THE POWER OF SIX
BOOK TWO OF THE LORIEN LEGACIES
PITTACUS LORE
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
About the Author
Also by Pittacus Lore
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
THE EVENTS IN THIS BOOK ARE REAL.
NAMES AND PLACES HAVE BEEN CHANGED
TO PROTECT THE LORIEN SIX,
WHO REMAIN IN HIDING.
OTHER CIVILIZATIONS DO EXIST.
SOME OF THEM SEEK TO DESTROY YOU.
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.