The Lost Files: The Fallen Legacies (i am number four)

by Pittacus Lore

  “You didn’t even bring any weapons,” Ivan observes mockingly. “Are you going to talk the Loric to death?”

  He’s right. I came unarmed, hoping it would help convince Hannu to trust me. Also, I never intended to actually fight my people, only evade them. I hoped that violence could be avoided.

  With speed that surprises Ivan, I snake my hand forward and rip the dagger off his belt. His jaw drops when I hurl the weapon into the jungle.

  “Adamus,” he exclaims, sounding hurt, like a kid who’s had his favorite toy broken. “What the hell? You better help me look for that.”

  I grab Ivan by the front of his shirt and put my face in his. He’s surprised again, not used to being manhandled. I stare into his eyes, trying to reach him. I know it’s crazy, but Ivan used to be my best friend, despite everything. I have to believe that he’ll still listen to me.

  “Why do this?” I ask. “Killing them won’t heal our planet. It won’t lead to Mogadorian progress. It’ll only lead to more killing. More life wasted. Is that what you want?”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Adamus?”

  He stares at me, dumbfounded. I shake him.

  “We don’t always get along,” I continue, “but you’re like a brother to me. You trust me, don’t you?”

  Mutely, Ivan nods his head.

  “Then trust me when I tell you that everything we’ve been told is wrong,” I say desperately. “Our cause is unjust, Ivan. We can change that. You can help me work towards-toward real Mogadorian progress.”

  I can see him trying to make sense of my words, confusion on his face. He looks away from me, over my shoulder, to the hut where Hannu and his Cepan sleep. For a moment I allow myself to think that I’ve gotten through to him.

  Then he shoves me away. He’s finally realized what I’m up to, and it disgusts him.

  “I always knew you were weak, Adamus,” hisses Ivan, “but not a traitor too.”

  That settles it.

  I unclip the communicator from my belt and slam it into the side of Ivan’s face.

  CHAPTER 25

  I had hoped the blow would knock Ivan out. I should’ve known better.

  Ivan is back on his feet before I can create some distance between us. He doesn’t even register the trickle of blood from the cut I made above his eyebrow. That dead look I’ve seen in his eyes during a dozen training sessions comes on, and he’s barreling towards me.

  Ivan drives his shoulder into my stomach and lifts me, hurling me into a tree. The air explodes out of my lungs in a wet cough. Ivan grabs a handful of my hair and slams my head into the tree. Stars flash across my vision; I struggle to stay conscious.

  Desperately, I kick at Ivan, my shin connecting solidly with his groin. He doubles over, retching, and drops me.

  I stumble backward, into the jungle, shaking the cobwebs out of my head. Ivan is on me again before I have a chance to regroup, delivering a two-punch combination to my chest, followed by an uppercut that sends me tumbling over a fallen tree trunk. I scuttle backwards on my hands, running my tongue over the gap where my tooth used to be.

  “You can do better than that,” says One, sitting cross-legged on the tree trunk.

  “Shut up,” I mutter.

  Ivan leaps onto the tree trunk, standing above me. He points over his shoulder, a wild look in his eyes.

  “You want to fight me for them?” he snarls. “For some Loric trash? You’re choosing them over us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you can die with them!”

  Ivan jumps off the log, intending to stomp my face. I roll away at the last moment, kicking him in the side of the knee as he lands. I hear something snap inside Ivan’s leg, and he howls with pain.

  I scramble to my feet. Center myself, regain my balance. Ivan lunges towards me, now limping slightly, but this time I’m ready for him. I deflect his punches-all straight ahead, angrily telegraphed-using his own momentum and speed against him. It’s something I never tried in our sparring sessions, but it’s exactly what Hilde had been teaching Number One.

  Ivan comes at me again, frustrated, his blows more furious than ever. I duck under them and when he’s off balance, drive the heel of my hand into his nose. His feet go out from under him.

  I step down on Ivan’s throat, thinking of Number Two and the way he stepped on her neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a flicker of light coming from the direction of Hannu’s hut. But maybe it’s just my imagination.

  “Not so easy when someone hits back, huh?” I say.

  Ivan shoves my foot away, but I catch his wrist in both of my hands. He pulls me to the ground and tries to climb on top of me. He punches wildly at me with his free hand, but I’m in control. I whip my legs up and slip one leg under his chin, the other behind his head, then pull down on his head with both of my hands, choking him.

  It takes a full minute for Ivan to lose consciousness, punching me in the ribs the whole time with decreasing force. When it’s over, I shove his body away, lying on my back. I’m hurting all over, but I’m alive.

  Around me, the jungle has grown eerily quiet.

  But then I hear the hiss of orders broadcast across the half-broken communicator discarded in the dirt a few feet away, and I know what’s coming.

  I’m too late.

  CHAPTER 26

  I manage to get to my feet and stagger towards the hut. I notice shadows lurking in the jungle around me, the scouts maintaining a perimeter.

  In the hut’s doorway, the crumpled body of a fifty-year-old man bleeds from a vicious sword wound. Hannu’s Cepan. Dead like the other Cepans. Which means they must have discovered the boy is Number Three.

  I feel like sinking to my knees, like giving up. I’ve thrown my entire life away tonight-I can never go home again; they’ll know me as a traitor. I’ll be spending the rest of my life running and hiding, hunted, just like the Garde. And for what? I didn’t even manage to help Hannu. I was too late, took too long fighting with Ivan. I’ve accomplished nothing.

  Suddenly the back wall of the hut explodes outward, splinters cascading in all directions. There is Hannu, alive, running-and running fast. Faster than humanly possible. He takes off before my people have a chance to close in, speeding towards the ravine.

  There’s still a chance.

  There’s no way that I can keep up with Hannu, but I run as fast as my body will allow, breath whistling painfully through my lungs. There are other pursuers nearby; I can hear them crashing through the jungle. Even with all the other scents in the jungle, I can still smell the acidic tang of piken breath as one charges towards the ravine. If I can only find a way to get to Hannu first, maybe I can still help him.

  The sound of rushing water grows louder. I don’t know how Hannu plans to cross the ravine. Maybe he’s strong enough to jump it. Maybe he knows some secret way down. It doesn’t matter, as long as he gets away. If he does, there is hope.

  I see Hannu’s silhouette nearing the edge of the ravine, maybe thirty yards from where I’m standing. There is a piken close on his heels. I’m afraid for him-he doesn’t have anywhere to go-but when Hannu reaches the edge of the ravine he jumps, landing safely on the other side. It’s a jump I could never make, and neither can the piken.

  He’s safe.

  Except: My father is waiting for him on the other side of the ravine. There is nothing more Hannu can do. The General grabs the boy and lifts him easily. He cuts a striking image, like a Mogadorian hero culled right from the Great Book.

  He hesitates for a moment, observing his prize, then tears what I know is the pendant from Hannu’s neck and stuffs it into his cloak.

  There’s no way across the ravine. I can only watch as my father laughs, then pulls his sword from its scabbard. Its glowing shaft pierces the night before he plunges it through Hannu’s chest and then drops him callously to the ground. He’s dead.

  One is screaming inside my head. Or is that me?

  The General stares across the ravin
e. For a moment, our eyes lock.

  I hear haggard footsteps approaching me from behind. I know what they mean, but I don’t turn to face them.

  My brief rebellion is at an end.

  “Good-bye, Adamus,” hisses Ivan as he slams both his hands into my back, shoving me over the edge of the ravine, towards the rocks and water below.

  CHAPTER 27

  The sun is warm on my face, in wonderful contrast to the cool saltiness of the ocean breeze. I relax back on my elbows and close my eyes. I turn my face up towards the sun, soaking in the California rays.

  When I open my eyes, One is sitting on the sand next to me. She is so beautiful. Her blond hair is loose, brushing lightly across her bare shoulders. This is wonderful. Such a pleasant sensation. I can’t ever remember feeling so content.

  Why does she look so stricken?

  “Adam,” she says, “you have to wake up.”

  “Wake up from what?” I ask, feeling not a care in the world.

  I reach out and take her hand. One doesn’t pull away; she just stares into my eyes with a pleading look.

  “You have to wake up,” she repeats.

  I feel a sudden chill. Somehow, my body is in two places at once. The other place is wet and cold. Painful. My body is tossed across rocks, buffeted endlessly by a forceful current. I can feel that some of my bones are broken, sharp pains slicing up and down my body.

  I push that reality aside. I try to focus on California.

  “Please, wake up,” One pleads.

  “But it’s so nice here.”

  “If you stay here, you’ll die.”

  When I open my mouth to respond, muddy river water spills out. I gasp for breath, choking, struggling. The current is strong, pulling me downward.

  But that doesn’t make sense. I’m on a beach in California. All the pain is somewhere else, happening to someone else. One looks so sad and desperate, I have to turn away.

  The sun is just beginning to set over the ocean, the sky turning orange and purple. Soon it will be dark, and I’ll be able to rest.

  “Wake up and fight,” begs One. “Please, Adam.”

  I don’t know if I can.

  Don’t miss Book Three in the New York Times bestselling I Am Number Four series.

  CHAPTER ONE

  6A. Seriously? I look at the boarding pass in my hand, its large type announcing my seat assignment, and wonder if Crayton chose this seat on purpose. It could be a coincidence, but the way things have gone recently, I am not a big believer in coincidences. I wouldn’t be surprised if Marina sat down behind me in row seven, and Ella made her way back to row ten. But, no, the two girls drop down beside me without saying a word, and join me in studying each person boarding the plane. Being hunted, you are constantly on guard. Who knows when the Mogadorians might appear.

  Crayton will board last, after he’s watched to see who else gets on the plane, and only once he feels the flight is absolutely secure.

  I raise the window shade and watch the ground crew hustle back and forth under the plane. The city of Barcelona is a faint outline in the distance.

  Marina’s knee bounces furiously up and down next to mine. The battle against an army of Mogadorians yesterday at the lake, the death of her Cepan, finding her Chest-and now, it’s the first time in almost ten years that she’s left the town where she spent her childhood. She’s nervous.

  “Everything okay?” I ask. My newly blond hair falls into my face and startles me. I forgot I dyed it this morning. It’s just one of many changes in the last forty-eight hours.

  “Everyone looks normal,” Marina whispers, keeping her eyes on the crowded aisle. “We’re safe, as far as I can tell.”

  “Good, but that’s not what I meant.” I gently set my foot on hers and she stops bouncing her knee. She offers me a quick apologetic smile before returning to her close watch of each boarding passenger. A few seconds later, her knee starts bouncing again. I just shake my head.

  I feel sorry for Marina. She was locked up in an isolated orphanage with a Cepan who refused to train her. Her Cepan had lost sight of why we are here on Earth in the first place. I’m doing my best to help her, to fill in the gaps. I can train her to learn how to control her strength and when to use her developing Legacies. But first I’m trying to show her that it’s okay to trust me.

  The Mogadorians will pay for what they’ve done. For taking so many who we’ve loved, here on Earth and on Lorien. It’s my personal mission to destroy every last one of them, and I’ll be sure Marina gets her revenge too. Not only did she just lose her best friend, Hector, back at the lake, but, like me, her Cepan was killed right in front of her. We will both carry that with us forever.

  “How is it down there, Six?” Ella asks, leaning over Marina.

  I turn back towards the window. The men below the plane begin to clear away their equipment, conducting a few last-minute checks. “So far, so good.”

  My seat is directly over the wing, which is comforting to me. On more than one occasion I’ve had to use my Legacies to help a pilot out of a jam. Once, over southern Mexico, I used my telekinesis to push the plane a dozen degrees to the right, only seconds before crashing into the side of a mountain. Last year I got 124 passengers safely through a vicious thunderstorm over Kansas by surrounding the plane with an impervious cloud of cool air. We shot through the storm like a bullet through a balloon.

  When the ground crew moves on to the next plane, I follow Ella’s gaze towards the front of the aisle. We’re both impatient for Crayton to board. That will mean everything is okay, at least for now. Every seat is full but the one behind Ella. Where is he? I glance out at the wing again, scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary.

  I lean down and shove my backpack under my seat. It’s practically empty, so it folds down easily. Crayton bought it for me at the airport. The three of us need to look like normal teenagers, he says, like high school students on a field trip. That’s why there’s a biology textbook on Ella’s lap.

  “Six?” Marina asks. I hear her buckle and unbuckle her seat belt nervously.

  “Yeah?” I respond.

  “You’ve flown before, right?”

  Marina is only a year older than I am. But with her solemn, thoughtful eyes and her new, sophisticated haircut that falls just below her shoulders, she can easily pass for an adult. Right now, however, she bites her nails and pulls her knees up to her chest like a scared child.

  “Yes,” I say. “It’s not so bad. In fact, once you relax, it’s kind of awesome.”

  Sitting there on the plane, my thoughts turn in the direction of my own Cepan, Katarina. Not that I ever flew with her. But when I was nine years old, we had a close call in a Cleveland alley with a Mogadorian that left us both shaken and covered in a thick layer of ash. Katarina moved us to Southern California after that. Our crumbling, two-story bungalow was near the beach, practically in the shadow of Los Angeles International Airport. A hundred planes roared overhead every hour, always interrupting Katarina’s teaching as well as the little free time I had to spend with my only friend, a skinny girl next door named Ashley.

  I lived under those airplanes for seven months. They were my alarm clock in the morning, screaming directly over my bed as the sun rose. At night they were ominous ghosts telling me to stay awake, to be prepared to rip off my sheets and jump in the car in a matter of seconds. Since Katarina didn’t let me stray far from the house, the airplanes were also the sound track of my afternoons.

  On one of those afternoons, as the vibrations from an enormous plane overhead shook the lemonade in our plastic cups, Ashley said, “Me and my mom are going to visit my grandparents next month. I can’t wait! Have you ever been on a plane?” Ashley was always talking about all the places she went and things she did with her family. She knew Katarina and I stayed close to home and she liked to brag.

  “Not really,” I said.

  “What do you mean, ‘Not really’? You’ve either been on a plane, or you haven’t. Just ad
mit it. You haven’t.”

  I remember feeling my face burn with embarrassment. Her challenge hit its mark. I finally said, “No, I’ve never been on an airplane.” I wanted to tell her I’ve been on something much bigger, something much more impressive than a little airplane. I wanted her to know I came to Earth on a ship from another planet called Lorien and the trip had covered more than one hundred million miles. I didn’t, though, because I knew I had to keep Lorien secret.

  Ashley laughed at me. Without saying good-bye, she left to wait for her dad to come home from work.

  “Why haven’t we ever been on a plane?” I asked Katarina that night as she peered out the blinds of my bedroom window.

  “Six,” she said, turning to me before correcting herself. “I mean, Veronica. It’s too dangerous for us to travel by plane. We’d be trapped up there. You know what could happen if we were thousands of miles in the air and then found out Mogs had followed us on board?”

  I knew exactly what could happen. I could picture the chaos, the other passengers screaming and ducking under their seats as a couple of huge alien soldiers barreled down the aisle with swords. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to do something so normal, so human, as to fly on a plane from one city to the next. I’d spent all my time on Earth unable to do the things other kids my age took for granted. We rarely even stayed in one place long enough for me to meet other kids, let alone make friends-Ashley was the first girl Katarina even allowed over to our house. Sometimes, like in California, I didn’t even attend school, if Katarina thought it was safer.

  I knew why all this was necessary, of course. Usually, I didn’t let it bother me. But Katarina could tell that Ashley’s superior attitude had gotten under my skin. My silence the following days must have cut through her, because to my surprise she bought us two round-trip airline tickets to Denver. The destination didn’t matter-she knew I just wanted the experience.