Page 8 of The Infinite Glade (The Maze Cutter #3)

CHAPTER FOUR

War Games

M inho walked behind Alexandra, constantly checking for movement in all directions. Neither of them spoke as they made their way back to the coast, and it wasn’t until they finally turned the bend to see the Maze Cutter that Minho relaxed.

“ That’s the ship?” she asked.

“Yeah.” With every step closer he could better see Dominic, Roxy, Trish, everyone already on board.

“It’s too big. We’ll have trouble in the inlets. There’re too many rocks and plenty of places where the water isn’t very deep. We need a small fisherman’s boat, or a canoe?—”

“A canoe?” Minho scoffed. “How do you expect us all to fit in a canoe?”

Alexandra paused, her eye catching Sadina atop the ship.

It was clear to Minho that she didn’t care about anyone but herself and Sadina.

The Orphan named Minho didn’t understand the reason she cared so much about Sadina and her family, because he didn’t yet completely understand the inner-workings of families.

But he understood why she didn’t care about the others.

The Goddess was selfish. Plain and simple.

“Fine, we can use the Berg.” He’d been wanting to fly one again anyway.

“You’re crazy.” She sighed. “That Berg crashed if you couldn’t tell. A fuel leak. You didn’t smell it? The smoke’s already gotten to you then.”

No, he didn’t smell any fuel back there, and he’d looked at every inch of the Berg through his binoculars. There were no dents, nothing that showed a crash, new or old.

“Okay, if you don’t want to use the Berg then we’re traveling on the Maze Cutter .

” All the while, he’d led Alexandra to the steps of the plank, ready to board the ship.

She hesitated, mumbling random numbers. “Unless you have another chariot somewhere?” He turned to her just in time to see her roll her eyes at him before stepping aboard.

“Hey, you’re back!” Roxy greeted Alexandra with an unreturned smile. “Hello, son.” Her face showed relief and a slight sternness, as he imagined mother’s sometimes did. “Don’t do that again.” She hugged him.

Miyoko came up to them. “Minho, Alexandra . . .” She sounded surprised. Or worried. Or mad. Minho sometimes couldn’t tell the difference between all these islanders’ constant emotions.

“Where’d you go?” Dominic asked.

“I wanted to make sure she was okay. There’re all sorts of half-Cranks and downed Bergs out here to be wary of.” He didn’t trust the others enough to tell them what he saw. Except Orange . . . she might believe him.

“You good . . . ?” Orange asked, eyeing Minho’s fingers lingering on the trigger of his gun.

Soldiers had an unspoken bond. An unspoken language. He nodded to Orange and the rest of the group, maintaining his hand on the weapon so she’d know from his active stance that he wasn’t ‘good’ . . . especially with the Godhead.

“Wait, did you say Berg?” Dominic’s shoulder bumped into Minho’s. “You mean we can fly out of here? Why didn’t you start with the good news?”

“Bergs? Out here? You’re crazy. Absolutely mad.” Alexandra quickly smiled and tilted her head enough to look Minho right in the eyes.

He stared back at the lying, murderous, Godhead.

He knew without a doubt that she couldn’t be trusted. Not because he watched her suffocate someone with her cloak. Minho had killed dozens of people. But she lied about something that didn’t need to be a lie. “Really? You didn’t see a Berg in the field?” Minho pressed.

She chuckled. “Oh, perhaps the smoke has gotten to your eyes,” the God-less Goddess said.

“Would you like my cloak to wipe them?” She offered the same corner of her cloak that she’d used to choke the pilot of the Berg and Minho watched as Trish, Miyoko, and Sadina laughed at the exchange.

He certainly didn’t yet understand all the emotions of the islanders, especially laughter—but this didn’t feel like a very appropriate time to do it.

Minho looked to Orange, his finger still on the trigger of the gun at his side.

She squinted and turned her head just slightly before nodding.

They’d been trained in such slight movements and signals.

The laughter confused Minho—it had to be Alexandra’s propaganda tactic.

Her ways of manipulation were different from those of the Remnant Nation, but unique all the same.

He’d keep studying the so-called Godhead to learn what he could, because he had learned something new .

. . laughter had the power to cover a lie.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Dominic said as he put a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “Let’s get this ship out of here, shall we?” He stepped through the small cabin door, then up to the captain’s wheel. “What do you need me to do?” he shouted back.

Minho appreciated this kid. “Let’s check the rudder first. The Goddess said it’ll be a smooth trip, deep ocean and all that, but just in case she’s wrong, I want to make sure the repairs we did will hold together enough to get us through.”

Alexandra might have been well skilled in war games and tiny manipulations.

But so was Minho.

He almost wished the two strangers with crossbows aimed at his face were Cranks.

Sure, full-blown Cranks were absolutely mad and dangerous, but Isaac didn’t feel bad ushering them to their fated death.

These two random people could be someone’s son, husband, father, and Isaac couldn’t hurt anyone’s father.

He wished Minho and Orange were there to take them both out.

One of the men waved his crossbow back and forth, at Jackie, then at Isaac, and then back again at Jackie. The other guy, the one with the red scarf, was less jittery about threatening Ximena and Old Man Frypan, looking like he’d have no problem killing a defenseless old man and a young girl.

“Whatever it is you want . . . just tell us . . .” Isaac said to his current menace. “We don’t have much but?—”

“Shut up. Let me think.” He held the crossbow only on Isaac, now.

In their silence, Ximena shot Isaac a look, and as if he could hear her thoughts, he remembered her earlier warning and second-sight when she saw the smoke: Strangers will put them in the ground.

He should have listened to her, but his stupid hope for finding their friends smothered any reasoning.

Hope gets in the way of fear. Hope makes everything else useless.

He mouthed the words, “I’m sorry,” to Ximena, to apologize for not believing her intuition.

“Hey! Stay where you are. Don’t move!” Red Scarf waved his crossbow at Isaac, making the current count of crossbows targeted on him at two. He held his hands up higher.

“We’re lost. We thought you were our friends—but you’re clearly not.

We’ll get out of here and head back to our camp .

. . or up north, far out of your way.” He tried to step out of the direct line of both the crossbows, but the strangers kept him in their sights.

He realized that for some reason the two strangers must have felt most threatened by him.

He’d never thought of himself as a threat before, in any sense.

If they only knew that Jackie had killed a Crank with her bare hands, Old Man Frypan had outlived more terror than anyone, and Ximena had a fire inside of her greater than any forge, these two men would’ve changed their priorities immediately.

“You think they’re one of ’em?” Red Scarf whispered to his partner, a frowny, angry man who was a couple of inches shorter.

“We’re not one of anybody.” Isaac didn’t want to know what it felt like to have an arrow pierce his skin. “I mean, seriously, we’re not who you must think we are.”

“Doesn’t seem like they are . . .” the shorter one lowered his crossbow to the side. “They’re just lost.”

“The boy’s right,” Frypan finally said. “We didn’t mean to bother you, just looking for our friends.”

Isaac caught Ximena’s fierce eyes flash at him, like she was trying to say something without words. . . . The look reminded him that he had Minho’s knife. Before he could think another thought, Ximena pulled out her own knife.

“Get back!” she shouted, waving the weapon in front of the two strangers, but the sheath still covered the knife’s blade. She shook the knife until its embroidered covering fell off and tumbled to the ground in front of her.

Red Scarf raised his crossbow back up and pointed it at Ximena.

“No. Don’t!” Isaac shouted as he jumped in front of the man.

Frypan bent down directly in front of their arrow-wielding weapons in order to pick up the leather sheath Ximena had dropped.

“Just a mistake. The girl thinks she’s some sort of invincible force.

All youngins do . . .” He handed the sheath with its embroidered eagle on the back to Ximena.

“Here. You can put that away now. We’re alright. ”

The embroidery of an eagle wasn’t exactly threatening, but Red Scarf practically gasped at the sight of it.

“Kletter. You’re with . . . Kletter?”

Ximena looked down at the knife’s case, hiding the shock she had to be feeling along with Isaac. They knew Kletter? Ximena nodded, just once.

“Damn,” Red Scarf said. “She’s with you? Close by?”

They both lowered their weapons. “Sorry about that. We thought you were a group of the Hollowers.”

Isaac felt the relief poor into his heart, slowing it down. “We don’t know what that is, but we’re definitely not that. We’re from the island of?—”

“Isaac,” Jackie cut him off.

“Flare me to hell,” Red Scarf said while he looked to the other stranger and then back at Isaac.

“You’re of the Immunes, aren’t ya?” He waited for confirmation but Jackie gave Isaac a don’t-say-anything look.

Red Scarf suddenly started hooting and hollering and picked up his partner in a celebratory hug.

Isaac just looked at Jackie. What the heck?

“Look, we’re sorry, come on in and sit by the fire .

. .” Red Scarf held his hand in the direction of the smoke they had followed.

“We just cooked fish, more than we can eat,” Shorty said.