Island of Legends (The Unwanteds) (3 page)

—Simber to monitor approach.

—We think Eagala has some kind of magic, e.g., the silence spell over nonhuman noises on Warbler, but no one’s sure what is the extent of it. Lani and I did not witness inhabitants using any magic. Carina to find out if Sky and Crow have info.

—After lengthy discussion, we decided to help defend Quill if Warbler breaches the wall, but we always take care of Artiméans first.

—Our goal: defend Artimé and drive Warblerans away with as few casualties as possible.

—Artiméans should feel perfectly comfortable using any and all means of magic to protect themselves.

—Any Warblerans who truly wish to escape the tyrant Queen Eagala will find shelter within Artimé.

In addition, there were many scratched-out notes as the multitude of ideas were broken down and some discarded as being faulty. When they had run out of ideas, the team dispersed to prepare for battle in their various ways.

Alex descended the marble staircase and found Sky and Crow in the dining room with Meghan, looking glum. He checked the time and then walked over to them.

They looked up when he approached. Sky’s hair was still as sleek and fashioned as it had been at the masquerade ball a few hours earlier, but she no longer wore her dress. Instead she was dressed like any other Artiméan ready for battle, with a component vest and everything.

Alex felt breathless around her whenever she looked at him, even now, but he forced himself to stay focused. He pulled a chair around, sat on it backward, and lowered his head until his chin rested on the chair back and he was face-to-face with Crow. “You okay, little guy?”

Crow nodded, but his eyes told a different story.

“I need you to hear me. Both of you,” he said, glancing briefly at Sky as well. “It appears we are going to be attacked, and it’ll happen in a few hours. You guys can sit here and feel terrible about it even though it is not your fault, or you can help us prepare.”

“We’ll help, of course,” murmured Sky in her husky voice, damaged by the thorns she once wore around her neck. Crow dropped his gaze, but he nodded in agreement.

“Good,” Alex said. “Because we need you.”

The brief pep talk seemed to rally them, giving them new resolve.

Alex headed next to the area near the landing so he could expand the hospital wing while he waited for Florence to report back with warrior instructions. He held up his hands to the small four-bed room and concentrated, thinking about the size room he wanted, and when he felt quite confident, he whispered, “Extend and heal, size large.”

The small room’s walls grew, pushing back to create a larger space. They glided smoothly as the floor and ceiling hastened along with them, fixtures and workstations pressing out from the bare walls. When the room ceased to move, the beds and tables popped out and dropped neatly into place.

Alex counted the beds. There were forty in all. “More than enough, wouldn’t you say?” he asked as Florence approached.

“Dear me. I certainly hope so.” Florence handed over a stack of papers to Alex. “Here are the battle plans. Simber says at the speed they’re moving, they won’t be here before daybreak.”

“Thanks,” Alex said, looking them over. “I’ll have Clive send out the orders right away.”

Alex returned to his living quarters and summoned Clive, who pushed his face through the blackboard.

“Now what?” Clive asked.

“I have a job for you. It’s urgent.”

“Great.” Clive rolled his eyes.

“If you’re not up to it, I can ask Stuart,” Alex said. Stuart was Samheed’s blackboard. For reasons unknown to Alex, Clive didn’t seem all that fond of Stuart.

Clive frowned. “What’s the job?”

“We’re about to be attacked,” Alex said. “You’re the first to know.”

Clive’s eyes widened. “Me?”

“You’re the head blackboard now. I need you to distribute
the orders. I need to be able to count on you. Can you do this? Or do I—”

Clive’s mouth fell open. He nearly drooled before he snapped his mouth shut once more. “Yes,” he said reverently. “Yes, Alex. I most certainly can.” There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice now.

Alex might have smiled had the situation not been so dire. “Good. Don’t mess it up. This is of the utmost importance.”

Clive nodded. “You can count on me.”

“I know I can,” Alex said. “Here goes.” Alex looked at the papers in his hand and dictated the various assignments to Clive so that Clive could send out instructions to each team in Artimé, letting them know where and when to report.

When Alex finished, Clive said in earnest, “Shall I open it with a general announcement? Something that will really get their attention?”

Alex hid a smile. “Oh, by all means. Put your heart and soul into it, Clive.” A moment later he felt the floor shake—a sure sign that Simber and Florence were on the way with an update. “And now I’ve got to go.”

Clive nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. And then he disappeared into the blackboard.

Shortly thereafter, on blackboards everywhere in Artimé, the following words appeared in stunning neon letters:

From Clive, head blackboard and confidant to our noble mage, Alex Stowe: Artimé is under attack! Please read and follow your instructions. And above all . . . DON’T DIE.

A
s it turned out, there was only one button in the jungle tube for the High Priest Aaron Stowe to push. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the kitchenette in Artimé’s mansion, his hands free and his heart pounding. He peered out, wondering if it would be smarter to risk his life trying to exit Artimé on foot rather than attempt to push another button.

But the hallway outside the kitchenette was filled with voices, most notably his brother’s and the growling voice of the ridiculously huge flying monster. Aaron thought that exiting the mansion now would mean certain death. He looked at the
panel before him, agonizing over which button to push. Finally he decided to start at the beginning of the row. He sucked in a deep breath to steady his nerves, and blew it out as he pressed the first one.

Instantly he was thrust into darkness again, and he feared the worst—that he was back in the horrible jungle with the screaming black creature and the enormous rock with yellow eyes. He nearly slammed his fist on the panel in search of another button, but as he lifted his hand to do so, he noticed that the smell was quite different from the musky scent he remembered. This place smelled like . . . like stale, rotting wood. The heat of this location seeped into the tube and warmed him immediately, and after a moment he put his hand out through the tube’s opening.

Aaron’s fingers found a solid panel. He pushed on it, and with a creak, it swung open. A bit of moonlight trickled in through a window, and soon Aaron realized where he was. He was back in Haluki’s empty house.

“Oh, thank Quill,” he breathed, and he stumbled out of the closet on weak legs and sank to his knees, trembling, in the very spot where Mr. Today had taken his last breath. Aaron
sat there for a very long time, feeling faint every time he tried to stand. Finally he crawled out of Haluki’s office, down the hallway, and into a bedroom, where he climbed onto the bed and lay there, trying very hard not to think about what he’d seen and how he’d nearly perished.

When he drifted off to sleep, he experienced rare dreams that were filled with strange, frightening creatures chasing him through a jungle. At every turn, he stumbled and the creatures devoured him. No matter how he tried to shout “Release me!” to them, he couldn’t get the words to come out in time.

Aaron awoke with a start just before daybreak, unsure at first of where he was, and then remembering. He felt a wave of shame wash through him—dreaming was not allowed in Quill, and he’d had quite a night of it. He scowled defiantly as he stared at the ceiling. What did it matter now? He was the high priest. He had no obligation to tell a soul.

After a while he rose and scrounged through the Haluki pantry to see if he could find anything to eat. He made himself a meager breakfast, and it was while he was eating that he finally remembered what had happened
before
he got caught up in the crazy tubes: The explosion in the sky. The lights pricking
the darkness over the sea. And the chaos that followed in Artimé.

Their island was being attacked. The palace, with its opening in the wall, was vulnerable. Quill, with its entrance into Artimé, was vulnerable. And here he sat.

Aaron froze mid-chew, and then he shoved the chair back, hurried to the door, and ran out of the house. He turned up the road and headed toward the palace. “Hurry up,” he said, jiggling the portcullis impatiently as he waited for the guards to open it, and sprinting the rest of the way up the drive. He ran to the opening he’d made in the forty-foot-tall wall that surrounded Quill and peered through it, careful to hide his body in case the attackers were already closing in.

His eyes darted all around the downward slope on the other side of the wall, and then, seeing nothing on land, he swept his gaze over the sea. A dozen ships sailed not far off shore, heading around the curve of the land toward Artimé. Aaron gasped at the sight. He’d never seen anything like it. His body was frozen to the spot as he watched the vessels inch toward his brother’s section of the island. They were headed to Artimé. For a rare moment, Aaron felt a pang of compassion. And for
the briefest time he actually thought,
Perhaps I should help them.

But the moment passed quickly, and Aaron realized that his first order of business was to protect Quill. He would close up the space in the wall and build a barricade in front of the entrance to Artimé.

Feverishly Aaron reached for the first block, too scared to wait for a team of Necessaries to assemble and do the work, and placed it in the opening in the wall. He hoisted a second block, and a third, pushing them tightly together, scraping his knuckles and drawing blood, muttering to himself as he filled in the space.

As he worked, Aaron realized something very important about the former ruler of Quill: The High Priest Justine had been right all along about the dangers beyond the wall. She had protected Quill for fifty years without a single incident until the Unwanteds botched things up. And she’d done that by closing off Quill to the outside world.

Now, by opening up the wall and allowing his people to mingle with the Unwanteds, Aaron had broken the very best rule Justine had made, leaving the people of Quill vulnerable.

How terribly, awfully, utterly foolish Aaron was to have doubted his hero.

A
t daybreak, the entire community of Artimé assembled throughout the main floor of the mansion, in rows on the stairs, and on the balcony.

“Good morning,” Alex said crisply from the front window near the door that faced the sea. “It’s a bit crowded in here, but as Clive explained in your instructions, we have decided not to go outside until we know just how the people of Warbler plan to attack us.

“I’d like you all to know that an hour ago, we attempted a peacekeeping mission by sending Gunnar Haluki out to speak with the Warblerans, but they would have nothing to do with
him unless he gave up our two Warbler natives as well as Samheed, Meghan, and Lani. Of course that was out of the question. And try as he might, he was unable to get any sense of their method of attack.”

A murmur arose and Alex paused, glancing Sky. He went on. “Haluki returned to us, and we now have Simber stationed on the lawn. Please stay quiet and wait for me to give your team leaders the signal to exit the mansion and take your stations.”

Alex turned his attention to the window, watching as a fleet of twelve ships approached. “At least there aren’t a hundred,” he remarked in a low voice to Florence. “There must have been several lights on each ship.” The Warbler ships dwarfed Artimé’s own pirate vessel, which Captain Ahab, the mildly insane statue, had moved to the lagoon for safekeeping.

“It seems like this could be an easy battle,” Florence said. “But that’s exactly what worries me. Queen Eagala is not a fool.”