The Magickers by Emily Drake

faces and the sun beating down, they made up verses that grew sillier and sillier as the marchers snaked their way through the grounds of Camp Ravenwyng and ended up in front of the mess hall just as FireAnn sounded the lunch bell.
    As they fell out to wash their hands and faces, Bailey grabbed their arms.
    â€œDid you see it?” she asked.
    â€œThat blackwood cabin with the shuttered windows and the great black slash over the doorway?”
    She nodded solemnly.
    â€œNope.”
    She shoved at Trent. “You two! Beat you to lunch!” As it turned out, she did. The Kittencurl Cottage table butted up end to end with the Starwind table, so she scooted her tray over as they sat down and they talked excitedly about their different mornings. Full of food and a little sleepy, they finally headed to lanyards.
    Trent nudged him in the ribs. “See? It’ll be nice to sit down and do something with our hands.”
    Jason picked at a splinter in his thumb. He stifled a yawn as they sat down at the craft tables, trays of colorful plastic strands in front of them, and silvery metal pieces like key chain loops and hooks in plastic bins next to them. Gavan Rainwater sat on the end of the head picnic table, watching as fifteen or so campers stumbled in, faces sunburned, and took their seats.
    â€œNice quiet afternoon on the lake,” Gavan said. He smiled at them. “Now, as you take up the strands you choose and braid them in some of the patterns I’m going to be showing you, I want you to think behind the simplicity of the object. Beyond square knots and braids. I want you to think of the flow of the color, the energy that you are moving, back and forth, over and under.” He leaned on his cane. “Just let your thoughts go.”
    Jason combed his fingers through the long plastic strands, finally settling on a cobalt blue, dark and mysterious, offset by a lighter blue that had a touch of redness in its tone. Gavan had gotten off his table and was strolling by. He stopped. “Only two strands, Jason?”
    He pondered. He looked at the instruction sheets weighted down by the supply trays and then nodded. “To start with.”
    â€œNot stretching your limitations?” Gavan watched him, watched his hands.
    Jason was careful to leave his left hand mostly palm up, for the moment. The crescent scar on the back of his hand ached and throbbed briefly, then subsided. “Not yet,” he answered.
    â€œVery well, then.” Gavan nodded curtly and moved along.
    Trent had five colors he wove skillfully in and out, while Jason struggled to braid his two which did not seem to want to cooperate. When he finally had his lanyard completed, he tied it off with a sigh of relief. He looked up to see that Gavan had made a design as well, a complicated, great knot of color.
    Everyone got up to go and look at it.
    â€œAnyone tell me what this is?” Rainwater asked, sitting back, a sparkle in his blazingly blue eyes.
    No one answered. Finally Trent shrugged. “A Gordian knot?”
    Rainwater’s attention snapped to Trent. “A Gordian knot? Why would you say that?”
    â€œLooks like one. I mean . . . a great, complicated knot.”
    Rainwater tilted his head, gaze sweeping across all of them. “Anyone else? Anyone know what a Gordian knot is?”
    Jason shifted. He’d heard of it before, but couldn’t quite remember.
    Gavan pointed the wolfhead at Trent. “Tell us all what kind of knot that is.”
    Trent stared at the ground gathering his thoughts, then took a breath. “Well, this is the short version. It was a very complicated knot tied in ancient Greece. Whoever could untie or unravel it, would be worthy of conquering those lands. When Alexander the Great began his career, a bunch of wise men figured to stop him. They brought him to the knot. His advisers couldn’t figure it out either. Alexander had no intention of being stopped. He took his sword