“We’ve all lit a candle for someone we love,” I continue, sweating from the continuous effort. “Well, I’ve lit this one for you, my fellow citizens! We’ll survive this, because we’re fighting for our homes and our families! We’ll attack the Mountain soldiers with everything we’ve got!”
And with the light in their eyes, I see hope reflected, and anything seems possible. It’s just for a second, though, and then the moment’s gone.
It’s not just because thousands of people are calling for our blood, either.
It’s because across the narrow field—even behind the thick fur wraps and full helmets—we can see the Mountain soldiers’ faces.
I can see the stony gray eyes from one small figure staring coldly at me from under dark fringe. And though that look says I’m less than nothing, and the young warrior with those eyes wouldn’t hesitate to swing a gleaming axe at my throat, I realize I can never fight against these soldiers, or ask my people to.
I let the smoking piece of drumstick thunk to the ground.
Because those eyes belong to Pearl Marie Neederman.
The Wizard King’s army is led by the City’s own kidnapped kids.
Chapter 75
Whit
CALM. JUST STAY CALM, I keep telling myself. But when the Wizard King’s black horse stalks past me and my dad, past Heath and Izbella, and stops in front of the metal cage where my sister is penned like bait… the idea of calm stops making sense.
“Is this for me?” the Wizard King asks, staring down at Wisty.
With his face striped in war paint, his head crowned in a circle of curving teeth, and his shoulders draped in layers of spotted fur, the King looks more like a monster than a man. I clench my fists and try to breathe.
“The witch is yours if you turn around now and return to the Mountain,” Bloom answers through the megaphone from his place at the back of the crowd.
My heart throbs inside my chest like a bird slamming into a window. “Don’t you touch her!” I yell.
The King’s milky-pale eyes flash threateningly. Those colorless orbs make a thousand men tremble, and could make another thousand die.
I should be up there, protecting my sister, but instead I breathe out through my nose, holding in the scream. I try to channel the intense energy into magic that could fight and release these chains, but…
Nothing. I’m powerless.
“My Kingdom is getting crowded with witches,” the King says. I glance at Izbella, but her expression doesn’t change. “How about we just accept your full surrender?”
“Why should we surrender?” Bloom challenges. He sounds a little too confident, even for him. “To live as slaves?”
The King grins, and his rotting teeth make his painted mask seem even more horrible. “Because if you don’t, you’ll all die within the hour, butchered where you stand.”
An anxious murmur ripples through the crowd. The people around me huddle closer, bracing for the attack, and I inch in front of my dad, trying to shield him.
Bloom is the only one who doesn’t seem rankled. “We know your secret,” he says smugly. “We’ve closed all the portals, and therefore the source of your magic is gone. You’re becoming weaker every moment!”
The King bursts into maniacal laughter. “Is that what you think? That my power comes from some other dimension? From the sky? Through holes in the ground?” Bloom looks around uncomfortably. “You of all people should know, Mr. Bloom: power comes from people.”
The Wizard King turns his horse and walks it back across the narrow strip of meadow in front of our front lines, his eyes cutting through the crowd.
“People of the City, listen to me. You can die today… or surrender and live happy lives in a beautiful Kingdom under a benevolent ruler!”
I can’t keep quiet any longer. Fighting the Wizard King’s child army is a horrible thought, but surrendering is even worse.
“He’s lying!” I shout to the City’s army, pointing across the field. “Look at the children—your children! He’s turned them into killers. Into soldiers and slaves!”
“Slavery doesn’t mean misery,” a boy soldier around ten says cheerfully. “Everyone has a role.”
“Each pair of hands makes us stronger!” a young girl adds, raising her club up over her head.
“The Mountain is the shiniest place in the world,” an earnest girl’s voice swears from the very front row, and my heart aches as I recognize it as Pearl Neederman’s. She had always loved sparkly things.
“It has a dark underworld,” I call to her. “Their armor hides festering cuts and terrible burns! The King is a monster!”
“No.” It’s Bloom’s voice, echoing through the megaphone. He’s surrounded by the Inner Circle members, a small mass of bodies elbowing its way forward through our rows. “The Wizard King tells the truth!”
I’m speechless. What is Bloom doing?
When they reach the front, the King scowls down on the group from atop his dark horse, and the Councilmen fall to their knees.
“The Inner Circle, acting in the best interests of all citizens, has chosen to accept these generous terms. We surrender our City to the Mountain.” It’s Bloom’s voice, but it’s not. It’s too… humble. The condescension is gone, and the arrogance. He’s not even clearing his throat.
This doesn’t make any sense.
It’s stunning enough to see Bloom bowing in complete deference. It’s maddening enough to see the Wizard King salivate at the anticipation of his quick and easy victory. But it’s completely enraging to then see Bloom do the unthinkable: he offers up The Book of Truths. Our sacred book. Our one guide toward our ultimate future.
And Bloom is supposed to protect it!
Some of the volunteer soldiers behind me start to shout, “Hail to the King!”
These are the same idiots who were insulting Wisty and me earlier. “What about hating magic?” I gape at them. “What about magicians being baby-stealing demons?”
But then the magicians start to surrender. My stomach plummets as I hear my very own father’s voice ring out through the crowd: “The Wizard King saves!”
No. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. A spineless surrender? The magicians in chains? We were supposed to lead our people to freedom!
“What’s going on?” Wisty screams as the rows of people start to push past her cage to merge with the Mountain army.
“I don’t know!” I dig my heels into the mud, but they’re shoving me from behind, and I’m dragged forward by my chains. “The whole world’s gone crazy!”
I stare at the kid soldiers’ dead eyes, and look around me with a growing realization. Not crazy. Brainwashed.
The King’s face paint, the leopard fur, the crown of teeth. It’s all for show. To attract attention.
To his eyes. Those terrifying eyes.
It’s more than brainwashing. He’s controlling their thoughts.
“Don’t look at the King!” I start yelling, but no one’s listening to me. It’s too late.
“We will be cleansed!” the masses shout in unison as the Wizard King cackles.
No. It can’t happen like this. No, no, no.
Then I remember: my sister knows how to control minds. It was part of how we defeated The One.
“He’s inside their heads, Wisty!” I yell. “Use your power!”
Chapter 76
Wisty
“ARE YOU INSANE?”I shout at Whit.
I broke inside The One’s thoughts, like, twice.
I barely knew what I was doing then, accessing a single mind that already wanted to connect with me. Now we’re talking about thousands of people already in the grip of a maniac I’ve never even met, and my power is weak—to say the least.
Bodies slam against the metal bars of my cage as the tide of people surges toward the King, and I flinch.
“Remember… the… candle!” my brother chokes out, just before he’s swept into the mass of crushing bodies.
I start to hyp
erventilate. It took almost everything I had to light that stupid drumstick, and for what? The Wizard King is taking over my entire City. He’s enslaving my parents, and his stampeding zombies are about to kill my brother.
How is this possible? In my wildest dreams, I never imagined our ultimate defeat being so pathetic. So inexplicable. We expected a noble death. Fire and brimstone, or bloody massacre, even some kind of spectacular magic horror show that only The One—or his father—could have dreamed up. Not this.
But what was the point of my drumstick vigil, anyway? Not to give up, even when it was hopeless—right, Wisty?
What else do I have to lose?
Just beyond my cage, the black stallion is flaring its nostrils and stamping its feet as the crowds swarm around it, but above it all, its cloaked rider is beaming.
I study the Wizard King intently. The thick furs hiding a small frame, the wrinkled fingers yanking the horse’s reins, the sinister smile quivering with greed… I try to understand it all, to connect to it and channel my fear and panic into a hot ball of hate.
Then his milky eyes flick over me—now!—and I bore deep into that emptiness, tapping into the screwed-up messages he’s pushing into the spellbound citizens: I am nothing. I am no one. I want to be clean.
I try to grasp at the thoughts, turn them around inside my head to set them free. But there are too many. I’m too out of practice, and the power keeps slipping away, just out of my reach.
“Very good, Wisteria,” the Wizard King snarls suddenly. “Eye contact is key. Unfortunately for you, I’ve had a little more practice at this.”
His strange, pale eyes seem to glow inside their sockets, almost floating in the garishly painted face. He’s right—though I’m aware of his hypnotic power, I still can’t look away.
“I warned you to stay away from my son.” It’s Izbella now. She’s all the way on the other side of the field, but I hear her voice. Inside my head.
She’s helping him.
I realize it a second too late, though—I’m already gripped in their combined power.
“I haven’t done anything!” I protest out loud. “I never wanted to see Heath again!”
“Well, he can’t seem to stay away from you,” a warped voice hisses as the eyes flash. “And I’m afraid that’s too much of a liability.”
A terrible, high-pitched sound fills the world then, and my head is being crushed by a vise of pain. I try to bring my hands up to my ears in the narrow cage, but the ringing is inside my brain anyway, probing into me like a needle.
I smash my head to the side, over and over, trying to kill the wail. Blood bursts out of my ear as it connects with one of the spikes, but all I can think is that I want the awful noise to stop.
Then I stop thinking completely. I can’t. I’m just screaming. Wordless, thoughtless, raw.
“Stop it!” a voice is yelling, and though it sounds a million miles away from the scream in my brain, I know one thing immediately. It’s Heath’s voice. “Mother! You said she wouldn’t be harmed!”
More distant shouting, a female voice. But the only sound that cuts through the pain is his. Heath’s.
“Mother! I command you! If you kill her, you kill me!”
And then… it stops.
I hear the clang of metal as the chains fall from my wrists and the walls of the cage collapse. It’s like a dam breaking, and my magic surges full force through my entire being. The black horse rears as my fingers spark, and for a moment the Wizard King and Izbella lose their connection.
I rub the raw skin of my wrists and look up at the icy old clown and the frosty feathered witch who almost killed me.
I’ll destroy them both.
“Wisty, no!”
I whirl around on Heath. I knew it. I narrow my eyes, ready to blow him away with the rest.
“They’re too strong together,” he explains, holding up his hands. “You’ll never beat them alone, Wisty. Let me help you—please!”
My head is still swimming as I struggle to understand what’s going on. Heath came here to fight on the side of the Mountain….
So why is he saving me?
Panicked and confused, I look around for my brother. But he’s lost in the chained crowd—a crowd that’s already closing in on us at the King’s command.
“You need me!” Heath insists. “Together, we’re the only thing that can stop them!”
Izbella said we’re a liability, I think. I like that.
I reach for Heath’s hand.
Chapter 77
Wisty
THE MOMENT OUR fingertips meet, it’s electric.
Forget the portals—we’re pulling energy from everywhere. From the people. From the ground. From the air all around us.
It builds, hotter and hotter, and then our power bursts out of us. There’s a loud clap as it clashes with whatever toxic vibes the King’s putting out, and the midday sky flashes to a white so bright you have to shield your eyes.
The horses pace in wild-eyed terror, and the leopards’ fur stands on end. Axes and swords are clattering to the ground.
The King is already starting to lose control!
I’m pulling, pulling, pulling at the enslaved thoughts of the Mountain soldiers, and it’s the strangest sensation of double vision. As I watch one kid’s eyes roll back into his head, my inner eye sees the circuits inside his gray brain starting to light and fire. And when the boy’s eyes snap back to me, they’re clearer somehow—conscious.
The Wizard King’s face is so twisted with concentration now that his war paint is starting to crack, but he’s getting weaker.
And we’re getting stronger. Power comes from the people.
My heart thuds, my body shakes, and the heat generating between me and Heath is pure, liquid lava flowing through my veins.
I’m light-headed with lust.
I’m drunk with strength.
Superhuman.
How did I ever think I could give this up?
Our influence moves through the ranks, rolling outward in waves on both sides of the field now. As the magicians’ chains snap open and snake away from them, I squeeze Heath’s hand.
We’re actually freeing them!
All around us, people push and stumble and cover their heads, gasping in blind confusion as they wake up from the trance, lost in the middle of what must seem like all-out war.
Then there’s a crackle, and the sky goes dim, like the whole world’s shorting out. I hear the voices start to buzz all around me. Inside me. Louder and louder: Kill the King.
What’s going on?
The kid in the front row locks eyes with me. I see the deadness there again and I know: he’s not really free. We’re controlling him now.
No—Heath is controlling them. Using my power.
I just wanted to free them!
“No!” I plead. “Not like this.”
But Heath grips my hand tighter, and my head hums louder and louder with the murderous thoughts of an entire, brainwashed army.
Kill him, kill him. Kill the Wizard King.
My neck’s straining, my toes are clenching, and the veins in my arms are standing out as I struggle to rein in Heath’s murderous energy.
But it’s taking over.
The King’s scream pierces through the cacophony of noise. Heath’s soldiers pull him off his horse, and I can see how thin and wrinkled he really is as the furs fall away from his shoulders. How old. His bony arms clutch at his ears, and his long, yellowed beard drags in the dirt.
The King is convulsing on the ground as our dutiful citizens beat him.
This isn’t what I want. Not at all! I feel like there’s a train barreling right through the center of me, and half of it has jumped the track. If I don’t stop this now, we’ll all go up in flames.
“I said no!” I shriek, finally leaping back and ripping my arm away from Heath. When the connection breaks, there’s an explosion of sparks, and unbelievably, it singes my hand.
I don’t even know
what to say. I scowl at Heath, clenching my fingers against the swell of pain, and he glowers right back.
“What’s the matter, can’t finish the job?” the Wizard King sneers up at Heath. “For a moment there, I almost respected you, but I should’ve known better. You always were such a disappointment, a disgustingly oversensitive and pathetic little child, sniveling to your mother and wetting the bed.”
“You tortured me!” Heath shouts, and I’m shocked to see his eyes welling with tears. “You made me feed my friends to the leopards!”
“I see it didn’t toughen up your delicate sensibilities.” The King is still kneeling in the dirt, but from the tight look on Heath’s face, he could be towering above us.
Heath presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Wisty and I are in love. Do you even know what that means, Grandfather?”
Do I love him? I thought I did, once. I wanted to believe it again when he freed me and took my hand. But that hand is blistering right now.
“Our love means you can’t touch me anymore!” Heath says to the King defiantly. “It means I’m stronger than you’ll ever be. It means this is my army now. My City!”
“Yours?” the Wizard King echoes, and spit flies into his beard. “Don’t you mean hers?” He points a bony finger up at me, then smirks back at Heath. “You really think you have any power at all? Even your idiot father saw how worthless you were.” The old man’s eyes flash with glee. “Tell me, what did it feel like?” he taunts.
My connection with Heath must still be strong, because at the mention of The One, I feel the hurt blooming huge and raw inside me—a small echo of what Heath is feeling. His father always hated him. The One couldn’t love.
I squeeze Heath’s arm supportively, and even through the leather jacket, I can feel him trembling. His sanity is stretched like a rubber band, his anger winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap.
“Enough!” I warn.
But the Wizard King won’t let it rest. “What’s it like to be such a sad, weak little nothing that The One Who Is The One chose some City witch over you, his own son?”
That does it. Heath lets out an enraged scream and leaps at his grandfather, seizing the old man’s head with two hands. Crushing the temples, trembling with the pressure he’s driving through the King’s skull.
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