by Peter Telep
Meanwhile, the flock of scholars whistles in a flurry and quickly forms a tornado that funnels down toward the gaping cracks in the temple’s floor and into the basement.
I project my persona and jump there to find Mrs. Bossley behind the engine’s controls.
“Sending them to Halsparr!” she cries over the rush of scholars and the engine’s crackling and booming.
Spiraling gold flashes fill the room as the scholars begin diving through the vortex—
And they just keep coming. And coming. I feel like it’ll take all day for the entire group to finally pass through.
I return to my body and tell the others what’s happening.
But now there’s a strange tension in the air. Everyone’s looking at each other and then looking at me.
“What?” I ask.
Grace comes forward. “Doc, we were just wondering… what do we do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean us.” She glances to the other masks. “The Armadis doesn’t control us anymore. So what do we do?”
“I don’t know. I never thought about it. You just live your life, I guess, right?”
“What kind of life is this?” Wexx asks, coming forward and banging a fist on his armored chest. “They don’t control us, but I still can’t change what I look like. My persona is gone. I’m stuck in this suit of armor… and we don’t eat… we don’t drink… we don’t sleep… we just go on…”
“Look, I just wanted to stop the Galleons. I didn’t even think we could. But at least now we have time to figure this all out...”
“Everyone will hate us,” Wexx says. “Because we’ll always look like the enemy.”
“That’s not true,” Steffanie says, grabbing Wexx’s hand. “I know who you are.”
“That’s you. Aw, maybe we can find some place to go live by ourselves.”
I snort at the idea. “Look, everyone knows you helped us, and we’ll make sure they never forget.”
My mother takes my hand. “I think we’re talking about quality of life. I know I shouldn’t complain. I was dying of cancer, and then they saved me, and now I’m immortal, I guess. But as weird as this sounds, I feel like I have no purpose. I hated the Armadis, but it was part of us. I think we all feel the loss. It’s like something’s missing… and it actually hurts. It feels like we should do something, like we have to connect somehow again, otherwise we’ll just get weaker...”
I lower my gaze. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s all right, son,” Tommy says from behind me. “You’ve already done your best.” He clears his throat. “So y’all listen up. It ain’t gonna happen overnight, but you’ll find your calling. Trust me, you will.”
“He’s right,” Daliah says. “I’ve spent my whole life running away from everything. I’m not doing that anymore.”
“That’s right. We’ll find our way,” Zach says, looking as determined as ever.
Hedera gains my attention and starts to say something, but only tiny squeaks come out.
She swears to herself and then projects her persona, the head glowing over her palm. “Well, I guess I’m back to using my persona.”
“We’ll talk to the scholars,” Keane says. “We’ll get one to stay with you, I mean, if that’s what you want.”
She sighs and raises her voice. “Doc, I have an idea. Actually, I have two ideas...”
“What’re you talking about?” Keane asks her.
She whispers something in his ear.
His eyes light up.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
We’ve called for a meeting in the community, and even the masks we saved are able to connect with us and join the crowds that swarm across the valley in Faldareach.
Once again we stand on that grand balcony overlooking the masses, and we’ve projected ourselves in our nicest clothes. Even Keane has found something that’s neither hipster nor Willy Wonka: a conservative shirt and jeans.
Hedera wears that same dress she wore at the bachelor beach house in Malibu. She looks thrilled to be here, and she should be… because this was her idea.
Mrs. Bossley is with us, too, and before we address the entire planet, she pulls me aside. “Doc, Tommy asked me about going back to Earth.”
“I think we need to. They need to know what’s going on.”
“Everything’s changed there, and it’s important for the curators to take care of it, not you.”
“But I’m sure they’re all going nuts.”
“Earth will never be the same, that’s true. It is, however, extremely important that we do not interfere. This is the new course of things, and it must be monitored closely.”
“Are you saying we can never go back?”
“I’m saying it’s not your responsibility to explain anything to them. Promise you won’t… because if you do… that could have grave consequences...”
“I promise.”
She smiles. “I’ll miss you, Doc.”
“What do you mean? Where are you going?”
She glances over her shoulder. “I’m off to find another neighborhood to terrorize.” She wriggles her brows. “It’s the little things that make me happy, like people who take care of their gardens and bring in their trash cans after pickup. Oh, an eBay vendors who ship on time—if I can ever find one. Take care, Doc.”
With a glimmer in her eye, she’s gone.
I glance across the balcony.
I’m glad I’m not the only one making a speech. We all are, even the immortals we carry. Each and every one of them needs to say something about our new world, about rising from the ashes and allowing this world to really bloom.
As much as it hurts, I project Meeka’s immortal, and she smiles. “I already know what you want.”
“I can’t do this without you.”
I follow her toward the balcony, where she pauses at the railing and lifts her voice. “People of Flora, of Galleon, and all you masks and grren with us today, each one of us would like to say a few words to remind you that we can do this… we can celebrate our new lives… together!”
The chills running up my spine make the tears feel a little better.
When it comes time for Keane to speak, he literally gets the entire community singing, “We are the champions, my friend… and we’ll keep on fighting till the end…”
When it’s my turn, I thank everyone for their sacrifices. I ask that we all join together in a healing wreath so that we can tend to our wounds and honor the fallen.
We join hands in orbit, and with the addition of the Galleons and the personas of the grren, we come together in a spectacular wreath that everyone needs more than ever right now. Cypress squeezes my right hand, while Steffanie squeezes my left.
It’s amazing. Literally billons of personas, essences, and masks have woven together across the great continents below. And it’s here that Hedera is reunited with the ivies in her group, including her best friend Rattle. They say they were imprisoned in the ship, but thankfully we attacked before they were turned into masks.
Billions more are also reunited with their loved ones across this vast ring of hope.
I’m happy for all them.
I close my eyes and see a persona that looks just like me, but it’s full of cracks, like a statue that fell on the floor and was glued back together again.
The more I focus on the cracks, the lighter and thinner they become until they slowly vanish. All that’s left is me, standing there in the darkness—
Until a light appears behind me.
And from that light comes Meeka, who slips into my arms. “Don’t be sad,” she whispers.
“I can’t help it.”
* * *
Afterward, we all return to Flora, and I tell Steffanie that I want to have a memorial service for Meeka—but not some weepy funeral thing… just all of us getting together to share stories.
Steffanie brightens. “I know just the place.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
> In the late afternoon, Steffanie leads us down a path lined with piles of concrete and rusting girders. Weeds and bushes sprout from the cracks and bend in the breeze.
We arrive at a building with a collapsed doorway. There’s just enough room to squeeze through, and the stench of wet concrete seeps from the shadows.
Squinting, we slip through long corridors clogged with more mounds of debris and sections where the ceiling came down. Sunlight beams through a few holes and draws lines across the puddles.
At the far end of the next hallway lies a door cracked open a few inches. Steffanie lifts her chin, suggesting I go first.
I glance back at Keane, Hedera, Tommy, and Cypress, along with her grren and mine. They’re as confused as I am.
As we draw closer, I spot symbols scratched into the steel door, just below some numbers.
My wreath translates the symbols to letters: M E E K A.
“What is this?” I ask Steffanie.
She ignores me and pushes open the door.
We enter a studio apartment with a small kitchen to our immediate right and a queen-sized bed lying below a bank of windows covered in thick film. It’s a hoarder’s paradise with junk piled along the walls, on top of two small chairs, and lying across a row of wooden shipping crates standing a few feet off the floor. I mean there’s stuff everywhere.
All kinds of decorations hang from the walls: paintings of the Highlands, framed photographs of the City of Violet, and one panoramic photo of the Royal House of Arabelle, looking remarkably similar to the image Meeka showed me.
A closet with open doors lies across from the bed, and I’m stunned by all the colorful dresses and gowns and dozens of glittering high-heeled shoes lining the floor.
All of this is very un-Meeka.
Off to the right are piles of dirty, greasy bike parts: wheels, tires, a cardboard box full of chains and pieces of leather and bones that might’ve come from grren.
From the corner of my eye I spot a stack of books lying near the parts. I draw one from the top, and it features more stunning photographs of Arabelle’s castle and surrounding towers. I thumb through the pages, gasping.
“She said she wasn’t a princess,” I mutter aloud. “She never wanted to be…”
Steffanie snorts as she crosses to Meeka’s bed. “She lied. She was obsessed with her past, but then she tried to reject it… but she couldn’t.”
After digging beneath the mattress, Steffanie produces another book made of material like leather. Even the pages seem thick, and the thing’s pretty fat, like a fantasy novel. She hands it to me.
Inside are paragraphs of hand-written symbols in various colors. I think it’s a journal.
“She really hated this thing, which is why she left it here. But I think one day she would’ve come back for it.”
My wreath begins translating a line on one of the pages:
Today was a good day because no one died.
“Was this like… her journal?”
“Not hers. It belonged to her mother.”
“Whoa. So she knew a lot more about her parents than she ever told us.”
Steffanie nods. “When you read it, you’ll get why she never talked about them.”
I nod and tuck the book under my arm.
Steffanie faces the others and takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “Okay, Doc wanted us to come here so we could all say a few words about the strongest person I’ve ever known… so… who wants to go first?”
I glance at Tommy. He nods as though this will be good for all of us. But he’s wrong.
I can’t do this. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.
My voice cracks. “Look, I’m sorry.”
And with that, I race out of the room.
I’m running through the corridors, banging into walls and tripping over stones, until I finally blast outside, totally out of breath.
I lean over, and it all finally comes out. Flood waters. Tidal waves. And that terrible ache that won’t go away—
Because neither of us wanted to be second best.
Meeka’s wearing my Millennium Falcon sweatshirt and leans in for a kiss that sends chills up my spine.
But then she pulls back and looks at me, just like she did in those final seconds.
Her eyes close. She accepts death like a proud warrior.
But I don’t accept it! I don’t accept anything!
I scream as loudly as I can, and I keep screaming until my voice cracks and echoes off the shattered buildings.
I didn’t think it could hurt this bad. But it does. And it’s getting worse.
Gravel crunches under someone’s feet.
“Just go away!” I shout.
The crunching gets louder.
Finally, I glance up, expecting Tommy. But it’s Cypress.
Embarrassed, I wipe off the tears and straighten. “Look, there’s nothing you can say.”
She snorts. “You know me. I hate talking.”
“Then you’re here because…”
She closes her eye, takes a deep breath, and says, “Because you’re my friend.”
I glance away, still trembling. “I couldn’t save Julie or Meeka. Your friend is a loser.”
“You helped save everyone else. That is enough.”
“Not for me.”
“Your feelings will change, and then we’ll come back and talk about Meeka.”
I shake my head and wipe away more tears. “Just go.”
She starts off for the building.
“Cypress, wait.”
She does but won’t turn around.
“Look, I’m just… please… stay.”
After another exaggerated breath, she returns and says, “Doke, we all cry for Meeka.”
I nod and try to face her but can’t.
“The pain will never go away,” she adds. “But you’ll learn to live with it. And it’ll make you stronger.”
“Are you serious? How can I live with this?”
“Meeka’s immortal will show you the way.”
“But that’s torture.”
Cypress considers that. “When my mum and dad died, I was so upset that I tried to forget how much I love them. I kept telling myself that they weren’t even my real parents and that I should’ve died instead of being adopted. Every day I tried so hard to forget them, but I couldn’t. And then I realized that I have to love them—no matter how much it hurts.” Cypress places a palm over her heart. She gets choked up and glances away.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I blink away some fresh tears. “I’m lucky you’re my friend.”
She takes a deep breath and smiles, revealing her sharp teeth. “Yes, you are, Doe-kur-tee Hairy-soon. Yes, you are.”
