Until I met Ethan. Until the Mogs took me in. Now I have no worries of ever being left out. And I’ll definitely never feel alone. It would be impossible to: there must be thousands of us living together on the West Virginia base.
The compound the Mogs have here is maybe the most incredible structure on Earth, even if few humans will ever see the inside of it. It’s hidden in a hollowed-out mountain, and is so vast and full of trailing tunnels and caves that I doubt anyone has seen every corner of the place. I’ve spent a lot of my free time floating around the corridors and rocky hallways, and I think I’ve seen only a twentieth of it.
It’s almost all Mogs here—the vatborn soldiers and servants and the trueborn higher-ups—but there are a handful of humans. Most aren’t here by choice, though Ethan’s an exception, as are the men and women in dark suits and military garb whom I pass in the halls on occasion.
And there’s one other Loric. Nine.
I follow Ethan through the cavernous main hall, floating a few feet above him because flying is good practice and Ethan says it reminds the others that I’m powerful. I don’t mind, really, because it’s easier than walking. There are dozens, maybe even hundreds, of Mogs who we pass as we head towards the detention cells. They stop walking and step aside as I go by, staring at me. Some of them nod in respect, knowing that one day I’ll be a powerful force in the Mog ranks. Others look at me with skepticism. I can feel their eyes on me as I fly over them.
The only really annoying thing about the base is the scalding-hot green stuff that flows throughout it and pools in the main chamber. It’s some sort of energy source for the Mogs, Ethan said, but if you touch it, it’ll eat through your skin like acid (or a least that’s what I hear—I haven’t been dumb enough to actually test that theory out). Whatever it is, it smells like sulfur and rotten coconuts. As we pass through the main hall, the scent is heavy in my nose, and I grimace.
“Why do you think we’ve been summoned?” I ask Ethan.
He shrugs.
“Maybe Commander Deltoch thinks it’s time for you to take your place in the leadership.”
As a commander, Deltoch is the highest-ranking Mog in charge of the base. He reports to a General Sutekh and sometimes our Beloved Leader directly. He’s also become my de facto keeper—the person Ethan reports to and who I assume is on the other side of the one-way glass watching me in my study half the time. He’s an aggressive, trueborn Mog—I’ve come to learn that’s something to be proud of around here—and takes exquisite delight in telling me that I don’t look anything like a soldier. He has never explicitly said that I’m maybe a little on the heavy side, but it’s almost certainly what he’s thinking.
I’m always a little on edge around Deltoch. I can’t help but want to impress him every time I see him.
For my part, the detention area is the one place I’m not allowed to go on the base. I’ve seen only the first few cells. Ethan says it’s because they don’t want me to hurt Nine just yet. They’re still trying to figure out a way to force him to spill everything he knows about the Garde—and besides, since his death will be so important, it must be ceremonious. I’ve wondered what it would be like to be imprisoned here, like Nine. To spend all day in a cold stone cell. It sounds terrible. But then, I don’t have to worry about it. I chose to join the Mogs—to serve their cause in order to elevate myself. I’m sure the others here had the same chance. They just threw it all away. And for what? Do the imprisoned humans really think their own resistance to the Mogs means a damned thing in the long run? That they’re anything other than a speck of dust in what will be the vast empire of the Mogadorians? Maybe I would have thought that once, but not after seeing their resources and strength with my own eyes.
We pass row after row of containment cells in the detention wing, the entrances barred and pulsing with some kind of blue energy field. I keep my eyes darting back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of Nine, to no avail. Inside are the weak and unrepentant enemies of the Mogs. Most of them are humans who got a little too close to figuring out what was happening around them on Earth and refused to quit snooping, or who disobeyed orders. The traitors are being taught an important lesson about crossing their superiors—one they won’t forget when they go back out into the world after they’ve served their time, which is what Ethan says happens to most of the ones who realize the error of their ways. A few are test subjects or people somehow related to the Loric cause—I hear there are even a few Greeters in captivity, those whose job it was to introduce the Loric to the human ways of life on Earth. Not all of them were as smart as Ethan was. It’s hard to imagine that he might have been in one of these cells had he not foreseen the Mogs’ inevitable victory.
Deltoch stands in the middle of the hallway. He’s at least two heads taller than me and built like a giant wrestler shoved into an ominous black officer’s uniform. His skin is pale, and his hair is gleaming jet-black and pulled into a tight ponytail. Dark tattoos peek out around his hairline, above eyes like big black marbles.
“So thrilled you could join us,” he says flatly as I approach. He glances at Ethan and sneers slightly—despite Ethan’s role as my recruiter and mentor, I don’t think Deltoch has been a big fan of having a human roaming around his base with so much authority.
“Whatever our Beloved Leader requires of me,” I say.
“Our afternoons are usually spent expanding upon Five’s powers for the good of Mogadore,” Ethan says, which I recognize as his way of asking why we’ve been ordered to come to this side of the compound.
Deltoch narrows his eyes a little. “I assume you must have been in the middle of something very important since it took you so much time to get here.”
I start to stammer a response, but Ethan speaks on my behalf.
“He was just reading from the Great Book,” he says, grinning. “What could be more important than our Beloved Leader’s words?”
Deltoch smirks in a way that bares all of his gray sharklike teeth. It’s not exactly a happy expression.
“You’re here because the all-wise Setrákus Ra is anxious for Five to prove himself loyal to the Mogadorians.”
“We’re looking forward to him taking his rightful place as a high-ranking member of the Leader’s forces as well,” Ethan says. “But these things take time, as I’m sure—”
“Five,” Deltoch says, ignoring Ethan. He steps aside and points a long, thick finger at one of the cells. “Do you wish to see the power of the Garde?”
Ethan starts to protest, but I nod.
“Yes, sir.”
I step up to the blue force field and stare. There’s a prisoner inside, stretched out on a dirty slab of rock serving as a bed. The guy is shirtless, his muscles glinting under a sheen of sweat. Long, dark hair is spread out around his head. His eyes are closed, and his lips move slightly, as if he’s meditating or saying some sort of prayer.
Number Nine.
“He doesn’t speak when he’s conscious, but he talks in his sleep sometimes,” Deltoch says. “That’s how we figured out his number.”
Something within me stirs as I look at Nine. Not pity or brotherhood, but something unsettling. A sort of fear. When the Mogs first recruited me, they gave me a folder with Nine’s picture inside it. He’s to be my victim, the blood offering that proves my loyalties to the Mogadorian progress. The only thing is, I’ve never killed anyone before. I had a hard time even killing animals back on the island with Rey. And so deep down I’m afraid that when the time comes and I’m finally given the order to end Nine’s life, I won’t be able to do it.
Thankfully, whatever magic the Elders of Lorien worked on us when we were kids is still in effect, because there’s no way I can kill Nine out of order. At least, not that the Mogs or I know of. If there’s a way to dispel the magic that protects us, that knowledge probably died with Rey or the Elders. I have no idea how to break the charm.
“What do you think?” Deltoch asks. “Is the hunger for power rising up inside you? Are you
ready to take the next step and ascend into power among us?”
My stomach drops. They have brought me here to kill Nine. I swallow hard and try to steel my churning guts.
Deltoch lets out a little laugh.
“You look pale all of a sudden, Five,” he says, his voice a low bellow.
I don’t answer. I can’t take my eyes off Nine. Another Garde. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in person instead of in the photograph pinned up in my study. He’s thinner now than he is in the picture—a side effect of whatever they have or haven’t been feeding him I assume—but he’s still built like a Greek statue. Strong looking. Deltoch has obviously noticed this, because he’s quick to mention it.
“He’s managed to stay in incredibly formidable shape despite being a prisoner,” he says, very pointedly not looking at my less-than-athletic build. “I’m told he spends most of his waking moments exercising in his cell.”
I change the subject.
“Why doesn’t he use his powers to escape?” I ask.
“He’s tried. Many times.” Deltoch motions to the pulsing blue shield. “But we’ve learned to keep him under control.”
“Maybe he’s just waiting for the perfect time to lash out,” I say.
Deltoch bares his teeth.
“Come with me,” he says, turning and heading deeper into the detention wing. Eventually we come to some kind of cell that looks like it’s part interrogation room and part laboratory. There are chains hanging from the ceilings and silver gurneys on one side, and a few tables on the other. The room smells of bleach.
“What is this place?” I murmur.
“This is where many of our prisoners’ fates are decided,” Deltoch says. “Where they choose to give themselves over to the Mogadorians and offer us their intelligence, or they condemn themselves to a cell indefinitely.”
I glance at Ethan, but his eyes are fixed on Deltoch. Usually Ethan knows everything that’s going on at the base—or at least he does when it involves me—but he seems to be as confused as I am as to why we’re here.
“Many brave soldiers gave their lives in this room when Nine first arrived, as they tested the strength of the Loric magic that protects him,” Deltoch says, running his finger over a tray of shiny scalpels. “That’s how they proved themselves loyal to the Mogadorian empire.”
“And you were okay with wasting soldiers like that?” I ask.
“We do not consider it a waste.” The commander has an angry edge to his voice now. “It is the highest honor to die for the Mogadorian cause. Besides, the Loric charm is not something we wholly understand. We weren’t sure if it was possible to weaken the charm so much that it broke completely. It was a possibility we could not ignore.”
“But you couldn’t get rid of it.” It’s more a statement than a question that comes out of my mouth.
“No.” Deltoch frowns. “No matter how hard we tried. And Nine didn’t say a word. He just laughed as some of our finest men died in front of him.” His expression changes and becomes almost pleasant. “But his Cêpan did talk.”
“What?” Ethan asks. Apparently this is news to him as well.
“This is confidential information,” Deltoch says, shrugging towards Ethan.
“What about his Cêpan?” I ask. “Do you have him too?”
“We did,” Deltoch says. “But Number Nine murdered him.”
My mouth drops open.
“He what?”
“His Cêpan was smart. We were still trying to negotiate and give Nine and his guardian a chance to join our cause. The Cêpan was going to talk—to cut a deal with us—and when Nine found out, he murdered the Loric in cold blood.”
Deltoch takes a few files off one of the lab tables and hands them to me.
“See for yourself,” he says.
I open the top folder and am greeted by a stack of photos—stills from a security camera in the very room I’m standing in. Only in the photos, there are two figures. One looks like an older human. He’s hanging upside down from the ceiling with thick chains wrapped around his ankles. There’s blood everywhere. Nine stands beside the man, a dagger in his hands.
“It’s my own fault, really,” Deltoch says. “I left the two of them in this room together and assumed that Nine had a sense of loyalty. Obviously I was wrong. The Garde used his powers to break through his containment field and attacked the brave Mogs guarding him. It took a few minutes before we were able to get into the room, but that’s all he needed.”
I flip through the photos. They’re like a slide show, and I watch as Nine steps closer and closer to his Cêpan, raising his weapon. And then finally, he buries the blade in his guardian’s chest. In the next few pictures, Mogs show up and drag him away, but the damage has already been done. Nine struggles against their grip, gnashing his teeth, and then he’s gone. The last photo is just the Cêpan, hanging upside down. Alone. Lifeless.
My memory jumps back to Rey, dying in our little hut on the beach. Sure, we didn’t get along a lot of the time, and he was probably a little crazy, but I can’t imagine I could ever have killed him. He was the person who raised me.
I’d always been taught to think that the Garde were these saintlike people—that we had to be perfect in order for our planet to have a chance at being resurrected. That the Loric were a peaceful, inherently good race while the Mogs were evil incarnate. It dawns on me that this was just more Loric propaganda. That the Loric and Mogs probably don’t have that many differences between them, other than the fact that the Mogs don’t pretend to be anything that they aren’t. Ethan always says that history is subjective, and that the history I knew to be true was just the Loric side of things. Besides, now that I’ve felt the power that comes with my Legacies and how good it feels to have people see the potential in me, I can’t imagine that Lorien was the utopia Rey made it out to be.
“Have you brought me here to kill him?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Deltoch says. “Not until we figure out a way to break this charm. There’s no way of knowing what would happen if one of the other Garde tried to inflict death upon him, and we don’t want to lose our secret weapon: you.”
“Your most valuable asset,” Ethan says to the Mog. “Exactly,” Deltoch says. He motions to the photographs. “But when the time comes, be careful. He’s unhinged. He’s hardly even an intelligent life-form anymore. Just an animal. I imagine he wouldn’t think twice about killing you if given the opportunity.”
I turn back to the photographs. An animal. Staring at the crazed look in Nine’s eyes as he howls—his Cêpan’s blood on his hands—I believe it.
All I can think is what an idiot he is to willingly choose murder and imprisonment instead of the opportunity I’ve been given. How stupid Nine must be.
And how one day this chained-up animal will be my ticket to the top of the food chain.
CHAPTER THREE
AFTER SEEING NINE IN ACTION—AT LEAST IN photos—Deltoch insists that I take the rest of the files the Mogs have on him so that I can study them well. “Know your enemy,” he says, and then he cancels my afternoon training with Ethan while I retreat to my room on the other side of the compound. The place they’ve made for me here in Mog central isn’t as nice as, say, Ethan’s beach house in Miami, but it’s pretty plush. I wouldn’t even know I was half a mile inside a mountain if it wasn’t for the fact that all the walls are made of smoothed-down stone. I’ve got a big king-size bed, a giant TV, and an arsenal of gaming consoles and games I’ve never even heard of before—Mogadorian battle simulators that have graphics any next-gen console would kill for. The Mogs had them arranged for me because Ethan told them how much time I’d spent playing games in my downtime back in Florida. These are unlike anything I’ve ever played, though—a weird combination of military and governing missions. It took me a while to get the hang of them because I was so used to playing games where you got points deducted every time you caused collateral damage or civilian casualties. But I’m getting a lot better.
/> With Nine’s files in hand, though, I ignore all the electronics and stuff that the Mogs gave me and go straight to my bed. There, I spread out the papers and reports on Nine. Ethan had told me that Nine lived in luxury in Chicago, but it turns out that’s pretty general speculation based on what they pieced together from Nine and some former girlfriend of his who was working with the Mogs for a while. They don’t actually know where his place is in the city.
One of the things included in the files is a transcription from an interview with Nine’s Cêpan that the Mogs have typed up for me. He says that Nine lived a charmed life. He never wanted for anything, and went and did whatever he pleased. On one hand, I’m not surprised that he ended up in a Mog cell, but on the other, my jealousy of how he got to grow up compared to how I lived burns somewhere deep in my chest. They even have quotes from his Cêpan about how Nine was a popular kid in school who had girls following after him wherever he went and lived like a miniature king on campus. Meanwhile I was eating coconut meat for lunch and sweating half to death in the Caribbean.
At the end of the interview is a brief section where the Cêpan discusses how the Elders decided on our numbers:
It wasn’t random. They were given that order for a reason. The Elders judged who they thought were the strongest and brightest—those with the most potential—and saved them for the end. The first few were hardly anything more than cannon fodder. Their Cêpans were instructed to keep them hidden no matter the cost to their well-being so that the higher numbers would be kept safe. After all, the Garde couldn’t very well die if their order wasn’t up. I always considered myself lucky to have been assigned to the highest number. Nine rarely thought of anyone lower than him unless it was from a tactical standpoint: it was always assumed that if the Garde ever did come together to fight, Nine would be the one who would command them.
Five's Betrayal Page 2