Island of Dragons (19 page)

“Of course,” said Pan. “I need a short time to prepare the children for my absence, but I'll arrive at the Island of Legends by late tonight.”

“Thank you,” said Alex. “That's a tremendous help.”

“It's the least I can do.” Immediately Pan began fishing with her tail as she'd done in the past, and soon she was launching large fish into the air so they'd land inside the island. “Safe travels, and take care,” she said. “I'll see you upon my return.” She flung another bunch.

Alex held his hand up. “Good-bye for now. Let me know if you have any trouble with the wings.”

“Think no more about that,” said Pan. “Luck be with you. You'll need it.”

Alex nodded, his heart heavy knowing she was right. He started up the boat and turned to Charlie. “Let Claire know that we've made it to the Island of Dragons and should be home sometime after dark tonight. Tell her Pan is heading out shortly to the Island of Legends to alert Florence, Henry, and Spike.”

Charlie nodded and went back into the cabin.

Alex directed the boat to go home, and soon the brothers were speeding over the waves.

With the boat magically piloting itself, Alex sat down heavily and put his face in his hands. “This is really happening,” he whispered. His nightmare and the discussion with Pan had brought with it a sense of real doom and an intense fear of the unknown. What were they in for? If only Alex could have a glimpse of the future so he'd better know what to do. But there was no magic spell for that.

Aaron, who was rummaging around in the supplies, pulled out two lunches and brought one over to Alex.

Alex took it and sighed, feeling defeated. “I don't know what to do,” he said.

“Try eating it,” said Aaron.

“Not with the lunch. With the—wait. Was that another joke?”

Aaron shrugged and bit into the crust of a bulging savory pie.

“You're feeling better then, I take it,” Alex said. He watched Aaron stuff his face, and then began eating too. He discovered he was ravenous, as he hadn't had much of an appetite for dinner after they'd left the Island of Shipwrecks. As the boys ate their lunches, they sank back into their individual thoughts: Alex devastated by the news of the coming attack and trying to sort out a plan from a jumbled mess of ideas, and Aaron feeling mixed about his immortality, combined with having to turn back to Artimé after he'd been so ready to go to his new home. Aaron's thoughts had taken him to consider the battle against Gondoleery, for he'd been immortal then, only he hadn't known it.

“If you think about it,” Aaron said out of the blue, pausing before taking a bite, “it makes sense. The immortality, I mean. I got hit pretty hard in the battle with Gondoleery. I'd wondered about that—and I was really surprised I hadn't gotten knocked out or killed. I mean, look what her fireballs did to you.”

Alex glared. “I was fine after a while.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Okay, if you say so. From my perspective you looked like a bonfire, but what do I know? I was only conscious
the entire time
.”

Alex frowned and looked away.

“You're right, though,” Aaron allowed after a minute. “You did pick yourself up pretty well.”

Alex rolled his eyes and finished his meal. He folded his plate until it disappeared. “So you think the seaweed kept you from getting killed by Gondoleery?”

“She hit me dead-on with a fireball at close range,” Aaron said, all traces of sarcasm now gone from his voice. “It stunned me, but I got up all right. Everybody else was getting killed or knocked out. I thought I just got lucky, like maybe her aim was bad that one time. But the seaweed explains it, don't you think?”

Alex shrugged and shook his head in wonder. “I guess it does,” he said, looking up and catching his brother's gaze. “All I can say is that I'm glad. It'll make me worry less about you in this upcoming battle, that's for sure.” He frowned and didn't say what else was going through his mind . . . that Aaron would also be doing some worrying. Now knowing the pirates were involved, Alex was certain they'd be coming for him—and they'd be extra vigilant in getting the right twin this time.

But Alex had so much more to consider than just his own life. There was Artimé, too.

Once they'd both finished eating, Alex sat up straight, pulled out his notebook and produced a pencil, and began to scribble down all the strategic ideas he could think of. He drew maps and made a list of his strongest fighters. He wished again for Florence, but knew he might have to do this without her, and it scared him to death.

When he ran out of ideas, he called on Charlie to communicate with Lani so he could run some plans by her. And every now and then he'd ask Lani's and Aaron's advice on something.

“This is crazy,” Alex said at one point to both Charlie and Aaron, “but what do you think of our fighters meeting the enemies halfway? Battling it out at sea?”

Charlie soon relayed Lani's response, and Alex translated it so Aaron could hear. “Lani says, ‘Nice idea against the Warblerans who can't swim, but maybe not the pirates since that's how they usually fight.' Hmm.”

Aaron nodded. “Plus, we only have one ship. They have dozens, don't they?”

“Yes,” said Alex. “Good point. Nix that.” After a while he started scribbling again, and Aaron, feeling restless and unsettled, began to pace. Charlie sat down on the deck, but it wasn't long before he took on a slightly green tinge and held his stomach. When it seemed clear that Alex was done with him for the time being, he went back into the cabin to lie down.

Throughout the afternoon and evening the brothers strategized and mulled over ideas, sometimes bringing in Simber or Lani or Sky or Claire through Matilda and Charlie's telepathic connection. Alex knew that Artimé could put up a good fight. But the pirates were a different sort of enemy—they were trained fighters. It's what they did. Could Artimé withstand it? Especially now, with their ranks thinned from all the previous battles?

And what if Alex were captured and killed in the midst of battle? Artimé would disappear, and with it went the magic. It would put Artimé in terrible trouble. Even with Claire or Lani prepared to take over for him as mage, it would take time to bring the world back in order for the fighters' magic to be restored. First they'd have to get to the shack, grab a robe, stand on the back step without getting attacked . . . It was no easy spell, and it took a ton of concentration. Being without magic would leave all of Artimé helpless to defend themselves for however long it took to restore it. Possibly enough time to get them all killed.

It was during one lull in the strategic planning that the most incredibly ridiculous, yet totally brilliant idea came into Alex's head. And it wouldn't leave. He tried pushing it aside, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He looked long and hard at Aaron, seeming to almost stare right through him as thoughts rushed around inside his head. He cringed. It made sense.

“Why in Quill are you staring and making faces at me like that?” asked Aaron. “It's unsettling.”

Alex blinked. “What?”

“You're staring at me like you want to . . . I don't know . . . kill me or something.” He nearly laughed at the irony, but Alex seemed stressed, and he didn't want to make light of such a serious situation.

“Sorry,” said Alex. “It's just that . . .” He trailed off, thinking some more. “It's just that I have this idea. And . . .” His brows furrowed. “And I think you . . . can help me.”

“Sure,” said Aaron. “What is it? I'll do whatever I can.”

Alex gave him another hard look. “Can I trust you? Completely, I mean. Fully, one hundred percent, no fears, no worries—”

Aaron sighed impatiently. “If you don't already, then I doubt you ever will,” he said. “I can say yes all day but I can't change your mind.”

“You're right, you're right,” muttered Alex. “And I do. I just . . . this is going to sound strange. And likely insane.”

Aaron watched Alex with growing interest. “Well? Go ahead and say it.”

Alex studied Aaron's face a moment longer, and then he said, “I want you to be the head mage of Artimé.”

A
aron stared at Alex. He sat up, opened his mouth, closed it again, and stared some more. “Have you lost your mind?” he asked presently.

“Seems so,” muttered Alex. He paced to the bow of the boat and stood there for a moment, staring toward Artimé. A moment later he returned to Aaron's side. “No, I haven't. It's an excellent plan. Temporarily, I mean, of course, unless I die that is, and then it would clearly be for longer, I suppose. Hmm. Plus—and this is beside the fact—I think you'd be great at it.”

“Perhaps you'd like to explain.”

Alex nodded. “It's easy, really. You're immortal. If you're the mage of Artimé and you can't die, then Artimé will never disappear again like it did when you—” He stopped abruptly. “When you killed Mr. Today.” He grimaced, and for an instant he thought he truly must have lost his mind to offer the head mage position to the person who had killed the very man who had created the magical world.

Aaron stared. He shook his head.

“Plus, to be honest, you're a stronger mage than I am, so you'd do well in the position in case you'd need to take it on long term.”

“Wait. Stop.” Aaron put up his hand to argue, but Alex waved him down.

“No, I'm serious,” Alex said. “I've known it for a while—I just didn't like it all that much. But it's true. You're better at magic than most of us.
All
of us, maybe. And you have leadership skills—just look at how you handle the people of Quill.”

“You're being ridiculous,” said Aaron. But his eyes flickered, and his mind began to whir.

“No,” said Alex, “I'm being unselfish for the sake of Artimé. Picture it: If the pirates kill me, Artimé will disappear until Lani or Claire has a chance to get to the shack, stand on the step with a robe . . .” He shook his head. “That spell is quite complicated, and if we're in the midst of battle, no one's magic will work until the world is brought back. And I doubt the pirates are going to sit idly by, waiting for Lani or Claire to do all the rigmarole, ‘repeat times three,' et cetera, and for the magic to start working again. Anyone doing such an obvious thing will be tackled too, in an instant. And then what? Artimé will be defenseless if the mages keep dying. And it's not just Artimé now—it's all of Quill, too, that will disappear, leaving the Wanteds and Necessaries with no place to hide.”

“Why not just appoint Claire or Lani now? So they don't have to restore the world?”

“The same thing will happen if they die fighting. That's why it's got to be you, don't you see?”

“Hide them away, then.”

“No way. They're both way too strong, and both team leaders. I can't spare either one. We're going to need everyone fighting who is willing to fight.” He knit his brow. “Plus, Artimé doesn't hide.”

Aaron sat dumbfounded. He turned and looked back over the water, thinking. It all made sense. But him, the head mage of Artimé? Even temporarily, what sort of uproar would that cause? He turned abruptly to look at Alex. “It won't work. No one will allow it. You know that well enough. Simber, Claire, Carina, Samheed—they'd throw me over the waterfall before they'd let me wear a robe in Artimé.”

Alex grew troubled. “True,” he said. He thought for a long moment. “But remember what Ishibashi said? He said not to tell anyone about the immortality. We don't want the news of the power of the seaweed to get into the wrong hands. We need to keep this information between us—at least for now. Since we can't explain why we're doing this, we won't actually tell anyone. We'll make the transition a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Yes. And if I don't die, I'll just take the position of head mage back again after we win the battle, and no one will ever know. But in case I do, Artimé won't disappear. I'll appoint you tonight—I'll give you a robe and everything, just in case. Keep it with you, but don't wear it unless you hear of my death.”

A myriad of emotions filled Aaron—more than he'd ever let himself feel before. Anger and fear came out first. “You're not going to die,” he said. “Stop talking like that!”

“Aaron, please. I've been in enough battles to know people die—even the ones you wouldn't expect to. As the leader of Artimé, I have to be practical. Don't you see?” He gripped Aaron's shoulder. “Say you'll do this. I need you to. For Artimé.”

Aaron sighed, exasperated. He pulled away and walked to the front of the boat, letting the cool spray of the sea hit his face, his skin. He didn't know what to think. He didn't want to picture his brother dying. He didn't want to think about what Claire and Carina and Samheed and all the others would do or say if it happened—would they believe Alex had given him control? He doubted it. Simber would no doubt eat him immediately.