The Rivers of Zadaa tpa-6

by D. J. MacHale

  “I do not understand, Your Majesty,” I said.

  “Now that you are healthy, I trust you will keep your promise to return to your people and explain that as long as I am ruler of Xhaxhu, there will be no war.”

  Oops. I had forgotten about that.

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” I said, bowing again. “I remained here in Xhaxhu so that I may accept your generous invitation to the greatest festival I have ever seen. Tomorrow I will return to pass along your message.”

  “Wonderful,” Pelle exclaimed. “Our people need each other. I am confidant that once this horrible drought is over, and it will be, we can bring back the atmosphere of mutual respect we both deserve.”

  “You are a wise ruler,” I said. “However, there is one thing.”

  I sensed Loor glancing at me, worried that I might say something stupid. I was about to take a risk, but this was a golden opportunity to forge an alliance. I couldn’t let it pass.

  “What is that, my friend?” he asked.

  “There are those who do not wish for peace,” I said. “For them, I fear the drought is simply an excuse to spread hatred among the tribes.”

  Pelle sighed and said, “I agree. But do not fear. The rebel Ghee may wave their weapons and bellow loudly, but their numbers are small. I trust that once the drought is over, their voice will no longer be heard in the city of-“

  Pelle suddenly stopped speaking. Just like that. In mid-sentence. The expression on his face didn’t change. He simply…stopped talking. Everybody around us stood there awkwardly, not sure about what was going on.

  “Majesty?” I asked.

  A second later Pelle fell to his knees. The crowd gasped and backed off. A thin line of blood trickled from his lips. As the raucous festival continued around us, the small group of people around Pelle a Zinj stood statue still, frozen in shock. The prince fell forward, flat on his face.

  Sticking out of his back was the handle of a thick knife. My brain locked. It was almost an exact copy of what had happened to Alder, except for one thing. Pelle was dead. Nobody moved. Reality hadn’t hit. From the time Pelle stopped talking until total chaos broke out was probably only five seconds, but time slowed down for those few moments. It was an unreal sensation…that got very real, very fast.

  “Death to the Batu!” shouted a Rokador who had been standing directly behind Pelle. It was a guy I had never seen before, wearing a long, yellow tunic. Splattered across the front was a wash of blood. Pelie’s blood. This guy was the killer. He had made his way up behind the unprotected prince and stabbed him in the back. I wondered if it was Saint Dane, but realized that it couldn’t be. Saint Dane never did his own dirty work.

  “The Rokador will prevail!” the killer shouted, pointing at me. His eyes were crazed. A Ghee guard tackled the guy, the other fell to his knees to protect Pelle. He needn’t have bothered. The crown prince of Xhaxhu was dead. The people around us began to scream and scatter. But the festival was so loud, few of the thousands in this square realized what was happening. On the royal platform, the king and queen glanced over curiously, unaware that their son had just been murdered. The remaining Ghee warriors closed around them protectively forming a shield against the masses.

  Loor grabbed my arm and pulled me away. We started up the stairs, only to see a stream of Ghee warriors, in armor, flooding out of a building and pushing their way through the crowd to get to Pelle. They were armed and ready to go. Their dark black armor stood out ominously from the brightly colored tunics of the revelers.

  “Not that way,” I said.

  “Rokador!” one of the Ghee guards shouted at me. “Do not move!”

  In that one second my mind flashed forward to what was about to happen. I was a Rokador who stood only a few feet away from the beloved Batu prince when he was murdered…by another Rokador. Emotions were running high. They might throw me in prison just for being there. Or think I had something to do with it. Or worse, they might tear me apart right then and there out of anger. We had to get gone while everybody was still in shock. There was a small window; we had to take it.

  Loor always said, “Never make the first move.” I didn’t. The Ghee guard lunged at me. I was ready to defend myself, but Loor did the honors. With his attention focused on me, Loor got in both the secondandthe third shots. With a quick blur of fists, she hammered the guy and swept his legs out, sending him crashing to the stairs. She may have looked like a beautiful princess, but she was still a Ghee warrior.

  “Hurry,” she ordered, and forced her way down the stairs, through the crowd. I was right after her, but before leaving I took one last look at the murder scene. The Batu killer was ranting: “Death to Xhaxhu! Freedom for the Rokador!” He was out of control. The Ghee guard needed help to control this guy, and he got it. The other Ghees arrived from above. Three descended on the killer, burying him in a wave of black armor. The others went right to their fallen prince.

  “Pendragon!” Loor called.

  I was about to follow her when I saw something that hit me like a punch in the gut. Several Ghee warriors were lifting the body of Pelle a Zinj to get him off the steps. They were all focused on their fallen leader. All but one. This one guy looked away from Pelle, and right at me. I knew who it was. It was the same Ghee who nearly beat me to death in the warrior compound. It was Saint Dane. He gave me a small smile and a wink.

  I felt the blood drain from my head. I nearly passed out right there. I probably would have if Loor hadn’t yanked my arm and pulled me away from the scene. We fought our way through the dense crowd of joyous Batu who still didn’t know that their lousy lives were about to get a lot lousier. The parade continued, the music played, the cheering echoed off the pyramids. It wouldn’t last long. As the saying goes, this was then-last hurrah. Loor and I pushed our way through the crowd and moved back along the parade route to get to her home. It was surreal. We didn’t say a word to each other along the way. I was on autopilot. I don’t even remember much of the trip. That’s because my mind was racing ahead, wondering what would come next. As we ran, an idea began to take shape. The more I thought about it, the more I felt sure I was right. It wasn’t a happy thought.

  We finally got out of the crowd and stood together in the entryway of a pyramid trying to catch our breaths. Loor was so wired, she paced like an angry cat. I knew that when I told her what I was thinking, she’d become even angrier.

  “That was it,” I said softly.

  “That was what?” she asked, her eyes wide and wild. “The end of our chance for peace? The death of the lone voice of reason? The destruction of Xhaxhu? Tell me something I do not know, Pendragon.”

  “Saint Dane was there,” I told her.

  Loor shot me a surprised look. “Are you certain?” she asked.

  “How could I forget?” I said. “He took the form of a Ghee warrior. The one who nearly beat me to death. I don’t think I could mistake that.”

  “So he had something to do with Pelle’s death?”

  “Probably,” I said. “He might have snuck that Rokador near the palace, or given him the knife, or talked him into assassinating Pelle for all I know.”

  “Without Pelle, the chances for war just became greater.”

  “Especially because he was killed by a Rokador,” I added. “Revenge is going to get people’s blood boiling. But there’s more. I think this was it.”

  “You said that before,” Loor barked. “What do you mean?”

  My stomach turned over. I felt sick. I knew I was right, and it was killing me.

  “This was the turning point,” I said flatly. “The turning point for Zadaa.”

  Loor gave me a blank stare. Maybe her mind didn’t want to accept it. “Why do you say that?” she finally said, though much softer.

  “Because if we hadn’t been there, Pelle would still be alive,” I answered. “He was safely on that platform, protected by his guards. There was no way that assassin would have gotten to him. But he came into the crowd to see us. We change
d the equation. The turning point on Zadaa just got pushed the wrong way, and we helped push it.”

  This is where I’m ending my journal, guys. I’m going to send it to you through my ring right now. Tomorrow Loor and I leave for the underground. Our goal is to get to Kidik and learn the truth that Bokka died trying to tell us. We have no choice. Saint Dane is waiting. This would be a dangerous trip under any circumstances, but now the clock is ticking. Pelle a Zinj is dead. That’s the tragedy I referred to at the beginning of this journal. With his murder, there’s no doubt that the Batu will attack the Rokador. The only question is, when?

  Be well. Be safe. The next time I send you a journal, it will probably be from far below the surface of Zadaa.

  And so we go.

  END JOURNAL #21

  SECOND EARTH

  Courtney Chetwynde felt as if she were drowning.

  If there was one word that could be used to describe Courtney, it would be “controlled.” Courtney was always in control because she had the tools to do it. She was smart and pretty and athletic and funny, and pretty much all the things that lesser human beings could only aspire to. Courtney had the whole package. Things always went her way because she madesurethey went her way. She was a force of nature. In school, with sports, with boys, even with her parents. Courtney had it all.

  Until she lost it all.

  It wasn’t as dramatic a change as what happened to Bobby Pendragon. She wasn’t plucked out of her perfect life, flumed across time and space and given the responsibility of saving all existence. What happened to Courtney was, in some ways, worse. Bobby left his normal life behind. Courtney stayed home and had her normal life turned inside out. And it had nothing to do with her relationship with Bobby, and becoming an acolyte with Mark Dimond. At least not at first.

  Courtney defined herself as an athlete, but for some unexplainable reason, she was no longer competitive. It wasn’t for lack of trying, either. One day she woke up to find she wasn’t as good as she had been her whole life. Or looking at it another way, everybody suddenly had gotten a lot better than she was. Failing at sports was like the first piece of yarn that works loose in a sweater. Once you start pulling on it, the whole sweater unravels.

  Courtney’s life unraveled.

  She became so obsessed with her failures on the field, she let it affect school. Her grades took a serious nosedive. That made her parents unhappy and caused all sorts of tension at home. All this turmoil and failure made the once happy and friendly Courtney not so much fun to be around. Her friends stopped calling. But that was okay with her. She wasn’t calling them, either. Courtney went from outgoing, to withdrawn. From friendly, to bitter. From being Courtney, to being a hazy shadow of Courtney.

  Her only release was her relationship with Mark, and their responsibility of being the acolytes for Bobby Pendragon. In comparison to the troubles facing Bobby and Halla, her own problems seemed petty. Perspective was good. Bobby’s journals gave her that perspective. But as time went on, reading about Bobby’s adventures made her feel almost too small. Insignificant, even. She and Bobby had always been friendly rivals. More times than not, she would get the better of him. But now, Bobby was battling to save humanity, while Courtney was left to battle her own inner demons. And she was losing. Every time she turned around, her ego took another beating.

  That’s why, when the opportunity presented itself to help Bobby, she jumped at it. Courtney would never admit it, but when she and Mark entered the flume to help save Eelong, she was also trying to save herself. She saw this as a chance to get back her self-confidence and prove to everyone that she hadn’t changed. Most of all she needed to prove it to herself.

  When Courtney and Mark left Second Earth, they definitely rose to the occasion. If they hadn’t stepped in, Eelong would have been doomed. Worse, Bobby might have died. Their adventure on Eelong was everything Courtney hoped it would be. They were heroes. Her self-doubt disappeared. She had proven to herself that she was every bit the force of nature she had always been. Balance had been restored.

  And then it all came crumbling down. Literally. Acolytes were not supposed to use the flumes. She knew that. Bobby knew that. Everybody knew that. But they used them anyway. The result? The flume on Eelong collapsed, killing a Traveler and stranding Gunny and Spader. The horrifying truth was that Saint Dane’s plan all along had been to get them to use the flumes. He didn’t care about Eelong. He cared about tearing the Travelers apart, and Courtney was quick to oblige. For a brief, glorious month, when she and Mark were on Eelong, Courtney felt as if she were back in control. She was wrong. Saint Dane was pulling her strings all along. Courtney went from feeling as if she were invincible, to being crushed by the guilt of her part in bringing about the death of a Traveler and hurting Bobby’s chances of defeating Saint Dane.

  That’s why she felt as if she were drowning.

  She went into a depression. She could barely get out of bed. Sleep was good. At least while asleep there was a chance of having a happy dream. Being awake felt more like a nightmare. Her parents took her to a therapist, but it didn’t do much good. She tried to explain to the doctor how she had such high expectations of herself, and it killed her to fall short. But saying it like that made it all seem so trivial. The problem was, Courtney couldn’t be fully honest with him. She couldn’t tell him about Bobby, and the flumes and Saint Dane and how her arrogance may have doomed all of humanity. But she wanted to, and then scream at the doctor: “Don’t you think you’d be a little depressed if you had to deal with that?” She didn’t, because she knew where that would lead. The therapist wouldn’t consider her depressed anymore. He’d move her into the “crazy” category. That’s why she mostly kept quiet during therapy. It was frustrating for both of them.

  This went on for months. Tension at home was unbearable. Her parents tried to help, but they didn’t understand. Their efforts usually led to more arguments. Then they’d argue about having so many arguments. Like with the therapist, Courtney wasn’t able to fully explain what was going on to them. The sweater of Courtney’s life was almost completely unraveled.

  It was during a particularly gruesome argument when, out of total frustration, her mother threw up her hands and said, “I can’t help you. I wish I knew somebody who could!” Her mother stormed out of Courtney’s bedroom, not realizing that those words had struck a chord. It was a small realization, but an important one. Courtney quickly flipped through her memory, wondering if there actually was somebody out there she felt could help. She came up with someone. The more she thought about it, the more she felt sure this was the only person who could help her get her life back together.

  Courtneyneeded to help herself.

  It was one of the greatest challenges she couldimagine. Itwasn’t about games or grades or even about saving Halla. It was about saving Courtney. Thinking this way actuallymade her smile. There was a rumbling. It was faint, but it was there. It was a far-off whisper that told her after all she had been through, after having her spirit crushed, after losing her entire sense of worth, there was a slight glimmer of hope. This rumbling made her realize that somewhere down deep, she wanted the challenge. She needed the challenge. Even in failure, she had never backed down from any test. Any hurdle. Any opponent. She was actually getting excited, and it felt good. It made her realize that the drive was still there. It was buried pretty deep, but it was there. It made her feel as If maybe there was a little bit of Courtney left, and she wanted to bring her back.

  It was that realization that led her to be riding in the backseat of her parents’ car, driving along a winding country road through the Berkshire Mountains of Massachusetts. She was going to summer school. Sleepaway school. Courtney felt that if she were going to reclaim her own spirit, she was going to have to do it away from all things that were familiar. It meant getting away from home, her parents, Stony Brook and her friends, and most painfully, Mark Dimond. She no longer felt worthy of being an acolyte. Walking away from that was the toughest dec
ision she had to make. She was worried to death about what was happening with Bobby and the Travelers. But she felt certain that if she wanted to get her head back on straight, she had to start from scratch to find out who she was. Six weeks of summer school where nobody knew her seemed like a pretty good way to start.

  “Look out!” Mr. Chetwynde screamed. He turned the wheel hard, careening off the road to avoid a near collision with an oncoming car that had drifted into their lane.

  Mrs. Chetwynde screamed. Courtney whipped around to get a look at the car. It was an old-fashioned, jet-black sedan with shiny chrome bumpers that probably rolled out of the showroom in 1950. Mr. Chetwynde kept control of the car and got them back on the road. The only damage was to their nerves.

  “What is wrong with that guy?” Mrs. Chetwynde said, her eyes wide. “He’s a menace!”

  “Must be an old geezer,” Courtney said. “That car is ancient. It doesn’t even have plates.”

  “Somebody should yank his license!” Mr. Chetwynde said, his heart racing.

  “Yeah, Dad,” Courtney said. “Let’s go get him. Citizen’s arrest.”

  Mr. Chetwynde turned around to give Courtney a look…and laughed. Courtney laughed too. So did Mrs. Chetwynde. It felt good. There hadn’t been a whole lot of laughing with the Chetwyndes lately.

  A few minutes later they arrived at the Stansfield Academy. Courtney’s home for the next six weeks. It was a private school, K-12, that had been around since the dark ages. It looked it too. The buildings were brick and covered with leafy vines. There was a grassy campus with huge shade trees that Courtney could envision herself lying under to read and do homework. Kids were everywhere. Some were arriving with suitcases. Others were playing catch with various footballs, baseballs, and Frisbees. Courtney thought it was a pretty place, in a boring New England kind of way. That was okay. She wasn’t there for excitement.

  The Chetwyndes’ picked the place out of a catalog. During the school year it was the last kind of place Courtney would be caught dead in. It was an elite private school where the boys wore boring blue blazers and the girls wore… boring blue blazers. But things were much more relaxed during summer session. There were kids from all walks of life, not just the snooty types. After walking across the campus, Courtney’s first impression was that they had picked the right place.