I pass the camel’s back—half a kilometer to go. The sun is warm on my face, situated high in the sky and slanted towards the east, which means I have at least five hours before I’m due back. I haven’t had this much free time in a great while; and with the bright sun and crisp, fresh wind pulling me from my dismal mood, I hardly care that I’ll be in trouble when I get back. I turn to see how effective my blanket cape is at hiding my prints in the hardened snow, and I’m afraid to see that it hasn’t worked at all today.
Nevertheless, I push forward until I spot the rounded shrub sticking up over the snow, then I race towards it, at first not noticing the very thing my eyes should be attuned to: that the snow at the base of the cave is tossed up and pushed around. But as soon as I reach the cave’s entrance, I know immediately that something is horribly off.
Approaching from the south, a single set of boot prints, double the size of my own, dot the mountainside, a perfect straight line cut into the snow leading from town to the cave. They seem to tromp around its opening, as though circling it. I’m flustered, certain there’s something else here I’m missing. And then it dawns on me. The prints—they lead into the cave, but they don’t lead back out.
Whoever they belong to is still inside.
Chapter Twelve
THEY’RE HERE! I THINK. AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, THE Mogadorians are finally here!
I turn so fast I slip and fall into the snow. I quickly crawl backwards away from the cave’s mouth, my shoes tangled in the blanket. Tears well up in my eyes. My heart races. I manage to right myself and sprint as hard and as fast as my legs will carry me. I don’t even look behind me to see if I’m being followed, sweeping across the same snowy terrain I’d just hiked through, moving so fast I hardly take note of where my feet are falling. The trees below me begin to blur, as do the clouds above. I can feel the blanket hovering behind my shoulders, flapping in the wind like a superhero’s cape. I trip once and slide across the ground, but immediately scramble to my feet and sprint onward, jumping straight over the camel’s back, again crashing when I land. And then I finally dash past the birch trees and make it back to the convent; the hike there took nearly twenty-five minutes; the sprint back took less than five. Like the ability to breathe underwater, the Legacy of superspeed presents itself when I need it to.
I untie the blanket from around my neck, burst through the double doors, and hear the lunchtime clatter coming from the dining room. I hurry up the winding staircase and down the narrow hall, knowing it’s Adelina’s turn to take Sunday off. I enter the open room where the Sisters sleep. Adelina sits regally in one of the two high-back chairs, Bible in her lap. She closes it when she sees me coming.
“Why aren’t you at lunch?” she asks.
“I think they’re here,” I say, out of breath, my hands violently shaking. I bend over and rest them on my knees.
“Who?”
“You know who!” I yell. Then, between my closed teeth: “Mogadorians.”
Her eyes narrow in disbelief. “Where?”
“I went to the cave—”
“What cave?” she interrupts.
“Who cares what cave! There was a set of boot prints outside of it, huge boot prints—”
“Slow down, Marina. Boot prints outside of a cave?”
“Yes,” I say.
She smirks, and I instantly realize coming to her was a mistake. I should have known she wouldn’t believe me, and I can’t help feeling foolish and vulnerable standing in front of her. I straighten. I don’t know what to do with my hands.
“I want to know where my Chest is,” I say, not exactly in a confident voice, but not in a timid one either.
“What Chest?”
“You know exactly what Chest!”
“What makes you think I held on to that old thing?” she asks calmly.
“Because you would be turning against your own people if you didn’t,” I say.
She reopens her Bible and pretends to read. I think of leaving, but then my mind returns to the boot prints in the snow.
“Where is it?” I ask.
She continues to ignore me, so I reach out with my mind and feel the contours of the book, its thin, dusty pages, its rough-hewn cover. I snap the book shut. Adelina jumps.
“Tell me where it is.”
“How dare you! Who do you think you are?”
“I’m a member of the Garde, and the fate of the entire race of Loriens depends on my survival, Adelina! How could you turn your back on them? How could you turn your back on the humans, too? John Smith, who I believe is a member of the Garde, is on the run in the United States; and when he was pulled over recently he was able to move the officer without touching him. Just like I can do. Like I just did with your book. Don’t you see what’s happening, Adelina? If we don’t start helping, not only will Lorien be lost forever, but so will Earth and this stupid orphanage and stupid town!”
“How dare you call this place stupid!” Adelina steps towards me with clenched fists. “This is the only place that let us in, Marina. It’s the only reason we’re still alive. What did the Loric do for us? They pushed us onto a ship for a year, and then they pushed us out onto a cruel planet without any kind of plan or any instructions other than to stay hidden and train. Train for what?”
“To defeat the Mogadorians. To take back Lorien.” I shake my head. “The others are probably out there right now, battling, figuring out how to come together and how to get us home, while we’re stuck in this prison doing nothing.”
“I’m living my life with purpose, helping the human race with my prayers and service. And you should be, too.”
“Your sole purpose on Earth was to help me.”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?”