And then, as if in compensation for my anxiety, an exotic excursion materialized on the horizon. Holy crap, the King’s Island! Well, who of the dark magicians wouldn’t love a chance to feast their eyes on that place? How timely was my arrival in Krauhard!
Chapter 3
My summer vacation, so troublesome at the start, returned to normaclass="underline" Uncle’s potion spoiled my appetite but seriously improved character. I never thought that fluctuations in the Source could so strongly influence my mood.
The potion happened to be very timely: now I could handle my younger sister and brother without irritation. No, I’m not against children, but two years ago, when we were on equal terms, the little ones had not pestered me that much; their attention was mainly focused on our parents then. Now little Emmy was teaching me to recognize different flowers. She was taking me to some buttercups, poking at them, and saying something like, “This is a chicken gizzard plant!”
I was much more worried about zoology than botany: my stepfather cast a spell on my room’s window that repelled the bees, but the little beasts caught up with me outside the house. For two days none had stung me, but I was afraid that my luck would not last long.
Lyuchik ran around, happy and shining, and talked about everything. Literally, about everything. It was an unhindered flow of consciousness, the sense of which I could not catch, even when I tried. Unusual behavior for an eight-year-old boy. If those were the symptoms of an awakening white Source, then what did the awakening of a dark one look like? I tried to remember what I used to do to get on my relatives’ nerves at his age.
“You know, when we just discovered your dark talent, you tried to control everyone,” my stepfather Joe said at lunch, following his offspring with a look full of adoration. “Virtually everyone, even cats. That was so endearing…”
It was a blessing that my memory hadn’t retained these events.
For two days I was miraculously showcasing self-control and restraint; even the pickiest empath could not say that I fell short of the image of a perfect genius Big Brother. On the third day, Uncle Gordon, as promised, told my parents about the expedition. We enjoyed tea on the deck that was under a spell of repulsion against bees. The brazen creatures flew to the edge of the spell’s shield and hung out there, buzzing ponderously. I was pouring honey over my pancakes. I did not like bees, but I loved sweets, and the idea that the treat was taken away from the hated insects and spiced with their corpses improved the flavor for me.
My mother responded to Uncle’s offer without enthusiasm.
“Thomas came here to relax…”
I tore myself away from the pancakes: “Ma! It’s the King’s Island!”
“Besides, the kid could make some money,” Uncle said into his cup. Money? I had not thought about this aspect of the expedition.
“How much do they pay?” Joe became interested.
“Seventeen crowns per week,” Uncle said. “Plus three meals a day.”
Fifty crowns for three weeks! My look must have said everything: I already saw that money in my pocket. I already felt the weight in my hands. My mother sighed.
“Stop it, Millie!” Uncle smiled. “It will only take a month. You’ll still have time to enjoy each other.”
“Are you going to the island with the ghosts?” Lyuchik widened his eyes.
“Do not be afraid, kid!” I scoffed. “If they appear, your brother will seal them all.”
“Nothing has been going on there for a hundred years now,” my stepfather took my side.
“Because no one has been living there for a hundred years,” mother pointedly replied.
They argued a little longer, but the last word, as always, was left with me. Was I a dark mage or not? Mother sighed and started packing my things for the trip. Joe was getting in our way, greatly irritating both me and my mom. One thing was good: on the day of my departure it rained in the valley, and the bees did not see me off.
The whole way to the coast Uncle and I drove in silence, but not because there was nothing to talk about—the old wreck jumped on potholes like a jerboa, howling on the rises and rattling deafeningly downhill. Any communication under such circumstances could cost us our tongues. A few travelers that we saw on our way quickly jumped to the side and incanted averting spells, cows started kicking, and horses were rearing up. Ha, imagine what would have happened had they known where we were going to!
As far as I knew, the island had always been closed for visitors. Under the old government, there was a prison, the most horrible place in all of Ingernika. The current authorities closed it out of compassion for the warders, but since then a belief had sprung up that the souls of the dark magicians came to live there after death. About a hundred years ago a chain of enchanted beacons emerged around the island, scaring off fishing boats with their sad ringing. Opinions regarding the reason for the strict prohibition against visitors differed: some thought that there were gates to the underworld on the island, while others claimed that the authorities guarded the tomb of the island’s namesake king. Others, referring to the legends, hinted that the king would be fully able to protect himself. The island had never been a tourist destination, any interest in it was discouraged, and I hadn’t seen its picture even once.
Still more surprising was the appearance of dandies from the capital in Krauhard. What could attract their interest in a place where no one ever lived?
Archaeologists were going to sail to the island from a tiny fishing village with the strange name of Canine Beach; I do not know about others, but in my mind that name was associated with corpses and garbage. Uncle and I were the first to arrive at the village. I sweated hard in my thick knitted jacket hoping that it would be as cold on the sea as promised.
The employers showed up when it was already past noon. A hefty truck, nearly new if judged by its exhaust, rolled up to the pier, and a paramilitary off-road minivan (only the army used diesel engines in small vehicles) followed it. Movers and security guys jumped out of the truck, while our future bosses slowly poured out of the minivan.
“These guys have money,” Uncle remarked thoughtfully.
I did not try to sustain the conversation; the hangover from the anti-magic elixir was surprisingly miserable.
“I won’t give you more,” Uncle said at the time of departure. “Taking this elixir for a long time causes hallucinations and bouts of schizophrenia.”
I nearly choked.
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“Did you really have a choice?” Uncle argued. “Let’s not draw attention to us. The elixir’s effect will end in two days, and we will start training. Let me warn you: I am no good as a teacher, so do not expect too much. You are not a fortuneteller like Coy Gorgun; your task is to learn how to confidently call upon and dismiss your Source, and even an idiot can cope with it after practicing. Got it?”
I nodded; my head did not ache yet then. The prospect of making money, walking around the forbidden island, and learning a little more magic looked quite attractive. Who knew that I would be feeling so sick?
Besides us, three more workers were going to the island, and, judging by their clothing, they were not local. Nobody wore shirts with short sleeves in Krauhard, not even in summer—health is more important than comfort. The guys did not attempt to make introductions, but I realized that all of them were students, either from the capital or from its suburbs. They took swigs out of a large leather flask and laughed; they looked like they knew little about the King’s Island. I had already pictured in my mind a company of cabinet scientists committing a raid on historical places on their university’s budget, when the paramilitary truck approached the pier. A mountain of bales, boxes, and barrels grew rapidly on the berth; a couple of burly men in uniform overalls received the cargo at the pier and chased the curious away; one of the two had a nightstick hanging on his belt, and another one had a knife tucked in his boot. The ship that lazily dangled off the coast started steaming.