“What the heck is abracada— whatever you called it?” asked Tara.
“It’s abracadarthritis, and it only affects spellbinders,” answered Cal. “Too much magic exhausts the body, and the surplus magic lodges in the joints. The inflammation eats away at the cartilage, and you wind up unable to move. It isn’t fatal, but it’s dangerous and hard to cure when it’s caught late. Luckily, there are treatments. The problem is that most people first think they’re just stiff, or have tendinitis.”
Tara, who was already sore and whose joints ached, shuddered. No question about it: magic definitely wasn’t for her.
Gazing admiringly at Sparrow’s panther, Fabrice asked, “So tell me, how did she choose you?”
“N-n-no idea!” she said, blushing. “I-I-I was in the g-g-garden crying, and she just appeared
“No. I don’t even know how you go about it.”
“You don’t do anything,” said Cal, affectionately stroking Blondin’s reddish fur. “It’s like losing your baby teeth, or growing up. It just happens.”
“You’re lucky,” said Fabrice enviously. “How do you recognize a familiar?”
Cal explained: “They have golden eyes, that’s one characteristic. And a familiar chooses you as much as you choose it. You can only have one. Some people are chosen when they’re young, others older. Angelica, our national viper, is crazy worried ‘cause she’s sixteen and hasn’t been chosen yet. You should’ve seen her face when Blondin chose me last year, right in the middle of the High Council meeting!”
Fabrice sighed and looked at the beautiful panther.
“May I pet her?” he asked Sparrow.
“Ask her p-p-politely, and you’ll see. Her n-n-name is S-h-Sheeba.”
“May I, beautiful Sheeba?”
The panther gracefully slid her head under Fabrice’s hand. Stroking her, Fabrice had an expression that was close to ecstasy.
“I have a riddle for you, lovely Sheeba, but it’s tough. My first is the twelfth letter of the alphabet or a raised subway, my second is the sound of hesitating, my third is a town in Belgium, and the answer is what you are.”
The three friends racked their brains, and Sheeba gave an interrogatory purr. Sparrow finally got it.
“I know!” she cried. The letter is L, so the subway must be an el, we say eh when we hesitate—b-b-believe me, I know—and the B-b-Belgian town is Ghent. El + eh + Ghent = elegant!”
Just then, Tara’s accredi-card buzzed, and she stepped away to take Chem’s call. The old wizard urgently needed a vial of Pllops drool from the deadly poisonous blue and white frogs that live in the Centaur plains.
When she got back to the Training Hall, Cal looked angry and Fabrice and Sparrow were pale.
“What’s going on?” she asked
“That witch Angelica told Master Dragosh that we weren’t training enough, so he’s decided to make us practice spells for an extra hour.”
“After what we heard, do you think it could be a trick to cast a spell on us or kidnap us?” asked Fabrice worriedly.
“No. The others were abducted at night, not in daylight. And I can’t imagine Dragosh kidnapping us in front of everybody. Just the same, I’ll ask all the apprentices to come watch the class. That way, we’ll be in numbers.”
Robin and Skyler answered the call, and though she wasn’t invited, Angelica brought her cohorts Carole and Monica.
To be on the safe side, the Castle made the walls soft and covered the entire hall with fire-resistant blue foam. To protect the bleachers, it furnished them with big cushions.
When Master Dragosh entered the Training Hall, he was surprised to see so many people in attendance.
“Well, young spellbinders, I see that everyone feels the need to review the basics. Very well, let’s begin. Miss Genty?”
He aimed a rigid index finger at the young redhead, who timidly came forward.
“Let’s see what you can do. Cast a Decoratus spell on your robe, please.”
“A Decoratus, Master?”
“Yes, like this.” Making a circle around his robe, Dragosh cried, “By Decoratus adorn yourself, with symbols proper to myself.” Brilliant, strange hieroglyphics immediately appeared on the wizard’s robe.
Bravely, Carole said, “By Decoratus adorn yourself, with symbols proper to myself.”
Nothing happened.
The vampyr rolled his eyes and sighed.
“It’s not enough just to say the spell, young lady. You have to think it too. Show her, Angelica.”
The tall girl recited the spell in an affected voice, and a complicated pattern promptly appeared in her robe.
Carole turned red and shouted, “By Decoratus adorn yourself, with symbols proper to myself!”
This time, her effort was rewarded with a half-dozen symbols.
Fabrice, Sparrow, and Cal had been watching carefully and were able to do the same feat without difficulty. Fabrice’s robe displayed tigers and lions; Sparrow had flowers; and Cal had leaping foxes. Skyler produced swords and lances, and Robin’s robe bore scenes of trees and plants.
Tara, who was wearing the plain spellbinder tunic she’d put on after the ceremony, found all this fascinating. Clearly, using magic wasn’t all that simple. To harness the power, you had to concentrate. Glancing down at her robe, she idly thought that it would look nice decorated with horses.
Everyone jumped as a thunderclap rumbled through the hall, and Angelica screamed. Her robe was now covered with shiny, threatening snakes. Chickens, turkeys, and ostriches adorned those of her friends. The high wizard’s robe bore a horrible, grinning skull, and Tara was astonished to see beautiful silver horses prancing across hers.
All the robes had been transformed. Sparrow’s glittered with crowns, scepters, and jewels, and Robin was alarmed to see elf warriors doing battle where his peaceful forests once stood.
Horrified, Tara was at a loss as to what to do, and her anxiety caught the vampyr’s attention.
“May I ask what you think you are playing at, young lady?”
“I wasn’t playing at anything, Master. I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“Not meaning to is hardly a good way to cast a spell,” said Dragosh. “Wanting to, on the other hand, is something else entirely. It seems you wanted to impress your friends by demonstrating your talent. All right, let’s see how good you are.”
The vampyr went to stand in front of Tara, pointed at the horses on her robe, and said, “By Decoratus make these symbols vanish, and from this robe all patterns banish.”
The silver horses trembled and disappeared.
“Now, young lady, make them reappear!”
“But, but . . . ” stammered Tara, who didn’t want to perform any magic.
“Do as I say!” he roared.
Yelling at Tara certainly wasn’t the best way to make her obey. Anyway, her grandmother had been a far tougher adversary than the vampyr. Tara took a deep breath and stilled her mind. Deliberately not using any magic, she said, “By Decoratus adorn yourself, with symbols proper to myself.”
To her great relief, nothing appeared on the robe.
Dragosh, who didn’t realize she had done this on purpose, smiled fiercely.
“I’ve cast a spell on you and, as clever as you are, you won’t be able to undo it any time soon. People will think that you’re one of those spellbinders who can’t incant a spell correctly. That will teach you to disturb our class.”
Then he gestured angrily at the group and shouted: “By Decoratus, grace my students’ attire with any pattern they desire.”
Except for Tara’s, all the robes reverted to their original designs.
Ignoring the triumphant sneers from Angelica and her clan, Tara went to sit on a bleacher cushion and watched the rest of the class as an ordinary spectator. Secretly, she was very pleased at not having used magic!
For the next hour, Master Dragosh had the apprentice spellbind
ers work on the patterns of their robes, making them appear and disappear at will. Then he made them levitate, mercilessly criti-cizing their maneuvers and sending them roughly bouncing against the walls when they didn’t follow his orders quickly enough.
By the time they left the hall under the wizard’s malicious red eyes, Cal was close to mutiny. He knew that Tara hadn’t deliberately done what she did, but the other spellbinders gave her a wide berth as they walked by. The only exceptions were Robin, who patted her on the shoulder, and Fabrice and Sparrow, who were their usual friendly selves.
“I’m sure that creep has something up his sleeve,” said Cal sourly, as he tore into a half-dozen warm meat pies he’d “liberated” from the kitchen. “He had no business humiliating you like that, for heaven’s sake. And enchanting your robe so everybody would think that you can’t cast spells, that was really low!”
“We’ve gotta do something!” snapped Sparrow.
“Hey, you aren’t stuttering,” said Fabrice.
Sparrow blushed and explained, “I don’t stutter when I’m angry, and right now I’m really angry. Listen, Tara, we don’t have to take this lying down. I know how we can support you. Watch this.”
She stood up and clearly said, “By Decoratus make my symbols vanish, and from this robe all patterns banish.”
The glittering designs on her robe promptly disappeared.
“Hey, too cool!” exclaimed Cal. “You’re right. We’ll show that old sadist what we can do!”
Cal cast a forceful Decoratus, and his leaping foxes vanished. Fabrice had a little more trouble, but was able to wipe out his tigers and lions on his second try.
Tara was so touched by their support, she had tears in her eyes. Then she said, “You’re real friends. Thank you. I have to avoid doing magic because it might put my grandmother’s life in danger, but if I do it in small doses I don’t think there’s much risk. So just for you I’m going to reveal the truth. Watch this.”
With the merest glance at her robe, she covered it with hundreds of sparkling, prancing horses.
Cal was deeply impressed. “Wow! You actually managed to counter his spell! That’s a real coup!”
Sparrow, who looked oddly uncomfortable when Tara had spoken of truth, was astonished. “Only a master has the power to counter another master. How did you do it?”
“I don’t know,” said Tara. “It was as if I suddenly understood what he was doing. It was just real clear. So what I did was to kind of suppress my magic. And there’s a few other things I have to tell you.”
Everything Tara had been keeping to herself came spilling out in a rush: the nighttime attack by the two Bloodgraves, her grandmother petrified, the high wizard in dragon shape, the clothes flying around her bedroom (Sparrow chuckled at the idea of Angelica with a bathrobe on her head), and finally the Bloodgrave she glimpsed in the hallway. But Tara kept her biggest secret for herself— that her mother was still alive.
She felt hugely relieved when she finished telling her story. Her three friends, on the other hand, looked as if the ceiling had fallen on them. They were staring at her, dumbfounded.
“Good grief, you were really brave!” said Fabrice admiringly. “I would never have thought to go down the trap door with the dog.”
“Neither would I,” said Cal. “And you say they wanted to kidnap you, right?”
“If they wanted to kidnap her,” said Sparrow slowly, her brain racing, “it would mean she would have disappeared.”
“Well, duh!” said Cal sarcastically. “Of course she would have disappeared!”
But Fabrice grasped what Sparrow was suggesting.
“She would have disappeared,” he said, “just like the four apprentices last year!”
The others exchanged astonished looks.
“My god, you’re right! You think there’s a connection?”
Tara thought hard as she chewed on her white forelock.
“In any case, Dragosh is mixed up in it, one way or another,” she said.
The dinner bell interrupted their cogitations.
“Oh, we better go,” Tara said.
She jumped up, but Fabrice held her back.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked, pointing to her glittering robe.
She smiled. “You’re right! I almost forgot.”
Tara made her horses disappear so casually—almost without thinking about it—that Fabrice felt envious. He’d already realized that his book learning wouldn’t be of much use to him on OtherWorld, and that while his gift was real, it didn’t seem very powerful compared to Tara’s.
When the friends entered the dining hall, the other apprentices’ eyes all went to their unadorned robes. Angelica made a nasty crack about Tara having pets who followed her around like puppies.
After dinner Tara returned to the library to borrow some books on OtherWorld life and customs, such as the blood oath, and bid her friends goodnight. After brushing her teeth, she spent some time helping Sparrow get settled in the apprentices’ dormitory.
Right away, Tara noticed that Sparrow’s clothes were quite beautiful. That struck her as odd, since the girl had said her parents weren’t wealthy. The fabrics were . . . strange. Nothing in their textures or colors looked like anything on Earth. Sparrow explained that what Tara thought was white fur was actually glavie, a plant that grew in the mountains of Gandis, the land of giants. The bluish leather of a pair of pants was really the tanned hide of a spalendital, a kind of giant scorpion found in Smallcountry, the land of gnomes and imps. The silk had been woven by aragnes, a species of giant spiders raised by gnomes, who also used them for riding.
After hearing Sparrow’s explanations, Tare decided not to ask what her own robes were made of. She didn’t want to find out that the beautiful fabric had been woven from the snot of some weird animal.
Once Sparrow was settled, Tara climbed into bed to read her interesting book. She learned that the blood oath was indeed a warrior custom. If a warrior’s friends were killed as a result of treachery, the survivor had to swear to avenge them or to carry out any task that they gave him. If the survivor didn’t keep his promise, he died—the spirit of the dead came and carried him off. The curse could only be lifted by a blood relative of the dead person, provided that he or she was not the reason for the oath.
“Rats!” Tara swore.
That meant that she herself couldn’t cancel her grandmother’s promise. She had to find a blood relative of her father to release Isabella from her word. Manitou couldn’t do it because he was her grandmother’s father. And even if Tara found her own mother, she couldn’t do anything, either.
“Rats again!”
From what she’d gathered from the overheard conversation between her grandmother and the count, Isabella had promised Tara’s father that she would never become a wizard. Yet Isabella had encouraged her to use magic to free herself from the paralyzing Pocus spell. This meant that she could use some power, but without knowing what might endanger her grandmother’s life. Great!
Tara yawned as she closed the book. Rocked by a warm breeze under a peaceful landscape of desert dunes glowing silver in the moonlight, she slipped into a deep sleep.
At the next morning’s meeting, the vampyr merely smiled on seeing the four apprentices’ identical plain robes.
They worked on an aqueduct project led by Master Den’maril, and Tara got to learn yet more passages through the Castle as Chem’s errand-girl. If this went on, she would know the blasted building like the back of her hand, she thought. The Castle had a lot of fun putting oceans, trenches, streams, and canyons under her feet, and she had to restrain herself from tripping, retreating, or jumping. Her only consolation was that the Castle played the same jokes on all the young spellbinders, pages, and stable hands—not to mention a few courtiers, who were helpless victims of its teasing.
The afternoon was given over to physical training, and Sparrow challenged Tara to a friendly bout of judo. Repeatedly thrown by the slim and se
emingly fragile brunette, Tara got to savor the pleasures of gravity in half a dozen rough landings.
Master Chanfrein hid a smile as he watched Tara spitting out the sand she’d eaten in her latest fall and decided to change exercises. He was curious to see how an Earth girl would handle herself in an unusual environment.
He asked the apprentices to follow him to an enormous chamber in a part of the Training Hall that Tara and Fabrice hadn’t seen before. Once inside, she realized that it was impossible to tell up from down or right from left in the chamber. This was partly because all four walls were completely covered with vegetation, but mainly because it had no gravity! Tara stepped in, took off, and to her alarm started floating away.
Suddenly a small black box with a big eye, a tiny jet engine, and two wings came to hover in front of her, crying, “Aim, aim!” Below it, a slightly bigger one was yelling, “Shoot, shoot!” A third maneuvered around to get a good angle on her, while repeating, “Zoom, zoom!”‘
“Don’t worry about them,” explained Cal, who was comfortably hanging onto a tree. “They’re called scoops, and they broadcast our exercises to video screens outside the hall.”
Tara cocked her head and flashed her most dazzling smile. The scoop practically hummed with excitement.
“Your attention, please,” cried Chanfrein. “You are bound to encounter situations in which you can’t use magic. In that case you have to make use of your environment. Let’s see how you manage here. You have only one goal: to immobilize or neutralize your opponent without magic, just by using your brains. Cal, show Fabrice and Tara how to do it.”
Cal braced himself against the tree and leaped, using his momentum to knock Fabrice to the center of the space. The boy hung suspended there in mid-air, helplessly thrashing around without being able to move an inch.
Tara quickly grasped the game’s central feature: unless you had something to hang onto or push against, you lost, because you couldn’t move.
At one point, Cal was bumped by Tara and spun around, and also found himself in the center of the chamber. He then did something very strange.
Tara Duncan and the Spellbinders Page 11
