Island of Legends Page 13

  Soon they were all seated around the table, and kitchen workers brought the food in and placed it before the guests. Aaron nodded at Secretary in approval—it was a fine-looking meal, for once.

  Gondoleery attacked her food as if the chicken on her plate were still alive and running wild. Liam tried not to scarf his down, but he hadn’t been eating well at the Ancients Sector and it showed in his thin body—he was hungry.

  Strang savored his food. “This is a lot better than when Justine was high priest,” he said to no one in particular, but then gave Aaron a fearful look. “I hope it’s all right for me to say that. I mean no disrespect to her. I think it must be so delicious because of your Favored Farm.”

  “I’m always pleased to hear about how our people are enjoying the improvements in Quill,” Aaron said. The forks and knives resumed clicking and clanking. After a moment Aaron turned to Gondoleery. “How did you hurt your hands?”

  “I didn’t,” Gondoleery said. She stabbed at a potato and missed.

  Aaron looked at the woman’s burns. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure.” She looked at him, fork poised to stab the potato once more. “So, High Priest, how do you plan to keep Quill from being attacked now that the idiots in Artimé have been attracting visitors?”

  “I have plans,” Aaron said. “But I’m curious, how would you do it?”

  “It’s not my problem now, is it?” Gondoleery skewered the potato, popped it in her mouth, and set down her fork as she chewed.

  “Well, that’s what I’d like to talk to you all about,” Aaron said. “I’ve invited you here because I’m looking to bring back governors to the ruling board in Quill. I need people who will appeal to the Wanteds yet keep the Necessaries from revolt.” He looked around the table, from Liam to Gondoleery to Strang. “I’d like you to be my governors, and I hope you will consider it.”

  “What’s in it for us?” Gondoleery asked, picking her teeth with a charred fingernail. “Besides work?”

  Aaron smiled. At last, he thought. He pushed back his plate, set his utensils down, and folded his hands in front of him. “My dear Gondoleery, I’m so very glad you asked.”

  Breathe to Survive

  Florence!” Alex shouted. But there was no chance Florence could hear him. She was stuck inside the glass cage, plunging farther and farther beneath the sea.

  Simber circled above the water, with Alex, Carina, and Sky all straining to see below the surface. It was no use.

  “Shall we go down after her?” Carina said, ready to jump.

  Alex put a hand on her arm. “Wait,” he said. “Let’s just think this through. The eel’s down there.”

  Carina bit her lip. “Right,” she said, somewhat reluctantly.

  Finally Alex directed Simber back to the ship. “We need a plan. Let’s go talk this through with the others.” He knew that if Florence was alive, she could stay alive in that cage, and at least they knew where she was now. And if she was dead . . . well, then staying down there wouldn’t change that, either. So it was best to be cautious.

  When Simber and his passengers reached the ship, Alex called a meeting and shared everything they had witnessed.

  “I think we should take a team underwater to explore,” Sean said. “See how far down the island goes.”

  “No way. Not with that eel slinking around,” Ms. Octavia said. “We don’t need any more of us trapped in an underwater cage. Not even I can survive more than an hour or so without air.”

  Simber circled overhead, having no place to land. Fox and Kitten chattered in a corner, and Captain Ahab sat calmly on a bench, saying nothing for now.

  “So you brrreathe,” Simber said abruptly.

  Alex looked up. “What?”

  “Octavia, I mean. You cannot surrrvive without airrr?”

  Octavia looked up too and regarded him. “Why, yes, of course. Don’t you breathe?”

  “I can smell things. But I don’t need to brrreathe to surrrvive.” Simber swooped to the other end of the ship. “Kitten,” he said, “do you brrreathe to surrrvive?”

  “Mewmewmew!” said Kitten.

  Fox stepped up to interpret as usual. “She says that she loves breathing, and breathing is a very important part of her day, one of her very favorite parts in fact—”

  “Quiet!” Simber said, startling everyone but staring at Fox. “Fox, I underrrstand quite well what Kitten is saying, thank you, and it’s neverrr what you think. In case you didn’t rrrealize, like Kitten I am also a cat. And you, you little piece of terrrmite bait, arrre not. You arrre a fox, the smallest memberrr of the Vulpini trrribe of the Canidae family; to wit, you arrre a dog. By the law of the land, you and cats would not be frrriends. Not everrr. And while Kitten may cerrrtainly decide forrr herrrself that she wants to be frrriends with you, though I can’t imagine why, I am telling you rrright now forrr the firrrst and only time: Neverrr, everrr trrry to tell me what Kitten says again. Because you arrre always dead wrrrong. Is that clearrr?”

  Fox stood frozen in fear. After a long moment he licked his lips and said in a very small voice, “D-d-did you j-j-just say . . . I m-m-mean, that is to say, um . . . Aw, nuts.” He looked down at the deck and was quiet.

  “Mewmewmew,” Kitten said to Simber.

  Simber paused mid-flap, a look of pure disbelief on his face. “What do you mean, Fox thought he was a cat?”

  “Mewmewmew!”

  “A cat whose name is Fox? Now I’ve hearrrd everrrything. Good grrracious.” The giant feline began flapping his wings once more so as not to go plunging into the ocean. “Well then, I’m surrre this rrrevelation has come as a bit of a shock,” he grumbled, softening his tone a bit. “Therrre now, you prrreposterrrous little rrratbeast. None of us wants to hearrr that sorrrt of news, I suppose.”

  He frowned and circled the ship. “Back to my question, which is of grrrave imporrrtance. Kitten, you said you do not need to brrreathe to surrrvive, you only like to sniff things. Quite underrrstandable forrr a cat.” Simber looked around. “What about you, Fox?”

  Fox flattened himself on the deck and put his paws over his eyes. “This cannot be happening,” he moaned. “This cannot be happening.”

  Simber sighed and looked at Kitten. “Any chance you know the answerrr?”

  “Mewmewmew,” said Kitten.

  Simber’s face brightened. “So he doesn’t need to brrreathe either.” He turned to Captain Ahab. “What about you?”

  “Aye. Whither lives the briny beast, so too live I.”

  Simber rolled his eyes. “Okay, so that’s a yes forrr you and yourrr imaginarrry whale. You both need to brrreathe to surrrvive.”

  “Aye,” said the captain.

  Alex bit his lip and looked down, thinking of Spike, who, like Ms. Octavia, had definitely been breathing.

  Simber frowned, still looking at Ahab. After a while, he said in a quiet voice, “That’s quite trrroubling, indeed.” He flew off toward the water that covered the volcano, flying low, as if it would bring back his comrade.

  Alex leaned over toward Lani, wanting to make sure he wasn’t mistaking what Simber was saying. “He’s asking because of Florence, right?”

  “I guess so,” Lani said. She moved over so that Samheed could join them. “So far, it seems like all the statues except Ahab can stay alive without breathing. I think he was trying to guess if Florence could possibly be alive.”

  “But apparently there’s no rule,” Alex said, pondering. “Some breathe, some don’t.”

  “Unless you account for the fact that Florence and Ahab are human statues. Ahab needs to breathe. Ms. Octavia needs to breathe, but she’s not a statue, she’s a . . . a creature, I guess.”

  “Like Spike,” Alex murmured.

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Anyway, the point is that Ahab is a statue who needs to breathe. And the other statues who don’t need to breathe, like Simber and Kitten and Fox, are not human.”

  Alex looked at Lani with
alarm. “Oh. So is Florence like Ahab? Or like Simber?”

  “I hope she’s like Simber,” Lani said. “But I’m afraid she might be like Ahab.” She turned toward him. “So now there’s a question that Simber probably wants to ask you. But since you’re both being ridiculous, he can’t get up the nerve to be all vulnerable or whatever. So I’ll ask it for him: If we can rescue Florence, and if she’s dead, do you think you can bring her back to life?”

  Alex didn’t know. He grew intensely thoughtful, not noticing that the others had gathered now too, some in the shadows, to hear his answer.

  He knew he could re-create the world of Artimé if it disappeared. He could put statues and creatures to “sleep,” and the restore spell would bring them back to life. But what if they died? Could they die? He’d never seen a creature or statue die. Well, except for Gremily, but she didn’t die, she disappeared, which wasn’t the same. But Alex was quite certain that the whale he’d brought to life was on its last gasp before he put her to sleep, so he was pretty sure that creatures could die. But what about Florence? And if she could die, would the live spell work on her to bring her back to life? And if it would work on Florence, would it work on anything or anyone who had died?

  At last he rubbed his temples and said, “If Florence is not a breathing statue, then she should be just fine no matter how long she is underwater. However, I think that if a statue or creature relies on breath to live, they must also be capable of dying. So if Florence is a breathing statue, I’m sure she is dead now.”

  He was quiet for a moment as that assessment sank in. “I also think, as with humans, if creatures or statues die, their death is final. There is no spell that would bring anyone who breathes back from death—not human, statue, or creature. Or we would most certainly have used it by now.”

  Aaron Strikes a Deal

  My goal,” Aaron said as dessert was being served, “is to be rid of the Unwanteds once and for all. However—and this may sound a bit shocking, but I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain—as much as I despise the Unwanteds and their devious, dangerous ways, I admit I rather like the world they’ve constructed. I’d hate to see it go to waste. Think about it—just because we are accustomed to living with so little here in Quill doesn’t mean we have to continue to do so. It seems a waste to destroy their mansion and fountains when ours are falling apart and water is scarce. Winning wars and taking over territories should come with rewards, don’t you think?”

  He looked around at the skeptical faces, but he wasn’t worried. He guessed that they, like him, had been secretly curious about the way things worked in Artimé. “Before I tell you what’s in it for you, I want you to know it’s okay if you’d like to think about it, and you may of course say no if you are not at all interested. But my plan for our mutual reward is to split the magical property four ways. Not equally, quite, but you would each get a small portion of Artimé if you were to commit to helping me.”

  Eva looked hard at a spot on the table.

  “I count five of us,” Gondoleery said.

  Aaron looked around, confused. “No,” he said. “You, Liam, Strang, and me. Four.”

  Gondoleery leaned forward. “What about Eva? Is she a ghost? Don’t you see her sitting next to you?”

  “Who?” Aaron asked, looking first to the wrong side, and then at Eva. “Oh, you mean Secretary? Well, I’ll take her with me, of course. She’ll be allowed to live in the mansion in one of my rooms.”

  Gondoleery frowned and picked her teeth.

  Liam picked up the questioning. “I realize I don’t really have much of a choice to make, since it’s either this or back to the Ancients Sector, but I’d like to say that I’m in favor of this plan.” He glanced at Eva, but she remained still, not looking at him.

  “Excellent,” Aaron said. “Strang? Any questions?”

  “I—I’m not sure how the High Priest Justine would have felt about living in such a colorful place. It could be very distracting.” He scratched his head. “It doesn’t feel right when everything we hate about the creative people would be so evident and, ah, in our faces. I mean, the flowers and trees, and I can only imagine what the inside of that dreadful place must look like. . . .” He trailed off.

  “I can assure you,” Aaron said, “if only Justine had been given time to take over Artimé before she was expelled from this life, she would have made that mansion hers. She would have thought it a waste to tear down a structure so useful. And while the decor is ridiculous, it could be toned down to a nice shade of gray and we could get rid of all the useless things. And let’s not forget how Justine was decorating this palace. She had plants. Indoors.” He shook his head.

  Strang wiped his forehead.

  Gondoleery leaned toward Aaron. “But wait,” she said. “You’re assuming Justine would have been able to keep the magic going. Don’t forget what happened when Marcus Today was killed. How are you going to keep Artimé if there aren’t any Unwanteds running the magical world? We’d need someone who at least knows a little bit about magic.” She batted her eyelashes innocently and glanced at Eva. “Because clearly none of us can do a thing.”

  Eva’s mouth twitched. She glanced at Liam, saw he was watching Gondoleery, and dropped her eyes to the table.

  Aaron’s expression barely flickered, but he wondered now just what the extent of his abilities was—if he could make a living statue’s tail from a vine and release shackles from his wrists, maybe he could do more. Maybe he could run the magic in Quill. He hadn’t even begun to explore the boundaries of his abilities. “I’m still working out the details,” he said coolly, “but I won’t be disclosing my solutions until I know who is interested in helping me take Quill to a stronger, more powerful level.”

  Strang shifted uncomfortably. “High Priest, if I may.” He coughed and took a sip of water. “I—I would like to be a governor again, if for the pure reason of making Quill stronger. But I don’t need any colorful world or mansion to live in. I need no reward at all.”

  “Suit yourself,” Aaron said matter-of-factly. He smiled, pleased. “So that’s two fine governors so far.” He turned to Gondoleery. “Need more time to think? Or shall I look for someone else to take the spot I’ve been holding for you?”

  Gondoleery fingered a dried-up scab on her wrist. “Oh, I’ll take the job, all right,” she said. She stood abruptly. “When do we start?”

  Aaron held back a smile. “Now. Your first task, each of you, is to figure out ways to create distrust and unrest between our people and the people of Artimé. I don’t mean physical altercations in Artimé like you’ve done in the past, Liam. What we need to do is get all of Quill to begin banking their rage once more—building up their anger toward Artimé the way Justine did it when she was high priest, through words and ideas. Through thoughts.” He hesitated. “And I suppose a few faked incidents of injustice to our people would help speed things up. After all, I don’t want to spend fifty years getting there. And,” he added, “I’d maybe even like to give the people of Artimé a little hint of whom they are dealing with.” He studied the faces before him to see their reactions.

  Eva Fathom frowned. Strang stared at the table, his leg jiggling nervously. Liam studied Aaron, tapping his lips. And Aaron could see by the look in Gondoleery’s eyes that her thoughts were far, far away.

  » » « «

  Later, after Strang and Gondoleery had left, Aaron turned to Eva and Liam. “It’s time for a speech from the beloved high priest,” he said. “Prepare for a gathering in the Commons.” He gave a curt nod good night and headed to his bedroom.

  Eva walked with Liam to the stairs that would take him up to his room.

  “He’s dangerous on a small scale,” Eva whispered once Aaron was out of earshot. “Gondoleery’s the one we need to watch.”

  “Forgive me—I still don’t quite understand what’s going on,” Liam said.

  Eva pressed her lips together, debating. Should she tell him what she suspected? What she knew and rem
embered to be true? If Gondoleery had mastered ice, and was now covered in burns, it wouldn’t be long before Quill would be swirling in dust. And Eva wasn’t strong enough to take on Aaron and Gondoleery single-handedly. She had to risk it.

  She leaned forward. “I’ve known Marcus, Justine, and Gondoleery since we were young children,” she said. “And when I was a child, I could make it rain.”

  The Story of Eva Fathom

  Eva’s eyes darted down the hallway to make sure the high priest hadn’t returned. “Can I trust you?”

  Liam whispered, “You know you can, and I think you already do. You’ve known where I stood ever since you tested me in Haluki’s house. Are you saying what I think you’re saying? That you and I are on the same side—against him?”

  Eva peered at him in the shadows. “I tested you, yes. I suggested the prisoners should be killed. You couldn’t respond. That was the moment I knew—you’re absolutely right.”

  “I couldn’t kill Claire or anyone. Eva, I buried the mage of Artimé. I feel sick about it still. What he—what Aaron was doing . . .” Liam’s face was desperate. “It was wrong, Eva. I know that now. I’d rather be sent back to the Ancients Sector than do anything like that again. And now I’m living this farce. . . .”

  Eva regarded Liam for a long moment. “I have no choice but to trust you. I need your eyes.”

  “You have them. All I can do is promise and hope you’ll take me at my word, but you know already where my allegiance lies or you wouldn’t have brought me with you to Gondoleery’s door. You wouldn’t have given the driver that food in front of me if you didn’t trust me. And now I’m here, living in the palace, when there are dozens of Necessary homes I could live in. . . . You want me here. Don’t you?”

  “I do,” Eva admitted.

  “And do you . . .” He hesitated. “Do you know why I wasn’t put to death right away? Do you know why they kept me alive and not Bethesda?”

  Eva pursed her lips. “Yes, Liam. I do.”