The Fate of Ten

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I WAKE UP IN A LIBRARY, FACEDOWN ON A SOFT carpet, surrounded on all sides by comfortable lounge chairs. “Waking up” probably isn’t the right term, actually. Everything has a fuzziness at the edges, even my own body. I can tell that I’m still in the dream state that Ella created, except I’m no longer in full-on spectator mode. I can move around and interact with the room, even though I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do next.

I stand up and look around. The lighting here is mellow and the walls are covered in old leather-bound books, all of the titles written down the spines in Loric. Normally this would be the kind of place I wouldn’t mind exploring, except that back in the real world there’s one nasty Mogasaur bearing down on me and my friends. Ella assured me that we’d be okay. That doesn’t mean I’m cool just sitting around some astral library waiting to see what will happen next.

“Man, somebody break out the violins for that crybaby Pittacus Lore.”

I turn around to find Nine standing in the middle of the room where there was nothing but empty space a moment ago. He nods at me.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You saw that too, right? The Setrákus Ra life story?”

I nod. “Yeah. I saw it too.”

Nine looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Dude should’ve killed Setrákus Ra when he had the chance instead of getting all mushy with it. Come on.”

“I don’t know,” I reply quietly. “It’s not easy holding someone else’s life in your hands. He couldn’t have known what would happen.”

Nine snorts. “Whatever. I was shouting at him to kill that chump, but he wouldn’t listen. Thanks for nothing, Pittacus.”

In truth, I’m not at all ready to process that vision, especially not with Nine’s commentary. I wish I could replay it back so I could take the time to really examine my home world as it was centuries ago. More than anything, I wish I could see more of Pittacus Lore using that Ximic Legacy. We’d heard stories about how powerful he was, about how he had all the Legacies. I guess that’s how he did it. Seeing him use Ximic got me thinking about the time I developed my healing Legacy. It was in a desperate situation when I was trying to save Sarah’s life that the Legacy manifested. What if it wasn’t a healing Legacy that manifested at all? What if it was my Ximic kicking in when I really needed it, and I’ve just been unable to figure out how to harness it for anything but healing since?

I shake my head. It’s foolish to hope for something like that. I can’t will myself to stronger Legacies any more than Nine can will the past to change. We’ve got to win this war with what we’ve been given.

“What’s done is done,” I tell Nine, frowning. “All that matters is that we stop Setrákus Ra. That’s the mission.”

“Yeah. I’d also like to avoid getting eaten by that big-ass monster back in New York,” Nine says, glancing around. He doesn’t seem at all weirded out being here in this dream state. He’s going with the flow. “Ugh, books. You think any of these talk about how to kill Godzilla back there?”

I look around too, but not at the books. I’m looking for an exit. This room we’re in doesn’t appear to have any doors. We’re stuck here. Ella, the Loric Entity, whoever’s doing this—they aren’t done with us yet.

“I think we’re in some kind of psychic waiting room,” I say to Nine. “Not sure why.”

“Cool,” he replies, and flops down into one of the lounge chairs. “Maybe they’re going to show us another movie.”

“What do you think happened to Sam and Daniela? I saw them pass out at the same time we did.”

“Beats the hell out of me,” Nine says.

“You’d think we would end up in the same place.”

“Why?” Nine asks. “You think there’s a lot of logic in operating some kind of shared telepathic hallucination?”

“No,” I admit. “I guess not.”

“So, you think Ella’s doing all this, right? I’m picking up a total Ella vibe.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding in agreement. Nine’s right. I’m not sure how I know that we’re in Ella’s psychic projection, I just do. It’s intuitive.

Nine whistles. “Damn, man. Girl got a serious power upgrade. I kinda feel like we’re slacking off. I want to copy some Legacies like your boy Pittacus. Or at least get some sweet razor-edged lasso thing.”

I sigh and shake my head, a little embarrassed to hear Nine say out loud what I was just thinking. I change the subject. “We need to find a way out of here.”

Nine gives me a funny look, so I turn away and walk over to one of the bookcases. I start pulling books off the shelves, thinking that maybe I’ll trigger some kind of secret passage. Nothing happens and Nine just laughs at me.

“We shouldn’t be sitting around,” I say, glaring at him.

“Dude, what else are we going to do? You know how hard I tried to murder young Setrákus Ra while we were watching that highlight reel? Pretty hard.” Nine punches his hand into his open palm, then shrugs. “But, you know, I didn’t have any arms or legs. We can’t do anything right now. So let’s just chill out. I’ve been brawling my ass off for days and even if this chair is just, like, a figment of my imagination, it’s hella comfortable.”

I give up pulling books off the wall and return to the center of the room. Ignoring Nine, I tilt my head back and shout at the ceiling. “Ella! Can you hear me?”

“You look so stupid right now,” Nine says.

“I don’t know why you’re just sitting there,” I say, staring at him. “Now is not the time to chill out.”

“Now is exactly the time to chill out,” Nine replies, glancing down at an imaginary watch. “We’ll get back to almost dying as soon as Ella’s showed us whatever weird prophetic crap she needs to.”

“I agree with Nine.”

I spin around at the voice to find Five standing a few feet away from me, newly manifested in our little lounge. He purses his lips and shrugs his beefy shoulders at me, like he’s not that happy to see us either. Even in this dreamworld, Five is still missing one of his eyes. At least it’s covered by a normal-looking eye patch here instead of the grungy pad of gauze he sports in the real world.

“What the hell are you doing he—?”

There’s a guttural battle cry from behind me and then Nine is by me in a blur. He drops his shoulder and aims right for Five’s gut. For some reason, Five doesn’t expect to be attacked on sight and barely has time to brace himself before Nine is on him.

Except, Nine doesn’t hit him. He passes right through Five and ends up sliding on his face into the pile of books I tossed off the shelves.

“Son of a bitch!” Nine growls.

“Huh,” Five says, looking down at his chest, which sure looks solid enough to hit.

“There can be no violence here.”

We all turn to look at the room’s far wall, where a doorway just manifested. Standing there is a middle-aged man with a muscular build, his brown hair graying at the temples. He looks exactly the way I remember him.

“Henri?” I exclaim.

At the exact same time, Nine shouts, “Sandor? What the hell?”

Five doesn’t say anything. He simply glares at the man in the doorway, his lips curled into a sneer.

Nine and I exchange a quick look. It only takes us a second to realize that we’re all seeing different people. If it’s really Ella running this trippy dreamland, she must have plucked someone from our subconscious that we’d feel comfortable with. Except that doesn’t really seem to have worked with Five. He keeps balling and relaxing his fists, like he might spring forward at any second. I can’t help but smile looking at Henri, even though the moment is definitely bittersweet. “Are you . . . are you real?” I ask, feeling stupid asking this question.

“I’m as real as a memory, John,” Henri replies. When he speaks, I see a glow inside his mouth of the same energy that Setrákus Ra was mining from Lorien. It’s similar to the way Six described her group’s encounter with a briefly reincarnated Eight. I don’t think it’s just Ella pulling off this telepathic masterpiece anymore. She’s got some high-powered support.

“I’m sorry I got the penthouse blown up,” Nine says. He pauses for a response, then says, “Yeah, it was totally Five’s fault, you’re right.”

I glance first at Nine and then to Five, who still hasn’t said anything but appears to be listening intently, and finally back to Henri. We can’t see or hear each other’s visitors, only our own.

“What are you . . . ?” I’m about to ask Henri what he’s doing here, but I think better of it. Him being here actually makes as much sense as anything. There’s a much more important question that needs answering. “What’re we doing here?” I ask.

“You’re here to meet the others,” Henri replies, then turns around and walks through the open doorway that wasn’t even there a second ago. He motions for us to follow.

“What others?”

“All of them,” Henri says, and smiles at me in that same frustratingly knowing way that he used to. “Remember, John. You’ve only got one chance to make a good first impression. Better make it count.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I follow anyway. He’s my Cêpan, after all. Even manifested here in this crazy dream state, he still feels like the real deal. I trust him. Nine heads to the door too, following a version of Sandor I can’t see, chatting about the Chicago Bulls. Five begrudgingly follows a few steps behind, still silent.

When I get close to him, Henri puts a hand on my shoulder. He lowers his voice even though the others can’t hear him, like he’s letting me in on a secret.

“Start with the ones you’ve felt, John. Those will be easiest. Remember what it was like. Visualize.”

I stare at Henri, not sure what the hell he’s talking about. In response to my look, he flashes that knowing smile again. Holding back on me, making me work out the details myself. The Henri way. I know it makes me stronger and smarter in the long run, but man does it piss me off.

“I don’t get what you’re trying to tell me,” I say.

Henri pats my shoulder, then starts down the hallway.

“You will.”