Rise of Allies (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 4) (6 page)

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Jake and the others were already starting to cringe for her, but then, dark clouds began forming over her head.

“Well, that’s appropriate,” mumbled Dani. “Since dark clouds seem to follow her.”

The thunderclouds gathered and grew over the center of the field where Nixella stood; they started swirling, slowly at first, but spreading and thickening as they churned faster and faster.

Jake was suddenly rather uneasy. This was serious power to find in the hands of a kid, and Miss Valentine was only getting started. Demonstrations like this certainly showed why the Order kept as close an eye as possible on all magical children. Especially when it came to witches and wizards.

Just as the oak-sure Guardians were always the reliable ones, the Order’s stalwart loyalists, witches and warlocks were the type most likely to go astray.

At least, that was what Jake had heard. Too often, rumor had it, their power seemed to go to their heads.

Jake hoped Miss Valentine was a good person because even he could see that her abilities were formidable, though she only looked about Dani’s age.

Lifting her wand in a straight line above her head, Nixella made the clouds she had formed obey her, ordering them into a small, intense, whirlwind.

The crowd oohed and aahed and applauded in amazement as the outer bands of wind from her magic-born tornado messed up everybody’s hair.

“I guess that counts as air,” Dani said loudly over the gale, her red hair flying in her face.

“It’s a wonder she doesn’t blow away!” Archie cried, just before somebody’s lost program whipped flat against his face. He peeled the wind-tossed paper off him with a splutter.

“Oh!” Isabelle cried as her pink parasol suddenly flipped inside-out in the stiff breeze.

Nixella Valentine flicked her wand at the sky with a throwing motion and shouted,
“Incendia!”

A huge lightning bolt streaked across the afternoon sky, as if Zeus himself had thrown it down to let her borrow it.

Crackling in shades of blinding gold and jagged silver, it pierced the thunderheads, rocketed down through the center of the funnel cloud, and struck the metal brazier.

Instantly, the coals burst into flames.

The applause was immediate, accompanied by astonished cheering as the lightning disappeared and the fire atop the brazier blazed.

“I bet she practiced this a lot,” Archie said admiringly.

Even Aunt Ramona had sat up and taken notice, despite all the innumerable Assessments she had watched over the centuries. “
That
is a very talented girl.”

Jake agreed. Thankfully, their talents were different enough that he didn’t feel as threatened by the little witch as he had by the daring warrior-kid, Maddox St. Trinian.

Aunt Ramona was applauding and shaking her head in surprise. “This is extremely advanced work for one so young.”

“Do you think she ever smiles?” Archie asked.

“I doubt it,” Dani said. “She looks like she hates the world.”

Having proved her thorough study of the element of air and succeeded at the main task of lighting the brazier by magical means—which obviously counted as fire—Miss Valentine now turned her attention to the element of water.

The lightning had receded to its invisible dwelling place in the sky. She calmed the winds, dispersing her tornado before it blew out the brazier flames. All that was left now were the dark clouds she had started with.

Jake watched in fascination as she took her wand and tapped her left hand with it, then did the same thing to her right. This interesting bit of magic apparently allowed her to dispense with her wand and use her hands instead. She tucked the wand into her orange sash and then lifted her hands toward the thunderclouds above her.

Like a sculptor working a hunk of clay—smoothing, rounding, shaping it—she compacted the clouds down into a tight, shimmering ball of water.

It hovered about six feet off the ground. She took care to step back out of the way and then, with artful flicks of her fingers, she began making drips of rain leak off the watery sphere here and there.

Drip, drip, drip.

They fell faster and faster, until she clapped her hands together loudly. The water gushed out in a torrential downpour that soaked the circle of grass below it and turned it into mud.

The people applauded her flamboyant show madly, but Nixella was in her own world. Obviously, the girl loved her craft. The final element left now was earth. She seemed to brace herself as she took out her wand again, like she was worried about this one.

Too low to hear, she spoke an incantation of some sort over the mud puddle, then whisked the air above it with her wand. Again, she took a tentative step back, as if she were not quite sure herself what might happen next.

Something began stirring in the mud puddle.

Archie laughed aloud as a brown, misshapen, mud creature rose up out of the puddle. It stood taller than the girl, with big thumping legs, little stunted arms, and wonky long ears.

“What is it?” Dani cried.

“A rabbit!” Isabelle exclaimed as the giant mud-hare twitched its whiskered nose and hopped three times across the grass, before collapsing back into a large squishy puddle again.

“Brilliant,” Jake breathed.

“Oh, bravo!” Archie applauded with unabashed admiration. “Isn’t that what they call a golem, Aunt Ramona?”

“Correct,” she said in distraction. She looked almost alarmed at the child’s display of magic.

Nixella Valentine gave the Old Yew a quick curtsy before hurrying shyly off the field.

Archie started to make a comment about the girl, but before he could speak—and
quite
before Jake was ready to hear it—Sir Peter Quince raised his speaking trumpet and boomed out the words that he had been dreading.

“Jacob Xavier Montague Charles Everton, the seventh Earl of Griffon! Will you please come forward?”

CHAPTER FIVE

Lightrider Material?

J
ake froze.

“You’re up, man, go, go!” Archie urged, clapping him on the shoulder.

His friends and even Henry began applauding wildly, cheering, as Jake stood up, dizzy, from his seat. He felt as though his knees were made of jelly.

From the edge of the field below, Derek turned and pointed at him in greeting, as if to say,
There you are!
Beside him, Maddox St. Trinian studied Jake with a long, intent stare—until he noticed Isabelle. Then he looked at nothing else.

But Derek waved and started clapping heartily. “Hear, hear for Lord Griffon!”

Jake practically scowled at his mentor. It was a little late for Derek to be giving him the encouragement he had so desperately needed before. Ah, well. Now he would find out if he could indeed get through this on his own.

No parents. No Derek, no Red. No Henry and Helena to watch his back. No Aunt Ramona, no Gladwin. No Archie or Izzy or Dani helping him out in their own particular ways.

This time, it was just him and the moment of truth, with the whole world looking on. But he supposed that was the point of all this, anyway. He was growing up, and it was time to find out what he was really made of.

His limbs felt wobbly as he squeezed across the aisle in front of the others, reached the steps, and then walked down the aisle to the field.

“Good luck, Jake!” Dani called.

“Be calm, stay centered,”
Aunt Ramona had advised him earlier. Easier said than done.

Isabelle waved her handkerchief in a ladylike show of support, but Jake still felt like he wanted to puke.

Down the bleacher stairs he went in a daze, across the gravel surrounding the Field of Challenge. Then he took his first momentous step over the thick chalk line.

And tripped a bit, of course.

Nervousness made him clumsy as he stepped onto the field.
Humiliating! Can’t you even walk right?
He paused, remembered to breathe, his heart thumping like the mummers’ drums of May Day. Then he squared his shoulders, steadied himself, and marched on, beginning to feel more normal.

Until he got close enough to the Old Yew to make out, for the first time, the gnarled old-man face in the ancient tree trunk.
Good Lord.
Jake took one look at it and stopped in his tracks.

He had known the Old Yew was a person, but for some reason, he had not thought about a face. That was how it was with trees, though. Sometimes you could see the faces in them, other times not.

It was most disconcerting, in any case. Especially since the Old Yew was staring right at him, matter-of-factly.

Somehow Jake collected his wits again and pressed on until he reached the spot where he bowed to all the powers-that-be.

Meanwhile, Sir Peter was clearing the Field of Challenge once more with another wave of his wand. Nixella Valentine’s ruined mud-rabbit and the puddle that had spawned it both evaporated.

“Ah, there you are,” Sir Peter greeted him brightly after completing his spell. He laid hold of Jake’s shoulder and spun him about none-too-gently.

Jake gulped as he beheld the sprawling sea of spectators. There must have been a thousand people watching.

“Not yet, Sir Peter, we should like to speak to the boy for a moment,” a deep, scratchy voice said behind him.

“Why, of course, Your Serene Leafiness.” His captor whirled Jake around again.

The row of Elders in their elevated chairs were inspecting him with curiosity, and Sir Peter gave him a slight shove toward the Old Yew.

“Go and pay your respects, boy,” he ordered under his breath.

“Y-yes, sir.”

The towering tree in the center of the Elders’ seats studied Jake with an unblinking stare.

As he moved forward, he kept a respectful distance, mindful not to step on the Old Yew’s toes, as it were; its gnarled roots spread out for some yards around the massive trunk.

“So…Jacob Everton, the Lost Heir of Griffon,” the ancient tree greeted him in a deep, raspy old-man voice, with slightly mulchy breath, while the spring breeze stirred in its branches, from which birds came and went as they pleased.

Jake blinked.

“And now he has been found,” the tree said in a reflective tone. “I hear it is your birthday tomorrow, lad. Born on Beltane, yes? That is a very good omen, you know. ’Tis said a Beltane babe is born lucky. Happy birthday to you, boy.”

Humph, I don’t know about that,
Jake thought, but he answered with respect. “Thank you, Your Serene Leafiness. And, er, if you don’t mind,” he added gingerly, “may I pass along a greeting to you from your Norse cousin, Yggdrasil, the Tree of the Universe.”

The Old Yew’s mossy eyebrows shot up. “You met Yggdrasil?”

Jake nodded, rather pleased with himself. He hoped the showoff Maddox was using his extra-powerful Guardian senses to hear this part. He felt rather important.

“We had to help a giant find his way back to Jugenheim a few months ago. Up Yggdrasil was the only way to get there.”

“Indeed,” the Old Yew marveled. “And how is the old Viking oak these days, eh?”

“Happy to say he is thriving, sir, according to the three witches who water him. They, too, send their best.”

“By my buds and branches! You met the three ferocious Norns and lived to tell of it?”

“Why, yes, sir. They served us tea, actually.”

“I say.” Now it was the tree’s turn to look entirely astonished at
him
.

“Begging your pardon, Your Leafiness,” a furry-faced Elder with whiskers and small, pointy ears spoke up. “We really should try to keep to the schedule. The Griffon heir is not the only candidate today.” He cast Jake a sour look. “And while we’re all
very
impressed to hear these tales of his exploits—uncorroborated tales, I would remind my colleagues—perhaps the lad believes that chatting up His Leafiness will make the panel show a certain favoritism. Hmm?”

“No, sir!” Jake exclaimed in offended surprise, turning to him.
What is that fellow, anyway? Part rodent?

The Elder in question studied Jake through beady eyes, his little pink nose twitching ever so slightly. The Old Yew looked askance at the furry Elder. (Of course, the tree could not turn his head very much to look at people beside him; all he could do was peer at them out of the corners of his eyes.)

“If you have questions for the boy, then by all means, ask them, Lord Badgerton.”

“Very well,” Lord Badgerton said crisply. “We hear that before you were found, you spent a few years as a pickpocket in London, Lord Griffon. Is that correct?”

Jake winced to hear the embarrassing secret of his thieving past announced to the entire magical community. Though his cheeks turned red, he stood stiffly, his chin high. “Yes, sir,” he admitted.

He could hear the murmurs that ran through the audience and the row of Elders.

The Old Yew’s woody face rearranged itself into a frown. “I trust your trainers will make sure to rid you of any worrisome old habits, Jacob. See that they do.”

“Yes, sir.” Everything in him longed to say something in his own defense, but somehow Jake knew it would only come out sounding like an excuse. So he kept his mouth shut and merely nodded.

Sir Peter Quince returned to his side. “Now then, Jacob. Are you ready to begin?”

Jake nodded, though it was really more a command than a question.

The smiling fellow whipped him around roughly once more to face the crowd and then proceeded to conduct a smarmy public interview of him. “Well, well, dear lad. Sounds like you have some big shoes to fill. Two talents!” He pointed at the red and blue sashes entwined around Jake’s waist. “I hear you have inherited both your parents’ abilities. Is this true?”

“Yes, sir. My mother could see ghosts, and my father had telekinesis.”

“And they both were Lightriders,” Sir Peter confided to the crowd through his speaking trumpet. “I am told you have high hopes of following in their footsteps someday?”

Jake blushed. “If I am found worthy, sir.”

“Well, you’re going to need quite a few more birthdays before you’ll be ready for that, I warrant, but I’m sure the panel will keep you in mind,” he said in amusement, and many in the audience chuckled at a mere boy’s dreams of becoming a great hero.

“To be sure,” Sir Peter continued, “two gifts must keep you very busy. When did your powers first begin to show? Do tell. Everyone’s very curious about you, Jake.”

“They are?”

“Charming.” Sir Peter chuckled, and the crowd followed suit, which Jake found a trifle bewildering.

“Well, um, the Kinderveil wore off about a year ago, a few weeks before my twelfth birthday.”

“Did both your gifts emerge at the same time?”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t know what to make of it. I was on my own at the time. Thought I was going mad.”

“No doubt. Then Guardian Stone found you, didn’t he?” he narrated for the benefit of the audience, many of whom were craning their necks to gawk at Jake or watching him through field glasses. “Rescued you, I believe, when your Uncle Waldrick tried to kill you in his wicked conspiracy with
that odious sea-witch, Fionnula Coralbroom.”

The mere mention of that name brought a visceral reaction from many of the Elders. It was clear she was still very much hated and feared.

Jake nodded.

“You are lucky to be alive with enemies like that, young man. Fortunately, ladies and gentlemen, Fionnula Coralbroom is well contained in her cell at the bottom of the North Atlantic. Ah, what’s the matter?” the Elder asked Jake, looking askance at him with a smile. “Does she still make you nervous? She would me.”

“No, sir. I just didn’t…realize the world knew about all that.”

“Are you jesting?” he exclaimed. “Your story was front page news in the
Clairvoyant
for weeks last summer. Oh, yes, my lad, we read all about you. And now, finally, here you are among us, in the flesh. On that note, perhaps we should get started with the ghosts now. What say you?”

He nodded resolutely. “I’m ready.”

“That’s the spirit! Ha—spirit, ghosts, get it?”

The whole crowd groaned at Sir Peter’s bad pun. He sent around a scowl of mock indignation at the bleachers, then beckoned to one of his colleagues before turning back to Jake. “I now leave you in the capable hands of Dame Oriel, one of our top mediums, who will conduct this portion of your Assessment. I cannot do it myself, for alas, I do not share that gift. Best of luck to you, young man.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jake answered in a tight voice.

Dry-mouthed with knowing his Assessment was about to begin, Jake noticed several ghosts materializing here and there on the Field of Challenge.

Sir Peter handed off his speaking trumpet to Dame Oriel as he returned to his chair. She was a trim, older woman with a serious demeanor, her elegant figure draped in the satin teal robe of an Elder psychic. She had piercing gray eyes and short, silvery-pink hair.

Jake promptly learned that Dame Oriel was all business, with none of Sir Peter’s chitchat.

“How do you do, Jacob. I am Lady Oriel,” she said. “Let us begin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She lifted the speaking trumpet to her lips and explained: “We enlist Merlin Hall’s resident ghosts to assist in our young mediums’ Assessments. This helps us gauge how clearly the candidates are able to see and hear those on the other side of the Veil.” She addressed her next words toward the field. “Any spirits present are now asked to proceed as we previously discussed.”

The crowd looked on, intrigued.

Lady Oriel turned back to Jake. “Your goal is to learn each ghost’s name. In addition, several of them will give you either a message to convey or some small task to carry out. If you repeat the correct words and perform the correct actions, then we’ll know beyond all doubt that your powers are authentic.”