The Power of Six tll-2 Read online

  “Good lord, Sam,” I say. “When did that happen?”

  “Right before I got ahold of that Mog’s sword. I kind of pulled it out of my leg.”

  “All right, come on, get out of the car,” I say. “Get on the ground.”

  Six shoves her head under Sam’s armpit and helps him to the ground.

  I open the back and retrieve the healing stone from the Chest. “Better hold on to something, man. This might . . . sting.” Six offers her hand, and he takes it. The second I press the stone to his wound he writhes in agony as every muscle tightens. It seems like he’s going to pass out. The skin around his wound turns white, then black, then to the bright red color of blood; and I immediately regret attempting to use the stone on a human. Did Henri ever say it won’t work on them? I’m trying to remember as Sam lets out a long-winded groan that empties him of air. The outer edge of the wound seals inward and then disappears altogether. Sam relaxes his grip on Six’s hand, and he slowly regains his breath. After a minute he’s able to sit up.

  “Man, do I ever want to be an alien,” he finally says. “You guys get to do way too many cool things.”

  “You had me worried there for a second, buddy,” I say. “Wasn’t sure if it would work on you since some of the other stuff from the Chest doesn’t.”

  “Me either,” Six adds. She leans over and kisses him on his dirty cheek. Sam lies back down and sighs. Six laughs and rubs her hand over his head of stubble, and I’m surprised by how much jealousy bubbles inside me.

  “Do you want to go to the hospital?” I ask.

  “I want to stay right here,” he says. “Forever.”

  “You know what? We were pretty lucky we were out on that walk,” Six says after we settle back into the SUV.

  “You’re right,” I say.

  Sam places his right cheek on his headrest so he can look at both of us. “Why were you guys out walking in the first place?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. Neither could Six,” I answer, which technically is the truth, but it doesn’t take away the guilt. I know that Sarah is the girl for me, but I can’t seem to stop these new feelings I have.

  Six sighs. “You know what this means, right?”

  “What?”

  “They’ve probably opened my Chest.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “No, I don’t. But after I grabbed that rock from your Chest and it started pulsing and hurting my hand, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling I got from it. And it just now came to me that it probably has something to do with my Chest.”

  “They’ve had your Chest for three years now,” I say. “So you think it’s possible for them to open the Chests without us, without us being dead?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe? But I have this feeling that they got into mine and that when I touched that stone it somehow led the scouts to our house.”

  “Why send so few?” Sam asks between yawns. “I mean, why not wait for reinforcements before attacking?”

  “Maybe they got scared and panicked?” Six offers.

  “Maybe one of them wanted to be the hero,” I say.

  Six rolls down her window and listens. When she’s satisfied, she says, “Regardless. Next time there will be more of them. Pikens and krauls and whatever else they can throw at us.”

  “You’re probably right,” Sam whispers. He’s drifting off. “I’ll tell you one thing. This being on the run is really wearing me down.”

  “Try doing it for eleven years,” I say.

  “I think I’m a little homesick,” he mumbles.

  I lean forward and see that in his lap he’s holding his father’s old glasses, the ones with the thick lenses he used to wear in Paradise.

  “It’s not too late to go back, Sam. You know that, right?”

  He frowns. “I’m not going back.” It’s with far less conviction this time around than when he had first said it in the North Carolina motel. “Not until I find my dad. Or until I at least learn what happened to him.”

  His dad? Six mouths to me, confused.

  Later, I mouth back.

  “Fair enough,” I say. “We’ll figure it out eventually.” I turn back to Six. “So, where do we head tomorrow morning?”

  “Now that it seems they opened my Chest, I guess we’ll see where the wind carries us. It hasn’t let me down yet,” she says in a wistful sort of tone, then glances over at me. “Did you know that if it wasn’t for the wind and my need for caffeine one night in Pennsylvania, the night before the attack in Paradise, I’d have never gotten there in time?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “I was drifting through the Midwest, sensing you guys were in Ohio or in West Virginia or Pennsylvania after I found some news online of what I thought was probably the handiwork of Mogs in Athens near that college; but after a few weeks of coming up empty, I was certain I’d lost your trail. I figured you guys had taken off for California or Canada by that point. So there I was, standing in the parking lot of this strip mall, tired and lost, practically broke, when this huge gust of wind ripped past me and blew open the door to a coffee shop on my left. I thought I would refuel and get back out there and figure something out, but in the corner of the shop was an open computer for customers. I bought a large coffee and started searching the internet. Sure enough, I found an article about the house on fire that you jumped out of.”

  I’m embarrassed to know how easy it was to find me. No wonder Henri wanted to keep me home or at school all the time.

  “If it wasn’t for that gust of wind opening that door, I would have probably ended up in a diner instead, sipping coffee until daylight. I wrote down all the information I could find on you guys and then I ran down the street looking for an all-night copy place. That’s when I sent the fax and the letter with my number, to try to warn you guys or, at the very least, to tip you off so you could brace yourselves until I got there. And I arrived just in the nick of time.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE WIND CARRIES US NORTH TO AN ALABAMA motel where we stay two nights, again thanks to Sam using one of my identities. From there we drive west and spend a night beneath the stars in an open field in Oklahoma, which we follow up with two more nights in a Holiday Inn on the outskirts of Omaha, Nebraska. And from there, for no apparent reason-at least for no reason she’ll admit to-Six drives one thousand miles east to rent a log cabin nestled in the mountains of the Maryland panhandle, a mere five-minute drive to the West Virginia border, and three short hours from the Mogadorian cave. We’re exactly 197 miles from Paradise, Ohio, where our journey first began. Half a tank of gas from Sarah.

  Before my eyes even open, I can already feel it’s going to be a tough day, one of those days when the reality of Henri’s death will hit me like a sledgehammer and no matter what I do, the pain won’t leave. I’ve been having these days more often. Days filled with remorse. Filled with guilt. Filled with a genuine sadness to know I’ll never talk to him again. The thought cripples me. I wish I could change it. But as Henri once said, “Some things can never be undone.” And then there’s Sarah, and the terrible guilt that’s crept in since leaving Florida for allowing myself to get so close to Six that I almost kissed her.

  I take a deep breath, finally opening my eyes. The pale morning light enters the room. Henri’s letter, I think. I have no choice but to read it now. It’s too dangerous to delay it any longer. Not after almost losing it in Florida.

  I slip my hand beneath the pillow and remove the diamond-bladed dagger and the letter. I’ve been keeping both of them close to me. I stare at the envelope for a moment, trying to imagine under what circumstances the letter was written. Then I sigh, knowing it doesn’t really matter and that I’m just wasting time, and with the dagger I make a clean cut along the envelope’s seal and remove the pages. Henri’s perfect handwriting fills five yellow legal-sized sheets with thick black ink. I take a deep breath, and then let my eyes fall upon the top sheet.

  Janua
ry 19

  J -

  I’ve written this letter many times over the years, never knowing whether it might be my last, but if you’re reading this now, then surely the answer is yes. I’m sorry, John. I truly am. We Cepans who came, our duty was to protect you nine at all costs, including our lives. But as I put down these words at our kitchen table, mere hours after you saved me in Athens, I know it’s never been duty that has kept you and me together, but rather love that will always be a stronger bond than any obligation. The truth is that my death was always going to happen. The only variables were when and how, and if it hadn’t been for you, then I would have certainly died today. Whatever the circumstances of my death, please don’t blame yourself. I never expected to survive here, and when we left Lorien all those years ago, I knew I’d never be going back.

  In the time between me writing these words and you reading them, I wonder how much you’ve discovered. I’m confident you now know that I kept a lot from you. Probably more than I should have. For most of your life I wanted you to stay focused, to train hard. I wanted to give you as normal a life on Earth as I could. I’m sure you’ll find that idea laughable, but to know the full truth would have added a world of stress during an already-stressful time.

  Where to begin? Your father’s name was Liren. He was brave and powerful, and he lived his life with integrity and purpose. As you witnessed during your visions of the war, he carried out these traits until the very end, even when he knew the war was unwinnable. And that’s about all any of us can really hope for, to die with our dignity, to die with honor and valor. To die knowing we did everything we could. That was the epitome of who your father was. It’s the epitome of who you are, too, even if you don’t necessarily believe it.

  I sit up, my back flat against the headboard, rereading my father’s name over and over. The lump in my throat expands into a rock. I wish Sarah was here urging me to read on, her head on my shoulder. I focus my eyes on the next paragraph.

  When you were just a small child, your father came around even when he wasn’t supposed to. He adored you, and he could sit for hours watching you play in the grass with Hadley (I wonder now, have you discovered Bernie Kosar’s true identity?). And while I’m sure you don’t remember much of those youthful days, I can safely say you were a happy boy. For a brief while, you had the sort of childhood all children deserve, though not all receive.

  While I spent considerable time with your father, I met your mother only once. Her name was Lara and, like your father, she was reserved and maybe even a little shy. I tell you this now because I want you to know who you are and who you come from. You come from a simple family of simple means, and the truth that I’ve always wanted to share with you is that we didn’t leave Lorien because of where we happened to be that day. Our being at the airfield, it wasn’t sheer happenstance. We were there because when the attack began, the Garde rallied together to get you there. Many sacrificed their lives in the process. There were supposed to be ten of you, though as you know only nine made it off.

  Tears blur my vision. I slide my fingers over my mother’s name. Lara. Lara and Liren. I wonder what my Loric name was, if it also started with an L. I wonder, if there wasn’t a war, if I would have had a younger sister or brother. So much has been taken from me.

  When the ten of you were born, Lorien recognized your strong hearts, your wills, your compassion, and in turn she bestowed the ten of you with the roles you’re all meant to assume: the roles of the original ten Elders. What this means is that, in time, those of you left will grow to be far stronger than anything Lorien has ever seen before, far stronger even than the original ten Elders from whom you’ve received your Inheritances. The Mogadorians know this, which is why they’re hunting you so feverishly now. They’ve grown desperate and have flooded this planet with spies. I never told you the truth because I feared it might drive you to arrogance and that you might be led astray, and there’s far too much danger out there looking for you to risk that. I urge you . . . become strong, grow into the role you are meant to assume, and then find the others. Those of you left, you can still win this war.

  The last thing I have to tell you is that we didn’t move to Paradise by chance. Your Legacies were delayed and I had begun to worry, and when my worry grew to a full-out panic when the third scar appeared-knowing you are next-I decided to seek out the one man who might hold the key to finding the others.

  When we arrived on Earth there were nine humans waiting for us who understood our situation and our need to scatter. They were allies of the Loric, and the last time we were here-fifteen years ago-they were all given a transmission device that would turn itself on only if it came into contact with one of our ships. They were there that night to provide us guidance in the transition from Lorien to Earth, to help us get started. None of us had ever been here before. When we stepped off the ship, we were each given two pairs of clothes, a packet of instructions to help us learn this planet’s ways, and a slip of paper with an address on it. The addresses were a place to start, not to stay, and none of us knew where the others were headed. Ours led us to a small town in Northern California. It was a nice, quiet place fifteen minutes from the coast. I taught you to ride a bike there, and fly a kite, and more simple things like tying your shoes, which I had to first teach myself. We stayed six months, and then we went about our way, as I knew we must.

  The man who met you and me, our guide, was from here, from Paradise; and I sought him because I was desperate to know where the others first went. But when we arrived here, the dark stars must have fallen, because the man was already gone.

  This man who met us that first day, who gave us a cultural guide to follow and who set us up in our first homes, his name was Malcolm Goode. Sam’s father.

  What I’m telling you now, John, is that I believe Sam was right; I believe his father was abducted. For Sam’s sake, I can only hope he’s still alive. And if Sam’s still with you, I ask that you tell him this information, and I hope he finds comfort in hearing it.

  Become who you’re meant to become, John. Grow strong and powerful and never forget for a minute the things you’ve learned along the way. Be noble, confident, and brave. Live with the same sort of dignity and valor that you inherited from your father, and trust in your heart and your will, as Lorien trusts in it still to this day. Never lose faith in yourself, and never lose hope; remember, even when this world throws its worst and then turns its back, there is still always hope.

  And I’m certain, someday, you’ll make it back home.

  With love,

  Your Friend and Cepan,

  – H

  Blood pounds in my ears; and despite what Henri has written, I know in my heart that if we’d left Paradise when he’d wanted to, then he’d still be alive. We’d still be together. He came to the school to save me, because it was his duty to, and because he loved me. And now he’s gone.

  I take a deep breath, wipe my face with the back of my hand, and then walk from my room. Despite his bad leg, Sam insisted on taking the second floor, even when Six and I offered to take it instead. I go up the stairs now and knock on his door. I enter and flip his bedside lamp on, and I see his father’s old glasses on the nightstand. Sam stirs.

  “Sam? Hey, Sam. Sorry to wake you up, but there’s some major shit you need to know.”

  That gets his attention and he pulls off the blanket. “Tell me then.”

  “First, you have to promise not to get mad. I want you to know that I had no idea of any of what I’m about to tell you until just now. And whatever Henri’s reasons were for not telling you to your face, you have to forgive him.”

  He scoots up the mattress until his back rests on the headboard. “Damn, John. Tell me already.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Fine, I promise.”

  I hand him the letter. “I should have read it sooner, Sam. I’m really sorry I didn’t.”

  I leave the room and close his door to give him the privacy he deserves. I’m n
ot sure how he’ll react. There’s no telling how a person will accept the answer to the question they’ve asked most of their life, the question that’s haunted them.

  I walk down the stairs and slip out the back door with Bernie Kosar, who runs into the forest. I sit on the top of a picnic table. I can see my breath in the cool February air. Darkness is pushed to the west, while the morning light bleeds in from the east. I stare up at the half-moon and wonder if Sarah is looking at it, or if any of the others might be seeing it. Me and the others, the five still alive, are meant to assume the roles of the Elders. I still don’t entirely understand what that means. Then I close my eyes and lift my face towards the sky. I stay that way until the door slides open behind me. I turn, expecting to see Sam, but it’s Six. She climbs up on the picnic table and sits next to me. I offer her a weak smile, but she doesn’t return it.

  “I heard you walk out here. Is everything okay? Did you and Sam have a fight or something?” she asks.

  “What? No. Why?”

  “All I know is he’s crying on the couch downstairs and he won’t talk to me.”

  I pause before telling her. “I finally read the letter Henri left behind. There’s some stuff about Sam he and I haven’t told you. It’s about his dad.”

  “What about his dad? Everything okay?”

  I turn my body so our knees touch. “Listen. When I met Sam in school he was pretty obsessed with the disappearance of his dad, who just didn’t come home from the grocery store one day. They found his truck and his glasses on the ground next to the truck. You know those glasses that you see him carrying around all the time?”

  Six turns to look inside the back door. “Wait. Those are his dad’s?”

  “Yeah. And so the deal is that Sam is pretty convinced he was abducted by aliens, which I always thought was crazy; but I, I don’t know, I let him go on believing it because who am I to crush the dude’s hope of finding his dad again? I was waiting for Sam to tell you all this, but I just read Henri’s letter, and you wouldn’t believe what was in there.”