Raven Rise

by D. J. MacHale

  On the dock her mother and father stood waiting for her.

  “Hi, guys,” she said, sounding like a meek little girl. “Going for a sail?”

  “Honey!” her mom shouted with genuine relief. She ran for the boat and hugged her daughter tight. “You’re all right,” she cried, in tears. “We thought…we thought…”

  “It’s okay, Mom, I’m okay. I’m sorry I had you so worried.”

  Courtney’s dad joined in the group hug.

  “It’s over,” he said, also in tears. “You’re back with us now. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Courtney said. “Let’s go home.”

  She tried to maneuver her parents back along the dock, away from the boat. Away from us. Her parents didn’t move.

  Her mom said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. We did what we thought was best.”

  “What do you mean?” Courtney asked suspiciously.

  Mr. Chetwynde looked to the boat and called out, “Mark? Come on out, son.”

  Mark stiffened. He shot me a look, as if to say, “Now what?”

  “You too…Bobby.”

  My head swam. This couldn’t be happening. I had disappeared from town years before. Nobody on Second Earth had seen or heard from Bobby Pendragon in all that time. How could they know I was there?

  I whispered, “It must be Saint Dane.”

  “Maybe Nevva, too,” Mark added.

  Alder didn’t know how to react. “We should find out,” he declared.

  “No. Stay here. I’ll figure this out.” Then to Mark, “We better go.”

  Mark nodded. The two of us crawled up and out of the hatch.

  Courtney stood on the dock being hugged by both her parents. When they saw Mark, Mrs. Chetwynde began to sob.

  “You’re all right.” She wept and turned to her husband. “He’s all right.”

  When I appeared on deck, I thought they were going to faint. Can’t say I blamed them. Bobby Pendragon had returned from the dead. Or at least the missing. Mrs. Chetwynde leaned against her husband for support. They truly looked stunned. If this was Saint Dane and Nevva Winter, they were putting on a great show. But for who?

  Courtney pulled away from her parents and wiped a tear from her own eye. “Mom, Dad, you should go home and leave us alone.”

  “I wish we could, sweetheart,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “This is too important.”

  “What is?” Courtney demanded.

  Mr. Chetwynde looked nervous. He ran his hand through his hair. When he did that, we all saw the same thing: On his arm was a green tattoo. A star. The mark of the Ravinians. The Chetwyndes were definitely followers of Naymeer.

  “We can help you, Courtney,” Mrs. Chetwynde sobbed. “You’re confused. We can make this all better. For all of us.”

  Courtney backed away from them, toward Mark and me. “Mom, what did you do?”

  Mr. Chetwynde answered, “What we had to.”

  Floodlights flashed to life onshore, lighting up the dock as if it were day. Our backs were to the water. We had nowhere to go. Below the white lights, several flashing red lights appeared. Police lights. The Chetwyndes had called the cops.

  Behind the Chetwyndes a lone silhouette of a man came walking along the dock. He wasn’t in any hurry. He knew we weren’t going anywhere.

  “Almost four years,” the man said. “I’ve been on this case for almost four years. Thought for sure it would never be solved…until right now.”

  The man stepped out of the shadows and stood next to the Chetwyndes. He wore a plain suit that looked as if he had slept in it. There was nothing familiar about the guy. To me, that is. Mark and Courtney knew him very well.

  “Captain Hirsch?” Mark called out.

  “Hi, guys,” the man said. “Looks like we’re finally going to find out what happened to Bobby Pendragon and his family. Believe me, the town, the state, and I’d pretty much guess the whole country wants to know. I, for one, cannot wait to hear.”

  JOURNAL #36

  (CONTINUED)

  SECOND EARTH

  Hi, Bobby,” the policeman said warmly. “I’m Jim Hirsch. Lot of people have been worried about you. And your family. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  I was in a brain freeze. This couldn’t be happening. Of all the odd twists that had been thrown at me, this was the most surreal. I looked to Courtney for help.

  “Captain Hirsch is the guy who’s been investigating your disappearance from the beginning,” she explained. She looked at the cop and boldly asked, “It is you, isn’t it?”

  Hirsch gave her a confused look. “Who else would I be? Except it’s Chief Hirsch now.”

  Courtney gave me a concerned look. She thought the same thing I did. Saint Dane. There was no way to know for sure. At least the guy seemed genuinely confused by the question.

  Mr. Chetwynde explained, “We got a call from the Ravinians. They said you had broken into their compound along with Mark and Bobby and another young man. They didn’t want the police involved, but we said there was no choice in the matter. That’s when we called Chief Hirsch.”

  Courtney said, “And you figured we might come here.”

  The Chetwyndes nodded.

  “So where is Naymeer and his red-shirt clowns?” Courtney asked.

  “They are good people, Courtney,” Mrs. Chetwynde said quickly. “They don’t want to cause any trouble. They left it up to us to decide what to do.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” Courtney said sarcastically. “They’re swell.”

  “Don’t be disrespectful,” Mr. Chetwynde admonished.

  “Courtney, where have you been?” Mrs. Chetwynde asked with concern. “Why did you break into the home of such an important man? Did you steal a car from them?”

  Mr. Chetwynde added, “And where’s the other fella who was with you?”

  Hirsch said, “I think it’s best we all get out of the cold and go somewhere to talk about it.”

  Mark interjected, “You mean somewhere like the police station?”

  Hirsch answered with a shrug.

  Time slowed down for me. It was a standoff. We were on the end of the dock, at least thirty yards from shore. I had to assume there were more policemen waiting onshore near the floodlights. Fighting our way off the dock wasn’t an option. Not when policemen had guns. As of that moment, I didn’t think we were considered dangerous. Fighting through the police would change that. But we had to make a move. Who knew what the police would do with us? Did they think I had done something evil to my family? Would they actually arrest us? The only thing we were caught dead to rights on was car theft. Maybe breaking and entering. Even if no trouble came from that, we’d be tied up with the police for a long time. The glare of public scrutiny would shine brightly. On me. And what about Alder? How would we explain him? If we went with the police, any chance of derailing Naymeer and his cult would be gone. Second Earth would be lost. Halla would be lost. It couldn’t end this way. There was only one thing to do.

  “Alder?” I called. “Come on out.”

  Alder had been waiting below the hatch. As soon as I called him, his head popped out. Mr. and Mrs. Chetwynde took a surprised step back and watched him move, as if he were an alien from another planet…which is exactly what he was. Alder was a big guy. A warrior. With clothes that were too small, he looked even bigger and more formidable. Hirsch tensed up. I don’t think he expected to see a guy looking like a defensive lineman rise out of that boat. He shot a quick glance back toward shore, as if he wanted to call for backup. He didn’t though. The situation was too fragile. Alder stepped off the boat and onto the dock, beside me.

  “Listen,” I said to him. I didn’t care that everybody else could hear. It would make absolutely no difference if they knew what I was thinking or not. It was more important that my friends and I were all on the same page. “The police want to take us into custody to talk about the disappearance of my family. They’re the good guys. They don’t want to hurt us. But if we go wit
h them, they’ll take us out of play.”

  “Understood,” Alder said calmly.

  I turned to Mark and Courtney. “Guys, I’m sorry but you’re going to have to handle this situation on your own.”

  “Got it,” Mark said with confidence.

  “Not a problem,” Courtney added.

  Hirsch took a step forward. His eyes darted between us nervously. “Let’s…let’s all be cool and head for shore, all right?”

  I put my hand up. It stopped him.

  “Jim, I know you might not believe this, but we are not criminals.”

  “I’m not saying you are—”

  “I know. I get it. You don’t know what’s going on, and you’re going to want to talk all about it and solve all the mysteries. I’m sorry, but we don’t have time for that.”

  Hirsch shook his head quickly, as if not believing what he was hearing. “Wha—you don’t have time? I’m sorry, son, but four people have been missing for a long time and—”

  We didn’t give him time to finish the sentence. Alder and I dove off the dock into the cold waters of the river. I could only imagine the stunned looks on everyone’s faces. I hoped that would translate into a few frozen moments of inactivity before Hirsch triggered his cops into action. Alder and I both swam for the next dock over. When we hit it, we hung there to take a few seconds to form our plan.

  “We’ll split up,” I gasped. “Swim underwater as much as you can. Hide under the docks. Take your time. Don’t splash. Make your way as far away from the lights as you can before hitting shore.” I pointed upriver and added, “On the far bank of the river, beyond the highway, is a rope swing. It’s not far beyond the road, on a steep hill. I’ll meet you there.”

  Alder didn’t waste time with a response. He took a gulp of air and dove underwater with nothing more than a wink of reassurance. The guy was a pro. I had no doubt he’d make it. I wasn’t so certain about my own chances.

  “Bobby!” Hirsch called out. “Don’t do this! You’re not in any trouble.”

  “Yeah,” I thought to myself. “Not yet.”

  I dove below the surface and dropped under the dock. It was dark. And cold. It was going to be harder than I thought. Visibility was next to zero. I’d been around docks like this all my life. They were each roughly six feet wide, with boats tied to cleats on either side. I knew there was airspace below. I surfaced to find myself looking up at the rows of wooden planks that ran the width of the structure. My hope was to zigzag from dock to dock, swimming underwater and resting underneath, slowly making my way toward shore. The docks were built like fingers, stretching out in all directions like a floating maze. I fought the urge to stay under the dock where I was and make my way toward shore beneath it—I was afraid that would be the first place they’d look. I needed to get to another dock to make the chase impossible. Alder had gone downriver, so I chose to go upriver. I took a few deep breaths, filled my lungs, and pushed myself down, headed for the next dock over. It was hard to see how far it was. I didn’t want to surface short. I’d be seen for sure. I kept one eye looking above, trying to see the shadow of the float. The floodlights helped. They cast the wooden docks into sharp relief. I made it to the next dock and surfaced beneath it with no problem.

  “Spread out!” I heard Hirsch yell to his men. “Two on each dock.”

  He knew exactly what we were doing. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure it out. But knowing what we were doing and actually finding us were two different things. As I wrote before, there were a lot of docks and many, many boats. I gulped air and dove below again. It was risky, because I had to maneuver between the keels of a few big sailboats. There were many places to hide, and just as many places to bash my head. I had to be fast, silent, and cautious. The shadow of a shallow-draft cabin cruiser loomed ahead of me. I swam beneath it and surfaced below the dock….

  To hear footsteps directly above. The sound echoed through the airspace over my head. Did they know I was there? I looked toward shore to see the beams from flashlights shining down through the spaces between boards.

  “Slow, slow!” a voice said. “Don’t miss him.”

  “I can’t see anything,” another shouted back.

  Yelling was good. So long as they were yelling at one another and clomping around on the wooden boards, they wouldn’t hear anything below, and I’d know where they were. I waited until they were nearly on top of me, then took a breath and dove straight down. I figured depth was good. No light could penetrate more than a few feet into that murky water. I forced myself to hover below without moving. Light would catch movement. I waited until my lungs felt as if they would burst, then drifted slowly back up. When my face broke the surface, I fought to keep myself from taking a huge gulp of air, for fear they would hear. Keeping my teeth from chattering was almost as hard. I was freezing. I sensed a flash of light behind me, and turned to see they had passed over me and were now farther out on the dock. I didn’t want to risk having them walk over me again, so I gulped air, dove down, and pushed off, to head for the next dock over.

  It was getting harder to see, because I was getting beyond the throw of the floodlights. There was less chance of them spotting me out there, but there was also more chance of me finding the hull of a boat with my head. I lost all sense of direction. I didn’t know which way was up or down, let alone where the next dock was. The only thing I could do was surface. I stopped swimming, and let the air in my lungs float me to the surface. When my head broke out of the water, I found myself between the hulls of two big sailboats, a few yards short of the dock.

  “There he is!” came a shout.

  The voice seemed far away. I wasn’t sure if I should dive under the dock and swim for it, or climb out of the water and fight for it. I figured that if they had spread out over all the docks, odds were good that I’d only have to deal with one or two cops. My chattering teeth told me to go for the fight. At least that would keep me warm.

  Before I officially made the choice, I heard the unmistakable sounds of a fight. It wasn’t me they saw. It was Alder. I pushed off of one boat and swam out into the open to see that Alder was onshore about fifty yards from me. He wasn’t alone. The police were closing on him. I could see that cops were spread out all over the docks to search for us, which meant only a few were left onshore, which meant they didn’t stand a chance against Alder. It would take more than two policemen to take him down, unless they started shooting, which I didn’t think would happen.

  Alder made short work of both the cops who got to him. They had no idea what they were up against, but found out fast. The fight was short and violent. Within seconds both cops were on the ground, either unconscious or wishing they were. Alder didn’t wait for the others. He disappeared into the shadows. I would have shouted “Yeah!” in victory, if I hadn’t been still floating in the middle of the marina. I had to find my own way out of there.

  I dove underwater and kicked the rest of the way toward the dock. I surfaced below its planks and waited. It didn’t sound as if any cops were overhead, so I cautiously swam beneath the dock, toward shore. I heard the sounds of far-off yelling. Orders were being thrown out. The police were getting desperate. I was sure that some had taken off after Alder, which meant there were fewer looking for me. My hopes rose. I had a chance.

  After a few minutes of winding my way beneath the wooden floats, my feet touched bottom. I was almost onshore. It was time to come out of the safety of the shadows. I dove down, pushed off the bottom, and surfaced to find that I was faced with a rock wall. The dock I was under was built parallel to a sheer wall that rose up out of the water and ran along the shore for about thirty yards on either side of me. I knew where I was. It was a retaining wall, on top of which was built the dockmaster’s hut. The tide was low, so the dock level was several feet below the top. If I wanted to get out this way, I had to climb up the slick wall of rocks. It was a stroke of luck, and a total pain. Climbing those wet, barnacle-covered rocks wasn’t easy. Still, it shielded me
from shore and hunting eyes. It was all I could do to keep from slipping off and falling back into the water. I wouldn’t have gotten hurt, but the splash would have given me away for sure.

  The climb was torture. Between the slick seaweed that clung to the rocks and the slime from the salty water, it was like climbing up a vertical Slip ’N Slide. A couple of times I slipped back down into the water and held my breath, waiting to hear if anybody noticed the splash. It was totally frustrating. The cold made it even worse. I was having trouble convincing my hands to grip. I actually started to think that maybe turning myself into the Stony Brook police wouldn’t be such a bad idea. They were the good guys, right? Maybe I could somehow convince them of what Naymeer was up to. The idea of us stopping him on our own seemed impossible. Maybe I could appeal to the police. Maybe I could tell them everything. As I stood in that freezing water, feeling very alone, the idea of looking for help started to appeal to me.

  I tried one last time to make the climb and struggled to the top. It wasn’t graceful, but I had made it. When I finally gripped the top and peered over, I saw something that knocked any thoughts of turning to the police out of my head.

  The cop named Hirsch stood maybe thirty yards from me, under a streetlight in the parking lot of the marina. This was the guy who had been searching for me on Second Earth since the day I had disappeared. He was the local police chief. He was one of the good guys. Yet he stood next to a long, black limousine, talking to somebody who sat in the back. Police didn’t drive limousines. Attached to the hood of the car, above each headlight, was a small red flag with the star symbol. I didn’t want my paranoia to spin too far out of control, but if whoever was in that limousine was part of Naymeer’s cult, why was Hirsch talking to them? Could it mean that Hirsch was part of it? Worse, could the entire police force be part of it? I wanted to scream. It was looking like even the good guys weren’t the good guys anymore.