The Unwanteds (3 page)

Inside were four enormous Eliminators robed in black. Their heads were covered in cloth, but their beady red eyes pierced into the already frightened souls of the children. Lani now appeared to be the only calm one. She held her head high as the long chain of children walked inside.

“What are they?” Meghan gasped, and reached awkwardly for Alex’s hand.

Alex grasped Meghan’s hand and gave it a frightened squeeze. “I don’t know,” he whispered. He felt like his chest was going to collapse. Breathing in and out slowly, Alex closed his eyes for a moment and shivered as the gate groaned and closed with a loud clang, the lock clicking automatically on the other side, separating them from Quill forever. The Eliminators took the ends of the chains and trudged slowly, the children following.

They were in a small, cement yard. A gray stone building stood before them, and a steaming black lake boiled beyond it. Alex shuddered.
That’s where they’ll do it to us
. The oily stench seemed to grow stronger as they shuffled across broken cement, past bundles of burned-looking weeds, toward the building. It was more desolate than the most wasted section of Quill. Even the sky was clouded and gray here, although there was no barbed wire—just open sky. None of them had ever seen an uninterrupted sky before.

Everything was eerily silent but for the clanking of the chains and the scuffle of shoes as the Unwanteds moved forward. The seconds felt like hours. When the Eliminators stopped walking and turned their eyes to the sky, Alex followed their gaze.

The other children looked up too. From the sky over the boiling black lake, a large bird—or something—slowly approached. The Eliminators seemed to be waiting for it, and they stood, huge, hulking, silent, as a four-legged winged creature landed with an ominous thud directly in front of them.

Elimination

T
he creature was an extraordinarily beautiful yet frightening tortoise with long wings that were covered with glistening white feathers, tipped in black. The mosaic-shelled beast stood on all four legs, stretching out its neck to view its audience, and, even on all fours, was more than half as tall as the smallest child, Lani. The spectacular creature bobbed its head to the Eliminators, and then it looked each Unwanted in the eye. In turn, each dropped his gaze and instinctively drew back as far as his chains would allow.

After a few moments the tortoise appeared satisfied. When
it spoke—to the utter shock of the children—it was in a deep, agonizingly slow voice.

“Wel … come,” the tortoise said, low and grim, and the word caused a chill to run up Alex’s spine. “We’ve been”—it paused for a breath—“ex … pect … ing you.”

Samheed, the glaring boy from the bus who had been silent all this time, muttered an oath under his breath and raised his fists, ready to fight, but Alex and the others were fearfully mesmerized by the odd creature that stood before them.

What was this thing? Was it going to attack? What did it have to do with this decrepit farm that contained nothing but the smell of death? They watched the tortoise, almost afraid to look at its grim face, but not quite able to look away, either.

The tortoise blinked a long, slow blink. Craning its long neck to look behind it, it lifted its round front leg and held it next to its mouth, as if to cup its words. “Mar … cus,” it called out in its slow, grim voice. “It’s time.”

What in the name of Quill is it doing?
Alex wondered. A moment later a tall, thin figure emerged from the gray building and lifted his hand.

All at once, Alex felt dizzy, as the space around him seemed to swirl, the oily lake whirling with the gray building and the wall behind them until everything was a spinning charcoal haze. He blinked rapidly and wondered if he and all the children had already been eliminated—if it was over. Nothing on his body hurt, yet the charcoal blur of everything around him now faded, softened, cooled to white, and then grew steadily brighter, nearly blinding him. This was nothing at all like what Alex expected to feel when immersed in the Great Lake of Boiling Oil.

Meghan, who could not help herself, cried out, “What’s happening?”

Alex squeezed her fingers, more to assure himself than her that they were still together. He sucked in a breath but couldn’t answer.

Another moment later the white melted and color emerged. The small, desolate lot had transformed into a huge world so full of color, Alex could hardly see.

The sun shone in a cerulean sky. The cement turned to a lush carpet of grass, and water fountains emerged from the earth. A thousand trees sprouted and grew to full height, scattered far and wide. The boiling lake softened into a calm sea of
blues and greens, and the single gray building expanded into an enormous, sprawling fieldstone mansion. The gnarled weeds at the children’s feet wavered and transformed into wide-eyed animals, both common and fantastic.

Even the Eliminators transformed. Their black cloth coverings disappeared, and all four grew even taller, with animal-like heads and sleek, long necks that melded into huge, stout, strong bodies like the Unwanteds had never seen. The newly transformed Eliminators were covered in a fine layer of shimmering black hair that reflected the sunlight, and their previously frightening red eyes grew kind and intelligent, a rich amber-brown.

As the Unwanteds gawked, the shackles on their arms unbuckled and fell to the ground. They took in a collective, awed breath, rubbed their sore wrists, and checked to see if the others were all still there.

The tall, thin figure that had emerged from the gray building—now mansion—was a man dressed in a flowing multicolored robe. He strolled toward them. A fluffy shock of white hair stood up on his head as if he had just been struck by lightning.

“Greetings, friends,” said the man. His voice, warm and clear, pealed like a pleasant-sounding bell. He opened his arms wide. “I am Marcus Today. Welcome to Artimé.” He paused, touching a finger to his lips, and then he smiled brightly. “Tell me, children. How does it feel to be eliminated?”

I
t was as if Alex and the others were mute. And indeed the colors of this magical place alone would have been enough to shock any Quillen, for Quill was a bland world whose brightest color was the green of the leafy trees in the nursery. In Quill all the trees were confined to one place so that no one would get notions about introducing such a bright color into the housing quadrants.

But here in Artimé, all of the colors felt warm, from the deep, foresty greens of plants to the soothing blues of the sky and sea. The strand of beach was not a dingy gray like the cement walls around Quill—it was clean and white
with tiny bits of silver and gold sparkling in the sunshine.

A cool breeze whisked away the odor of burning oil from the children’s noses and replaced it with the musky fragrance of the sea and the woods. The children breathed the wonderful scent, hesitating at first at its strangeness, and then nearly gulping it in, for several of them had been holding their breath for quite some time.

Not one of the Unwanteds could even look around and ask, “Is this a joke?” because Quill was a serious place, and it was doubtful that any of the twenty even thought a joke possible. Most likely nineteen of them had never known the word “joke,” and the one that had known it most surely had been reported to the governors and thus ended up here. Whatever “here” was, if not the Death Farm.

Puzzled, Alex and the others could only stare at this man so brightly adorned. And some were frightened, perhaps, not of Mr. Today himself, but rather
for
him, since his smile was so animated, his delight so obvious, that it surely meant he would be reported to the governors and sent to the … well. Sent to here.

But beyond all of that was the pure shock of seeing a winged tortoise (which at the moment sported a droll smile),
the transformation of the land and lake (so inviting that in a different situation one might entertain a thought of a swim on such a warm day, even though such imaginative thoughts were not allowed), and the—what would the Eliminators be called? No one had ever seen a creature like them. Whatever they were, their deep, heavy breaths made up the bulk of the noise for the moment. It was all so stunning that it was almost, nearly but not quite, uncomfortable.

And so the Unwanteds stood blinking, and the man called Mr. Today stood smiling, and the Eliminators stood panting, and the winged tortoise stood drolling, all of them in a sort of lumpy circle.

When they began to walk about the property, Mr. Today pointed out little fanciful combinations of creatures—rabbitkeys and beavops and squirrelicorns and owlbats—which hopped about the grounds looking for a snack, or strolled down footpaths together deep in conversation, or hung upside down from trees, twisting their necks about this way and that. Soon a queue of humans and creatures streamed from the mansion and appeared to go about business as usual, which was all the more shocking.

For a child of Quill, who might have been sent to his death for merely drawing something completely ordinary with a twig in the dirt—like a square, perhaps, or, good heavens, a
rhombus
—the shock of it all felt a little bit like a form of torture. And truly, more than half of the Unwanteds thought,
We are all still about to die
.

The tortoise cleared its throat and spoke to Mr. Today. “You may,” it said slowly, “re … mem … ber, Marcus, what happens”—it yawned—“ev … er … y year.”

Mr. Today, who had been gazing and smiling and taking in the sights of these new and wonderful people, watching their faces and eyes and noticing if they had long fingers or short ones, and taking note of how each one stood exactly so, startled when the tortoise spoke. And he jumped, quite, making everyone else just that much more edgy.

“Good heavens, Jim, you’re right.” Mr. Today stood up quite tall and announced in somewhat of a rushed voice, “Jim is correct, children. I generally forget from year to year what a terribly shocking experience this is for the Unwanteds. And let me assure you before you follow me around all day—this
happened last year and I’ll never forgive myself; those poor, sweet children agonized half the morning—that this is not a sort of torture-before-I-eliminate-you ordeal, this world and the shock of it. What I’ve done here, you see, is … well …” He gave a small smile. “I’ve saved you. That is, if you want saving.”

His audience stared.

“Let me ask you this,” the man continued, more slowly, trying to rein in his excitement for the sake of the bewildered Unwanteds. “Does anyone wish to be eliminated right now?” Mr. Today waited politely for ten seconds or so to see if there were volunteers. When he saw there were none, he nodded and smiled as the children uttered short gasps of acknowledgment to each other at the realization of their new fate, such as, “We’re saved?” and “Wow!” and “Unreal!”

Mr. Today remained still and smiling until they were quite finished, and then he said, “Oh, splendid. Well, then. Let’s have a tour.”

Mr. Today dismissed the hefty, long-necked Eliminators—the girrinos, he called them—with a kindly, “Thank you, Arija. Ladies.” And the four girrinos responded pleasantly, in melodious voices, “Pleasure, Marcus dear,” before lumbering
back to the gate to stand guard. Meanwhile Jim lifted a front leg in salute, turned away from the circle, broke into a staggering walk for momentum, and flapped his wings mightily. Slowly, very very slowly, he ascended and flew over the property this time, narrowly shaving the top of a particularly tall tree on the lawn, toward what looked to be a jungle in the far-off distance, just beyond the edge of the grass.

Mr. Today turned back to the children, who had moved very little all this time, and beckoned with his hand. “Walk with me,” he urged, and with that he strode sprightly across the lawn, pointing out the flowers and various creatures like a tour guide, and pretending there was nothing at all unusual about twenty seemingly mute children stumbling after him.

Quill Prevails When the Strong Survive