Island of Shipwrecks by Lisa McMann

little ways offshore to explore. But just as she ran through the wind and rain, something caught her eye near the center of the barren island. She stopped short and looked more carefully. It was a small person, raggedly clothed, standing still and watching them.
    Sky gasped. The figure disappeared behind a rock.
    She turned back to the ship. “Alex? Florence?” she called out softly. “We’re definitely not alone on the this island.”

Aaron Tries to Rile Up the Crowd
    A aron realized the best way to show General Blair that he was serious was to start tearing the wall down immediately—but that wasn’t necessarily the best way to go about it from the perspective of the high priest of Quill. So the morning after his meeting with the general, Aaron called the people of Quill together so he could tell them what to believe.
    â€œPeople 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.
    â€œIt’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 upfor 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. . . .
    â€œVery 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.
    â€œNow,” 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 Aaronheld 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