I see Mark right away. He stands in the doorway to Patience Creek, his back to me. Last time I saw him, he was a mess and punched me in the face. Now he’s stiff, his head cocked in a strange way.
“Mark,” I say cautiously. “You’re back.”
He turns to me, his motions all herky-jerky. I see it immediately—how pale his skin is, the dark-black veins that make a spiderweb across his cheek. Mark’s eyes are wide. He’s crying, but other than that his face is completely devoid of emotion. I note that his fingers are clenched into claws, like he’s paralyzed.
“I’m—I’m sorry, John,” he manages to stammer out.
“Mark—”
“They muh—muh—made me.”
I almost manage to spin around in time. Three tendrils of black ooze lance towards me, the tip of each one sharpened like a drill bit. One pierces the back of my shoulder, the other shoots through my hip and the third penetrates my armpit as I raise my hand to defend myself. It’s like being stabbed by something living, something that burrows. I feel the tendrils digging deeper into me. My healing Legacy kicks in, tries to fight them off. When it does, an acidic burning washes over my every nerve ending. I scream and fall to my knees.
“We did make him,” says a cheery female voice. “But we didn’t have to try very hard.”
I recognize her from the Mog communicator and from the others’ stories. The trueborn standing over me is Phiri Dun-Ra.
I twist around in the grass to get a look at her. Phiri Dun-Ra’s entire left arm is missing, replaced by a writhing mass of Setrákus Ra’s black ooze, thick and oily, shaped like a dead tree. The three tendrils spearing me, they emanate right from her. I try to pry them out of my body with my bare hands, but the ooze hardens at my touch, becomes razor sharp, and I only succeed in cutting my palms.
I try to shove her away with my telekinesis. It doesn’t work.
Nothing works.
As I struggle, I see sparks of Loric energy pulsing out of me, traveling up my connection to Phiri Dun-Ra and guttering out inside her arm. Her eyes roll back in her head for a moment. Then she holds out her normal arm, palm up.
Phiri Dun-Ra’s hand glows. A ball of fire rises up from her palm, the flames tinged with purple.
“Oh, this is nice, John Smith,” she says. “I could get used to it.”
More Mogs begin to emerge from the trees around Patience Creek. I don’t know how I missed them, there’s so many. But then I see one step out of a shadow—literally step out from where there was nothing before—and I realize that they’re teleporting in somehow.
Setrákus Ra has succeeded. Some of these Mogs, like Phiri Dun-Ra, have Legacies. No—I won’t call them that. They’re sick.
What word did Setrákus Ra use? “Augmentations.” That’s what these twisted powers are.
An older trueborn, bald and impossibly thin, comes to stand next to Phiri Dun-Ra. His eyes are completely glazed black. He ignores me, staring instead at Mark. The Thin Mog curls a finger in Mark’s direction, and I’m vaguely aware of a sound like locusts moving through leaves.
The ooze under Mark’s skin moves, and he’s forced into motion. He stumbles down the steps of Patience Creek, his hands pulling out something from inside his coat, each movement looking painfully forced.
“We heard stories about these Inheritances you Loric received from your dead parents or whoever,” Phiri Dun-Ra says conversationally, smiling. “Little keepsakes from your dead planet. Here’s a secret, John. . . . Beloved Leader kept some things too. Mementos. Trophies to help him remember his first great conquest.”
Mark holds in his hands something that looks like a rope, except it’s deep purple in color and glistening. Something not found on this world.
I recognize it. Of course I recognize it. From a vision of the past.
It’s the noose Pittacus Lore once tied around Setrákus Ra’s neck. The one that gave him his scar. I remember from Ella’s vision that the material is called Voron, that it only grew on Lorien and that my Legacy won’t heal its wounds.
Mark kneels down and loops the noose over my head.
Phiri Dun-Ra grins at me. “Beloved Leader thought you would enjoy the irony.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“HE DID WHAT?” MARINA EXCLAIMS.
Ella shrugs her shoulders and looks down at her feet. “He . . .”
“She heard you,” I tell Ella, my lips pursed. “She just can’t believe John would do something so completely stupid.”
Next to me, Nine winds up and kicks a big tuft of dirt out of the ground. “What the hell, Six? Are we like sidekicks now or something? This is bullshit.”
The four of us stand in a clearing about a mile upriver from Niagara Falls. Our stolen warship is parked a few hundred yards away, dwarfing the sparse trees nearby, its tank-sized exit ramp extended. I keep catching glimpses of the monstrous ship out of the corner of my eye, and every time, I have to resist the urge to run for cover. Hard to believe that’s ours now.
Marina runs two hands through her hair. “I talked to him about this, about controlling his anger. . . .”
Nine chuckles. “Was that before or after you tried to stab Five in the face with an icicle? Again?”
“After, actually,” Marina replies stiffly. “I thought he was managing his grief, at least. But flying off alone to do battle with another warship. My God, Six, it’s suicide.”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “You didn’t see him up there. He was pretty much unstoppable.”
“He’s not thinking,” Marina says, shaking her head emphatically.
“Part of him truly believes he can do this himself,” Ella puts in. “And another part of him doesn’t want to see anyone else get hurt. He’s convinced it will be better for everyone if he does this alone.”
We all fall silent for a moment, considering Ella’s words. It’s pretty obvious to me at least that she plucked those feelings right out of John’s brain. No way did he confide that in her.
“Aw, hell with that nobility shit,” Nine says. “This is our war too. I’m going to beat his ass when he comes back.”
“You realize what he’s left us with is a pretty big deal, too, right?” I ask, looking around at the others. I don’t want to spend any more time talking about John. “Delivering these cloaking devices is going to save a lot of lives potentially. It’s the key to humanity being able to win the war.”
Nine scoffs and walks away. Marina sighs and folds her arms across her chest, half turning to gaze out over the river. Ella just stands there, still holding on to the satellite phone that John gave her. I glance down at my own phone, the one that Sam gave me that’s hopefully emulating the cloaking device’s frequency.
Seventeen percent battery life. When that runs out, according to Sam, this crappy old cell phone will forget the instructions he gave it. We better hurry up with this test.
No sooner do I start to worry that we’re running out of time than I hear the rumble of an engine. A jeep drives into view, bouncing over the rough terrain of the clearing, Lexa at the wheel.
Lexa pulls up in front of me and gets out, the engine idling.
“Good timing,” I tell her.
“The Canadians said they’d prefer if we didn’t crash it,” Lexa says with a shrug. “They were real polite about it.”
“All goes well, their car will be just fine,” I reply.
I notice Adam appear at the top of the warship’s ramp. Rex stands behind him—more like hides behind him—looking as timid as a mouse. I take a few steps towards the warship and wave to them. Meanwhile, Nine jogs over to my side.
“Is it ready?” I yell, cupping my hands around my mouth.
“Yeah!” Adam shouts back. “The force field is fully functional!”
I squint at the warship. I can’t actually see the force field from this distance. Like before, when we were flying towards it, you can’t really see the dull blue energy until you’re nearly right on top of it. I edge closer to the ship. Nine puts a protect
ive hand on my upper arm.
“The hell are you doing?” he asks.
I glance down at his hand. “Same question.”
“You don’t want to get too close to that shit,” Nine says. “I had to nurse Johnny back to health after he took a header into one of those force fields.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I reply, and shrug Nine off.
I edge as close to the warship as I dare, right up until the force field becomes visible. Then, using my heel, I dig out a line in the grass.
“That’s our target,” I say as I jog back to the others. “We push the jeep past that with Sam’s cloaking device attached, we know it works.”
“Why bother with the car? Why not just float Sam’s device through the field with our telekinesis?” Marina asks.
“We know the Mogs’ cloaking devices cover an entire vehicle,” Lexa says. “We don’t know that Sam’s has the same range.”
“Assuming it works at all,” Nine adds.
I take the flip phone and set it on the jeep’s dashboard. Then I back up and look around.
“That’s all you need to do?” Marina asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I guess,” I reply. “Sam said it’s just constantly sending out the cloaking frequency or the data packet or whatever the hell.”
“Data packet.” Nine groans. “This is boring. You know, I’m actually hoping the jeep blows up so we can see some action.”
“Real nice, Nine,” Marina says.
I wave him off. “Ready to push this thing?”
Lexa puts her hands on the back of the jeep, which continues to idle in neutral. “Ready,” she says.
We all stare at her. Finally, Nine laughs.
“Aw, lady, we don’t push like that,” he says.
Lexa stands back and the four of us—me, Nine, Marina and Ella—all concentrate on the jeep. We shove it forward with our telekinesis. It kicks up dirt and grass, the wheels spinning, moving fast.
“Easy,” I warn the others. “We don’t want it to explode if it hits the force field.”
“A real vote of confidence for your boyfriend’s work,” Nine mutters.
I frown. It’s going to work and—even if it doesn’t—at least Sam is trying, not just complaining about not getting to kill things like Nine is. I open my mouth to respond sharply, but Marina gets there first.
“Do you think it is just coincidence, Nine, that one of our closest allies should manifest exactly the Legacy we need to fight off the Mogadorian invasion?” Marina shakes her head passionately. “It is the will of Lorien itself that we received this gift.”
With that I feel Marina increase her telekinetic push on the jeep, speeding it along at a breakneck pace towards the force field. Nine shuts up and watches with the rest of us. Hidden from the others, I cross my fingers.
The jeep crosses the line I made in the dirt.
Its front end heaves upwards like it just hit a tremendous bump. The windshield and all its windows shatter inwards. There’s a resounding magnetic hum from the force field that I can feel in my teeth.
But it goes through. Mostly intact.
Marina and Ella let out simultaneous cries of triumph. I turn to Nine and grin. He shrugs at me. “Props to Sam,” he says.
Adam runs down the warship ramp to examine the jeep. From the other side of the still-active force field, he yells to us, “It was a little rough, but it worked!”
Adam reaches into the jeep and pulls the cell phone off the dashboard. He tries to hold it between two fingers but ends up dropping it—even from here, I can tell that the thing is smoldering. A wisp of smoke rises up from where the phone burns the grass.
“I think it’s a one-time deal, though,” Adam concludes.
“Better than nothing,” Nine says.
Excited, I take the satellite phone from Ella and dial the number for Sam’s phone.
“Sam!” I exclaim as soon as I hear his voice.
“Hey!” he responds, sounding relieved. “We just heard. Did you guys really steal a whole warship?”
“Never mind that,” I reply. “But yes. Listen—your thing, the cell phone, it worked! It blew up right after and maybe wasn’t the gentlest ride through the force field, but it worked.”
I hear a muffled cheer from Sam. He’s probably covering the receiver with his hand. “It worked! My Legacy worked!” I hear him yell to whoever else is in the room with him. There’s an immediate clamor of voices.
“This is amazing,” Sam says, speaking to me now. “I’ve made more since this morning, just in case it paid off. The other guys here think, now that we’ve got Earth-made technology aping the frequency, maybe it’ll be easier to replicate. You know, without using a superpower.”
“You’re a hero, Sam,” I say with a grin. Next to me, Nine rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “We’re going to start delivering cloaking devices soon. Get your stuff ready so we can pass it out.”
“I will,” he replies. “I—”
A loud bang on his end of the phone cuts Sam off. In the background, I hear Malcolm say, “What on Earth was that?”
“Sam?” I ask, my brow knitting with concern.
“Hey, sorry,” he says. “Something just exploded. Probably the new kids training.”
Before I can respond, I hear an unmistakable popping sound from Sam’s side. The noise sounds like fireworks going off in the distance, but I learned long ago what that sound really signifies.
That’s gunfire.
And it isn’t letting up.
Now, the voices around Sam are hushed. Everyone’s listening. My grip tightens on the phone. I feel a clenching in the pit of my stomach.
“Sam, talk to me.”
Hearing the strain in my voice, the others around me stop what they’re doing and draw closer. The smiles from our successful experiment with the warship all slowly fade.
“Six . . .” Sam’s voice is pitched just above a whisper. “Six, I think we’re under attack.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THEY LEAVE JUST ENOUGH SLACK IN THE VORON noose so that it doesn’t immediately cut my head off. Instead of executing me, they make Mark hold the rope like a leash. As I crawl forward across the floorboards of Patience Creek, towards the hidden elevator that it took the Mogs all of two minutes to find, I can feel the razor-sharp collar scraping against my throat whenever I fall even a little bit behind.
Worse than those cuts is the pain from the three oily tentacles connecting me to Phiri Dun-Ra. My entire side sizzles like something boiling and caustic is leaking under my skin and spreading through my body. Phiri Dun-Ra walks alongside me as I’m dragged after Mark. She toys with a small ember of purplish fire that floats up from her palm. I can sense that she’s draining me. It feels like stitches being ripped up and pulled loose from somewhere deep inside me. She’s taking my Legacies.
The worst pain, though, is knowing what’s coming.
Death. Destruction. Failure.
“Mark . . . ,” I manage to choke out with a pained breath. “Help me . . . stop them.”
He doesn’t even turn his head. I can see veins of the black ooze pulsing in his neck, and I can sense the Thin Mog, the one who’s got some kind of mind control working on Mark, standing nearby.
Phiri Dun-Ra laughs when she overhears my pleading.
“It is a great honor for Beloved Leader to visit one’s dreams,” she says. She extinguishes the fire in her hand so that she can ruffle Mark’s hair. “This little human, he proved to have a very open mind. He wanted something—something that you were unwilling to give him. He wanted Beloved Leader to restore his little friend. . . .”
Sarah.
Unwilling to give him. My God, I’d have brought Sarah back from the dead in a heartbeat if it was within my power. Did Mark think Setrákus Ra was capable of that? Did they convince him?
Did he bring them Sarah’s body?
I manage to grasp the long part of the noose with one hand. I tug on it, trying to get Mark’s attention
.
“You didn’t, Mark,” I growl. “Tell me . . . tell me you didn’t.”
Phiri Dun-Ra titters again. “As if Beloved Leader would squander such a gift on a mere human. No, your friend had second thoughts. But by then, it was already too late. We knew where to find him. We were forced to interrupt his mourning.”
Paradise. They tracked Mark to Paradise. Setrákus Ra broke into his dreams and manipulated him, just like he tried to do to Marina and Five, then captured him when Mark came to his senses. I assumed that I had thought of everyone Setrákus Ra could’ve gotten to, but I’d completely forgotten about Mark. “It wasn’t hard for us to get your location from him,” Phiri continues. “Our little human does whatever we ask.”
I watch Mark’s hand shake on the noose. His knuckles are a vivid white. His muscles are rigid. He’s struggling against their control, but to no avail.
“We’ll make you like him soon,” Phiri tells me, and I notice the Thin Mog wet his lips in anticipation. “But first I want you all to myself.”
One of Phiri’s tentacles twists inside me, pain shoots through my core and I collapse over onto my side. They let me lie there for a moment, gasping for breath.
With bleary eyes, I try to take in how many of them there are.
The front room of Patience Creek is packed with blaster-toting vatborn. In one corner, they’ve piled the bodies of the soldiers who were guarding the surface level. From the looks of them, they died quickly and savagely.
Besides Phiri Dun-Ra, I make out three other augmented trueborn.
There’s the Thin Mog. The one exerting control over Mark. He stands nearby, watching Mark closely, his spidery hands clasped behind his back. If I want to save Mark, I’m going to have to take him out.
Then there’s the Shadow Mog. He’s younger, maybe only a few years older than Adam. As I watch, he steps out of a shadow like it’s a pool of water, rising straight up through the floor. He brings with him a couple more Mog warriors. He’s how they teleported in without being seen.
“Join the team at their cave entrance. No one gets out alive,” Phiri orders, and the Shadow Mog disappears back into the floor. The fact that she’s using English isn’t lost on me. Phiri Dun-Ra wants me to know that there’s another squadron positioned at Patience Creek’s vehicle entrance. She wants me to know that everyone down below is trapped.