A harsh whistle pierced the jungle. Everyone looked up in surprise. Suddenly two more boys blasted into the clearing from the jungle. One was blowing the whistle. They were out of breath and sweating. They looked scared.
“They’re coming,” one gasped.
“Here?” Siry shot back.
“No,” the other boy said. “Rayne. They’re moving toward the village. We saw them in the jungle. It’s hard to tell how many. More than ever.”
The others grumbled nervously. Siry stared into space, calculating. The blond thief ran up to him.
“What do we do?” he asked.
Siry looked around, making quick eye contact with each and every kid. They all looked squarely back at him. I’d seen that look before. Whatever he was going to ask them to do, they were ready.
Siry shot me a look and said, “You think we’re criminals, and maybe we are. But it doesn’t mean we’re wrong.”
He grabbed the blond kid by the shirt and commanded, “Let’s go.”
An excited buzz went through the crowd. That’s what they wanted to hear. The blond kid smiled and ran across the clearing with two others. They went right to the wooden chests, threw them open, and pulled out armloads of the same short, wooden weapons I’d seen on the hips of the security force. I heard a steady buzzing sound and looked up to see several kids sliding down zip lines from the higher platforms. They hit the ground running and joined the others. Their excitement was growing. They were getting ready for a fight.
The blond kid and the others returned to the group and handed out weapons.
Siry stood over me. “I want you to see this.” He reached behind the chair and untied me. “That is, if you can handle it.”
“Depends on what I’m supposed to do,” I said, rubbing my wrists.
“Follow and watch. I want you to see what the Jakills are about.”
“I’m there,” I said, trying to sound stronger than I felt.
Truth be told, I was feeling better. The excitement of the group was getting to me. My heart started racing. So long as I only had to watch, I’d be okay. More than that and I’d probably crash.
The others began disappearing into the jungle. “What happens now?” I asked Siry.
He grabbed a wooden baton from the blond guy and shoved it in his belt. “We hunt.” “For what?”
“Flighters” was Siry’s response as he took off to join his friends.
Before I knew it, I was alone in the bizarre campsite. I was about to become involved in something that sounded dangerous. I wondered if the tribunal would consider this the kind of trouble I wasn’t supposed to get into. Before I had a chance to talk myself out of it I ran into the jungle after Siry and the Jakills, ready for… I didn’t know what.
(CONTINUED)
IBARA
I followed the Jakills through the dense jungle, running to keep up. It wasn’t easy. They knew every root and rock. I had to stay focused and drive myself forward without driving my head into the ground. They ran like jungle cats, leaping over fallen trees and ducking under branches without breaking stride. I ran more like a confused turtle, getting slashed by branches and trying not to break my neck. Making it worse, I had to keep looking up to see where they were going. It took all of two minutes before I totally lost them. I was alone in the jungle. Lost. I looked around, ready to run, but to where? I was tired and frantic and felt a little more than helpless.
I gulped air, turned, and came face-to-face with the blond thief. I jumped in surprise. Where had he come from?
“This way,” he commanded, and took off again.
I didn’t hesitate and ran after him. Soon we were climbing up a vine-tangled rocky ridge. I kept scraping my arms on the sharp walls and getting my ankles caught by vines that seemed to be reaching out to grab me. The blond guy didn’t have trouble at all. If anything, he kept slowing down to let me catch up.
Finally we broke out of the jungle cover, onto a rocky ledge on the side of the mountain. Several of the Jakills were already there, including Siry. They were all looking intently below. Nobody acknowledged my arrival.
It was an incredible view. The village was spread out beneath us. Beyond that was the vast green bay and then the ocean. It made me feel as if we were on an island. I sat down to catch my breath and watch Siry. He crouched low, scanning the village like a cat searching for prey. His eyes were narrow and focused. Nobody spoke until…
“There,” he said, pointing.
We looked to see movement in the jungle far below. There seemed to be a group of people making their way through the dense brush toward the edge of the village. We were too high up and the jungle was too thick to see what they looked like, but by the movement of trees and the brief flashes of bodies I could tell they were spread out and moving cautiously.
“There’s more than just them,” one of the guys warned who had first run into the clearing to sound the alarm. “Lots more.”
“What are they doing?” Twig whispered.
While everyone kept their eyes on the movement below, Siry looked elsewhere. Up until then, Siry’s attitude was one of defiance and anger. At that moment I saw he had more going on than that. He was focused. His mind was working. There was definitely more to Siry than I first had thought.
“Look,” Twig exclaimed. “Smoke. They’re going to burn something.”
I saw a thin wisp of black smoke rise above the trees where the group of Flighters were moving. Who were those guys? I figured I’d find out soon enough.
“Let’s go,” the little guy with the ratty eyes exclaimed. He made a move to climb down, but Siry quickly put an arm out to stop him.
“No.” Siry ordered with authority.
“Why not?” the ratty guy whined. “We can stop them.”
“Wait,” Siry insisted.
A few moments later I saw smoke rising up near the edge of the village. Twig was right. The Flighters had set fire to something.
“They’re torching huts!” Twig exclaimed.
Siry didn’t react. He kept his eyes on the jungle below. Focused. Scanning. “An alarm will sound,” he said as if thinking out loud. “The security force will come running.”
Sure enough, a loud horn began to wail. The sharp, droning sound grew loud enough so that every person in the village could hear it.
Siry nodded knowingly. “The entire force will rush to put out the fire and meet the enemy like the heroes they think they are. Idiots.”
The ratty guy laughed and said, “Yeah! Idiots!” He quickly frowned and asked, “Why are they idiots?”
Siry kept his eyes on the village. I kept my eyes on Siry. He pointed down to the other side of the village from where the fire was being set.
“The fire is a decoy,” he announced. “There are the others.”
We all looked to see more movement in the jungle below. A group of Flighters, or whatever they were, was moving in the opposite direction from the fire.
The blond guy declared, “They’re headed for the mountain. The tribunal. If the entire security force is on the other side of the village-“
“The tribunal isn’t protected,” Siry said. He stood up and looked at the others. “That’s where we need to be,” he said, and scrambled down the side of the mountain.
The Jakills were right after him. I was right after them. None of this made sense.
I thought the Jakills were a bunch of outlaws. There was no question that the tribunal thought Siry was a criminal. They had just sentenced him to a year of hard labor! Yet he was willing to take on invaders to protect the very people he called “evil.” There was nothing about Ibara that made sense. All I could do was keep up and hope to find some answers.
I also had to hope I wouldn’t trip and crash while running down the rocky, vine-covered slope. The Jakills had grown up in this jungle. They knew it and moved through the uneven terrain as easily as if they were running across artificial turf. They were nearly silent, too. The only sound I heard was my own clumsy crashing and
bashing along. Nobody slowed down to help me this time. They had to get down the slope and head off the Flighters before they reached the mountain cave. I’m guessing the ledge we were on was about a half mile up the side of that mountain. When we started after them, the Flighters were only a few hundred yards from the mouth of the cave leading to where the tribunal met. If there was any hope of catching them, we’d have to be fast, and hope the Flighters were slow.
The ground leveled out. I hadn’t fallen, yet. The Jakills had gotten pretty far ahead of me, but the jungle was thinning, so I could see them. Or most of them. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, so I ran straight ahead. I would have kept going if I hadn’t been suddenly grabbed by some strong hands and pulled down into the shadows of a leafy bush.
It was the blond guy, again. He looked at me and gave me a silent “shhhh” sign. It’s not easy to catch your breath silently, but I tried. Glancing around I saw the Jakills stretched out around me, all looking ahead. All hiding. All alert.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and nearly jumped out of my skin. Spinning, I saw that Siry had slid in next to me. Man, he was quiet.
“They’re just ahead of us,” he whispered. “Who are they?” I whispered back. “Stay here and watch,” he ordered. “What are you going to do?”
Siry gave me a cocky smile and said, “My father thought we were a bunch of misfit kids. Maybe he was right. But never, ever cross us.”
“Siry, what are you going to do?” I asked again.
He motioned for the others. The entire line of Jakills, I’m guessing there were around fifteen, crept slowly forward, crouched low, moving silently. I stayed behind them. I was only there as an observer. The line moved forward, creeping through the brush. Nobody said a word. I had the feeling they had done this kind of thing before. We’d been moving for about a minute when I saw something ahead of us. Everyone noticed at the same time and stopped.
We had caught up with the Flighters. I saw movement ahead and to the right. They were traveling in the same direction we were, about thirty yards ahead. They had no idea we were behind them. Now that I was closer, I could make out some details of these mysterious “Flighters.” I didn’t know what I expected to see, but it definitely wasn’t this.
They were mostly men, though I think I saw a few women. They didn’t seem like trained guerrillas or anything. Just the opposite. They looked like ordinary people. The only thing that stood out about them was their clothes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they looked as if they wore clothes that came from Second Earth. There was a mix of pants and shirts and jackets of all sorts. The clothes looked old, too, like really old. I saw patches and tears and raggy pants. Some had two different kinds of shoes. I saw one guy with a sneaker on one foot and a boot on the other. Some wore hats that looked as if they’d been run through a blender. That’s how mashed up they were.
These people were dirty, too. There was a lot of shaggy hair and dark stains. Their skin seemed gray, which was strange considering they lived in a tropical paradise. They definitely didn’t come across as a dangerous band of commandos. They looked more like a bunch of raggy homeless people lost in the jungle.
Siry lifted his hand. The Jakills stopped. He made a circular motion and the entire line of Jakills moved to the left. I moved behind them. It looked like Siry wanted them to circle around in front of the Flighters. After moving to our left for several yards, we broke into the clearing. We were back in the village of Rayne. To our right was the mountain that held the cave leading to the tribunal. Villagers were running away from the cave, headed toward the burning huts. It wasn’t full-on panic, but there were a lot of people running to see what was happening. They didn’t know they were running past a bunch of Flighters who were hidden in the jungle, quietly waiting. It finally made sense how we were able to catch up with the Flighters. They were waiting until everyone left to investigate the fire. When the area cleared, they’d make their move on the tribunal.
The Jakills were in the perfect position to cut them off.
Siry silently motioned for his band to quickly move toward the cave. They ran from hut to hut, moving against the stream of people leaving the mountain, trying to stay hidden from the Flighters. They finally grouped together behind a hut on the far side of the sandy road from the jungle. I knew that somewhere behind that thick curtain of jungle, the Flighters waited. Not far from us was the cave into the mountain, and the tribunal.
Siry motioned for everyone to wait. More people left the cave, running for the fire. The siren continued to wail. Eventually the area cleared. Everyone was gone. The cave lay open. The Jakills pulled out their short weapons. I could feel the tension. Not fear, tension. They were ready to fight.
I saw a head peer out of the dense jungle across the way. Then another, and another. The Flighters were making their move. Like ghosts appearing out of the ether, they crept from the foliage. It was a strange-looking bunch. There didn’t seem to be any leader. They randomly drifted out of the thicket and crept toward the cave. I counted ten. Ten Flighters. Fifteen Jakills. I was glad to be with the Jakills.
Siry gave me a cocky smile and said, “Watch.”
He lifted his weapon and charged for the Flighters. The rest of the Jakills were right behind him. They ran as a group, headed for the invaders. They didn’t scream or let out a war whoop. They wanted every second of surprise they could squeeze out. To be honest, they didn’t look much more organized or trained than the Flighters, but I couldn’t criticize. Their tactics had worked perfectly. They recognized that the fire was a decoy, they spotted the second group of Flighters, they tracked them silently, they outmaneuvered them, and their counterattack was a complete surprise. Everything they did was perfect. Except for one thing.
They didn’t know how to fight.
One of the gray-looking Flighters spotted the oncoming Jakills. The surprise was over. Siry screamed out a chilling war cry. “Yahhhhh!” The other Jakills followed with their own screams. If the Flighters were surprised, they didn’t show it. They didn’t panic. They didn’t show any emotion. They quickly and efficiently formed a group and prepared for the fight. They didn’t have any weapons. As it turned out, they didn’t need them.
Unlike the Jakills, the Flighters knew how to fight.
The Jakills descended on them, wildly swinging their short clubs as if trying to scare them into scattering. They didn’t scatter. The Flighters took them on. When a Jakill would swing his weapon, a Flighter would block it, or duck to make him miss, then knock the Jakill into next week. They ripped the wooden weapons from the young defenders and clubbed them mercilessly. There was no contest. I didn’t expect that. Siry and the Jakills had been so confident, I hadn’t thought the raggy band of Flighters stood a chance.
Reality was, the Jakills didn’t stand a chance.
I stood near the hut where we had been hiding to watch the carnage. Even though the Jakills were taking a beating, I hoped that their presence alone would be enough to scare off the Flighters and send them back to wherever it was they came from. It didn’t. The Flighters stayed to fight. The Jakills were getting hammered. But they didn’t give up. I’ll say that much for them. They had guts. They kept screaming and flailing, but they got spanked. Siry took the worst beating. He spun like an out-of-control top, swinging his short clubs, trying to get: a piece of a Flighter. What he got instead was a lot of air, followed by a shot in the head. At first the Flighters backed toward the jungle, but after handling the Jakills so easily, they grew bold and continued toward the mountain cave.
The Jakills’ counterattack had failed. I may not have known much about Ibara, or the politics or history of the village of Rayne, but it was pretty clear that the Flighters weren’t friends. Even the Jakills, who hated the tribunal, were willing to fight to stop them. It looked like it was only a matter of time before the Jakills were knocked senseless and the Flighters would be free to enter the cave and attack the tribunal. There was nothing to stop them. Well, almost nothing.
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br /> I’ve written many times before how amazing adrenaline is. I was exhausted. I was sick.
I was starving. I was scabby. But watching that fight made me forget about all that. It was a massacre. That tends to get your blood boiling. Mine was heating up fast. I had to make a decision. Did I get involved? I didn’t know who the Jakills were or what they stood for, but Siry was the son of a Traveler. He had the ring. If history meant anything, Siry was now the Traveler from Ibara… and I had to help him.
Like it or not, it was time to stop being an observer.
I scooped up a short weapon that had been knocked away from one of the Jakills.
I grabbed another from the hand of a Jakill who was out cold. He didn’t need it anymore.
I wasn’t experienced in handling those short weapons, but they were all I had. The clubs were small, but solid. I gripped one in each hand, took a breath, and ran forward to begin my own personal battle to save Ibara.
It didn’t take long to get involved. A Flighter took a swing at me. I dodged back, let him follow through, then clocked him on the back of the head with the butt of the club. A second Flighter launched himself at me. I ducked, took his weight on my back, and flipped him over… in time to face another Flighter who tackled me head-on. He hit me in the gut, driving me down and onto my back. I hit the ground hard, but let my momentum carry us both. I rolled with my attacker, then, using his own momentum, flipped him over my head.
I was fully into the fight. Any pain or leftover rustiness I had from the quig-bee attack was gone. It was survival time. The battle had changed and the Flighters knew it. A ringer had entered the game. They were more cautious about attacking me, which is exactly what I needed. They may have been better fighters than the Jakills, but they weren’t trained.
I was.
My hope was that the Jakills had done enough damage to soften them up a little.
Ten-on-one is not a good thing, no matter how good I thought I was. The Flighters kept coming after me, but with enough hesitation that I could exploit their weaknesses. I nailed one in the gut, spun, cracked another on the back of the legs and sent him crumbling. Another Flighter came after me from behind. I didn’t see him; I sensed him. Loor’s lessons were well learned. He took a swing. I grabbed his arm and flipped him over my shoulder.
The Pilgrims of Rayne tpa-8 Page 13