Raven Rise

by D. J. MacHale

  I knew better.

  He was in his normal form, wearing the dark suit that buttoned up to his chin. His bald head was so white in the gleaming daylight it made the jagged red scars seem like streaks of blood. The word “vampire” came to mind. Actually, a lot of words came to mind. None of them were good. I stood staring at him. This was his show. He’d lured me there. I wanted him to speak first. He didn’t. He stared at me with those creepy blue-white eyes. What was going through that twisted brain? I knew this couldn’t be a social call. Saint Dane always had an agenda.

  I finally couldn’t take it anymore and said, “I hope you used sunblock on that skeleton head of yours. You’re gonna fry.”

  He chuckled and asked, “Do you really care?”

  “Nope.”

  Saint Dane stood up to his full height, which was several inches taller than mine. I thought back to a time when he towered over me like some ominous giant. I’d grown up since then. Now he was just an ominous regular-height guy. He strolled around the peak, kicking at random stones.

  “Quite the dramatic choice you made here,” he began. “I have to admit, I was surprised. Not that you used tak from Denduron, mind you. I predicted that. But I didn’t think you would do something so drastic as sealing the flume. Bravo. It was a selfless act. Desperate, but selfless.”

  “Desperate?” I said, scoffing. “I kicked your ass.”

  “It was quite the battle, wasn’t it?” he said with glee, as if enjoying the memory. “The dados didn’t know what hit them. Literally. Then again, they didn’t think about anything at all. They were mindless automatons.”

  “Now they’re trash.”

  “Don’t gloat, Pendragon. It’s unbecoming.”

  “Hey, I earned it,” I shot back. “I didn’t start this. But I finished it. And I finished you.”

  Saint Dane threw me a look with those cold eyes.

  “What do you want?” I snarled.

  “I want to congratulate you,” he announced jovially. “I must say, events did not play out exactly as I expected. You have proven to be a formidable adversary. I thought this conflict would have ended long ago, and that is to your credit.” He bowed deeply and added, “For that, I commend you.”

  “That’s it? That’s why you came here? You got so bored hanging out in the rubble of Rubic City that you flew all the way over here just to tell me what a great job I did? Talk about desperate.”

  “There’s more,” he said flatly.

  Oh. There always was. The guy sat down again. He looked out over the ocean, then back to the island, as if soaking up the beauty of the tropical territory. He seemed almost human. Almost.

  He continued, “We’ve come a long way, you and I. I’d like to think we’ve both learned from each other. I now understand the resilience and fortitude the people of the territories possess. They are a passionate people, and for that, I’ve developed a certain…respect for them.”

  “But not enough respect to leave us alone,” I added.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed. “That is exactly my point. You see, my friend, we are—”

  “I’m not your friend.”

  “Yes, of course. I hope that by now you understand exactly where our differences lie.”

  “I do. I’m trying to protect the territories, and you’re trying to kill everyone. I’ve had that one down for a while now.”

  He smiled and shook his head, as if I were an annoying child who didn’t understand his obvious lesson. It made me want to hit him.

  “You speak of methods,” he said patiently. “I speak of philosophy.”

  “Methods!” I shouted. “You use genocide like some kind of…of…garden tool, and I’m supposed to ignore that?”

  “Are you any different? Didn’t you condone the destruction of the dirigible Hindenburg? People died, Pendragon, but since it was for the greater good, you accepted it. Why are your tools any better or more righteous than mine?”

  I wanted to argue, but I realized there was more going on here than debating about the past.

  “Please,” he continued calmly. “For once in your futile existence, open your narrow mind to the larger issues.”

  I turned around to look out on the ocean and take a deep breath. I had to calm down. Saint Dane may not have been human, but he had human emotions. I’d gotten to him more than once. I definitely had learned a few things over the past several years, and one of them was that I was better off letting Saint Dane spew than baiting him into an argument. It didn’t help if I got all emotional, either. I forced myself to relax.

  “I’m listening,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Thank you. I was speaking about our differences. If I may be so bold as to speak for you, I would say that you hold the opinion that free will is the right of every being in Halla. It is up to the individual to choose his or her own path, good or bad, wherever it may lead. That’s putting it simply, but am I correct?”

  I turned back to him. “And it’s your opinion that the people of Halla can’t be trusted with their own destiny and need a guiding hand to help them live the kind of life you think is correct.”

  Saint Dane’s eyebrow went up. It actually went up. “Indeed,” he declared with a touch of surprise. “Again, an oversimplification, but in essence, correct. Perhaps you have been paying attention.”

  “It wasn’t hard,” I snarled.

  “You see, Pendragon,” Saint Dane continued, “that difference in philosophy has been the very core of our dispute. The people of the territories are egocentric, shortsighted children. You say they should control their own destiny, but time and again they have proven themselves incapable. You accuse me of practicing genocide. Believe me, the strife I have caused is but a mere drop of blood against the turmoil that the people of the territories have created for themselves. In spite of what you might think, I am not responsible for every war that has ever been fought. I cannot be blamed for hatred, bigotry, crime, religious conflicts, turf wars—the list goes on to infinity. You know enough of the history of your own world to know I’m right. It’s no different with the other worlds. Veelox, Cloral, Quillan—it’s all the same. History is written in the blood of its people. I want to put an end to that.”

  I took a few seconds to let his words sink in. I didn’t want to speak out of emotion. “Put it that way and it sounds great,” I said, measuring my words. “You’re like some concerned parent who wants his children to stop fighting. I like that. The end of all human conflict. Sounds pretty good. There’s only one problem.”

  “Please. Enlighten me.”

  “You think you should be the sole voice of reason. Judge, jury, executioner. You are the only one who knows what’s best for everyone. If what you’ve told me in the past is still true, your plan is to pit the people of the territories against one another until all of Halla falls into turmoil. Then when all seems lost, you’ll come riding in like some kind of savior to put everybody straight. Is that how it’s supposed to work?”

  Saint Dane chuckled. I hate chuckling. I’ve mentioned that, right?

  “Something like that,” he answered.

  “Who’s to say you have all the answers? Who’s to say any one person has all the answers?”

  “Leaders are chosen all the time—”

  “Exactly! That’s my point! Leaders are chosen. Chosen. It’s about free will. People can choose who to put their trust in, whether it’s the Council of Faar or the viceroy of Leeandra. It’s up to the people. And if that leader fails, they won’t be leading for long. History has proven that. Nobody can have ultimate power because nobody is infallible, especially not a leader who rises to power by manipulating the very people he claims to care so much about. Dictators don’t stay in power long, and you want to be the dictator of all there ever was or will be. You expect me to think that’s a good thing? Give me a break! You don’t care about the people of Halla. That’s just an excuse. You only care about the power.”

  “I can guide Halla to heights you can’t even imagi
ne,” he said, his temper flaring.

  “How? By playing on people’s worst instincts? That’s what you’re obsessed with—the worst side of people. Your power comes from bringing that out. What kind of leader is that? Halla isn’t perfect and never will be. But it’s right. That’s the way it was meant to be. People have the right to choose their own destiny, right or wrong.”

  “And that is where we disagree.”

  “Who are you?” I screamed.

  Yes, I was losing it. Wasn’t it about time?

  “Where did you come from? How can you do what you do? Why is this all happening? How is any of this possible? You told me the Travelers were illusions. What the hell does that mean? You keep saying the battle is between us, but I’m at a total disadvantage. You know it all and I know nothing. Who are you? Who…am…I!”

  Saint Dane stepped back from me. It was strange. It was as if he had deflated. His energy was gone.

  “That is the one thing I cannot tell you, Pendragon,” he said. “If I did, this would all have been for nothing.”

  “What?” I screamed in total frustration. “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll understand soon enough, when this is over.”

  “It’s over now!”

  “Soon enough, Pendragon,” he repeated. “You won’t have to wait much longer for your answers. I am sorry that you didn’t allow yourself to open your mind to see things from my perspective. This was your last chance.”

  “I did open my mind,” I snarled at the demon. “Forgive me if I’m not buying it. I don’t care how you spin it, Saint Dane, you are evil. Everything you’ve done is evil. You can’t make me believe for a second that anything you’ve done is justified because it will create some greater good.”

  “Yet you’ve made choices you knew were wrong,” he argued.

  “Not like you,” I countered. “Not even close.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” he said calmly. “Your self-righteousness is all you have left.”

  He took one step backward and jumped off the cliff. It didn’t even surprise me. I didn’t budge, because I knew what I’d see next. A moment later the jet-black raven flew up and sped off across the ocean, headed toward Rubic City. I screamed at it in anger and frustration. I couldn’t help myself. What was he trying to tell me? Why didn’t he just come out and say it? How could this guy possibly believe that all the misery and destruction he caused were justified? And why was he keeping the ultimate truth a secret? It was like we were playing some cosmic game of chess, and if I knew all the rules, it wouldn’t count. I’d been on this quest going on four years now, and I knew barely more about what it all meant than I did when I first left home with Uncle Press.

  I screamed again. That’s how frustrated I was. This wasn’t how things were supposed to play out. I had made my choice. I ended the battle. I wasn’t a Traveler anymore. I’d stopped Saint Dane. Why was he messing with my head? Was he just trying to torture me because I’d stopped him cold? Was he as frustrated as I was? Maybe he was just better at hiding it. I had a brief thought that the two of us would be locked in this mind game for the rest of my life, here on this island. I wasn’t sure which was worse: battling Saint Dane across Halla or being trapped with him in the cage of Ibara.

  I had to force myself to let it go. The war was over. I had won. Or at least I had forced a draw. We were stuck here. Both of us. That’s the best thing that came out of my encounter with the demon. It was official. He was just as trapped as I was. That was good. I was going to have to take comfort in that and not let him get to me. I promised myself that the next time I saw him, I’d be ready. In fact, I’d welcome it. The debate between free will and forced destiny would continue.

  I sat down on that mound of rock and laughed. I had this vision of the two of us having a philosophical debate that raged for decades. Like two old war veterans who fought on opposite sides of a long-ago battle, we’d argue our sides. That would be okay. Nobody ever died over a debate. Or over a game of checkers. At least, not yet.

  That meeting with Saint Dane happened weeks ago. I think. I’ve tried to put it out of my head, but it hasn’t been easy. I’m not only haunted by his words, but by the fact that he wouldn’t admit the battle was over. He said that the end was almost here. Almost. Did that mean he had one last play I wasn’t aware of? As much as I did my best to put that idea out of my head, it kept me awake at night.

  Before I finish this journal, there’s one more thing I have to write about. I mentioned at the beginning that in spite of how great things have become here on Ibara, there is one serious problem. Besides my disturbing confrontation with Saint Dane, that is. It’s the single worst thing that’s happened to me since the dado battle. Worse than sparring with the demon. Worse than learning of Telleo’s problems with her mother. Worse than the backbreaking work or vicious storms. I don’t know how to set this up, so I’ll just write it.

  I’ve lost my Traveler ring.

  I don’t know when it happened, or where. My big fear is that it slipped off my finger while I was working, got jumbled up with some dado parts, and is now lying on the bottom of the ocean. I haven’t given up hope of finding it. I’m always on the lookout and have asked everyone to keep an eye out for it. Losing that ring has made my exile here on Ibara all the more final. It’s why I’m not able to send this journal to you, Mark and Courtney. You may never read these words. When I made the decision to seal the flume, I knew that as much as it would trap me here, I would still be able to communicate with you. Now that I can’t, I still don’t regret what I did, but it’s made the experience way more lonely.

  Until I find it, and I will find it, I’ll continue to write these journals and hope that one day you will read them. The rest of my life here will continue as it has. Now that the village has been cleared, the next step is to rebuild the homes. I’m looking forward to that. Who knows? Maybe once that’s under way, we’ll begin to construct new ships to send more pilgrims off to repopulate the rest of Veelox, just as Aja envisioned.

  Beyond that, I have one other goal, which may be as important as anything else I’ve done here. I want to rid Ibara of anything that came from other territories. Maybe that’s kind of like closing the barn door after the horse has gotten out, but in spite of what we had to do to protect this island, mixing the territories and their destinies was wrong. My hope is now that Saint Dane is out of the picture, the same can happen on all the territories. That is the way it was meant to be. That’s the way Uncle Press said it was meant to be. I’m going to do all I can to make sure Ibara gets back on the right track.

  And so we go.

  Or maybe I should say, “And so I go.”

  END OF JOURNAL #33

  SECOND EARTH

  Mark, Courtney, and Patrick stepped out of the mouth of the flume into the root cellar beneath the abandoned Sherwood house in Stony Brook.

  Connecticut.

  Second Earth.

  The carpet of light and music quickly receded back into the flume, leaving them alone.

  At home.

  In the dark.

  Courtney was the first to notice that something was wrong. “There’s nothing here,” she announced.

  “Of course not. We’re underground,” Mark replied.

  “I mean there are no Second Earth clothes. When Bobby and I left, we brought a bunch of things from home. Shoes, shirts, pants. They’re gone.”

  All three scanned the small, dark cellar but found nothing.

  “Maybe somebody discovered this place,” Patrick suggested.

  “Not likely,” Courtney replied. “We’re in the basement of a mansion that’s been empty for decades. This isn’t right.”

  “It’s okay,” Mark said. “If wearing First Earth clothes is the worst thing we have to do, we’re lucky.”

  “I don’t like it,” Courtney groused. “It’s not a good way to start.”

  “What should we do?” Patrick asked tentatively. He was nervous. Both Mark and Courtney sense
d it.

  “It’s okay, Patrick,” Mark said calmly. “Relax.”

  “Relax?” Patrick echoed. “You didn’t go through what I did.”

  Mark and Courtney exchanged looks.

  “Yeah, we’ve all been on a picnic,” Courtney said sarcastically.

  Patrick immediately realized his mistake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that it’s been easy for any of us.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Mark interjected. “We’re all a little stressed. Let’s just get out of here and back to my house. We can figure out our next move from there.”

  Courtney went first, walking the few steps across the dirt floor to the ancient wooden door that protected the long-abandoned root cellar. She pushed it open slowly. There was a loud creek of rusted hinges that echoed throughout the cellar.

  “Gotta oil that,” she said casually, and stepped into a pitch-dark basement.

  Mark followed right behind her. “Looks like it’s nighttime,” he observed.

  Patrick was right behind him, staying close. When they had all passed through, Courtney closed the creaky old door behind them.

  “Check this out,” she said to Patrick while running her hand across the door’s wooden surface. “We watched this being burned into the door by the ring. It was incredible.”

  The darkness made it difficult for Patrick to make out detail. He ran his hand across the wood to feel the scar of the five-inch star that marked the gate to the flume.

  “What does it mean?” he whispered.

  “It means it’s a gate,” Courtney answered. “Duh.”

  “No, I mean the book cover. Ravinia. And the tattoos those men had on their arms. What’s the connection?”

  Mark stood between the two and answered, “That’s what we’re going to have to find out.”

  The three turned to face the empty basement.

  “Wait for our eyes to adjust,” Mark suggested. “It won’t take long. Light from the street comes in through the windows over there and—”