Raven Rise tpa-9

by D. J. MacHale

  Patrick was doing his best to control his voice and his emotions. “Richard, what exactly was the Bronx Massacre?”

  Patrick heard a pop. It sounded like a firecracker. The sound reverberated off the stone walls of the flume.

  “What was that?” Patrick asked.

  He looked to Richard. The old man gazed back with glassy eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead collapsed. Patrick caught him. l

  “Richard!” he called out.

  Patrick pulled his hand away, to find it covered with blood. Richard’s blood. He’d been shot. Patrick looked up quickly. The only place the shots could have come from was deep within the flume. Patrick was in the dead center of its mouth.

  “I’m sorry, Richard,” he whispered, and rested the old man down on the rock floor…and ran. He dodged to his right as two more pops were heard. They missed him, slamming into the stairs. Patrick pumped his knees, taking three steps at a time. It wasn’t just about survival. Patrick knew he had to get this information back to Pendragon. He had to let Pendragon know that Naymeer and the Ravinians were using the flume to exile their enemies to other parts of Halla. The flume was being used as the ultimate weapon in Saint Dane’s quest to control Halla. He no longer had to destroy those who didn’t fit in with his plans-all he needed to do was send them elsewhere. But where? There was no way to know.

  Then there was the Bronx Massacre. What was it?

  Patrick reached the top of the stairs, squeezed through the opening in the steel doors, and sprinted for the car. He stayed low, hoping to make a smaller target. He got to the car without having another shot fired at him, and dove inside. Patrick had never driven an old car. He was used to the quiet, electric vehicles of his Third Earth. He had watched Richard. He twisted the ignition key. The engine turned over.

  “Yes!”

  He hit the gas and spun the wheel. The car skid across the asphalt, kicking up dirt and gravel. Patrick aimed for the front gates and jammed his foot to the floor. The old vehicle squeaked and complained, but it moved. Fast. With each second he felt more comfortable behind the wheel. He felt sure he was going to make it. All he would have to do was figure out how to drive the car back to the Bronx and the other flume. He didn’t want to leave Richard, but there was no choice. He had to get to the other flume. He had to get to Bobby.

  He was ten yards from the front gate when a large truck shot in front of the opening, directly in front of the speeding car. The truck skidded to a stop, blocking the way. Patrick wasn’t an experienced driver. Even if he had reacted quickly, he was still driving too fast. He slammed on the brakes. It was too late. He hit the side of the truck at full speed. The crash was violent. Patrick flew into the windshield, vaguely aware of glass shattering. He bounced back into the front seat, stunned. The world swam around him. He was hurt. Badly. He knew it. He knew he’d never make it to the flume. He forced himself to focus. He had to warn Pendragon.

  Gasping for breath, he found the pad of paper Richard had given him. He couldn’t move his right arm. It was broken. The pain told him so. He used his left. Patrick fumbled for the paper and wrote. He coughed, sending a spray of blood splattering across the page. Patrick knew he didn’t have much time left. The pooling blood on the floor was proof of that. He would have to convey all that he knew in a few words. As he wrote, more of his blood dripped onto the page. He fought the dizziness that was quickly overtaking him. He forced himself to think. What words to use? What words?

  He finished writing and took off his Traveler ring.

  “Second Earth,” he croaked weakly.

  The ring came to life. Relief. He fought to stay alert for a few seconds more. The world swirled. He wished the ring would work faster. Light blasted from the circle. The portal was open. Patrick’s last act was to clutch the bloody piece of paper and drop it inside.

  He had done it. His mission was complete. The ring returned to normal.

  Patrick was alone. There were no Travelers there to help him. No one to heal him. No one to save his life. He had dodged death once. This time he wouldn’t be so lucky.

  “Good luck, Pendragon” were the last words spoken by Patrick Mac, the Traveler from Third Earth.

  (CONTINUED)

  SECOND EARTH

  “Whatdoesitsay?” Alder asked, groggy, as he rolled over in his bunk.

  I clutched the bloody note. The message was cryptic and hurried. It was barely legible. I hoped it was because Patrick only used computers and had lousy penmanship. I was kidding myself. Patrick was in trouble. Or worse. Blood is never an indication of something good.

  “It’s from Patrick,” I answered.

  Alder sat up, suddenly wide awake. “Did he learn something of Naymeer?”

  I nodded and handed him the note. He looked at it carefully, feeling the moisture. He gave meaconcerned look and read Patrick’s words: “N. exiles enemies through flume. Begins w/Bronx Massacre. Patrick.”

  Alder read the words aloud once, then twice. “‘N.’ is Naymeer?” he asked.

  “That’s my guess,” I replied.

  “What isaBronx?”

  “It’s where the other flume is.”

  “How can Naymeer send people into exile? The flume can only be used with a Traveler.”

  “Unless the Convergence has changed things,” I said soberly.

  Alder added, “Then where would Naymeer send them?”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I was tired and wired at the same time. “I don’t know. What if he doesn’t send them anywhere? Massacre and exile aren’t the same things.”

  “The flume is not an execution device, Pendragon,” Alder corrected.

  Reading Patrick’s note may have raised more questions than it answered, but it cemented something in my head.

  “Patrick wrote this Bronx Massacre is where it begins,” I said thoughtfully. “Sounds like a turning point to me.”

  Alder nodded. “Perhaps it is the first time that Naymeer will use the flume to exile his enemies.”

  “Or murder them,” I cautioned.

  “Whatever it is, we must stop it,” Alder declared.

  I looked down. I didn’t like where my head was going. The last-ditch plan I’d thought of earlier suddenly felt a lot more like a possibility. Unfortunately.

  “Tell me your thoughts, Pendragon,” Alder said softly.

  “This is too big for us,” I answered. “You said it yourself. This is a busy territory. You have no idea how right you are. We’re not talking about primitive tribes or local conflicts here. The problem is global. I’m telling you, altering world events isn’t a simple thing. Naymeer has a huge following. His cult is about to get recognized by the United Nations. That’s a worldwide organization! It’ll be impossible for us to convince enough people that he’s leading them down a dangerous path. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “But we must try,” Alder muttered.

  “Trust me, we can’t handle something that big. Our only hope is to think small.”

  Alder nodded thoughtfully. “Have you an idea?”

  I took a deep, uneasy breath and continued, “This is all about Naymeer. He’s the center of it all. Saint Dane may be pulling his strings, but Naymeer is the voice of Ravinia.”

  Alder gave me a sober look. I think he knew where I was headed. I didn’t like it any more than he did.

  I continued, “If we take Naymeer out of the picture, Ravinia might crumble.”

  “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

  I nodded. “We should try and get him off Second Earth. If we remove the head, the body might die.”

  “We would have to get him to a flume,” Alder said thoughtfully. “That will be difficult. He is protected.”

  “It’ll be next to impossible,” I shot back. “Short of that, there’s only one other thing we can do.”

  Alder said it first. “Are you suggesting we kill him? Kill a Traveler?”

  Hearing the words made it sound even worse, but it was exactly what I was thin
king. I nodded. I couldn’t believe it. I was actually thinking that we would have to kill Naymeer. “Unless you have a better idea,” I added hopefully.

  Alder leaned back against the hull. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look so centered. So serious. I waited for him to respond, but he stayed silent, lost in his thoughts.

  “Talk to me, Alder!” I finally shouted. “Am I crazy?”

  Alder was calm. He spoke softly, but with authority. “We have done many things that go against our mandate as Travelers. Killing would certainly be one of them.”

  “We made the choices we had to make,” I said defensively. “If we hadn’t broken a few rules, the turning points of many territories would have gone the wrong way.”

  “Would that have been so bad?” Alder asked quickly.

  Icouldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Well, yeah!” I argued. “We stopped Saint Dane most every time.”

  “To what end?” Alder asked. “He is on the verge of controlling Halla in spite of our efforts. I cannot help but wonder what would have happened if we had not broken the rules. Would we be in any worse of a situation than we are right now?”

  Iwas getting angry. Alder was questioning everything we had done as Travelers.

  “I don’t buy that,” I shot back. “Anything we can do to stop Saint Dane is justified.”

  “Iwould agree,” Alder stated calmly, “if we had stopped him. We have not.”

  Iwanted to argue, but he was right. All the battles up to that point didn’t matter. Everything was happening as Saint Dane predicted. In spite of all we had done, all our victories, he was on the verge of controlling Halla.

  “So what do we do? Give up?” I shouted in frustration.

  “No,” Alder answered quickly. “I am saying we should use every possible method at our disposal, before once again doing something we know is wrong.”

  “Of course we will!” I shouted. “You think I want to kill somebody?”

  We sat silently for a few moments. I had to cool down. Alder was on my side. Arguing wouldn’t help things.

  “Taking a life is a frightening step,” Alder continued. “Maybe a step too far. If we murdered someone in cold blood, would we be taking the final step down to Saint Dane’s level?”

  “Yes” was my honest answer.

  Alder thought for a few more seconds, then said, “You have never taken a life, have you, Pendragon?”

  I shook my head. I had been surrounded by death and destruction from the moment I became a Traveler, but never at my own hands. Even with the Hindenburg, it was Gunny who allowed the rocket to be fired. Not me.

  I swallowed hard and admitted, “I’m not even sure I could.”

  “You must not find out now,” Alder concluded.

  “What other choice do we have?”

  “Only one. If it comes to it, I will kill Naymeer.”

  I hadn’t expected that. “What? Why?”

  “It is wrong to take another life,” Alder explained. “However, if it would mean stopping the Ravinians and righting Second Earth, I believe it would be justified. If it would prevent a massacre, it would be justified. If it would end the Convergence and protect Halla, it would be justified. I believe that. But I also believe it would be disastrous for you to do it.”

  “Why? What difference does it make?”

  “You are the lead Traveler, Pendragon. You are the way. You have always been the way. You must rise above. If Halla is to be put right, many will look to you for guidance. I believe that is the way it was meant to be. If we are to believe that our way is the right way, you cannot become a killer. If it came to that, I believe Halla would truly be lost, and Saint Dane would have his ultimate victory.”

  Alder’s words rang true. We were the good guys. Or so I always thought. Yes, we made mistakes and didn’t always play by the rules, but I always believed our intentions were right and our actions justified. This was different.

  Deliberately taking a life, in cold blood, felt like it crossed the line. Even more so than mixing territories. I wasn’t sure it would be okay for Alder to do it and not me, but I was willing to accept the possibility. Saint Dane told me so many times that this was a battle not only for Halla, but between the two of us. He wanted to prove himself superior to me. I still didn’t know who he wanted to prove it to, but some higher power had to be involved. Maybe I was kidding myself by thinking that condoning a murder, without actually doing it, got me off the hook. That felt like a technicality. But if this were truly a battle between Saint Dane and me, I had to think that taking the high road and not actually having blood on my hands was the right way to go.

  “All right,” I finally said. “We’ll try to get Naymeer off the territory. If we fail and have to do something more drastic, I’ll step aside for you, Alder. But not if it means losing him.”

  “Very well. Please remember, though, that there may be a lot more to lose if you do not step aside,” Alder said.

  With those ominous words in my head, I lay back down on the bunk and closed my eyes.

  “I gotta sleep,” I said. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day. Wake me up in two hours. We have work to do.”

  SECOND EARTH

  Courtney and Mark sat behind the samelong table in the Stony Brook police station where they had been interrogated years before by Captain Hirsch. It was Chief Hirsch now. Both Mark and Courtney remembered him as being a good guy. A friend. He was genuinely concerned back then about what had happened to Bobby and his family. They trusted him. Not anymore.

  Hirsch wasn’t an enemy, but he and the Stony Brook police were standing in the way of their mission to derail Naymeer and the Ravinians. Mark and Courtney knew that whatever happened, they had to keep the police away from Bobby and Alder.

  Hirsch had left them alone in the simple, bland room for over an hour before rejoining them. The whole time, Mark and Courtney didn’t say a word to each other. They knew they were being watched from behind the two-way mirror that took up most of one wall. When Hirsch finally entered, he came in with a uniformed officer who went immediately to the back of the room and stood with his arms folded. Hirsch brought Mark and

  Courtney sodas and chips. Neither cared. Neither ate. Hirsch took off his gray suit jacket and sat down in the chair across from the two friends.

  “So?” he said casually. “Where have you guys been?”

  It was such a simple question that had an impossibly complicated answer.

  Courtney jumped in first. “I just took off,” she said bluntly. “I was going through a lot at home, you know, with getting injured and all. When Mark’s parents died, it was just too much to handle. So I left. It was wrong, I know. What can I say?”

  “Where did you go?” Hirsch asked, sipping on a Coke.

  “New York,” Courtney answered. She wanted to keep as many elements of the truth as possible in her story, in case she slipped up. “I stayed in different places. Worked some odd jobs. You know, just to get by.”

  “We can check on that, you know,” Hirsch said bluntly.

  “Do you really care that much?” Courtney asked.

  Mark winced. He was afraid Courtney would get combative and say something foolish. Hirsch didn’t answer her. Instead he turned to Mark. “How about you, Mark?” Hirsch asked. “I’m very sorry about your parents by the way.”

  “Thanks,” Mark said softly. He had to play the role of a grieving son who had lost his parents in an air disaster. “We were together. Courtney and I. We were just hanging out, you know?”

  “Okay, why?”

  “I don’t know,” Mark said evasively. “It’s tough losing your parents and finding out you’re alone in the world. I didn’t want to live with my aunt in Maryland.”

  “He’s my friend,” Courtney added. “I was helping him get his head back on straight.”

  “Without telling your parents?”

  “If you were my father, would you have let me go?”

  Hirsch nodded thoughtfully. “Why did you break into
Alexander Naymeer’s house?”

  Mark was about to answer, but Courtney sat forward, cutting him off. “We didn’t. Why would he say that? We were hanging around outside, but we didn’t break in. Does he have proof? Were things stolen?”

  “Uh, yes, a car.”

  That made Courtney hesitate. Her plan was to deny everything. She didn’t think Naymeer wanted any of this to get out either.

  “You think we stole it?” Courtney asked. “Prove it!”

  “We found the car submerged at the bottom of the boat ramp at the Signet Marina,” Hirsch answered with no emotion.

  “That doesn’t mean we took it,” Courtney shot back. “We ran away. So what? We didn’t do anything wrong. We don’t owe anybody any explanations.”

  Mark put his hand on Courtney’s arm to calm her down.

  Hirsch didn’t react. He simply looked back and forth between the two.

  “You’re both seventeen,” he finally said. “You’re minors. You go missing for four months, then suddenly show up out of nowhere, along with a guy who dropped off the face of the earth almost four years ago. A guy whose entire family disappeared almost four years ago. I’d say you owe people a lot of explanations.”

  Courtney pulled away from Mark and stood up. “This isn’t about us,” she barked. “It’s about Bobby. That’s who you really want to know about, isn’t it?”

  Mark gave Courtney a wide-eyed look that screamed, “Shut up!”

  “I’m not your enemy, Courtney,” Hirsch said calmly. “Then stop treating us like you are!”

  Hirsch sized the two of them up. It seemed to Mark that he was debating about how to proceed.

  “I don’t know what happened at the Naymeer compound,” Hirsch said. “They aren’t filing charges, so it’s not a criminal matter.”

  “Good!” Courtney declared. “Then we can go.” She went for the door. It was locked. She rattled the handle and turned back to Hirsch petulantly.

  “Don’t we get lawyers or something?”