James Dashner - The Blade of Shattered Hope

“Well,” Sofia chimed in, “quit talking about it and tell us what your big bad plan is.”

Tick winced. She and Master George weren’t being smart about this. Couldn’t they see that Jane was deadly serious? Ticking her off even more was a very, very bad idea. But when Jane responded, her voice was as calm and collected as anything Tick had ever heard come out of her mouth.

“The Blade of Shattered Hope will collect every souliken from my Alterants, channel them into the necessary components, and ignite the dark matter within. The Blade will then slice the Fifth Reality from existence. Forever.” She paused, then took a step forward. “Let me say it slowly for you, George. The Fifth will… be… no… more.”

As Sato devoured his third helping of the duck dumpling stew, he realized he’d gone at least five minutes without thinking about the whole nonsense of his Alterant being the ruler of a Reality before being murdered. There is something about tasty food that tends to wash your troubles away. And Tollaseat’s food was, without hesitation or doubt, the most excellent stuff Sato had ever put in his mouth.

“This is good,” he mumbled between bites, probably having said those three words a dozen times by now. “This is really good.”

“Glad ya like it, I am.” Tollaseat leaned back in his chair and puffed on his pipe. He’d lit it after eating only one helping, and seemed to be enjoying every second of watching Sato eat like a starved hyena.

“Quite good, it was,” Mothball pitched in, folding her arms and looking very satisfied.

Surprisingly, even Rutger-who was propped up on at least three pillows and a very large book-was finished, wiping his mouth and laying the napkin on his bowl. “Sato, I had no idea you could stuff your face like that. You’d make my mama proud.”

Windasill grinned as she leaned forward and reached for the ladle in the big pot of stew. “Care for another helping, Master Sato?”

Suddenly, as if a switch had been flicked inside of him, Sato realized he was terribly, horribly, awfully full. He dropped his spoon and looked up, hoping the feeling that he might explode at any second didn’t show on his face. “No, thanks. I think I might’ve taken one bite too many.”

“Oh, rubbish,” she said through an exaggerated frown. “There’s always room for more duck dumpling stew. Isn’t there, my sweet?” She glanced over at Tollaseat.

Mothball’s dad puffed out a big cloud of wispy smoke. “Methinks the lad’s proven himself quite nicely, me love. Let him rest up an hour or two. Then we’ll bring out the desserts. ” He emphasized the last word in a roar with his wide eyes twinkling. He put the pipe back into his mouth and chuckled lightly.

The thought of dessert almost put Sato over the edge. “Sounds great,” he managed to get out.

“Tell us a story,” Mothball said, looking at her dad. “Been quite some time since we’ve ’eard you make somethin’ up ’bout the war years, it ’as. Sato ’ere might enjoy your boastin’ for awhile.” She looked over at Sato and winked. “Won’t quite know what’s true and what’s not, but it’s fun to listen to, ya can trust me on that one.”

Rutger pounded the table. “I second the motion. After a meal like that, a body needs to hear a good tale or two.”

Tollaseat scrunched up his face into something very serious, looking around the room at each person in turn. “Wanna hear a story, do ya?”

“Yeah,” Sato said at the same time as everyone else. He was surprised at himself, but he suddenly wanted nothing more than to hear this tall, kind man tell stories about the old days, even though those old days would be very different from days in Reality Prime.

Tollaseat leaned back, his chair creaking, and shifted so that the elbow supporting his pipe-holding hand rested on the other arm. He took a puff or two then started talking, swirls of wispy smoke slowly drifting toward the ceiling.

“Back when I was a wee lad, barely ten and six-that’s sixteen to you, Master Sato-just when the growin’ pains started stretching me arms and legs, life was sweet and terrible. Sweet in that me mum and dad were alive and well, the crops were growin’ right sprightly, and I’d just met me future love”-he nodded toward Windasill-“at the August Festie. But it was terrible, too, yes indeed. That ruddy summer marked the worst we’d had yet with the Bugs, it did.”

He coughed and reached out for a sip of water before taking another puff from his pipe. “Late one night, I was sleepin’ nice and cozy in me bed, dreamin’ of good days to come. Mayhaps dreamin’ about Windasill, even. Most of the fightin’ with them nasty Bugs was off in the far country, ya see-just frightenin’ tales and rumors to the likes of us, it was. But we knew things were quite bad, and that blokes like myself might have to run off and get to soldierin’ and whatnot. But that night, all was well when I put on me long johns and dozed to the soft sounds of the breeze and the stream out back.

“But then came the knock on the door.” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “Woke me right up, it did. I remember sittin’ up, perkin’ me ears. Heard the footsteps of me dad, heard the door creak as it swung open, heard the murmurs of conversation, though I couldn’t make out any words. Then…”

He trailed off, a glazed look coming over his face. Sato felt his own face redden in embarrassment. Maybe the old man Tollaseat slammed his hand against the table. Dishes rattled and his pipe went skittering across the floor. Windasill quickly jumped up to retrieve it and returned it to her husband. As she sat down again, Sato waited breathlessly for what Tollaseat might say next.

“Can’t quite say what sound it was I ’eard next,” Mothball’s dad continued. “A groan. A sigh. Maybe a bit of a whimper. But for some reason, it sent me brain spinnin’ with alarm. I jumped from me bed and scrambled out to the main room. Right there in front of me, a ruddy Bugaboo was on top of me dad, his hands raised, claspin’ the biggest sword you ever did see. Mum came in right then and screamed a sound you’d never believe ’less your own ears were there to ’ear it. If I’m honest with ya, which I am, ’twas that sound-me mum splinterin’ the air with all the anguish in the world-that made me move. Even more than seein’ me dad ’bout to meet the pointy end of a sword.”

Sato leaned forward, sure he’d never been so captivated in his life.

Tollaseat barely paused between sentences now. “Acted, I did. Ran straight for the hearth-the ashes still glowin’ hot-grabbed the iron poker me own Uncle Kent forged, gripped it with both of me ruddy hands, swung it up, and charged that Bug. Saw the fear in that loonie’s eyes. Saw them widen and turn into pools of pure white. He started to say somethin’, started to move, started to swing down with his arms and his sword. I screamed and swung that blessed iron poker. I swung it with every bit of strength cloggin’ me pores and joints. I swung it straight for the Bug’s face.”

He paused then and took a long pull on his pipe. Scanning Sato and the others at the table, he finally blew out a stream of smoke. He looked down at the table, his eyes full of shadowy memories.

“What happened?” Sato whispered, unable to help himself.

Tollaseat, still staring at the empty plate in front of him, answered in a haunted voice. “I missed him. Completely missed the ruddy buzzard.”

Sato swallowed heavily, slumping in his chair.

“Killed me dad, the Bug did.” Tollaseat finally glanced up, his gaze resting on Sato. “But I saved me mum. I was able to run off the Bug. Swore the rest of me life to hunt them down, one by one, ’til every last one of them buggers was dead and rottin’.”