not because you aren’t intelligent,” she added when Tara was about to protest, “but because you’re still too young. I’m very sorry. And what I’m about to do now is for your own good.”
Before Tara could react, Isabella waved her hand as if she were wiping a blackboard, and said: “By Mintus your memories I now erase, and leave pleasant music in their place.”
The amnesia spell hit the girl and she tottered, about to fall. Mangus caught her just in time.
Isabella leaned back against the sofa, suddenly looking very weary. Then s
he straightened and said, “Mangus, ask Deria to put her to bed. The amnesia spell should keep her from remembering what happened. I will straighten up the library.”
“Lady, you are exhausted. You work too hard. This child is very intelligent. If you allowed her to follow her path, it would be easier both for you and for her.”
Isabella gave a small, sad smile.
“I don’t have any choice, Mangus. I promised her father that Tara would lead as quiet and human a life as possible. By protecting her as I do, I’m sheltering her.”
“But you will not be able to hide her for very long, my lady. Her gift is extremely powerful. I know very few spellbinders who are able to free themselves that quickly from one of my Pocuses. Especially without any training. Her gift seems instinctive.”
“Yes, I know. That’s what I wanted to test, and I was as surprised as you were. Don’t worry, everything will be fine. Give her to Deria. When she wakes up tomorrow morning, her life will go on as usual.”
Isabella waved, and the bookcase fastened itself to the wall. She waved again and the books docilely headed for their respective sections.
“No, not there!” she exclaimed irritably. “The books on botany go under B and the cookbooks under C, please. Come on, hurry!”
Seized by panic, the B and C sections collided, and a few books lost pages in the accident. Then each row returned to its proper place while the orphan pages flew around the room like white birds as each tried to find its book. A few tried to enter the locked section, but after being practically devoured by an especially aggressive encyclopedia, they realized they’d better not hang around, and they flew toward the B and C sections.
Isabella rolled her eyes, and groused: “By Demiderus! You would think these books would have at least some intelligence!”
Finally, every book was back in place, leaving no sign of the catastrophe.
“Go on now,” she said to Mangus.
“Very well, my lady.”
Mangus felt Isabella was being quite optimistic, but he chose not to argue. The cook saw how Tara had freed herself, and it was obvious that she had instinctively used her power to protect herself as she was falling. It wouldn’t be possible to control her much longer.
Tara Duncan and the Spellbinders Page 2
