The Fallen Legacies (Lorien Legacies: The Lost Files #3)(4)

It ends when one of the warriors puts his sword through Number One’s back, impaling her.

“That was awesome!” shouts Ivan. Even my father allows himself a thin smile of approval.

I know I should share in their elation, but my hands won’t stop shaking. I feel grateful that I only had to watch from a distance, that I wasn’t one of the Mogadorians now reduced to ash on a Malaysian riverbank. I’m also grateful not to be Loric, not to have to spend my life running in fear from impossible odds, only to be stabbed in the back.

It occurs to me that I’m feeling something close to empathy for the Garde. The Great Book warns against that, so I shut it away. I need to get beyond these childish feelings. The battle was less glorious than I expected, but still a great victory for Mogadorian progress. Only eight more loose ends remain and then Ra’s vision will be fulfilled; nothing will stand in the way of our expansion to Earth. Nine dead Garde are a small price to pay for my sweet penthouse at the top of the Washington Monument.

They shove Number One into a body bag and dump her in the plane with the rest of the cargo. The Loric Chest she had with her is taken as well, although even the strongest of our warriors can’t pry open the lock. One’s pendant is ripped off her body by my father, though I’m not sure what use he has for Loric jewelry.

Her Cêpan’s body is left behind. She is of no importance to us now.

On the plane ride back, the benches are a lot less crowded. I stay quiet, but Ivan pesters the warriors from the front line for gory details until the General hisses at him to shut up. If they had been a football team, I’m sure the surviving warriors would be dousing each other with Gatorade the way that human athletes do after a win. But we’re not a football team. We’re Mogadorians. And my father doesn’t even know what Gatorade is. We travel the rest of the way in silence.

During the flight, the General comes to sit beside me.

“When we get back to Ashwood Estates,” he says, “I have an important task for you.”

I nod. “Yes. Of course, sir.”

My father looks down at my hands, still shaking no matter how hard I try to steady them.

“Stop that,” he growls before heading back to the cockpit.





CHAPTER 4


Although I saw her in the battle, the girl on the metal slab isn’t what I was expecting.

Ever since the First Great Expansion, we’ve been taught that the Garde are the last true threat to our way of life. We’ve been taught that they are fierce warriors, lying in wait to one day take up arms against the engine of Mogadorian progress. Somehow I thought this threat to my people would look more fearsome.

In death, Number One doesn’t look like much at all. She looks to be around my age or just a bit older, and her skin, once tan, is now bloodlessly pale. Her lips are blue. Streaks of dried blood run through her blond hair. Her body is covered with a white sheet, but under the bright lights of the laboratory I can see the grisly shadow of the wound that blossoms across her midsection.

We are beneath Ashwood Estates, in the underground laboratory of Dr. Lockam Anu. I’ve never been allowed down here before, so I try to take in as many of the strange, blinking machines as possible without openly gawking. The General would not be kind if he thought I was distracted.

I stand next to my father, both of us silent, watching as Anu gently eases One’s head into a strange mechanical helmet. Anu is an old man, his spine hunched, his tattooed scalp disgustingly wrinkled. He circles around One, connecting loose wires to the open diodes that clutter the helmet.

“Should be ready,” mutters Anu, stepping back.

“Finally,” grunts my father.

Anu pauses over One’s left ankle, tracing the Loric charm scarred there. What the Loric charm looks like is one of the first things we were taught when we came to Earth. Scrutinizing every bare ankle for its presence became second nature for me long ago.

“Four years of searching for a child with this symbol,” muses Anu. “You certainly take your time, General.”

I can practically feel my father clench his fists. It’s like standing next to a gathering storm. Yet he makes no reply. Dr. Anu heads up the research and science team at Ashwood Estates and is entitled to certain benefits, like making a dig at the General without being immediately beaten.

Anu looks in my direction, his left eye involuntarily drooping and half lidded.

“Did your esteemed father explain why you are here, boy?”

I glance at the General. He nods, granting me permission to speak.

“No, sir.”

“Ah. ‘Sir.’ What a polite young man you’ve raised, General.” Anu gestures to a nearby metal chair, over which hangs an imposing piece of complicated technology. “Come, have a seat.”

I glance again at my father, but his face gives nothing away.

“You will do our family proud today, Adamus,” rumbles the General. I’m relieved that my hands have finally stopped shaking.

I sit down. Anu crouches before me, his old bones creaking in protest. He binds my wrists and ankles to the chair with rubber straps. I know that I should trust my father. I’m too important for him to let anything bad happen to me. Still, I can’t help but squirm a bit as I’m buckled in.

“Comfortable?” asks Dr. Anu, smirking at me.

“What is this?” I reply, forgetting the General’s rule against asking questions.