The Fire

by James Patterson

  But she’s starting to weep herself as she smoothes my matted hair and looks me over, clasping a hand over her mouth. For the first time in a long while I’m aware of all the bruises on my pale skin, the cuts that haven’t yet healed, and the disgusting state of my clothes.

  She takes me in her arms, rocking me. “My baby, what happened to you?” Her voice quivers.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I’m okay,” I say, but it’s not that convincing since I’m still crying. And still racked with confusion.

  I pull away from her. “Why would you tell us not to come for you?” I look at both my parents. They don’t answer, but now that I’ve asked, and now that I’m here, it already doesn’t matter. I bury my face in Dad’s arms and grip Mom’s waist. Now I’m never, ever letting them go again.

  “Can I join the happy reunion?” Whit says, looking at all of our puffy eyes and sad faces. I laugh weakly but hold out an arm to my brother. He squeezes my hand and enters the circle, ducking his head to hide his emotion. Tears are streaming freely down my dad’s gaunt cheeks.

  The four of us stay like that, rocking and hugging, until I feel my mom shiver and I notice the goose bumps erupting on my own arms. A cool wind is picking up, and fast.

  “Oh no,” a familiar voice moans from nearby. Celia! It’s always so good to see her, and I want to embrace her, but the look on her face makes me stop.

  “Wha —?” I start to ask, but then I understand.

  As the temperature plummets, my teeth start to chatter, and I feel a terrible coldness clutching at me — a deeper cold than I’ve ever felt in the Shadowland before. …

  It’s The One.

  Chapter 77

  Wisty

  THE WIND WHIPS my red hair into my face, and he walks calmly through the valley, his eyes clear and his resolve evident. He seems to glide toward us, the air bending around him, warping as if heat is blowing through it; even the red sky darkens in response to his unwelcome presence. Despite the wind, the river stops, the water still as ice.

  Everything is wrong.

  The thousands of spirits fall silent as The One Who Is The One passes, and they step back, eyes lowered in reverence or fear. There is no difference anymore.

  He moves through the crowd with deliberate slowness, never taking his gaze from my face.

  I lean closer to my family, clutching my mom’s delicate arm. My dad stands in front of me, jaw set, and my brother squeezes my shoulder. Celia stands resolutely by his side, her Half-light flickering. We are united, or at least that’s how we look. But The One keeps right on coming. And we all know he’s coming for me.

  “So we meet again, Allgoods,” The One says cordially, stopping in front of us on the wet gravel. He’s alone. “You found the River of Forever. Well, that’s fortunate. I couldn’t have planned it any better myself.”

  No one says anything for a moment, and the air feels so heavy I think I’m choking. My parents seem small by my side in the shadow of his towering height. I can’t let him hurt them again. Not when it’s me he’s come for.

  “Maybe you didn’t plan it. Maybe we did,” I answer, stepping out from behind my father. My stomach feels like I’ve been eating rocks.

  Whit’s fists are balled up defensively. “What do you want?” he spits at The One, and I shake my head. Whit, don’t. This is not just Pearce we’re dealing with.

  The One shakes his head as if he’s disappointed. “You know what I want. I want the girl with the flaming red hair. I want her fire, I want her energy, I want her Gift.”

  “Never.” I shake my head bitterly, my temper already making my body heat up. “You’ll have to kill me first.” I realize that might be a very real possibility in this situation.

  “I don’t think you’ve heard me correctly, child. The time has come. With the four elements under my power — earth, wind, water, and finally, at last, sweet fire — I will be eternal, a god.”

  I can’t help but remember what Mrs. Highsmith said to us back in her apartment: our mission is to guarantee that The One can never play God. Then I think of Pearl’s small voice. Maybe she’s right; maybe he’s already there.

  “And once I have that last little requirement” — The One’s eyes flash —“my journey will be complete. I’ve been patient, Wisteria, but I think I’ve waited for you quite long enough.”

  I swallow. The time has come, but that doesn’t mean I have to give in without a fight … right?

  “But the Allgoods’ journey is also about to be complete!” Dad shouts out of nowhere. I stare at him, surprised. Does he mean complete — as in, ending in our deaths?

  The One is thinking the same thing. “I’m glad we’re in agreement about that, Allgood,” he scoffs. “This is, indeed, the end. Let’s get it over with, shall we? Wisteria?”

  He raises an eyebrow, and a dull ache begins near my left temple as the wind whines. He’s causing the pain, I’m sure of it. I shiver, unable to answer him. I have absolutely no plan.

  Then my mom steps forward, her face hard, defiant. “Our kids” — she puts her arms around Whit’s and my waists, hugging us close —“have now passed through the Five Realms. You do realize what this means?”

  I sure don’t, but everyone else seems to. From their cowed positions crouched along the bank, the hordes of dead souls murmur at the possibility of what she’s suggesting, their whispers flitting through the air like moths’ wings. Thousands of eyes peek up at The One’s face, waiting, waiting.

  Naturally, The One just smiles indulgently, amused. “Come now, Eliza, I expected more from you. You don’t really believe that little fairy tale, do you?”

  The wind howls louder, a testament to his power.

  My mom’s cheeks redden with the insult. She’s inches from him, and though he towers over her tiny, starved body, the look on her face could crush mountains. “The Prophecies — which, you’ll remember, correctly predicted their Gifts — have been fulfilled,” she emphasizes, her voice acidic. “The children have already experienced the Five Realms of human existence: true love, true grief, true fear, true compassion, and, now, true courage. Their rule is at hand.”

  Wait … what? I gape at Whit. His face is a stone mask, but his eyes seem to falter for a moment. Five Realms? Rule? This feels like the first time we’re hearing this. Isn’t it impossible enough just to dethrone The One and get things back to normal? So we’ve actually been on some kind of prophetic scavenger hunt ending in a mind-boggling amount of responsibility, and no one bothered to let us in on the real goal?

  My head is throbbing now from The One’s draw on my power, and his eyes flick to my face as I wince. His serene expression makes me doubt everything all over again. He’s so sure that he’ll win, that we’ll all die. How can my parents be so confident in the face of his manipulation?

  “Ah yes, the Prophecies,” The One considers. “But as you point out, Benjamin and Eliza, they are just children. Unprepared by their parents to do much in the world. Certainly not prepared to rule anyone, or even control the tremendous Gifts they’ve been given. How does it feel to have failed them?”

  Whit and I both step forward and start to protest — much to The One’s delight — but my mom waves us off, undeterred.

  “If we had revealed Whit’s and Wisty’s roles to them earlier,” she argues, “they could never have truly opened their hearts to the full spectrum of human experience. They would’ve always felt other. They needed to come here, they needed to seek us out against all odds — against death itself — to experience the final level of human experience: courage.”

  I get it now. This is why our parents told us not to come here: we had to make the choice on our own, despite the risks, to be truly courageous. We resented them so much for not telling us. But they had it right.

  “They’ve achieved something you never will,” Dad points out. I get that all of this is a bit over our heads, but I wish they would stop talking about Whit and me like we’re not even here. But Dad goes on giving it to The One: “You’ve
sabotaged yourself, killed every bit of compassion you might have had, so you can never experience true love.”

  “He who controls all the elements is the ultimate ruler.” The One snaps his wrist dismissively, and the wind groans. It feels like the air is surging through my skull, and my headache worsens. “We all know how this is going to end, and I’m losing my patience.” He steps toward me. “Wisteria, give The Gift to me — now!”

  As if I even know how to hand over this so-called Gift! Whit and I are just pawns here, and we don’t understand the rules of the game. We don’t even know what game we’re playing.

  “Fine!” I yell in a tantrum of exasperation. Fire leaps from my fingertips to The One’s crisp suit. It’s extinguished immediately, but he looks truly angry for the first time, and I instinctively take a step back.

  “Did you forget what Byron taught you, dear girl? You made a grave mistake earlier. You may have paralyzed me for a moment, but your magic only makes me stronger.”

  I try not to flinch as The One fixes me with his hypnotic eyes. He’s smiling like a grandfather about to deliver sage advice. That smile would make a baby weep.

  Storm clouds whip around us, but the rain doesn’t come. Not yet. The terrified crowd leans forward, and the moment is pregnant with possibility.

  The One moves toward me.

  “You’re nothing!” he shrieks directly into my face, sounding unhinged, and sharp, blinding migraine pain flashes behind my eyes.

  Like lightning, I think, and I finally begin to understand what this is all about.

  Chapter 78

  Wisty

  THE ONE RAISES his arms, and the elements respond at once to his call. …

  The earth shakes as a seam splits along the ground, knocking my parents off their feet as they scramble from its widening lip. Dust particles dance in the air as the ground crumbles inward, and the layers of red clouds darken and multiply as the wind rages, making the once-still river begin to churn and foam. The hill running down from the bone forest seems to grow before our eyes, and it belches and groans as lava bubbles over its surface.

  It’s utter pandemonium as everyone scrambles and lurches to stay out of the way of flooding water and falling rock. My dad pulls me to him, and Whit and Celia lead us higher on the bank. The masses huddle and cry out against the onslaught. Most of the people here are already dead, but apparently death does not kill fear.

  The only person who is unafraid, it seems, is my mother. Mom is weak, tottering, half dead, but she’s still a force to be reckoned with as she steps toward The One once again. Her eyes narrow.

  “You say you stand for order, for what is right, but you’ve interrupted the natural order of things, the rhythm and flow of everything that makes us human in life and in death.” My mom is a born public speaker, and her voice echoes across the audience of the dead. “Even here at this sacred river, no one can cross over because of what you’ve done.”

  Mom’s voice rises, full of conviction and courage. “You are nothing!” she shouts at The One Who Is The One, ruler of the entire Overworld, and now, it seems, the Underworld, too. Even if we die in the next moment, I have never been more proud of her.

  “How dare you.” The One’s voice is low, deadly. I almost don’t hear it above the rising wind. My mom doesn’t flinch and stands tall and proud next to the other wavering souls of the dead on this gravelly bank. “You once had such potential yourself, Eliza. And now look at you — barely a bag of bones. Didn’t I already kill you once?”

  Mom reaches for Dad’s arm but never gets that far. She’s suddenly, violently ripped from the earth as if by an invisible hand and flung high into the air among the ominous clouds. She twists, her face a grimace, her body shaken and slammed against an invisible wall. As she writhes in agony above our heads, not a soul can turn away from the gruesome theater.

  Which is exactly what he wants. To break us.

  “He’s going to snap her neck!” Dad yells.

  I feel panicked, out of control as The One whips our mother back and forth across the sky like a shooting star. I said I’d never lose her again. …

  Think, Wisty. Use your power, your Gift. My mind races. Fire … a shooting star …

  That’s it! I grip my brother’s hand and pull everything I can from Whit’s M. I feel it shifting, building, growing within me, light and heat and electricity expanding until my power erupts from my fingertips. I stare, breathless.

  Together we’ve created a giant, burning mass of rock surging across the sky.

  The crowd gasps as a shower of sparks trails behind the meteor. It’s terrifying and blindingly beautiful at once — the most spectacular firework anyone has ever seen.

  I’ve never attempted anything on this scale, and I’m almost scared that it worked. I wince and heave. It’s kind of like trying to hold a giant umbrella open in the middle of a hurricane — nearly impossible to control. This thing is barreling toward us at startling speed, and I’m not sure I can steer it where it needs to go. I’m straining so hard that a shriek escapes from my pressed lips.

  Whit sends another powerful surge of M through me, and at the last second I manage to jackknife the fireball away from the crowd, sending it careering directly to where The One is standing.

  Only he isn’t standing there anymore.

  Instead it plows straight into the crack in the earth that The One’s quake left. The ground shakes, and people are strewn helter-skelter. The impact missed The One entirely, but the distraction breaks his connection with my mother.

  Which means her limp, rag-doll body is falling rapidly through the air.

  “Mom!” I scream.

  But as I watch, her descent slows, and she floats down as if immersed in water. Whit catches her feather body easily in his arms and cradles her close. He nods at me, and tears of relief well in my eyes. His M is strong. I should’ve known my brother would never let me down when Mom was at stake.

  “A mere parlor trick!” exclaims The One. At least I think it’s The One. It’s his voice, but it’s somehow deeper, bigger. And it’s coming from all around.

  Where is he?

  It’s like … he’s everywhere. He’s the weather itself, he’s every disaster rolled into One. Thunder, wind, earthquake, volcano … and now, as the clouds burst, the steady, stinging downpour of rain.

  I’m dizzy, weakened from the M expended on the meteor, and my head is in such excruciating pain I can barely stand.

  Something is changing.

  I look to Whit for support, but I can’t see him. I can’t see anything but light, but I can feel the tug of the elements inside my skull, all of them pulling for one thing, one jolt of static, one frenetic spark. …

  One bolt of lightning — fire. My fire.

  By using the elements to create every condition to force lightning to strike, he can suck The Gift right out of me.

  I feel something in me opening up, seeping out. It’s happening. It’s all happening, I think through the pain and confusion.

  And then …

  Chapter 79

  Whit

  IT HAPPENS IN seconds.

  The pregnant clouds loom over us, thick and ominous, dark shadows appearing on our faces. It starts to rain.

  In the next moment, my sister is no longer my sister.

  Her eyes roll back into her head, and foam gathers at the corners of her lips.

  Bolts of electricity light up the red sky, and Wisty’s body shakes and shudders. The lightning is coming from her — from her Gift — but she’s not controlling it.

  He is.

  “Wisty, no!” I shriek, lunging forward. My dad’s strong arms hold me back.

  “Don’t touch her, Whit!” my mom sobs. “I can’t lose you, too!” There is nothing any of us can do except watch as my sister’s power surges into the sky, taking her with it.

  But I can’t watch. I have to figure out what to do, how to stop this … thing. I turn away, stumbling over myself, but it’s all happening too fast, too c
ertainly, too powerfully. I can’t decide what to do because all I can do is react.

  Pellets of rain pound into us, along with sand and gravel kicked up by the wind.

  The frothy waves of the river writhe like a bundle of snakes, the foam rising higher and higher before finally spilling over the shore and flooding the valley, carrying people away or pulling them under, even as I grab for them. The water crashes relentlessly into the bridge, finally splintering its supports and dragging it into the murky depths.

  “No!” Celia shouts over the howling wind, stumbling forward, her hand outstretched. It’s too late. The plaintive cries of other souls join hers. Without that bridge, no one will ever be able to cross over again.

  I turn away from her pain, unable to help her right now. Because if I don’t focus on the seam in the earth, which is getting deeper, wider, longer in mere seconds, running along the ground like an animal chasing our feet, I’ll be swallowed up.

  My mother and father lurch and stumble, following the crowds to higher ground. At least there are no buildings to crush us in this forsaken place.

  It’s all I can do to lock my knees against the thrashing wind and shut my eyes against the spray of water as the river churns cylindrically upward into the swirling waterspout of a tornado.

  And the whole time, my sister is a trembling, electrified zombie at the whim of a madman.

  Do something, Whit.

  I don’t know where to go when everywhere I turn is death. I don’t even know what I’m fighting. How can you target the air, the water, the earth, all at once without ever being able to see the person who’s doing the damage?

  Do something.

  I guess I target the magic.

  I squeeze my eyes tight against the nightmare, concentrate on fixing the damage done, on healing the wounded. On repairing the bridge. On the open gash of the earthquake closing like a slow zipper, the rocks shifting and groaning. On The One turning to smoke, hoping his reign will end the way he vaporized so many innocents before him.