Lorien Legacies: The Lost Files (74 page)

I don’t respond to Rey’s comment. I don’t think he expected me to. Instead, I replay what he said earlier about how the other Garde would probably be so much more advanced than me. So much more prepared for the future.

I feel like a disappointment.

But then, part of that is his fault, too, right? It’s not just me. It’s not my fault.

The last place I want to be is inside the hut with him now—or anywhere near the dead viper in our backyard—so I grab the coconut and get an old parasol that’s leaning against the shack and head farther down the beach, to where the trees give way to nothing but sand and crystal-blue water. I sit near the tide’s edge and plant the giant umbrella in the sand beside me, unfurling it. I burn easily, even after a few years of living in the tropics. I’m not meant for this sort of environment.
I should be somewhere else
.

Rey seems to have decided that if we’re out of sight and hidden, we’ll never have to fight. Which is a good thing, since I don’t think either of us could stand a chance against the Mogs.

Which also means we can’t leave. I’m stuck here, with Rey. And the hogs. And a forest full of deadly snakes and spiders and God knows what else.

I dig little ditches in the beach with my heels and sink my toes into the soft earth, cooling them down, and stare at the two scars on my ankle. I know Rey’s right. If the Mogs showed up I’d be defenseless. I’d have to rely on him to fight for me. I’m a failed Garde with a frail Cêpan. Again, I can’t help but think that Lorien has cheated me in all this. Surely this wasn’t how the Elders had meant everything to be.

In the pocket of my shorts, I find a little red rubber ball I’ve had for ages—the kind you get for a quarter in convenience store toy machines. I let it roll over the back of my hand, across my knuckles, then between my fingers, over and over again. A little sleight-of-hand craftiness.

I shouldn’t be here
. The thought floats through my head again. I glance over at the little sailboat that’s tied to a post up the beach. It would be so easy to just get in, cast off, and float to the nearest civilization. Martinique isn’t far away, if I remember correctly. They have restaurants and hot showers and carnivals there. Street fairs packed with games and every type of food you could ever want. Not that far away.

It would be so easy
.

I stare at the coconut as I grow more and more frustrated with the state of my life. My right hand curls into a fist at my side, shaking.

A jolt of energy rushes through me—something I’ve never felt before. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

The coconut explodes.

For a second I’m stunned, then I just stare at my hands.

Did I just do that?

T
HERE’S A NAME FOR THE POWER
I
HAVE: TELEKINESIS
. It’s the first of my Legacies—my special gifts. I know this because Rey has told me for years that this day would come. I’d almost stopped believing him, but they’re here now. I can feel the energy coursing through my veins.

I can feel the
power
. It feels good.

With just one exploded piece of fruit I suddenly have a newfound outlook on life. I see a future that doesn’t include this island. If I can move things with my mind, I can wipe out enemies—knock down entire armies. People will look up to me. Maybe even fear me. And Rey—he’ll never look at me like I’ve disappointed him again. He’ll know he hasn’t failed me as a Cêpan.

I don’t tell him about the coconut, or my newfound ability. I keep it a secret, practicing with it in my free time. I’m going to get good at it, and then show him how capable I am by pulling a tree out of the ground and batting away our little shack. Or something. Something big to prove to him that we no longer need to be on the island. That I’m ready to get out of here and back into the real world, because
I’ll
be able to fight the Mogs if they show up now. I’m so tired of this damned sun and humidity. This island. I’ll show him. He’ll take us somewhere else.

I start out with coconuts. They’re light and easy to crack, and I rip them apart with my power. I let the small green ones float above my mouth and drink the sweet-tasting water from inside. Then I slingshot them into the ocean, where they fly through the air and blend in with the sky before splashing down into the salty water on the horizon.

The only problem is that Rey is being better at making sure I actually
am
running all the miles I’m supposed to. He’s started popping up at random places around the island, stopwatch in hand, making sure I’m jogging—or at least walking really quickly. Fortunately that seems to take a lot of energy out of him, because he spends the rest of the day napping.

Perfect time for me to hone my badass new superpower.

I move on from coconuts to rocks and fallen logs. On the end of the island opposite our shack, I haul in a huge piece of driftwood against the tide with nothing more than force of will. The larger, heavier objects are a little harder to maneuver at first, but I’m getting better at it. Building my telekinetic muscles. This is the best I’ve felt in months.

On the day I’ve decided to tell Rey about my powers, thick black clouds start to roll in from the sea. I recognize what this means: The wet season is approaching, and it’s going to be nothing but rain for the next few months. I stop halfway through my morning jog and practice my power just a little more. I find a log on the ground and toss coconuts into the air, trying to bat them into the sea like some giant’s version of baseball. I don’t know how long I stand there trying before I actually make contact with one of the coconuts. It’s not the home run I’ve been imagining—both the coconut and the dead branch shatter, sending bits of wood and coconut milk raining down on me—but the destruction is incredibly satisfying.

It’s only then that I realize the sun is higher in the sky than I expected, and I wonder how long I’ve been standing there. My face is sunburned—I can feel it stinging as I head back to the hut. My stomach rumbles. I hope Rey’s made lunch already.

I see his white hair first. It’s practically shimmering in the sunlight. He’s facedown in the sand, just around the next curve in the shore.

My heart stops.

I yell his name as I run to him, over and over until my throat burns.
No,
I think as I run. And
shit.
Those two words repeat in my head as I get closer, trying to figure out how he got there and if he’s moving at all.

I practically slide into him in the sand, kicking up a little cloud around us. I roll him over. Grit and sand stick to one side of his face.

“Rey! Rey, wake up. Rey, can you hear me?”

His chest is rising up and down, but just barely. I stop talking long enough to hear his breath, which is wet and shallow. I wonder how long he’s been out here—why he’s so far away from the shack to begin with—but it’s obvious. He was out making sure I was training. Or trying to figure out what was taking me so long. Looking for me.

It’s my fault he’s like this.

He’s too heavy to lift with my body, but I can lift him with my Legacy. I jog beside him as his body flies through the air, lifted by my telekinesis.

He’d be so proud if he could see everything I was doing right now. If he’d just wake up
.

I’ve spent the last few days honing my power and thinking of how I could survive anything now that my first Legacy has surfaced, but if Rey dies I don’t know what I’ll do. Every time I’ve ever thought of abandoning him or running away from the island on my own, I’ve always known in the back of my mind that there’s no way I could do that. Even sick and frail, Rey is the only one I have in the world, on this planet that’s not even technically my home.

By the time we reach the shack, I’m frantic. Inside there’s nothing much. We sleep on mats surrounded by netting, but his mat is elevated like an actual bed. I set him down, then scramble around, trying to figure out what I can do to help. There are a few barrels of water. I fill a cup and bring it to him, but of course he’s not awake to drink. I splash some of it on his face, but am too afraid it’s going to go up his nose and into his lungs to pour the whole cup on him. He doesn’t move at all. So I pull up a chair and wait. Staring at him. Willing him to open his eyes and reprimand me for taking too long on my run. Then we’ll cook lunch and I’ll show him how I can lift tree trunks and juggle coconuts just by thinking about it. And he’ll be happy.

An eternity passes before he speaks my name. It’s a rasp, so soft that had I not been sitting in a chair beside him with my eyes glued on his face, I might have missed it.

“Five,” Rey says again, then coughs into one of the blankets.

“Hold on,” I say, springing up. I find the lantern and flip it on, then refill the cup of water and bring it over to him. He waves it away.

“I was looking for you,” he says. His voice is weak and he only seems half coherent, like he’s talking to someone far away.

“I know.”

“I want you to listen to me,” he says, and I shake my head. He just needs to drink some water and rest and I’ll listen to him lecture me later.

“I have all the time in the world to listen when you’re better. I have nothing to do here except listen to you.”

His eyes look at me but also through me, as if he’s struggling to focus on my face.

“The Garde are still hidden,” he says softly, ignoring what I tell him. “If you go searching for them, you’ll expose yourself to the Mogs. You’ll be safer here. On your own. Until you’re stronger.”

“Rey. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Look, I have to show you what I can do now.”

He shakes his head once, and even with how weak he is, it causes me to stop moving and listen. His expression is so solemn, what can I do but hear what he has to say?

“My job was to protect you,” he continues. “I know I haven’t taught you everything I should have, but . . . I tried. I tried to do my best, but my body didn’t agree with this world.”

“No,” I whisper.

It finally seeps in that this might be the end of us.

There is something so unnatural about thinking that I might wake up in the morning and Rey would be gone. Not just out on the boat or across the island, but nowhere. Forever. I could probably count the times I didn’t know exactly where he was on one hand. His absence is inconceivable. It doesn’t compute. Suddenly I think of all the times I wished for another Cêpan or to run away from the island and hate myself.

I start to cry, tears falling in salty drops to the floor.

Rey starts gasping, and I stand, my chair falling backwards, feeling so helpless as I stare at him.

“Just tell me, what do I do to help you?”

The gasping turns into a fit of coughing that seems like it will never end. Blood trickles from his mouth.

“What do I do?” I repeat. “What do I do?”

Finally, he speaks, this time in such a low whisper that I have to kneel beside him to hear.

“Stay alive,” he says.

His eyes look more lucid now as his hand reaches out and grips my forearm.

“Five, don’t follow the Loric into this war until you’re ready. Trust your instincts.” He inhales again, deeply and unevenly. “When the time comes, trust yourself. You’re the future. Do whatever it takes to survive.”

His breath rattles again and then it stops.

And then there’s nothing. His chest doesn’t rise up. His eyes don’t open. Everything is quiet and still.

The silence is the worst thing I’ve ever heard.

“Rey?” I ask softly, then louder when he doesn’t respond, hoping that he just hasn’t heard me.

Nothing.

He’s gone.

My brain floods. All I can think about are the times I’ve disobeyed him, or cursed him—even if it was only in my head. I’m filled with regret.

I’m alone.

I run outside. It’s the only thing I can do. I’m barely aware that rain is pelting me, signaling the beginning of the wet season. My body shivers, even though the rain is warm. This tiny island suddenly feels huge and full of danger. Random thoughts keep shooting through my brain:
You’ll have to do something with his body. He never knew how powerful your telekinesis had become. All the chores he’d done on this island are now yours—
as I sink down to my knees. There’s distant thunder and the hogs squeal.

It’s all too much.

Alone, except for a bunch of pigs.

It takes me a while to catch my breath as I sit on my knees, bent over the wet sand. My eyes fall on the reddened scar on my ankle. Two’s symbol.

I almost laugh.

There were nine of us and now there are seven, and we’re the ones who are supposed to defeat the Mogadorians. An entire army of aliens. And so they sent us to Earth with fragile protectors and scattered us across the globe. Hoping what? That at least one of us would survive?

The rain beats down on me. I feel like my head’s going to explode—like something’s got to burst out of me. I shout from somewhere deep inside. The two palm trees nearest to me splinter in half under the power of my Legacy.

I
BURY
R
EY IN THE FOREST
.

I wanted to send him out to sea—to put him in the sailboat and just push him out. I remember seeing that in some movie about Vikings once, and Rey taught me the basics of sailing. But I was too afraid the currents would push him back to the beach. That I’d wake up one morning and find his body washed up on the shore, eyes pecked out by seabirds and body shriveled up like jerky. I couldn’t see that.

Burial seemed like the only solution. I couldn’t just leave him out in the elements as something for the little green lizards to pick at. So I find a place where there’s enough open land—once I’ve cleared away a few bushes—and start in with the shovel. Digging his grave is the hardest work I’ve done in a long time. Under different circumstances I’d joke that this was Rey’s last laugh—finally getting me to do some hard labor. But I miss him too much to do that.

The rain doesn’t let up. For every shovel of mud I scoop out, twice as much floods back in rivers of brown. Before I even realize I’m doing it, I’m punching into the earth with my newfound power, mud coating my body and face. I use my telekinesis to burrow out the rest of the hole and keep the mud back.

And then, once he’s in the bottom, I let all the mud and sand and earth and water fall in over him. His body is covered almost instantly.

He’s gone.

I carry on, alone on my island, through the wet season. Rey has taught me well—how to survive off the land—even if I didn’t realize he was doing it at the time. I know which plants to eat, and how to keep our shack dry on the inside as the sky continues to dump rain on me day after day. I continue running, and training—more so than I ever did when Rey was alive.

I keep thinking that someone will show up. If the Garde’s deaths are burned into my leg, is it the same for the Cêpans? Will Rey’s mark show up on the Loric guardian who’s looking after Three? Or Four? Will one of them come and find me and tell me what I should be doing next?

But no one does.

And after weeks—maybe even months—of waiting for something to happen, I know what I have to do. Rey told me to stay on the island until I was stronger, but he didn’t know about my power. I
am
stronger now. Besides, he also told me to survive, and if I’m going to do that, I’m going to have to leave. If I stay, I’ll go crazy.

Technically I can do whatever I want. I’m free. There’s no one looking after me. I’m alone.

I can go anywhere I want.

Martinique
. It was the last island we were on. I didn’t mind it there. And it’s close. Or at least, it
seemed
close when we sailed from there.

On a day when the rain finally starts to die down, I act.

I empty out Rey’s pack and stuff it with some rations. It goes in the sailboat, alongside all the coconuts I can find and several canteens of water. Once I’m on the big island . . . well, I’ll have plenty of time at sea to figure out what to do next. Maybe I’ll try to track down the Garde. Maybe I’ll just find a way to get back to Canada and that home I so liked when I was a kid.

I toss my duffel into the boat, along with my Loric Chest. I take Rey’s big, broad straw hat to keep the sun off me. There’s no lower deck to the boat, so I’ll be exposed the whole time I’m at sea.

My last act is to break down the hog fence. I do it with a single burst of telekinetic power.

They’ll be fine,
I tell myself as they reluctantly cross over the broken wooden slats and onto the beach.
They’ll get a taste for all those lizards running around.

It takes me a few tries to get the two sails up on the little boat, and even longer to try to read the sea map I find on board. There are no markings in the place where I think our little island is, but I’m sure that Rey always said we were just east of Martinique. There’s a compass and a telescope in the drawer as well—all the things an amateur sailor could need.

I want to leave immediately, but I have to wait for high tide, and that means I have to sit around rethinking my decision until dusk. Finally, the ocean rolls in under the boat, and I use my power to push off into the water. Then I work on adjusting the sails to the direction I need to be going. By the time I get the course set it’s almost completely dark, the moon and stars obscured behind thin clouds. I can barely see our island as I turn back for one last look at it. I wave, even though I know there’s no one there to see it.

“Good-bye, Rey.”

The boat and I sail into the black night.

I wake up confused, unsure of where I am at first.

I’d meant to stay awake the whole night—by my guess, it shouldn’t have taken all that long to get to Martinique—but after working the sails and using my power so much, I must have passed out leaning against the wooden dock.

The morning sun shines down on me. Soon it will be mercilessly frying my skin. The boat bobs. I rush to my knees, expecting to see land. . . .

But there’s nothing. Just a world of ocean. Blue as far as the eye can see.

I try to remain calm, but panic is causing my heart to pound against my ribs.

In no time the map is out in front of me, spread on the deck. I’m sailing east, into the rising sun, which means that I’m still going in the right direction. I just haven’t hit Martinique yet. I’m not moving as fast as I thought I would.

Or I passed the island in the night. I realize that it’s possible I was wrong all along, and our little island wasn’t where I thought it was. I could be anywhere. There could be nothing ahead of me until Africa.

Africa
.

I panic. There’s no way I’m making it all the way to Africa.

I can’t believe that Rey didn’t have some kind of GPS.

Or maybe there was one that I just didn’t know about. One that’s still at home. In the shack on the beach. A place that sounds much more appealing than it did last night.

I stare at the map for a long time as I gnaw on some of the jerky-like meat I brought with me. In the end, I take out the compass and set myself sailing north-northwest. At least that way I’m bound to hit some islands.

Right?

After searching in vain for a glimpse of land with the telescope, I lean back against the deck and take the red rubber ball out of the pocket of my shorts. Running it over the backs of my knuckles, I find a pack of cards in my bag.

Everything’s going to be all right,
I tell myself as I shuffle the cards and begin to lay them out.
Just keep yourself busy, or you’ll go nuts out here before you get to land.

What is all this useless shit?

It’s my fourth day in the boat before I discover I can unlock my Loric Chest. Rey always said it was something that we had to open together, and it hadn’t dawned on me to try now that he’s gone.

A bounty of shiny, useless-looking items gleam in the sunlight. I had hoped that there’d be a water filtration system magically waiting for me, but it looks like I’m out of luck. Which is worrisome, because I’ve already made my way through all the coconuts, and the rest of my rations are starting to look dangerously meager. It looks like the Chest is just filled with trinkets from a dollar store. My fingers pass over a little black flutelike instrument. I dig through a few more things and pull out a long glove. I slide it on, tugging it all the way up my forearm. When I flex my wrist, a blade shoots out. It comes within an inch of stabbing me in the eye, the entire silver blade almost a foot in length.

I’m too tired to even flinch.

Great
.
If I don’t want to die of dehydration, at least I’ve got this
.

I shudder at the thought.

All of it’s useless. Or at least, none of the stuff has come with an instruction manual. I pack everything back inside except for the knife-glove. I can practice with that. Just in case.

The Chest goes back into my duffel, and I guzzle the last of a container of water. Then I use my telekinesis to push the boat farther, faster along the water, hoping with everything I have that I’m going in the right direction.

I bet the other Garde have better stuff in their Chests. Or that their Cêpans are there to explain what they’re supposed to do with them.

I’ve wondered plenty of times what the other Garde are like. What they’re doing. If their Cêpans keep them hidden away from the world in the farthest corners of the globe. But for the first time I wonder if I’m the only one missing out. Is it possible that the other Garde are all together somewhere, fighting and training with one another, wondering where I am? Would they even
care
?

Did Rey keep me hidden away because he was afraid they’d rush me into fighting? To make sure I stayed alive?

All I have are questions, and the only answer I get is the sun beating down on me.

My tongue feels swollen and rough in my mouth. I haven’t peed in a long time, which I think is probably a really bad sign. I’m not even sweating anymore. It’s nighttime, but I should still be sweating.

So much for making it out in the world on my own.

My seventh night at sea is the night I’m going to die. So long, Five. It only took a week for you to fuck up completely by disobeying all of Rey’s last wishes.

Is it even possible for me to die? Rey told me the special charm meant I’d be safe from death as long as one of the Garde before me was alive—that being
captured
was the real thing to fear—but does that mean it works against starvation and dehydration and exposure to the elements as well? Because I don’t want to be some kind of half-living, dried-up mummy washing up on the shores of Cuba a month from now.

My lips are chapped and peeling but my tongue has no moisture to wet them.

I can barely move—I feel so tired—but I pull my duffel bag closer, hugging it, looping my arms through its straps. I can feel the Loric Chest inside. My whole body hurts and I can barely keep my eyes open.

There’s a strange tickle in my chest, and I wonder if it’s some kind of death rattle—if this is what Rey felt right before he died. It grows, until my entire body feels alive, on fire.

So this is what it’s like to die. So much for the charm.

I close my eyes and hug the bag tighter. I wonder if my symbol will end up burned onto the other Garde’s legs even though I’m dying out of order.

I’m dying out of order.
I refuse to have that be my last thought.

I crack my eyes open and my breath catches in my throat.

I’m not in the boat. The boat is still there, but it’s several yards beneath me. I’m floating towards the cloudless night sky, still holding my bag to my chest. I wonder for a moment if all the Garde get shot back into space when they die. Maybe this is part of the stupid plan that forced me to live out in the middle of nowhere. With my sick Cêpan.

My parched lips curl down into a frown as I speak my final words.

“Fuck Lorien.”

And then I’m shooting forward, the wind beating against my face. Flying.