The Fall of Five

Page 24

“So, it detects Loric,” Eight says, “but what good is that if we’re the only ones left?”
“I’m going to try something,” I say, taking the vial back from John. Carefully, I tip the vial so that just a single drop spills into the palm of my hand. The liquid turns blue and a tickling sensation spreads across my palm. Then, the single droplet quivers and expands, gaining mass and density until I’m holding in my hand a smooth nugget of Loralite.
“Whoa,” Eight says, taking the stone out of my hand and turning it over, examining it.
“Whoa, indeed.” Malcolm bends down, gazing in amazement at the stone. “Whatever that material is, it defies the laws of physics.”
“So we can create Loralite with that,” John muses. “Nine and I both have something that looks like it could be used for farming or planting, and Eight has an object that can summon Chimæra. Doesn’t it seem like that’s the stuff that can help us jumpstart Lorien?”
“It does indeed,” says Malcolm.
I put the stopper back into the vial, not wanting to waste any more of our precious liquid Loralite.
The inventorying goes on for a little while longer with Malcolm taking really meticulous notes. We’re all eager to learn as much as we can about our Inheritances—well, except for Nine. He keeps gazing towards the door of the Lecture Hall. He makes us promise to train with him after we’re done with all “the brainy stuff.” In truth, I’m looking forward to another session in there myself. I feel like I’ve got a lot of catching up to do before I’m at the same level of combat readiness as the others.
When the others leave, Eight and I linger, putting the last few items back into our Chests. I put the Loralite stone that I created in there as well, but Eight plucks it out. He squeezes it tightly in his fist and concentrates.
“What’re you doing?”
He opens his eyes and sighs. “I wanted to see if I could use this to teleport to one of the other Loralite stones. I’ve tried using my pendant before and that didn’t work either. They must not be big enough chunks.”
“What? You wanted to take a quick jaunt to Stonehenge? Maybe Somalia?” I take back the stone and put it in my Chest, locking it up.
“Things are going to be moving fast now, that’s all. I just wish we had more time to do some of that exploring.”
“We?” I reply, feeling a sudden heat rising in my face. “You were going to teleport me away with you?”
Eight flashes me that disarming smile. “Just for a quick breather. You telling me you couldn’t use one?”
Eight’s right, obviously. After getting woken up before dawn by Ella’s screaming and witnessing that horrific vision of Chicago, I could definitely use a time-out from Loric business. But there’s no time for that now. I touch Eight on the arm.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “We’ve gotta be serious. Like Nine said, no time for gallivanting off to foreign lands or even the waterfront.”
Eight sighs with good-natured disappointment. “Ah well,” he says, “we’ll always have pizza.” He pauses for a moment, looking like he wants to say something more, but then Nine bursts into the room. He’s already changed into workout clothes.
“You suckers ready to work?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“LET’S GRAB FIVE,” NINE SAYS GRUFFLY, AFTER EIGHT and I have gotten changed. “That dude could use a workout.”
We find Five stretched out on one of the couches in Nine’s living room. He’s fired up some video game from Nine’s collection on the big-screen television. I don’t have any experience with the things and watching Five play makes me sort of dizzy. The game is in first-person perspective, Five’s character running around a battlefield with a machine gun, mowing down soldiers. Five doesn’t even acknowledge us entering the room until Eight loudly clears his throat.
“Oh, hey guys,” Five says, not bothering to pause the game. “This thing is freaking amazing. We never had anything like it on the islands. Watch this.”
On screen, Five’s character launches a grenade. A group of enemy soldiers hiding behind a pile of sandbags explodes in a shower of dismembered limbs. I look away. After seeing into Ella’s dream this morning, the video game just seems a little too realistic.
“Cool,” Eight says politely.
Nine yawns. He stands right in front of the television so that Five is finally forced to pause the game. “I used to be really into these when I was a kid,” Nine says. “Now I’m more into the real thing. You want to join us?”
Five raises an eyebrow. “The real thing? We’re going to go kill some soldiers in um—?” He squints at the open case for the video game. “World War Two. I guess my Earth history must be spotty because I thought that was all over.”
“We’re going to train,” Nine replies, unamused. “From what I heard about Arkansas, it sounds like your game could use some work.”
I notice a flash of anger in Five’s eyes and for a moment I think he might leap off the couch. But then he settles back, crossing his arms and making a concerted effort to keep his features neutral.
“I’m not really feeling it right now,” Five says. He makes a show of stretching out further on the couch. “Anyway, this game is good for my hand-eye coordination. Probably the best training I’ll get around here.”
I’m realizing now that this might have been a bad idea. Nine’s about the least diplomatic person I’ve ever met. After spending some time around him, I’ve learned not to take him too seriously. I can tell Five hasn’t quite worked up that same tolerance yet.
“It’s really surprisingly fun,” I say, trying to smooth things over. If Five doesn’t feel like we’re pushing him, maybe he’d be more likely to train with us. “It gives us a chance to work together as a team. Also, we’d really like the chance to get to know you better.”
For a moment, Five’s look softens. It’s like I figured; if you’re nice to him, he lets his guard down. Nobody likes to be told what to do, especially when they’ve been alone for as long as Five has. I can tell he’s going to cave in and come train with us.
Unfortunately, Nine’s not so good at picking up signals, or maybe he’s just impatient. He casually walks behind Five’s couch and, with one hand, flips it over. Five is unceremoniously dumped onto the floor.
Eight shakes his head, although there’s a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. I know Five didn’t make the best first impression on him, dredging up all those memories of what Eight did in India. Still, this is no way to treat our newest Garde.
“Come on, Nine,” I say, using that disappointed-but-not-angry tone I used to get from the nuns. “You’re being a bully.”
Nine ignores me. Five has already jumped back to his feet, glaring at Nine.
“What’d you do that for?”
“My couch,” says Nine. “I can do whatever I want with it.”
Five makes a disgusted snort. “That is so childish. You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” Nine replies, shrugging blithely. “You can show me how ridiculous I am in training.”
So this is all one of Nine’s little motivational tools, trying to get Five mad at him so that he’ll come fight in the Lecture Hall. Such a boy’s plan. We could’ve just asked Five nicely. Five keeps right on staring at Nine, sizing him up. He smirks, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes, and I get the impression that Five has seen right through Nine’s ploy.
“Tell you what,” says Five. “I’ll give you a free shot right here. If you can hurt me, I’ll come train with you. If you can’t hurt me, you take the overcompensating macho stuff out of my face for the rest of the day.”
Nine’s face lights up in a wolfish grin. “You want me to hit you, little guy?”
“Sure,” Five replies, his hands in his pockets, chin jutting out. “Give it a shot.”
“This is dumb, you guys,” I say, trying to defuse what has suddenly become a really absurd situation. Both Five and Nine are so involved in this pissing contest when we should be learning to work together. I glance over at Eight for some support. A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, almost like he’s amused by this whole thing. When he catches my look of disapproval, Eight’s smile turns sheepish and he places a hand on Nine’s shoulder.
“Let’s just go train,” Eight says, keeping his voice light. “Five can come by when he’s ready.”
Nine shrugs off Eight’s hand and cocks his fist back. He raises his eyebrows at Five. “You sure you wanna test me, Frodo?”
“I hope your punches are better than your insults,” Five snaps back. I have to admit, I sort of admire his spirit. Of course, this all could’ve been avoided if he’d just swallowed his pride to begin with. The way both Five and Nine are acting is pathetic. Two of the last remaining Loric in the universe need to be given a time-out.
Like me, Eight has resigned himself to letting this play out. We both take a step back.
Nine really takes his time, drawing it out. He cracks his knuckles, rolls his neck, makes sure his shoulders are square. I think I’m more nervous than Five is; he just stands there passively, waiting for Nine to throw his punch.
Finally, Nine takes a swing. It’s a big overhand blow and even though it’s definitely enough to knock someone out, I think I’ve seen Nine throw punches harder and faster. I guess he took a little off the punch, not wanting to hurt Five that bad.
In midswing, Five’s skin transforms into glistening steel. Nine’s fist crunches against Five’s metallic jaw and he cries out immediately. It’s like hitting a metal girder. I put a hand over my mouth to stifle a cry of surprise. Next to me, Eight has to cut off a surprised laugh when he realizes that Nine’s hand is definitely broken. He spins away from Five, clutching his hand against his chest.
Five’s skin returns to normal. “Is that it?”
Nine growls a series of curses. I rush over to take a look at his hand but he pushes me away and stalks out of the room, heading towards the Lecture Hall. I’m sure he’ll want me to heal that hand as soon as he cools down. Anyway, after acting like a jerk, he deserves a little pain.
“If he really listened to Four talking about our battle in Arkansas, he would’ve seen that coming,” Five says as he watches Nine storm off, his voice wooden, almost bored.
“He’s not exactly the master technician,” Eight replies, coolly. “Well, welcome to the team. Enjoy your video games, I guess.”
Eight follows Nine out of the room. Five watches him go, looking a little baffled that Eight would just brush him off. I help him return the couch that Nine flipped over to its normal position.
“I’m not sure what I did wrong here,” Five says quietly. “How am I the bad guy?”
“You’re not,” I reply. “Things just got out of hand. You were both being pretty stupid.”