Island of Fire (The Unwanteds) (8 page)

He looked at Sky. “We’re so close,” he whispered, and he could feel the intensity about to burst through his veins. He
stared at the first line. “The traveling sun . . . ” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “How does the sun travel?” he asked himself. “Actually, it doesn’t travel,” he mused, having read about it in the library once. “It only appears to.” He shook his head. “No, too technical. This is simpler than that. How does the sun appear to travel? In a line. In the sky.” He mumbled a bit more, thinking aloud. “Wait.” His eyes sprang open. He grabbed the mini mansion and turned it. “This is the way it sat on the property,” he muttered, placing it just so and looking over his shoulder out the window to make sure he had his bearings. “The sun travels from east to west. So that means . . . if Mr. Today’s office stands like this, which it does, or it would if the mansion were here, the first picture if we follow the sun is the one on the east end of the wall. So, that one. ‘Imagine,’ wasn’t it?”

Sky nodded with enthusiasm. She pointed her forefinger to her temple, then fluttered her fingers like a bird, stretching her arm away, teaching him her silent word for it.

“Cool,” Alex said, delighted. “Okay, so ‘imagine’ is the first word, and then we go in order to the west. Does that sound right to you?” Alex asked.

Sky agreed, and pointed at the pictures in that order. Then
she went back and pointed to the second one. She looked up at Alex, as if willing him to say the right one. She made fists and brought them together, knuckles to knuckles in front of her, then pulled them to her chest.

Alex took a deep breath, thinking back. “ ‘Believe,’ ” he said. He imitated the word in her language, bringing his fists together.

Sky smiled and pointed to the one in the middle, then held a finger to her lips. “ ‘Whisper,’ ” Alex said with confidence.

She moved her finger to the fourth one.

Alex looked at it. His mind drew a blank. “Um . . . crud.”

Sky shook her head in mock disgust, a wide grin on her face. She put her hand on Alex’s chest, pressed gently, then released.

“Oh! That one is ‘breathe.’ ” He flashed her a sheepish smile. He had such trouble remembering that word sometimes. “And that means the last one is ‘commence.’ Right?”

Sky rolled her hand in the air, doing the sign for it, then clapped her hands.

“Okay. Help me remember the order.” He glanced back at the clue and frowned. “Stand enrobed where . . . ,” he said, trailing off. “Hmm.” He scrambled to his feet and looked around. “Where’s Meghan?”

Where You First Saw Me

A
lex didn’t see Meghan anywhere near Henry and Crow or among the fifty or so other sleeping Unwanteds inside the shack. He weaved through the people on the floor and slipped outside, Sky following him. Together they ran, zigzagging through the crowded property.

“Alex!” someone shouted. “We’re out of water!”

Alex felt his stomach churn at the words he’d been dreading, but this time a wave of hope followed it. “Okay!” he shouted back. “I’m working on it. Don’t panic!”

Three others tried to stop him with the same complaint,
but Alex hurriedly thanked them for the information and explained that he was working on it. Finally Alex and Sky found Meghan on the sand at the water’s edge, sorting through the collection of shells, seaweed, branches, and tiny fish in a net.

“Meg!” Alex said, breathless. “I think we almost have it!” He and Sky slid to a stop at Meghan’s feet, chests heaving, throats parched.

Meghan’s eyes widened. “Well?” she mouthed. She gripped Alex’s arm.

“We’ve got the dots, the rising sun part, everything! Except I don’t know where we first saw Mr. Today. That day was so crazy. I remember the bus, and walking in and seeing the Eliminators,” he said, shuddering. “But the sight of them about put me into a coma. Everything after that is a little fuzzy, with Jim and the world swirling around. Was Mr. Today at the gate with Jim? Do you remember? Please say you do.” Alex pressed his lips together.

Meghan’s face grew thoughtful. She looked at the sky for a long moment as Alex tried not to rush her. Her brows knitted together, and she ran her finger over the thorns around her neck, as if that helped her concentrate. She closed her eyes
and let out a breath of impatience. Not only was it difficult for Meghan to think back to that frightening moment, but also it was so incredibly frustrating not being able to speak, especially when speaking was crucial to helping Alex get Artimé back.

She pictured the moment they’d shuffled into the Death Farm all shackled together. She saw the Eliminators coming toward the Unwanteds, their beady red eyes glowing, their black cloaks dragging on the ground as they walked. She remembered her heart pounding, her breath stopped in her lungs as she awaited the end. She remembered her surprise when the Eliminators stopped and turned to look at the sky, and then Jim landed. She remembered how agonizingly slowly he spoke when he called out for Mr. Today.

Meghan’s eyes flew open. She grabbed Alex’s and Sky’s arms and tugged at them to follow as she ran toward the gray shack, straight to the door that faced the gate, where Mr. Today had first appeared, his shock of brilliant white hair standing on end, his bright-colored robe, his gentle words.

When she reached the spot just outside the door, she stopped and pointed to the ground below her feet, and nodded.

“Here?” Alex asked. He scratched his head. “I thought he
came from the seaside door and walked the along the path around the shack.”

Meghan shook her head, her eyes flaring, her lips moving at great speed, scolding him without making a sound.

“Okay, okay,” Alex said. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” It was horrible to watch Meghan trying to ream him out and being unable to. It was worse than being reamed out the old way. But he didn’t have time to think about it now. He took a deep breath, attempting to remember the words and their order. “Ready, guys?”

Sky grabbed her head in frustration. She waved her arms, calling it off. Then she feigned putting on a . . . a coat?

Alex frowned, and then his face cleared. “Oh. Geez! The robe. I’m an idiot. Hold on a minute.” But Meghan held out her hands, telling him to stay put. She flung the door open and ran inside the shack. A moment later she was back with the robe. From the doorway, she made Alex twirl around so she could help him put the robe on. It was a bit too long, a bit too wide, but it draped nicely.

Alex took another deep breath as he looked first at Meghan to his right in the doorway, then at Sky on the other side of him. He nodded. “Ready.”

Sky nodded back, touched her finger to her temple and fluttered her fingers away from her head to remind him.

Alex felt faint. But he began nevertheless. “Imagine.” The word wavered a bit in his throat but it seemed clear enough, so he continued. “Believe.”

And then he paused. “No, wait. I need to start over.”

Repeat Times Three

M
eghan rolled her eyes. Sky raised a brow.

“I think I need to do more than say the words,” Alex explained. “I need to act them out in my head, like when I made the hospital wing. I bet that’s what Mr. Today did when he first created Artimé.”

So he closed his eyes and imagined Artimé, the way it had been, the way he wanted it to be again. His hands reached out to include the entire plot of land. “Imagine,” he said in a soft voice, picturing it all, room by room, the lawn with the fountains, the trees, the creatures. When he was certain he’d imagined it all, he went on.

“Believe.” He believed with all his heart that Artimé could exist again. Believed that when he was finished with the spell and he opened his eyes, it would be there.

“Whisper.” Alex imagined Mr. Today whispering these words over the desolate plot of land so many years ago, calling it to live a new, vibrant life, and he realized that he’d been whispering the words all along.

“Breathe.” Alex took in a deep, satisfying breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t forget it this time. He pictured himself breathing life into the world, giving it the air it needed to flourish once again.

And then: “Commence.” The command to make it all happen. The beginning of everything.

Alex waited a moment, and very nearly opened his eyes before he remembered the clue.
Utter in order, repeat times three.
Hoping he hadn’t messed anything up, he began the second round and went through the five words in order, all the while imagining, believing, whispering, breathing, and commencing with all his might.

When he finished the second round, he started one last time, his voice remaining soft. “Imagine. Believe. Whisper.
Breathe.” He hesitated, swallowing hard, before the last one. And finally: “Commence.”

Nothing happened. All was deathly silent.

Alex remained very still, eyes closed, arms outstretched, feeling a sort of calmness inside him that he hadn’t felt ever before. It almost seemed like he was beginning to float, peacefully alone in the world.

And then something
did
happen. The light through his closed lids grew pinkish-white, bright, and soon lights swirled around him, faster and faster, with colors joining in and growing stronger. He opened his eyes just as the land in front of him turned a luscious green and, with a great rumble, the enormous fountain broke through the ground, spewing up from the earth, the growing expanse of lawn rippling and resettling around it. The land spread farther, making Unwanteds along the shore lose their footing and tumble to the ground. Trees popped up to dot the lawn and form the jungle on the opposite side of Artimé. The gray shack spun and grew into the enormous mansion once again. The heat dissipated in an instant, and a cool breeze rushed in from the sea.

Alex gaped. “I did it,” he whispered. And then he yelled
at the top of his voice, “I did it!” He began to run toward the center of the lawn so he could see if all was in order as people along the shore sprang to their feet, annoyed at first, then their faces awash in joy. “I did it!” he screamed once more, his voice growing ragged. He gripped his head and stared all around.

The Artiméans jumped and danced, laughing and shouting the news to their friends, as if their friends weren’t seeing it just as they were. Dozens of them raced for the fountain and threw themselves in to celebrate, cool off, and quench their thirst. A number of Artiméans saw Alex standing in the center of Artimé, turning slowly, taking it all in. They surrounded him, hugging him and patting him on the back and lifting him in the air, praising and thanking him, all the frustration of the past weeks forgotten. Alex felt all the anxieties of the world wash away as a surge of joy rushed through him. “I did it,” he repeated softly as the crowd set him down and went on celebrating. “I actually did it.” He rubbed his eyes and slapped his own cheek to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and indeed, he had done it. Artimé was back, and everything was good.

Well, not quite everything. All around, reminders of things gone wrong pelted him again, and Alex knew he had other
extremely important things to tend to. He broke free from the crowd and ran smack into the biggest, hardest, movingest statue he’d ever run into. He reeled back, not quite catching himself before he fell to the grass. “Florence!” he cried out. He scrambled to his feet.

She looked about, bewildered at the commotion. “What on earth is happening? Are we under attack?”

“No—” Alex opened his mouth to tell her, having nearly forgotten that she and all the creatures and statues had no idea that Mr. Today was . . . gone. “Oh,” he said. A fresh wave of grief flooded through him alongside the rush of relief at Artimé’s grand return, and with so much emotion of so many kinds, the overwhelmingness of it all threatened to overflow from his body into a soggy mess at Alex’s feet. Tears formed and dripped from his eyes. “Find Sean or Mr. Appleblossom. Hurry.” It was all he could squeak out.

Florence, alarmed, nearly took a step toward Alex to comfort him, but the look on his face told her to do as he’d asked. “I will,” she said. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” She turned around just as the enormous pile of owlbats, beavops, rabbitkeys, squirrelicorns, and platyprots, all still propped
against the wall in the design of the spectacular towering ladder Sean had been building, began to wriggle and squeal. Alex turned to look too, just as the gigantic heap combusted into a hurricane of feathers, beaks, horns, and tails. The ones who could fly wriggled free and did so, while the ones who couldn’t fell like plump, squishy sacks, splatting to the ground, screeching and squealing and yipping, but unhurt. All the platyprots began imitating the noises of the others, so it sounded like three times as many creatures in an instant cacophony strong enough to make the Unwanteds nearby hit the dirt in fear.

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