Tara Duncan and the Spellbinders (7 page)

“Do you have schools for spellbinders, like on television?”

“Ahhh, your television! No, we don't have schools for spellbinders. You need only read a book of spells once, and it becomes part of your mind forever. We don't need to study.”

Tara's eyes widened in surprise. What? No need to study? Betty would love that!

Isabella shot the old wizard a look of irritation and spoke up.

“But we need to constantly study to make sure that our presence doesn't harm or endanger the worlds where we live,” she said. “That takes a lot of work. And specialties are not learned in books but in practice, and that takes a lot of work too.”

Unruffled, Chem continued.

“Tell me, dear, based on what you've seen on television and in your movies, what do you know about spellbinders?”

At this, Tara started to flounder. The old wizard was so odd, she didn't quite know how to answer.

“Well, you have cauldrons, and you mix potions, there's black magic and white magic, and . . . ”

Chem was making such a horrible face that Tara's voice gradually faded away.

“Fire and brimstone!” the old wizard raged. “Nonspells are always trying to codify what spellbinders do, and it's always twaddle! Cauldrons and potions exist, but they aren't important! We are
masters of spells
. And magic isn't black or white; it's just a tool that depends on who is using it. If you slice your bread with a knife, that's good, but if you stab somebody with a knife, that's bad. But the knife isn't good or bad; it's just a knife. Zounds! Your grandmother hasn't taught you
anything
!”

“Well, duh! That's just the problem,” said Tara. “And who are those Bloodgraves? You haven't talked about them yet.”

She had touched on a sore point, and the wizard grimaced.

“The Bloodgraves are pretentious, arrogant spellbinders who think they're powerful enough to be masters of the universe. They dress only in gray and hide their faces behind a mask so no one will know who they are. They have declared themselves our enemies and are constantly battling us for control of our worlds.”

Now it was Tara's turn to grimace. “Why do they have such a weird name?”

“In the language of our primitive ancestors, we were known as ‘Those who know how to bind spells.' That was a little long, and over time it became shortened to ‘spellbinders.' Those who lacked our powers were called ‘non-spellbinders.' That got shortened as well, to ‘nonspells.' A spellbinder named Druidor Bloodgrave decided that the nonspells should be our slaves. The hunter-elves defeated and killed him, but not before he acquired followers. When they decided to challenge us, the gray spellbinders called themselves Bloodgraves in Druidor's honor, and dug up those ridiculous old names. For heaven's sake, Isabella, you could at least have warned her against the Bloodgraves.”

“I didn't teach Tara'tylanhnem anything because her father made me swear that she would not be a spellbinder and would lead a normal life. To protect her, I was even prepared to hide her gift from the High Council.”

“
What
?” the old wizard almost fell off his chair. “That's unacceptable! How could you conceive of such a thing? It's forbidden!”

Though no longer under the petrifying spell, Isabella was as still and rigid as a statue.

“I gave my word,” she simply said.

“That's no reason! We have laws, Isabella, laws created to protect the nonspells and also to protect us. We aren't outlaws, like the Bloodgraves. Do you have any idea how much harm Tara could have done?”

“But it didn't happen!”

“Enough! That's no excuse! Or do you think you are above the law, Isabella? Are you declaring yourself to be a Semchanach?”

(Semchanachs, Tara would learn much later, were spellbinders who rejected the authority of the High Council. They weren't necessarily Bloodgraves, and could use magic as they pleased, provided it didn't harm anyone. If it did, they were mercilessly tracked down by the hunter-elves.)

Isabella looked as if she'd been punched in the face.

“No, of course not!” she shot back. “I've never tried to evade the Council's authority. I obey its orders, as you know better than anyone. But Chem, I swore a blood oath!”

Now it was the old wizard's turn to stiffen.

“A blood oath! Are you joking?”

“Certainly not,” she said, pulling up the sleeves of her robe and moving her bracelets aside. Each of her wrists bore a red glyph in the shape of a horizontal number 8. The wizard turned pale and took a step back.

“If Tara'tylanhnem becomes a wizard, I will die,” she said as she covered up the glyphs.

Stunned, Tara stared at her grandmother. What was she talking about?

The old wizard was thinking so hard, Tara almost expected to see smoke come out of his ears.

“Well that changes everything,” he said gravely. “I didn't know. Did that happen when you—”

“Yes,” interrupted Isabella, nodding meaningfully toward the girl.

Tara understood perfectly: more blasted secrets! But now she had a secret as well—about her mother—and had no intention of sharing it.

“In that case we have a serious problem,” said Chem, giving Isabella a worried glance. “How much time would you need to protect the property and the girl?”

“Not more than about ten days, if you can lend me Padimo and Glivol. The thing is, I don't have all the necessary ingredients here.”

“Hmm, I see. And it would be too dangerous to take Tara with you, I imagine. All right, here's what I suggest: I'll take your granddaughter with me for ten days. She will accompany me to Other-World, to the Royal Castle of Travia. That way I'll be able to protect her. And then I'll send her back to you.”

He made an odd gesture in the air, stretched out his hand, and raised his voice: “Let what I have declared be recorded.”

Tara jumped when she heard an incredibly high-pitched voice chirping, seemingly from the empty air. It spoke so rapidly it was as if the words were stuck together: “Verywell, High Wizard. The High Council here by records the decision. he notice will be publishedintheofficialCouncilgazette.”

Chem frowned, rubbed his ear, and fiddled with something in his hand.

“No, I want this decision recorded in executive session,” he specified. “No point in telling everybody that the child will be on OtherWorld. Simply advise the other members of the Council. Oh, and also Master T'andilus M'angil, the head of our secret services.”

This time, the disembodied voice was incredibly low, and spoke very, very slowly: “Veerrryyy weelll, Hiiiggghhh Wiiiizzzzaaaarrrrddd, iiittt wwwiiilll bbbeee dddooonnneee.”

The wizard sighed, annoyed at the bad connection. When he lowered his hand, Tara saw something in it sparkle and realized that he had been communicating by means of a kind of crystal ball, which he now put in his pocket.

Isabella hadn't moved during this entire exchange.

“I could keep Tara'tylanhnem with me,” she said soberly. “Now that I know how the Bloodgraves operate, I can repulse them.”

The old wizard looked at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes and her slightly trembling hands.

“I think you're very tired, Isabella. Better for the child to come with me. It will be less of a burden if you aren't worried about her.”

Isabella hesitated, but then admitted how fatigued she was. She took a deep breath and looked at her granddaughter.

“I can't always express things the way I'd like to, but I love you deeply, Tara'tylanhnem, and I want the best for you. But Chem is right. I can't protect you if you're with me.”

Tears came to the girl's eyes. She knew that her grandmother loved her, in her own way. But there's a huge difference between knowing it and hearing it said, as she was discovering.

“I love you too, Grandma.”

Well aware that Isabella didn't like to be touched, Tara did nothing. But when her grandmother opened her arms, she joyfully ran to hug her.

“Well, well,” said the old wizard with great satisfaction. “That's one good thing taken care of. Now Tara, it's very early, and you have hours of missed sleep to make up. Go to bed. We will leave for OtherWorld later.”

Tara left the office, her mind still buzzing with questions despite her fatigue. She understood clearly that the wizard was bringing her to a different world tomorrow. And she remembered what her mother had told her, that she was imprisoned in the Gray Fortress on OtherWorld. Perfect, she smiled to herself. The wizard was taking her exactly where she most wanted to go.

As Master Chem went upstairs to the guest room he also had plenty to think about during what was left of the night.

By what incredible coincidence had the Bloodgraves attacked the Duncan family? After all, the High Council itself knew nothing about this unrevealed young spellbinder. And how had Tara managed to redirect the deadly ray? Only a wizard of an extremely high level could have countered an attack like that. Even Isabella hadn't been able to.

Also, Tara had been remarkable in resisting his Somnolus spell. True, he hadn't cranked it up very high. He hadn't wanted to knock her out for two weeks, just two hours. Still, she had stood up to him.

Finally, those infernal Bloodgraves wanted the girl. They wanted her so badly they were willing to send two of their own, including the famous Magister, their leader, to kidnap her.

It was all very interesting. Yes, very, very interesting.

T
he next morning, Tara thought about the ghostly vision of her mother and the terrible attack as she pulled on the second leg of her jeans. Suddenly, an awful thought struck her, leaving her hopping in place. What if it all had been a dream? She quickly finished dressing and ran downstairs.

To her great relief, she found the old wizard in the kitchen cheerfully chatting with Tachil, Deria, and Mangus over cocoa. So she wasn't nuts after all—spellbinders really did exist.

She plopped down next to the wizard and poured herself a big mug of hot chocolate.

“Morning Deria, Mangus, Tachil. Good morning, Mister . . . er, Master,” she said quickly, remembering there was no way she could pronounce the high wizard's name.

“Good morning Tara,” said Chem. “How are you feeling this morning? Not too stiff?”

She was surprised to realize that in fact she felt very sore. When she moved, muscles she never knew she had complained loudly.

“I am, actually. Why?”

“Because you used your body's energy to do all the things you accomplished yesterday. When you levitated your grandmother, it's as if you were really lifting her. You carried, you ran, you used your power, and your body suffered the consequences. We try not to use magic too often, at least those of us who aren't especially gifted, because it burns up a lot of energy and we could die of exhaustion.”

“But I could never have lifted my grandmother without magic,” Tara protested. “She's a lot heavier than I am.”

“Ah, I can see you're Isabella's granddaughter all right! You want a logical explanation, don't you? And you're quite right. If you'd had a wheelbarrow, for example, you could have put Isabella in it and moved her, right? Well, magic is a little like that. It's a tool. Magic lets you take your twelve-year-old strength and multiply it. To use your power, you unconsciously drew on the forces that exist all around us. Spellbinders are able to use this life force for their own purposes, and normal humans can't.”

Great, thought Tara. Now Chem was spouting “May the Force be with you” stuff. All this spellbinder business had been lacking was a
Star Wars
tie-in. Still, she was riveted. So that's how magic worked. She tried to visualize the concept.

“So we're a kind of motor and the fluid around us is like gasoline, is that it? We run on it, and it gives us power. And the better the motor, the greater the power.”

The wizard looked at Tara then pounded her on the back so hard, her cup of chocolate almost went flying.

“Remarkable! Just remarkable! Tara, you have a wonderful gift for simplifying the most complicated things. Ah, Padimo isn't going to like this. He always gets tangled in circumlocutions when he tries to explain the nature of magic. A motor and gas—exactly the metaphor we were after!”

Isabella entered, scowling at the racket.

“Well, well, what's going on here?”

“What's going on is that your granddaughter is remarkable,” said the delighted wizard. “Simply remarkable.”

Tara was flattered that Chem liked her analogy, but thought he was making too much of it. And speaking of magic, it was time she got a few things straight.

“Tell me, Master, when are we leaving?” Tara asked.

“Soon. And you won't be alone. Deria will join us on Other-World at Travia Castle. She insisted on going along as your protector. She's a trained magus, so we had the court take her on as its weather wizard. Your grandmother's assistants will stay here to help her prepare the manor's defenses.”

“Terrific!” said Tara with an enthusiasm that surprised Isabella, who'd though she might refuse to go. “What do I have to do now?”

“First, finish your breakfast. Deria will help you pack your bags. Then we'll go to the Portal and transfer to Travia. By the way, it might be useful to take your great-grandfather with you. He'll be a perfect familiar, since he can't be identified in his present form.”

To Tara, it sounded as if the wizard was speaking Martian, and she stared at him blankly.

“By Demiderus, Isabella,” he growled, “don't tell me she doesn't know about your father, either?”

“No, of course not,” she snapped. “Manitou, come in here!” she commanded in a ringing voice that made Tara jump.