“People of Quill,” Aaron said in the monotone manner of Justine, “some of you already know that my faithful secretary was attacked and killed by a creature of Artimé.” He paused and allowed the small murmur of the crowd to grow and fade, for some of them with fuzzy minds had forgotten the news already.
“It’s an unfortunate situation,” Aaron continued, “and one that we must swiftly address. Artimé is dangerous. And we must no longer tolerate their infiltration and attacks on our good people. Comrades, have you any rage inside you?”
The people of Quill looked up at Aaron.
Aaron frowned. “You may respond. Do you have any rage inside you?”
The Quillens looked at one another, unsure of what the right answer was. It seemed like a trick question. Were they supposed to have rage inside them, or was that against the law? They couldn’t remember. Mr. and Mrs. Stowe exchanged a worried glance, and then both immediately looked down at their daughters in their arms, as if they didn’t want Aaron to read their thoughts.
Gondoleery, standing nearby with Liam, leaned over to Aaron and hissed, “You have to tell them what to say, idiot.”
Aaron blinked, pretending not to hear. His cheeks burned. “My dear people,” he said, trying again. “As you know, the High Priest Justine taught us to bank our rage, saving it up for a time when we would need to fight against our enemies. Remember?” He frowned. “I am telling you today that our enemies in Artimé must be extinguished for what they have done. We will be attacking Artimé soon. It is now time for you to get angry. Do you understand?”
A few people in the audience murmured. Others looked around fearfully. They liked this high priest . . . didn’t they? He was the one who gave them extra food. But it was hard to remember. . . .
“Very good,” Aaron said. His eyes darted anxiously around the lethargic crowd. “We can use that kind of energy, and perhaps even a little more than that would be quite helpful. Okay.” He ran his fingernail nervously along a sliver of warped wood on the podium and winced as it broke off and stuck fast under his nail. He stepped back and clasped his hands in front of him, his finger throbbing.
“Now,” he said, growing increasingly short-tempered, “in order to fight against Artimé, we must do one thing that may come as a surprise to you. We must tear down the wall that surrounds us.”
This brought a slightly more lively response, but Aaron held his hands up for silence. “I know what you’re thinking,” Aaron said, though it seemed more likely that only a few of them were actually thinking anything. “But the only way to attack properly is to have full access to Artimé. The wall was a hindrance in the past and it will be the cause of our failure in the future. We must take it down. Don’t argue,” he said, though none of them were. “You need to understand that the risk of an enemy from far away is not nearly as great as the risk from the enemy in Artimé, where, as you may recall, they are now sending beasts to kill us! We must hurry to tear down the wall and move toward an organized attack before they have time to prepare a defense against us. Once we have defeated them, we will finally be at peace.”
He looked around the bland faces of the people of Quill, and for a moment, Aaron felt disgusted by them all—every last one of them had no opinion, no goals, no fire inside them. Not like he did. His fire to take over the island was stronger than ever. Why couldn’t he get them to call up their anger, like he had done within himself? He felt like giving them all slivers in their fingers to see if that would garner a response.
“Look alive!” he pleaded, and the people of Quill started, afraid. “Allow your rage to build so we can let it loose against the enemy!”
A few more weak responses came from the audience, but it was disorganized at best, and soon everyone was quiet again.
Aaron sighed, exasperated. This wasn’t going at all the way he’d planned. Maybe the Quillens had used up all fifty years’ worth of their rage in the last battle.
“Just . . . okay, we’ll work on the rage part. But now, you will please help me take the wall down,” he said, beginning to feel very impatient. “Necessaries, you will join the Quillitary efforts, beginning in the area next to the gates of Artimé and moving out in both directions, all the way around the island. It will be dangerous, but you’ll see it will be worth it in the end. When I’m finished here, please make your way to the Quillitary officers and await your instructions.”
Mrs. Stowe gave her husband a searching glance, then silently reached for the twin he was holding. He put the girl into Mrs. Stowe’s arms alongside the other, and before he let go, he gripped his wife’s hand and squeezed. Mrs. Stowe looked up into his face. She squeezed back.
Aaron, feeling more and more like he was losing the attention of his entire audience, wrapped up his speech. “And everyone—get ready to fight.”
This time he didn’t wait for any lackluster reaction. Instead he marched out of the amphitheater to the road and climbed into the car that waited for him. He put his arm out the window and waved Liam over to join him, leaving Gondoleery behind to go in the next car.
“Take us to the Quillitary,” Aaron barked to the driver.
The ride was silent but for the chug and squeal of the jalopy. Aaron stared stone-faced out the window, and Liam looked at his hands, clasped in his lap.
Soon they arrived at the Quillitary grounds. Aaron and Liam went inside and made their way to the little house where General Blair lived. The door stood ajar. Aaron pushed it and found the general alone.