Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(89)

I think about Farrar’s horrible experience. If this food does to me what that food did to him, it won’t take long. I close my eyes, wait for the choking to begin.

It doesn’t.

The only bad thing that happens is my stomach grumbles even louder.

It worked. We can eat their food. If we can figure out where to get the purple fruit, how to use it, the whole reason for Aramovsky’s war will vanish.

“O’Malley, can you draw?”

“Of course I can.”

I point to the cloth I marked up with lines. “Draw the purple fruit I brought back to the shuttle. Quickly.”

O’Malley starts right in. His lines are soft, delicate and perfect. The shape of the fruit is exactly right. He adds shading—it looks so real I could almost pick it up.

Barkah starts stamping his left foot. Hard to tell for sure, but I think he’s delighted.

I tap my fingertip on the drawing, look at the Springer prince.



“This,” I say. “Where do we find this?”

He gives me an odd look, and I’m pretty sure I understand what it means—he thinks I’m kidding.

I thump the drawing hard.

“Please. Where do we find this? Show us!”

Barkah glances at Lahfah. Lahfah hobbles to the double doors, motions for us to follow.

Outside, the rain has stopped. Twin moons shine down, lighting up the jungle with a spooky glow.

Lahfah hobbles to a tree, taps it. I look up, searching for the purple fruits. I don’t see any.

“Where are they?” O’Malley asks. “Oh no, what if they aren’t in season?”

Rekis and Tohdohbak both make that broken-glass noise: they are laughing at us.

The two Springers hop to the tree. Their hands grip a vine that clings tightly to the trunk. Together, they pull once, twice—on the third yank, the vine rips away from the trunk, chunks of bark coming with it. Rekis pulls a knife, slices the vine at eye-level. The severed end dangles there, held aloft by the rest of the vine that snakes through the branches above.

“Maybe they thought we meant something else,” O’Malley says. “Should I go get the drawing?”

I would answer, but I’m holding my breath.

Rekis and Tohdohbak grip the part of the vine that’s growing up from the ground. Together, they count—“Kayat, jeg, nar”—and they pull. The wet ground at the base of the vine breaks, lifts up a little.

“It can’t be,” I say. “All this time, it was that easy?”

O’Malley looks at me. “I don’t understand.”

“Kayat, jeg, nar,” and they pull again. The ground gives way. They stumble back, holding the vine. From the end dangles the purple fruit, thin strands of white fiber sticking off it, clods of dirt clinging to the purple surface and strands alike.



“We were looking in the wrong place,” O’Malley says, astonished. “It’s not fruit at all—it’s a root.”

The root of the vines that cover city streets, jungle trees, buildings, ruins…the secret to our survival has been all around us, all this time.

“Vines are everywhere,” O’Malley says. “Aramovsky is taking us to war for something that’s everywhere we look.”

War.

I look at the night sky. Off to the east, the first hints of glowing red—maybe an hour until dawn.

“Barkah, we need to leave,” I say. I reach out, tap his fist, the one holding the coin and the piece of glass. “We have to stop the battle.”

He barks out orders. Rekis fast-hops into the building, comes out with the map and O’Malley’s drawing of the fruit. Rekis keeps the map—Barkah takes the fruit drawing, rolls it up and carefully puts it in his bag.

The Springer prince pauses. He looks at the knife in his belt, traces the handle with his fingertips, admiring the weapon by both sight and touch.

Then he barks more orders.

Rekis and Tohdohbak plunge into the jungle, headed for the trail. Barkah follows, gesturing for us to walk with him. Lahfah unslings his musket and lumbers along behind, a hobbling rear guard.

Together, we’re heading off to stop a war.

And, hopefully, not get killed in the process.

—



We move through the jungle. It’s still dark, yet it’s already getting hot. A thick mist glows with the light of two moons, blankets the endless, overgrown ruins.

Rekis and Tohdohbak are out front, making sure the trail is safe. O’Malley and I stay with Barkah. Lahfah is in the rear, struggling to keep up.

Our feet squish in thin mud. As we walk, I rub that mud on my face, tie new vines around me, smear juice in my hair and skin. If something goes wrong, I want to be able to fade away into the jungle.

O’Malley smiles at me.

“We’re going to save everyone,” he says. “I can feel it.”

The moonlight seems to settle in his blue eyes, makes them sparkle. In all that’s happened over the past few days, I’d forgotten how beautiful he is. He’s not a warrior, yet he faced grave danger to be at my side. In a way, that’s even braver than anything Bishop has done.

O’Malley—Kevin—sees me looking at him. He makes an awkward smile, then shakes his head and faces down the path.

“What?” I say. “What’s so funny?”