Island of Fire

A wave of adrenaline pulsed through Claire, but she trained her eyes on the floor now, her face frozen. Could she escape? Why was he telling her this?

“I can’t let you escape,” he said in the softest voice. “I’d be sent to . . . well, you know where.” He stepped away, shuffling his feet awkwardly, and then he hastened to the stove and plated a thick slice of toasted bread and a hunk of cheese. “Here.” He set it on the table, and then refilled her cup and set it next to the plate.

Claire stared at the food and walked to the table. She didn’t think it was a trick. She looked up at Liam, her brows knitting together, wondering.

He looked back at her with softer eyes now, giving away the slightest hint of emotion. Perhaps there was a soul inside, somewhere.

“Why?” Claire asked, her voice clotting on the word, leaving it stuck in her throat.

Liam opened his lips as if to speak, and then closed them and turned away. He went to the window and peered out, keeping an eye on her as well. “Just hurry,” he said.

Claire, gripping the back of the chair to hold herself steady, bit her lip and glanced at the door.

“Don’t,” Liam said. He shook his head slightly, a warning. “You won’t make it.”

She swallowed hard, the food wavering in front of her. She knew Liam was right. She wasn’t strong enough. But maybe she could build up her strength again.

She tugged on the chair, straining to slide it back, and then sat down. “Thank you,” she whispered. She ate.

Liam watched her out of the corner of his eye.

When she finished, she asked, “Is it all right if I stand?”

“Sure,” he said. “Stay over there, though.”

She nodded, and stretched her muscles carefully.

From the back part of the house came a thump. Liam tensed immediately, and then relaxed.

“Bethesda?” Claire whispered, ready to hide.

“No.”

Claire’s eyes widened. She had suspected something for days, whenever she’d heard people moving about. “Is someone else . . . here?”

Liam looked at her.

“Liam,” Claire said, “is it Gunnar?”

After a moment, Liam nodded so slightly that Claire almost didn’t see it.

A sigh escaped her. She closed her eyes and brought her hands to her face, shaking her head, wondering what would become of them all. The situation was beyond hope. And then she turned, dejected, went back to her pantry cell, and sat on the floor, placing the gag back into her mouth, and waited for Liam to tie her up again.

Descent

The next day Alex was no closer to a solution. While Sean, Meghan, Henry, and the Silents began stacking frozen creatures to make a stairway to the top of the wall, Alex made the rounds of the Unwanteds, trying to boost morale and offer help in any way he could.

“We need more water,” grumbled a woman on the beach. “The ration you’re giving us is worse than in Quill.”

“I’m starving,” a man said. “I haven’t eaten a thing in two days.”

“This place is a disaster,” voiced a group of Unwanted boys from Alex’s year. A few of them jeered. Cole Wickett took Alex aside. “Come on, Alex,” he said earnestly. “You’ve got to do something. People are going to leave, you know?”

Alex pressed his lips together. So far today he had taken a number of verbal beatings from the people of Artimé, and he was beginning to feel defensive and desperate. “I know,” he said. “We’re doing everything we can. I don’t know what else to say.”

Cole shook his head. “I’m sorry, Al, but . . .” He looked around at all the Unwanteds, some weak and ill, sprawled on the ground, others grumbling in small groups, and still others lining the shore trying desperately to catch fish, with little success. “This place is starting to remind me of the Ancients Sector. Somebody’s got to step it up here. Fast.”

And it’s obviously not you. Cole didn’t say it, but it was implied. Alex felt the hopelessness of it all pulling him down, and at the same time a wave of reckless anger rushed up from his collarbone and he threw his hands up in the air. “Well, maybe you should be in charge, then. I never wanted this job, you know.” His mouth twisted against his will. “What do you want me to do, anyway? What exactly does everybody expect me to do?”

Cole’s eyes widened in alarm. “Alex . . . ,” he began.

“It’s not my fault this happened.” Alex said. “It’s Mr. Today’s fault. How”—his voice quavered with pent-up anger—“how could he have done this to us? To all of us? How could he have left Artimé so . . . so unstable that it would disappear if he died?”

“Calm down, Alex—”

But Alex wouldn’t stop, even though he couldn’t believe his horrible thoughts, his sharp words against their beloved mage. “Don’t tell me to calm down. This is not a calm situation! Answer me—I’m serious. What kind of leader would do that? Did he think he was invincible?” Alex was horrified at himself for asking the questions that had been plaguing him, but he felt helpless to stop them. “And now I’m the one who’s supposed to fix it? I’m, like, practically still a kid. It’s so not okay that he left me with this. It’s a disaster!” he cried. “It’s not fair!” He grasped Cole’s arm and shook it. “Can you see what I’m saying? I’m saying I can’t just fix this. I can’t. I tried—I’m trying, and I’ll keep trying. But as of right now, I can’t figure it out, okay?”