Island of Shipwrecks (15 page)

“Every single day?” Sky asked. She couldn't imagine it. She had seen very little rain in her life, and she didn't like it. Automatically her hand went to her throat, which had once worn the thorns that had silenced her voice. She wasn't sure which was worse—that, or living in a hurricane like this every day of your life. She found herself longing for Artimé. And she wasn't the only one.

Ishibashi's face wore the effects of many years of sorrow and hurricanes. “Every single day,” he said softly.

A
fter the gathering, Ishibashi and the other two scientists left the Artiméans to get settled. Once alone, fear and worry spread through the group. How were they going to get out of here? When would they have time to fix the boat with the hurricane pounding them every day and blowing away all their supplies? And once Simber returned, how was Alex going to transport the ship far enough outside of the treacherous hurricane zone to keep it from crashing on the rocks again?

Henry was the one to say it out loud. “If Simber had been
with us, he would have seen this coming and steered us away. We wouldn't be stuck here.”

Crow couldn't hide his fear. “I don't like this place. Are we stuck here forever?”

“We have to get out of here,” Samheed muttered. “We have to.” He clenched his fists and began to pace the floor.

“Everybody, please stay calm,” Alex said, not feeling calm in the slightest. “We will get out of here.”

Samheed stopped in front of Alex, his face intense. “How?”

Alex flinched. “We'll fix the ship and wait for Simber.”

“Fixing the ship will take forever!”

“We'll get it done, Samheed,” Alex said through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, well what if Simber doesn't come? We're stuck here!”

“Sam,” Lani said. “Take it easy. We'll figure it out.”

“Of course we will,” Ms. Octavia said. “We always do.”

But her words didn't sound as sure as everyone wanted.

Copper spoke up. “In fixing the ship, we just have to be efficient with timing. We can do the salvaging and repair work during the morning reprieve from the storm,” she said. “And
any leftover material we have each day, why, we'll drag it into the shelter so it doesn't blow away, and work on it in here. That way the next day we'll have material to build with as soon as we can head outside safely.”

She paused, and then leaned forward, putting a gentle hand on Samheed's shoulder. “You don't know me very well. And maybe I seem weak because I was a captured slave to the pirates. But I promise you that I know what I'm doing. I know how to fix ships, and so do Sky and Crow.” She looked at her children, and they nodded solemnly. “You have to trust us and Florence. Together we can get this done.”

“And what about the rest of the time?” Samheed prompted. “Sit in this cave? Endlessly? I'll go crazy. I'm already going crazy just thinking about it.”

“The rest of the day we'll do what we do best,” Alex said. “We'll make spell components. I don't know about you guys, but I'm almost out of them, and we lost a whole crate full of them when we wrecked.”

The others checked their supplies and reported minimal components remaining. “What are we going to use to make
them?” Lani mused. She peered out the door as the rain pounded the rocky ground like a million footsteps. “All there is here is rocks and moss.”

Alex's face was troubled. “Then we use rocks and moss,” he said weakly. “I can think of five new spells to create without even trying.”

Samheed smirked, clearly calming down a bit. “Oh yeah? What are they, Stowe?”

Alex could feel his ears growing hot. Of course Samheed was going to call Alex out. That's what Samheed did. And that's why Alex liked him so much, even if Sam was a little intense. He scrambled to think of something to say as a retort. “If I told you, you might steal my awesome ideas,” Alex said.

Samheed laughed. “Nice try. Come on. What are they? You don't even have one, do you.”

Lani hid a grin. The two had been sparring since they were boys in Quill, and clearly it wasn't about to change now.

With all eyes on him, Alex knew he had to say something or risk looking stupid. Even if he couldn't make the magic work, he had to save face and show his leadership right now.

He coughed to stall for time, shuffled his feet, and finally blurted out the first thing that came to him. “A flying carpet. That's one idea.”

Samheed blinked. “A flying rock carpet? Ha! Yeah, that'll work.”

Alex shook his head as the idea took form in his mind. “No, you dolt,” he said, and stood up a little straighter. “A flying
moss
carpet.” And then, as it dawned on him, he added triumphantly, “And that, my friend, is what will help us get off this island.”

A
fter Aaron gave him the impossible task of stealing components from Artimé, Liam Healy retreated to his room at the top of the stairs, in the palace tower. It was a room chosen for him by Eva Fathom, who had become his dear friend in the short time they'd spent together. She'd given him this room because it was the highest point in all of Quill, and anyone who spent day after day awaiting death in the Ancients Sector before finally being rescued deserved to have a high point in life.

Above him, the point of the tower held up the barbed-wire sky that covered all of Quill. If he stood by one window, he
could see nearly all of Quill spread out before him. And if he stood on his tiptoes by the other window, such that his hair brushed the sloping ceiling, and pressed his face against the top pane of glass just so, he could barely see over the wall to the sea.

He didn't bother to look at it now, though, for he was quite perturbed about the task at hand. Instead he arranged his chair by the window, just outside the realm of the sunlight that streamed in, sat down, and thought about how he could possibly convince anyone in Artimé—through brutality or otherwise—to give him multiple magical spell components and tell him how they worked.

Brutality was clearly out of the question. It was only something Aaron had suggested, and something Liam would have done without much thought in the past. But Liam was done with that life. And once his eyes had been opened, he realized he hadn't really liked hurting people in the first place. In fact, he now looked back in horror at the attacks he'd made on Artimé when he was a Restorer, and at doing one of the most horrendous things a human could possibly do—hold another human hostage and treat her, well, treat her terribly. He had
pushed aside their former friendship, and worse, intentionally ignored the fact that she was a human with feelings and goals and . . . and a life. An actual, good, helpful life to live. A life completely unlike his own had been.

He didn't even know that man now. The old Liam was obedient to Quill's high priest. He didn't dream. He didn't express emotion. He followed the law and never had an original thought. From the time he was thirteen, when his friend Claire was sent to her death, until he and the other Restorers attacked Artimé and he'd seen her there,
alive
after all these years, Liam had given his entire self over to the power of Justine—the power she had to take away a best friend without anyone objecting. The power to make a person give up everything and obey, because obeying was easy, and standing against her seemed impossible.

And even when he saw Claire, and knew she was alive, he still did those horrible things to her because the high priest had more control over him than his own conscience. What a weakling.

It's too late to change,
he'd told himself back then.
It's the only way to get by.
And then later,
Aaron forced me to do it.
That's the
weak excuse he offered himself whenever the guilt pushed its way to the surface of his bland, recycled thoughts.

How he wished he could take it all back. How he regretted the man he had become. How he longed to go back in time and live his life the right way, even if it meant he'd be put to death for it. Anything would be better than living with this torment.

But he had done all of those things, and he had made those mistakes. There was no one else to blame for his own bad decisions. He knew that now. Boy, did he know it.

And if it truly was too late for forgiveness from Claire and from Haluki and from all of Artimé, too, well, then Liam would get what he deserved. But he wasn't going to stop trying to fix things. Eva Fathom had given him another chance. Another life. A new life.

He was going to live this one right, even if it killed him. But he had to go about it the right way if he was going to make a difference, make things better. He had to pretend for a while. He couldn't lose Aaron's trust—Eva was counting on him. All of Artimé was counting on him, though they didn't know it yet. He couldn't mess this up.

Ugh. Poor, stupid Aaron. Making all the same mistakes
Liam did, and more, for the sake of an errant goal.

Liam leaned forward and cupped his face with his hands.

» » « «

After a while he rose up out of his chair and walked down the winding, uneven tower staircase, down the hall past Aaron's closed office door, and down the main staircase to the door. He left the palace and continued down the driveway. His steps were firm and his jaw was set, and the guards opened the portcullis without question for the governor. They trusted him, though they shouldn't.

He walked toward Artimé in the shadow of the wall, which would soon be coming down. When he drew near to the most desolate part of Quill, he could hear the distant sound of workers assembling, preparing to begin deconstruction. And when he reached the gates of Artimé, he weaved through the crowd of Necessaries and Quillitary and stepped inside the magical world. He presented himself to the girrinos, and behind them, hundreds of Artiméans had gathered on the lawn when they noticed the commotion in Quill.

An authoritative-looking young woman with reddish hair and freckles came forward at the sight of him.

“Greetings,” Liam said. Hadn't she been the one who rushed past him in the palace a few days ago? He wasn't sure.

She folded her arms across her chest and glared. “What do you want?”

“I would like to request a meeting with Ms. Claire Morning.”

The first hammer slammed against the wall behind Liam. He ducked, glanced over his shoulder, and took a few tiny steps toward the girl, which he immediately regretted, as she did not move along with him.

“My name is Liam Healy,” he said as another hammer hit. Bits of rubble pattered on his back, and he lifted his shoulders to keep stones from slipping down his shirt collar. “And I am not with them.”

O
h, I know who you are,
Governor
Healy,” said Meghan, “and if I remember correctly, the last time you came here, my friend Samheed warned you never to come back or he'd kill you. Do you remember that?”