Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(63)

“They were here first,” Spingate says. “There could be thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands. If we attack them and fail, do you think five muskets and three spiders will stop them from pouring in here to wipe us out? What if they shot Visca because they thought we were attacking them?”

Aramovsky yells something at her, Gaston yells something back, but their arguments become background noise as her words bounce through my thoughts—What if they thought we were attacking them?

The city beyond the walls, utterly destroyed. Demolished buildings, deep craters…there was a war before we even arrived. The spiders, knocking down the wall of that building where we first found a campfire. Spiders, attacking and killing the Springers in the clearing.

Spiders, with the circle-star symbol…

Visca, his sweat washing the camouflage from his face, exposing that same symbol on his forehead…

The pieces click together.

So many people screaming—no one is listening. Those for war and those against it are arguing, even pushing each other.

I slam my spear butt hard on the stage.



“Enough! Everyone, shut up!”

Aramovsky smiles. He thinks I will take his side. He’s wrong.

“The Springers attacked us, yes,” I say. “They killed Visca, yes. But I don’t think they’re demons. If anything, to them, we are the monsters.”

Aramovsky looks shocked, betrayed.

“That’s ridiculous,” he says. “We aren’t monsters. We are the chosen people.”

“Spiders kill Springers on sight,” I say. “The spiders standing outside this shuttle have hundreds of little dents from Springer bullets. The ruins outside the walls are from a huge city—the spiders destroyed that city. They must have killed thousands of Springers. When you say we didn’t do anything to the Springers, you’re right. We didn’t do anything, but our creators did.”

I tap my forehead.

“We all have symbols. Visca’s was the circle-star—the same symbol that’s painted on the spiders. What if the Springers saw his symbol—a symbol they must fear, they must hate—and acted just like we would act if someone came to kill us?”

Spingate’s eyes crinkle with a small smile. She’s impressed: I found a possible connection that she missed.

“We don’t know where the fruit grows,” she says. “If we kill the Springers, we might not find it at all. That gnawing feeling in your bellies? It’s going to get much, much worse. The fastest way to get rid of it is to find the Springers and talk to them, make them understand we are not our creators, that we mean no harm.”

A few hands reactively go to stomachs. Aramovsky uses gods to get through to people—Spingate does the same with hunger.

Aramovsky shakes his head, his stare now burning with hatred.



“So one of us should just walk out past the wall and ask these killers for help? You already said how we would die horribly, Spingate, so who is going to go? You?”

She nods. “Yes. Me.”

The crowd falls silent. They can’t believe she just volunteered. Neither can I.

She points to her forehead. “I don’t have a circle-star. If Em’s right, maybe that will give me a chance. Em also said the Springers were about her size, which means they are about my size—maybe I won’t be as intimidating as Visca was, maybe they won’t shoot me right away.”

She is so brave, and I am instantly proud of her all over again, inspired by her. This is my friend, my courageous friend.

Gaston grabs her arm.

“Maybe isn’t good enough,” he says. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

She pulls her arm away, holds it up, showing her golden bracer.

“If we do make contact, and they show us anything about the purple fruit, a gear needs to see it. Kalle did her part. Zubiri is too little. Now it’s my turn.”

In a panic, Gaston grabs for her bracer. “Then I’ll go, I’m even smaller than you!”

She twists away from him. “What are you doing? Stop it!”

I raise a booted foot high, stomp down on the stage as hard as I can. The sound is almost as loud as a musket shot—it silences everyone, stops everything.

“Gaston, you’re staying here,” I say. “If the Springers do attack, you might have to fly the shuttle to get everyone away safely.”

He snarls at me. “Beckett can fly the shuttle! Make someone else do this. You can’t let Spingate go alone!”



“She won’t be alone,” I say. “I’m going with her.”

Shouts of support, of disbelief. Aramovsky smiles, folds his arms and watches.

O’Malley steps toward the stage—he’s coming in for a whisper. I hold up my hand to him, palm out. He stops in place.

“Don’t bother,” I say. “This is going to happen.”

Bishop bangs his axe head against the coffin room wall, demanding everyone’s attention.

“Send me instead,” he says. “Just me. I move quieter than anybody, I can capture one and bring it back here.”

O’Malley comes forward again. “He’s right, Em, listen to Bishop.”

“Taking a prisoner is an act of war,” Spingate says. “Even if Bishop gets one, we have no idea if we can make it tell us what we need to know.”