The Blade of Shattered Hope

“I’ve learned my lesson,” Jane said, “about walking softly and kindly as I try to achieve my dream of a Utopian Reality. I’ll tread lightly no longer. The people of the Fifth will die, yes, but it is for the good of mankind. In the long run, we will all be eternally grateful for their sacrifice.”

Master George’s whole body trembled with rage. “How could even your twisted, sickened mind stretch a tragedy of such proportions to something that will achieve good? You’ve lost your soul, Jane.”

Jane’s hand whipped out again, her palm facing George. But she paused, then slowly withdrew it back into her robe. “Yes, you may be right. But if I’m willing to sacrifice billions of lives, wouldn’t it be logical for me to also be willing to sacrifice my soul? I don’t care what guilt I must endure, what internal torment I must suffer for the rest of my life. Only one thing matters, and I will see it achieved.”

“Why are those places shaking?” Paul blurted out, pointing to the screens. Every image now showed a world that seemed to be suffering from massive earthquakes. The Jane Alterants jerked about, still chained to the black sculptures that had toppled over on their sides.

“The Chi’karda is building, that’s why,” Jane answered, her voice so calm it made Tick mad. “Each Reality will see its own effects from the Blade’s purge of the Fifth, but in the end, they’ll suffer minimal damage. And all of my Alterants will survive to move on to the next phase of my plan. All except for the one in the Fifth, of course.”

Tick was filled with turmoil. Though he didn’t entirely understand what was going on, he felt an overwhelming responsibility to do something, to at least try something. He looked down into his lap, where his hands were clasped, squeezing them together so hard his fingers drained of blood. Maybe, if he could just reach for a trickle of Chi’karda . . . experiment a little . . .

“It’s time for me to bend the Blade to my will,” Jane announced. “Move from your chairs and die, as will Atticus’s family. Frazier’s watching. Remember to keep your eyes on the spinners. If your abilities to spread the message of what you witness today aren’t sufficient, there’ll be no reason for me to keep you alive.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned sharply and walked away, back to a spot before the black tree.

Tick barely saw her go. He was still looking down, concentrating on his hands. He didn’t know exactly why, but it helped to have a spot for his eyes to focus on as he mentally probed his mind and heart and body, searching for a spark of Chi’karda. Something small, he told himself, something Jane won’t be able to sense . . .

“This can’t be for real,” Sofia said next to him, though he barely heard her over the sounds of the humming tree and through his efforts to think. “She can’t possibly do something like this.”

“She’s doing it,” Paul said. “Look at her. She’s a nut job.”

Tick finally closed his eyes, squeezing his mind as he tried to latch onto that mysterious something within him. He pictured Jane, focusing on his hatred of her. He pictured his family. He tried to think about what his heart must look like, pumping blood to his veins. It always started there, the warmth—

There. He could feel it. A spark. A little surge of heat. Like a flickering flame.

Just as he’d done before in his basement, Tick reached for the warmth, mentally grasping it with unseen hands. He didn’t fully comprehend how he was doing it, but he threw all his energy into doing it anyway.

But then Master George said something, and even though Tick heard it only from a distance, as though it had been spoken through a thick wall, the words sliced through his concentration. The flame of Chi’karda, small to begin with, went out completely.

Tick opened his eyes and looked at Master George. “What did you say?” he asked, practically shouting to be heard over the thrumming of the tree.

The old man hung his head sadly. “It’s true, I’m afraid. I believe Sato, Mothball, and Rutger are in the Fifth Reality even as we speak.”

Chapter 22

Lightning and Flame

Terror. Panic. Fear.

Those were words Lisa associated with disaster movies and scary books. News stories of dangerous lands thousands of miles away. History lessons of wars past. In her sixteen-and-a-half years of life, she’d never considered that one day those words might describe part of her own life, her own experience. Though she tried to be brave for her sister, she couldn’t keep herself from crying every few minutes. Kayla’s tears were a constant.

They’d been in the small room for at least a full day, maybe longer. Sparsely decorated, it held only two hard wooden chairs and a small bed with a table and lamp next to it. Drab wallpaper covered the walls, and ugly brown carpet covered the floor. There were no windows.

She had no idea how they’d gotten there. She’d been sleeping in her bed, dreaming about something icy crawling down her back, and then she woke up in this room, lying on the floor with Kayla right next to her. Since then, food had been brought to them by cruel ladies who refused to answer any of her questions and who glared at the two girls as if she and Kayla were hardened criminals.

Kidnapped, imprisoned, hated for no reason. It was all terrifying. The worst part was not knowing anything. She and Kayla mostly huddled together on the bed, hugging and consoling, sharing their tears. Lisa had no idea how many times she’d said the words, “It’ll be okay,” but it had to be at least one hundred.

She knew this had something to do with her brother. No one had told Lisa anything directly, but she knew about the Realitants and how Tick was special to them, helping them in some way. And somehow it had all led to this.

Come save us, Tick, she thought. I know you got us into this mess. Now come get us out!

Someone knocked hard on the door, just once, then opened it. Lisa had already started scooting as far away from the door as possible, dragging Kayla with her to the other side of the bed.

It was the older of the two ladies, her gray hair pulled into a tight bun, her pale face full of hard-lined wrinkles. “Might wanna see this,” she said gruffly. Then she opened the door wider and stepped to the side, nodding toward the hallway.

“See what?” Lisa asked warily. “You want us to come out there?”

The old woman let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes. Come on, I’m trying to be nice, you little ingrate. Such a historic moment—wouldn’t want you to miss it.”