“Because he tried to flunk out of the Magisterium,” said Tamara. “He really didn’t want to go. If he’d known he was Constantine Madden, he would have tried to get on the Masters’ side, to spy on them. Instead, he just pissed all of them off. Besides,” she added, “Constantine Madden was famously charming, and Call obviously isn’t.”
“Thank you,” Call said, wincing at the pain in his leg. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on without resting. “That was heartwarming.”
“Also,” Tamara said, “there are some things you can’t fake.”
Before Call could ask her what she meant, his foot hit a root and he stumbled, falling to his knees. The Chaos-ridden halted abruptly, those in front of Jasper turning and stopping him with their hands to his chest.
Call groaned and rolled over, trying to stand.
One of the Chaos-ridden lifted him, holding him as easily as Call himself might have held a cat. It was embarrassing and, even more embarrassingly, a relief. “We will carry you the rest of the way, Master,” the Chaos-ridden told him.
“That’s probably not the best idea,” Call said. “The others —”
One of the Chaos-ridden grabbed hold of Tamara, slinging her over his back. She struggled in its grasp. “Call!” she shouted, panicked.
Two of them hauled Aaron off his feet, while a fifth lifted a kicking and screaming Jasper into the air.
“We will carry them all,” the Chaos-ridden holding Call told him, but that didn’t seem to calm them down any. “We can move more swiftly this way.”
Call was so surprised that he didn’t give any orders at all, even as the Chaos-ridden’s steps came more swiftly. They began to lope and then run, Havoc alongside them. They ran and ran, covering so much ground that Call couldn’t imagine himself walking it.
This close, Call had expected the Chaos-ridden to smell like rot. They were supposed to be the dead, after all, reanimated by void magic. But their odor was more mushroomy, not unpleasant, just strange.
Aaron looked uncomfortable. Tamara looked exhilarated and terrified in equal measure. But Jasper’s expression was unreadable to Call, a blankness that might have been fear or despair or nothing at all.
“Call, what are they doing?” Tamara shouted over to him.
Call shrugged awkwardly. “Carrying us? I think they’re trying to be helpful.”
“I don’t like this,” Aaron said, sounding like he was on a particularly dizzying ride.
Faster the Chaos-ridden went, magic propelling them forward, through the woods, over fallen leaves, through streams and over stones, through brush and ferns and bramble. Then, as quickly as they began, the Chaos-ridden halted their march.
Call found his feet, dropped down on the sand of a beach, the slivered moon above them casting a silver path over the water.
The Chaos-ridden began to move in more tightly, the path between them narrowing as they made their way down the beach. Call could hear the ocean, the lap of the waves.
Three rowboats were tied to poles out in the water, rolling gently with the tide. If Call squinted, he could make out a stretch of land in the distance, visible only because it interrupted the reflection of moonlight.
“Evil Island?” Jasper asked.
Call snorted, surprised that Jasper had said something. He was probably being serious, Call decided, as this seemed an unlikely time for him to acquire a sense of humor.
“Chaos-ridden,” Call said, “how do we get across?”
At his words, three of the Chaos-ridden waded into the sea. First, they were up to their thighs in the water, then it was at their waists, then their necks, then it covered their heads completely.