Disclaimer: I am completely, 100%, human. Which means that I am NOT Pittacus Lore. Therefore I do not own any of his creations. So if you are Pittacus Lore, and you are reading this, don't sue me. Please.
A/N: And we're back! So this introductory chapter picks up right where 'My Rise of Nine' left off, with Sam's POV. Just a note to anybody who has not read 'My Rise of Nine', this is a direct sequel to it, not the real Rise of Nine. So in my story, for example, Eight is a girl, and Five is a boy. Basically, 'My Rise of Nine' is highly recommended reading for this story. Just to clarify.
Sam:
Hello.
My name is Sam Goode, and I've decided that being human stinks.
I've come to this conclusion during the last year, within which I've met and befriended a group of very powerful, very cool, aliens.
It's not that there's anything wrong with being human, it's just that compared to being Loric… well, there is no comparison. I mean, who wouldn't want to be able to move things with their mind?
But the worst part about being one of the two humans in a group of teenage aliens? The fact that you have to sit there and watch them flirt with each other, all the while cursing the difficulties of inter-species relationships.
Now some of you might think I don't have it that badly. After all, there's got to be a couple hundred million girls my age on this planet. But I've seen some Loric girls first-hand, and let me tell you- they don't make girls like that on Earth (no offense to Sarah).
But anyways- me, Sarah, and the remainder of the Loric are currently being driven by John to Melbourne airport, where at Nine's insistence, we're going to take a plane out of the country.
We're not sure what country we want to go to, but I'm hoping it's somewhere new. If we're going to fight an interplanetary war, we might as well become well traveled while we're doing it, right?
I look over at Sarah, who's sitting next to me in the back seat of the truck. She should know the perils of human-Loric relationships better than anyone, but that doesn't seem to be discouraging her from trying to chat up Five.
If she can do it, then why can't I?
As it turns out, Sarah's main competition for Five's attentions at the moment is… Eight.
And I remember why I've been having so much trouble.
Five.
He has got to be the luckiest, most despicable alien in history. First off, the guy is blessed with obscenely good looks that pretty much anybody would kill for. And then as if that weren't enough, he can magically toy with people's emotions to the extent that they're throwing themselves at him.
Another reason why being human stinks.
Eight's back is to me, her shoulder-length blonde hair catching the sun's rays and appearing almost golden. I can't see her face, but I know her deep, chocolate-brown eyes are focused on the undeserving Five.
Man, she's beautiful. Sure, maybe she's not that great in a fight, but who am I to talk? I don't even have my magic sword anymore. And she's nice, has a cute personality, and if I ever built up the nerve to tell her a joke, probably has a great sense of humour.
And the laugh to go with it.
But she's Loric. And Five's Loric. And I'm not.
It really stinks being human, doesn't it?
The truck suddenly comes to a stop, and I realize we've arrived at Melbourne Airport. John takes his hands off the steering wheel, leans back in the driver's seat, and looks over, rather obviously, at Six.
But she, like Sarah and Eight, has spent the last two hours fixated on Five. It's amazing Six didn't get a stiff neck, looking over her shoulder for the whole drive.
I would feel bad for John- as Five's arrival has thrown Six for the same loop Eight has, if the guy weren't freaking Loric. At least he can reasonably compete with Five in some departments- all I have is an obsession with aliens and a goofy grin. Plus Sarah's with us now too, so John pretty much has two chances to score.
"So what country do you guys want to head to?" John asks from up front, snapping the girls out of their fawning.
He is instantly flooded with suggestions- it seems like everybody has a different dream vacation destination.
"France," Marina suggests.
"China," Eight offers.
"Brazil," Five mentions.
Only they all speak at the same time, so it sounds more like 'Frinzil'.
"Where?" John asks, confused. "I can't hear you guys if you all talk at once."
That just sets off another round of debate, only now Six is chipping in in favour of Canada, and Ella wants to go to India as well. John groans, probably wondering how he got himself into this mess.
I really wish we still had Crayton with us. He would know where we should go, instead of just where people want to go.
"Quiet!" Nine snaps from the far left of the truck. His voice cuts through everybody else's, and they fall silent. "We need to go somewhere that's practical. It has to be somewhere new, that the Mogs won't expect us to go to."
My sentiments exactly. I'm glad somebody here knows how to take charge.
"How about Russia?" Sarah asks, surprising everybody. "None of you have been there before, and it's pretty remote. It would make a good place to hide and train."
Nine tilts his head to the side, considering Sarah's words. "I like the things you've mentioned, but I don't think any of us speak Russian."
"Exactly!" Six says triumphantly, her eyes twinkling with the glow of an idea. "That's why I suggested Canada- it's just as remote, and everybody there speaks English."
"So Canada it is?" John confirms.
There's a chorus of yeses from the back, although some of them are reluctant.
"It's too cold in Canada," Five makes the mistake of complaining. "That's why I like Brazil- it's nice and wa—"
Nine turns and glares at him mid-sentence, and he wisely shuts up. I wish I could glare like that- a mute Five would make my life so much easier.
"We have money for tickets, right?" I ask. Somebody needs to keep track of these things, so I might as well start.
Marina nods. "There was a lot in… um- I found some… We'll be fine."
Satisfied that everything's settled, we carefully extricate out stuff from the back and stroll confidently into the terminal, towards the ticket purchase area. It occurs to me as we get there that we should offer Sarah the option to stay relatively uninvolved with this whole thing, and go back home if she wants to. It isn't fair for us to drag her into all of this unwillingly.
"Sarah?" I ask her. "If you want, you can head back home now. We can buy you a ticket to Ohio and you won't have to worry about all of this."
To my surprise, she shakes her head. "I'd rather stay with you guys," she says. "There's nothing left for me back home anyways."
"Are you sure? I'm sure Mark would take care of you if you chose to go back."
"No, really, it's okay," she insists. "I have a feeling that I'm meant to be in this group."
I relent. I just hope she won't regret her decision.
"Nine one-way tickets to Toronto, please," Six says to the ticket agent, who's name-tag reads 'Nellie'.
Nellie, a woman who looks to be in her thirties, looks up from her romance novel to glance at Six.
"Identification, please."
Six looks startled. "Why do I need ID? I'm paying in cash."
"We don't sell tickets to minors," she replies, not even bothering to look up this time. "It's the law, actually."
Six scowls and turns away, and then whips back around, a fierce expression on her face. She looks about ready to kill Nellie, and I'm glad, for once, that Five steps in when he does.
"Easy, Six," he says softly, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I'll handle this from here."
He steps up to the ticket window authoritatively. Nellie looks up again before he even speaks.
"Do you think you could make an exception for me? You see, there's somewhere we urgently need to be."
His voice is layered with several smooth undertones, and I catch a trail of blue light coming from his lips as he speaks. Something about his voice is irresistible, and Nellie melts like putty.
"I think I could, just this once. For you," she adds distantly, handing a pack of newly printed tickets to Five.
"One last thing," Five says, flipping through the tickets. "If anybody asks, we were never here- you never saw us."
Nellie nods absently, already re-engrossed in her book.
"How did you do that?" Six asks, awed, as we present our (fake) passports to customs.
"Lets just say that I can be very persuasive when I want to be," Five says dryly.
As it turns out, Five's emotional finangling was good for first-class seats. We board the plane cautiously, getting some strange looks from fellow passengers. No doubt they're wondering what we're all doing traveling in first class without an adult. Personally, I think we have a pretty good reason.
The others survey all of the passengers from their seats, looking for any undercover Mogs. It must be second nature for them by now after the lives they've spent on the run. But everybody seems to check out okay, and they visibly relax as the main doors of the plane are closed.
I relax as well. I was worried that they would have spies stationed at such a major airport, but if they did, they didn't spot us. Or maybe they just sent everybody they had into battle against us. Either way, we're clear. They shouldn't know we're going to Canada.
Five ended up giving me ticket 4B, which puts me next to John and across the aisle from Sarah and Nine.
I couldn't have been assigned a worse seat. I'm next to the conspiracy theorist, and his ex-girlfriend is sitting across the aisle with the bloodthirsty maniac. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?
As the flight takes off (after about a half-hour of waiting), John seems to be determined to live up to his moniker.
"Did you see what Five did to that poor ticket lady?" he asks me, glancing out of the window as Australia grows smaller beneath us.
"It got us ten first-class tickets," I say neutrally.
"It doesn't seem unnatural to you?" John presses, closing the window shade as we break through the cloud barrier. "She wouldn't sell any tickets to Six, and then Five shows up and bam- we're flying first-class."
I figure I might as well play devil's advocate- everybody needs to be indulged once in a while.
"Are you suggesting that Five used a Legacy to influence the ticket agent?"
"Doesn't it fit? He can read emotions, influence emotions, and make people do whatever he wants!"
"You should really talk quieter," Nine interrupts from across the aisle, "especially when you're conspiring like that."
"John's the one conspiring," I say defensively. "Besides, you only heard us because of your super-hearing anyway."
Nine glances over his shoulder at the seats behind him. "I don't think you have to worry about Five overhearing you," he says, smirking.
"Why?" John asks, beating me to the punch.
"Let's just say he's got his hands full with Six."
John scowls, punching the back of the seat in front of him. The man sitting there turns and gives him a dirty look.
"Sorry," John mutters. "It's just really frustrating, you know," he says, turning to me. "Legacies shouldn't be used this way- not on other Garde."
I've really had about enough of John's moping, even if he has good reason for it. If Five really bothers him that much, then why doesn't he just do something about it instead of spending hours whining about him? I force myself to stay calm. Being irrational won't help my case.
"Why don't you just go confront Five?" I suggest. "Tell him that you don't appreciate what he's doing to your girlfriend."
"What if he just ignores me?" John shoots back. "Or what if I'm wrong and he's not using Legacies after all?"
Why's John so insecure? It's obvious that Five is doing something fishy, even if he's not completely in control of it.
"Just threaten to beat him up or something," I say tiredly, knowing full well that I'm no longer giving good advice. "The girls love that sort of thing."
Yea, I'm a bit of a hypocrite. Five is interfering with my- uh- romantic pursuits as well, and I'm just sitting back and letting it happen. But I have good reason- I'm human, and I doubt Five would take me seriously if I confronted him. So my telling John to go after Five might not be completely altruistic. But so be it. Nobody's perfect. Except for that arrogant Ken doll who's the reason all of this is happening at all.
"Come on, Sam," John says. "I can't beat up another member of the Garde!"
I sigh. "Sorry. Five bothers me just as much as he bothers you. And you're right- he shouldn't be doing what he's doing. But please just confront the guy already. I don't know why you're so worried that something will go wrong."
And with that I close my eyes and block out John's voice.
I'm in a city I've never been before. I stand on a busy sidewalk watching people rush by, all apparently with places to be and things to do. All except me. Where am I?
One thing is clear- the crowds are picking up, and if I stay here much longer I'll be trampled. That thought in mind, I make my way carefully to the nearest building- a small café with a bustling patio. By some miracle, though, there's a single unoccupied table for two near the back. I make a beeline for it, elbowing my way past a sudden mass of people that seem to want it as well. I relax as I sit down in the chair, knowing that now I have time just to figure out where I am and how I got here. I pick up the menu, but it certainly doesn't help. Apparently I'm sitting at the 'Marigold' café, but there's no city or address listed. I really can't understand why this place is so busy- the menu doesn't seem to be anything special.
"What do you want?"
The waitress' voice jolts me out of my stupor. I look up, and to my surprise, I recognize her. The waitress is Six, albeit wearing an awful-looking outfit and with a bored expression on her face. The same pitch-black hair, the haunting hazel eyes- it's her all right. But what is she doing here? And why doesn't she recognize me?
"Well?" she asks, tapping her foot impatiently. "If you're not going to order something, then give your table to somebody who will."
I look back out on to the street, and sure enough, there's a line of people waiting there. And at the head of it is Five, looking as perfect as always. He looks right at me, but gives no sign of acknowledgement. Something's not right here. But I have to stay- where else would I go?
"I'll just have a blueberry muffin," I say absently to waitress-Six, who snatches my menu from my hands and walks away.
"She's in a mood today, isn't she?" a voice says from behind me.
I turn to look at the source of the voice, and somehow I'm not surprised that it's Eight.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, probably pointlessly.
Eight smiles, and something inside of me warms to the sight. "I'm here a lot," she says. "In fact, it's kind of my place."
"Then what am I doing here?"
She laughs, and her laugh is exactly like I've imagined it. "You're here to see me, of course."
"Er…great," I say. "But where's everybody else then?"
"Everybody else? Who do you mean?"
"You know," I respond, trying hard not to let my frustration grow, "John, Sarah, Nine- the others."
"Who are those people?"
I'm about to go crazy when waitress-Six returns, plopping my muffin down unceremoniously in front of me.
"Here's your muffin," she says unnecessarily. And then she's gone again, before I can check if she remembers the others.
I look back at Eight, intending to drag some kind of explanation out of her, but she's vanished as suddenly as she appeared. Sighing, I take a bite of the lonely blueberry muffin lying in front of me. Then everything fades away.
I'm dreaming. The realization comes to me suddenly, and it sure explains a lot. I replay the rapidly disappearing details of my dream in my head, and it's almost funny in a sad sort of way. I really do have weird dreams these days.
But then I realize- I haven't woken up yet. I'm still dreaming.
A light suddenly appears to my right, illuminating my surroundings. I make my way towards it, and find myself at the top of a large, circular room. Steps lead down to the floor, where there's a basin of a silvery liquid.
My curiosity draws me to the basin. But as I get closer, I realize that I'm not alone. A figure cloaked in shadow stands with its back to me, watching the basin. The liquid in the basin ripples softly as I tread closer to it. It looks like mercury, almost, but that doesn't make any sense.
I keep walking anyways. Even if it is mercury, it can't harm me in a dream. I come to a stop just behind the figure, which still hasn't noticed me. But when I look at it from this angle, it isn't just hidden by the shadows. It is a shadow. It seems to flicker, almost, in the light, and I get the feeling that under the bright glare of daylight, it would vanish completely. But here, in this dark room, it is very much real.
As I watch, it extends its hands over the liquid and begins to chant in a language that I can't make heads or tails of. And as the chant grows louder, the liquid in the basin begins to rise upwards, into the air. It hovers there, and then slowly clumps together into a sphere about the size of a basketball.
The chant continues, and the liquid responds, forming into a different shape with every word. A book. A beach. A box. And then it settles on one. A dagger. The silvery dagger revolves slowly, end-over-end, and then comes to a stop with the tip pointing straight down.
The chant intensifies and the dagger starts to glow with a fierce metallic light. But then suddenly, at what seems like such a climactic moment, the chant stops. The liquid loses its shape, splashing back into the basin, where it no longer glows.
The figure reaches down to the pool and scoops up a small amount of the liquid. It coats his hand like a silvery glove, and hardens into what looks like solid metal. Then the figure spins around, and points the coated hand at me. I dive out of the way reflexively, but nothing happens. The figure looks confused, and I wonder at what it was trying to do. It seemed malicious, though, so I take advantage of its confusion, stepping forward to close the gap between us. I punch it squarely in the jaw, my fist connecting solidly despite the figure's transparency, and it crumples to the ground.
That's when I wake up.
I open my eyes at the same time as John, who blinks confusedly next to me.
"Well that was weird," he says.