Island of Dragons (20 page)

As if Alex could read his mind, he called out to Aaron, “I'll give you a letter of proof that explains everything so you can show the others. It'll be in my handwriting. Simber will know I mean it. He'll help you if I ask him to. So don't worry about that.”

Aaron stared straight ahead over the water. Alex's plan would resolve the problem, he supposed. But something else was bothering Aaron. Something that stirred inside him. A dormant longing. A reawakening craving that was both thrilling and threatening.

Aaron clutched his vest, pressing his fist against the spot in his chest that stirred. It was almost painful. He thought about Quill. And he thought about Artimé. He thought of the stunning mansion and the majestic jungle and the beautiful lighthouse on the hill. He thought about all the magical abilities he'd already attained, and those yet to be discovered.

He pictured himself wearing the swishing, colorful robe, and sitting at the head mage's desk, and strolling over the entire island with the sun shining, the glorious green sea sparkling with whitecaps, and people—
his
people—fawning over him. It was everything he'd once dreamed about, and had finally given up hope of ever having. He didn't think he'd ever want it again. But now his mouth watered. A grimace crossed his face. He swallowed hard.

It pained Aaron to break away from the images. He dropped his hand to the railing and squeezed it until his knuckles turned white. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block the images. “Applecorn,” he muttered, opening his eyes.

The sun disappeared behind a cloud, turning the seawater gray. Aaron let out a breath. After a moment he let his grip slack on the railing. He looked over his shoulder at Alex, who was looking back earnestly, expectantly at him.

Aaron shifted his gaze. “Okay,” he said lightly. “I'll do it.”

» » « «

When the boat reached Artimé's lagoon and the boys finally arrived back at the mansion, Alex brought Aaron up to his office. He chose a carefully hung robe from the rack in the corner, folded it, and placed it on his desk. Then he grabbed
The Triad
spell book from a drawer, gripped it tightly for a moment, and put it on top of the robe. From his pocket Alex pulled the letter that he'd written on the boat, which would explain everything in the event of his death, and slipped it inside the book. He picked them up and turned toward Aaron, who stood stiffly nearby.

“I'm not sure how to do this,” Alex admitted. “I haven't found a book on transferring the duties of head mage yet, if there even is one.” He glanced up at the ugly artwork that held the code to restoring Artimé. “But I declare here and now, in this magical office, in the presence of these magical pieces of art that hold the secret to this world, that I am hereby turning over the position of head mage of Artimé to my brother, Aaron Stowe.”

With a solemn look, Alex held out the robe, the book, and the note to Aaron.

Aaron stared at them. He worked his jaw as he tried to control the desire that roiled inside him. And then he held out a quivering hand and took the items. “Okay,” he said, in a voice not quite his own. “Is that it? Is it done?”

“I guess so,” Alex said, feeling very weird. “I'll keep wearing my robe, of course. And you should just keep yours with you. If I die in battle, Artimé should continue on. But if Artimé ever disappears, the instructions for restoring it are in the book. Claire, Lani, and Sky all know the spell too.”

Aaron finally dared look his brother in the eye. “Okay,” he said. He gazed at the items Alex had given him, and then he rolled the robe tightly and bound it, and slid it inside his vest, tucking it out of sight. He clutched the book. “I'll memorize the spell tonight so I won't need the book, or help from anyone.”

“Good plan,” said Alex.

Aaron hesitated. “This is strange.”

“Yes.”

“I'm not sure I like it.”

Alex looked at the floor. “I've been in too many fights and seen too many friends die. I'm prepared for the worst. You've actually eased my mind quite a bit with your immortality.”

“That's strange too. Picturing my life going on when other people are gone. I don't know quite what to think. It's fine for now, but what about someday? You know?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. It's almost too weird to imagine. But I guess there will always be the scientists for you.”

“Maybe I can convince them to move here if I end up staying mage,” Aaron murmured, more to himself than to Alex.

Alex frowned. “Hopefully that won't happen, though,” he said. “Right?”

Aaron's eyes widened. “Oh, right—of course!” he exclaimed. “I . . . I shouldn't have said that.”

They stayed together for a few more moments, working out the details of the plan and promising strict secrecy regarding their mage arrangement. They didn't need anything to detract from concentrating on the task at hand—preparing for the battle of a lifetime.

T
hat night, while Simber patrolled the skies, Aaron and Alex found Claire and Ms. Octavia at the octogator's desk in her classroom and sat down to discuss procedures for the coming attack. Claire and Alex talked through various strategies while Ms. Octavia drew detailed sketches of them. Everyone wished for Florence's expertise on the matter—they had never needed it more. But it was not to be had.

After a few hours of conversation deep into the night, Aaron, Claire, and Ms. Octavia retired to their rooms with plans to meet up again the next morning. They had a lot of things to discuss, mainly what to do about Quill and whether they should enlist help from them or try to protect them somehow.

When Aaron reached his room, he pulled the robe out from inside his vest. Then he glanced at his blackboard and frowned. He went into his sleeping quarters and closed the door softly. There he unrolled the robe, shook it out gently, and placed it around his shoulders, securing it at his neck. He looked at himself this way and that, and then went over to his mirror and removed the paper he'd used to cover it. He stared at his reflection. “I'm the head mage of Artimé,” he whispered.

He felt his spine straighten and his chest swell. The longing surged inside him until it felt like it was out of control. With tremendous effort, he batted it down. Slowly he removed the robe, folded it, then rolled it tight like a baton and tied it so it would be ready to stuff inside his vest in the morning. He set it down on his bedside table, within reach in case he needed it, and reluctantly put the paper up so it covered the mirror again.

When he climbed into bed, he lay on his side, staring at the bundled robe for a long while. And then he sighed and rolled over to face the wall instead.

» » « «

Before turning in, Alex went to the hospital ward and found Carina Holiday sitting with the young woman who had escaped from Warbler. Asleep in the bed next to the escapee's was Thatcher, the Warbler boy who'd been catapulted to Artimé's shores some time ago and had become quite good at spell casting.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Why is he here?” he asked softly.

“They're siblings,” said Carina. “She risked her life to warn us because of her brother.”

“How is she?” Alex asked.

“She's exhausted,” said Carina. “Dehydrated. Has a bit of a fever, too. I doubt she slept a wink as she paddled her way here.”

“Did she arrive on a raft?”

“No, it was a canoe. Her paddle had a bite out of it.”

Alex frowned. “What from?”

“We don't know.”

Alex looked at the young woman. “Shall I take her thornament off?”

“Yes, if you're not too tired. I asked her when we were assessing her if she'd like it removed, and she nodded quite emphatically. But Claire hasn't had a moment to do it yet.”

“I'm not too tired,” said Alex. He took a chair and sat next to the young woman. She was similar in age to him and Sky. Her skin was dark brown like Thatcher's, her face perfectly symmetrical and serene, and her black hair was trimmed close to her scalp. “Do we know her name?”

“It's Yazmin.”

Alex studied Yazmin's necklace of thorns, then asked Carina to hold the girl's hands down to keep her from moving in her sleep while Alex was performing the spell. He didn't want to accidentally make anything besides the thornament disappear.

Carina held the girl's wrists, and Alex carefully touched the band of thorns. He concentrated for a long moment, then whispered, “Dissipate.”

The thorns faded away.

Alex sat back and Carina released her grasp. “She'll have a nice surprise when she wakes up,” Carina said.

“Will you let me know when she does?”

Carina smiled. “I will. Get some sleep. If what Yazmin says is true, we're in for a rough ride.”

“I doubt she'd risk her life escaping if she wasn't certain,” Alex said. “And the suspicious activities of the Warbler ships fall in line with her prediction. I'm afraid we're in for big trouble.”

“Me too. I'm . . . I'm a little scared for us, Alex.”

Alex gazed at the fearless fighter. If Carina was scared, the rest of Artimé had to be petrified. “We know what we're doing,” he said. But they both knew that without Florence to guide them, they might be in for some unexpected trouble.

Alex left the hospital ward, said good night to Simber who'd returned from his night flight, and wearily climbed the stairs to the balcony. He went down the not secret hallway toward his room, but paused first at the door to the Museum of Large and went inside. He made his way past the library and the empty spaces where the ship and the whale skeleton had been, and went into the gray shack, which stored itself here when it wasn't in use. Alex wandered through the little house, remembering the terrible time Artimé had had here after Mr. Today's death.

“I'm so glad our island doesn't have to worry about that now,” he murmured. The realization that he was no longer head mage washed over him. It was hard to grasp. But he was convinced it was the right decision. Aaron's immortality was the main reason, of course, but the more Alex thought about it, the more sure he was that he'd appointed the right person in the event of his demise. Aaron knew how to lead. And he was so naturally talented with magic. There seemed to be no limit to what he could do. Now that Aaron had changed his ways, he would be perfect for Artimé if something happened to Alex. And he looked identical, so it would be an easy transition for all.

Of course, if Alex didn't die, all would go back to normal. And Aaron would go back to the Island of Shipwrecks to live his life . . . forever. And never die. The concept was unfathomable, especially now with so much else on Alex's mind.

In the kitchen of the little shack, Alex sought out the mini mansion, which was in its rightful spot in the cupboard, and then found the extra robe that he kept inside the shack. He very nearly took it since he had Aaron now, but then decided to leave it as a precaution. After all, Ishibashi had said no one really knew for sure if they were immortal because they couldn't test it. So just in case, Alex left the robe. Everything was in place.

Satisfied that everything was in order, Alex left the gray shack, walked past all the collected bits of airplanes and ships, and stopped next to Ol' Tater to pat the frozen mastodon statue on the tusk. After a moment, Alex headed back out of the museum and across the hall to his living quarters. It was a quiet night, and Alex couldn't help but wonder how many more nights like this he'd see.

He climbed into bed and began mentally preparing to somehow organize the people of Quill in the morning, and soon he drifted off to sleep.

» » « «

Meanwhile on the Island of Shipwrecks, three lonely scientists lay awake in the dark and silent night, worrying as they often did about their friends in Artimé. Ishibashi wondered if he would ever find out what happened with the pirate attack. Perhaps he should have gone with the boys to help, though he didn't know what good a man his age might be. He reached under his pillow and grasped the tiny object he kept hidden there, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and made a wish on it. Then he closed his eyes and drifted into a restless sleep.

At the very same time on the Island of Legends, a giant, shimmering water dragon delivered somber news under the light of the moon, causing a frenzy of activity. Florence's body clanked against Talon's in a hasty embrace, and she climbed onto Pan's back and set off, while Henry ran to the island's mouth and met Spike there to have a final assessment and chat with Karkinos.

On the Island of Graves, seventy saber-toothed gorillas slept in silence under an empty tree, perhaps missing the mournful song of their pet American, Kaylee. And on the Island of Fire, only a few inhabitants too old or too young to fight remained, strapping themselves in and out of their drop-down seats as they robotically rode out the random plunging and resurfacing of their volcanic home.