The Power of Six

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.

January 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 not 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.”

“What?”

I tell her everything, about Sam’s dad being a Loric ally who met Henri and me when the ship landed, why Henri moved us to Paradise.

Six slides off the top of the picnic table and lands awkwardly on the bench. “That is just so totally random that Sam is here. In there.”

“I don’t think it is. I mean, think about it. It just so happens that of all the people in Paradise I’m drawn to for a best friend, it happens to be Sam? I think we were destined to meet.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Pretty cool that his dad helped us that night, right?”

“The coolest. Remember when he said he had these feelings growing inside him about being with us?”

I do. “But here’s the thing. In Henri’s letter he says that Sam’s dad actually was abducted, or maybe even killed, by the Mogadorians.”

We sit in silence watching the sun slowly come up over the horizon. Bernie Kosar jogs out of the forest and rolls onto his back to have his belly rubbed. “Hey there, Hadley.” He flips onto his feet instantly when I say it, tilting his beagle head. “Yeah,” I say, jumping down to scratch his chin with both hands. “I know.” Sam walks out. His eyes are red. He sits next to Six on the bench.

“Hi, Hadley,” Sam says to Bernie Kosar. BK barks in response and licks his hands.

“Hadley?” Six asks.

The dog barks again in approval.

“I always knew it,” Sam says. “Always. From the day he disappeared.”

“You were right all this time,” I say.

“Do you mind if I read the letter?” Six asks. Sam hands it to her. I aim my right palm at the front page and turn on its light. She reads the letter in its radiance, then folds the pages and hands them back.

“I’m really sorry, Sam,” she says.

I add, “Henri and I wouldn’t have survived if it wasn’t for your dad.”

Six then turns to me. “You know, it’s ridiculous that your parents were Liren and Lara. Or it’s ridiculous I didn’t realize that myself. Do you remember me from Lorien, John? Your parents and my parents-their names were Arun and Lyn-they were best friends. I know we weren’t around our parents all that often, but I remember going to your house a few times. You were just a toddler at the time, I think.”

It takes me a few seconds to remember what Henri once told me. It was the day Sarah had gotten back from Colorado, the day we confessed being in love with one another. After she left, Henri and I were eating dinner and he said, Though I don’t know her number, or have any idea where she is, one of the children who came to Earth with us was the daughter of your parents’ best friends. They used to joke that it was fate that the two of you would end up together.

I almost tell Six what Henri said, but remembering how that conversation came about because of my feelings for Sarah brings back the same guilt I’ve felt since Six and I went for our walk.

“Yeah, that is pretty crazy. I don’t really remember it, though,” I say.

“Regardless, this is some heavy stuff about the Elders and how we’re supposed to assume their roles. No wonder the Mogs are so relentless,” she says.

“Definitely makes sense.”

“We have to go back to Paradise,” Sam interrupts.

“Yeah, right.” Six laughs. “What we need to do is find the others somehow. We need to get back on that laptop. Train some more.”

Sam stands. “No, I’m serious, guys. We have to go back. If my dad left something behind, that transmission device, I think I know how to find it. When I was seven, he told me that my future was mapped on the sundial. I would ask him what he was talking about, and he’d just say that if the dark stars ever fell, I was supposed to find the Ennead and read the map by my birth date on the sundial.”

“What’s an Ennead?” I ask.

“It’s a group of nine deities in Egyptian mythology.”

“Nine?” Six asks. “Nine deities?”

“And what sundial?” I ask.

“It’s starting to make sense to me now,” Sam says. He begins walking around the picnic table as he puts it together in his head, Bernie Kosar nipping at his heels. “I used to get so frustrated because he was always saying all this weird stuff that only he understood. A few months before he disappeared, my dad dug a well in our backyard and he said it would collect the rainwater from the gutters and whatever; but after the concrete was poured, he put this elaborate-looking sundial on the stone lid. Then he stood looking down at the well and he said to me. ‘Your future’s mapped on the sundial, Sam.’”

“And you never checked it out?” I ask.

“Sure I did. I twisted the sundial around, trying my date and time of birth and a few other things, but nothing ever happened. I thought it was just a stupid well with a sundial on it after a while. But now that I read Henri’s letter, the part about the dark stars, I know that it has to be some kind of clue to all this. It’s like he told me without telling me,” Sam beams. “He was so smart.”

“So are you,” I say. “This could very well be suicide, us going back to Paradise, but I don’t think we have much of a choice now.”