The Return of the General

Aaron and Liam stepped back in shock.

“General Blair,” Aaron said under his breath, trying to keep his composure as much as one could expect to when a huge angry man you thought was dead came barreling toward you. Was it a ghost?

“Who invited you?” boomed the towering general. He wore a threadbare Quillitary jacket that strained at the shoulder seams, and his shirt placket was open to mid-chest. As he drew close, Aaron gaped at the jagged red scar that swept from his ear to the hollow of his throat. One end of it looked swollen and angry.

“We came of our own accord,” Aaron said, trying not to look at the hideous scar. Was that pus oozing from the swollen end? Aaron’s stomach churned. He focused on the general’s sun-chapped face. The man had distinct wrinkles now, and his hair was decidedly gray in the parts that framed his face. “And you’ll address me as High Priest,” Aaron added. His voice wavered but his confidence returned. “I thought you were dead.”

“Apparently I didn’t stay that way for long,” the general growled. “What do you want? Excuse me . . . I meant, what do you want, High Priest?” he asked, a sneer in his voice.

Liam’s eyes widened but he remained scared speechless.

Aaron lifted his chin. “Keep working on that,” he said lightly. He picked up the large sack of produce and nuts from the Favored Farm.

“Why, I’ll . . .” General Blair’s threat died in his scarred throat.

“I’ve brought you a gift.” Aaron opened the sack and showed General Blair.

The general remained skeptical. “In exchange for what?”

“Nothing at all,” Aaron said.

Liam found his voice once more. “It’s just a gift,” he added. “Nothing, um—”

“Who are you?” interrupted the general.

“Liam Healy, sir. Governor, that is. I mean I’m a governor. Not you.” Liam cringed and was silent.

General Blair looked him over. “Ah, yes. I heard about you.”

“Oh?” Liam asked weakly. “From whom?”

The general didn’t answer.

Aaron let his gaze wander past the hulking man to the stations of workers who had begun clanking metal together once more or working on broken-down Quillitary vehicles. “You’ve changed things,” he said. “How are the vehicles running?”

“Poorly,” General Blair said, his voice retaining its sharp edge despite him taking the sack from Aaron.

Aaron stepped forward and then turned. “Do you mind if I have a look?”

The general glared. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You see,” Aaron continued, acting as if conversation had suddenly become his strong suit, “I know a little bit about these things.” He walked over to a soldier working on a vehicle and looked under the hood. “You need something more slick to make this work properly. Rain water just won’t do. You may remember that I once suggested using the Great Lake of Boiling Oil—”

“Yes, and how did that turn out?” boomed the general. It was clear he didn’t like Aaron nosing around his soldiers, undermining him.

“Not well at all,” Aaron said. He saw his opening, took a breath, and lied his face off. “I’m sorry about that, and about . . . Justine. I am. Truly. I never expected my plan to impersonate my Unwanted brother would result in Justine’s death. I was foolish.” He didn’t think he could say anything more without gagging, so he closed his mouth and left it at that, hoping it would be enough to win the man over.

General Blair frowned. “Yes, you were very foolish. Too foolish to have in my Quillitary, which was why—from my deathbed—I ordered you removed from the university.”

Aaron nodded. It was as he’d thought. “But I did have some good ideas back then.” He pointed to the sack of goods from the Favored Farm.

The general harrumphed.

“And I have some today.” Aaron inspected the vehicle more closely, and then slowly walked around to the other side and leaned over the engine, saying nothing more.

Liam followed the high priest’s lead, having no idea what he was looking at but pretending to be quite absorbed in what he saw.

“Hmm,” Aaron said eventually. He straightened and looked around. At one end of the yard was a house, where General Blair most likely had taken up residence in order to remain hidden from the rest of Quill.

Aaron turned suddenly. “Why hasn’t it been announced that you are alive? Your name is on the death board.”

“I know.” The man frowned again. “Artimé believed me to be dead from that Unwanted boy’s attack. And I was close, but I’m too stubborn to die.”

Aaron nodded and remained silent, hoping the man would go on.

He did. “When I recovered,” the general said, “I decided it was better for everyone to believe I’d been killed. And because of it, no one has expected the Quillitary to be doing anything at all without me. It’s kept visitors away. Until now,” he said wryly, softening a little. “I wish it to remain a secret, because when my Quillitary has fixed our vehicles and become well-equipped enough to battle Artimé once more, I’d very much like to see the look of shock on Samheed Burkesh’s face when he sees me . . . right before I kill him.”

A Potential Alliance

Aaron’s and Liam’s eyes widened at the general’s statement—Aaron’s in delight, Liam’s in fear. But Liam remained quiet, focusing intently on the rusty, dust-covered engine before him.