Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(16)

Spingate tries to climb up a boulder. She’s not sure how to approach it. Bishop grabs her by the waist and lifts her like she weighs nothing at all. She squeals in delighted surprise as he sets her on top.

She’s so much prettier than I am, especially with the sun blazing off her red hair. She makes me so mad my skin prickles, a cascade of tiny needle-pokes washing down my cheeks, my neck. I wonder how pretty she’d be if I punched her in the mouth, gave her a split lip to match the one I got fighting the monsters. Selfish Spingate deserves it—she already has Gaston, and now she wants Bishop, too? My chest tightens, feels solid, like it’s made of rock. I’ll show that girl, I’ll punish her, I’ll…

I shudder. Where did all of that come from? I feel the rage spreading through me, already dissipating but still strong, still vile and repulsive. Theresa Spingate is my friend—I would never hit her. My face flushes hot with embarrassment again, but this time I’m ashamed of my own jealousy. That tightness in my chest, it relaxes, releases. My temper…it’s bad. I have to be careful.



Is that how Matilda took over the Grownups? Did her temper control her, let her control them?

Farrar climbs atop a big boulder, then drops down to the inner ring. He looks much better; the walk did him good. He helps Spingate down, his big hands on the bare skin of her narrow waist.

Does everyone want to touch her?

Stop it, Em—she’s not doing anything wrong.

Spingate kneels, gets to work examining the water.

Coyotl stands up again, the urge to jump in radiating off him.

“Don’t,” Bishop says sharply.

Coyotl sighs. “Okay, Dad.” He sits down. He looks at me. “Okay, Mom.”

He clearly hates being told what to do. Aramovsky’s influence, or Coyotl’s normal personality?

Spingate stands, pats her chest as if to still a racing heart.

“No mold,” she says with audible relief. “There’s some rotten plant material mixed in, though. We could drink from this pool in a pinch, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” She points up at the waterfall. “Probably cleaner up top. If we can collect it from there, we won’t ever have to worry about water.”

I breathe out, releasing a tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying. This city is so large, there must be a system of pipes to bring water to all the buildings. If that system still works, and we find clean water closer to the shuttle, fine. If not, at least we have this waterfall. I may have to move everyone here. We could live in the buildings surrounding this plaza.



At any rate, we will have to move somewhere—we can’t stay in the shuttle forever. We’re already packed in there like chickens in a coop, and if we open the coffins on Deck Four, it could be much worse. Eventually people will need their own space.

Coyotl stands atop his boulder, sets his thighbone down.

“Spingate did her testing. Can I do mine?”

I look at her, silently asking if it is safe. She nods.

“Swim away,” I say. “But I bet you can’t do a perfect dive!”

Coyotl leaps far; his thin body slices into the pool with barely a splash. He stays under for a few seconds. When he pops up, wet dust is running off his skin.

“The water is great!” He rubs hard at his face and hair, ducks under, pops up again. Clean, he looks like a different person. On the Xolotl, he was an ash-covered gray warrior fighting to keep us alive, fighting to set us free; on Omeyocan, he’s a young man barely out of his teens—flawless, perfect, innocent.

I see Farrar help Spingate step into the water. She laughs in surprised, openmouthed shock.

“Coyotl, you liar, this is freezing.”

She slips on the wet rocks, shrieks, grabs Farrar’s round shoulders as she goes down—they splash into the water together. Spingate stands. Her shirt was far too small to begin with. Now it hugs her like a transparent second skin. Either she doesn’t know, or it doesn’t bother her.

Bishop steps closer to me.

“Em, can we go in, too?”

Dried blood, ash smears and dirt cover him head to toe. More of the same crusts in his blond curls. Coyotl looked beautiful when the water washed away his filth—Bishop will look even more so.

And he’s not the only one who could use a bath. I’m still coated in dead-person dust, still caked with grime.



“Sure, let’s go.”

He reaches halfway toward me, pauses, as if he wanted to take my hand, then didn’t know if that was wrong. I could take his, but I don’t—the awkward moment hangs there, neither of us knowing what to do, then he turns and sprints toward the boulders. One powerful leg launches him to the top, where the other powerful leg sends him sailing out over the water. He arcs through the air, a dirt-covered mixture of grace and muscle. It looks like he will knife into the water just as Coyotl did, but at the last second Bishop tucks into a tight ball. When he hits, he sends up a big wave that splashes Spingate—she goes rigid and squeals with laughter.

I use my spear like a cane, balancing myself as I climb over a tall boulder to stand on the wet rocks lining the pool. I look into the water. It gets deep fast, but the shallows hide jagged rocks. Are my friends all crazy jumping in like that?

Bishop bursts from the surface. Water cascades down his now-clean skin, sparkling in the sunlight. I flash back to the Xolotl, to the talk with Brewer, when I was staring at the gnarled creature and thinking, I don’t know what a god is, exactly, but if gods do exist they don’t look like this thing.