Legacy of the Claw Page 6

  “Ms. Sucrette! The bluebird!” someone shouted, and finally Ms. Sucrette turned her attention away from the list of verbs on the board. The falcon captured the bluebird’s foot in its beak. Ms. Sucrette, without even batting an eye, seized a heavy book from the front shelf and swiped at the falcon.

  “Drop it! This instant!” she cried, chasing the falcon back to the windowsill. The bluebird fell to the classroom floor, where it thrashed its wings and hobbled, trying to right itself on its hurt leg.

  Before Ms. Sucrette could shoo the falcon out the window, it glided over to Phi, settled onto the leather patch on her shoulder, and steadied itself with its sharp talons. Phi sunk visibly into her seat as the falcon affectionately nibbled on a bit of her brown hair.

  Ms. Sucrette strode to the front of the room.

  “Sophia,” she said shrilly. “You must learn to control your impulses, or mishaps like this will happen far too often.” She took a deep breath, clearly making an effort to calm down. “Boundaries are important! Your kin must learn respect.”

  Phi nodded. She was obviously mortified, but Bailey couldn’t help but feel jealous. It was said that girls matured faster. Maybe that explained her close bonds with her kin. He couldn’t even imagine what it must feel like to have such a fierce Animas—if only he could be Animas Falcon. Or Animas anything. At this point, he’d even take a bug.

  “Now where were we?” Ms. Sucrette said, smoothing her hair. “Ah, yes. Amo, amas, amat! Repeat after me, children!”

  “What a joke,” Tori said, leaving the room with Bailey and Hal at the end of the lesson. Bailey looked about for the girl with the falcon as the class dispersed into the hallway, but she’d left quickly, slipping away before anyone could stop to chat with her.

  “Who?” Hal asked Tori.

  “Ms. Suc-rette!” Tori answered, mimicking the teacher’s careful articulation.

  “I don’t know,” said Bailey, surprised that Tori had fallen in beside them. “I thought she was … nice.”

  “Sucrette didn’t even flinch when that falcon went after one of her kin,” Hal said. “I think I’d have gotten sick or something.”

  “Please,” Tori said, “she didn’t even notice! If you ask me, that makes her even more of a joke! And so boring. I’d rather watch a snake shed its skin than hear her talk.” She started to speed up, and then turned around abruptly. “See you two tomorrow.”

  “What’s with her?” Bailey wondered out loud. “I can’t tell if she wants to be our friend or if she wants to kill us.”

  “Girls.” Hal sighed dramatically. “With them, that’s always the question.”

  As Tori walked away, Bailey saw a small black snake raise its head from the back of her collar. It flicked its tongue, and the curve of its jaws made it look as if it were laughing at them.

  “Oh, Mr. Walker!” called a cheery voice from the classroom door they’d just exited through.

  Bailey and Hal turned to see Ms. Sucrette smiling at them, holding her hands primly at her front.

  “Yes?” answered Bailey, retracing his steps to the classroom door.

  Ms. Sucrette reached out and touched his shoulder delicately with the tips of her fingers.

  “Mrs. Shonfield informed me about your condition,” she said. “And I must admit, this is the first time I’ve ever met someone with … Well, I think you’re very brave to be coming to school. Please just let me know if you need any extra help, or are having any trouble keeping up.” Her awkward touch turned into a small pat, and with a smile, she retreated into the classroom.

  Bailey stood stunned. He’d expected the taunts and sidelong glances from other kids like Taylor if news of his Absence got out—but he hadn’t expected a sting like that. At least, he thought, she had good intentions. But he still felt a little like a puppy that had been kicked.

  “Whew.” Hal whistled. “I think Tori might be right about that one. Not the brightest striped zebra in the pack.” He clapped a hand on Bailey’s back. “Come on; we’ve got Flora and Fauna next.”

  Bailey followed Hal away from the Latin classroom, and thought about his mom and dad, who had always done their best to make him feel normal. Fairmount, it seemed, would do anything but.

  Six

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Bailey and Hal met up after their final classes of the day, and together they cut across the common lawn and past the classroom buildings to the Scavage field.

  “If I don’t try out for the Scavage team,” Hal reasoned for about the fourth time that day, “Taylor will just make fun of me for the rest of my life.” Hal squinted as he took off his glasses to clean them. “But then again, if I do go, he’ll still make fun of me, because I know I’ll be terrible.”

  Hal had spent the last hour in Biology and the Bond. But since Bailey didn’t have an Animas, he’d been placed in a low-level History course taught by a Professor Nillow. Bailey had borrowed a spare copy of the Biology and the Bond textbook from the library, however, and had spent most of Nillow’s lecture on the birth of Parliament flipping carefully through its pages, and admiring the detailed diagrams of both human and animal energy systems.

  “Do you really think it’ll be that bad?” Bailey asked, glad to be out in the fresh air. “You never know, you might be”—he looked Hal up and down: his thick glasses, without which he couldn’t see a brick wall in broad daylight; his skinny arms and legs—“um … good.”

  “Ha-ha,” Hal said, pulling a face. “I’m just glad you’re coming with me. You’re going to try out too, right?”

  “What?” Bailey had a sudden vision of Taylor running him down and pelting him with Flicks as sharp as arrows. “Are you insane?”

  “Come on, I bet you’d actually be good at it!” Hal said. “What about that throw you made yesterday? You’d be wonderful! I mean”—he lowered his voice—“who cares if you don’t have an Animas if you’re on the Scavage team?”

  “No, Hal,” Bailey said firmly. “I don’t need to draw any more attention to myself.” He was too small to make the team, he was sure, and he knew that Scavage involved plenty of human–kin communication. Even trying to play might make his Absence obvious to the older students.

  Hal stopped walking. They’d reached the top of a sloping hill. Behind them, the marble classroom buildings loomed, but in front of them was a cheery stadium with wooden stands built around a sprawl of forested terrain. Hal turned to Bailey.

  “Listen,” he said, his eyes wide behind his glasses, “maybe—just hear me out—maybe your Animas didn’t exist in the Lowlands. But maybe it’s here somewhere, and if you give yourself the chance, out on the Scavage field, it will find you. Who cares about the other students? You came here to push yourself, right? This is as good a chance as any.”

  Bailey still wasn’t sure, but Hal’s confidence moved him. Maybe he was right; Bailey, like Hal, was afraid of looking like an idiot out on the field, but he had come here to push himself.

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “But we get beaten to a pulp, it’s on you.”

  Hal sighed deeply. “Thank you,” he said. “I owe you one.”

  The Scavage field wasn’t just a field. The playing ground was a solid quarter-mile of Fairmount land that contained everything from open grassy space to dense woods covered in undergrowth. The farthest edge of the playing field bordered a set of low rocky cliffs, nearly hidden by the trees. The stadium seating that extended around three sides of the field was high enough so most spectators could watch all the action. People seated in the lower rungs could hear a play-by-play called out during each game by three different announcers who perched in dangerously tall nest-like lookout points arranged on three sides of the field.

  Bailey began to feel nervous as soon as he saw the crowd of students gathered by the gates to try out—and, even worse, people who had come to cheer on their friends and get a look at the new hopefuls. Scavage was a Fairmount invention, but had become so popular throughout the kingdom that a professional Scavage league had been created during the
reign of King Melore—of course, it was populated mostly by Fairmount graduates. For this reason, the Fairmount team was intensely scrutinized; even their practices drew a crowd of eager spectators.

  Bailey felt like he was about to go on stage in front of a packed auditorium without his trousers. His hands felt cold, and he couldn’t feel his legs below the knee. Hal, meanwhile, looked like at any second he might throw up the three egg tartlets he’d eaten during lunch.

  The first person to greet them as they entered the field was Coach Banter, a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head. He was Animas Bulldog, and he had two kin who followed him around.

  “Welcome, boys,” he said with a nod. He uncrossed his arms and pointed them toward the sign-in.

  A large red-haired girl with gold shoulder padding and warm-ups watched as they wrote their names on the sign-in sheet.

  “You’re Taylor’s little brother?” she said to Hal.

  Hal squared his shoulders. “I am. So what?”

  The red-haired girl smirked. “You don’t look a thing like him, that’s all.”

  It wasn’t Hal’s most impressive comeback, Bailey had to admit, but all the same he was glad to see Hal stand up for himself. He felt even better when he saw Phi, the Animas Falcon, sitting alone on the wooden benches where potential players were being asked to wait. She was looking longingly at the trees on the other side of the pitch.

  The red-haired girl shoved two sets of kneepads and thin but durable fingerless gloves into their arms. “Put these on. Trust me, you’ll need them.”

  “Great,” Hal muttered, as he and Bailey headed toward the bench to suit up. “There’s that boost of confidence I was hoping to get … ”

  “Don’t worry,” Bailey said. He was focused on the empty seat next to Phi. Her curly brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore a faded pair of girls’ athletic shoes that looked secondhand. Her leather patch had been buckled into place over her white athletic shirt, and she also wore similar leather gauntlets on both her forearms. Bailey thought she looked less like a schoolgirl Scavage player, and more like a warrior about to go into battle. He gathered his courage and sat down next to her. Hal followed, and stood by the bench fumbling with his kneepads.

  “Do you always attract the same falcon?” Bailey blurted out. Phi barely glanced at him. “I mean … I saw … I’m in Sucrette’s Latin class.”

  “I know,” Phi said evenly. She paused, then said, “Yes, mostly. We’re not life-bonded or anything. But she did travel with me from the Dust Plains. Her name is Carin. ”

  “That’s really cool,” said Bailey.

  Phi shrugged, but one corner of her mouth crooked into a smile. “Thanks. My roommate doesn’t think it’s so cool. Carin’s always terrorizing her snakes.” She pointed to the stands behind them. There, among the rowdy group of students, sat Victoria, looking as sullen as if she’d been put there in time-out for bad behavior. A freckled boy sitting next to her asked her a question, and as Bailey watched, one of Tori’s snakes reared its head out of her collar and hissed. The boy jumped. Tori pretended not to notice.

  “Tori’s your roommate?” Hal asked quickly, with feigned casualness.

  “All right, newbies!” came a loud, harsh voice—the red-headed girl was demanding their attention from the field. Beside her stood Taylor, his mottled-brown cat winding its way around his ankles. They both held clipboards for taking notes on the hopeful new students. “Let’s get going. We’re splitting you up into two squadrons and we’ll get a scrimmage going. I’m Arabella, captain of Squadron Blue, and this is Taylor, captain of Squadron Gold. We’re the co-captains, and if you’re picked, you’ll obey our every command as if your measly lives depended on it!”

  “Which they do,” Taylor said, grinning meanly.

  Hal gulped.

  Bailey, Phi, Hal, and the twenty or so other new hopefuls lined up so that Arabella and Taylor could have a closer look at them. Coach Banter, who seemed to be letting Taylor and Arabella run the show, was sitting with his feet up in the stands, pawing through a Gray City newspaper and making disapproving grunts.

  “When we get to you, tell us your name and your Animas,” Taylor barked. “As you know, the stronger your Animas bond, the more skills you’ll bring to a team, so let us know up front what you think you can do. And then,” he finished with a dark look, “we’ll be the judge.”

  Bailey felt, all of a sudden, as though he’d been filled head to toe with wet sand. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even breathe.

  Phi was first of his group to go.

  “Sophia Castling … Phi,” she said. “I’m Animas Falcon.” As if she needed proof, there was a loud screech overhead. Everyone looked up beside Phi. Two falcons were circling the field.

  Arabella raised an eyebrow. “So you are,” she said. She made a note on her clipboard.

  It was Hal’s turn.

  “Um, I’m Taylor’s brother,” he said.

  Taylor rolled his eyes and muttered, “Barely.” Hal glared at him.

  “Name, please,” barked Arabella.

  “Hal Quindley,” said Hal. “Bat.”

  Taylor whispered something in Arabella’s ear, and she laughed a little as she made a note.

  Finally, they came to Bailey. His hands were freezing and sweaty.

  “Bailey Walker,” he said. Hal was staring at him. In fact, everyone was staring at him. “Well, I … ” he stammered. He felt like the world had stopped, like the entire kingdom was staring him down. He wanted to disappear. “I … ”

  “Yes?” said Arabella impatiently.

  Bailey looked at Hal. He gave Bailey an apologetic look.

  “I don’t want to say,” Bailey said.

  Taylor and Arabella narrowed their eyes at him.

  “You have to say,” said Taylor. He smirked at Bailey, and Bailey knew that he did have to say, even if he didn’t want to. It was clear from Taylor’s smirk that he’d heard the rumors in the Lowlands, and if Bailey didn’t tell, he would.

  “I … ” Bailey trailed off.

  Suddenly, a dark shape swooped toward Taylor and grabbed his clipboard from his hands.

  “Hey!” yelled Taylor. It was Phi’s falcon. It flew to the roof of the changing rooms and hopped back and forth there with the clipboard dangling from its talons.

  “For Nature’s sake,” Arabella said. She and Taylor rushed to the bird to try and coax it down. Bailey breathed out loudly. Next to him, Hal laughed as Taylor jumped up and down, waving his arms at Phi’s falcon. Bailey looked down the line at Phi. She looked straight ahead, as if nothing odd was happening.

  Bailey felt a rush of gratitude ease the sting of humiliation.

  Finally, the bird dropped the clipboard and flew off. In the chaos, Taylor forgot he hadn’t noted down Bailey’s Animas, and instead began helping Arabella divide everyone into positions for the two teams. Phi was chosen to try on Blue Squad as a Sneak.

  “That’s perfect for her,” Hal whispered to Bailey. “Sneaks are the ones who have to infiltrate the other team’s part of the terrain. She’s so quiet, and her Animas connection is out of this world, don’t you think?”

  Bailey nodded, but he was still shaking with mortification. He couldn’t even imagine what position Taylor and his comrades could come up with for him.

  “Quindley, Gold Squat!” Arabella shouted. Hal had been chosen to play his brother’s position, on his brother’s squad.

  “Great, just great,” Hal said. He cast an almost forlorn look behind him at the stands. Bailey saw Tori watching them. “I can’t believe she’s here,” Hal moaned. “I guess the only thing to do is fail gloriously.”

  “That’s the right attitude,” Bailey said, patting Hal on the back and sending him off with a wave.

  Soon everyone had been called but Bailey and a few other smaller kids who looked like they’d never run a lap in their lives. There was only one tryout position left unfilled. Taylor and Arabella were arguing at the edge of the field.
Arabella was gesturing wildly with her hands, and Bailey thought he saw her point in his direction. Taylor shook his head. Bailey was almost relieved at the thought that he might not have to play after all. At least he could get out of there, away from the whispers and the stares. But no.

  “Walker! Slammer, Gold Squad! Come here. Everybody else, sorry. There’s always next year!” Taylor strolled over to Bailey and put an arm around his shoulder, squeezing just a little too hard. “All right, Whatever-You-Are. Arabella wants to see what you can do,” he said. “This should be hilarious.”

  The new players gathered in a clump in front of the field as Coach Banter, flanked by Taylor and Arabella, listed the rules. Even though the tryouts hadn’t yet started, Bailey spotted several animals—a squirrel, two rabbits, and even Phi’s falcon—creeping, crawling, and flying out onto the field, drawn from the woods by their human kin, and by the anticipation of competition.

  “Listen up, everyone,” he barked. “Each team has a flag. Each flag is hidden. Your job is to protect your team’s flag using any means necessary—barring murder—and to locate and steal the opposing team’s flag. Use of kin is encouraged. There are nine of you to a team, three to each position.

  “Sneaks!” Coach Banter continued. “Your job is to scout out the flag and steal it. Simple. Then you’ve got your Squats—they’re the home base. The main line of defense. Squats, you stay by your flag at all times! And Slammers, you’re in the middle. You find the Sneaks before they find your team flag. Get them off course, tackle or confuse them, and mark them so they can’t grab your flag. That’s what the Flick is for! But remember—even though marked players can’t steal the flag, they can stay on the field until all three are out, and use any means to distract the rival team. Everyone got it? Good!” Coach didn’t wait to hear an answer. He gestured for Taylor and Arabella to march the hopefuls out onto the field as the small group of student spectators cheered.