Free Quest Maker by Laurie McKay Page B

them and looked annoyed with the others’ reactions. From within the gymnasium, Caden heard a thunk. Then silence followed by another thunk.
    Caden tapped one of the students—a girl with dark braids and golden skin—on the shoulder. She was an eighth grader. Her name was Kali.
    â€œWho’s inside?” Caden said.
    Kali turned. “Oh, hi, Caden.” She looked at her feet, and her cheeks grew redder. “We were just checking out the new gym teacher.”
    The tanned blond girl in front of them—Caden didn’t know her name—giggled. Caden peeked over her to see who was inside. His knees went weak. “He’s my brother,” he said.
    â€œOh,” Kali said.
    The blond girl squinted up at him. “Really?”
    Derek scoffed. “Sure, Fartenbush.”
    â€œHis name is Jasan,” Caden said. “And he’ll expect your respect.” He pushed past them and into the gym. Sun from the skylights left bright stripes on the wooden-planked floor. A back door was open to a supply room. Jasan stood near the far wall beside a pile of basketballs. He wore a dark blue sweatshirt and slate-colored slacks.
    It was strange to see Jasan without the royal Winterbird embroidered somewhere on his clothes, to see him in Asheville surrounded by Ashevillian things. To see him holding the confusingly named basketball and not his sword.
    But it was good to see him. Caden felt his eyes itch as emotion threatened to overcome him. Jasan picked up a basketball. As it slammed into the far wall, it flattened with the force of his throw, then slumped to the floor. Balls were no match for any Razzonian prince.
    Caden felt seven pairs of eyes on his back. He glanced back at the other students. Kali, Derek, and the others needn’t watch them. He shut the door, then turned to Jasan. “I need to talk to you,” he said in the elegant tongue of Royal Razzon.
    Jasan didn’t turn around. “I told you to leave,” he said. “Evil is here. That office assistant, the witch in the cafeteria . . .” He stopped and clenched his jaw.
    At least Jasan knew of the villains around them. He’d not mentioned Rath Dunn, though, and it was Rath Dunn Jasan needed to know about most. Caden considered how to tell him. Best he choose his words with care.
    Jasan turned. With measured control, he said, “Go away. This is no place for children.”
    Caden disagreed. One, as of the blustery Ashevillian month of March, Caden was thirteen turns. He was no child. And two—“It’s a school,” Caden said.
    â€œIt’s a prison.”
    The second morning bell—the bell that meant Caden was once again late for his class—rang. Although technically he was with a teacher. He simply needed a note. “There are things you don’t know.”
    Jasan grabbed another basketball. “I know you need to go home. And I know I can’t help you with that.” When Jasan was the maddest, when he could barely contain his temper, he kept his voice low. This was how he spoke now. “Our people think you dead. As Brynne’s people think her dead.” His voice was a growl. “You need to show them it isn’t so. Make that sorceress cast a spell and go back. Then go straight to Father. Trust no one. Only him.” Jasan’s eyes narrowed. “He needs to know not all is as he believes. You’re proof of that. Understand?”
    No, Caden didn’t understand. Also, what Jasan wanted wasn’t possible. He and Brynne couldn’t return. They’d yet to find a way back that didn’t involve waiting severalyears. They continued to search, but Caden was beginning to doubt their efforts. He held his chin high. “We can’t get back. We’re stranded.”
    Jasan dropped the basketball and stalked toward him. “Explain.”
    Finally, something Caden could do. He told Jasan of the magic that had trapped him and Brynne, and