The Fate of Ten

Some of them are scared. Okay, a lot of them are scared. The Legacies were one thing but now this—a sudden, uninvited telepathic experience? I get that it’s a little much. I talk to them. Comfort them. I find that my mind is strong enough that I can hold multiple conversations at once while still zipping across the telepathic plane.

I assure them that they’re going to be okay. That it’s like a dream. I don’t tell them that I have no idea what I’m doing.

Then I get to New York. I snap up Sam first, mostly because I’m so excited he’s been awarded a Legacy, I just want to hug him. That creep Five, handsome Nine who I would also very much like to hug, some new girl—they all get pulled into my telepathic embrace. And then I get to John. I’ve had more practice using my telepathy on him than anyone; it should be easy. But like Six, he struggles against me. That’s when I notice the biggest and ugliest monster I’ve ever seen is looming over him and the others. John wants to fight. Or, well, he doesn’t want to get stepped on. I can’t say I blame him.

“Will this knock him out?” I ask Legacy. “Will he, like, get eaten?”

No. All will pass in the blink of an eye.

“Don’t worry, John,” I say triumphantly. “It’ll only take a second.”

I pull in John’s consciousness, too. That’s everyone. Every Garde on Earth. All their pulsing Loric heartbeats, pulled into my vast consciousness.

“So, what now?” I ask Legacy.

Watch.

Chapter TWENTY

I’M SOMEWHERE ELSE. A PLACE THAT’S BOTH strange to me and familiar. I float through the air, able to see the entire scene around me, but not able to take any action. I can sense the hundreds of other minds along for the ride with me.

This is what Legacy wants to show us.

It is a warm summer night. Two vivid white moons hang in the cloudless dark purple sky, one in the north and one in the south. That means it’s a special time for my people. Two weeks out of the year the moons are like that and for those two weeks the Loric would celebrate. That’s where we are. Lorien.

I know this because Legacy knows this. What I don’t know is how far back in time we’ve gone.

We’re on a beach, the sand dyed flickering orange from the light of a dozen bonfires. There are people everywhere, eating and laughing, drinking and dancing. A band plays music like nothing I’ve ever heard on Earth. My gaze drifts towards a teenaged girl with a curly mane of auburn hair as she dances to the music, her hands thrown over her head, not a care in the world. Her dress shimmers and twirls, caught occasionally by the warm ocean breeze.

Down the beach, at the edge of the party, two teenaged boys sit in the sand, taking a break from the festivities. One is tall for his age with close-cropped dark hair and sharp features. The other, smaller but more handsome than the first guy, has a shaggy mop of dirty blond hair and a square jaw. The blond is dressed in a loose-fitting white button-down, untucked and casual. His friend is dressed more formally in a dark red shirt, ironed and perfect, the sleeves meticulously rolled up. The two of them, but the taller boy in particular, seem super interested in the dancing girl.

“You should just go for it,” says the blond, elbowing his friend. “She likes you. Everyone knows it.”

The dark-haired boy frowns, sifting a hand through the sand. “So what? What would be the point?”

“Uh, are you watching her dance? I can think of a lot of reasons, buddy.”

“She isn’t Garde. She’s not like us. We wouldn’t be able . . .” The dark-haired boy shakes his head gloomily. “Our worlds are too different.”

“She doesn’t seem to mind not being Garde,” the blond boy counters. “She’s having fun anyway. You’re the one hung up on it.”

“Why do we have Legacies while she doesn’t? It doesn’t seem fair, that some should be stuck being so . . . normal.” The dark-haired boy turns to his friend, an earnest look on his face. “Do you ever think about that stuff?”

In answer, the blond boy holds out an open palm. In it, a tiny ball of fire comes to life and quickly shapes itself into the form of a dancing girl.

“Nope,” he says, grinning.

The dark-haired boy concentrates for a moment and the little fire-dancer suddenly winks out of existence. The blond boy frowns.

“Stop it,” he complains. “You know I hate when you do that.”

The dark-haired boy smiles apologetically at his friend and turns his Legacies back on.

“Stupid Legacy,” he says, shaking his head. “What good is something that only works against other Garde?”

The blond boy waves towards the dancer. “See? You’re perfect for Celwe. She doesn’t have any Legacies, and you’ve got the crappiest one there is.”

The dark-haired boy laughs and punches his friend playfully in the shoulder. “You always know the right things to say.”

“That’s true,” the blond replies, grinning. “You could learn a lot from me.”

I don’t have eyes in the traditional sense here, but the vision seems to blink. In that split second, the boys sitting on the beach appear as the men they’ll grow into. The blond guy is handsome, athletic, with kind eyes—and I’m not paying any attention to him. Instead, I’m drawn to the hulking form seated beside him, deathly pale, with a ghastly scar around his neck.

Setrákus Ra.

This scene must be hundreds of years ago. Maybe more than a thousand. It’s back before Setrákus Ra joined the Mogadorians, before he became a monster.