The Secret of Eleven

Chapter 11

I have a feeling I won't get along with Twelve. We're too different, and I will always envy her Mog-less childhood. A part of me will also always be angry at her for sitting at her large house, worrying about midterms and drama, while the rest of us were out there, hiding, running for our lives, training, fighting.

She tells me her "parents" had left for the next week, for a business meeting. She had the house to herself, and I was making sure she was ready for anything. We go into her backyard, and I clear the area, knowing we'll need the space. Olivia, in dog form, sits at the end, watching us. I didn't tell Twelve anything other than Olivia is my pet.

We spar. Well, I do. She runs, covers her face, and worries about breaking a nail. I start out easy on her, going for a simply punch, punch, block, kick combo. She blocks nothing and doesn't even try to attack back, instead cowering.

I'm worried that this last Garde member I found is useless. She says she doesn't have any other legacies, besides her scream and telekinesis. She doesn't have enough control over either. I start teaching her how to fight back, pointing her towards a tree and forcing her to attack it without her legacies.

I make comments at parts she could improve on, which means I'm almost constantly criticizing. You're leaving your left vulnerable. Plant your feet. Push harder. After a while, however, I can't find anything to comment on. It's almost as if she immediately took everything in and became a good fighter.

I need to be sure. I start to spar with her again, going easy. My mistake. She attacks me with everything she has, which is much more advances than my early fighting techniques. I respond by upping the level, finally managing to knock her down. She stays down for a second, then quickly gets up.

"Again."

I'm surprised by her determination but know that it's exactly what she needs. I start again, and she responds with a ferocity I was not prepared for. I can barely fend her off, until I finally distract her with quick punches to the abs enough for me to kick her legs out from under her.

She gets up, her eyes calm, and plants herself in a fighter stance, saying, "Again."

This time I give it my all, all too aware of how quick she's picking this up and kicking my ass. We spar for a long time without either of us getting the other. Evenly matched, she's become as good a fighter as me in just a couple of hours.

We stop after I yield, something I hate doing, but knowing I had to do it. She seems just as tired and looks like she was about to stop herself.

Panting, I question her, "How...how did you learn so quick?"

She takes a moment to compose herself, then says, "I don't know. It's almost as if I was acting on impulse, not even knowing what I was doing."

It comes to me then. It's not humanly possible for anyone to pick up years of fighting techniques that quickly. Even a Loric's regular reflexes wouldn't allow it. It must be a legacy!

I tell her my suspicions, and she slowly nods, then walks inside the house, coming back out with a pitcher of lemonade and a couple of glasses.

"Want some?"

I run to it with what little energy I have left, gulping a first, second, third glass before stopping. She's already back in the sun, punching at a tree as if it were an actual Mog. It's not long before a leaves clutter the lawn. I go to her, telling her we need to leave before the Mogs find her.

She's unsure, and breaks down into tears again before running inside. I grab my backpack before following her.

"Hey? Are you ok?" I ask, worried, but also ready to leave, and impatient.

She must notice this because she hurriedly rubs her face and tries to hold in the tears. "Yeah," she replies dejectedly. I open my backpack and take out my chest, remembering how long its been since I opened it.

I take out the velvet bag, the thing I'm most familiar with. Her eyes watery, she looks as I throw up the numerous spheres. There's one especially gray one tat both of us gravitate too. She seems sad. She understands. There are no words exchanged as wem ourn.

And then, I see it. It turns green, and blue, and all beautiful colors for a second. I gasp, shakily letting my breath out, and it happens again. Her eyes widen and I realize. I blow on the sphere, and I see Lorien in its former beauty.

I smile serenely, and she stops crying. She understands now why we fight, why we have to make sure the dull gray of Lorien does not become Earth. I put the balls inside the bag, and put the bag inside the chest.

I tell her we need to go, and she nods, running into her room and coming back with her own chest.

"My parents said that this was always with me. I think its my chest. I guess it came when I was adopted. I hid it under my bed and I don't think they ever noticed."

I nod, knowing there's no time to open it but also aware of our time limitations. We need to meet up with the other Garde soon. As we are walking out I step on something, and the TV turns on. A remote.

I'm about to turn it off again when I see what's on the screen. Dozens of images of warships are moving across the street. Mogs, in the streets of London, Big Ben, the Pyramids, the Washington Monument in the background. They've come.

The anchor lady drones on in the background as another video shows up. Four is on the screen, healing a man's face, his hands glowing. Another shows a large courtyard, a stage quickly set up. A tall, middle-aged man stands at the front, a Mogadorian girl behind him.

Wait....that's not a Mogadorian. That's one of the Garde, from Spain! She's a lot paler, black veins running under her skin. She looks drugged, and tired.

John Smith steps forward from the crowd, grabbing the man's cane and throwing it to another person from the crowd, another Garde. The man turns into the monster from my dreams, the destroyer of my people, Setrákus Ra. A fight breaks out, another Garde attacks John Smith's friend. Setrákus Ra retreats, dragging the girl with him. John Smith goes after them, and suddenly the video stops.

"Damn it!" I scream, slamming my hands on the glass table and accidentally cracking it.

The Mogs are here and the Garde are fighting.

"Twelve! We need to go, now!" She nods, probably realizing her connection to those people on screen, understanding that the stakes had risen and our time was running out.

We run outside to see many others already out, staring at the sky in awe, cell phone's out an recording. A warship, of course. Smaller ships are being deposited from it, and Mogs come out, chasing after the fleeing people.

Twelve sees the chaos and somehow one of the Mogs locks onto me, staring. It yells something in guttural Mogadorian, and they all look at the two of us. They know my face, they know I'm Garde. This is the final fight.