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  “The voice in my head, it told me to do it.” She looked up at Wes, and there were tears in her eyes. “I tried to resist, but I couldn’t stop myself. I told you, I’m a monster. There’s something wrong with me, Wes. I gave it away. I gave away the stone.” Rage and ruin. Devastation. She was the catalyst, she was the key . . . What did she do? Had she given up hope? Had they turned her into something? Was this something they had programmed into her at MacArthur? But she couldn’t stop, had given up the stone as easily as a trinket, as if it were nothing. As if the Blue were nothing to her.

  She sunk to her knees. “There isn’t any hope. Everything will be lost. Just as Liannan said.”

  “Stop it! Let me think, okay? Just stop! Didn’t you hear what he said? They’re moving us.”

  “Only to another cage,” she said bitterly.

  Wes put a finger to his lips. “Hold on! Do you hear that? I think those are Alby’s engines. They must have fixed the old bird. Listen, I think this is it. This is our chance. Remember what you told me? About never giving up hope? We can still work with this.”

  “But how?”

  “No one’s going to die, and they won’t take the Blue.” He smiled.

  “You’re crazy,” she said. “Getting cocky again.”

  “If I am, it’s because I’m betting on you.”

  Part the Fifth

  INTO THE BLUE

  I’ll find the havens fair and free,

  and beaches of the Starlit Sea.

  J.R.R. TOLKIEN, BILBO’S LAST SONG: AT THE GREY HAVENS

  44

  “OKAY,” WES SAID, SHAKING NAT AWAKE in the morning. “You know what to do?”

  Nat blinked her eyes open. “Yeah.”

  “Tell me.”

  “They’re dropping us off at the other ship.”

  “And?”

  “They’ll be distracted, everyone will be out of their cages, and they’ll want to dump us as quickly as possible, which means they’ll let down their guard, hustling us out. When we see an opportunity, we need to take it.”

  Truly, it wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all he had. They had knocked out the strategy to the smallfolk as well. He only hoped that Shakes, Brendon, and Roark were still alive and on the Ear’s ship. He would need their help when it began. Wes felt better than he had in days; his color was high and he felt his blood pounding in his ears.

  “You love this,” she said to him, watching him prepare for battle, as he wound strips of cloth around his fists.

  “I won’t deny it.” He smiled. “We get out—and we beat them—or we die trying.”

  “But if I can’t . . . ,” she said. So much of his plan hinged upon her ability to use her power and she wasn’t sure she would be able to. She didn’t trust herself—she had given away the stone—she was worse than a monster. She was a traitor to her own kind.

  “You will. I know you will,” he said. “You won’t let me down.”

  * * *

  It was another miserable morning. Around noon, the prisoners were marched out of their cages and brought on the deck for another round of cruel amusements.

  “You, boy,” the fat pirate with the worst mean streak said, singling out a small child from his family. “Come here.”

  “Please no!” his mother cried. “No—take me instead—please!”

  “Take ’em both,” another suggested.

  “Why not?” the first one agreed. He looped a rope around each of their necks, making a noose. The other slavers brought out a bucket and a barrel for the mother and son to stand on. Then they tossed the other end of the ropes over one of the sails.

  A skinny pirate with a chipped tooth pointed to the father, whose mark was shining on his cheek. “See if ye can save ’em both, eh?”

  The fat pirate laughed. “See who ye love better.” Then he kicked both the bucket and the barrel and the wife and the boy were hoisted into the air, their legs kicking and their faces turning bright scarlet as they fought to breathe.

  “Save him!” the mother gasped. “Save our son!”

  The father of the boy held out his hand, so that his son floated higher than the rope around his neck, but the energy it required was killing him. And as he held his son from death, his wife began to lose consciousness, the noose cutting into her throat.

  Nat buried her head in Wes’s shirt, stifling a scream. Wes trembled with fury as he held her close.

  “Ear’s here—he’ll want them all alive! They’re no use to him dead!” a voice snarled; it was the first mate, and in quick succession both the boy and the mother were cut down from their gallows.

  The boy lived, but the woman did not respond, and both father and son were weeping over her lifeless body.

  “Get up, get up,” the fat pirate yelled, kicking at them. “Get ’em all out!” he screamed, ordering the rest of the prisoners lined up to board the Ear’s ship.

  The Van Gogh pulled up next to the Titan; the Ear’s crew amassed on its deck, awaiting its newest cargo. They had slaves on hand as well to help with the new prisoners. Wes was glad to see Shakes among the slaves. Alby was floating by the Van Gogh as well. They must have been using it as a scouting vessel, just as he had hoped. Maybe this plan would work after all. He caught Shakes’s eye and gave him a signal, the military code that meant “prepare for escape.”

  Shakes flashed two fingers to indicate he’d received it.

  Next to him, Nat squeezed his hand. “Remember our deal,” she said. I would rather die at your hands than at theirs.

  He shook his head. “It won’t come to that.”

  Nat looked over the row of prisoners waiting to board the Van Gogh, and spied Liannan’s sleek blond head among them. Wes had gone over the plan with her the night before as well. Liannan looked as beautiful as ever. Her eyes sparkled. She had seen Shakes on the other ship, alive.

  Brendon’s parents, Magda and Cadmael, were among the smallkind waiting to board. Magda had Brendon’s curly red hair and Cadmael shared Brendon’s shy smile. Nat hoped no harm would come to them.

  The wind started to howl and the two ships rocked unsteadily as the ocean kicked up black waves. The two slave ships were only twenty feet apart, but the water was too rough to pull the vessels closer. If they were roped together, the two ships would bump each other, and neither seemed sturdy enough for that.

  The Ear sent a smaller boat, two men on an outboard motor, from the Van Gogh to ferry the slaves from the Titan to his ship. When it arrived, Slob’s men threw a makeshift rope ladder down to the smaller craft. The slaves would have to climb down to the Ear’s ferry. Nat looked over the edge at the small metal boat as it bucked violently in the rough waters. This was not going to be an easy transfer.

  She was right.

  Hands bound, the first slave to attempt the ladder stumbled midway and then plunged headfirst into the dark waters. It took the two scavengers to pull him out and one nearly fell in. The Ear’s men called up to the Titan: “Unshackle them for the climb. If we don’t free their hands, we’ll lose half the slaves to the ocean.”

  Wes nodded to Nat. This is our chance. He’d counted on a little improvisation to get through this, but now he knew exactly what to do. It was just as he’d hoped.

  One of the brutes walked up to Nat, who was next in line, and removed her cuffs. As he turned the key, the slaver looked down at the ferryboat. “I’ll throw these shackles to you. As soon as she gets down there, we don’t want to leave these slaves unshack—”

  He never finished the sentence. Hands still cuffed, Wes rammed the guard from behind, and the pirate tumbled off the deck, almost smashing into the motorboat as he plunged into the water.

  The remaining slavers focused on Wes, drawing out their knives.

  “Nat!” Wes yelled. “Now!”

  45

  WES SWUNG AGAINST THE PIRATE HOLDING him, and a crowd of slavers fell upon him. Nat screamed, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t break the iron bonds holding the rest of the slaves back. Useless
. Useless. More slavers joined the fray—Wes was outnumbered—they would beat him until he was dead, make an example of it to the others.

  She tried to focus, but she was dizzy with fear and hunger. A pirate fired his gun, and there were more screams, more confusion. Children crying . . .

  The slavers were killing Wes . . . they were angry and would not stop until he stopped breathing . . .

  If she did nothing, they would kill him . . . She struggled as the pirates held her . . . she was weak . . . she was powerless . . . She heard Wes cry out in pain, and it was his voice that echoed in her head now. I think you have to embrace it. You can’t fight it. Don’t resist it. You have to accept who you are, Nat. Once you do, you can do anything you want. Or maybe, to tap into your power, all you need to do is think of me.

  She smiled at that for a moment.

  With all her strength she smashed every iron cuff that held every prisoner.

  In a moment, everything changed. Freed from their shackles, the slaves outnumbered their guards two to one.

  Without planning or coordination, the freed slaves took up a collective war cry as they went to work on their former tormentors. The marked sent steel crates flying through the air. Tools and buckets became weapons they sent directly at their guards. Daggers were used to stab their owners. A slaver’s gun exploded in his face. Another found an iron cage smashing him against the mast. The mighty steel pole in the middle of the ship flexed with an awful groan. A marked family stood below it—eyes closed, the life pouring from their bodies—as they bent the mast at its base. Eighty feet of steel crashed to the deck. Cages were smashed, the deck was torn apart, and Titan listed in the water. The slaves fought hard—they had nothing to lose.

  Their victory was short-lived. Bullets peppered the sky and Nat saw freed slaves stumble and cower as the scavengers aboard the Van Gogh began firing on the Titan. Smoke filled the air along with the sound of gunfire. A grenade exploded behind them, and the back half of the Titan roared into a mighty blaze.

  “This way!” Wes cried, pulling Nat up from where she had fallen. Liannan was behind him. “Shakes has the boat!” she told them.

  They ran toward the end of the deck. Wes stopped. Shakes, Roark, and Brendon were on board good old Alby with Farouk. Wes stopped short, glancing from Shakes to their former comrade.

  “It’s all right,” Shakes told Wes as he boarded. “Farouk was the one who helped us out of our cages.”

  There was no time for questions. Wes nodded to the boy and then turned to help Nat aboard.

  “Donnie—your family is here!” she said as soon as she saw the smallmen.

  “Where?” Brendon asked. “They’re alive?”

  “Yes, they were in the line with us—”

  “Come on!” Shakes was yelling, helping Liannan on board.

  Wes was at the helm; he started the engines and pushed the throttle to its limit.

  “We can’t just leave them!” Nat yelled, and she meant all of them, not just the Rimmels. The slavers had begun to retake control. They were running up and down the deck, executing prisoners one by one.

  Wes swung past the Van Gogh as they headed for open sea. The way was clear. They were safe. He glanced back at the slave ship. Avo had made it to the Van Gogh and had taken charge of the revolt. “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?” he screamed at the prisoners.

  “BACK IN YER CAGES! BACK IN YER CAGES!” a fat pirate bellowed as he fired into the air.

  “Wes!” Nat called.

  “I know, I know.”

  Wes turned the wheel hard and Alby groaned as it swung around in a tight arc to face the slave ship. The Titan was awash in fire, and its crew had followed Avo to the Van Gogh, where they now seemed to have the upper hand. Most of the pilgrims were in the Titan’s lifeboats, paddling or motoring as best they could to escape. The Ear’s scavengers, lined up along the bow, were taking shots at the unprotected lifeboats as they tried to escape.

  Wes had grown attached to Alby, but as he powered toward the slavers, he realized it might be the last weapon in his arsenal. Wes told his crew to hold on and then rammed the Van Gogh.

  There was enough smoke in the air that he caught most of the scavengers off guard when the two vessels collided. Wes just needed to buy time for the escaping slaves to get out beyond the range of the slavers’ guns. The ocean was thick with ice and trash—it wouldn’t take long for the small boats to find cover.

  When they collided, Alby’s bow made a temporary bridge between the two crafts. Wes leapt up onto the bow and boarded the slave ship, Nat and Shakes at his side, leaving the smallmen, Farouk, and Liannan behind. Half the scavengers were tossed overboard from the impact, and the rest were throwing ropes to their fallen comrades. Wes grabbed a pistol from the hand of a fallen slaver and pointed it at the men. Shakes and Nat followed.

  “Time to go for a swim, boys. You can paddle over to that raft of junk and hope some pilgrims find you.”

  Wes put a slug through the shoulder of the biggest scavenger, nicking a chunk of flesh from his arm. He’d survive, but the wound would smart for a few weeks. The slaver glared and began to climb down, followed by the last of his men. “You’ll be fine.” Wes smiled as he tossed the ropes overboard. His joking words hid his anger. He had to force himself not to fire on them again.

  Brendon’s parents were among the smallkind who had commandeered one of the small motorboats. They pulled up next to Wes’s ship.

  “Donnie! Donnie!” his mother cried.

  “I’m all right, Mum, come on, I’m okay.” Brendon laughed.

  “Take the lifeboat to the port of New Crete. My people will find you, and lead you home,” Liannan told them.

  “Right then, hop on board, boys,” Cadmael said.

  “We’re going with our crew,” Roark said.

  “Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll be right behind, I’m their new navigator,” Brendon shouted. “I can’t leave my ship.”

  “What!” his mother cried, but his father looked proud. “We’ll see you in Vallonis.” He nodded. “Magda, let’s go.”

  Roark and Brendon helped the rest of the team scramble back onto Alby. Nat stumbled as she fell on board, Shakes revved the engine, and the boat began to pull away.

  “Wait!” she cried. “Where’s Wes?” She turned to see Wes still on the deck of the Van Gogh. He’d stayed behind to make sure everyone got on board safely.

  “Shakes! Turn back!” Nat yelled. “Wes is still back there!”

  She saw Wes making a run to leap on board when someone grabbed him from behind and he fell back. Avo Hubik and a dozen other slavers surrounded him. Seeing Alby return, the pirates began firing on them, bullets whizzing through the air, pummeling the ship’s hull.

  Brendon yelped as a bullet grazed his arm, and another plugged Shakes in the shoulder. Wes’s crew tried to return fire, but they were badly outnumbered.

  “WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING? GO! GET OUT OF HERE!” Wes yelled, even as Avo held a gun to his temple.

  The slaver laughed. “Surrender, or I will make him eat his own fingers when I send him to the flesh markets.”

  Shakes hesitated and killed the engine, unsure what to do.

  “GET LOST! TAKE THE SHIP AND GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!” Wes screamed in fury, as the bullets continued to fly, one dangerously close to hitting Nat in the head. There was little cover on deck from the shower of gunfire.

  “We can’t save him,” Farouk said. If they stayed any longer, the slavers would overtake them, and they would be back where they began, but in worse circumstances. The slavers didn’t take too kindly to slaves who tried to escape.

  “No,” Shakes said. “No! We’re not leaving him.”

  “But we’ll all get captured.”

  “SURRENDER!” Avo screamed.

  “GO ON! MOVE, YOU IDIOTS!” Wes yelled again.

  That did it. Shakes tugged at the wheel and gunned the engine.

  Nat remained on deck, her eyes fixed on Wes, surrounded by slavers.


  “Bring the acid. Get him ready for the knives,” Avo ordered.

  Wes shook his head at her. “Remember our deal,” he mouthed.

  She knew what was in store for him. The flesh markets. The flaying. He would die slowly and horribly, as they skinned him alive, as they stripped the skin from his body; they would force him to experience every second of his own terrible death.

  Nat felt tears spring to her eyes. No. No.

  The slavers were upon him now. Three of them held him back as he stood on the deck, while another brought the bucket of acid to blind him, the beginning of the torture.

  Alby was pulling away as the slavers kept firing on the ship. Nat had only a moment to act, a moment to decide.

  Wes kept his eyes on her the whole time. “What did I say, Nat, I told you it wouldn’t come to this.” He smiled. There are worse things than getting shot, worse things in the world than dying quickly.

  She knew what he was asking her to do.

  But he was right. She wouldn’t let it come to this. There was a way she could save him and save them all.

  Nat grabbed a sidearm from one of the boys. She remembered what Liannan had said the other night. She could feel the otherworldly strength rushing through her spirit as she locked eyes with Wes.

  Her eyes filled with tears of hope.

  “Do it,” he mouthed. “Hurry.”

  The slaver held a bucket of acid over his head.

  There was no time and no other way to find out.

  Please, let this work. Please let them have been wrong about me.

  Then she shot Wes through the heart.

  46

  CHAOS EXPLODED ON THE DECK OF THE Van Gogh. Avo Hubik stared at the fallen body of Ryan Wesson as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. The slavers looked stunned, and the pirate holding the bucket of acid dropped it on his own foot, causing more confusion.