James Dashner - The Blade of Shattered Hope

Tick’s hands instinctively covered his ears. It wasn’t so much the volume of the sound as the vibration of it. A deep, thrumming toll, like a massive bell had been struck just feet away. The noise had an underlying buzz, too, as if the same bell had upset a nest of gigantic wasps.

“What is that?” Paul shouted.

Tick didn’t know for sure, but it seemed like the source of the horrible sound was coming from…

He saw dust and pebbles bouncing on the ground. He had no doubt.

It was coming from the black tree.

It took a lot of persuading, but Sato finally convinced Mothball and Rutger to accept Tollaseat’s offer to stay overnight and return to headquarters the next morning. They were anxious to get back and hear about the results of some secret meeting Master George had run off to, but agreed that one night wouldn’t hurt.

But the promise of a warm fire in a cozy house, and the promise of more desserts from Tollaseat-maybe even a story or two-sealed the deal. And Sato loved the idea of sleeping in one of the gigantic-and soft-beds upstairs. His cot back in the Bermuda Triangle always made him feel like he’d slept on a concrete floor.

They’d just sat down in the living room, plates of cheesecake balanced on their laps, cups of hot tea steaming on the end tables, and a large fire crackling in the brick hearth, when Rutger brought up for the tenth time what Sato had said earlier about wanting to help in the fight against the Bugaboo soldiers.

“What made you say that?” the man asked, not caring that his mouth was full of cake. “You were just being nice, right?”

“I thought it a very kind gesture, indeed,” Windasill said. She held her cup right below her lips and blew across the hot tea.

“Why do you keep asking me about it?” Sato turned to Rutger. “It just ticks me off that they’ve done so many bad things. I want to help. Why is that so hard for you to get?”

“I just meant-”

“Isn’t that what we’re about?” Sato snapped. “The Realitants? Aren’t we supposed to help people?”

Rutger’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, yes. Of course it is.”

“Then quit asking.” Sato forked a bite of cheesecake into his mouth, then took a sip from his cup.

He had no idea why he felt so edgy and irritated. He shouldn’t feel embarrassed that the real reason he wanted to help was because of Tollaseat’s story about watching his own father be killed. No one had been there to help Sato when the same tragedy had happened to him. He felt obligated, but not in a forceful, guilty way. It was more that he felt a connection to Tollaseat that wouldn’t go away.

For the first time, his feelings solidified into one easy statement in his mind: He wanted revenge. And by fighting the Bugs who had killed Tollaseat’s father and were connected with the woman who had killed his own father, maybe he could find it.

“Sorry, Sato,” Rutger said. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. The opposite, actually. I was impressed, and that made me curious as to what was behind it. I’ll shut up now.”

“That’d be perfect,” Sato said, trying to soften his words with a smile, trying to return to the good mood of his earlier determination to fight the Bugs and his excitement at spending the night in the Fifth Reality. “Seriously, I mean it, though. Tollaseat, I’m going to get permission from George to come back and help. Whatever I can do.”

Tollaseat bowed his head in a deep nod. “I’m quite honored, Master Sato. I’ll ask around town for ways you…”

He trailed off, slowly lowering his cup back to the small table next to his chair. He looked confused.

“What is it, dear?” Windasill asked.

“What?” He focused on her. “Oh, well, I just had a thought. People will see that Sato here is a dead ringer for our deceased leader. Don’t know how we can get around that.”

“Makes a good point, he does,” Mothball said. “Sato, not sure we can be doin’ that. Quite risky. Might make folks talk and wonder.”

Sato couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of that very problem. How would that work to have someone come along who was the Alterant of your dead leader? He felt a pit of disappointment open up in his stomach.

“No matter,” Tollaseat said, waving his hand in the air. “Think on it, no rush. Things have been quite cool of late, not too many problems with the ruddy Bugs. Mayhaps when you get a bit older, look a bit different, when it’s… less obvious you’re not from these parts and couldn’t be him.”

Rutger suddenly chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Mothball asked.

Rutger shrugged. “Could be quite a sight. Those clowns seeing their victim come back from the dead. Maybe they’d-”

A loud, horrible crash and the crunch of shattered glass cut him off. Sato jumped up, looking over in time to see hundreds of shards from the big window that overlooked the front yard blow inward, the glass bouncing and clinking off furniture as it fell to the floor.

Mothball’s mom yelped; Tollaseat called out something, but Sato couldn’t tell what he’d said. Rutger, who had been the closest to the window, seemed too shocked to move. Pieces of glass glittered in his hair and on his shoulders.

Everyone stared at the empty window as if waiting for someone to jump up and explain what had happened. In the silence, Sato heard the distant sounds of glass breaking in other parts of the house. Then, from outside, came a low, repeating pulse of noise, some kind of deep buzz or static, surging in short waves. He almost felt it more than heard it with his ears.

“What’s going on?” Sato asked. “What is that noise?”

“No ruddy idea,” Mothball answered.

The sound grew and intensified, making Sato’s head hurt. “What shou-”

He fell to the floor as the whole house started to shake and tremble.

Tick sat still, transfixed by the humming, throbbing black tree. Its waves of energy were almost visible to some sixth sense he didn’t quite understand. Since the noise had started, none of his friends had said a word, and Tick was sure they were as mesmerized and scared as he was.

The man Jane had called Frazier Gunn was walking from screen to screen, flicking the thin metal bar of each spinner that was attached to the exact center. He moved on without even waiting to make sure the spinner worked. As if by magic, and certainly by a technology Tick didn’t understand, the metal rods spun faster and faster, despite the seeming lack of any motor.

A shimmering silver disk, maybe four inches wide, appeared. Once the spinner hit full speed, a much larger, red-tinted projection shot out, creating a wide, hazy circle that covered most of the screen behind it. Only the white corners of the squares were visible. Tick knew that soon those red circles would turn into video feeds, as clear in quality as any movie he’d ever seen.

Just as Frazier flicked the last spinner, Mistress Jane came over to Tick and the others, seemingly done with whatever she’d been doing to make the menacing black tree hum as it did. She stopped a few feet in front of their line of chairs, her red mask looking somewhat weary. She stared directly at Tick.

“I’m going to explain everything to you,” she said, her voice tight. Strained. “And this isn’t some example of the bad guys telling the good guys the whole diabolical plan just in time for them to escape and save the day. No, I want you to know. Every last detail. Once you do, and once you witness the extent of my power, I’ll set you free so you can tell the other Realitants and spread the word throughout each world. Everyone must know what I’m capable of, and the reasons why it must happen.”