Island of Fire (The Unwanteds) (4 page)

From the back part of the house came a thump. Liam tensed immediately, and then relaxed.

“Bethesda?” Claire whispered, ready to hide.

“No.”

Claire’s eyes widened. She had suspected something for days, whenever she’d heard people moving about. “Is someone else . . . here?”

Liam looked at her.

“Liam,” Claire said, “is it Gunnar?”

After a moment, Liam nodded so slightly that Claire almost didn’t see it.

A sigh escaped her. She closed her eyes and brought her hands to her face, shaking her head, wondering what would
become of them all. The situation was beyond hope. And then she turned, dejected, went back to her pantry cell, and sat on the floor, placing the gag back into her mouth, and waited for Liam to tie her up again.

T
he next day Alex was no closer to a solution. While Sean, Meghan, Henry, and the Silents began stacking frozen creatures to make a stairway to the top of the wall, Alex made the rounds of the Unwanteds, trying to boost morale and offer help in any way he could.

“We need more water,” grumbled a woman on the beach. “The ration you’re giving us is worse than in Quill.”

“I’m starving,” a man said. “I haven’t eaten a thing in two days.”

“This place is a disaster,” voiced a group of Unwanted boys from Alex’s year. A few of them jeered. Cole Wickett took
Alex aside. “Come on, Alex,” he said earnestly. “You’ve got to do something. People are going to leave, you know?”

Alex pressed his lips together. So far today he had taken a number of verbal beatings from the people of Artimé, and he was beginning to feel defensive and desperate. “I know,” he said. “We’re doing everything we can. I don’t know what else to say.”

Cole shook his head. “I’m sorry, Al, but . . . ” He looked around at all the Unwanteds, some weak and ill, sprawled on the ground, others grumbling in small groups, and still others lining the shore trying desperately to catch fish, with little success. “This place is starting to remind me of the Ancients Sector.
Somebody’s
got to step it up here. Fast.”

And it’s obviously not you.
Cole didn’t say it, but it was implied. Alex felt the hopelessness of it all pulling him down, and at the same time a wave of reckless anger rushed up from his collarbone and he threw his hands up in the air. “Well, maybe you should be in charge, then. I never wanted this job, you know.” His mouth twisted against his will. “What do you want me to do, anyway? What exactly does everybody expect me to do?”

Cole’s eyes widened in alarm. “Alex . . . ,” he began.

“It’s not my fault this happened.” Alex said. “It’s Mr. Today’s fault. How”—his voice quavered with pent-up anger—“how could he have done this to us? To all of us? How could he have left Artimé so . . . so
unstable
that it would disappear if he died?”

“Calm down, Alex—”

But Alex wouldn’t stop, even though he couldn’t believe his horrible thoughts, his sharp words against their beloved mage. “Don’t tell me to calm down. This is not a calm situation! Answer me—I’m serious. What kind of leader would do that? Did he think he was invincible?” Alex was horrified at himself for asking the questions that had been plaguing him, but he felt helpless to stop them. “And now I’m the one who’s supposed to fix it? I’m, like, practically still a
kid.
It’s
so
not okay that he left me with this. It’s a disaster!” he cried. “It’s not fair!” He grasped Cole’s arm and shook it. “Can you see what I’m saying? I’m saying I can’t just fix this. I can’t. I tried—I’m trying, and I’ll keep trying. But as of right now, I can’t figure it out, okay?”

Cole just stood there, color rising to his cheeks. Then he deliberately removed Alex’s hand from his arm, stepped
back, and wiped his sleeve. “Oo-kay,” he said, his voice cold. He turned to his friends, who had stopped complaining long enough to listen. Cole nodded in the direction of the entrance to Quill and started walking away. To his friends he said, “Come on, guys. I know where we can get some food.”

Alex’s mouth dropped open. “Whoa,” he said. “Wait. Seriously? You’re going to be slaves to them again? You’re disgusting!” He kicked the cracked earth and spun around. “Cowards. I can’t believe this.”

“Whatever, Alex,” Cole called over his shoulder. He went through the gate, the others following him into Quill.

Alex raked his fingers through his hair and cursed under his breath. Now he was driving people away.

N
ot far away in the yard, next to Jim the winged tortoise, stood Sky, on a break from stacking stiff, lifeless beavops, watching her new friend Alex fall apart. When she escaped from Warbler, she never once imagined that she would find a place where things were actually worse than what she’d endured.

She took a few steps through the crowd toward Alex, thinking she might be able to offer some form of comfort, when she saw Carina Fathom walk up to him. Sky admired Carina’s pixie haircut and spunky style. But she slowed and then stopped when she saw Carina’s face, which looked very serious.

“Alex,” Carina said, looking up at him. She held young Seth on one hip and a knapsack over the opposite shoulder.

Alex turned, an almost bewildered look on his face. “Oh, hi,” he said. “What’s up?”

She took a deep breath. “Alex, I’m sorry.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because I . . . we . . . need to go. I’m sorry.” She pinched her lips together and didn’t look away. “We’re going. Leaving.”

The color drained from Alex’s face. He looked away quickly and took in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly through pursed lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them again and looked back at the young woman. “You’re leaving.” He nodded, a little too swiftly, looking at the baby. “Of course you are. You have to.” He absently reached out and smoothed the listless baby’s hair. It was damp with sweat. Alex dropped his arm, like lead, to his side. “To your mother’s, I suppose,” he mused, almost to himself.

“No. She’s, you know. Back in the palace, and I—”

“Of course,” Alex murmured. “I— How could I forget?”

“I’ve changed my name, you know,” Carina blurted out.

“Oh?”

“To Holiday. Carina Holiday, that is. I mean, I can’t—I won’t have
her
name anymore.”

“I see.” His words were feeble, like unstable puffs of air. “A bit ironic, that name,” he said, looking past Carina now, to the sea. “Holiday. Day of the Purge and all that.”

“It’s—yes, it is. Intentionally so.” She shifted the baby higher on her hip.

Alex looked at her again as if he was finally seeing her. “Can I help you? Carry something, I mean? I’m sorry, I should have—”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “I’m used to it. I just . . . I should go.”

Alex nodded. “Well.” He opened his lanky arms awkwardly and hugged her.

Carina patted his back. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

He shook his head and gave her a sad smile. “Don’t—it’s okay. Thank you for everything. I mean it.”

“I’ll be back.”

“I know.”

They stood face-to-face a moment longer, and then Carina nodded once. “Okay, then.” She hesitated a second more, and
then set off. “You’ll figure it out, you know. The clue,” she called over her shoulder. “You will. I’m sure of it. Good-bye for now, brave Alex Stowe.” She grinned.

Alex nodded. He lifted his hand. “Good-bye, Carina Holiday.”

He watched her go.

As she reached the gate, she paused, turned once again, and tilted her head. “I don’t think it’s the islands,” she called. And then she shrugged and smiled. “For whatever that’s worth.”

With that, she disappeared around the wall.

When Alex’s shoulders slumped and he turned away, dead-eyed, Sky was there.

T
he High Priest Aaron donned his inherited black robe and made his way down the long driveway to the portcullis. He was flanked by four guards who carried rusty spearlike weapons in case the Necessaries acted up.

The workers stood waiting with shovels, picks, and some makeshift equipment.

“Release the lock,” Aaron said to his guards. Without so much as a glance at the Necessaries outside the gate, Aaron motioned to them and said, “Follow me.” One of Aaron’s guards unlocked the gate and the Necessaries streamed in.
Aaron led them up the drive, to the forty-foot wall outside his palace office window.

“I want you to make a hole through the wall here, like a large doorway,” he said. “As tall and wide as the door to the palace.” He turned and looked at the dim-witted Necessaries to see if they understood. When he got to the last of them, his jaw slacked and he paled a shade, or perhaps two, but only someone who knew him well would have noticed. He held the unblinking man’s gaze for a moment, and then nodded slightly and turned back to the first one. “Are you in charge here?” he barked.

“Y-yes, Associate High Priest,” the man said.

“High Priest Aaron,” corrected one of the guards.

The Necessary nodded, saying nothing.

“Well,” Aaron said, impatient, “do you understand? Do you have any questions?”

The man was so flustered he didn’t say a word.

“No?” Aaron continued. “Fine, then. You’ll work until it’s dark.” He didn’t wait for the man to respond. Instead Aaron gathered his cloak, whipping it around with a flourish, and stomped away to the palace.

“Secretary!” he yelled, even before he’d fully made it inside. “Secretary!”

There was a scuffle of shoes on echoing steps. A moment later, Eva Fathom rounded the corner and nearly bumped into Aaron.

“Yes?” she said, a bit breathless.

“Where did you find these workers?”

“Well, logically, I went to the Ancients Sector. The workers there have shovels and other tools, and they’re accustomed to that sort of hard work. Is there a problem?”

Aaron narrowed his eyes at the woman, never quite sure if he could trust her. “And did you not ask them their names?”

“I spoke only to the one in charge. He rounded up the others.” She held her chin steady and didn’t look away.

Aaron studied her face for a long moment. Then he nodded his acceptance of her story. “That’s all for now,” he said. He pushed past her and went to his office, closing the door firmly, leaving Eva Fathom tapping her lips.

Aaron hung up his cloak and went to the window once more, looking out over the driveway at the men, who stood measuring and marking off a doorway on the wall using spit
and dust, and then taking their tools and whacking them against the wall.

The one man in particular seemed to be pounding especially hard. He reached down to the pile of tools and found a thin piece of metal. Shoving it into the crack between two blocks of cement, he picked up a mallet, pulled back, and pounded the piece of metal with all his might, over and over until the block began to move.

The others, including the leader of the party, watched for a moment and then followed his example. Aaron frowned, and hollered once again, “Secretary!”

But this time there was no answer. Instead he saw Eva Fathom climb into the backseat of a Quillitary vehicle, which choked and slowly chugged its way down the hill, belching black smoke at the men, who had managed to remove a few blocks.