Pittacus Lore - The Fall of Five

You were the compromise. Raylan promised to stay only if you were allowed to escape. I can still remember your mother’s tear-streaked face as she kissed you good- bye. Your father pressed you into my arms and I was ordered to make a run for the museum. Raylan’s menagerie of Chimæra joined us, acting as our bodyguards, many of them dying on the way.

This is how I became your Cêpan.

I watched our planet die through the portholes of a departing spaceship. I felt like a coward. The only time I ever stop feeling ashamed is when I look at you, Ella, and see what that cowardice saved.

What is done is done. You were not part of the Elders’ plan. That does not make you any less Loric, or any less a Garde. Numbers do not matter. You are capable of greatness, Ella. You are a survivor. One day, I know, you will make our people proud.

I love you.

Forever, your faithful servant,

I stop reading aloud and lower Crayton’s letter with shaky hands. There are tears in my eyes. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to have such a huge part of my identity just ripped away from me. Everyone is silent, even Nine. Ella makes a small snuffling sound, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“You’re still one of us,” I whisper to her. “You’re Loric.”

Ella starts to sob, choked words escaping her in a torrent. “I’m—I’m a fraud. I’m not like you. I’m just some rich guy’s daughter who got launched off the planet because her dad was a creep.”

“That’s not true,” says Eight, putting his arm around Ella.

“I wasn’t chosen,” Ella cries. “I’m not—it was all just lies.”

Nine takes the letter out of my hands, glancing it over. “So what?” he says dismissively.

Ella looks at him, her eyes widening. “So what?”

“The charm is broken,” Nine continues. “The numbers don’t mean shit. You can be Ten, you can be Fifty-Four, it doesn’t mean anything. Who cares?”

Nine sounds so callous, just brushing off what is such a major blow for Ella. She looks stunned. I’m not sure that she’s even hearing Nine.

“What Nine is so indelicately trying to say,” interjects Eight, “is that it doesn’t matter how you got here. Just because we flew in on different ships doesn’t mean we’re not the same.”

“Shit,” grumbles Nine, “I wish there’d been more selfish dudes like your pops. We could have a whole army.”

I shoot Nine a look and he puts his hands up, making a zippering motion across his mouth. Even with Nine’s total lack of tact, between the three of us, it seems like we’ve managed to calm Ella down. Her crying is slowing and, after a moment, she drops her hastily packed bag to the floor.

“I just feel so lost without Crayton,” she whispers to me, her voice husky. “He died thinking he was a coward because he never told me the truth and—and he wasn’t. He was good. I just wish I could tell him so.”

She trails off, a fresh batch of tears wetting my neck as she cries. So that’s what this is really about; it’s not so much what Ella learned about herself, although I’m sure that was shocking, but what she learned about Crayton. I stroke her hair, just letting her cry.

“I wish every day I could have just one more conversation with my Cêpan,” Eight says quietly.

“Me too,” Nine agrees.

“It never gets easier,” Eight continues. “We just have to keep going. To live up to what they expected us to be. Crayton was right, Ella. One day, you will make our people proud.”

Ella pulls me and Eight into a hug. We stay like that for a while, until Nine steps forward to awkwardly pat Ella on the back. She looks up at him.

“Is that the best you can do?”

Nine sighs dramatically. “Fine.”

He wraps his arms around the three of us and squeezes, practically lifting us off the floor. Eight groans and Ella lets out something that’s part laugh and part wheeze. I’m getting crushed too, but I can’t help smiling. I lock eyes with Ella and I can tell, right then, that there’s no place else she’d rather be.

By the middle of the day we’re cruising through Missouri, just a few hours away from Arkansas. It took us longer than expected to get out of Chicago, Nine’s tricked-out ride not having a super-spy special feature to evaporate gridlock. At first I’m a little nervous with Sarah behind the wheel, the way she weaves between lanes and seems to tailgate every chance she gets, until I realize that all the other drivers are doing it too. I guess that’s just part of big-city driving.

With Chicago behind us, the highway opens up. There’s nothing but grain fields on either side of us. We zip past semitrucks as they rumble along, making good time now, not even having to use the nitrous Sandor installed. The last thing in the world we need is to be pulled over. I bet I’m still red flagged in most government databases, not that any of us even has a license for a highway patrolman to run, which is another potential problem in and of itself. When we make it back to Chicago, I need to see if Sandor left any forgery material around. We need some new fake IDs.

“You ever try turning a whole car invisible?” Sarah asks Six, who hasn’t said much since we set out. She lounges in the backseat with Bernie Kosar in her lap. “I mean, you are touching it.”

“Huh,” Six replies, sitting up. “Never tried it.”

“Don’t,” I say, maybe a bit too sharply. “Someone could crash right into us.”

“Thanks, John. If you hadn’t said anything, I probably would’ve just turned us invisible here in public, while we’re flying along at like seventy miles per hour. Good thing you’re here to keep me in check and Sarah from driving too fast.”

I open my mouth for a comeback, something about how Six is a bit of a loose cannon and I can’t predict what she might do next—like invite my girlfriend along on a dangerous mission—but think better of it when I notice Sarah looking at me. Her eyebrow is raised, like she’s confused by Six’s tone. She’s probably been picking up on the bad vibes between Six and me since we left Chicago. It’s definitely not something I want to try explaining, so I just shrug, brushing the whole thing off.

Six is right that I’ve been obsessively checking our speed. Every time Sarah’s foot gets heavy on the gas, I tap her gently on the leg. She slows down and looks at me apologetically, like it’s not her fault, the car just begs to be driven fast. Maybe I shouldn’t be so anal and just let her race down the highway, consequences be damned. That’s probably what Six or Nine would do.

Every moment, I’m dreading the feeling of a new scar burning itself into the flesh of my leg. What if the Mogadorians get to Five before we do, all because I wouldn’t let Sarah floor it?

These are the kinds of thoughts that I’ve been losing sleep over the last few nights— not specifically about Five, but on leading our group in general. There’s just no way to plan for every eventuality, no matter how hard I think things over. It’d be so much easier if I had an attitude like Nine’s where I could just go out and hit things.

And to top it off, there’s suddenly this drama with Six. All because of one stupid kiss.

Basically, there’s no aspect of my life right now where I don’t feel in over my head.

We end up stopping at a gas station in Missouri. Six busies herself pumping the gas. Bernie Kosar ambles around the parking lot, sniffing the pavement and stretching his legs. Sarah and I head towards the store to pick up some bottles of water and pay for the gas. About halfway across the parking lot, she stops abruptly.

“So,” she says, “maybe you should go talk with Six.”

I blink at her, taken aback. I glance behind us at Six. If it was possible for someone to pump gas angrily, she’d be doing it. The way she jams the nozzle into the gas tank, it’s like she’s stabbing a Mogadorian. “Why?”