The Unwanteds (27 page)

Alex and Meghan gulped simultaneously and exchanged a nervous glance. Alex quickly peeked at the note from Lani. It read,
Die a thousand deaths
. He looked up, alarmed, and searched for Lani, but she was nowhere to be found.
What a horrible thing to say
, he thought, shoving the note in his pocket.
I thought she was over being immature
.

He straightened his vest, going over the various components one more time, even though he knew their locations by heart. Peter and Pauline whispered together. Rufus rose up on his haunches as Simber faced them.

“Ourrr squad was specially designed to complement one anotherrr,” he began. “Rrrufus is agile. He can both climb and fly. His eyesight is trrremendous, as is his bite and skewerrr.” Simber indicated the squirrelicorn’s foot-long horn, which grew from between his little squirrel ears. “Pauline was a theaterrr focus, Peterrr’s a wrrriting instrrructorrr, Meghan is a musician, and Alex is a painterrr.” He paused, and said wryly, “And in case you didn’t notice, I’m an enorrrmous stone cheetah with wings. I come with a majorrr drrrawback—I am not easy to hide. Therrreforrre ourrr squad will be an open, moving tarrrget. But ourrr combined skills should overrrcome most obstacles.

“Please follow my instrrructions at all times, especially when we face combat. Trrrust my orrrders. Frrrom my vantage point I can see much farrrtherrr than you. And because of my experrrience as a prrredator you should trrrust my instincts. Any questions?” He looked at the five who faced him. None had questions.

“All rrright. We’rrre the frrront line stationed at the rrroad.
In Quill.” Simber turned and walked toward the opening in the wall.

The front line!
A chill of fear moved through Alex as they approached the place where the gate once stood. It had been one thing to go from Mr. Today’s office into Aaron’s dormitory room, but it was quite another to face this ominous, fateful entrance again after nearly a year, and then to stand outside it and take the brunt of the attack—it was completely nerve-wracking.

Simber held his head high as he walked nobly, like a prince, through the wide opening. Mr. Today, who now stood at the entrance, murmured words of protection on each of their component vests as they passed through into the bleakness of Quill. “The words of protection will last the entire day. Please don’t take your vests off—they will help keep you safe.” The man put his hand on Alex’s arm and whispered, “Do you remember the command I used for the glass wall?”

Alex, whose heart was pounding by now, nodded.

“You are capable of casting that, Alex. You are capable of a lot of things. Just be aware that it will shatter if it’s struck hard enough, so it’s not permanent. Above all, have confidence
in yourself, and you will succeed. Control your emotions, and you will hit every time.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex whispered, feeling confidence from the pep talk. He nodded and followed Simber onto the dusty road to stand and wait for the Quillitary vehicles. There was nothing in this desolate part of Quill that could be used for cover except for a few scattered posts that held up the barbed-wire ceiling. Alex breathed in the stifling air of Quill, his eyes darting around, feeling very exposed.

Other squads lined up behind and alongside Simber’s, and soon there were over a hundred defenders in place inside Quill, ready to face the oncoming Quillitary. Alex could hear the other squads behind him talking through their plans. The majority of the defenders remained in Artimé, spread out to protect the mansion, hidden behind the lush foliage, and grouped under cover along the edge of the jungle. It would be easier to fight in Artimé, where the Quillitary would be in unfamiliar territory and so shocked at the sight that they would have a disadvantage.

Soon the squealing and squeaking vehicles could be heard. Alex and Meghan stood tall, trying to catch the first glimpse, almost like little eager children of Artimé who could
hear a marching band but not yet see the approaching parade.

Just inside the opening into Artimé, Alex could see Samheed and Lani’s squad waiting. Alex caught Lani’s eye, and when she smiled, his stomach flip-flopped, despite her mean note. He mouthed the words “Be safe.”

Lani bit her lip and nodded. “You too,” she whispered.

They did not have long to wait.

A fleet of rust-colored vehicles, flanked on both sides by endless lines of marching soldiers, thundered closer. They raised no weapons. Slowly the vehicles came to a stop in front of the entrance to Artimé. They faced Simber head-on. When they came to a halt, a burly man stood up inside the front vehicle, his head and shoulders well above the windshield. He squinted as the colors of Artimé bled through the opening in the wall. Samheed recognized the man as General Blair.

“Attention, worthless Unwanteds! I have a message for Alexander Stowe,” he yelled.

Simber growled angrily.

Alex felt his heart drop and splatter on the road.

After a moment Simber nodded to Alex and growled in
a low voice, “Step forrrwarrrd and claim it.”

All the squads inside Artimé who could see through the opening watched the scene unfold. Alex’s breath was shallow, and his teeth nearly chattered together. He stepped forward as bravely as he could, cleared his throat, and said in his deepest, harshest voice, “I’m Alex Stowe.”

The general stared him in the eye for a long moment, his upper lip frozen in a sneer.

Alex stared back, unflinching.

“The message is from the High Priest Justine.” He cleared his throat authoritatively.

Alex didn’t move.

“The High Priest Justine thanks you for the warning you gave to Aaron Stowe two nights ago.”

As the general spoke, two Quillitary officers in the seat behind him hoisted something long and bulky over their heads.

“She only wished that this,” the General said as the officers flung the object into the grassy opening of Artimé, “had truly been you.”

On the ground, inside a sheet of thin, ragged linen, was the lifeless body of the general’s own son, Will Blair.

A
lex remained steady despite the gasps around him, gathered his wits, and spoke in a smooth voice. “If you live through the day, General,” he said, “perhaps you’ll ask the High Priest Justine why she’s too afraid to come here and deliver that message herself.”

“Get back!” Simber barked as the far flank of Quillitary marchers raised long, rusty metal weapons to their shoulders. Simber’s wings burst open as a shield, forcing Alex behind them as loud blasts erupted from the Quillitary, followed by raining thuds of pellets against the stone statue. “Firrre!” commanded the stone beast.

Alex regained his footing as the others in his squad sent a round of artistic fire at the Quillitary. Those soldiers who hadn’t been hit rushed into Artimé and began firing on the Unwanteds within, and the vehicles roared and coughed in preparation to enter through the gateway. Alex sent off a round of blinding highlights from his fluorescent yellow pen, hitting the drivers of the first two vehicles squarely in the eyes, as well as General Blair himself. The first vehicle lurched wildly and crashed into the wall, sending the general and two others catapulting toward Samheed and Lani. The second vehicle smashed into it, causing both jalopies to hiss and shoot boiling spurts of water back at their occupants.

Samheed, still in shock at seeing his former friend lying dead, and witnessing Will’s own father show absolutely no signs of emotion or remorse, realized with full certainty that the Quillitary was no longer anything he wanted to be a part of. How foolish he had been! And seeing the heartlessness all around him—it was so much worse than he remembered. He felt the old familiar rage boiling up tenfold.

With a wild yell Samheed pulled a spiked metal star from his vest and flung it with all his might at the groaning general.
It struck the man in the throat and embedded deep within. General Blair’s blinded eyes widened, and then closed.

But there was no time for anyone to reflect, as Artiméans all around Samheed fell to the ground.

Another round of pellets from the enemy blasted and chinked off Simber, leaving him no worse for wear. Meghan dropped the first two officers in the far flank with sleep spells, and Peter laid down the next dozen with words of destruction. They writhed on the ground and were succinctly trampled by the Quillitary that pressed forward, trying to get into Artimé.

From the squads inside Artimé came another round of spells, causing tremendous chaos for the unsuspecting enemy. Scatterclips flew through the air, some of them dragging the enemy with them until they reached something solid enough in which to stick. Still it was all the Artiméans could do to protect themselves as the lines of vehicles and the near flank poured into the magical world.

“Rrrufus, I need numberrrs!” Simber roared.

Immediately the squirrelicorn flew up and, hovering just below the barbed-wire ceiling, counted out a quick estimate and
dropped to the cheetah’s back. “A thousand at least—they’re backed up all the way to the nursery,” Rufus reported. “More than I expected.”

“How many of ourrrs down?”

Rufus flew up again to look around, and then darted into Artimé and returned. “Twelve down out here. At least two dozen down inside.”

Simber roared his displeasure, which caused several nearby members of the Quillitary to hit the dirt. “Double up yourrr attacks! Make them perrrmanent!” he roared. “They arrre rrrecoverrring frrrom yourrr spells. Yourrr comrrrades arrre falling!”

Alex and Meghan pulled out their permanent power weapons. Within thirty minutes the two of them, working in beautiful tandem, rendered forty-four Quillitary members permanently frozen in odd poses using Alex’s splatterpaint combined with Meghan’s
Nutcracker
ice dance.

As the squads behind the fantastic Simber shield met their marks, a few of them falling back with stray pellet wounds, the squads inside nailed the enemy with fireball dragons, stinging soliloquies, splatterpaint, fire steps, itch glue, slam poetry,
scatterclips, slash singing, blinding highlights, and the dreaded Shakespearian theater curse from those who had no qualms about inflicting mortal fencing wounds on their enemies.

Lani and Samheed weren’t quite as fortunate. Samheed, though he thought he had prepared himself for this, soon found himself face-to-face with his father. And unlike with General Blair, Samheed hesitated a split second too long in this matchup, and Mr. Burkesh took advantage by slamming his son in the head and chest with a shield. Samheed groaned and fell.

Immediately Lani reacted with a paralyzing taunt at Samheed’s father, but the man fell forward instead of backward, crashing on top of the young girl and trapping her under his weight. It took her several minutes to free herself, trying to cast spells at other enemies while struggling, her leg caught quite firmly underneath Mr. Burkesh. A sharp, rusty corner of the man’s armor dug into her calf. With one tremendous effort she broke free, ripping a nasty gash in her leg in the process.

“Sam!” she cried, but Samheed was out cold. Blood poured from his nose, which was obviously broken. Lani dragged him with a sort of superhuman strength to a protected spot behind a tree and took a moment to rip a piece from her already
shredded pant leg and wrap up her own gushing wound.

Samheed groaned and moved his head weakly. The left side of his face was rapidly swelling up and turning purple.

“Stay still!” hissed Lani.

Samheed opened the only eye that would open. He coughed, swallowed painfully, and whispered, “Kill him.”

Lani gave him a wild, pleading look. “Oh, Sam. I—I can’t.”

Samheed looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded weakly and tried to smile. “It’s okay.” He rolled to his side and spit blood, then took a deep breath and rose shakily to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

“No, Sam!” Lani whispered.

Samheed staggered over to his father, released the paralyzing spell and waited for Mr. Burkesh to stand and get his bearings again. The boy stood nearly eye to eye with the man.

“Father.”

Mr. Burkesh glared. He pulled a knife from his belt and held it to Samheed’s neck.

Lani ran toward them. “No!” she cried.

“Father,” Samheed said again, his voice deathly calm.

Mr. Burkesh’s hand trembled slightly as his face grew red.
He spoke in harsh, drawn-out words. “Don’t speak to me. You are no son of mine.” And then he hesitated no longer, rearing back with the knife and roaring, “Die a thousand deaths!” He plunged it through the air toward Samheed. Samheed shook, but he made no move to stop him.

Lani screamed. “No! Samheed!” She began uttering another paralyzing taunt, just as a thin voice from somewhere above her uttered a sharp rhyming curse.

Immediately Mr. Burkesh flew backward in the air and landed on the ground. His hand relaxed on the knife, and it fell in the grass.

Samheed sank to his hands and knees, shaking his head in disbelief, sobs and blood clutching at his throat. “I had to know,” he choked out, “if he would really do it.”

Lani tossed off a quick handful of spells at the other Quillitary nearby, and when they were all temporarily contained, she looked up to see where the voice had come from.