All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [241]
Mr. Welmann nodded, believing him. The others, though, looked unconvinced.
“And they run straight to the Poppy Lands,” he said. “Even if you don’t want to help me with Jezebel, there’s a station house there with a private train. I’m sure it’ll take you guys back.”
“You’re sure, huh?” Fiona crossed her arms. “More likely we’ll have to steal it.”
“You have a better idea?”
She looked back at the shut Gates of Perdition and pursed her lips. “No . . . I don’t.” She thought for a moment, and then asked, “Can you play a few notes and clean up the air like you did in the gym match? We don’t want to choke along the way.”
Eliot nodded. He took a deep breath and plucked a few Spanish flamenco notes on Lady Dawn, imagining a coastal breeze. The temperature dropped twenty degrees, and the air sweetened.
“Then okay,” Fiona told him. “We’ll give it a try. Robert, take point. Eliot after him—Amanda and me. Mr. Welmann, bring up the rear, please.”
She was using her “team leader” commanding voice that was really getting on Eliot’s nerves.
Robert must have felt the same way, because he hesitated and looked like he wanted to give Fiona his own version of vocabulary insult. Eliot gave him a slight nod. Robert nodded back and headed down the switchbacks.
Fiona pulled Eliot aside. “We’ll catch up in a second,” she told Mr. Welmann and Amanda.
She whispered to Eliot, “Are you sure about this? I mean, I’m your sister. . . . I’ve got to help you, no matter what.” She looked extremely awkward saying this. “I think I know what Jezebel means you . . . but it’s not just you and me at risk. Robert, he can take care of himself. And Mr. Welmann, well, he’s already dead, but if his soul gets trapped in Hell . . .” She hesitated and swallowed. “But Amanda . . . I wish I could leave her somewhere safe. She has no idea what she’s gotten into.”
Eliot understood her frustration. Fiona was taking all the responsibility for this onto her shoulders—like she really was captain and this was another match. The responsibility must be driving her crazy.
“This isn’t turning out like I thought,” Eliot told her. “But it’s still my plan—not yours. Whatever happens out there, I know you’re doing your best to protect everyone, but it’s my responsibility, and my fault, if anything goes wrong.”
She stared at him, confused, as if it were an alien concept that Eliot could take leadership and responsibility for something, but then she nodded.
They tromped down the switchbacks, catching up with the others.
“Hey, cool air is back.” Mr. Welmann turned as Eliot got close. “That’s nice.” He sweated profusely, which was weird, considering he was dead.
Eliot kept playing quietly as they walked. He didn’t look back.
It took a while to get to the bottom of the switchbacks. How long, Eliot wasn’t sure. Time felt “slippery,” as if no time had passed, but simultaneously, it felt like it took forever, too.
No one spoke, heeding Robert’s warning not to attract any undue attention.
That was a good thing, too. On a nearby mesa, a battle raged as hundreds of people screamed and hurled rocks at one another, clawing, biting, and punching. There weren’t two sides; it was everyone against everyone else. It was like they had all lost their minds.
The trail ended. Here the first simple suspension bridge arced to an adjacent plateau (one with no obvious war waging upon it). The bridge dangled a half mile above a raging river of molten stone.
Eliot felt his resolve evaporate.
Robert leaned over the cliff’s edge and spit. It sizzled into vapor the instant it was outside Eliot’s protective musical bubble. “Whoa,” he said, impressed.
But Robert, being Robert, stepped onto the bridge without another thought . . . and Eliot had to keep up with him or his friend would fry. The really strange thing was that Amanda, who had always been scared, walked right onto the bridge after Eliot.
The heat was terrific and the smell of sulfur and copper overwhelming. Eliot held his breath and played faster and louder so