The Blade of Shattered Hope

When no one responded, Jane’s scream pierced the air like a burst of thunder. “Answer me!”

“Yes,” Tick said quickly, as did Paul and Sofia. The best she got out of Master George was a firm nod.

Jane stepped through the door and into the cell, standing very close to Tick. “We will be winking to a specific location here in the Thirteenth. Frazier has set up several spinners and monitors so all of you can best witness what happens today. When it’s over, you’ll spread the word, and we can begin the process of my taking over the Realities and putting the Utopia Initiative into full swing.”

Master George laughed, a slow, condescending chuckle. Tick braced himself for Jane’s reaction. He didn’t see what was funny. Though he didn’t know what she was talking about, her words had been like icy daggers scraping down his spine. She had something terrible planned, no doubt about it.

But Jane didn’t explode with her usual anger. “Laugh all you want, George. Giggle, chortle, snicker, whatever pleases you most. A couple of hours from now, when you see what I do, you may never make such jolly sounds ever again. The Blade of Shattered Hope, George. Soulikens. Dark Matter. These are things you aren’t even close to understanding yet.”

Master George’s face now showed no humor whatsoever. It burned red, almost as if he wore his own mask. “Words, Jane. Anyone can say fancy words, trying their best to sound smarter than others. You keep telling us you have this diabolical plan. Well, then, what is it?”

Jane paused before answering, the corners of her metallic lips curving upward slightly. “I’m going to destroy the Fifth Reality.”

Master George huffed. “Destroy it? What kind of nonsense is this? A mess of atomic bombs come across your path recently?”

Jane’s mask turned a darker shade of red, something Tick hadn’t thought possible. However, her expression didn’t change. It was still set in that mocking half-smile. For a long time, she just stared at Master George.

“Jane,” he finally said, “I worry your mind has slipped down a slope from which it can’t be saved.”

“You mistake my silence, George,” Jane replied. “I’m surprised, actually. I’m baffled that you could be so short-sighted. So . . . stupid.”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you really not understand my power over Chi’karda? Even before my . . . union with the core of Dark Infinity, I almost had the ability to do what I plan for today. Now, it will be done with absolute certainty.”

“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.”

Chapter 17

Tale of the Iron Poker

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.