by Lisa McMann
Lani saw the two coming and reached out to embrace Fifer. “We’re so glad you’re back. Some terrible things are happening.”
“Yeah,” said Sky, “we figured that out.” She patted Ahab’s sword. “I’m ready to fight.”
Lani flashed a grim smile. “That’s good. But, Fifer, you’d better not linger—I think Aaron wants you to go to the Island of Shipwrecks before Frieda sees you.”
“Thanks, but I’m not going anywhere.” Fifer spoke firmly and didn’t elaborate further, having more important news to share. “Simber’s locked in the theater.”
“What?” said Florence. “How?”
“Frieda sent him in through the 3-D door. Once he was inside, she took the door down, and now he’s trapped.”
Samheed blew out an impatient breath. “Well, of course she did.” He shook his head angrily. “She doesn’t trust that he’s fully with her, and she knows she can’t fight him.”
“Where’s the 3-D drawing?” asked Florence.
“Frieda has it,” said Fifer. “She’s surrounded by her dissenters. They’re planning to banish all of us from the mansion. Aaron and me and all of our friends. You.”
“It’s like a siege,” said Sky. “Only they’re going to keep us out, not in.”
Florence closed one eye and looked at the sky, her nose wrinkling. “That’s… crazy. Isn’t it? How does that hurt us, exactly?”
“We have water,” said Samheed, pointing to the fountain. “We can get food from Quill. So I’m not sure their idea is going to work.”
“Components,” said Fifer grimly. “We don’t have access to them. What we have on us is it.”
“And we’re severely outnumbered,” said Sky.
Florence studied the newcomers. “We need that door drawing back so we can get Simber out. It could take days for Octavia to draw a new one.” Florence glanced around the lawn looking for allies, seeing a few small groups of people, creatures, and statues standing together. “Where is everybody?”
“All of Frieda’s supporters have gone inside,” said Sky. “They’re being assigned duties now to guard the windows and doors.”
“But where’s the rest of us?” asked Florence, growing alarmed. “Our allies? Is this it?”
The others looked all around. There were perhaps twenty-five or thirty of them remaining outside on the torn-up lawn.
Something caught Sky’s eye, and she turned. A few small groups of people were leaving the mansion carrying rucksacks and travel bags, heading for the lagoon where Artimé’s ships were anchored. “Looks like some of the people aren’t buying what Frieda is saying, and they’re leaving.”
“Should we go after them?” asked Fifer. “Convince them to stay and help us?”
“I’ll do it,” said Lani. “They might not want to be seen talking to you, Fifer.”
Fifer grimaced. What Lani said hurt, but Fifer knew it was true. Lani rolled swiftly across the lawn, trying to catch up to the departing groups before they made it to the lagoon.
Florence turned to study the mansion. Now stationed at every window and door were Frieda’s people, glaring out at them. Some of them seemed scared or unsure. But others wore expressions filled with spite, warning those who sided with Aaron to never return to the mansion they called home.
“Gather everyone who’s firmly with us,” said Florence, her voice quiet. “Be discreet. We’ll meet near the rock’s lair in an hour.”
Samheed, Sky, and Fifer all nodded. “I’ll relay the instructions to Lani,” said Samheed.
“Good. I need to talk to Panther and the rock. I’ll see you out there.” Florence turned and strode purposefully out of sight of the mansion toward the entrance to Quill, where the gate once stood. When she reached the road, she turned sharply to the right and headed for the jungle.
“Why is she going the long way around?” asked Sky, watching her go.
“Maybe she doesn’t want the people inside to know what we’re doing,” Fifer guessed. “Let’s talk to everyone and sneak into the jungle by way of the lagoon. We have to figure out how to beat Frieda Stubbs without anyone…” She trailed off. “Dying,” she was going to say.
Sky nodded, looking increasingly troubled. She and Samheed and Fifer did as Florence had told them. But no one had any idea how they were going to manage taking on the majority of Artimé’s people, who were all extremely well trained to fight. Trained by the very people and statues they were now ready to attack. This was not going to be easy.
A Stealthy Invasion
An hour later the last of the stragglers, having followed a path from the lagoon through the jungle, reached the base of an enormous living rock. The rock had come alive after Mr. Today had enchanted it many years before. Its mouth was a large cavern from which Florence had been carved. Fifer, Thisbe, and Crow and all the other young children of Artimé had once been kept safe inside the rock’s mouth during the battle against Queen Eagala and the pirates.
The mass of stone mostly stayed in the jungle, though, watching over its sometimes-frightening occupants. Panther, who was half-wild, lived there, as did a little dog with very sharp teeth who’d put a number of puncture wounds in Aaron’s arms over the years. A giant scorpion resided much deeper inside the jungle. That creature had nearly done Fifer and Thisbe in once, and no one was ever safe from it. Luckily, it loved the darkness and rarely visited this area, where bits of sunlight filtered through the treetops.
Florence scanned the group, sizing up her team. Sean, Carina, and Seth were there with young Lukas and Ava. Lani and Samheed too. Aaron, but not Kaylee, who was keeping Daniel safe on the Island of Shipwrecks. Henry and Thatcher, with Ibrahim and Clementi and their other teenage children. Fifer and Sky, and Fifer’s birds hovering above. Claire Morning and Gunnar Haluki. Crow and Scarlet. Ms. Octavia, the octogator instructor, Fox, Kitten, and a few other statues who’d snuck out of the mansion before the siege. A spare handful of other staunch Aaron supporters filled in the gaps. Lani hadn’t managed to convince any of the departing Artiméans to stay—they’d wanted no part of a civil war. They set off for Warbler to wait it out.
The toothy dog wasn’t present as far as anyone could see, though his body had a camouflage quality to it that made it hard to spot him in the jungle. But Panther paced restlessly a short distance away. She wasn’t nearly as ferocious and dangerous as she used to be, but it was safer for everyone, including her, if she kept her distance, especially now that she was agitated over the news Florence had given her about Simber being trapped. Florence had warned Panther that she’d take her down in an instant if she threatened anyone present, and Panther respected that.
“So this is it, then,” said Aaron, bringing everyone to silence. “Thank you for sticking with us even though it looks like our side is sorely lacking in numbers. But some of Artimé’s best fighters are in this group, and that makes me feel confident.” He didn’t sound as confident as he said he was. “Florence, what thoughts do you have about our immediate future? We’ve been driven out of the mansion—what do you advise? Go quietly? Or fight?”
“It will be nearly impossible to fight them,” Florence began, and a few in the crowd, like Carina and Fifer, reacted by stepping forward and beginning to protest. But Florence held up her hand to explain. “We certainly can’t beat them. Their numbers are too large, and they have all the extra components.”
Others began to shift uncomfortably. What was Florence saying? Didn’t she think they had a chance?
The warrior trainer seemed troubled—more conflicted than she’d ever been in the past when leading up to a battle. “We also must remember,” she went on, “that like us, they are people of Artimé. The majority of them were Unwanted too. They were thrown out of Quill. Rescued and accepted into our world by Marcus Today and Alex and all of us. And… I think many of them have gotten caught up in the fearmongering. Not all of them are thinking straight. They’re not making decisions of their own accord like they’ve been taught to do from the moment they set
foot in Artimé, because Frieda Stubbs is completely different from any ruler our land has ever seen. She’s disorienting and chaotic. Some of the people have been swayed by friends or coerced by Frieda’s lies.”
Florence paused, then went on. “I’m not sure why this is happening now—perhaps the Revinir scare uncovered some insecurities and brought back the memories of our past battles. It could be that the thought of fighting the Revinir and potentially losing loved ones after years of peace was too much for some of them to handle, so they’re grasping at what seems to them a better option. We’re all still traumatized from the last time things went wrong. So I have empathy. For some of them.”
Fifer nodded. “I refuse to believe that all of those people have fully turned against the world that saved them when the people of Quill sent them away.”
“I agree,” said Lani. “I believe some are making a mistake, and they’ll see it soon enough. We just have to figure out how to show them.”
Aaron kept his eyes on the ground.
Samheed glanced at him and shifted uneasily. “I hope you’re right, Lani. But I’m equally sure that some people refuse to see the truth even when it’s right in front of them.” His voice held a weight that seemed to imply he wasn’t just talking about Frieda Stubbs and the dissenters.
Sensing it, Aaron turned and saw Samheed staring at him. Aaron’s face flushed, and he looked hastily away. “Despite the current state of mind of the dissenters,” he said, “and the fact that they are mostly Unwanteds too, we can’t just do nothing. We have to try. We won’t walk away from Artimé.”
“What do you mean?” Florence pressed. “Do you think we should go in and fight for the mansion? Against all of those people?”
Aaron lifted his gaze and saw that Florence was sincerely asking his opinion. “If we don’t go after Frieda Stubbs forcefully and immediately, her power will only grow, and her support will strengthen. The unsure members of her party will assume they’re doing right if no one opposes them, and they’ll become more confident in their decision to join her. Right now Frieda has free rein to say and do whatever she wants without anyone contradicting her. And, knowing her, she’ll take every opportunity to do so as long as she is not being challenged.” He paused, then muttered, “Believe me. I know how her mind works.”
Samheed’s eyes flickered. “Are you tempted—” He stopped abruptly when Lani’s elbow sank into his flesh. “Ouch. Never mind.”
Aaron turned sharply. “Am I what?”
“Never mind, I said.”
Aaron studied Samheed with a highly skeptical expression. “Am I tempted to join forces with Frieda? Is that what you were going to say?”
“No! I—”
Lani frowned at Samheed. “Is it, Sam? I’d actually like to know too.”
“Lani, seriously. I don’t want to get jabbed in the ribs again.”
Lani glared at her husband. “You need to stop.”
“Stop what?” Samheed said, sounding exasperated.
“Get. Over. It,” said Lani.
“No. Please go on,” said Aaron haughtily. “You’ve held on to this… this undercurrent of distrust for me all these years, and it has come roaring back lately, though I don’t know what I’ve done to make you disapprove of me this time. So let’s just address this. Get it out so we can move on and be done with it.”
Samheed closed his eyes, then opened them and said, “I’m sorry, Aaron. I just wonder how you… feel. Are you struggling? About what Frieda is doing, I mean. You know—being evil and taking control like this. Does it…?” He sighed. “Does it bring back…?”
Aaron lifted his chin and waited, eyes flashing.
Samheed glanced around the group and saw that everyone was looking skeptically at him. He gulped, then confessed, “I think it’s the playwright in me, always questioning characters’ motives. I guess I want to know if this situation brings back any desires to be that way again. I’m sorry that I’m worried about it, and I wish I weren’t. It’s just a feeling that won’t go away.”
Aaron was quiet for a long moment. He’d certainly had temptations and desires for power over the years since he’d turned his life around. He’d punished himself mentally quite a lot for it too. And he laid much of the blame on the government of Quill and the High Priest Justine, who’d been so influential on him in that year after the Purge. Frieda was doing the same thing now in Artimé with the others. But being asked outright like this, in front of everybody, brought out his defensive side. He glanced at Florence and Claire, and then at the others as Fifer sidled over and slipped her hand into his in support.
“I’m not a character in one of your scripts, Samheed,” Aaron answered evenly. “I have no desire to be like that anymore. And I’m insulted and hurt that you think I do. I’m not sure what more I have to do to convince you that I’ve changed. It’s been… so long.” He shook his head slightly. “To be honest, I’m tired of apologizing for the same things year after year after year, but I believe I must do it, because what I did was terrible. That is the cost of my actions. So I apologize again to everyone here—I’m sorry for how I hurt Artimé.” He hesitated. “But sometimes I feel like if you haven’t been able to let it go and forgive me by now, Samheed, I doubt you ever will. And as much as I want to be your friend and comrade, well… perhaps… perhaps it would be better if we no longer spent time together.”
Samheed’s eyes widened. “Oh, come on, Aaron. No. I didn’t mean—”
Aaron raised his hand. “Please, Samheed. Don’t say anything more.” He turned away. “I understand now how it’s got to be for you, and I will accept it because I must. I hope we can coexist without making any of our mutual friends uncomfortable.”
Samheed stared at him. Then he shook his head and blew out a breath. Lani folded her arms over her chest, clearly frustrated. Fifer looked anxiously from her brother to her instructor, unsure what to make of them. She’d never quite understood the animosity between the two, and they’d done well to hide it from the younger generation until now. Fifer stayed still, not sure what to do besides keep out of it. The rest of them shifted uncomfortably. It had been a conversation ill-timed and not suited for extra ears to hear, yet it had happened, and there was no taking it back.
Carina was first to break the silence. “Okay,” she said decidedly, resting her hands on the shoulders of her younger two children. “That’s enough. Moving on. We have an issue to deal with here that takes precedence over… whatever that was.” She turned to Aaron. “You were saying that we should declare our opposition to Frieda Stubbs loud and clear.”
“That is my position,” Aaron said stiffly.
“I support that.” Carina didn’t look at Samheed, but it was clear to everyone that she’d just made a statement. “I’m not sure how we’re going to do it, though.”
“I have an idea,” Aaron said quietly. He stared hard into the jungle, deep in thought, and after a moment, a flicker of recognition crossed his face. In his youth, he’d spent some time sneaking from the tube in Quill to the one in the head mage’s kitchenette and on to the one in the jungle, befriending Panther during his visits. And he could just barely see the jungle tube in some brush not far away. “Hmm.” He turned to Carina. “Yes. And I think we should attack immediately, since they won’t be expecting us to.”
Florence looked concerned. “How? We barely have enough people to surround the mansion.”
Fifer glanced at her brother and saw him staring out into the jungle again. She followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of the tube in the clearing. “Oooh,” she said, almost as if she could read Aaron’s thoughts. “I see. We’ll surprise them,” she said slowly. “And on the way we can get more components.”
Aaron pivoted to his sister with a small smile and a nod. “Exactly.”
In the Cavelands
Dev opened his eyes and blinked at the sky a few times, trying to remember where he was and what had happened to him. With a sick feeling welling up inside, he recalled being throw
n from the castle tower window and his ride in the grip of the dragon’s mouth. Was he dead now? This… didn’t seem anything like what he’d imagined death to be.
After a moment he was certain he could not possibly be dead with his body aching and head pounding like it was. His thirst was intense, and his stomach was trying to communicate either hunger or the need to vomit—he wasn’t sure which. He heard something snuffling some distance away but could see no one. Dev tried to move, but his limbs wouldn’t obey, so he let his lids droop.
When the snuffling noises grew louder and an oven full of hot breath blasted him, Dev’s eyes flew open again. Looming over him was a shocking sight. One dark purple dragon and two silvery ghost dragons stared down. A huge drop of something disgusting fell from one of the ghost dragon’s nostrils and sizzled on Dev’s arm. Steam rose up from it, and the dull burning pain it created joined the various other pains Dev already endured. “Krech,” he whispered, but the word from the common language caught in his parched throat, and only a scratchy noise came out. He closed his cracked lips and let his head sink to one side, too exhausted and injured to be frightened.
“Is he dead?” one of the ghost dragons asked.
“Maybe he’s a ghost human,” said the other, taking a claw and poking Dev in the side. Dev recoiled.
“He’s alive,” said the dark purple. He pursed his lips and blew a narrow stream of hot air, as if painting Dev’s body in long, sweeping motions, paying extra attention to the bloody parts.
Dev lifted his head, squinted, and worked up the effort to speak. This dragon was familiar. “Drock? Is that you?”
“It is,” said Drock when he stopped to take in a breath. “Do you suppose you can roll over? I can turn you if you aren’t able to do it yourself.”
“I—I can do it,” said Dev. He preferred the dragon never touch him again if possible. Of the five dragons he’d tended to in the castle dungeon, Drock had been the most unpredictable and troublesome, and they’d shared a mutual wariness of each other. He struggled and rolled to his side, feeling a bit stronger already, though he wasn’t sure why.