Pittacus Lore - The Fall of Five

“And maybe while we’re searching for Five, Setrákus Ra mounts a full-scale invasion of Earth.” Nine slaps the front of his sketchpad for emphasis. “We’ve got him on the run. We should finish it off now.”

“On the run?” I ask, staring at Nine. “That’s not exactly how I remember it.”

“What? He did retreat, didn’t he?”

I shake my head. “You think you’re ready for a rematch?”

“You tell me.” Nine curls one of his arms behind him and juts the other out overhead, a bodybuilder pose. I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m sure he’ll be intimidated by flexing.”

“It’s more intimidating than sitting around, anyway,” counters Nine as he flops down on the couch next to me.

“You really think we should go storming West Virginia? After the beating we took at Dulce?”

Nine looks down at his fists, clenching and unclenching them, probably remembering how close he came to being finished off by Setrákus. How close we all came.

“I don’t know,” he says after a pause. “I just wanted to give this to you so you know it’s an option, all right? You might not think I’m, like, capable of learning my limitations and shit like that—but, back in New Mexico? I was maybe, just slightly, over my head trying to fight Setrákus alone. Six went off on her own too, Eight got wrecked, and everyone else was getting shot up. But you kept it together, man. You kept us together. Everyone knows it. I still don’t buy your bullshit about being Pittacus reincarnated or whatever, but you’ve got that team-captain vibe. So you do the leading and I’ll do the ass kicking. It’s what we’re best at.”

“Best? I don’t know—Six is pretty good at ass kicking, too.”

Nine snorts. “Yeah, she was super-badass in her freaking ceiling cocoon. That’s not the point, Johnny. The point is, I need you to tell me what to punch. And I need you to tell me soon or I’m gonna go stir crazy up in here.”

I take another look at Nine’s sketchpad. From the look of it, he probably got right to work on these drawings as soon as we returned from New Mexico. For all his bluster, at least he’s been trying his best to come up with a way to take the fight to the Mogadorians. Meanwhile, I’ve been stuck in this rut, unable to sleep, thinking myself in circles alone on the rooftop.

“I wish Henri was here,” I say, “or Sandor. Any of the Cêpans, really. Someone that could tell us what to do next.”

“Yeah, well, they’re dead,” replies Nine, bluntly. “It’s up to us now, and you’re always the one with the ideas. Hell, the last time I wouldn’t go along with your plan, I almost had to throw you off a roof.”

“I’m not a Cêpan.”

“No, but you’re a freaking know-it-all.” Nine pats me hard on the back, which I’ve come to realize is as close as he gets to real affection. “Quit whining, cut down on the snuggling with your little human girlfriend, and come up with some brilliant plan.”

A week ago I would’ve bristled at Nine calling me a whiner and needling me about Sarah. Now, I know he’s just trying to motivate me. This is his version of a pep talk and, embarrassing as it is, I sort of need to hear it.

“What if I just don’t have a plan?” I ask quietly.

“That, John-boy, is simply not an option.”

I’m back on the roof of the John Hancock Center. This time, I’m not alone.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you aren’t ready,” I say gently, looking at the huddled form sitting Indian style on the roof next to me.

Ella has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders even though it isn’t that cold on the roof. Somehow she looks smaller than usual, and I wonder if stress is causing her to revert back to a younger age. Beneath the blanket she’s wearing one of Nine’s old flannel shirts. It comes all the way down to her knees. Lately, it seems like the only time she’s able to sleep peacefully is in the afternoons. She probably wouldn’t have even gotten out of bed at all today if Marina hadn’t gently prodded her to come up here and talk with me.

“I’ll try,” she says, her voice hard to hear above the wind. “Marina said you might be able to help.”

Thanks, Marina , I think. I’ve barely spoken to Ella one-on-one since we first met in New Mexico. I guess this is a good opportunity to get to know her better, although I wish it was under better circumstances. I badly want to help her; I’m just not sure I know how—I’m hardly an expert on these visions, or a psychiatrist, if that’s what she needs. This is the kind of talk that would normally be left to a Cêpan, but like Nine reminded me earlier, we’re all out of those.

I try to sound confident. “Marina’s right. I’ve had dreams before.”

“Dreams about him?” Ella asks, and by the way her voice drops there can be no doubt who she’s talking about.

“Yeah,” I reply. “That ugly freak has spent so much time in my head, I should be charging him rent.”

Ella smiles a little. She stands up, kicking some loose gravel across the roof. Tentatively, I put my hand on her shoulder. She sighs, almost like it’s a relief.

“It always starts the same way,” Ella begins. “We’re back at that base, fighting Setrákus and his minions. We’re, you know, losing.”

I nod. “Yeah, I remember that part.”

“I pick up a piece of metal from the floor. I dunno what it is exactly, a broken piece of a sword maybe. When I touch it, it starts glowing in my hand.”

“Wait,” I say, trying to piece this part together. “Is that what happened or is this just in the dream?”

“That’s what happened,” she says. “I was scared and just grabbed the first thing I could. My big plan was to just chuck stuff at him until he stopped hitting Nine.”

“From where I was standing, it looked like some kind of dart,” I say, remembering the fight, all the smoke and chaos. “A glowing dart. I thought it was something you got from your Chest.”

“I never had a Chest,” Ella replies sullenly. “I guess they forgot to pack me one.”

“Ella, do you know what I think?” I’m trying to be comforting, but the excitement is hard to keep out of my voice. “I think you developed a new Legacy back there and we were all too panicked to realize it.”

Ella looks down at her hands. “I don’t get it.”

I pick up a handful of the loose stones from the roof and hold them out to her. “I think you did something to that broken piece of sword. And when you hit Setrákus Ra with it, you hurt him.”

“Oh,” she replies, not sounding at all thrilled.

“Do you think you could do it again?” I hold the stones out towards her.

“I don’t want to,” she answers sharply. “It felt . . . wrong, somehow.”

“You were just scared . . . ,” I start, trying to encourage her, but when she takes a step away from me, I realize I’ve made a mistake. She’s still shaken up by the fight, these dreams, her Legacies. I let the stones drop back to the roof. “We all were. It’s okay. We can worry about that later. Finish telling me about the dreams.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I think maybe she’s withdrawing completely. But, after a moment, she starts again.

“I throw the piece of metal at him,” she says, “and it sticks inside him. Just like at the base. Except, in my dream, instead of retreating, Setrákus turns to face me. Everyone else —all of you guys—disappear, and it’s just me and him alone in that smoky room.”

Ella wraps her arms around herself, shivering. “He pulls the dart out and he smiles at me. Smiles at me with those horrible teeth. I’m stuck standing there like an idiot while he walks over and touches my face. Like, caresses it with the back of his hand. His touch is ice cold. And then he talks to me.”