Until the Beginning (19 page)

I HAVE BEEN FOLLOWING THE ROAD TOWARD THE
“Guest Village” for what feels like a good half hour. The night is so dark I can’t see much of what’s around me, but the little moonlight there is shines off the pavement and leads me along.

I have a harder time when the pavement ends and a gravel road picks up where it left off. But after a minute, I see firelight in the distance, and heading toward it, I pick up my pace.

I can almost make out the adobe houses in the firelight when, from right behind me, a man’s voice says, “Stop right there and drop your weapon.”

I freeze, and then slowly place my crossbow on the ground and lift my hands in the air.

“Who are you?” the voice asks.

“A friend of Juneau’s,” I say, not daring to turn around.

“Why are you carrying a loaded crossbow to our camp, then?”

“I was afraid of wild animals,” I reply.

I hear a low laugh. “Fair enough,” the voice says. “I was able to get within two feet of you—you’d be easy prey for whatever’s out there. You can drop your hands and turn around. I’ve seen you before. I know who you are.”

I turn to see a tall thin boy with a close-cropped Afro. The moonlight reflects off the star in his right eye. He stands there, arms crossed, with a bemused expression on his face. “You don’t even have a weapon,” I say.

“Looks like I didn’t need one,” he responds, holding up his empty hands and wiggling his fingers. He points to my face. “Nice war paint. Trying to camouflage yourself?”

I ignore him, glad he can’t see me turn red under the dried mud. “What did you mean you’ve seen me before?” I ask.

“I fire-Read you. Saw you with Juneau a couple of weeks ago—before they took our amulets away. Don’t know your name though.”

“I’m Miles.”

He sticks out his hand. “Kenai,” he says. I shake his hand, and he bursts out laughing. “No way . . . this really works? Dennis told us people used to greet each other shaking hands . . . I mean still do. You know what I mean.”

I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” I admit.

“Juneau’s not here—Whit took her to the ranch house,” Kenai says, suddenly serious.

“I know,” I reply.

“So what are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to the clan.”

“Well then, come on.”

I bend over to scoop up my crossbow, and Kenai leads me toward the fire where a dozen or so people are gathered. They watch as we approach, and one man stands to greet me. No starburst in his eye, so I figure he must be one of the elders, although he looks the same age as everyone else—between twenty and thirty. He is looking at me closely, more closely than the others are . . . checking me out. Looking at me intently, like he’s trying to read me from the outside in.

And then I see something familiar in his face. “You’re Juneau’s dad,” I say. He nods and shakes my hand like he’s actually done it before.

“You’re her travel companion,” he says. “We’ve seen you.”

“I just came from Avery’s ranch house,” I say. “I was able to get in without being noticed. Juneau and Whit are both being guarded. I heard them talking. Sounds like Avery made them give him the Rite. He’s death-sleeping and they’re being forced to stay and wait until he wakes up.”

No one says a word, although a lot of looks are thrown between the people around the fire. “There’s a small boy being kept in the ranch house—Badger, a boy from our clan,” Juneau’s father says.

“I saw him asleep in one of the upstairs rooms,” I say.

“Is he guarded?”

“A woman is in the room with him. But she’s not armed.”

Juneau’s father exchanges looks with a woman in the group.
From her anxious expression I guess she must be Badger’s mother.

Just then I hear a cawing noise coming from above, and look up to see Poe descending in the firelight. He lands on the ground in front of me, and ducks his head as I reach for the pocket on his harness. There are two notes inside, and after glancing at the first, I stick it into my pocket for later. I read the second one quickly and then look up at the group in front of me.

“I came to tell you that I turned the electric gates off.” I hold the note up. “And less than a mile away a friend is waiting with her truck. She’s willing to make a few trips back and forth to take people to a nearby city, where the guards can’t find you. I thought the children and those accompanying them could go with her.”

I look Juneau’s father in the eye. “And I was hoping the rest of you would go back with me to get Juneau and Badger.”

I AM LIMP WITH SHOCK FOR A GOOD FEW SECONDS
. Then I try to jerk my arm away from O’Donnell, but he’s got me in a death grip. He grabs my other hand and pins them both behind my back as Mr. Blackwell walks over to me, looks me up and down, and sighs.

“Oh, Juneau. You could have saved me so much trouble by staying under my roof. If you had cooperated, I would have been happy to help your people escape from Avery. But as things are, I’m going to need all of my resources getting you away from here and won’t be able to help them.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, still incredulous that these two separate worlds are colliding.

“O’Donnell here’s been very generous with information about
you—since the very beginning, isn’t that right, O’Donnell? Otherwise, I would never have known how important you were and would have gone after Whit instead. Not that he’s not important, too, of course. Where is he now?”

“Back at Avery’s ranch house,” says O’Donnell from behind me.

Blackwell nods thoughtfully. “Well, Juneau, let’s not beat around the bush this time. Would you like to tell me why you’re so necessary? Just what part do you play in the making of Amrit?”

I glare at him, wishing he were a few inches closer so I could head-butt him.

“Claiming the First, are you? You, then, O’Donnell—have you figured out why Juneau here is so important?” he asks, though he’s still looking directly at me.

“Yes, sir. When Mr. Graves was fixing the Amrit to give to Avery,” my guard begins.

Blackwell cuts him off. “What?” he bellows.

“Mr. Avery insisted that Mr. Graves try the Amrit out on him as soon as Juneau arrived.”

Blackwell stands there looking horrified, and then regains his composure. “That crazy bastard,” he says, rubbing his chin with his hand. “Trust Avery to test a new drug on himself . . . I’ve never known anyone so obsessed with death. How long ago was the drug administered?”

“Approximately three hours ago.”

Blackwell calculates. “Delightful,” he says. “That buys us a
little more time, then, doesn’t it? Go on, O’Donnell. You were saying . . .”

The guard starts his story over. “When Mr. Graves prepared the ingredients for the drug, he cut the girl’s hand and added her blood to it.”

A light goes on in Mr. Blackwell’s eyes. “Aha! The magic ingredient. Graves mentioned that something in the formula was so rare that a synthetic replacement would need to be found. So it’s blood. But not just any blood. What’s so special about you, Juneau, that no one else in the clan could provide the missing ingredient?”

I narrow my eyes and remain silent.

He ignores my reticence. “That’s why Graves insisted that Avery get him Juneau. Because the formula doesn’t work without her
vital
input!” Blackwell laughs.

“I don’t suppose you know how to make Amrit by yourself?” Blackwell asks me.

“No,” I lie. “Whit always prepares it.”

Blackwell nods. “Just as I thought. Well, you’ll need to go back to get him,” he says, giving O’Donnell an impatient look.

“What?” O’Donnell asks uncertainly. “You only said you wanted the girl. And you told me you’d take me with you. I can’t go back there without her.”

“Who’s going to care?” Blackwell asks. “Avery’s unconscious.”

“My boss is watching Mr. Graves. The two of us were ordered to keep them in the house until Avery wakes up. He’s not going
to let me come in without the girl and demand the other hostage as well.”

“Then I suppose you’ll need to use force,” Blackwell responds with a blithe shrug.

Sensing O’Donnell’s confusion, I take the chance to try to jerk out of his grasp again. To no effect. He gives a grunt of frustration and asks, “Can I cuff her?”

“Yes,” Blackwell says.

O’Donnell lets go with one hand, and cold metal clamps around my wrists with a disturbing clicking noise, fastening my hands behind my back. He steps to my side, grasping me by the upper arm. “We’ve got twenty-five fully armed men in the barracks behind the ranch house,” he explains. “If my boss called for them, two dozen men would be on top of me and Graves within minutes.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to cause a fuss,” says Blackwell, looking annoyed. “Why don’t I come back with you and see if I can speak some sense to your colleague. I suppose he might be open to the same sort of deal you were?”

“Who wouldn’t be?” says O’Donnell, looking relieved. I wonder just how much Mr. Blackwell has given this man to play double agent for him. “But if anyone sees us coming . . .”

“You’ll just say that I’m a guest of Mr. Avery’s who arrived early for a hunt. Why would anyone question that?”

O’Donnell thinks it over and finally nods his agreement. “You going to leave her in the plane?” he asks.

“I will not be leaving this young lady’s side for even an instant,”
Blackwell says, eyeing me once again. “Not until I have what I want from her. She’s entirely too slippery to be entrusted to anyone else.”

Blackwell turns toward the plane and gestures toward two other men who have come down the steps and are standing side by side, awaiting his orders. They walk past us and get into the vehicle. “But . . . ,” O’Donnell says, dumbfounded. “What are they doing?”

“Coming with us,” Blackwell says. “Don’t tell me Avery’s clients never bring their own security details.”

“Yes, they’re usually invited to hunt with us,” O’Donnell replies.

“Well then,” Blackwell says succinctly. And with O’Donnell leading me by the arm, he follows us to the car.

WITHIN MINUTES, THE CLAN HAS MOBILIZED
. Juneau’s father seems to be in charge, but he barely needs to do anything. You can tell these people have been preparing for emergencies their whole lives.

The children are awakened, dressed, and out of the huts within minutes. There are about a dozen of them, and it seems that one parent has been chosen from each family to accompany their kids, bringing the number of people meeting Tallie up to seventeen.

For some reason, in my head, it was women and children who would be going with Tallie. But there are more men going with the children than women, and I wonder if Juneau’s group was able to move past the typical male/female family roles
along with the rest of society’s “ills.”

A tall girl with blond hair pulled back into a braid walks up to me, looking like a female Viking: suntanned and bold and outdoorsy. She has the same fearless aura that Juneau has, and I know who she is before she even opens her mouth.

“Nome?” I ask.

She smiles broadly and hands me a wet cloth. “Kenai said you might want to wash your face.”

I take it and scrub my skin until she nods. She crosses her arms and brazenly inspects me. “So you’re the guy Juneau’s been hanging out with,” she says. “You’re cuter than you looked in the fire.”

“Um, thanks?” I say. Juneau told me her people say exactly what they think.
She wasn’t lying
, I think, as I feel my ears get hot.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend here,” says Kenai, walking up with a big pair of wire cutters. “No manners. It’s what you get from growing up in the wild. Try to stop drooling, Nome. He’s with Juneau, remember?”

Unembarrassed, she just winks, takes the wire cutters from Kenai, and strides toward the fence. “Can’t ask the little ones to climb that high,” Kenai explains. “Cutting an opening’s a better option.”

“Where did you get wire cutters?” I ask in astonishment.

“Stole them off the back of a jeep. They were to be used in our last escape attempt, but once Badger was taken we buried them. Saved them for a rainy day.” Kenai laughs, and his teeth
glow white in the firelight. “Walter needs you back there, by the way. Wants you to draw them a map to where your friend with the truck is waiting.”

“Walter?”

“Juneau’s dad. Mr. Newhaven, for outsiders.”

“Oh, right,” I say. Would he still consider me an outsider if he knew I’d gone through the Rite? I wonder if I would ever be able to fit into this group. I doubt anyone could, unless you were born into it.

“Miles,” Juneau’s dad . . . Walter . . . calls. I meet him by the fire, take the piece of paper and pen he offers me, and sketch where I remember the road was in relation to the adobe village.

By the time I’m done, the children and accompanying parents have gone through the hole Nome cut in the fence and immediately set out to find Tallie.

Those who stay spread out and begin preparations. The woman I guessed was Badger’s mother walks up to me. “Holly,” she says, introducing herself. “How did my son look?”

“He was asleep in bed. He looked fine to me.” She nods, relieved, and swings a crossbow over her shoulder. I look into the nearest hut, and see one of the men digging in the earth floor and pulling out a homemade crossbow of his own.

Holly sees me watching. “We haven’t just been sitting around.”

“Were you preparing to attack?” I ask.

“We were waiting for Juneau. Seeing how things played out. So not planning for attack per se, but readying ourselves for any
contingencies. Our strategy has always been to be prepared for anything.”

“Everyone ready?” Walter says to the group, and counts us: twenty-four. About half are armed. They huddle around us, waiting for instruction.

“What is the situation with the guards?” Walter asks me.

“Besides the two in the house watching Juneau and Whit, the only others I saw were sitting outside the barracks, playing cards and drinking,” I say, loudly enough for all to hear.

“They have been doing random checks on us throughout the night,” Walter says, “so we’ll have to be careful, but if Juneau’s just given Avery the Rite, I doubt his people will be focusing much on us.” He looks up into the clear night sky. “Storm’s coming,” he remarks, and the others nod their agreement. “Okay, people, let’s go. Miles—take us the way you came in.”

I sling my crossbow over my shoulder and begin walking, hyperconscious of the fact that I am leading two dozen people toward danger. Leading anyone at all is a foreign-enough concept. But these are Juneau’s people, and they know more about the land than I do.

Fear pricks my skin and dread sharpens my senses. But I feel an overwhelming sense of being where I am supposed to be. Finally doing what I’m supposed to be doing.