Island of Dragons

by Lisa McMann

  As the ship grew smaller, Alex watched with giddy satisfaction. He wasn’t worried about her jumping overboard. She couldn’t swim. She’d ride that ship all the way down into the volcano, and then be covered by tons and tons of water. “Good-bye, Queen Eagala,” he said, holding his lifeless arm closer to him, trying to ignore the increasing pain in his shoulder. “Not gonna miss you.”

  After a moment the giant squid surfaced next to Spike.

  Spike spoke to it in a strange language, and then the squid disappeared.

  “What was that about?” asked Alex. “And how did you get the ship to rock so much? Did you do that all by yourself?”

  “No,” said Spike. “I called to the squid underwater so nobody would hear, and she came to help me.”

  “That was so smart of you,” Alex said. He grimaced with pain, and readjusted his body to take the pressure off his arm. “And did you know I didn’t really want you to go get the Warbler people?”

  “Oh yes,” said Spike. “I am intuitive. And you have taught me your different voices. The voice you used was not your voice of truth.”

  Alex smiled and shook his head, amazed by the creature he’d created. “And where did the squid go now?”

  “He is giving Queen Eagala a little push to help her along and to make sure she arrives at her destination. The squid knows all about the workings of the volcano after being trapped in the aquarium for so long.”

  Alex marveled once more. “Thank you, Spike. You never stop amazing me.”

  “You are welcome, the Alex. I am just doing the job you gave me.”

  “Well, I have one more job for you,” said Alex wearily.

  “Taking you home,” said Spike.

  Alex’s voice grew faint. “Yes, please.”

  So Much to Do

  When Spike dropped Alex off in Artimé, the mage gathered up his strength and stumbled ashore. He stopped and looked at the island. It was a disaster. The mansion was in ruins. The lawn was a mess with very little grass left, and all of Henry’s greenhouse plants were destroyed. The fountain was dismantled and water sprayed everywhere. And Issie the sea monster roamed the land, calling out in her strange, forlorn voice.

  Pan floated in the water next to the Island of Legends with her children, all coiled up, teaching them to use their tails to fish as dusk gathered around them. Alex lifted his good hand to the great dragon in thanks for her help. The dragons had saved them.

  Pan nodded and looked at Issie. “She continues to look for her child,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Alex. “She sounds terribly sad.”

  “Perhaps one day someone will find her.”

  “I hope so,” said Alex.

  “May we stay here for a while?” asked Pan. “I’d like the children to practice their fishing and flying and get to know the people of Artimé and Karkinos as friends, so they don’t forget you.”

  “Of course! But won’t we always be friends?” asked Alex.

  Pan frowned and didn’t answer.

  “Sorry,” said Alex. He cringed and shifted his arm. “We’ll be grateful for the peace of mind your added protection will bring us. Stay as long as you like if you feel the waters are safe.”

  Pan glanced at Issie again. “My children will be moving on soon,” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

  Alex had no idea what that meant—moving on. But he knew better than to ask. He began feeling faint from the pain. “You’re welcome here anytime,” Alex said. “If you get lonely . . . or whatever. Maybe we can convince Karkinos to stay nearby so you can check on Talon and the sea creatures more easily. And,” he added, “don’t forget my promise about making new wings for your children when they grow too large for these.”

  Pan bowed her regal head. “Thank you. I will not forget.” She turned back to her children as Arabis caught a fish. She looked at it in surprise, then joyfully gulped it down. Pan stroked the young dragon’s back with the tip of her tail.

  Alex braced himself against the mansion’s doorway as a wave of pain washed through him, and then he walked heavily inside, where those who could move about were rapidly cleaning and repairing. He could hear Florence and Simber up in the not secret hallway, having an argument about how to fix Alex’s wall.

  Sky saw Alex on her way out of the hospital ward and hobbled over. “Your clothes are soaking wet. Did you go for a swim?” she asked.

  Alex looked at her and laughed weakly. “Yeah. Something like that.” He didn’t want to talk about Eagala right now. He didn’t want to talk about anything. He slipped his good arm around Sky and kissed her full on the mouth. And then he pulled back and stroked her dirty cheek, and looked into her bloodshot orange eyes, and pulled a twig out of her hair and threw it outside through the broken window. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispered. “I love you.”

  Sky frowned at his swollen bottom lip. “You’d better have that cut looked at. And this slash on your shoulder—you’re bleeding pretty badly, and your arm is swelling up like a balloon. It looks serious.”

  Alex sighed. “I know.” He started toward the hospital ward.

  “Hey,” Sky said, grabbing his wrist.

  Alex winced and turned, his eyesight dimming. “Yeah?” he asked. Sky’s face swam in front of him.

  Sky smiled. “I love you, too.”

  They kissed again. And then everything went black and Alex slumped to the floor.

  Facing the Truth

  When Alex awoke a short time later, he couldn’t focus on the face above him. Everything was fuzzy. He closed his eyes and groaned, and then opened them and tried again.

  “Who’s there? Henry?” he whispered. His mouth was parched, and it tasted like stale seawater.

  “Hey,” said Henry. “How do you feel?”

  Alex concentrated on the question. He wasn’t sure how he felt. After a while he remembered he hadn’t answered yet. “Not great,” he said.

  “The medicine will be working soon,” Henry promised.

  Alex closed his eyes again and fell into a black cavern of sleep.

  The next time he opened his eyes, Henry’s face was easier to recognize. Sky was there too, looking terribly concerned.

  Alex tried to sit up, but his left shoulder was heavily bandaged, and his arm wouldn’t move.

  Henry stopped him from trying. “Just stay still for a bit. How do you feel now?”

  Alex blinked. “I feel okay,” he said, sinking back into the pillows. “Better.”

  “Good,” said Henry. A shadow crossed his face, and he glanced at Sky, then back at Alex. “I have some bad news.”

  Alex stared, still a bit dazed. “What is it?”

  “Your shoulder was injured badly. Severely.” Henry spoke in a soft, firm voice. “We were able to patch you up and stop the bleeding, but I’m afraid . . . ” Henry swallowed hard and continued. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to use that arm or hand anymore. I’m sorry, Alex.”

  Alex let the words sink in. He shook his head slightly, trying to comprehend. “You mean just for a while, right? Until it heals?”

  Henry pressed his lips together. “I mean forever. It’s damaged beyond repair.”

  A breath escaped Alex’s lungs as his whole body went numb. “Forever?”

  Henry nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sky put her hand on Alex’s good arm and massaged it, her face awash with emotion.

  Alex hardly noticed. He stared at Henry in disbelief. And then, a little at a time, he began to realize the devastating consequences of the prognosis.

  “But . . . ,” he whispered, “that’s my drawing hand. My spell-casting hand.”

  “There’s a chance you might regain a tiny bit of movement once the swelling goes down,” said Henry, “but it won’t be much.”

  Alex was quiet for a moment. “I do everything with this arm. It’s . . . it’s . . . Don’t you see? It’s what this arm can do that makes me the person I am! How can this be happening?” He struggled to move it, trying to prove Hen
ry wrong. But as much as he could feel himself putting forth the effort, his arm wouldn’t budge, not even a tiny bit. Not even a tremor.

  “You’re wrong, Alex,” said Sky. ‘Your arm doesn’t define you. This doesn’t change who you are.”

  Alex closed his eyes. He didn’t have the strength to argue. Sky had no idea what this meant to him. What if he could never draw or paint again? How could he ever fight again? His lashes grew thick, and silent tears escaped. After a minute, he asked, “Does Aaron know?”

  “Not yet,” said Sky.

  Alex opened his eyes. “Where is he?”

  “He’s still sleeping—it’s not midnight yet. I’ll wake him up if you want.”

  “No,” said Alex. “Send a note to his blackboard. That way he’ll see it when he wakes up.” He turned his head listlessly. “Tell him everything . . . that way I don’t have to.”

  Sky glanced at Henry, and they both stood up. “Of course,” said Sky, leaning over and kissing a tear on his cheek. “I’ll do it now.”

  “Thanks.” He squeezed her hand. “Get some sleep.” Alex closed his eyes again, dismissing them. He needed to be alone to absorb the news. Without waiting for sleep, he dove headfirst into his worst nightmare.

  He’d never considered how much he depended on his left arm. And now he couldn’t help but think he’d lost a giant piece of his identity. His creativity, once unlimited, was practically shut down. He thought of the 3-D drawing of the young dragon that had popped up out of his notebook, and realized he’d never be able to do anything like that again. It tore him up inside.

  He thought about spell casting. With his left hand, he was a near-guaranteed shot. Sure, he could cast spells with his right hand in a pinch, but he could never count on them to be perfectly accurate. And he’d never tried drawing with his right hand. Alex pictured himself in the future, once the bandages were gone. He’d wander about the mansion feeling useless, unable to work on his art. Not even able to create precise spell components with only one hand to shape them. If Artimé was ever attacked again, he’d have to opt out of fighting and sentence himself to spending the duration of the war in the lounge. It sounded horrible. His stomach churned thinking about it. Everything had become utterly foreign in an instant.

  He thought of Sky, and how he’d never be able to wrap both arms around her again, and a sob welled up in his throat. People would have to help him do everything. He wouldn’t even be able to put his own mage robe on by himself. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. What kind of head mage would he be if he couldn’t even fasten his own robe?

  Turning his head to look at his bandaged shoulder, his limp arm, his lifeless fingers that wouldn’t move no matter how hard he strained, he thought about Artimé and his beloved people, and what it was that they needed most.

  He knew the answer without having to think at all.

  » » « «

  Sometime after midnight, Aaron awoke to the message. Quickly he dressed and went down to the hospital ward, and found his brother awake. He sat down beside Alex’s bed. “I heard what happened,” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”

  “Not really,” said Alex.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Alex couldn’t answer.

  They sat together in silence for a while, and then Aaron pulled the rolled-up robe from inside his vest. He looked at it for a long moment, then held it out to Alex. “Maybe this will cheer you up,” he said, ignoring the pang in his chest. “Me handing this back to you means you’re alive. That was the goal, wasn’t it? You defied the odds.” He smiled gently. “I’ll bring the Triad spells book to you in a bit. Or I can put it on your desk if that would be easier for you.”

  Alex looked at his brother and didn’t take the robe. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re it.”

  Aaron frowned. “I’m . . . what?”

  “You’re the mage of Artimé. And you’re staying that way. I need you to keep the robe. I . . .” Alex’s voice faltered. “I can’t be what Artimé needs me to be anymore.”

  Aaron stared, shocked by the resolution in his brother’s voice. His eyes widened. “That’s ridiculous.” He shook the robe at his brother halfheartedly.

  “No,” said Alex. “I mean it.”

  A forbidden thrill passed through Aaron, and he immediately tried to stamp it out. He’d made his peace with this. He knew he should object. He knew he should reason with Alex. He knew it wasn’t right. But the tiny thrill wouldn’t die. Instead, it grew.

  Aaron’s grip slowly tightened around the robe. His hands began to sweat, and his pulse pounded in his eardrums. He stared at Alex, feeling his body sort of hovering outside itself for a moment, as if he were split in two pieces—inside and out. He watched his own hand slowly withdraw, still clutching the robe, and he heard his own voice say almost breathlessly, “Are you sure?” The silky fabric sizzled and sang luxuriously beneath his fingertips.

  “I’m sure,” said Alex dully. “I’ll make the announcement in the morning.”

  The Longest Night

  Alex refused to stay in bed once Aaron had gone back to his room. He had too much on his mind to sleep. The magical medicine had worked quickly and done its job to take away the pain, leaving only his bandaged left arm hanging numb and useless at his side. Henry reluctantly agreed to let Alex get up, and fashioned a sling for him. Soon Alex was moving gingerly around the mansion, trying to get a grip on his thoughts.

  Outside, the friendly dragons were protecting the island overnight, but there was little to worry about now. No enemies remained. The atmosphere throughout the sleepy mansion felt lighter somehow because of it, and Artimé’s residents benefitted greatly from it as they enjoyed their first delightfully deep sleep in several days.

  By now, all of the Warbler parents had reunited with their children and were only in need of rooms of their own to sleep in. As Mr. Today had often said, there was plenty of room for all who wished to be in Artimé—all Alex had to do was extend the hallways a bit.

  He managed that much right-handed, for it was mostly a verbal spell. He wasn’t entirely useless, which gave him a bit of comfort. But it wasn’t much.

  He taught the Warbleran parents how to access their new rooms, and he promised to take off their thornaments as soon as he was able so they could experience true freedom from Eagala’s reign, like their children had. But first he had to work up the courage to try it with his right hand. Secretly he hoped Claire would heal quickly so he could ask her to do it instead. He didn’t trust himself to be steady with it.

  As Alex prowled the hallways, he ran across Florence, Talon, Simber, Ms. Octavia, and Fox and Kitten working through the night to clean up the glass and repair all the windows. It was quite amazing what Ms. Octavia and Florence could do magically to make things feel like home again. Kitten wasn’t much help at all, but she played her tiny triangle and sang a little song for entertainment, which amused at least one of the others.

  After surveying the damage to the mage’s living quarters, Alex knew no one would be sleeping in there for a few days. Clive’s remains had been removed, but the apartment was still a mess. Alex packed up a few necessities and made his way to his old room in the boys’ hallway, where he’d soon be living permanently.

  Alex cleaned himself up the best he could in his old room, but he didn’t stay. It was too quiet in there, which only reminded him that Clive was gone. He didn’t want think about how empty his life would be now without Clive. Without his art. Without his job as head mage. Instead he returned to the hospital ward, where he felt less alone among the disfigured.

  Seeing that Henry was running on fumes, Alex worked alongside him and the nurses until all the injured were stable.

  When everyone was quiet in the hospital ward, Henry finally sent the nurses to bed, and at Alex’s urging, he sat down to rest in a chair between some of the most critically injured—Claire Morning, whose head was wrapped in bandages, and Thatcher, whose face Henry had stitched up, but who
had lost a lot of blood and hadn’t woken up yet.

  Alex kept busy, awkwardly rolling bandages and refilling medicine bottles, watching Henry as he did so. The young healer didn’t take his eyes off Thatcher’s face until slowly his lids drooped and closed, and he slept.

  Lani was across the room. Surprisingly, after having taken that spectacularly awful hit in the back from a pirate, she was awake, but completely unable to walk and had no feeling in her legs. No one knew how long that would last, or if she would ever get better. As with Alex’s arm, Henry didn’t have medicine that could fix that.

  Alex and Lani exchanged heartbreaking looks from afar, but neither could stand to talk about their fates—not yet. So Alex stayed a safe distance way. Samheed slept in a chair on one side of her bed, holding her hand, and her father slept on the other. Henry and Carina had done all they could for her. Now they had to wait and see if she healed.

  Eventually Alex found comfort in going quietly from bed to bed, assisting those who stirred and perhaps needed a sip of water or an encouraging word. Alex wasn’t the only one facing difficulties—that was obvious. They’d struggle together.

  » » « «

  And then there was Aaron, the only one left still fighting a war. After his visit with Alex he’d returned to his room, but was unable to get back to sleep because of the battle raging in his head. First he sat and thought. Then he paced inside his room. When his blackboard got too nosy and started asking questions, he left and began to roam the quiet mansion instead.

  He kept the robe hidden away inside his vest, but touched it now and then, alternately planning out his reign and then cursing himself for doing so, until he nearly drove himself mad.

  “It’s what Alex wants!” Aaron found himself saying in the now empty lounge. He sat on a barstool in the darkness, the very stool that Will Blair had once sat upon, though of course Aaron didn’t know that. The only light in the lounge was a bluish glow coming from Earl the blackboard, who was asleep.