The Hound of Rowan

by Henry H. Neff

  “You can’t get pushed out of the way like that,” panted Rolf, running up to Max as they herded with the rest toward one goal. “You have to be more aggressive or I’m going to pull you.”

  “It’s soccer!” snapped Max. “It’s not even a contact sport!”

  “Tell them that,” retorted Rolf.

  As the second half started, Max was sure M. Renard had changed the field settings. Its movements became more extreme and the patterns less predictable. Entire sections rose and fell in seamed ridges. Tracking a ball that arced over his head, Max turned and suddenly found himself face to face with a six-foot wall. He hoisted himself over only to see a Second Year defender reach the ball before him. The ball was passed back over his head, where it was caught on the chest by John Buckley, the Second Years’ captain, who made a nice move around the sweeper and launched the ball past Cynthia into the net. The crowd cheered as John was mobbed by his teammates.

  Five minutes later, Max found himself dribbling the ball and looking for Sarah upfield when he was suddenly slide-tackled hard from behind by Alex, who stole the ball and raced toward Cynthia. Alex feinted convincingly to the right before shifting his weight and sending the ball into the opposite corner, completely bewildering Cynthia. Max watched miserably as it trickled past her; the goal had been his fault. M. Renard’s voice rose to announce the new score to the cheering crowd as Alex pumped his fist and shouted something to Cynthia.

  Despite Rolf ’s frantic shouts of encouragement, Max thought the First Years were beginning to droop. These thoughts vanished from his mind as a Second Year suddenly launched a long pass in the direction of John. Max sprang into action. He overtook the older boy and was about to chip the ball to Rolf when his legs were taken out hard from under him and he crashed to the turf. Pain shot through his knee. He saw Alex run laughing after John, who was now dribbling the ball toward Cynthia.

  Max watched them for a moment.

  Then, the simmering presence within him snapped and roared to life with terrible force. Jumping up from the turf, he set his jaw and raced after them.

  Faster and faster his legs churned, the wind strong and fierce in his face as the jerseys he chased grew larger. The gap closed with startling swiftness; Max had never run so fast. The blood pounded in his head.

  Alex looked shocked as Max elbowed past him and snaked around John to steal the ball and reverse field. The crowd jumped to their feet in a colorful jumble of clapping hands and waving caps, but the shouts and cheers sounded far away. Max focused on the ball and the turf in front of him, taking instantaneous note of his teammates, his opponents, and their relative positions.

  The other players now appeared sluggish; he easily outpaced a Second Year boy who badly misjudged his angle of pursuit and was left gaping as Max flew past him, leaping like a deer high over a mound that had risen before him. Seconds later, he changed directions so abruptly that the opposing sweeper fell to the ground, clutching his own ankle. His legs a blur, Max rifled a shot past the goalkeeper that exploded into the upper reaches of the net.

  Immediately after the ball left his foot, Max turned and sprinted back down the field. He ran past his teammates, who tried to congratulate him, making directly for Alex, sullen and scowling as Max approached. Sticking a finger hard in Alex’s chest, Max panted, “All day long, Alex. I’m going to do this to you all day long.”

  Alex pushed him and was restrained by his captain as M. Renard blew his whistle in rapid chirps. Max ignored the cheers of the crowd and his teammates, running back to his position so play could resume.

  For the remainder of the game, he was unstoppable.

  He hounded the Second Years on both sides of the field; his heart beat furiously as he scrambled up ridges, leapt over sizable gaps in the turf, and nimbly changed directions at astonishing speeds. He had scored another goal almost immediately after his first, forcing the Second Years to assign multiple players to guard him. This allowed Max to deliver consecutive beautiful passes to Sarah and the other forward, each of whom victimized the isolated goalkeeper and scored easy goals.

  The game was tied 5–5 in the waning minutes when Max ran down a terrified-looking Second Year boy and stole the ball. He ignored the fire in his lungs and reversed field, dodging past a Second Year who crashed in from his left. Dribbling upfield, he lofted the ball over the head of Alex and onto a ridge, some ten feet above. A distant roar from the crowd sounded in his head as he dashed past Alex and leapt up onto the ridge without breaking stride.

  His teammates simply stopped playing and watched.

  Bounding over the ridge, Max beat a nearby defender to the ball and sped down the sideline. He managed to launch a shot just as he was slide-tackled by John Buckley. Collapsing onto the turf, Max followed the ball as it screamed past the goalkeeper into the net.

  John was panting hard on the grass next to him. “You’re a one-man army, Max! Oh my God,” he breathed, coughing as he rolled onto his back.

  Max pulled him to his feet just as M. Renard blew a long whistle. The game was over. Max was mobbed by his teammates, Rolf driving him to the ground as the others piled on top. M. Renard ran forward to rescue Max from the heap, hoisting him out and appraising him with a small smile.

  “That was…something,” he said quietly with a short nod.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said M. Renard. “I think we can all agree that this was an unexpected show. For the first time in Rowan’s history, the First Years have emerged victorious. Who knew these little monsters could play a match like that, eh? Our Player of the Game is Max McDaniels!”

  Max was still panting as the crowd roared and rose to its feet. Sarah and Cynthia hugged him tightly while the rest of the class patted his back and messed up his hair.

  As Max walked toward the stands, he was nearly upended by Nick, who came barreling into him. Scooping the lymrill into his arms, Max grimaced, imploring his charge to pull in his claws. Nick did so while vibrating his tail like a maraca.

  Julie Teller grinned as she stood by the end of the stands holding her camera.

  “That was awesome, Max! Really awesome,” she gushed. “Got lots of pictures, too! Hurry back and watch the alumni game!”

  Max nodded and waved, trotting off back toward the Manse to shower. He stooped to let Nick spill out onto the grass and clamber after him.

  The alumni game was about to begin when Max returned to the stands, wearing his school uniform and shaking the water out of his hair. He brought a thick blanket so he could be at ease around Nick’s claws while they watched the game. He settled into the second row of the bleachers with Rolf and Connor just as a persistent chant of “Coop, Coop, Coop” worked its way through the crowd. Max craned his neck and saw Cooper sitting up and over in the bleachers, bundled in his peacoat and hat. Several of the alumni players and surrounding spectators were trying to entice him out of the stands to play. Cooper gave a thin smile and shook his head.

  “I heard he was an awesome player,” said Rolf, munching on a hot dog. “Made the All-Rowan Team as a Third Year. Scored two goals against the alumni.” “I said hey to him one day outside Maggie,” muttered Connor. “He just sort of looked at me like I was touched.”

  “It’s not his job to be friendly,” said Rolf. “In fact, I heard he’s so tough he’s not even assigned to a particular field office. Just goes where he’s needed.”

  “What’s a field office?” asked Max, feeling uninformed.

  “We’ve got them all over,” explained Rolf, “in most of the major cities in the world. Keep an eye on the Enemy—”

  “Here he is!” sang a loud voice to his left.

  Max looked down to see Hannah at the edge of the bleachers, helping the goslings up onto Max’s row.

  “Max! How are you, darling?” crowed Hannah. “Word around town is that you’re a star! A star! Well, the goslings absolutely insisted on seeing you. Do you mind if they join you? Oh, you’re such a dear.”

  The goslings hopped up and down at his fee
t, pecking everything in sight until Max gently lifted them up. He carefully shifted Nick over and nestled the goslings in a little row along Nick’s warm back. Meanwhile, Hannah had waddled over to the fence near where M. Renard was set to begin the game.

  “Hey, Renard!” the goose bellowed. “Gonna call a clean game this year? Huh? Or are you on the alumni payroll again?”

  Max and the others giggled as M. Renard fixed Hannah with an acid glare and cleared his throat. Throughout his introduction, Hannah’s taunts and obscenities could be heard during his pauses. The crowd cheered her on, and M. Renard hurried through the pregame ceremonies.

  The game itself was stunning. The All-Rowan Team fought valiantly, particularly Jason Barrett. The alumni team, however, was simply unstoppable: their casual speed, strength, and agility far outstripped the students’.

  As the outcome was never in doubt, Max found himself hoping for spectacular plays, and he was not disappointed. Two alumni clasped hands and hurtled a sprinting teammate up and over a thirty-foot ridge that rose suddenly at midfield. Another play had the alumni scoring a goal after the ball had traveled the entire field, player to player, without ever touching the ground.

  “How can they do that?” whispered Max in awe as one alumnus hurdled a forty-foot chasm without breaking stride.

  “Body Amplification,” said Julie Teller matter-of-factly from off to his left. She snapped a photo of Max with Nick and the goslings, and smiled as she peered out from behind the camera.

  “What?” said Max. Connor glanced at her and almost choked on his hot dog, scooting over quickly to make room.

  “Body Amplification,” she repeated. “Using your Mystic energy to Amplify your body’s capabilities.” She took a seat next to Max and let one of the goslings waddle onto her. “They start teaching it Third Year. It’s pretty hard. You’re obviously a natural, though.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked.

  She laughed and squeezed his arm. He felt light-headed.

  “Because, whether you realize it or not, it’s pretty clear you were Amplifying during your match!” Julie explained. “Most Apprentices can’t outrun Olympic sprinters. You should talk to Miss Boon about it.”

  They spent the rest of the match chatting. Julie told Max a funny story about her little brother learning to surf back in Melbourne; Max shared with her a bit about Chicago and his dad. When she asked about his mom, Max simply murmured, “She’s gone,” and turned back to the field as M. Renard blew the closing whistle. The alumni had won 11–3, although Max suspected it could have been by whatever margin they chose. The two teams shook hands as spectators began to gather their things and exit the stands.

  Max waved at Sarah and the rest of the girls in his section as they approached. Sarah waved back absentmindedly; her attention was on Julie.

  “Hi, guys,” said Sarah. “We’re going to rest up and then get ready for tonight. Max, will you meet me by the girls’ staircase at seven?”

  “Sure,” said Max, letting two of the goslings nibble at his fingertips.

  “Great. See you then,” said Sarah. She shot Julie a quick glance before leaving with the others.

  “Hmmm,” said Julie. “I don’t think she likes me sitting with you.”

  “Oh. Sarah’s really nice,” said Max quickly.

  “I didn’t say she wasn’t,” said Julie, lifting the gosling off her lap and placing it back with Max. “See you tonight.” Julie trotted back up toward the Manse, just as Hannah walloped the fence angrily to conclude her discussion with M. Renard.

  “Well, same to you!” she screeched as the instructor stalked away muttering. The goslings jumped down off Max’s lap and waddled to the end of the row to greet their mother.

  Sarah really did look pretty, Max thought as she came down the staircase with the other girls, giggling and whispering in their formal uniforms. Sarah had adorned hers with some colorful accessories from home: a copper coil around her wrist, a cowry-shell necklace, and a small colorful pin of a lion on her lapel.

  “Hi, Max,” she said, smiling, arriving at the last stair. “Hi, Sarah. Er, you look really nice,” Max said quietly, certain that Sir Wesley would be mortified by his delivery.

  “You do, too,” she said.

  “I really like your pin,” he said, acting upon his father’s stern directive to compliment his date on something specific.

  Max blushed as she thanked him and took his arm, suddenly aware of the many adults in the foyer who had taken notice and were smiling at them.

  Outside, the grounds of the Manse had been transformed. Two enormous pavilions had been erected: white canvas swooped down in graceful arcs from tall, sturdy tent poles. Underneath one pavilion were row upon row of covered serving trays. Max looked longingly at a set of life-size gravestones fashioned of white and dark chocolate that must have come from Mr. Babel’s patisserie. Barrels and enormous woven baskets were stuffed with breads, apples, and sheaves of wheat or tall stalks of corn. Hundreds of jack-o’-lanterns dotted the grounds, crowded together in bunches or hovering above to illuminate the paths and gardens. Out on the lawn, several older students and alumni created eerie phantasms of ghosts and goblins, headless horsemen, and wailing banshees that galloped and loomed against the night sky before dissipating to wispy shreds of smoke.

  On the parquet floor beneath the second pavilion, alumni danced to music played by an orchestra whose members were drawn from both the student body and the Sanctuary. A particularly delicate faun strummed a lute while a small man with green skin puffed his cheeks to astounding dimensions while playing the bagpipes. Kettlemouth was there, too, wearing a little pumpkin hat and sitting sleepily on an embroidered pillow, ignoring Lucia’s exasperated pleas to sing.

  “Why is Lucia doing that?” asked Max. “He’s a frog.”

  Sarah laughed.

  “Lucia’s booklet said that his kind have been known to sing,” she explained. “And that his songs can inspire passionate love….”

  Max cleared his throat and quickly spied out Connor, who was munching on a turkey leg and giggling whenever a student hit a wrong note or an alumnus attempted a particularly ambitious dance move. Max and Sarah strolled over.

  “Hey, Connor,” said Max. “Where’s, er, Mum?”

  Connor shrugged.

  “I knocked on her cupboard and she started screaming that she wasn’t ready. Apparently her girdle was giving her some trouble.”

  Max and Connor snickered; Sarah frowned.

  David walked up, conspicuously not wearing the tie that he been wrestling with when Max had left to meet Sarah. The students chatted and waved hello to Bob, who ambled by in an enormous tuxedo, his few hairs combed carefully back.

  Ms. Richter swept up, wearing a beautiful shawl of warm colors woven with Celtic borders.

  “Don’t let Sir Wesley see you standing in the corner like this,” she said with a smile. “You’ll be practicing ‘mingling’ scenarios for weeks!”

  She glanced at Max before addressing them all.

  “Congratulations on the First Years’ victory today. I only caught the first half, but heard it had quite a finish. The alumni won’t stop talking about it!”

  She stood upright and tapped her head a moment.

  “Oh! As long as you’re standing here, would one of you mind running down to the kitchens and getting some more cornbread? It’s disappearing fast and I know Mum had a last batch baking.”

  Ms. Richter was off again, confiscating a bottle of champagne from some scowling Fourth Years.

  “Connor, why don’t you go?” said Sarah. “Maybe Mum’s ready.”

  “Oh no!” pleaded Connor. “She said she’d find me! I don’t want to catch a glimpse of her in her girdle!”

  “You’re impossible,” scolded Sarah, turning her back to watch the faun begin an intricate number on his lute.

  “I’ll go,” volunteered David.

  “See?” said Connor pointedly to Sarah. “David will go. Thanks, Davie—you’ve saved
me from an awful sight!”

  David smiled as Connor gave him an exaggerated pat on the arm, then he coughed suddenly and slipped through the crowd. The others went to examine the buffet. Just then, the grounds filled with light. A great bonfire had been lit on the ridge overlooking the beach; logs were piled thirty feet high and flames roared up into the night sky. The party cheered and glasses clinked as the orchestra began an upbeat melody.

  Twenty minutes later, Max was savoring the lamb and talking to Sarah about the morning’s match when he stopped suddenly.

  “Where’s David?” asked Max.

  He turned to Omar, who shrugged, looking bored as he nibbled at a baby carrot while his date, Cynthia, trailed Nolan around the party.

  “I’ll be right back,” Max said to Sarah. “I’m going to see where he is.”

  Sarah nodded but said nothing as the orchestra began another song.

  The foyer was empty. Max made his way down to the dining hall. He rounded the pillar and stopped dead in his tracks.

  David was lying unconscious on the floor near several battered trays. Squares of cornbread were scattered around him like yellow sponges. His cheek was scratched and bleeding. One of the enormous oak tables was overturned on its side; the dishes and glassware that had been stacked upon it were shattered into thousands of little pieces. Max looked up and gasped.

  There was Mum. She was bound tightly to a stone pillar, pinned some ten feet off the ground, by writhing coils of green and gold fire. Her head hung limply to the side. One of her broad little dancing shoes had fallen off and lay at the base of the pillar.