Until the Beginning (22 page)

WE MOVE OUT OF THE GARAGE TOWARD THE BATTLE
, and I can’t distinguish between the clan members and the army guys, with the animals just blurs of movement in their midst. In the dark and the driving rain, the mixture of fur, camouflage, and mud make it hard to see anything at all.

“Do we shoot to kill?” yells Kenai.

“No,” calls Juneau, strapping the belt Nome hands her around her waist, and holstering her bowie knife. “Shoot to maim.”

“But, Juneau, these are the guys who killed our dogs. Kidnapped us. Kept us imprisoned,” shouts Kenai above the noise.

“Shoot to maim!” Juneau repeats.

“They’re probably wearing Kevlar,” I shout at her.

All three turn to look at me with blank expressions. I guess
Kevlar’s not in the EB. “Bulletproof vests,” I say. “It’ll be covering their chests and backs.”

“Okay,” yells Juneau. “Then aim for the arms and legs, Kenai. Nome, slingshot to the faces.” And they’re off, Juneau with her crossbow, Kenai with a powerful-looking mini-bow and arrows, and Nome with a slingshot and some sharp-looking rocks.

Seeing Juneau and her friends fight is like watching some crazy ninja film where everything is choreographed. It’s like they’re one person—every move is synchronized with the others.

I lag behind, not daring to fire. I’m scared I’m going to hurt someone on our side. I don’t know how Juneau and her friends are doing it, but out of the darkness I hear yells and screams of pain as they pick off one guard after another.

Not far away from me, a one-on-one battle rages between one of Avery’s guards and a big guy who was introduced to me back at the camp as Cordova. The guard must have run out of ammunition because he’s using the gun like a club, warding off the knife-wielding hunter. Meanwhile, a cougar-looking cat paces back and forth behind the guard, as if waiting for its turn to fight.

And then it dawns on me. The animals are actually fighting
with
the clan.

But that doesn’t make any sense. Juneau told me about one of her clanspeople being killed by a bear—they kept one gun in case of animal attack. The clan can Read animals. But the only influence over them I’ve heard her speak about is her and Whit’s recently discovered ability to direct Poe to one place or another.

Something has changed. It seems like nature is on our side
today. And a strange thought comes to mind. Maybe nature
has
come to the rescue. Not nature, but Nature with a capitol
N
. As in Gaia. The torrential rain and wind, just as the clan’s attack began. The animals joining in the fight. Maybe Gaia not only exists, but this superorganism thing that Juneau keeps talking about might just have a will. And a means to execute it.

Both guys fall back for a second. I take that chance to lift my crossbow and aim low at the guard, shooting to maim, like Juneau said. It’s hard to see clearly, but I focus and exhale and shoot.

For a split second nothing happens, and then the guard drops his gun and falls to the ground, holding his leg in his hands. The cougar pounces, landing in a sprawl on the guard’s back, and goes directly for his neck. It whips its head back and forth with a force that reminds me of my mom’s cat with its prey, trying to break its neck. The poor chipmunk never had a chance. And neither does the guard.

Cordova leans forward, hands on his knees, trying to stay upright. Looking at me, he nods his thanks, and then collapses to the ground. I throw my crossbow over my back and run for him. “Are you hurt?” I ask, as I sling his arm across my shoulders and help him back to his feet.

“Bullet,” he groans, and lifts a hand he’s pressing to his side to show oozing blood washing away in the rain.

“Let’s get inside,” I say, and half carry him to the garage, where the doctor’s dark sedan is just starting to back up. I sit Cordova down where the Hummer used to be and walk over to the car. The windows are completely steamed up and the doctor’s sticking
his head out the driver’s side in order to see.

I bend down and knock on the half-open passenger window. “I’ve got a patient for you,” I say.

“Go to hell,” the doctor yells.

I raise my crossbow and stick it through the window. “I said, I’ve got a patient for you,” I state. The doctor turns and sees me and sticks his hands in the air. “Turn the car off,” I order, “and hand me the keys.” The doctor quickly obeys my command. “Now get out of the car and come take care of this gunshot wound. I’ll give you your keys back as soon as our man is stable.”

Juneau runs in out of the rain. “I saw you come in with Cordova. Is he okay?” she asks breathlessly.

“I’m fine,” Cordova says, lying flat on the ground. “It’ll take more than a bullet in the side to send me back to Gaia.”

The doctor pops his trunk, gets a first aid kit out of the back, and begins to work on the wounded man.

From where it’s parked at the side of the garage, the ATV starts up with a roar. Without turning its lights on, it backs up and parks right next to us. One of my father’s security men is behind the wheel, the other in the passenger seat, and in the back are my dad and Whit. Juneau’s old mentor opens the door and steps down into the shelter of the garage.

He waves his arm toward the backseat and says, “Get in, Juneau.”

“You’re more delusional than I imagined if you think I’d ever come with you,” she replies, and reaches backward for her crossbow. But before she can grasp it, Dad’s guard swings a gun out
the window. “The man told you to get in,” he grunts, and aims the barrel at Juneau’s head.

“Hey!” I yell, and make a lunge toward Juneau, but she holds a hand out to stop me.

“Drop your weapon,” the man insists.

Juneau unstraps her crossbow and lays it on the ground at her feet. Her eyes never leaving the guard’s, she carefully stands and folds her arms over her chest.

“Go ahead,” she says. “Shoot me.”

“NO NEED FOR HISTRIONICS,” WHIT SAYS, QUICKLY
stepping between the gun and me. “Just let me talk to her for a second.”

“Fine,” Mr. Blackwell says sarcastically. “It’s a bloodbath out there, but really, Mr. Graves, take your time.”

Whit ignores him and, taking my hand, says, “Juneau, we have to talk.”

I try to pull it back, but he’s got a viselike grip on me. He shoots Miles an annoyed look, and then peers outside where the torrential rain has abruptly stopped, and the noises of warfare are suddenly audible. “Juneau. Come outside and talk to me just for a second. At least say good-bye.” And he gives me a sad smile that reminds me of all of the gifts he’s ever given me, of the care he took in teaching me, of the last twelve years he’s
spent preparing me for my role.

“Okay, I’ll talk. But, Miles, keep your crossbow trained on Whit, and shoot at my signal.”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence, my dear,” Whit says, looking ruffled. He lets go of my arm, and I follow him outside to stand a few yards to the side of the garage, away from the fighting. Miles trails behind us, leans against the garage’s outer wall, and aims his crossbow at Whit’s back.

Whit stands close to me and speaks earnestly. “Juneau, we need you,” he pleads.

“You need my blood,” I respond.

“Yes, we do. But it’s not only I who will profit from it—the whole clan will be rewarded lavishly, as I’ve tried so hard to explain to you.”

“Whit, once the clan is safely out of here, my duty toward them has ended.”

“How can you say that?” Whit says, truly surprised. “The clan is your family. Your world.”

“My world is deceitful. My world decided for me how I was supposed to think. And I’ve pretty much had it with being manipulated. Once we’re safely out of here, I’m gone.”

Whit covers his eyes and exhales deeply. Then he drops his hands and shakes his head. “When it was decided that your mother would be my successor, I knew she would be as powerful a Sage as I had become. We were equals in so many ways.

“But right from the very start, you outshone her. Your gifts were as powerful at five years old as hers were at forty-five. And
although her death was tragic, she left you behind to follow what she started. To one day lead the clan.

“Your mother was so proud of you, Juneau. And she would be even prouder if she knew what you were capable of today. You don’t understand how important you are. You have the ability to change humanity.”

Whit’s words are like honey to me. He knows just what buttons to push to make me jump through his hoop. Or at least, he used to. But there is something that is nagging at me, an itch that’s just out of reach. I go over the last few minutes in my mind. There’s something wrong with what Whit said. And then it occurs to me, and it’s like I’ve been punched hard in the stomach. All of my breath is gone. I just stare at Whit, my eyes bugging out of my head.

“What?” he asks, looking concerned.

I close my eyes, and press my hand against my heart as I try to breathe. “You just told me that it was decided that my mom would succeed you. But every time you’ve told me this story before, you told me that you chose her to be your successor.”

“Well, it’s the same thing really,” Whit explains quickly.

“No!” I say, cutting him off. “It’s not the same. Who decided my mom would succeed you?”

“Well, the elders decided that it was better for power to be alternated instead of being in one person’s hands. Your mother, as the only other Conjurer, was the obvious choice to follow me as Sage until you came of age.”

“Whit, that’s not at all the same thing. My mother was going
to replace you.” My thoughts are a puzzle, all of its pieces falling together. “And you didn’t like that, did you? She tested my blood before she died. You knew then that I could take her place and Amrit could still be made. What would have happened if she had become Sage? Would you have lost your opportunity to go out into the world? To sell the Amrit that she believed was better hidden from the rest of humanity?

“However, if I became Sage, after all of your tutelage, you knew I would be loyal to you. That I wouldn’t go against what you wanted . . . to sell Amrit. You didn’t do it for the money. Or for the clan. You did it for yourself. For the fame. I know you, Whit. Ensuring that your name would go down in history—that all of those old academic colleagues you always talked about who thought you were crazy would put you on a pedestal—that would be worth more to you, Whit, than any fortune Amrit could bring you.”

Whit’s eye has started twitching, and the look on his face says that he wants to shut me up.

“You killed my mom, Whit. Didn’t you?”

When he speaks, his voice is low and menacing. “I had nothing to do with your mother’s death, Juneau.”

I study his face. Take a good long look to interpret his features, like he taught me to. “No, you didn’t kill her. But you Read that she would die. No one would have thought to Read into the future for her death . . . there was no reason for anyone to think about it. Except you. You sought for anything that might harm her in the coming years. You Read it, and you did nothing to prevent it.” I watch his expression and know I am right.

Whit’s face contorts into a mask of fury. “That doesn’t matter now!” he screams. He grabs my shoulders and starts shaking me. “I trained you, Juneau. Everything you know . . . everything you can do is because of me. You are mine. And you are coming with me right now.” He grabs me by the arm and starts dragging me toward the car.

With a keening screech, Poe flies down out of nowhere and dive-bombs Whit’s head. Whit drops my hand, and starts swatting the attacking bird away. And then he lets out a shriek and falls to the ground.

A crossbow bolt sticks out of the arm he was dragging me with, and Whit is clawing at it, trying to pull it out. I leap on top of him, knocking him flat on his back, and pinning his shoulders to the ground. Unsheathing my knife, I hold it beneath his chin.

“You let my mom die. You manipulated me. You betrayed our clan.”

“Juneau, I did everything for your good, and the good of our people, I swear,” Whit says, clenching his teeth in pain. Angry red scratches from Poe’s talons crisscross his face, and the stitches in his forehead have torn. The wound from the crash is once again bleeding.

“Liar,” I yell. There is a rumbling noise coming from the direction of the forest. A noise that I recognize. I look up and see a shape lumbering toward us in the dark, and I tighten my hold on the knife, grazing the skin under Whit’s chin and watching the trickle of blood run down his neck.

Whit’s eyes narrow. “What are you going to do, Juneau? Kill
me? Are you going to go against everything you’ve ever learned and murder a defenseless human being?” He is spitting out the words, daring me to do what he thinks I’m not capable of.
He’s right
, I think. With that realization, I make a decision. I’m leaving his fate up to Gaia. I loosen my hold on him, and stand up, straddling his body with my legs.

He stares up at me, victory written on his face. I begin to walk away.

“I knew you couldn’t do it,” he yells.

“I’m doing what I think is fair,” I say. “You didn’t kill my mom, but you let her die. I’m just returning the favor.”

Whit stares at me, confused, and then follows my gaze as I look behind him. He has time to scream once before the bear is upon him.

I turn and head toward Miles, who is coming across the lawn toward me, crossbow in hand. Tears are streaming down my face, and Miles takes me in his arms and holds me tight.

The car starts up with a roar of the engine, and reverses over the grass toward us, kicking up clods of mud as it comes. Mr. Blackwell’s face is illuminated by the interior light, and is twisted in rage.

“Your dad,” I yell. “He’s coming back for us!”

Miles whips around to look, just as a volley of gunfire blows out the car’s windows, and hits one guard who slumps, motionless, out of the passenger window. “Get us the hell out of here!” I hear Mr. Blackwell bellow. The car slams into gear, and Miles and I watch in shock as it speeds away from us. As it passes the
house on its way out of the compound, its headlights illuminate the fountain, next to which Hunt Avery lies, writhing on the ground.

He holds one leg with both hands—his paper pants are soaked with rain and blood and have half disintegrated. He meets my gaze and yells, “Help me!”

I pull back from Miles and watch as Avery holds up both hands. “I swear, I’m unarmed,” he yells, and groans pitifully. None of his men are anywhere nearby.

I look at Miles, gauging his reaction. “Let him bleed out,” he says, stone-faced. I say nothing. He looks back at the pitiful spectacle and then back at me. “Ugh. We have to help him, don’t we?” he asks. I nod and we begin walking toward him.

“Okay,” Miles says as we approach, “we’re going to help move you to the garage, where your doctor is tending the wounded.” He positions himself near Avery’s head and sets our two crossbows on the ground, while I lean down to grab the injured man’s feet.

“That’s not going to happen, because I’m the one giving orders here,” Avery says, and digging a gun from beneath himself, points it at Miles’s head. I reach automatically for my knife, but Avery sees me and, cocking the trigger, says, “Drop it.”

I let the knife fall, and copying Miles, hold my hands in the air and back away. Avery presses himself against the side of the fountain, and inches up to a standing position, keeping the gun directed at Miles’s face. “You two are going to help me over to those cars over there and get me the hell out of here,” he says, gesturing to the garage.

From my left, I hear a familiar sparrow call and, without moving, shift my eyes to see Nome crouching behind a nearby boulder, just out of Avery’s sight. Amid all the chaos, she’s the only one who’s spotted what’s happening. I cock my head in Avery’s direction, prompting her to shoot him. But Nome holds up her slingshot and pouch, and shakes it to show me it’s empty.

She points to her eyes, and then away, indicating that she’s going to make a run for it to get backup. I shake my head. If she leaves her hiding place, Avery will see her and could shoot Miles.

As I rack my mind for a solution, I instinctively reach toward my neck to finger my opal like I used to in times of distress.
It’s gone
, I remember. And then I freeze.

I watch Avery put one arm around Miles’s shoulder and shift his support from the fountain, training the gun on Miles’s head. Avery shouts to me, “Miss Newhaven!” and I move toward him as if to give my assistance. For a fraction of a second, he lowers the gun to stretch his arm around me, but it’s all the time I need.

I reach into my back pocket, pull out my opal, and throw it toward the rock where Nome is hiding. She stands, catches it, and in one smooth movement, cradles it in her slingshot, pulls the band back, and fires. Avery screams and, dropping the gun, falls backward, tripping over the edge of the fountain into the water. He rises, flailing in the water, as blood spurts from where the gemstone is lodged deep in his eye socket. Then, just as suddenly, he collapses and falls face-first into dark water. His body pops up like a cork and he floats facedown as a cloud of red forms around his head.