Might Equals Right!

    ML, Killian Flynn

    MYRIAD

* * *

    From: Z_C_4/23.43.2

    To: K_F_5/23.53.6

    Subject: I’m impressed

    We could all take a lesson from you, Mr. Flynn. You live with passion and fight for what you want. The true Myriadian way. Carry on!

    You’ll be pleased to know our efforts to draw Miss Lockwood out of Troika are progressing nicely. I predict you’ll see her in a matter of days.

    Might Equals Right!

    Sir Zhi Chen

    chapter six

* * *

    “Change is the bedrock of success.”

    —Myriad

    I spend the next day at home, trying to forget yesterday’s walk of shame. After Elizabeth’s announcement, I left the party and, after taking a few wrong Gates, managed to find my way back to the cathedral. No one came after me.

    Last night my dreams turned into nightmares. Killian never appeared on the mountaintop, and the birds attacked me en masse. Within minutes, they tore me to shreds and feasted on my organs. Organs that quickly regenerated, ready to be eaten again. The pain... I still feel a twinge in my side.

    After I managed to fight my way free, I dragged my broken, bloody body into the cornfield, the throng of people absent. I was alone. No one had needed or wanted my help, and I’d fallen to my knees, sobbing.

    I’m considering forgoing sleep for the rest of my Everlife.

    Today, no visitors come knocking on my door, and I’m glad. So far, all I’ve done is anger and upset the people I’m supposed to protect. I haven’t done anything right.

    I’m Ten, the rarity. Ten, the necessary ingredient for victory. Ten, the special one. But...what if Levi and Archer and everyone else got it wrong? What if I’m not special? What if I’m the necessary ingredient for failure?

    Dejected, I plop onto the couch. The Book of the Law appears, glowing just in front of me, all, ta-da, here I am, the answer to your problems. As if.

    I’m not in the mood to read, but I decide to do it, anyway. Knowledge is power. Maybe I’ll do a better job here.

    If you forget all else, remember this: love is always the answer. Love your realm. Love your people. Love yourself. This is right. This is good. Only when you choose love are you living in Light.

    My number brands throb as I turn to the next page. Someone needs to remind the rest of the realm about choosing love!

    Other people are not the source of your problem. Your own thoughts are your—

    I flip the page.

    Let this word take root inside the rich soil of your heart so that, when a storm comes—and it will—you have something firmly planted to hold on to.

    Enough! This isn’t helping.

    Frustrated, I press a series of buttons on the miracle remote and the book vanishes. Another series of buttons and a detailed map of Troika materializes on the ceiling.

    I discovered the map last night and memorized the locations of the Gates. Besides the seven main Gates leading to different cities within the realm, there are multiple smaller Gates—Stairwells—for travel within each specific city. Every city is hundreds of thousands of square miles.

    I decided to spend quality time with a favorite pastime: counting. On the map, only sixty-six trees are marked—thirty-nine on one side and twenty-seven on the other. Why?

    Sixty-six is the atomic number of dysprosium, a lanthanide. A lanthanide is any series of fifteen metallic elements, often collectively known as the rare earth elements.

    Fifteen is a triangular number: 1+2+3+4+5=15

    Thirty-nine is the atomic number of yttrium. Equal to three trimesters, the length of a human pregnancy.

    Twenty-seven, the atomic number of cobalt. The number of bones in the human hand. The number of “cubies” in a Rubik’s cube.

    Boom!

    My front door bursts open, wood splinters flying. Three masked assailants march inside my apartment, and I jackknife into a sitting position, my mind and heart racing.

    Fight-or-flight?

    The intruders can’t be Myriadians; Myriadians can’t pass through the Veil of Wings.

    Is the trio planning to throw me out of the realm?

    Fight!

    As the intruders approach, I kick the vase perched on the coffee table. It nails Middle Man in the face. He’s tall and muscled and the porcelain explodes into fragments; he grunts, stumbling backward.

    I roll to the floor, flowing under the table, and jump to my feet on the other side. Leftie—who was diving for me—smacks into the couch and plops onto the table.

    I rush into the kitchen, but Rightie catches me before I can grab a knife, wrapping strong arms around my waist and holding me prisoner. No matter how hard I struggle, I’m unable to break free.

    No. No! The other two grab my ankles to help cart me out of the apartment. I buck and flail and shout for help. This is no time for pride. Whatever they have planned for me, I won’t make it easy.

    Apartments doors open. Three trainees peek out to see what’s going on. The only male pales and retreats. One of the girls—Winifred—steps into the hall.

    Leftie shoots her with a Dazer, and she freezes. Jerk! I know the spirit stun gun causes no pain or lasting harm, but he’s left a young girl vulnerable.

    And why the heck wasn’t the Dazer used on me?

    Maybe I’m going to be tortured before I’m thrown out?