Old Magic

by Marianne Curley

  She smiles and looks brilliant. ‘It mightn’t work, you know. I’m only a novice, and the sorcerer who created this curse must’ve been a powerful alchemist.’ She briefly looks away. Then adds softly, ‘You have to remember it wasn’t Old Magic, Jarrod.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We’re dealing with a curse generated by magic that lived almost a thousand years ago. There was a sense of things, then, an intensity. It’s different today, far too commercialised. It’s caused a … well, kind of weakness. Jillian can work Old Magic, but there aren’t many like her. It’s a rare few that can handle it.’

  ‘Well anyway, you tried and went to a lot of trouble for my sake.’

  She shrugs. ‘That’s OK. I don’t get to practise powerful spells very often. There aren’t enough volunteers around here. Except for Hannah, and well, some spells are too dangerous to try on your best friend.’

  She’s joking, and I know this because her eyes are laughing as she speaks, but it makes me realise just how seriously Kate is into this stuff. Magic, sorcery, witchcraft. I still have my doubts, but have to admit, Kate does have some eerie talents, like making the light out of the darkness, and the candles with flames that never burn down. Now that my brain is functioning normally again, I wonder how she managed these tricks.

  I shine the torch at my watch but can’t read the digits.

  ‘It’s 4:00 am,’ she says.

  This leaves me stunned. Have we really been in the forest four hours? ‘I gotta go,’ I say. ‘It’s late.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess you’d better go.’

  She sounds reluctant, mirroring my feelings exactly. Even though the temperature out here has to have fallen to minus five by now, I’m in no hurry to leave. I could stand here for the rest of the night as long as I’m with Kate. This realisation hits me like a sledgehammer. I make myself move and get on my bike before I make a fool of myself. ‘Seeya, and thanks again.’

  She nods but her smile is slow. Her face is momentarily like an open book. She’s wondering if I’m going to pretend she doesn’t exist in class on Monday. I give a quick wave and start cycling, visualising Tasha and Jessica, Pecs, Ryan and Pete. There’s a comfort in the vision, knowing they’ve accepted me into their group. The pull is strong.

  I wish I wasn’t such a coward. I hate myself. The thought occurs to me that Kate deserves better. She’s strong, stronger than me. She’s talented and beautiful, both in utterly unique ways. It makes her different and for that she is crucified mercilessly by the inner, elite crowd, ignored by others.

  And me?

  Well … I can’t say I’m any better.

  Kate

  It doesn’t work. The spell meant to lift that blasted curse. I realise first thing Monday morning when Jarrod turns up late for class, explaining to Mr Dyson in History that he ran over an empty beer bottle, puncturing his bike tyre. He backtracked home so his mother could drive him in, but the car wouldn’t start for seemingly no reason.

  ‘This morning was the heaviest frost so far,’ Mr Dyson explains. He’s not angry or anything, which is good for Jarrod, who looks flustered enough already. ‘Tell your parents to put an antifreeze in your car’s radiator, it was probably just cold. All indications point to this year being a record cold winter.’

  I don’t think Jarrod realises the spell has failed until much later in the day during a practical PE lesson. We’re doing gymnastics and the boys have to form a pyramid with their bodies. Jarrod, not largely built like Pecs or some of the others, misses out on the ground level. After a lot of huffing and macho snorts Pecs settles down and the bottom row is ready. Callum and Todd climb on next, leaving the inside position for Jarrod. As he starts to climb I hear a few sniggers. It’s not nasty stuff, just Jarrod’s reputation preceding him. He’s clumsy, and everyone knows it. He’s continually misplacing things and tripping himself up. He’s not wearing his glasses now, but it would make no difference even if he was.

  He’s on top of Pecs’s and Ryan’s backs and he’s looking good so far. The class starts cheering and whistling. He buries his head with an embarrassed smile. Ms Milan tells everyone to quieten down, but she’s laughing a little herself. It’s good-natured and the atmosphere in the gym is relaxed.

  Ben Moffat is the smallest sixteen year old boy I’ll probably ever meet. He had leukaemia when he was a kid in Year 2, and the chemo and radiation treatment slowed his growth. For all that he’s small, he’s physically fit, and it’s no effort for him to climb up to the first level. It’s only when he tries to balance on top of Jarrod and Todd that Jarrod somehow loses his balance. One knee drops, which causes him to tilt sharply sideways. Ben Moffat hurtles backwards, the pyramid collapsing in a domino effect; and Ben nearly drowns under a mass of human flesh. Ms Milan is quick to pull and push until she gets to him. She’s pretty sure his ankle is only sprained, but she wants an x-ray just in case. Her main concern is the possibility of a cracked rib.

  She lays blame nowhere, but Jarrod’s apologising anyway. Ms Milan sends someone to the office for help, dismissing the rest of us to the changing rooms.

  Jarrod’s still sprawled on the heavy blue mats, his head buried in his hands. He looks up slowly and catches my eye. There’s recognition in his look and bitter disappointment. I smile and shrug. At least we tried. But he looks so depressed I feel like saying something comforting. Of course I don’t. Goodness knows how he might react with the others looking on. Until just then, he hadn’t acknowledged me in any way.

  Tasha doesn’t hesitate though. She rushes to him and helps him up. He smiles and thanks her. My teeth gnash together. The whole sickening scene spoils the rest of the day.

  Later, Jarrod catches up with me just outside the school grounds. We walk in silence for a while, heading home, but there isn’t a second I’m not aware of him. He makes me tense, and even though I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again, I just have to know what he’s feeling inside. So I probe, very carefully, into his mind.

  Surprisingly there’s no resistance this time, and stranger still, I sense the walls aren’t there because that’s how he wants it. There’s disappointment I realise, deep concern, and confusion too. There’s a lot of doubt and I gather from this his belief in magic has shrunk even further. The spell has only made things worse.

  He knows I’m in there yet he doesn’t stop me. It’s as if he wants me to sense his mood, understand what he’s feeling. It’s easier for him this way, rather than have to find words to explain himself. And this makes me angry. I can’t believe he lacks the courage to air his own feelings. What’s the matter with him?

  The tension grows so thick I just have to say something or explode. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mutter grumpily. ‘About the curse, and the spell that didn’t work.’ He shrugs as if he doesn’t care, which is a cover up for his real feelings, and this makes me angrier still. ‘It’s not the end of the world, for heaven’s sake!’

  He shifts his backpack, reaching in for a bottle of water. ‘What do you suggest now?’ He takes a long guzzle. ‘Should we sacrifice a virgin? What if you make me bathe in the water and eat the dirt? Or should we shave off my hair and feed it to a goat?’

  ‘You don’t have to be a total jerk.’

  He groans loudly in self-disgust, snatching his drink bottle with his other hand. ‘I know, Kate. I’m sorry. None of this is your fault.’

  His switch to self-pity is absolutely sickening. I hate this part of him. I have to snap him out of it somehow. ‘Wake up, Jarrod, it’s not your fault either!’

  He doesn’t believe me. Since acknowledging the possibility of a curse he’s planted the entire worry of his family’s troubles on his own shoulders, taken responsibility personally for all that afflicts them, past and present.

  ‘Jarrod, listen to me.’ We reach the fork in the road. From here Jarrod takes the bitumen track west to his place about two kilometres away. I know where he’s staying – the old Wilson homestead. Vic Wilson died about five months back, leaving his estate to his solicitor s
on, Stephen, who lives in Sydney. Stephen never intended returning to Ashpeak, so decided to lease the place. It’s rundown, but not uninhabitable. ‘There’s a couple more things we can try.’

  ‘Another magic spell, Kate?’

  I wish he would kill his black, self-absorbed mood. ‘No, you idiot. Jillian’s got an idea, but it’s a bit farfetched even for me. So we won’t consider that an option at this stage.’ With a bit of manipulating, hopefully, we would never need to consider it.

  ‘So what’s the other idea?’

  ‘You.’

  He gives me this disbelieving look again. I’ll never get used to it. Why can’t he just accept? ‘Like how?’

  ‘Your powers of course. When are you going to admit that I may be right about this?’

  He grunts and spins towards the road that leads to his place. ‘Kate, for God’s sake, leave it alone.’

  I grab his arm and yank hard. ‘No, I won’t. Look, not everything fits neatly into your simple book of rules. There are things in life that cannot be explained. The paranormal is only one example. With the help of your gift, Jarrod, we might just be able to fight this thing.’

  ‘You’re confused, Kate. I don’t have any “gift”. The things that happen to me, if anything – and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this – are caused by that stupid curse, not from any unrealised supernatural powers.’

  ‘No, Jarrod, you’re wrong. Sure, the accidents and misfortune, broken bones, clumsiness, they’re from the curse, I’m almost certain. But the storms, sudden winds, earthquake! You are the one causing those.’

  He’s quiet and hopefully thinking about what I said. Using his powers is our only way really. Jillian’s idea won’t work. It can’t work. Besides, the mere concept is outrageous, and would only make Jarrod positive we’re both ready for a spell in a psychiatric centre.

  But he only shrugs and slips his empty water bottle into his backpack’s side pocket. ‘What’s the other way? Jillian’s idea? The one she read about in that ancient manual.’

  I stare at him but can’t find the words.

  ‘What is it, Kate?’

  Frustration has me seething. I spin away, towards home. ‘Forget it. You don’t want to know.’

  ‘I asked, didn’t I?’ he calls into the distance I place between us.

  My wave is half-hearted. ‘Go home, Jarrod.’

  He doesn’t. Instead he jogs up beside me. I glare at him. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Well, if you won’t tell me the other way, I’ll ask Jillian myself.’

  I groan, instantly regretting opening my big mouth. Ever since Jillian read the ancient texts, she’s been in a spin putting her idea into practice. Other than essentials, she’s been doing little else except running around in a mad frenzy making preparations, even to the extent of whipping up hand-made original clothing right down to authentic leather boots. I shudder just at the thought. If Jarrod discovers what Jillian’s plan is he’d only laugh, and I’m not confident he would keep it to himself. I can’t trust him. The way gossip spreads up here, the whole town could be laughing by midnight. If he asks Jillian, she’ll tell him. It’s as simple as that.

  I have a lot of faith in Jillian. I’ve seen what she can do. As a healer, especially of animals, she’s brilliant. She knows her herbs, but it’s much more than that. There’s power in her body. There’s power in her mind. She draws deeply from her ancestral heritage. She can transcend to a different level, and it’s there her magic is unearthly.

  But this thing she’s talking about is different. It doesn’t fit into any category: preternatural or the norm.

  ‘Listen,’ I begin. ‘Jillian’s idea is a bit, well, over the top.’

  ‘So, what else is new?’

  I scowl at him long and hard, have to force myself not to chant the words of a nasty spell. Recalling the vision of his hairless exposed chest last night, sprouting excessive body hair sounds like a good idea, thick and curly. I restrain myself, only just. ‘Listen,’ I try again, gritting my teeth. ‘You know what people think around here. If I tell you Jillian’s plan, how can I be sure you won’t go spreading it across the mountain?’

  He looks seriously offended, and stops walking. ‘What do you think I am? For heaven’s sake, Kate, I wouldn’t do that. I like Jillian. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.’

  As we start walking again I mumble half to myself, ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  I start biting on my lower lip again, then stop myself. ‘Look, I don’t want Jillian hurt. She means everything to me. Do you understand, Jarrod?’

  He nods but remains quiet.

  I stare at our dusty shoes. ‘She’s more than just my grandmother. She … she loves me.’

  ‘I can see that,’ he says softly.

  There’s more I need to say, I just don’t know how.

  ‘She didn’t …’

  ‘What is it, Kate?’

  ‘She didn’t abandon me, all right?’ I hope this is enough. We walk the rest of the way in silence.

  It turns out Jillian isn’t home, the Crystal Forest temporarily closed, the sign reads. I take Jarrod round the back through the herb garden, under the bare wisteria vines that weave through the back verandah. Once there I hunt for the key I know is here somewhere. Jillian is mostly always home. I guess her absence now is related to her plan. She locks up only because of the valuable pieces, crystals and irreplaceable antique books and equipment in her room, not for anything she has in her shop, that’s mostly costume stuff for tourists.

  At last I find the key, but Jarrod is sitting on a stone pillar at the edge of the verandah that backs on to the rainforest, watching the currawongs, bower birds and brush turkeys come to feed on the scraps Jillian put out earlier. Jillian loves the forest too. Our backyard is the forest, a place where birds know they can always find food, water and a safe haven.

  He looks so comfortable, at peace with himself for a change, I don’t want to spoil the image with Jillian’s far-fetched scheme. I pull up a pinewood garden stool and sit quietly opposite him, enjoying the play of afternoon sun on the giant buttressed trees, palms, ferns and eucalyptus that make up the vast majority of forest up here.

  ‘You’re so lucky to have this, Kate,’ he says softly.

  ‘I know.’

  He drags his eyes away from the array of bird life spread out before him and locks into mine. ‘Your self-assurance scares me.’

  ‘That’s only because you don’t have any.’

  ‘I admit it, I’m a gutless coward. You deserve so much better.’

  This last statement surprises me. It sounds as if he’s thought about, perhaps even considered me a prospective girlfriend. I feel empathy for him, but his self-pity is still disgusting. ‘If you accepted the gift, Jarrod, your self-confidence would improve like out of this world.’

  His expression changes from awe to exasperation. ‘You’re not going to start on that again, are you?’

  I almost stomp my feet, the frustration is so real. ‘If only there was some way to prove it to you. I could make you angry enough to spark that temper of yours, but because you don’t know how to handle your strength, your mind triggers some sort of catatonic trance and you don’t remember very much. So there’s no point in destroying my home and Jillian’s livelihood just to prove a point you might easily brush off with one of your ridiculous explanations.’

  ‘We know this is a dead end conversation, Kate, so tell me Jillian’s idea.’

  ‘It’s crazy.’ I’m totally honest.

  ‘OK, so what is it?’

  I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see the smirk I know will follow, so I pretend fascination in the squawking currawongs arguing over a few remaining food scraps. ‘To stop the curse from being affixed on your family in the first place.’ I flick him a quick glance. His eyes are narrow, his elbows resting on his knees. He leans forward, hanging on my every word.

  ‘Jillian thinks the cur
se has created a link so strong it surpasses time and space and matter. She thinks she can generate a spell that will physically forge you back to the time and place the curse was first created. Or near enough.’ I choose to use simple language so he will grasp the idea quickly and I won’t need to repeat myself with long explanations. I also rush this before I lose my nerve. ‘Simply put, Jillian believes she can take you back in time and place. Back to Britain during the Middle Ages, to that same spot up near the border of Scotland where the first family in your father’s heritage book lived.’

  He stares at me, a funny little crooked smile playing around his lips as if he wants to ask something but wouldn’t dare in case it encourages insanity. Sometimes it’s there, and a hint of a dimple appears in one cheek to complement the hint of cleft in his chin; then it disappears as his eyes roll upwards. ‘Swing it past me again, will you?’

  He doesn’t believe me. Well, what a surprise? I don’t even believe it’s possible, and I’ve witnessed Jillian do amazing things. I groan. ‘That first family listed as your ancestors is littered with controversy – deceit, abduction, illegitimacy – you name it. Even sorcery. It has to be through them the curse originated. Jillian thinks so too. She’s been studying your heritage book day and night.’

  Jarrod’s finger leans towards me, bouncing back and forth in mid-air. ‘Not that part.’ He sounds as if he’s talking to a stupid child. ‘The other bit. The insane part about time and space and matter.’

  I’m not going to repeat what he obviously takes for lunacy. Even though I don’t believe in Jillian’s theory myself, I take the defensive immediately. ‘How do you know it’s insane? What better ideas have you come up with other than suicide? Are you always so ungrateful when people are just trying to help?’

  ‘Don’t get heavy with me, Kate. Do you know how ridiculous you sound? No wonder you’re worried about what people might think. But don’t worry that I might tell someone, ’cause I know that if I did they’d arrange beds for you and Jillian at the nearest psychiatric hospital.’