Margaret Stohl - Idols

“Or then again, maybe not,” says Lucas. He points. “Seeing as the wait appears to be over. Someone’s here.”

Light after light appears in the night, and we see they are attached to a grim line of automatic weapons lining the mountainside in front of us. They waver like fireflies, only a thousand times bigger. They appear, one by one—giant glowing eyes, staring at us from all directions.

The third tunnel isn’t empty. Not anymore. And from the looks of the welcoming party, they’re not Sympas.

The Grass Militia of Belter Mountain is here.

We back up, away from them, until we stand face-to-face, a hundred yards apart. Not that we can see any faces in the approaching darkness.

“You Belters?” Ro shouts. “Is this Belter Mountain?”

Nothing.

“Maybe they don’t call themselves that anymore,” says Lucas. He raises his voice. “Are you Grass? We’re looking for the Idylls?”

Still nothing.

“Or here’s a thought—are you deaf?” Ro shouts, waving both arms above his head. “We come in peace, Grassholes.”

Nobody answers him. “Belters,” Ro mutters, shaking his head.

“What now?” I ask.

Tima looks stricken. “I have no idea.”

Ro tosses his hands into the air, giving up.

Lucas looks at me. “Welcome to the Idylls.”

Fifteen minutes later, nobody has moved. “They’re as scared of us as we are of them,” I say, staring at the line of lights in front of us. “I can feel it.”

“What else can you feel?” Lucas puts his hand on my arm.

“Not much. Confusion. Anger. Paranoia.” I close my eyes, trying to get a clearer picture. “Everything you’d expect from a radical Grass militia.”

“What about you?” Ro looks at Lucas.

“What about me?” Lucas asks, suspiciously.

“I’m thinking now would be a good time to do your thing, handsome.”

I open my eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Lucas is annoyed.

“You know. Your little love beam. The thing where you make people do things they don’t want to do. Because they looooove you. About time you turn it on someone besides Dol.” Ro smiles at me, and I respond with a withering look. Which is better than Lucas punching him in the face, which from the looks of it is a real possibility.

“I can’t,” Lucas finally says, quietly. “They’re too far away.”

Tima puts a reassuring hand on his arm. “You might as well try. You don’t know. We’ve all been changing since the Hole. Maybe you can do it.”

“Not you too.” Lucas sighs.

I hate to agree, but the others are right. “Maybe you can warm things up around here.” Lucas raises an eyebrow and Ro stifles a laugh. “You know what I mean. Just try. You never know.”

Lucas gives me a meaningful look and steps forward.

For you, Dol. That’s what it says.

I know how much he hates using his gift; he showed me why on our first day together in the Hole. And I know he never wants to use it—not for any reason, ever.

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