The Illusion

by K. A. Applegate

  Rachel said.

  I said.

 

 

  It was a windy day. Sunny. We were all there, all but Rachel who’d had something to do with her dad.

  We were all in human form. Even Ax and me. I sat on the sand at the beach. The breeze ­whipping my hair. The waves racing up the shore.

  Ax was sitting next to me, unpacking a kite he had made out of scrap wood strips and paper bags. Untangling the string. Preparing for a test flight. A human hobby he said he found unaccountably peaceful.

  Cassie was down nearer the water, scanning for any injured life.

  Jake and Marco were playing catch, forcing levity. Jake rocketed a flawless spiral through the air.

  “Ax?” I said.

  “Yes, Tobias?”

  “I had a lot of hallucinations back there. A lot of crazy visions.” I tried to keep my tone casual. I paused. “But there was this one. It was just so real. I mean, as real as if I had lived it. It was Elfangor.”

  Ax looked up from his work. He stopped fussing with the string.

  “A series of memories so intense. I was drowning in pain, Ax. I really thought I was dying … and then, all at once, I felt the icy cool steel of a tail blade against my forehead and I …”

  Ax made a sort of gasping sound and dropped his spool of string. His eyes were wide with a startling intensity.

  “A blade? Against your forehead …” He trailed off, his voice quaking with surprise.

  “Ax. What?”

  He was clearly disturbed. Like I had just shaken his reality. The wind began to drag his kite across the sand. He didn’t care. Just sat there, absorbed in his thoughts. I ran after the thing and brought it back to him.

  He shook off whatever it was and regained his customary composure.

  “No,” he said, more to himself than to me. “It’s all nonsense, of course. We are a rational people …”

  “What is it, Ax-man?”

  He started hesitantly. “A legend. A spiritual rite, really. Utzum. Certain medicine men believed they could pass memories through DNA. Legend says these memory messages are triggered by imminent death. A surge of strength during the last moments to ease their passage. Ancient superstition.”

  “Yeah. You’re probably right. Just a hallucination,” I said.

  A flash of gold. Way down the beach. A tall, graceful form pushing over the dunes to meet us. Rachel!

  I jumped up. Ax was back to work on his kite, muttering something about thick, clumsy human fingers. The others all now engaged in a game of Frisbee that seemed to involve a lot of splashing.

  I started to run toward Rachel. She saw me and smiled. I slowed as I neared her, breathing hard.

  And suddenly I had my arms around her. I buried my face in her hair. She held me tightly.

  “Bad,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I whispered. “Real bad. I came close to, you know. Awfully close. I was so … I mean, I didn’t …” I took a couple of shaky breaths. “I lost myself. Didn’t know who I was. Not sure I do now.”

  “Tobias,” she said quietly, “I know who you are.”

  A long, long time while neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved.

  Then, she said, “Hey, it’s nice and warm. But there are some killer thermals.”

  I smiled. “Let’s fly.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “Right after I do this.”

  She kissed me.

  “Okay, now let’s fly,” she said and laughed her wild, wicked, self-mocking Rachel laugh.

  And in a short time we were coasting on a thermal, high over the beach. Over the distant hills. Over the city. Over everything.

  The memory of the mission was far behind. The close call with death forgotten. For a while.

  Who am I? What am I? A bird. A boy. Something not quite human. Something more than ­human.

  The person Rachel loves.

  I discovered something amid the pain and terror and confusion. I discovered that the answer to what I am, to who I am, isn’t something to be answered in a single word or a single moment.

  It could take a lifetime to figure out who I am.

  For now, I’m willing to hang in there, floating on a thermal. Biding my time.

  The author wishes to thank Ellen Geroux for her help in preparing this manuscript.

  My name is Cassie.

  Just Cassie. At least that’s all I’m going to tell you. It’s not because I think I’m so special I only need one name. I know I’m not Jewel or Brandy or Beck.

  I’m actually pretty ordinary. If you saw me walking down one of the halls at your school, you probably ­wouldn’t give me a second look. Unless it was one of the days when I had a little bird poop on my jeans from working with my dad in his Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic. If it was a bird-poop day, you might give me a second “oh-gross” look.

  But I ­really am your basic, average girl. A first and last name plus middle initial kind of girl. Except for the fact that I spend most of my time trying to stop the Yeerk invasion of Earth.

  That’s why I can only tell you my first name. If the Yeerks knew my last name, I’d be dead. No, worse than dead.

  Let me give you the Cliffs Notes version.

  Fact: Yeerks are alien parasites that have the appearance of small gray slugs. They enter their hosts through the ear canal, then spread their soft bodies into the crevices of their hosts’ brains.

  Fact: The Yeerks have already enslaved many species, including the Hork-Bajir, the Gedds, and the Taxxons, although the Taxxons submitted willingly. Now the Yeerks have targeted the entire human race for use as hosts.

  Fact: You already know someone who is controlled by a Yeerk. You just don’t know you know someone who is controlled by a Yeerk. Yeerks can access their hosts’ memories and make them act exactly the way they always have. A human host, called a Controller, cannot move a single muscle unless the Yeerk in his or her head gives the order.

  Fact: The Animorphs may be your only hope of escaping becoming a human-Controller yourself.

  The Animorphs are me and four of my friends — Jake, Rachel, Marco, and Tobias. A great Andalite prince named Elfangor gave us the power to morph into animals. He knew he was about to die, and he ­didn’t want to leave Earth completely defenseless against the Yeerks. Later we were joined in our fight by Elfangor’s younger brother, Ax. Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill.

  Usually the six of us work as a team, but tonight I had a secret mission, and I ­didn’t want too many ­people around. I asked Rachel if she’d be my backup, and of course she agreed.

  You should see Rachel. She’s like Stone Cold Steve Austin crossed with Miss Teen USA. Unlike me, Rachel is someone who ­could pull off the whole I’m-so-special-I-only-need-one-name deal even if she ­didn’t have to keep her identity a secret.

  “So are we going in or what?” Rachel asked me.

  I stared up at the old Victorian house. A single light burned in one window. A loose shutter kept swinging back and forth on its hinges. The screeching sound made the hair at the back of my neck prickle.

  “We’re going in,” I answered, ignoring the prickling sensation.

  “This plan of yours is … what’s the word I’m looking for?” Rachel asked. “Oh, yeah. Insane. As in Looney Toeowww —”

  Rachel’s words turned into a high meow. Her vocal cords had started to change first.

  “We have to do this,” I told her as her nose narrowed and sprouted fur. “It’s life and death.”

  I watched Rachel for a few more moments. She was going to use her cat morph to go into the house. I was going to use my rat morph. I figured it ­couldn’t hurt to give her a little head start. That way she’d be in total control of her cat brain before I became all small and delicious.

  When a fluffy black-and-white tail sprang out of Rachel’s rear, I decided I’d waited lon
g enough. I focused on the rat DNA inside me, and instantly felt my hands begin to wither.

  Morphing is easier for me than anyone else in the group. Maybe it’s because I spend so much time around animals. I don’t know.

  But even for me, morphing isn’t a smooth transformation. It’s not like my body shrinks first, then grows hair, then shoots out whiskers and a tail.

  No, morphing is a lot less logical than that. Grosser, too. Like right now I had little tiny hands, and I ­could feel coarse hair popping out on my back. But otherwise, I still looked like me.

  Then my ears rolled up to the top of my head, and my eyeballs contracted until they were the size of BBs. I felt a sloshing, twisting sensation as my internal organs began to shift and shrink.

  My nose and mouth stretched, merged, then re-formed. My teeth sharpened. A wave of dizziness engulfed me as I fell ­toward the ground, my body shrinking to the size of a … of a rat. My hairless, ropey tail appeared and I was done.

  Rachel announced in thought-speak.

  My little rat heart was racing. My little rat brain was ordering me to run, run, run away from the cat. I clamped down on my new instincts. It’s easier when you’ve already morphed a particular animal before, as I had done with the rat. The first time can be tough, though.

  I answered.

  Rachel took off across the lawn, her body low to the ground. I scurried behind her. The grass brushed up against my belly and tickled my nose.

  Without a sound, Rachel slipped through the dog door. I complained. I gave the door a head butt. It opened wide enough for me to scramble through.

  I reminded Rachel.

  We beat feet to the staircase. It would take me forever to haul myself up all those stairs. I decided to take the rat ramp instead. I dug my claws into the wood and climbed the side of the banister. Then I ran straight up.

  Of course, Rachel still got to the top before me. I half-climbed, half-fell off the banister and followed her down the hall to the lighted room. I hoped we ­hadn’t gotten here too late.

  I took a quick peek inside. Yes! My math teacher was sitting at a desk grading papers. At least I knew this was the right place.

  I ducked back.

  EEEEEEE!

  Rachel cried.

  I shot back.

  I pressed myself tight against the wall. I squeezed my eyes shut tight so she ­wouldn’t see them glistening in the shadows.

  I felt the floor begin to vibrate. Did she see me? Did she see me?

  No. Her big feet walked right on by.

  Rachel said. She darted into the room and leaped up onto the desk.

  I stammered. I tried to climb up the desk leg. But it was metal. My claws ­couldn’t get a grip.

  Rachel answered.

  I warned Rachel.

 

 

  Rachel laughed and leaped down off the desk with the sheet of paper in her teeth.

 

  About the Author

  The Animorphs series, written by Katherine (K. A.) Applegate with her husband, Michael Grant, has sold millions of copies worldwide, and alerted the world to the presence of the Yeerks. Katherine and Michael are also the authors of the bestselling Remnants and Everworld series. On her own, Katherine is the author of Home of the Brave, Crenshaw, Wishtree, and the Newbery Medal–winning The One and Only Ivan. Michael is the author of the Gone and Front Lines series.

  The invasion has begun.

  Catch up on Newbery Medal–winner K. A. Applegate’s world-conquering series.

  #1: The Invasion

  #2: The Visitor

  #3: The Encounter

  #4: The Message

  #5: The Predator

  #6: The Capture

  #7: The Stranger

  #8: The Alien

  #9: The Secret

  #10: The Android

  #11: The Forgotten

  #12: The Reaction

  #13: The Change

  #14: The Unknown

  #15: The Escape

  #16: The Warning

  #17: The Underground

  #18: The Decision

  #19: The Departure

  #20: The Discovery

  #21: The Threat

  #22: The Solution

  #23: The Pretender

  #24: The Suspicion

  #25: The Extreme

  #26: The Attack

  #27: The Exposed

  #28: The Experiment

  #29: The Sickness

  #30: The Reunion

  #31: The Conspiracy

  #32: The Separation

  #33: The Illusion

  #34: The Prophecy

  #35: The Proposal

  #36: The Mutation

  #37: The Weakness

  #38: The Arrival

  #39: The Hidden

  #40: The Other

  #41: The Familiar

  #42: The Journey

  #43: The Test

  #44: The Unexpected

  #45: The Revelation

  #46: The Deception

  #47: The Resistance

  #48: The Return

  #49: The Diversion

  #50: The Ultimate

  #51: The Absolute

  #52: The Sacrifice

  #53: The Answer

  #54: The Beginning

  Text copyright © 1999 by Katherine Applegate

  Cover illustration by David B. Mattingly

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, ANIMORPHS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-21760-5

  First edition, September 1999