Part I
Sister of the Chosen One
1
Valora
It’s time to save the world. Again.
From just above me comes a high-pitched wail, and the sustainable wood wall behind my head explodes into jagged shards. A Mistspawn, an abomination plucked from some underwater cave by Erys, Cursed One and ultimate pain-in-my-ass, pulls back its long tentacles and stares longingly my way. I can feel its breath on my face, can see the steaming black saliva dripping from its rotating rows of razor-sharp fangs. Its three eyeballs follow me as I dart behind a statue, its tentacles wriggling like manic snakes. I lean my head back against what remains of the wall and breathe. This is what I do, I remind myself. This is what I train for. Never mind that my heart is beating outside my chest and my hands are shaking. Get it together, Chosen One. The Mistspawn lurches forward but loses its balance in the process. It's hungry for me, for everyone inside the school, and that’s its mistake. When you’re hungry, you make dumb mistakes.
Just ask my sister.
I snicker at the thought and leap forward, rolling so that my knees absorb the impact, but it still hurts. I fight through the pain and look up. Above me, students and teachers watch from the windows of Proctor Moor, safe and protected behind the thick glass, watching Valora Rigmore do what she was prophesied to do: fight monsters. They will cry if I die. Maybe.
But not before they try to film the event live.
I hear it slouching up behind me, hear the wet smacking sounds of its tentacle feet. This one is faster than the other monsters have been. They are always getting faster. I watch as a tentacle begins to snake its way around the base of the statue in front of the school. I look up and see him: Everett Proctor in all his stone glory, his hands pushed out in front of him, his palms cracking with the telekinetic power that we share. I shake my head, my body hidden in his shadow.
The plaque at the base of the statue reads All hail Everett Proctor, the most powerful Exceptional of all time.
I hate him so much and could stew in that for a good long while, but this creature is now getting even closer to the school named after him and everyone is waiting on me to do something. I spin, but it’s too late: I watch as tiny, wriggling creatures begin falling from its abdomen and slithering like mad towards the school. The last thing I want to do is find one of these monsters coming up the drain in my private bathroom, so I throw up my hands and focus on the doors and windows to the school. Those creatures can’t get in; if that happens I won’t see sleep for awhile and somehow I still have to take a math test tomorrow. I haven’t studied. Um, ever.
I spread my fingers wide. All at once, I feel the rush of power leave through my palms, draining me as it goes, but all the doors and windows to the school slam shut. I hear the collective groan of hundreds of students as their entertainment for the day is abruptly ended for their own safety. What a bunch of whiners they are, especially considering that they’ll all see it later. Videos of my fights will be broadcast everywhere at the school, on television networks, but most importantly, on the endless internet loop.
Using my fingers as though I’m opening a latch, I pull open just one single window, the one belonging to Miss Renata Flores, my mentor. Even in the middle of this chaos, I can already imagine the annoyance on her face and the admonitions that she will blast me with later. Another tentacle sneaks over the shoulder of the statue. Absentmindedly, I rub my throbbing hands, wrinkling up my nose in the way that my publicist has told me not to. The searing pain is back in my palms – it’s particularly bad when I’m fighting. I’m jerked out of my pain by Renata madly screaming something from the window. I turn around two seconds too late.
Suddenly, the Mistspawn is upon me, wet tentacles all around as it heaves itself over the statue. Its fangs snap hungrily as the tiny little barbs in its arm dig into my right foot and drag me forward. My head hits the ground hard and I’m pulled toward it, sliding on my back through its nasty slime. I want to scream hysterically like any sane person would when being dragged into the mouth of a beast, but instead I flex my fingers and smile as the pain disappears.
One more time, I tell myself, just one more time. One more fight.
It’s a lie. I know it. Renata Flores knows it. God, even this creature that looks like an angry rectum knows it. Instead of screaming I grab for the dagger in my boot, the one rigged with a laser edge that sparks when I open it. With a photogenic florish, I slice the Mistspawn’s tentacle holding my other foot, and it flops to the ground. The creature lets out a scream that curdles my stomach.
I slowly climb to my feet, aware that every move I make will be analyzed, slow-motioned, and catalogued. “Valora Rigmore defeats Mistspawn,” the papers will read tomorrow. My dad will frame it and give copies to everyone he knows. I know I should at least get a good picture out of this whole experience, so I turn my head, looking brazenly out over the green hills of Connecticut, hoping that there is a dramatic smear of blood on my cheek or something. The wind catches my jagged chin-length blonde hair (trimmed every other week!) and whips it around my head. I narrow my olive-green eyes into a stare of determination and slowly raise my hands.
CLICK. There it is, the money shot, and now it’s time to actually fight, because I’m exhausted and this creature is gross and I’m going to have to take a thousand showers when I get back to my room. I dare to fantasize for a second that Grier won’t be there and I’ll have some peace and quiet. I almost laugh.
As if. Grier’s always there.
The creature hurls itself towards me, tentacles outstretched in a death grip. I crouch down and lock eyes with the thing that wants to rip me limb from limb and wink. I press my hands outwards, feeling the power pool inside of them. I am careful, I am controlled. I’m not rushing because this is one of the fun parts. One of the only fun parts.
I maneuver around the monster, my feet quick, as it raises dozens of tentacles my way and hisses. When it gets close to me, I freeze its revolting jellied form in place. Technically, my Exceptional power is telekinesis, but what it really is is awesome. I begin to swirl my fingers, concentrating on the Mistspawn’s tentacles – thicker than my head - as I make them wrap around its own body, tightening ever so slowly. This creature is going to be both the deer and the python and I am going squeeze it to death. I grin nastily as I wrap the last tentacle around its face, blocking its revolting mouth. Then I squeeze my hands together. Tighter. I twist my face as my knuckles go white. Tighter.
Once the Mistspawn is bound, I shoot out my other hand and swipe all the tiny monsters that are still running up the bridge and the walls of the school off into the moat. I don’t need to worry; the nightmarish creatures that sleep in the foggy deep will take good care of them. Seconds later I hear their high-pitched screams followed by another sound: a disgusting gnashing, accompanied by whimpers of pain.
Oh, god. I roll my eyes. The Mistspawn is trying to eat through its own tentacle. It’s time to finish this. With one forward hand motion, I fling back open the windows and the doors of Proctor Moor to let everyone see the big finish.
Eat it up, you sycophants.
Using the remnants of my power, I slowly raise both of my hands in front of me, lifting the monster up and off the ground. It’s heavy, and it feels like the skin is being pulled from my palms. I shake the hair out of my face and focus on lifting it higher and higher until it’s eye-level with Renata, who looks down at me with barely controlled fury. I can hear her now, the whip of her sharp Colombian accent: Stop showing off! You are called to a serious vocation! You are the Chosen One! I hear the delighted gasps of the younger students as they get to see the suffocating creature up close, black saliva dripping down onto the statue of Everett Proctor. I smile as an idea takes hold.