The Children of Hamelin

by Danny Lasko

  “Here, in here,” he wheezes, leading me into a half-dug room, all but abandoned. After slamming the door closed, he lights a match and a candle.

  “We’ve been sent on this quest—”

  I can’t finish the thought because the pain in my right ankle streaks up my leg until it screams out of my throat. My eyes can’t blink until I watch my granddad swing his raw wooden club he picked out of the shadows at my other ankle. Now I can’t open them. It’s not over. I whip the instant tears away from my eyes, only to see the old man stab fire blades into each shattered ankle. The burn is unbearable. I would beg for death if I could find my voice.

  “Gran—?” I gasp.

  “I’m sorry, boy,” says my granddad. “But it’s the only way.”

  “Only way for what?!” I scream over the pain. I can’t move a single muscle below the belt without nearly fainting. Now the old man picks me up and places me on a bench, raising each leg, as if any of this will help. I reach for the sword.

  “No, no,” he says, grabbing my wrist and forcing my arm back down. “Trust me, it’s better this way if it’s done by surprise. It’s always harder if you know it’s coming.”

  “What?!”

  “It’s the only way to break the second sight. By blinding pain. Unless you can face the intruder and break the link, all you can do is cloud the portal with pain.”

  I can hardly understand what he’s saying. My focus is too much on my torment and how I’m going to blacken both my granddad’s eyes.

  “Listen to me, Horatio. They know you’re here, but wherever you’re going, now they can’t follow. Not when you’re like this. And this is where you need to go.”

  My granddad grabs a small piece of charred wood and starts drawing large blobs on the wall. At least they start with large blobs. But he details them with sharper edges and marks throughout. I can’t believe my granddad shattered my ankles. I whisper between breaths, fighting the sting of the burning blades. I’m losing. I wipe my head, noticing the dripping sweat. Pain sweat. The worst kind.

  “Focus!” he says, noticing my distraction. He keeps on drawing until I begin to realize he’s drawing land masses. It’s a map. He circles a smaller mass toward the bottom.

  “Is that … wizards?”

  “No,” he says. “Two islands hidden in plain sight that can’t be found on any normal map or a compass or by radar. Except from this map. One island belongs to the wizards. The other I kept for myself. Now I’m giving it to you.”

  “...want me to run?!”

  “Of course I want you to run!” he yells. “The wizards are hunting you! The Synarch, too, yeah?”

  “Think I’m traitor … ”

  “Traitor! Ha! They’re just taking orders.”

  “Wizards … control Synarch?”

  “Of course! Who do you think sent them to the Garden? How do you think they got the technology and weapons? You think that tsunami and earthquake happened on their own? Even the Synarch Academies are nothing more than a way to identify lost PureHearts. That’s why you’re forced to study sport and art and music and writing and performance. That’s where real power comes from. The Citizens? They only ‘achieve’ that rank because they have nothing to offer. This has been the plan from the beginning. They’ve collected thousands of recruits this way. But, when you don’t have your mom on your side, you have to get creative. The only thing left threatening them was the Call. You, my boy, are the literal last of their worries.”

  “How many … wizards?”

  “Close to five thousand PureHearts when I left, more now, all handpicked because of their abilities. Powerful abilities. Plus hundreds of thousands of Synarch soldiers at their disposal. And they’ll use it all to stop you. Then the world explodes.”

  “Three less than before.”

  “What, some of them die?”

  “Control tides,” I wince, jabbering, just trying to keep conscious.

  “Henry Collins. He’s dead? You didn’t—”

  “Nomads.”

  “Huh. Used to be a friend. How’d it happen? Where were you—”

  “Granddad!” I yell between breaths.

  “Right, sorry.”

  “You … grand council … ”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “The leader … ” I punch out. “Who is the … ”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know anymore.”

  “Your memory—”

  “It’s not about memory!” he yells. “It’s about he or she could be anyone. What I can tell you is that the leader is immortal, the only Child ever to be that I know of. And even worse for you, a chameleon, a shape-changer, so even those who did know him can’t recognize him anymore. Worst of all, he isn’t on any of the genealogy charts. He was lost very early on.”

  “Who is … second sight?”

  “I haven’t known a second sight for decades. She died in 1963. January 3rd, 11:07 p.m. Hit by the Albuquerque train heading to Los Angeles along mile marker two-twenty-one. It’s a long story. Your second sight is past my time. But it has to be someone you have had close contact with. Someone you trust. Doesn’t work any other way.”

  “Where’s...other island?”

  “Forget it, boy. I want you to live to see twenty. And you’re not going to do it going against the tide and challenging the wizards on their home turf. How many Children are left, including Angels? A hundred fifty? Hundred sixty? Valor’s so worried about keeping who’s left alive that they’re flying the coop by choice! Going over to the wizards where they have the better future. He ignores the fact that using the Soul’s power makes the Children feel better. Feel stronger. The wizards embrace that. And each one of them is willing to die to keep what he believes is rightfully theirs. It’s why I convinced your parents to go into hiding and for you to play The Escape. Yes, partly to protect you from the wizards, but more importantly, to keep you using the Soul.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the Children’s slaughter will come. Within your lifetime. And I didn’t want you or your mother anywhere near it when it happened. It’s why I taught you to play The Escape, to give you a way to survive this world. Didn’t count on the Call. Wasn’t even sure whether it was true or made up. Guess that question’s been answered.”

  “I’m here!” I cry. “Here to save you! You’re not helping!” I fall back flat on the bench, weeping in agony and anger. “Didn’t ask you if you think I can do it! Just asked you to help. Tell me! Where is second sight?!”

  “Okay, boy, okay. Easy.” My granddad helps me sit back up and wipes the sweaty hair out of my face. “I can’t tell you. No one can. Someone whose been there has to take you.”

  “Let’s go,” I order, eyes burning. “Back to the ship. You’re coming.” I try to sit up even though the pain makes my eyes howl.

  “Can’t do that, either,” he says, pushing me back on the bench. “They gave me one of those clever little things that blows my heart up if I stray too far. Can’t blame them. ’Cause if I ever did get out of here … ”

  “They’ll kill you now you’ve seen me.”

  “Who? The wizard king?” Granddad bellows out a laugh. “Boy, that man kills only who he thinks is small potatoes. His real enemies he keeps alive, if only barely and if only long enough to rub their failure in their faces when the king finally wins. No, he won’t kill me. He’ll miss out on too much fun.”

  “Dad’s with me.”

  “Your dad? Here? Odd.”

  “Can help. Annie’s a healer.”

  “Boy, I’m not going anywhere.

  “How to … find them?”

  “They have to find you. You probably know by now that they won’t kill you right away. You’re too much of a prize.” I
nod my head, remembering the vision of what would happen if we were caught by the wizards. Everyone else would die. They’d take me alive, probably try to recruit me, and then kill me if I don’t.

  “Boy, the wizards are no dummies. You can’t negotiate with them. You can’t persuade them. They are convinced they’re in the right. My advice, boy, is leave. Away from the Synarch. Away from the wizards. Start over.”

  “Want to make sure … still a world … grass still … free,” I say. It makes Granddad chuckle and shake his head.

  “No, it isn’t. Not here. But here. Here!” he says, slamming the charcoal against the drawing of the island. “Start over, boy. Take your family, your friends. This isn’t your fault. Forget this world. Let it burn. You’ll be safe here. Not even the second sight can find you there. No pain to live with.” He ends by waving his hands over my throbbing ankles.

  He’s given up. And my time is gone. Granddad can sense it.

  “Come on, we got to get you back to your ship.”

  “You know ’bout the ship?”

  “Yeah, when you told me about it seventy-three seconds ago.”

  My granddad hoists me around his shoulder and drags me along with relative ease. I hear him talk about how happy he is to see me, how I’ve grown into a man and how he’s proud that I want to help. I still can’t get over the ankles. He tells me that his life here isn’t too bad, except for the mornings just after he wakes up, and then midday is horrible. The late afternoon and into evening is the most grueling. Dinner is no picnic, and the howling at night from other inmates just keeps you up. But he has his little cave.

  “Could have just used … blindfold.”

  “Boy, you choose to live in this world, you’d better learn to live with pain.”

  “Coming back for you … ”

  My granddad smiles. “You’re a good boy.” But it’s not that kind of smile. It’s a “dead folks don’t come back for anyone” smile.

  Suddenly I hear whistles blow, sirens scream, and gruff voices yelling through the pounding rain. We spy around the opening of the cave to see what appears to be the entire force of guards charging through the pounding rain coming right at us.

  “All … for us?”

  “No, they wouldn’t send that many,” Granddad says. “I think it’s because of that.” He nods behind us to the great sailing ship gliding through the sky toward us. My first glimpse of the ship, for a moment, makes me forget the pain in my legs. The majestic, towering Jolly Roger rolls over the air, its empowering black and red hull pointing its guns at our assailants.

  “Cover them!” yells my dad from above. At once, cannons explode just in front of the charging mob, driving them back.

  “That’s what I think it is, right?” asks Granddad.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you know.”

  “Good to see you again, Oswald!” calls my dad from over the rail. “You’re looking better than I could have imagined!”

  “No chance my daughter Kathryn is hiding among the sails?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. But she is safe and with the girls. Climb aboard. We’ll take you to—Annie, quick! Horatio needs help!” He must have seen the blades sticking from the boots.

  “I’ll come back … Promise,” I tell him through the raindrops.

  “Then it will be you who has the stories to tell.”

  I squeeze Granddad’s neck.

  “Remember,” he says into my ear. “This fight was lost long before you were born. It’s not your responsibility. Save your life and those you love. Find a place where the grass is free to chew.”

  Linus and Jayce tie a rope around my waist, and all three of us climb up the side of the Jolly Roger and onto the deck.

  “All of this, and now your grandfather’s not coming?” asks my dad. I just motion to my heart and burst my fist open. My dad nods.

  I stop Annie’s hands from touching my legs.

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  “Can’t see me … if I’m in pain.”

  “Who can’t see you?”

  “Second sight.”

  “Second sight can’t see if you’re in pain?”

  I nod.

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Use a blindfold.”

  “I want to see!” I scream through the pain. “Have to leave. Be here soon. Don’t heal me. Even if I pass out.”

  Linus doesn’t wait for an explanation. He lifts the ship into the air and heads east, toward Britain, toward note number one.

  I didn’t see what happened to my granddad. My guess is he’s the only person in the place who can keep things straight around there, and he’s too valuable to execute. Whatever it is, I hope it’s what he wants. And the fact that we’re not being fired upon means we got out of there before the Synarch could show up. Annie pats my forehead with a damp cloth, trying to keep me conscious.

  “Do you have to have broken ankles and fire blades jabbed in the middle of them? I could just heal one or the other.”

  “Can’t take chance,” I say, though it’s extremely tempting.

  “’Cause this is worse than before,” she says. “You can’t even speak!”

  She’s right again. I am completely useless. My speed and strength are gone, and while it may block out second sight, it also keeps me from concentrating enough to use my future vision. I can’t even swing my sword with any accuracy. Pain is all there is. Pain like I’ve never felt before.

  But the wizards can’t track us. There’s no chance of peeking or of a blindfold slipping. So right now, my pain helps my team more than my power. And that may be the worst pain of all.

  14

  Fallen

  THE VOYAGE OVER THE ATLANTIC IS ETERNAL AND MADDENING, DESPITE OUTRACING THE RAIN AND LINUS’S ASSURANCE THAT THE JOLLY ROGER IS QUITE POSSIBLY THE FASTEST CRAFT IN EXISTENCE.

  “It’s extraordinary,” he announces after a half-hour. “In all likelihood, we will arrive in British space within the hour. And that’s crossing the widest part of the ocean. This is no ordinary craft, Horatio. I think the Jolly Roger makes berth in Mira. Mira, Horatio.”

  “Faster’s better,” I say, not opening my eyes.

  “Right,” he says, mildly disgusted with my lack of interest. I could be told that the Synarch was just overtaken by a family of goats and it wouldn’t interest me right now. All that matters is getting to our next point.

  “He doesn’t know exactly,” says Annie after I ask where we’re going. She points to note number four. “But he’s located a book or a journal of someone who does.”

  “Whose?” I ask.

  She takes a breath before telling me. “The same person who owns this ship.” Then she smiles.

  I throw my head back against the main mast.

  “Where?”

  “Here.” She points to what appears to be an address. “You know, I bet you that this address—hang on.” She grabs the digital slate and scrolls through pages until her face lights up. “It is! Linus! Take a guess where we’re going?”

  “Barrie’s house.”

  “You knew!” cries Annie. “Okay, that’s it. It is now my life’s pursuit to know something you don’t.”

  “Good luck,” I hear from the deck. My hands start to shake.

  “Just get us there,” I scold.

  “Why don’t you lie down in the captain’s quarters?” Annie says. “Rest a bit. We’ll come get you when we’re closing in.”

  “I’ll stay here,” I breathe.

  “But you’re no fun here. Go down below.”

  “Come on, son, I’ll help you.” My dad pulls me up onto his shoulder and sort of drags me along the deck to the captain’s cabin, which, due to the pain, I can now see. The deep red rug covering the planked floor and
patterned in black roses is perfect except for a splash of dark discoloring near the grand desk boldly standing in the middle of the room. The majestic red-and-gold-trimmed chair sits behind it. More like a throne. The carving of the wood is ornate with swirling designs of rose vines and ocean waves. It makes my head swim trying to follow it. My eyes find the bed, and all of a sudden that’s all that matters to me. It’s been a while since I slept. The pain makes the fatigue worse.

  My dad rolls my body down onto the bed and gently lifts my feet onto the mattress. It’s softer than I thought it’d be. I feel the silk against my cheek, and I beg for sleep. But the pain isn’t enough to put me out and is too much to let me sleep. So I’m stuck in this room with nothing but my dad and the dark wood trim for company.

  Better than the rough-hewn rock of the Rim, I think. I peer down at the knives jammed in my feet just below the ankles and nearly faint. The heat of the blades has seared the flesh around it, so no bleeding. Just screaming skin and muscle.

  “Would you look at this?” I hear my dad say through my clouded pain. “Just needs a little adjustment.” I can’t see him, or I don’t care to see him. The clinking and clanking sounds I hear don’t interest me at all. My mother was right. Never should have gone to the Rim, except that Granddad confirmed what I have felt all along. I have to find the second sight or they might as well dump me into the Atlantic. I’m of no use with the pain or with the parasite watching everything I see. More importantly, the wizards are stronger than the Children. Much stronger if they can orchestrate a takeover of the old republic, with an earthquake and tsunami. You know, if I lie completely still, the pain is close to endurable. The initial shock has worn off, but the agony still pulses up and down my legs. Why the ankles, I wonder? Why not the back of my hands? Or ears? I try to think about the worst pain possible, but nothing makes me grateful for my shattered bones.