by Corey Tate
Scott stood there for a moment and watched Nick walk away. Eventually, Scott gave in and jogged to catch up to Nick. He didn’t want to be alone in . . . wherever this place was.
As he jogged toward Nick, Scott took in the most amazing sight of his life.
All around him was a huge cavern that looked like it was a mile wide. It looked never-ending lengthwise, which made him think that he was maybe in a mountain of some sort, or maybe underground. The ceiling of the cavern looked like it could easily have been thirty stories high.
He turned around, jogging backward, and noticed that they had just exited a small white square hut that read Healing Room 37 on the top of it.
Throughout the Cavern were huge buildings of either brown, black, or gray color, each probably at least four stories tall. There were also thousands of shops and other small buildings made completely of hard-packed dirt or metal scattered throughout.
A huge river—about five hundred feet across—ran through the middle of it all. Scott saw young people surfing, running, and even walking on top of the river like Jesus, as if it were solid ground. The only light that he saw was artificial, but he didn’t see any power lines. He could hear laughter in the distance. This place was definitely better than being in the Coliseum. It felt like a sanctuary.
He saw little kids wrestling good-naturedly with each other—at least until one of them accidentally punched the other in the face. The kid started bleeding and crying, but when the one who did the punching lightly touched the other kid’s bleeding face, it was completely healed.
The kid who was crying wiped the blood off his face with his shirt, and they continued wrestling like nothing had happened.
Jared, Scott suddenly thought. These kids are about his age.
“What do you see?” Nick asked once Scott finally caught up to him.
“What do you mean, what do I see? I see what you’re seeing,” Scott replied as he switched from jogging to walking.
“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen so far?”
“Well, there was a little kid who completely healed his friend’s wound over there.”
Nick chuckled.
Soon they reached a young boy who was probably nine- or ten-years old standing near a red circle in the ground marked “Transport.” He was also standing by the bottom edge of one of the bigger buildings (or cavescrapers, as Scott was starting to think of them). The boy turned around, and Nick immediately spoke to him in an authoritative voice.
“Library. Civilian and an Icranu.”
The boy shot an uneasy glance at Nick.
“You’ll be able to take me,” Nick reassured the boy. “I can control my curse.”
“Wait,” Scott interrupted, “what d’ya mean ‘transport’? What’s he going to do?”
“He’s going to get us somewhere,” Nick answered.
“Where? And how?”
“Over there,” Nick pointed somewhere behind them to the left.
Scott looked over in the direction where Nick had pointed. He didn’t see anything that stood out.
Something hard tapped Scott’s right temple. His eyes closed, and he was knocked out before he hit the ground.
* * *
He opened his eyes to find Nick walking briskly away. He got up to follow, vaguely remembering something about falling.
As far as Scott could tell, they were now in an entirely different part of the Cavern. Farmland seemed to stretch on for miles, and the only buildings in sight were some ravaged-looking purple structures. The buildings looked like they had survived a nuclear explosion. Barely. There were holes in roofs, corners of buildings missing, and rubble all over the ground.
Scott blinked, and all the buildings instantly became beautiful structures, unblemished at every angle.
What the hell?
But his curiosity dissipated quickly as images of the ravaged buildings were overwritten in his brain by images of unblemished structures. The truth disappeared from his memory.
He ran to catch up to Nick. Even before he got his breath back, he shot off questions.
“What the heck did you just do to me?”
Nick ignored him.
“Did you hit me? I remember something touching my head and now I can’t remember stuff.”
“What can’t you remember?” Nick asked.
Scott thought about that for a second.
“I don’t remember.”
They walked in silence for several more steps.
“Where are we going, again?” Scott asked.
More ignoring from Nick.
They kept walking for another five minutes or so. Eventually Scott spoke up again.
“So why doesn’t anyone on Earth know about Armadron? It seems like everyone here on Armadron knows about Earth.”
Nick remained silent.
“How come everyone here has cool powers?”
Nick kept his mouth firmly shut.
“Okaaay . . . what’s your power?” he asked blindly.
“Shut up and stop asking people what their curses are,” Nick answered as he turned under an arched sign that read Library.
“Of course,” Scott grumbled to himself.
They entered the coolest library that Scott had ever seen in his entire life. There was not a single book in sight, and it was jam-packed with loud, obnoxious people.
There were also hundreds of columns of shelves with small black circular devices stacked in rows across them. Each one looked like a small donut with buttons on it.
Nick walked over to one of the shelves and picked up a black device that was roughly the size of a fist. He walked back over to Scott and quickly went over some instructions.
“You’re definitely going to need one of these,” Nick yelled over the chatter of the crowd milling around the Library. “It’s called a Bastum and it has multiple purposes. For starters, we use it for recon. It functions as a sort of log, recording information about everything you’re seeing or experiencing within a ten-foot radius. You can also use it as a weapon. It morphs into a pretty wicked looking sword. I’d show you, but once you activate that function, it takes a while to put it back into place. It doesn’t collapse back automatically.”
“It doesn’t what?!” Scott yelled back to Nick, battling the noise of the people in the Library.
“Just take it.” Nick pressed the Bastum into Scott’s hand. “It’s also a communicator. It’s how our teams talk to each other.”
Scott put it in his pocket next to his cell phone.
Nick turned and continued walking briskly through the Library. Scott hurried to catch up.
“Who came up with that thing?” Scott asked.
“Me and a friend,” Nick said, pride creeping into his voice.
“You came up with this?”
“Shhhhh.” Nick put a finger to his lips.
And we’re back to you being a d-bag, Scott thought.
They walked to a big metal door. Nick waved his hand slightly, and the door opened to allow them in. They walked into a smaller room, and Nick flicked his wrist at the air. The door shut behind them, and the deafening noise of the Library was abruptly silenced. Scott looked past Nick to find a tall, well-built man, most likely in his early forties, with premature gray hair. He was in the middle of scolding three teens who seemed to be between Scott’s and Nick’s ages.
“Is this what you call a recon mission?! What the hell were you guys thinking?! Your job was to follow the shifter—that’s it!”
“Excuse me, sir,” Nick stated boldly, “you asked to see us?”
The room became deathly quiet, and Scott instinctively held his breath.
“Yes, yes, Nick,” the man responded, without taking his eyes off the teenagers in front of him. “Take a seat. Scott too. He can sit. And don’t interrupt me again.”
How does he know my name? Scott thought.
Nick made his way to the front of the room with Scott in tow. The three people sitting in the front row of thin, metal chairs loo
ked up at Scott.
The first person Scott noticed was Sam.
A mess of emotions ran through him. Initially he was concerned about her well-being, but he immediately saw that she was now in pretty good shape. There wasn’t even a wound where the bullet had been shot into her leg! He was so relieved that she was okay that he just stared and smiled at her.
Nick took his shoulder and thrust him into the seat next to Sam.
Scott took an agitated breath and breathed it out slowly. Sam looked at him with puppy dog eyes and smiled. He smiled back.
There was also another girl and a boy. Each looked about sixteen or seventeen years old, maybe a little older than Scott. As Scott looked at the boy, he noticed that he was grinning back at him without blinking. Creepy.
The boy was wearing white shorts with a black sleeveless shirt. He had spiked orange hair with small blue and yellow currents of electricity running through it. When he noticed Scott’s eyes move up to his electric hair, the boy grinned madly, and a spark shot off the top of his head, making Scott jump.
Scott tore his gaze away and looked at the third teenager, the other girl in the room. Whoever she was, she was looking at Scott with disgust and disapproval. She had purple hair down to her shoulders that clashed with her light-brown eyes.
The girl was wearing a tight orange tank top and black shorts. She looked like the poster girl for Halloweentown.
—What the hell are you looking at?
Scott jumped up and looked around the room wildly. He could have sworn he just heard a voice. In his head. A thought passed through his mind, and he looked at the girl again.
—Yeah. It’s me, dumb ass. The girl who’s the poster girl for Halloweentown.
Before he had time to gasp, say something, or widen his eyes any more, Nick sat next to him and coughed loudly.
“Thanks to Nick working in the healing rooms and Sam in the field yesterday, we have secured Scott,” the gray-haired man explained, gesturing welcomingly at Scott. “Artam believes that he will do great things for our world. He has told me much about Mr. Faranger’s curse as a Mediator, and we may just be able to win now.”
“Who is he, really?” asked the girl with purple hair. “He doesn’t seem to have a clue what’s going on.”
“Why don’t you have a look inside his head and find out for yourself, Claire?” the man challenged her politely.
Claire shifted slightly in her seat, embarrassed about something, although Scott couldn’t imagine what.
“For some reason, I can project plenty of things to him, but getting information out of him is a little harder,” she mumbled, then asked, “Is that the advantage of being a Mediator?”
“Not the only one, Claire,” the man said, holding his chin. “Although I suspect that Scott may be partially resistant to your charms because he’s only half-Armadronian.”
He continued, his eyes suddenly half-lidded, evaluating Scott coolly as he spoke. “Scott’s real importance to us lies in the fact that he shouldn’t exist. He’s a Mediator and half-Armadronian, according to Artam. An impossibility. Or at least nothing we’ve ever seen before. As a Mediator, he will probably have more than one curse. That is to be expected. What we cannot yet discern is the full impact of his mixed blood on those curses. Artam has already observed some promising anomalies. Can Scott tilt the balance of power—and victory—in our favor? We believe this may be the case. And judging from how tenaciously Terminus has been pursuing our friend here, I believe Terminus thinks so, too.”
Scott was getting tired of them speaking like he wasn’t in the room.
“Well,” Claire said, “this kid just looks like he’s—”
“This kid has a name,” Scott interrupted Claire, speaking for the first time.
“Like it matters,” she retorted.
“It does. My name is Scott, and you’re Claire. Now that we know each other, you can stop calling me kid.”
Claire raised her eyebrows and whistled mockingly
Scott ignored her and pressed on. “What are your names?” he asked, pointing at the orange-haired boy and the man.
“My name’s Seth,” the boy grinned.
“Thaught is my name,” the man said.
“That’s your name too? You’re both named Seth?” Scott looked confused.
Everyone busted out laughing, cutting the tension that had been building in the room.
“No,” the man smiled. “Not that. And not thought. Thaught. As in T-h-a-u-g-h-t.”
“Oh,” Scott nodded. “Sorry.”
“Alright, Scott,” Thaught leaned forward and clapped his hands, effectively silencing the room. “Let’s talk about what you can do for us.”
The Help
“Say what?” Scott looked nervous.
“You asked Nick earlier how come we all have such ‘cool powers,’” Thaught said.
Several of the others snickered, and Scott shot a quick glare in Nick’s direction.
Thaught continued talking. “For many years, it has been believed that we Armadronians can access the energy within Armadron. Think, for lack of a better phrase, ‘human antennae.’ We suspect that each person vibrates at a slightly different frequency, so that is why the ‘cool powers,’ as you call them, manifest differently for each person. Without receiving energy from our planet, we would seem normal to you. In fact, on your planet, Scott, our powers—which we call ‘curses,’ by the way—do not exist.
“Scott, what makes you different than us—and different from everyone on Earth, too—is that, according to Artam, you operate on two different frequencies. This is why you are so unpredictable and powerful. One of these frequencies is from Earth, the other is from Armadron. And Artam suspects that you may also be able to tune in to the infinite frequencies in between them.”
“I don’t understand how that’s supposed to help—”
Thaught held up his hand, cutting Scott off.
“We have recently acquired intel that Terminus has synthesized a new set of ‘cool powers.’”
Scott winced.
“These powers are not tethered to the energy of this planet. That means these curses are functional on Armadron as well as on Earth.” His voice suddenly turned grave. “Terminus has created an army of people thus endowed. We are still trying to discern the full extent of his plans, but we know that his lust for power is unquenchable, and his army of upgrades gives him access to a great and dangerous level of power.”
“Terminus is just one guy, right?” Scott asked. “How is he doing all this?”
“Of course, he has help. Five years ago, Terminus learned of a race of people from the planet Irri known as Conjurers. They were a mystical, peaceful people who traveled the universe, helping others. Terminus captured an entire nomadic tribe of them in one fell swoop—how he managed this is still a mystery to us. He has enslaved the minds of these people and is using them—and their magic—to do his bidding.”
Scott furrowed his brows. “But isn’t Artam a Conjurer?”
“Artam, the Conjurer who saved you from the Coliseum, escaped from Terminus with the help of others from his planet, and fled to Earth. They created a magical portal for him, and he arrived around your year of 1135, living there for several centuries under the name of Merlin until he felt that it was safe to return.
“Terminus wisely decided not to go after Artam because even though Terminus is immeasurably powerful here, he is still an Armadronian and cannot use his curse on any other planet,” Thaught explained. “That means on Earth he is weak, just like the rest of us. On the other hand, Artam is from Irri and draws his power from the Chaos Dimension, so he retains some of his magic everywhere he goes.”
“So how did Sam get to me?” Scott asked, looking over at her.
Thaught furrowed his brow and leaned back in his chair. “What do you mean?”
“How did she get on the cruise ship?” Scott closed his eyes, trying to remember something. “Artam told me something about a Gateway that turns into some
sort of bridge, and people from Armadron traveling to Earth . . . but he said the Gateway wasn’t open yet. So how did Sam get on the cruise ship?”
“Ah,” Thaught smiled, “we snuck her through a portal generated by Brandon, someone Terminus captured but who is still loyal to our side and willing to risk his life for us. Brandon’s curse is being able to create portals, and Terminus used him to open the way for Conjurers to travel to Earth on a mission to find and capture you. Brandon alerted us to the plan, and we were able to sneak Sam in behind them. Within hours, the Gateway from earth to Armadron opened, Brandon’s portal disappeared, and she brought you back with her through the Gateway.”
Scott closed his eyes. It was coming back to him, now. Brandon’s portal. The operative. Sam was the operative Artam had told him about.
“There’s more,” Thaught said.
Scott huffed. This guy was long-winded. He was worse than Charlie.
Claire shot him a look, and Scott rolled his eyes, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“Whenever Halley’s Comet is in the right orbital area, it crosses between Earth and Armadron for ten days, activating the wormhole, which we know as the Gateway. On the first seven days, the people of Earth have a one-way ticket to Armadron. On the last three days the direction of the wormhole reverses polarity, and the people of Armadron have a one-way ticket to Earth. When the Gateway reverses and opens the path from Armadron to Earth, Terminus will be ready. His army of Upgrades will be ready. And life on your planet will never be the same.”
“And you’re saying this whole ten-day-open-wormhole-Gateway thing has already started?” Scott asked incredulously.
“Yes. Two days ago, when you arrived from the cruise ship. The Gateway from Earth is already open. We now have roughly five days remaining until it reverses.”
The room was silent for a beat; then Scott looked at Thaught.
“So you all think that I’m The One?” Scott asked.
“The One?” Thaught looked puzzled.
“Yeah, The One. Like in The Matrix. You know, Neo . . . The One. He stops bullets and stuff.”
Seth laughed, but everyone else just squinted at Scott, trying to understand. Sam scratched her nose.
