Island of Legends (The Unwanteds) (7 page)

I
nstead of heading straight to Haluki’s house to take the tube back to Artimé, after he released the spells he’d put on the guards at the gate, Alex found himself wandering through the sectors of Quill. He ignored the glances from Quillens and walked, stone-faced, in one particular direction, as though propelled there by a mystical force.

Soon he found himself in the Ancients Sector, standing in front of the burial grounds.

Alex hadn’t been here in years—not since he was a little boy, spending the day helping his father dig graves.
How grotesque
, Alex thought now, about this job that could really be very meaningful.
But here in Quill it was ordinary and emotionless when you knew no one cared about the dead. There was no mourning. As he thought about the grave he sought, he began to worry that Aaron had turned it into some sort of mockery, a reason to rejoice. Alex imagined a sign celebrating the death of the Death Farmer himself . . . the Death Farmer who had tricked all of Quill for dozens of years. Who had defeated Quill once already, to the High Priest Aaron’s great shame. Alex wished he’d demanded to bury Mr. Today’s body himself back when Aaron had delivered the mage’s robe to him. But by then it had been too late. He picked up his pace, dreading what he might find.

He walked over to the small building and began to read the names of the recent dead. He scanned the list, recognizing a few surnames—Quillens who had died in the skirmish that broke out after Artimé disappeared. And then he saw it.

Marcus Today—89–25

“Eighty-nine dash twenty-five,” Alex whispered. He dodged a Necessary worker and hurried over to the burial area, searching for row eighty-nine. When he found it, he swept his eyes down the row, expecting to see some sort of display taunting the death of the great mage of Artimé.

Nothing stood out. Alex made his way down the row, counting out the mounds of dirt until he came to number twenty-five. It looked like all the others—completely forgotten. He was a distant memory here, just like everyone else.

Alex knelt down, placing his hand on top of the hot dirt. He felt like he should say something, but there was nothing adequate coming from the void inside him, so he remained quiet and stared at the dirt as a bead of sweat dripped from his temple to the tip of his nose and landed on the grave.

After a time Alex rose. Heavyhearted, he turned back toward the road, but on his first step he kicked something in the dirt alongside Mr. Today’s grave. He bent over and picked it up, shaking off the dust. It was a dried flower. Sort of, anyway—it wasn’t like any flower in Artimé. But Alex felt like he’d seen a flower like this before somewhere.

“In Quill?” he muttered. He knew there were no flowers here. “Oh,” he said after a moment. “The Favored Farm.” He’d been there on a few secret excursions, stealing food when all was lost in Artimé. This flower was a blossom from a pumpkin vine.

He gave it a quizzical look, then set it on top of Mr. Today’s
grave. “Someone brought a flower for you,” he murmured. “How strange. I wonder who it was.”

After a moment, Alex rose once more and walked back toward the road, keeping his eyes low whenever he passed a Necessary at work. He knew that with his colorful robe, he couldn’t help but stand out. But he didn’t want to talk to anybody. Artimé, with its injured and its new inhabitants, called out to him—he had to get back.

As Alex turned out of row eighty-nine, a familiar, stooped figure caught his eye. Alex’s stomach clenched and he took in a sharp breath.

The man looked up at the noise. His tired eyes widened and then flitted to Alex’s robe, and a sense of recognition spread across the man’s face.

“Hello, Father,” Alex said.

The realization on Mr. Stowe’s face turned quickly to fear. He looked around wildly, this way and that, as if he were being watched, and then darted up the steps to the burial building and disappeared inside.

Alex stood for a moment, trying to figure out what had just happened. Trying to determine what he was supposed to do
now. Go after him? Not a chance. Alex had been just fine with not seeing his parents ever again. Although, he had to admit he was curious about his new siblings. Had his mother had the babies yet? She must have, by now.

He frowned at the door to the burial building. When his father didn’t return, Alex shrugged and headed down a street that cut through the heart of Quill, out of the Ancients Sector, and through the Wanted Sector. He skirted the amphitheater in the Commons where he’d been Purged and went down a row of houses in what looked to be a deserted Necessary neighborhood.

Deserted,
Alex thought with a snort,
because all the Necessaries had escaped from Quill to Artimé, not the other way around.
Sure, Artimé had lost a few people to Quill during the tough times, like Cole Wickett. Alex wondered what Cole was doing now. But the majority of the movers were moving into Artimé, not out of it.

As he pondered the whereabouts of Cole Wickett and company, Alex came across two neighboring houses with a strange, bluish-white glow coming from the windows. He looked from one house to the other, scratched his head, and looked again,
wondering if the desert heat in Quill was making him see things. After a moment he shuffled off, leaving the mystery unsolved, and pushed onward to Haluki’s house.

On the step he hesitated, thinking about Aaron’s plan to cut all ties. “Good-bye forever, I guess,” he said to nobody. With a shrug, he went inside the house to Haluki’s office, stepped into the tube, and went home.

T
he High Priest Aaron, straining for breath as he stared at the gray ceiling of his office, muttered, “Well, I suppose I deserved that.” After a moment more, he picked himself up off the floor, using the corner of his desk to pull himself up to standing. He leaned against the desk and gently fingered his cheek, then opened his mouth, gingerly testing his jaw’s hinges to see if anything was broken. It was a pretty impressive punch, he had to admit. He picked up the paper from his desk and turned it over, looking at his scribbles for a long moment. Then he folded it and put it in a drawer, slipping it under his two remaining heart attack spells.

He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t mad at Alex for punching him. Truth be told, as much as he pretended to have it all together, Aaron had been constantly second-guessing himself lately. He’d felt driven by fear, and frankly, that bothered him some. But now going back to Justine’s ways seemed right. If only he could be absolutely sure that he could protect himself and Quill from everything, he’d be able to relax a little. Because right now, after that attack on Artimé, things were way too dangerous. He just had to get the last reinforcements in place. Once Quill was stabilized, Aaron could focus on his future plans . . . taking over Artimé and getting rid of the Unwanteds once and for all.

He thought about the dark, musky-smelling jungle where he’d been last night, and fear tore through him anew. He’d been so close to getting attacked. What luck that the creature had backed off at the last moment. The night was a blur to Aaron. He still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get his shackles off.

“Secretary!” he yelled, trying to clear the jungle from his mind. “Is the opening to Artimé secure?” She didn’t answer. He went to the door and shouted for her once more.

After searching all around the palace for Secretary, to no avail, Aaron finally began barking orders at the guards to arrange to have the back hallway of the palace blocked off so no one could get in through the magical passageway that Mr. Today had once used. And as long as the old hag was actually taking care of the gate to Artimé, that left only the tube . . . and Aaron would take care of that himself.

He looked around the palace, gathering tools, and made his way past the portcullis to Haluki’s house. Once inside, he entered the office and opened the closet. He peered at the tube, wondering how it was attached and how to dismantle it. It seemed to be freestanding. Aaron pushed against it, trying to tip it, but it didn’t budge.

He wandered through Haluki’s house, looking for anything at all he could use to cover the opening in the glass. Some tin, perhaps. Or a blanket. But neither would be hard to break through.

Aaron would have to destroy the button, he supposed, which would prevent someone from going into Artimé. But would that prevent someone from arriving here? Aaron didn’t know. It was a puzzling phenomenon to begin with, this magic.
Still, he didn’t want Artiméans able to get into Quill to attack without him having the same advantage.

He scratched his head. Maybe he was being hasty. Was it really a bad thing that he could stage a surprise attack on his brother, right in the heart of Alex’s own office? “Perhaps a lock on the closet doors,” Aaron murmured. He closed the double doors to the closet and looked at the knobs, trying to imagine a way to lock them so that anyone trying to come to Quill through the tube would be stuck inside the closet.

He’d have to fashion something, he supposed. A tiny thrill ran up his spine as he thought about it—the design it would take. It reminded him of the excitement he’d felt when he’d designed the Favored Farm and when he’d thought he’d figured out how to solve the oil problem that the Quillitary was having with the vehicles using too much of their drinking water. It was like a different part of his brain woke up.

Aaron searched the house again, coming up with a thin, rusty chain attached to a yoke, which had once supported water buckets. It would have to do for now. Anything to block off the strange tube. What if that creature in the jungle figured out how to use it? It wasn’t impossible that it could press a few
buttons by accident and find its way into Quill.

As Aaron wound the chain around the doorknobs, he frowned. That creature had had every chance to attack Aaron. But it didn’t. It was like it understood Aaron’s words. Did it—could it possibly—?

“No,” Aaron said, almost embarrassed to think it. But why else? “Did it somehow sense that I am the high priest of Quill?” There in Haluki’s office, it sounded ridiculous. But so did a magical world called Artimé, yet that existed.

Still he wondered. The thought of creatures from other realms obeying his commands was enough to get Aaron’s blood pumping. If he could command creatures like that, it would be so much easier to take over Artimé.

As he worked the chain, his fingers slowed. Aaron bit his lip. It was daylight now. Perhaps . . .

He stood there contemplating for a long moment. And then slowly, with trembling fingers, he worked the chain the other way until it slithered to the floor at his feet. The closet doors popped open, and once again, Aaron stepped inside.

A
fter making the rounds once more, checking on the injured and stopping for a meeting with Mr. Appleblossom about how to handle the new children from Warbler, Alex took the tube to the lounge. He waved to Fox and Kitten in the band, stopped to greet Earl, the lounge blackboard, and made his way over to the booth where his friends had gathered.

“Alex!” Lani exclaimed. “I thought you were too cool for this place now.” She grinned. Once jealous that Mr. Today had chosen Alex over her as his successor, Lani, after all she’d been through as a prisoner on Warbler, no longer
held any animosity toward Alex about that.

“I think this place is probably too cool for me,” Alex said with a laugh. “I miss this.” He squeezed in next to Sky, who was feeling back to her old self now that she could breathe. She smiled and dropped her eyes as she scooted to make room.

“At least we’re all together again,” Meghan said, and Samheed nodded. Sean and Carina came over and pulled up chairs to join them, and, as it was crowded, Sean tapped the table and the entire booth grew a bit to accommodate them all. He signaled to the lounge server, who in no time brought out a round of creamy orange drinks for everyone.

“How are the injured?” Lani asked Carina.

“Lots of them have been fixed up and sent to their rooms already,” Carina said. She leaned her head back against the seat, tired from a long day in the hospital wing. “Most had scrapes, bruises, that sort of thing. A few deep gashes, a handful of concussions, and some broken bones. But everybody is stable.”