Alight (27 page)

“War isn’t a
game,
” she shouts. “If we try to solve this with violence, it won’t just be Springers that die. We have a few guns—the Springers have more.”

She points at the circle-star girl holding the pitchfork.

“What about you, Marija? Will you die from a bullet in the face?”

Spingate points at Borjigin. “Or you? Maybe a knife in the belly, a wound so bad even Smith’s coffin can’t fix it, so you die slow, screaming for help that no one can provide? Is that worth fighting our
ugly
enemy, Borjigin?”

Borjigin’s eyes are wide. He doesn’t answer.

“They were here first,” Spingate says. “There could be thousands of them.
Hundreds
of thousands. If we attack them and fail, do you think five muskets and three spiders will stop them from pouring in here to wipe
us
out? What if they shot Visca because they thought
we
were attacking
them
?”

Aramovsky yells something at her, Gaston yells something back, but their arguments become background noise as her words bounce through my thoughts—
What if they thought we were attacking them
?

The city beyond the walls, utterly destroyed. Demolished buildings, deep craters…there was a war before we even arrived. The spiders, knocking down the wall of that building where we first found a campfire. Spiders, attacking and killing the Springers in the clearing.

Spiders, with the circle-star symbol…

Visca, his sweat washing the camouflage from his face, exposing that same symbol on his forehead…

The pieces click together.

So many people screaming—no one is listening. Those for war and those against it are arguing, even pushing each other.

I slam my spear butt hard on the stage.

“Enough! Everyone,
shut up!
”

Aramovsky smiles. He thinks I will take his side. He’s wrong.

“The Springers attacked us, yes,” I say. “They killed Visca, yes. But I don’t think they’re demons. If anything, to them,
we
are the monsters.”

Aramovsky looks shocked, betrayed.

“That’s ridiculous,” he says. “We aren’t monsters. We are the chosen people.”

“Spiders kill Springers on sight,” I say. “The spiders standing outside this shuttle have hundreds of little dents from Springer bullets. The ruins outside the walls are from a huge city—the spiders destroyed that city. They must have killed thousands of Springers. When you say we didn’t do anything to the Springers, you’re right.
We
didn’t do anything, but our creators
did
.”

I tap my forehead.

“We all have symbols. Visca’s was the circle-star—the same symbol that’s painted on the spiders. What if the Springers saw his symbol—a symbol they must fear, they must
hate
—and acted just like we would act if someone came to kill us?”

Spingate’s eyes crinkle with a small smile. She’s impressed: I found a possible connection that she missed.

“We don’t know where the fruit grows,” she says. “If we kill the Springers, we might not find it at all. That gnawing feeling in your bellies? It’s going to get much, much worse. The fastest way to get rid of it is to find the Springers and
talk
to them, make them understand we are not our creators, that we mean no harm.”

A few hands reactively go to stomachs. Aramovsky uses gods to get through to people—Spingate does the same with hunger.

Aramovsky shakes his head, his stare now burning with hatred.

“So one of us should just walk out past the wall and
ask
these killers for help? You already said how we would die horribly, Spingate, so who is going to go?
You?
”

She nods. “Yes. Me.”

The crowd falls silent. They can’t believe she just volunteered. Neither can I.

She points to her forehead. “I don’t have a circle-star. If Em’s right, maybe that will give me a chance. Em also said the Springers were about her size, which means they are about
my
size—maybe I won’t be as intimidating as Visca was, maybe they won’t shoot me right away.”

She is so brave, and I am instantly proud of her all over again,
inspired
by her. This is my friend, my courageous friend.

Gaston grabs her arm.

“
Maybe
isn’t good enough,” he says. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

She pulls her arm away, holds it up, showing her golden bracer.

“If we do make contact, and they show us anything about the purple fruit, a gear needs to see it. Kalle did her part. Zubiri is
too
little. Now it’s my turn.”

In a panic, Gaston grabs for her bracer. “Then I’ll go, I’m even smaller than you!”

She twists away from him. “What are you doing? Stop it!”

I raise a booted foot high, stomp down on the stage as hard as I can. The sound is almost as loud as a musket shot—it silences everyone, stops everything.

“Gaston, you’re staying here,” I say. “If the Springers do attack, you might have to fly the shuttle to get everyone away safely.”

He snarls at me. “Beckett can fly the shuttle! Make someone else do this. You can’t let Spingate go alone!”

“She won’t be alone,” I say. “I’m going with her.”

Shouts of support, of disbelief. Aramovsky smiles, folds his arms and watches.

O’Malley steps toward the stage—he’s coming in for a whisper. I hold up my hand to him, palm out. He stops in place.

“Don’t bother,” I say. “This is going to happen.”

Bishop bangs his axe head against the coffin room wall, demanding everyone’s attention.

“Send me instead,” he says. “Just me. I move quieter than anybody, I can capture one and bring it back here.”

O’Malley comes forward again. “He’s right, Em, listen to Bishop.”

“Taking a prisoner is an act of war,” Spingate says. “Even if Bishop gets one, we have no idea if we can make it tell us what we need to know.”

Too many voices. Too many opinions.

I raise the spear over my head.

“
Enough!
I’ve made my decision. Only two people are going—the leader, who has the authority to speak for all of us, and the scientist, who can understand what we see.”

Spingate’s eyes meet mine. We are bound together in this. We were the first of our people to awaken. We found each other before we found anyone else. If we are to die trying to stop a war, then we will die as we began: together.

“The Observatory,” I say. “We’ll go there.”

She shakes her head. “I think this city is our territory, and the jungle is theirs. We need to go to them as a gesture of good faith. Can you take us to the clearing where Visca died?”

I remember the way Visca examined the trail, the surrounding plants, the footprints. I watched him carefully. Maybe I couldn’t find my way from the old fountain to that clearing, but—just like he did—I can follow the path from the gate to the first fire pit, then to the clearing where he died.

I look at the boys who don’t want us to go—Aramovsky, O’Malley, Bishop and Gaston—and I thump the spear butt lightly against the stage floor.

The decision is made, and it is final.

I
t’s just me and Spingate.

The fire pit was once again empty. I managed to pick up the same trail Visca followed. I figure we’re about an hour away from the clearing where he died.

We ripped a piece of white fabric out of a coffin and tied it to the end of my spear. O’Malley’s idea. Maybe the Springers won’t know it’s a symbol of peace, but it will make us visible a long ways off—we want them to know we’re coming.

The spiders are ours, and because of that, the city doesn’t seem as dangerous. Spingate and I rode on a spider with Bishop and Coyotl to the now-familiar gate. Bishop again insisted he come with, and again I said no. The two boys will wait for us at the gate. If we find another way in, I’ll send runners from the shuttle to bring them back.

Spingate seems so different now. This isn’t the giggling, frightened girl I woke up with. Is she changing because her memory is returning? Is it her relationship with Gaston?

I don’t know. And if she does, she’s not very talkative.

We have no idea if this will work. I think I’m right about Visca’s symbol, but can’t be sure. Even if I am right, the Springers might kill us anyway. I killed one of theirs, after all. If they recognize me, what will they do?

I have to try, though. If we don’t get food, I think Aramovsky will force a new vote—a vote I will lose. My people will want a new leader. I can’t blame them for that; they want something good to happen. I tell them the truth. Aramovsky will tell them what they want to hear, and for that he will win.

If he does, there will be war.

The sun is high overhead. A strong wind drives dark clouds our way. Blurds whiz by, their split-second shadows sometimes passing over our faces.

Spingate finally speaks. She stares straight down the path when she does.

“I thought you were going to take us to war,” she says. “I thought you were going to follow your violent nature.”

Does she think so little of me? Can’t she see what I actually did, not what she thought I would do?

“Violence is
not
my nature.”

She stops suddenly, finally looks at me. There is fire in her eyes.

“It
is
.” She points up. “We saw it on the
Xolotl
.” She points back toward the city. “We saw it on the Observatory steps.” She puts her fingertip on my chest. “And now we’ve seen it from
you,
when you killed that Springer.”

I slap her hand away.

“The deaths on the
Xolotl
belong to Matilda, not me, and so does the Observatory. And as for the Springer, you weren’t
there
. I had to kill to survive.”

She huffs. “Did you? Because from what Bishop and Coyotl and Borjigin said, it takes the Springers a long time to load their weapons. Why didn’t you just run away like Bishop did? Why did you go back to kill?”

(If you run, your enemy will hunt you…kill your enemy, and you are forever free.)

I went back because my father’s words are always rattling in my head. When things overwhelm me, I listen to those words. They make me act like a puppet. Spingate is right—maybe I didn’t realize it at the time, but I went back because I
wanted
to kill.

The sky darkens. Clouds close in.

I spot movement up high in the treetops. I stop, stare. Is there something behind the thick yellow leaves?

I point. “Did you see that?”

Spingate looks, concentrates, but shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “It was probably just an animal.”

The first drops of rain plunk against the jungle canopy. Then the skies open up—a light drizzle one second, a total downpour the next.

Spingate lowers her head and raises a hand to block the rain, but I ignore the splashing on my face—I keep looking.

Then it moves. Half my size, perhaps, the same yellow as vine leaves. Long, thin legs launch it from the treetop. Arms stretch out: something darker between the arms and the body, not
wings,
but
skin,
skin that catches the air and lets it glide. The small creature plunges through more vines and it is gone.

Spingate was right—it’s just an animal.

We keep moving. The rain beats down.

“I’m glad you came,” Spingate says. “But I wasn’t sure if you should. I’m still not. I’ll be honest—I’m afraid you’ll do something bad, that you’ll start the war you think you want to stop. And that’s if you haven’t started one already.”

It hurts that she doesn’t trust me, but in a way I’m glad she doesn’t. One mistake on my part and people could die—that’s more important than my feelings.

I take her hand. “I can’t trust myself, either. But I can trust
us
. Help me get this right.”

She squeezes my hand once, smiles at me, then lets go.

When I again look down the trail, I see something off to my left—the barrel of a musket, sliding out from behind a tree. A Springer, blue and wrinkled, aiming at me.

“Don’t move,” I say quietly. “They found us.”

I slowly look to my right—and see a second Springer, purple-blue, less wrinkled, mostly hidden by a fallen log. It is also aiming a musket at me.

Up ahead of us, a third Springer steps onto the trail.

Bullets are going to rip through my body, blast my brains out like Visca. I’m going to die here. On the
Xolotl
I would have become dust, but here it’s hot and wet. My body will rot away, drip into the mud.

“The spear,” Spingate says.

“They can see the stupid white flag. They don’t care.”

“Not the
flag,
” she says. “The
spear
. It’s a weapon. We made a mistake, we shouldn’t have used a weapon. Set it down, slowly, show them you mean no harm.”

Set it down? Is she
crazy
? They could rush us, beat us to death with the flat part of their muskets and not even have to waste a bullet. If I strike first, if they miss like they did last time, I could quickly kill the one on the left.