by Mary Fan
Flynn could almost hear Aurelia’s voice in his head: “It’s not over ’til everyone else is on the ground or you’re dead! Now keep moving!”
The man reached for the gun. As he leaned down, Flynn snapped a round kick. The top of his shoe smashed into the man’s temple. The man’s face went slack, and he crumpled to the ground.
Looks like Aurelia’s kicking drills come in handy, after all.
Flynn continued on his way, sprinting between the buildings. He recognized the horse-shaped ornament on one of the doors ahead and knew that the cornfield wasn’t far. He ran furiously and soon found himself at the edge of the field. To his relief, the three bent-over stalks marking his entry point stood beside him.
His lungs, exhausted from running, protested every breath, and sweat was causing the Orb to slip in his hands. But his energy was as fierce as ever, and he had to push on. He ran into the cornfield, glad for the stalks’ height. Looking for a lone person among them would be like sifting through a pile of sand looking for the world’s smallest diamond. He just hoped the rustling sounds he made wouldn’t call attention.
His foot caught on something, and he tripped. The Orb tumbled out of his hands. The moment it left his grasp, its bright glow filled the air with blue.
Cursing, Flynn scrambled toward the Orb, hoping to cut out its betraying light. But he grabbed it too late—bright flashes appeared between the stalks as several Defiants goldlighted into the field. At least they hadn’t pinpointed exactly where he was, but he had to get out before they found him.
With every step, he urged his legs to move faster. Light flickered between the stalks—Defiants materializing and dematerializing all over the cornfield, looking for him.
A gold flash appeared before him then faded to reveal a man with black hair. Clutching the Orb, Flynn kicked forward, hoping to shove the man back. The man goldlighted away before the blow could land. Flynn nearly lost his balance but managed to steady himself. The man reappeared a few yards away, and Flynn realized his kicks wouldn’t do much good against someone with a disappearing act.
Frustrated, he decided his need for hands beat his need to keep the Orb from glowing. The Defiants already knew where he was anyway. Flynn dropped the Orb and rushed at the man. The man threw a green blast at him, but it was little more than a stinging nuisance. Flynn grabbed the back of the man’s wand hand, peeled back his thumb, and yanked the wand from his grip. Maybe he couldn’t use magic, but as Aurelia had reminded him so many times, any kind of stick could be used as a weapon.
The man lunged. With the end of the wand sticking out of his hand, Flynn hammered down on his arm then turned his fist and rammed the man’s temple. The man staggered. Before he could recover, Flynn dropped the wand, grabbed the trank gun from his bag, and fired at the man’s chest. The man fell unconscious. Flynn stomped on the wand, snapping it in half so the man wouldn’t be able to use it to signal the other Defiants. He rushed to grab the Orb from the spot where he’d dropped it.
Light swept across his view. He looked up. A figure soared across the sky, holding a wand in his outreached hand. His long black coat trailed behind him. Though Flynn couldn’t make out a face, he knew it had to be Storm. Hatred churned in his gut.
Flynn crouched in the stalks, hugging the Orb tightly with one hand. The trank remained in the other. But the weapon wouldn’t do him much good if Storm descended and cast a force field. So he slipped the gun back into his bag. Through the darkness, he could make out the edge of the field ahead and the glimmering mist of Ember’s perimeter. It was only a few yards away. If he was careful, he could make it the rest of the way without being seen. He crept forward.
A flash of gold—from behind. Flynn stopped and whirled. Someone walked through the stalks, but he couldn’t make out who it was. From the sound of the movements, they were getting closer.
Flynn wondered how much farther he had. Through the corn, he glimpsed the glowing white line on the ground that marked the hidden village’s edge. The Risers were waiting just past it. They’d cover his escape once he reached them. How long would it take for him to get out of the field if he ran at top speed? Ten seconds? Fifteen, tops? Maybe I should just make a mad dash for it.
He looked back to see where the Defiant was.
The Defiant’s shadowy silhouette came into view. “Illuminat.” White light emitted from the Defiant’s wand, spilling onto Connor’s face through the leaves.
Since when can Connor goldlight? The guy had been a year shy of learning that skill back at the Academy. Storm must have taught him… Had he also taught him to use dark magic?
Connor swept his wand. Flynn held his breath, wondering how long he’d have to wait before he could move. But staying still didn’t seem any better. Any moment, the light could catch him.
Screw it. I’m outta here. Flynn sprang up and bolted. A burst of white filled the sky—Connor must have heard him and signaled the others.
“Flynn!” Connor’s voice rang out. Another flash of gold light—closer this time. “Listen to me!”
Flynn ignored him and kept running. If he could just make it past the perimeter… A few gravity-defying sprints later, he tore past the line. Several Risers stood just ahead. Catching glimpses of gold, he whirled and saw the Defiants appearing.
“Flynn!” Williams rushed to him. “Give me the Orb. I’ll goldlight it back to the Citadel.”
Flynn hastily handed him the heavy sphere, and the professor vanished.
“Good job, kid.” Calhoun placed a hand on Flynn’s shoulder and steered him toward the Risers’ black vehicle. “Now, get outta here.”
Flynn glanced back at the melee that was taking place between the Defiants and the Risers. All he could make out were blue streaks from Azur Shields being whisked about to block explosions of magic. Colored lights flared through the darkness like fireworks. “What about—”
“We’ll take it from here.” Calhoun pulled the vehicle’s passenger-side door open. Nossiter sat in the driver’s seat. “You just get back to the Citadel.”
Flynn entered the vehicle. As soon as he slammed the door, Nossiter hit the accelerator, and the vehicle shot through the dark trees. A wave of exhaustion hit him, and he slouched in his seat. The bag behind him dug into his back, but he couldn’t be bothered with moving it. He’d never been more grateful to be Untouchable. Good thing Enchanters are so cocky about their magic. If the Defiants had known the first thing about kick counters, he wouldn’t have made it out.
“That’s why this stuff is so important,” Aurelia had told him. “You get past an Enchanter’s spells, and he’s got nothing.”
That turned out to be true. Thank you, Aurelia.
If only she were here. She might actually have been impressed with him for once. It didn’t seem right that after over a year of dedication, she wouldn’t be around for the endgame—the endgame that was about to happen thanks to Flynn.
He grinned to himself. Getting the Orb had been the second rebel mission he’d gone on, and he’d found the last piece needed to end years of strife. Not bad for a Secondstringer, who’d once been doomed to a life of drudgery and obscurity. Whatever secrets the Orb would reveal, the Triumvirate was finished—he could feel it in his blood.
The Lord watched the colorful firefight at the edge of Ember. Risers versus Defiants—it was an interesting sight, especially since the dozen Defiants present were all Enchanters, and all but four of the Risers were Norms wielding magic weapons. Though the Triumvirate had always taught its citizens that such a fight could only have one outcome, from where he stood, it was the Defiants who were outgunned.
The Triumvirate’s downfall would be due to their underestimating Norms. The Lord would not make their mistake once he returned to his former glory. Between the Triumvirate loyalists, the ever-growing Rising, and the erratic Defiants, humans had too much going on to understand the rumblings of the Underworld. Eve
n Storm, who thought he knew so much, would be surprised by what lay in store. The few who had suspected something had quickly been silenced. And so, while the people of the earth fought amongst themselves, none had paid heed to the Lord’s growing power.
None would see it coming when he returned.
Chapter 27
Unveiled
Flynn stood at the front of the Scarlet Citadel’s assembly room, leaning against the wall with one shoulder. Beside him, Kylie twisted her hands in anxious anticipation. He’d never seen the space so crowded before. With the Orb at last obtained, every Riser living near the Capital had poured into the Citadel for the moment when Calhoun at last revealed the Triumvirate’s darkest secret. People crammed every seat and stood in every available space. Heat filled the room, not only from the body heat of so many, but from the eagerness and energy they brought with them. Some had been waiting for this day longer than he’d been alive, and their excitement made the air crackle. He couldn’t imagine how they must feel.
Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to share in the enthusiasm. The person whose drive had inspired him the most was not there, and that left him with a hollow feeling in his chest. Without Aurelia, the brightest light had gone from the Rising, and everything seemed grayer. He wished she were there, even if all she said to him was that he was a dummy with sloppy kicks who’d nearly botched the Ember mission.
On the platform at the front, Calhoun stood before the opal-like Eye Stone, which hovered at eye level, surrounded by golden mist. The glowing blue Orb floated above his outstretched left hand. With his right, he produced a small vial of transparent liquid from his pocket. That had to be some kind of potion. Flynn craned his neck for a better look.
Calhoun poured the contents of the vial over the Eye Stone. “Activate.” The potion turned to vapor as it hit the gold mist, which shimmered and turned white.
At the sight of the activated Eye Stone, which would broadcast Calhoun’s message to every Procul Mirror in the nation, the excitement finally hit Flynn. This was it, the moment the Rising had been waiting for, the moment that would galvanize the fearful and the complacent into rebellion and that would spell the beginning of the Triumvirate’s end.
The world was about to change.
“People of the Triumvirate.” Calhoun looked into the Eye Stone, his pale-blue eyes simmering with barely restrained eagerness. “I have a message for you, one that was left by White Triumvir Everett before he died.” He gestured at the Orb. “For those of you who don’t know, this is a Memory Orb, which can only be created by the most powerful magic. Old Man Everett wanted to make sure he’d be heard someday. Well, that’s enough from me. Let’s see what he had to say.” Calhoun leaned toward the Orb and whispered, “Speak to me.”
The Orb’s gold swirls churned beneath the blue surface and sprang out, radiating onto the platform like glowing threads. They came together in front of Calhoun, formed a shimmering outline of a person, and filled in the details with thin strings of colored light. To Flynn, it looked as if an invisible artist were painting a three-dimensional portrait of an old man.
By the time the portrait was finished, White Triumvir Everett stood before the Eye Stone, glowing with a ghostly white halo. He was tall and gaunt, almost skeletal—a far cry from the noble portraits Flynn had seen in his history textbooks. His pale, craggy skin seemed poised to slide off his narrow bones. Only a few strands of white hair hung off his head. Despite his frail build, his presence was no less imposing than the statues of him would suggest. The stern expression on his withered face made his amber eyes burn with severity.
He parted his thin lips. “Adlai Salvator. Wotan Moreau. George Everett. You know us as the Gold, Blue, and White Triumvirs, the ones who led the Sentinels in the defeat of the Lord and founded this nation out of what remained of the United States after the creatures of the Underworld ravaged the earth. I know us as the three ambitious Sentinels who grew weary of guarding humanity and decided to change the way things were forever.”
Flynn leaned forward, listening intently.
The image of White Triumvir Everett closed his eyes. “I know my days are numbered, and I want someone to know the truth before I die. Adlai, Wotan, if you’re watching—I know you killed me, but I don’t hold it against you. Two hundred years is a long time to linger, and honestly, I’m glad for the release.”
The ghostly image opened his eyes and folded his hands. “Memories fade, and history is rewritten, but Orbs are indestructible, even to those who wield as much power as the Sentinels, and this is a story that must be told. Perhaps, by the time you’re watching this, the Triumvirate is long gone, but nevertheless, I want you to know what we did. I don’t know who you are or how much you know, so I’ll start at the beginning.”
A tingly sensation trickled down Flynn’s spine. The memory hadn’t revealed much yet, but something huge was coming—he was sure of it.
The Triumvir’s image paused briefly before continuing. “For thousands of years, creatures of the Underworld have found ways to manifest on the earth and plague humanity, and those with magic formed the order of the Sentinels to protect people from supernatural dangers. But people were fearful of magic, and so the magical—including the Sentinels—operated in secret, using enchantments to mask themselves from the non-magical. For generations, this was the way things were. But then the Sentinels grew restless, and three in particular—Salvator, Moreau, and myself—hatched a monstrous scheme to thrust ourselves into power. This is what we did.”
The image of Everett vanished. In his place stood three men who appeared to be in their late thirties. One of them looked uncannily like Principal Everett, with his blond hair and expression of perpetual disdain, and Flynn recognized him as the first White Triumvir before he’d gotten all dried up. Flynn’s pulse hammered, and he waited impatiently to see what would come next.
The other two men were instantly recognizable, though somewhat younger looking. Gold Triumvir Salvator’s black hair was considerably longer, hanging in wide waves around his chin, and Blue Triumvir Moreau—a tall man of European descent with sleek brown hair and deep-set gray eyes—had fuller cheeks than in the portraits Flynn had previously seen. Neither looked too different from their present-day selves. Their faces, at least. Flynn was accustomed to seeing them in grand ceremonial robes, so their average-looking black jackets and shirts appeared strange.
They stood around an old grayish-brown wooden table, staring at a black stone tablet inscribed with strange-looking symbols that cut across its surface in harsh angles. With its jagged edges, the tablet had the appearance of something that had been broken off of a larger object.
What is that? Flynn wondered when the scene was taking place—before or after the Underworld’s creatures had released their Lord—and what the first White Triumvir was trying to tell him.
The projection of the younger Everett crossed his arms. “Are we sure we want to go through with this? Things could go very, very wrong.”
Salvator shot him a disgusted look. “Too many pieces have been put in motion. There’s no turning back now.”
“I question whether it will be worth the deaths of thousands, perhaps millions, to—”
“The Sentinels have guarded the Earth for centuries, but what do we get for our labors? Nothing. Enchanters are forced to hide their abilities. The few who choose to become Sentinels face a lifetime of hardship to do something the world should reward them for. It’s time to remind the Norms why they need us.”
Sounds a lot like the present-day Salvator. But what’s he talking about?
The projection of Salvator waved his wand and whispered something. He, Everett, and Moreau faded from sight. He must have cast an invisibility spell.
Moments later, a wraith materialized before the table. Its huge black wings spread behind it, and its corpse-like hand reached out from beneath its tattered black cloak. The skeletal grin glowing ben
eath its black hood seemed even more sinister than the ones Flynn had encountered before. Though it had the same characteristics as other wraiths, there was something different about it, as if every wicked feature were magnified, reflecting an evil darker than most. The wraith’s menacing red gaze shot over to the table, and it opened its mouth with delight, revealing the flaming inferno within. It seized the broken black tablet.
“I fooooound yoooou,” it hissed.
A chill shot up Flynn’s spine. He’d never heard a wraith speak before.
“I’m cooooming, my Lord…” It let out a hideous, screech-like laugh. Flynn cringed. The fire in the wraith’s mouth seemed ready to shoot out and burn the place down, and its black wings flapped with frenzied delight. It vanished into a cloud of black.
The scene faded, and the old, frail version of White Triumvir Everett reappeared. “You’re probably wondering why I showed you that.”
You’ve got that right. Unnerving as the scene had been, Flynn didn’t understand why Calhoun would think it could lead to the Triumvirate’s fall.
Everett’s face was grave. “We believed that the magical should rule the earth and that the Sentinels deserved power and riches in exchange for the protection they gave. But how can you prove yourself the hero if you’ve no adversary to defeat? So we unleashed one.
“For years, the King of Wraiths had been gathering a force of Underworld creatures. They were looking for a way to let their Lord out of his dimension and into ours. The stone you saw it take was the last piece of the Black Tablet, an ancient magical object with the power to open the Portal to the Underworld. For centuries, the Sentinels guarded that piece, but then, the three of us removed the protective enchantments and allowed the King of Wraiths to take it. We knew what the creatures of the Underworld were planning, and we let it happen. We wanted the world to know how much they needed the Sentinels, and so we stood by as the Portal was opened and millions of monsters were released, led by their Lord. And then we waited for the Lord to wreak his havoc before flying in as saviors. The people cried out for protection, and we gave it to them. Desperate to survive, people don’t care what they have to give up.