Page 22 of The Infinite Glade
“Don’t let me catch you again, you Hollowing heathen!” Erros threw a piece of wood at the bushes where the figure had disappeared.
“What the hell just happened here?” Old Man Frypan asked.
“Hollowers. That one was solo, but some travel in groups.” Cian wiped the sweat off his forehead with his red scarf. “We should have killed that one and sent a message, you know.” He directed that at his brother.
Erros shrugged. “Eh, I don’t kill people on the full moon. It’s bad luck.”
Jackie and Ximena looked up at the moon. It was pretty full. Isaac took the opportunity to hand Frypan Minho’s knife on which he’d fallen.
“Here. Just in case there’s another one.” He acted like he merely wanted Frypan to be able to protect himself, too. But really, Isaac was frustrated that he’d stabbed himself, and was scared he’d just do it again. A soldier he was not. He felt like a worthless idiot.
“No, you hold on to it.” Frypan handed it back to him but Isaac insisted. Cian and Erros were still trying to catch their breath and Ximena looked just as stunned as Jackie about the weird, cloaked figure.
“No, you’ll take better care of it.” Isaac lifted his pant leg and showed Frypan the gash that the Orphan’s knife left him.
“Isaac, you gotta be more careful,” Jackie said, just like Sadina would have if she were there.
“I’m fine,” he said, but noticed that even Ximena looked worried. “Seriously, I’m fine.”
As if realizing she’d shown weakness, Ximena waved him off like she didn’t care. “Foolishness. This is all foolishness.” She walked right up to Cian with her hand on her knife. “You’re the trickster, and your lies end here.” She was practically stepping on the man’s boots but Isaac doubted Cian felt threatened by her—Ximena only came up to his shoulders.
“Look, believe it or don’t. Those Hollowers are everywhere . . .” Cian walked around Ximena as if she were a statue and set his bow down by the fire.
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” Her voice grew louder. “We’ve seen enough Cranks, half-Cranks, and other crazies to last ten lifetimes. The Cure is the real issue. Whois it really for?”
Isaac’s heart fell into his gut like a kayak dropping down a waterfall. He didn’t like this notion of the Godhead not being real or the Cure not being a cure. For one thing it meant that Sadina could be in real danger. He needed Sadina to be okay.
“What are you saying . . . the Cure’s for everyone?” he asked. “Right?” He was embarrassed by his effort to show hope. Looking at Jackie and Old Man Frypan, he added, “We came here to save everyone . . .”
Cian shook his head at Erros. “You realize what telling them will do . . .” He sat back down and looked at Old Man Frypan. “Look . . .” he started, but then silence floated between the space around the fire for two whole breaths.
In and out. Like the tide moving in and out at Stone Point back home. The caves would fill up, more water in which to swim, depending on the time of day. He used to be afraid to jump off the cliffs back home, always shrinking down to be something less because he felt like less. But right then he’d do anything in the world to make it back there and dive head first into the ocean.
Cian nodded slowly and Erros rubbed his forehead while his brother spoke. “WICKED was good . . . good at thinking of everything.” He let out a sigh and walked away from the fire. “You want to tell them, fine. I’m not going to be responsible for it.”
Erros followed him into the shadows of the trees.
Isaac could barely hear their argument until Cian shouted something about Frypan’s mind getting wiped clean. “But WICKED . . . WICKED did good things in the long run . . .” He stood up, a little wobbly. “Right?” he asked Frypan.
“WICKED is good enough . . .” the Glader of old muttered, and hearing Frypan say it comforted Isaac. Like a piece of home was with him. “And if they did in fact destroy it, whatever that means, then I don’t really know what that means, either.” He spat next to his seat with disgust, something Isaac had never really seen him do before.
Erros came back and tossed more wood into the flames. “Okay, here’s the deal. The formation of people from the Post Flare Coalition who?—”
Cian cut his little brother off. “He won’t get it.”
“I know who created WICKED.” Old Man Frypan’s jaw tightened as he spoke. “We know about the Post Flare Coalition! What right did you have to destroy anything?”
Isaac had only seen Frypan upset one time, back on the island when a tribute to the Gladers of Old got interrupted by some younger kids goofing off during the ceremony.
“WICKED was good enough,” Frypan said again with a stronger voice. “The Island of Immunes. Ava Paige did that . . . she saved everyone she could so that we all could be here now.”
“Yeah,” Jackie said.
Isaac didn’t know what to add. The pain of his calf muscle hurt like hell and made all the voices around him . . . wonky-bonky, as Trish would say.
Erros tried again. “The remnants. The forgotten . . . call them whatever you want, but there are people who were?—”
Cian cut him off again. “They don’t need to know all that, Erros.”
