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The Power of Six
By Pittacus Lore HarperCollins
Copyright © 2011 Pittacus Lore
All right reserved. ISBN: 9780061974557
Chapter One
My name is Marina, as of the sea, but I wasn't
called that until much later. In the beginning I was known
merely as Seven, one of the nine surviving Garde from the
planet Lorien, the fate of which was, and still is, left in
our hands. Those of us who aren't lost. Those of us still
alive.
I was six when we landed. When the ship jolted to a
halt on Earth, even at my young age I sensed how much
was at stake for us—nine Cêpan, nine Garde—and that
our only chance waited for us here. We had entered the
planet's atmosphere in the midst of a storm of our own
creation, and as our feet found Earth for the very first
time, I remember the wisps of steam that rolled off the
ship and the goose bumps that covered my arms. I hadn't
felt the wind in a year, and it was freezing outside. Somebody
was there waiting for us. I don't know who he was,
only that he handed each Cêpan two sets of clothes and a
large envelope. I still don't know what was in it.
As a group we huddled together, knowing we might
never see one another again. Words were spoken, hugs
were given, and then we split up, as we knew we must,
walking in pairs in nine different directions. I kept peering
over my shoulder as the others receded in the distance
until, very slowly, one by one, they all disappeared. And
then it was just Adelina and me, alone. I realize now just
how scared Adelina must have been.
I remember boarding a ship headed to some unknown
destination. I remember two or three different trains after
that. Adelina and I kept to ourselves, huddled against
each other in obscure corners, away from whoever might
be around. We hiked from town to town, over mountains
and across fields, knocking on doors that were quickly
slammed in our faces. We were hungry, tired, and scared.
I remember sitting on a sidewalk begging for change. I
remember crying instead of sleeping. I'm certain that
Adelina gave away some of our precious gems from Lorien
for nothing more than warm meals, so great was our need.
Perhaps she gave them all away. And then we found this
place in Spain.
A stern looking woman I would come to know as Sister
Lucia answered the heavy oak door. She squinted at
Adelina, taking in her desperation, the way her shoulders
drooped.
"Do you believe in the word of God?" the woman asked
in Spanish, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes in
scrutiny.
"The word of God is my vow," Adelina replied with a
solemn nod. I don't know how she knew this response—
perhaps she learned it when we stayed in a church
basement weeks before—but it was the right one. Sister
Lucia opened the door.
We've been here ever since, eleven years in this stone
convent with its musty rooms, drafty hallways, and hard
floors like slabs of ice. Aside from the few visitors, the
internet is my only source to the world outside our small
town; and I search it constantly, looking for some indication
that the others are out there, that they're searching,
maybe fighting. Some sign that I'm not alone, because
at this point I can't say that Adelina still believes, that
she's still with me. Her attitude changed somewhere over
the mountains. Maybe it was with the slam of one of the
doors that shut a starving woman and her child out in the
cold for another night. Whatever it was, Adelina seems to
have lost the urgency of staying on the move, and her faith
in the resurgence of Lorien seems to have been replaced
by the faith shared by the convent's Sisters. I remember
a distinct shift in Adelina's eyes, her sudden speeches on
the need for guidance and structure if we were to survive.
My faith in Lorien remains intact. In India, a year and
a half ago, four different people witnessed a boy move
objects with his mind. While the significance behind the
event was small at first, the boy's abrupt disappearance
shortly thereafter created much buzz in the region, and
a hunt for him began. As far as I know, he hasn't been
found.
A few months ago there was news of a girl in Argentina
who, in the wake of an earthquake, lifted a five ton slab of
concrete to save a man trapped beneath it; and when news
of this heroic act spread, she disappeared. Like the boy in
India, she's still missing.
And then there's the father-son duo making all the
news now in America, in Ohio, who the police are hunting
after the two allegedly demolished an entire school by
themselves, killing five people in the process. They left no
trace behind other than mysterious heaps of ash.
"It looks like a battle took place here. I don't know how
else to explain it," the head investigator was quoted as
saying. "But make no mistake, we will get to the bottom
of this, and we will find Henri Smith and his son, John."
Perhaps John Smith, if that's his real name, is merely
a boy with a grudge who was pushed too far. But I don't
think that's the case. My heart races whenever his picture
appears on my screen. I'm gripped with a profound
desperation that I can't quite explain. I can feel it in my
bones that he's one of us. And I know, somehow, that I
must find him.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Power of Six by Pittacus Lore Copyright © 2011 by Pittacus Lore. Excerpted by permission of HarperCollins. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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