Secrets in Phoenix Page 13

By mid-morning Sam and Todd had joined Ness in her office, waiting while she prepared the brew to counteract Sam’s spell. She was certainly right about one thing: he didn’t need to see anymore.

  As for the rest of the school, with the threat of Divellions still at large, lessons were cancelled—at least, lessons in the traditional sense of the word. With the exception of Sam, Todd, and myself, the students were scheduled for a day of Intensive Crisis Training. I didn’t really know what that meant. As near as I could figure, it was an insanely rigorous P.E. lesson. The kind of P.E. lesson that would have brought on a mysterious stomach ache if I hadn’t already been excused. I breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Garret suggested that I ‘watch and observe today.’

  Jaxon, on the other hand, had not been excused. But before the training began, he took me on a tour of the manor, showing me around the rooms I’d not yet seen—including his own bedroom. I couldn’t hide my surprise when I caught sight of it. It was a fraction of the size of the other rooms. It was small and rectangular, with a narrow bed pushed against the wall, a wood floor, and a battered mahogany wardrobe. A solitary strip of daylight crept in through a vertical aperture in the wall—for all the good it did in that dreary confinement.

  At least, it was dreary, until I spent some time there and began to see it in a completely different way. In fact, we ended up staying in his room until it came time to head outside. And it was nice—we talked and laughed, mostly about school stuff, like Mabel and the other boys in middle group. When it came time to leave, I made a quick dash to my own room to collect my notebook and pen before hurrying back to meet Jaxon at his chamber.

  At the door, I twisted the handle and stepped inside.

  I gasped.

  Jaxon was at his wardrobe. His shirt had been tossed onto his bed. He stood with his back to me, exposing olive skin from the waist up. But what I saw was a thick, jagged scar trailing along his shoulder blade and diagonally across his back until it reached his waist.

  Jaxon glanced at me, then hastily shrugged into a clean shirt.

  Mentally kicking myself, I covered my mouth. I knew it was futile to hope that he had not heard my shocked reaction.

  Of course he had heard.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, quickly buttoning his shirt. “I forget, sometimes. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “No,” I replied quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I should have knocked.”

  Jaxon licked his lips. “So it scared you.”

  “No,” I told him, honestly. “I just… I didn’t know. How did it happen?”

  He gave me a doleful smile. “Battle scars.”

  I took a step closer. “Did it hurt?”

  He exhaled. “At the time, maybe. I don’t remember.” He turned away from me, pretending to sort through the loose papers on his desk.

  I moved towards him and gently placed my hand on his back. I could feel the groove of the scar beneath the thin shirt.

  Jaxon froze.

  “Am I hurting you?” I asked.

  He let out a quiet breath. “No.”

  He turned around slowly, catching my hand in his. Our fingers linked together like missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

  As I found his charcoal eyes in the dim light of the room, I couldn’t help but wonder, what else had the battle done to him? Where were the scars that couldn’t be seen?

  Chapter Eleven

  Combatants

  By mid-afternoon I’d resorted to sitting on a patch of grass at the back of the school, watching the groups train.

  According to Ness, last night Mr. Hardy and some of the boys had executed a raid on the cottage, gathering a bag of essentials to keep us going until god only knows when. For me, they’d heaped together a couple of pairs of jeans and tops, along with my wash bag and towel. I was less than pleased at the thought of them rifling through my personal belongings, but simultaneously overjoyed by the luxury of clean clothes and toiletries.

  Unfortunately, however, the troop had neglected to pack my jacket, which proved to be an issue when sitting outdoors on an overcast September afternoon.

  I rolled the hem of my top around my hands, shivering intermittently. A more sensible person would have retreated indoors at that point. But I’d come to accept that my sensibleness was with my jacket—somewhere very far away.

  Although I had to admit, sitting outside wasn’t all bad. The views from behind the school were breath-taking. When I’d been there for archery the day before, I hadn’t had the chance to truly appreciate the scenery. Even on a grim day such as this, the hills looked fresh and vibrant green, and the rolling woodland was layered with the colours of autumn.

  And then, of course, there was Jaxon. I had to admit, he was fun to watch. Especially when it came to archery. It was incredible to see him operate. He would start with a dozen arrows in a holster strapped to his back, then make shot after shot after shot without even so much as a pause in between. Each arrow would hit the target tree, severing through its predecessor with impeccable precision.

  At one stage, I timed him. I’d scarcely made it to ten seconds before he’d fired every single arrow from his holster. That was less than an arrow per second!

  I admired how naturally the ability came to him. His movement was fluid and seemed effortless. And I knew from firsthand experience that the bows were not the easiest instruments to manoeuvre. He was, I decided, quite extraordinary.

  It quickly became apparent, however, that some of the other boys didn’t share in my esteem. Reuben the Magnificent, for one. Several times throughout the day, I caught him glowering at Jaxon.

  But Jaxon didn’t once return the stare. He didn’t speak to him, either. Or to anyone, for that matter.

  After the archery portion had finished, Mr. Garret collected the bows and gave the boys a five-minute break before the next training exercise.

  Jaxon collected what was left of his arrows from the tree, then jogged across the clearing and crouched on the grass in front of me.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, attempting to sound nonchalant—a feat that was tricky to do above my chattering teeth.

  Jaxon smiled, his shimmering eyes the same wintery hue as the brewing rain clouds.

  “You’re really good at this,” I told him, gesturing to the now-abandoned glade.

  He shrugged.

  “No, you’re really good,” I said.

  “It is what it is,” he replied vaguely.

  I frowned. “But, you’re the best—”

  “If you’re cold I can get you a jacket.”

  I hesitated. Was he trying to change the subject?

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  All of a sudden, something came hurtling towards us; it was a long wooden pole soaring through the air, on course for my head.

  I braced myself for the impact.

  With lightning speed, Jaxon swivelled around and caught the pole mid-air. His knuckles turned pale as he steadily gripped the centre.

  We looked up to see Reuben the Magnificent staring us down from across the glade. Dark, sunken circles framed his eyes, and his matted black hair fell heavily over his brow.

  I let out a shaky breath. Jerk, I thought.

  “Break time’s over,” Reuben barked.

  Jaxon locked eyes with him—for a second, they reminded me of animals in the wild. And for a second, I felt afraid.

  A look of pure ferocity crossed Jaxon’s face; it was an anger that I hadn’t witnessed in him before. His grasp began to bow the pole.

  “Hey,” I whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “It’s okay.” His arm felt like steel beneath my fingers.

  He tore his gaze from Reuben and turned to me. For the first time, I noticed that his pupils had engorged into two black vortexes. He was trembling, too.

  “Everything alright over there?” Mr. Garret hollered, peeking out from over the rims of his spectacles.

  Some distance away from us, Reuben sneered.
“Everything’s fine, sir.”

  “Good-o,” Mr. Garret beamed. “Lads, pair up and we’ll begin combat.”

  My hands slipped away from Jaxon and he made an instant beeline for Reuben. Their pairing didn’t need to be confirmed aloud—it was a foregone conclusion. Though I, for one, wished it wasn’t so. Especially when I caught sight of the playing-to-win look plastered all over Reuben’s smug face.

  It sent a whole new shiver over my skin.

  Squared up to each other now, Reuben twirled his staff, smiling menacingly while Jaxon stabbed his weapon into the ground.

  On Mr. Garret’s command, they began.

  The sparring was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It was as though I was watching two Roman gladiators combat, only much, much faster.

  I was afraid to blink. Jaxon ducked and spun with ease, his staff thudding and clunking against Reuben’s as they battled. There was not a moment’s respite. Every move was swifter and more unexpected than the last.

  I knotted my fingers through the blades of grass, terrified that at any second, Reuben could strike a fatal blow. They were moving faster and more purposefully than any of the other boys. I kept hoping that Mr. Garret would notice and put a stop to it. But he didn’t. He wandered between the pairs, observing quietly.

  And then it happened.

  With a forceful smack, Reuben knocked the pole out of Jaxon’s hands. It hurtled into the air and landed several metres away from them. Not that Jaxon had a chance to retrieve it, anyway. No sooner had the weapon left his grip than Reuben was upon him. He pressed his staff to Jaxon’s throat and drove him to the ground.

  “No!” I cried, leaping to my feet. “Don’t!”

  The other boys paused and looked over to see what all the commotion was about.

  I rushed to where Reuben had Jaxon pinned to the grass.

  With all my might, I yanked at Reuben’s arm. But, unaffected, he propelled me away as though I were nothing more than a pesky fly.

  As I stumbled backwards, I saw Jaxon’s eyes darken. He thrust the pole away from his throat, ramming it into Reuben’s chin before pouncing to his feet.

  “Stop!” Mr. Garret ordered. “Hold your tempers!”

  Both boys shook with wild rage.

  Mr. Garret positioned himself between them. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked calmly.

  “Him,” Reuben seethed. “Getting that girl to help him.”

  “Mr. Garret,” I spluttered, “Reuben went too far. He was trying to—”

  Reuben snarled at me.

  “He’s growling at me!” I exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at my new rival.

  Jaxon lunged at him.

  “Stop!” Mr. Garret commanded, jamming his arm between them. Then, in a lulling voice he said, “Hold your tempers, gentleman. Remember what I’ve taught you. Deep breaths.”

  Jaxon’s body began to quake and my heart started to race.

  “Hold him!” Mr. Garret said at once.

  The redheaded boy Lewis and his friend Carlton threw their arms around Jaxon, pulling him to the ground.

  Reuben smirked.

  “What are you doing?” I cried. “Let go of him!” I tried to rush forward, but Mr. Garret held me back.

  “Nothing to worry about, Sophie Ballester,” he said, trying not to sound anxious. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to head inside until it’s passed.”

  The boys pulled Jaxon towards the trees. He glanced over his shoulder at me—although I got the feeling that he could no longer see me.

  #

  By the time I got into the manor, my hands were shaking and my stomach was in knots. What had happened out there? Why had they taken Jaxon away like that?

  Because he’s… I swallowed. Dangerous?

  I hurried up the staircase and made a left for my bedroom. My footsteps followed me in a ghostly echo as I made my way along the wood-planked corridor.

  I slipped into my room. It was empty, and our sleeping bags remained bunched and crumpled on our camp beds.

  Sam and Todd must still be with Ness, I presumed.

  From the window, I could see the misted hilltops and a bank of grey clouds looming in the distance.

  Breathe, I told myself. The handy thing about countryside living was the calming effect of the endless greenery. And to someone who’d grown up with a not-so-spectacular window view of generic houses, the picturesque scenery was one massive advantage that Phoenix Holt had.

  Actually, when I really thought about it, what had I truly left behind in Port Dalton? It wasn’t as though I’d had a huge group of friends or anything. So, what else was it? The sea? Maybe. But substituting the sea for hills and woodland wasn’t such a bad trade.

  Wilber.

  I’ve got news for you, I scolded myself. Wilber isn’t in Port Dalton anymore.

  All of a sudden, it was as though someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over my head.

  Wilber wasn’t there. And he never would be again—no matter how much I wished it to be so.

  This wasn’t about Phoenix Holt, or even Port Dalton, for that matter. It was about me. I needed to find some way to let go, or else I feared I’d waste my life clinging to a world that simply didn’t exist anymore. I had to figure out a way of holding onto Wilber’s memory without letting it hold onto me.

  It reminded me of a picture I’d once seen in an art book of a rose suspended inside a block of ice. That was me, frozen in the preservation of Wilber’s memory. The irony of it was, if I could find a way to melt the ice, there was a chance that I would flourish with the water it created.

  I crawled into my camp bed and pulled the nylon sleeping bag up over my head.

  Please be okay, Jaxon, I urged silently.

  And that was the last thing I remembered before I drifted to sleep.

  #

  As the carnival’s stalls began to close up for the night, Wilber and Jesse sat on the dusty ground, sharing a bag of popcorn. They leaned against a fence—the cut-off point to Garlands Fields and as far away from the carnival as they could be without actually leaving its perimeters.

  After the run-in at the entrance, the boys didn’t see Mick and his gang again. Wilber considered it a lucky escape. Even with the incident fresh in his mind, this had been the best night of his life.

  He and Jesse had been on a dozen rides—most of which they’d snuck onto without paying. Wilber would have never normally done such a thing, but with Jesse it was like a game.

  There was something thrilling about walking for one night in Jesse’ shoes—something that made Wilber feel alive inside. It gave him a rush of excitement to be so carefree and rebellious. He never wanted it to end.

  Jesse tipped the last of the buttered popcorn into his cupped hand and offered some to Wilber.

  Wilber took a couple of pieces and popped them into his mouth.

  “We should ask the candyfloss lady for a handout,” Jesse mused. “The stalls will be packing up soon. For sure she’ll give us the leftovers, right?”

  Wilber groaned. “I couldn’t eat another bite!” He wasn’t used to gorging so indulgently. However, he was starting to notice that Jesse had an insatiable appetite for everything: fun, food, life… Wilber admired it. Idolised it, in fact.

  Jesse screwed up the popcorn bag and tossed it towards a nearby metal waste bin. The balled-up bag soared neatly into the target.

  “I’ve always got room for more,” Jesse said and grinned. “Besides, we’ve got to live it up while we can. This is our summer holiday!”

  Wilber’s ochre eyes glinted. “It’s the best summer holiday I’ve ever had.”

  Jesse picked up a stick and trailed it through a patch of sawdust. “If you think this is good, I know a fairground that’s ten times the size of this.” He drew out the word ‘ten’ with wide-eyed enthusiasm. “And the best part is, it’s open all summer long!”

  Wilber sat forward eagerly. “Can we go?”

  “Sure! But not this year, though. Me and my mother go
every summer. This is the first year we’ve missed it. We cancelled because she’s been so sick. Until your mother Sulinda fixed her up with that herbal medicine. She’s as fit as anything now, so I said to her, Let’s go. Let’s pack a bag and get out of here, old gal. Am I wrong? I’m not wrong, Wilber. Still, she said…” Jesse put on a high pitched, nagging voice, “Will you keep quiet, Jesse? If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. It’s too late to go this year. I’ve got to pay the bills, blah, blah, blah...” He slipped back into his normal tenor. “Could have been ’cause I called her old, though. But next summer the old gal reckons we can go for two weeks. Maybe more if I play my cards right. And you can come along, too. Bring your mother and sister, if you want.”

  “I’d like that,” Wilber exclaimed. “Do I have to bring my family, though?”

  “No, you don’t have to. Why? Don’t they like this scene?”

  “It’s not that…” Wilber trailed off. He winced at what he was about to say. “It’s just… I think I want to get away from them. Just for a while,” he added, looking down at the dusty ground.

  Jesse frowned, but his voice remained neutral. “You fight a lot, or what?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” Wilber paused. “I love them. It’s just… sometimes I wish I could be part of a normal family.”

  “No such thing as a normal family,” Jesse laughed. “Besides, what mother could be better than yours? The woman’s a miracle worker.”

  “That’s exactly it!” said Wilber, flustered. “We’re cursed. You hear what people call me, don’t you?” He lowered his voice. “Witch.”

  Jesse, who had been idly drawing patterns on the ground with the stick, stopped and looked Wilber in the eyes.

  “Near as I can figure,” he said, “you and your family are good people and you do good things. If that means you’re a witch, then I sure as hell wish I was one, too.”

  Wilber let out a weighty sigh. “But the people—”

  “I don’t give a damn about the people,” Jesse interrupted. “And neither should you. Your mother is a good person, Wilber, and don’t you forget it.” He resumed trailing the stick along the ground. “Now, are we all going on our summer holiday next July or not?” He shot Wilber a boyish grin.