Courtney’s mind raced. What should she do? She definitely needed an ally, but was he telling the truth? She trusted a stranger once before and it nearly killed her. Was Dodger exactly what he said he was? An innocent friend that Gunny chose to be his acolyte? Or was there something sinister going on? Was this another disguise of Saint Dane’s?
“I just want to do what Gunny asked,” he said sincerely. “I want to help you.”
“Are you Saint Dane?” Courtney asked, point blank. “Not that I think you’d tell me if you were, but I figure I have to ask, just to let you know I’m thinking you might be.”
Dodger gave her a puzzled look. “Saint Dane? You mean like the dog? Or is that Saint Bernard? Or Great Dane? I’m more confused now than a second ago.”
Courtney didn’t know what to do. Confide in Dodger? Blow him off? Run away and never look back? She knew she needed to make a decision, but couldn’t.
A second later the decision was made for her.
“You’re telling me you have no idea what this is all about?” she asked.
“Not a clue,” Dodger said.
“Then here’s your first,” Courtney said, lifting up her hand. It was the hand with her ring. The stone was glowing again.
Dodger’s eyes grew wide, “What the—”
Bobby’s next journal was about to arrive.
JOURNAL #29
IBARA
I hope you’re reading this, Courtney.
And I hope you’re doing okay. I guess that’s an understatement. It killed me to leave you alone on First Earth. I wish there was another way, but I’m not smart enough to think of one. I’m glad that Dodger is still at the hotel. He comes on a little strong, but you can trust him. Gunny did. If you need anything, don’t think twice about asking him.
In spite of feeling bad about leaving you alone to find Mark, it was a good thing I came to Ibara. I still haven’t pieced together what Saint Dane is doing here, but there’s one thing I’m sure of: The turning point is close. I don’t know what it is yet, but some of the things I’ve seen make me believe that this territory is in for a big change. Maybe a scary one. As I write this journal, I’ve been here for about a week. With every new bit of information I learn, five more questions pop up. Nothing is as it seems, but I think I’ve found a way to start putting the pieces of the puzzle together. I’m about to take off on an adventure and do something I never thought possible.
I’m going to become an outlaw.
I know, not exactly good news, but I think it’s the best way to put myself square in the middle of the conflict that will lead to the turning point of Ibara. That’s why I’m writing this journal now. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance, because tomorrow it’s all going to hit the fan.
Let me get you up to speed with what’s happened since I left the Manhattan Tower Hotel. My trip to Ibara was nothing out of the ordinary.
My arrival was.
I left Gunny’s apartment before you woke up. We said our good-byes the night before, and I couldn’t go through that agony again. I traveled by cab to the Bronx subway station to find that the city transit workers had already cleared the wreck. Subway service had been returned to normal. I snuck down onto the tracks and made my way back to the gate quickly. I wasn’t worried about quigs or dados or anything else that might stop me from getting to Ibara. When Saint Dane wanted me somewhere, I got there. Without so much as stopping for a moment to think about what I might find on the new territory, I opened the wooden door, marched right into the flume and announced “Ibara!” I think I was afraid that if I hesitated, I’d change my mind. The door barely had time to close behind me before I was swept up and carried off.
My head was in a strange place…along with the rest of me. Since I was once again on my own, I had the chance to think. That’s always a dangerous thing. I’m much better reacting to situations. When my mind wanders, my thoughts invariably go to the larger questions. The questions I have no answers for. On top of that list is the fact that Saint Dane told me the Travelers were illusions. Illusions. What the heck did that mean? I sure didn’t feel like an illusion, though I’m not exactly sure how an illusion should feel. Was he using the word as a metaphor, like we weren’t who we seemed to be? Or did he mean it literally?
He said I wasn’t an advanced Traveler. Meaning I couldn’t shape-shift into other beings. People, birds, smoke. Yeesh. But Nevva Winter could. He said he taught her. Was it as simple as that? With a couple of lessons and a little homework could I learn how to become somebody else? That would be a handy little tool. But even without the ability to transform myself, there are a few realities about being a Traveler that I have no explanation for. We heal easily. Not instantly, but easily. We can influence people’s thoughts, though I have to admit, I was never very good at that. And of course the most disturbing truth of all is that Loor was killed, and through whatever force of will I possessed, I brought her back from the dead.
Knowing those few things makes me wonder if what Saint Dane said about illusions might somehow be true. I mean, I feel totally human. But humans don’t come back from the dead. Are we flesh and blood? Or something else? Trouble is, I have no idea what that something else might be. Maybe there are some people who think it would be cool to shape-shift and turn into other beings. I’m not one of them. The concept is way more interesting than the reality. I’m Bobby Pendragon. I was born on Second Earth. I have a great mother and father. I have a little sister. I’m normal. I want to stay normal. I don’t want to be an illusion.
I try not to think about it too often. One thing at a time. One challenge at a time. One crisis at a time. Thinking about it all was making me too anxious. I was tired of thinking. I wanted some action.
I heard the musical notes grow louder, signaling I was near the end of my journey. But there was another sound. One I hadn’t heard at the end of a flume ride before. It sounded like white noise that grew louder as I got closer to Ibara. I didn’t have long to wonder what it might be, because seconds after I heard it, I was underwater.
There was no warning. One second I was sailing along, the next I was wet. The force of my landing shot water up my nose, as if I had jumped off a high dive, feet first, without holding my nose. The pain wasn’t my worst problem. I couldn’t breathe, because, well, I was underwater. I was about to drown. I actually wondered if the inhabitants of Ibara were fish and changed my mind about not wanting to be able to transform into other beings. Sprouting gills and turning into a flounder would have helped just then. I didn’t know which way was up, or how deep I was. I knew if I didn’t get my wits back, I’d be done in seconds. I relaxed, and let a little precious air out of my lungs to see which way the bubbles would float. They drifted past my eyes toward a wide circle of light. That had to be the surface. I kicked for it.
I’m happy to say that I was only a few feet down. I quickly broke the surface, gasping for air. I was okay, except for the pounding headache from the nasal enema. I blew the water out of my head and took a quick look around. I was treading water in the middle of a round cauldron made from black rock in an underground cave. The big pool of water was about twenty feet across. I quickly kicked to the side and held on to the rocky edge to catch my breath. I was safe. I had made it. I was on Ibara.
The entire cavern was made out of the same black, volcanic-looking rock as the pool. The ceiling wasn’t high like the big gate on Cloral. This was a smallish cave, with a biggish vat of water taking up most of the floor. I had to conclude that this round pool of water was the flume. Yup, the flume was full of water. Was it possible that the inhabitants of Ibara were fish after all?
I hoisted myself out of the pool. The sides were about two feet high, forming a ring of craggy rocks that made the pool seem like a minivolcano. I swung one leg up and over to discover the floor outside the pool was sand. Not dirt, sand. I sat down on the soft surface and took another look around. Light seeped in through long cracks in the cavern walls that were randomly spaced all around me. Th
at meant this cave wasn’t far underground. Or underwater. My clothes from First Earth were soaked of course, but I wasn’t at all cold. If anything, I was feeling kind of hot and sticky. Glancing around I saw a small pile of colorful clothes not far from where I was sitting. There were a couple of pairs of shorts that looked like board shorts. They were longer than board shorts though. It looked like they would come down below my knees. I wondered if maybe they were actually supposed to be long pants and the people of Ibara were little. If so, I’d be a giant on Ibara. Or at least a really tall guy. That would be cool. I’ve always been kind of medium. I wouldn’t have minded being the tall guy for once. The pants were simple, with no zippers or buttons, just a drawstring. The material was light and cottonlike, with no tags inside. These simple shorts told me that on some level, the people of Ibara were civilized.
There were three pairs, each a different bright solid color: red, orange, and green. After Quillan I never wanted to wear anything red again, so I peeled off my wet First Earth clothing and put on a pair of bright green shorts. They fit perfectly, of course. I debated about wearing my boxer shorts but figured they’d be too obvious. So I went jungle.
There was also a pile of shirts. At least I thought they were shirts. They looked more like vests—no sleeves. I couldn’t tell which was the front and which was the back. I figured it didn’t matter. I picked out a green one that sort of matched the green color of the shorts and slipped it over my head. It fit loosely, which was good, because it was hot on Ibara. Tropical hot. If I learned anything from the clothing, it was that the people were pretty casual and lived in a warm tropical climate.
Oh, and they weren’t fish.
The last touch were shoes, or what looked like shoes. There were a couple pairs of sandals that looked woven out of some natural material. I picked a pair that fit perfectly. They slipped between my toes like flip-flops, but there were also little bands that fit over my heels and kept them from truly being flip-flops. They were comfortable, and more practical than flip-flops. If I had to, I could run in them. I was ready. It was time to get out of there.
I wanted to see Ibara.
Scanning the rocky walls, I saw several wide cracks that ran vertically from the sandy floor. Some looked wide enough to squeeze through. I poked my head into a few, only to find a rocky dead end. I continued to search the perimeter of the cavern, feeling sure that one of these rough openings would be the way out. As I explored, I became more aware of sounds. I heard the same white noise as I had when I was still in the flume. Whatever it was, it came from beyond the walls of this cave. There was also another sound. It was a faint, far-off hum. I could barely hear it, but it was there. Constant. Steady. Mysterious.
I had nearly made my way completely around the perimeter when I found it—the way out. It was an opening that was larger than the others, which was the first giveaway. The second was the sandy floor that stretched inside. This was definitely the route away from the flume. I left the cave and found myself in a twisting, dark tunnel. It was so narrow I had to turn sideways a few times to fit my shoulders through. Every so often the route opened into another small cave before narrowing down again. I passed a few intersections and had to guess which route to take. The winding passageways started feeling like a maze. I made one turn, walked several feet, and hit a dead end. It was a very complicated series of tunnels. That was good because it would prevent people from accidentally discovering the flume. On the other hand it made it tough to get the heck out.
As I walked along, I heard the humming grow louder. I passed through one rock opening and heard the sound more distinctly. A few times I made a turn and the sound dimmed. My curiosity about Ibara continued to grow. The twisting caverns were dark. Every so often a crack of light appeared to help me on my way, but mostly I had to walk slowly, with my hands out in front for fear of introducing nose to rock.
Finally I made a turn and sensed movement. It was fast. So fast I thought I imagined it. It was a quick streak of light that was there for an instant, then gone. I stopped and looked up, but saw nothing. A few steps later I sensed another movement of light. By the time my eyes went to it, it was over. It was like trying to see a shooting star. Unless you were staring right at it the instant it flashed by, you’d miss it.
The white noise grew louder too. It seemed like I was getting closer to the outside. I made a turn and found myself at the mouth of a cavern that was slightly smaller than the cavern with the flume. I instantly noticed the change in sound. The humming was much louder. So loud, in fact, that it drowned out the white noise. Whatever was doing all the humming, I was close to it.
This cavern wasn’t as dark as the rest of the labyrinth. It had a warm, inviting glow. The light that bled through the cracks from outside was white, like daylight. But the light that filled this cavern was golden. I figured it had to be some kind of phosphorous. I took a step through the opening and scanned the cavern, looking for the next opening to continue my journey. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the warm glow, I saw it. The vertical crack was directly opposite me on the far side of the cavern. That was the exit.
I can’t say why, but as soon as I recognized the way out, I was hit with a feeling of dread. Nothing had happened. Nothing changed. It was just an uneasy feeling. Some sixth sense told me this cavern was a bad place. I wanted to get out, fast, and started for the far side. When I got halfway across, the humming suddenly stopped. Just like that. Silence. All I heard was the white noise. What had stopped it? Better question, what the heck was making it in the first place? I felt as if my sudden movement through the cavern had made the sound end. But how? Was it something mechanical? Had I crossed a trigger that turned the machine off?
The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I wasn’t sure if I should keep moving or stand still. I decided to wait for something to happen. It wasn’t a long wait. The golden glow that painted the room began to grow brighter. The humming returned. It was low at first, but as the light grew, so did the humming. The steady drone became louder as the light grew around me. The warm light.
The yellow light.
Something flashed in front of me. A yellow streak of light that was gone as quickly as it arrived. The same kind of streak I’d sensed farther back in the tunnels. This time I saw it. Another streak streaked by. It shot in front of me, stopped, and flashed back the other way. Fast. Whatever it was, it was under control. Another shot past, close to my face. I heard a sharp buzz. It wasn’t phosphorous. It was some kind of bug, like a firefly. Another flew past, then another. The yellow light grew brighter. The humming sound grew louder. I realized it wasn’t a humming sound. It was a buzzing sound. The light grew brighter, as if a large overhead lamp were ramping up to illuminate the cavern. Slowly I looked directly overhead to see a wondrous sight.
The entire ceiling of the cavern was sparkling. It was like the rock was decked with thousands of yellow Christmas lights. It was dazzling. The ceiling was coming alive. Was this some strange, natural power source? Was it chemical? Electrical? Was it—
“Ouch!” Something stung my leg. I quickly brushed it off and saw it was one of the fireflies. The little creeps stung like bees!
“Ow!” Another one hit me on the left shoulder, and it hurt! Another buzzed by my face. Two more buzzed my head. A sick reality hit me. The light on the ceiling wasn’t chemical or electrical. It wasn’t there as a friendly, warm canopy to guide my way. No, the ceiling was covered with thousands of little banshees. They were firing up. They were buzzing louder. They gave off a yellow glow. It all added up to one, horrifying conclusion.
Quigs.
The quigs on Ibara were bees. As if on cue, the ceiling came to life. The quig-bees dove down like a swarm of angry, burning fireflies. They were headed for me! I took off running for the cleft on the far side. The swirling storm of quigs chased me like an angry, glowing cloud. There was no way I could outrun them. My only hope was to make it to the mouth of this cavern, and outside, before they caught me. I hoped daylight
would stop them. I hit the cleft, bashing my shoulder into the rock, but I didn’t stop. I barely felt it. Fear will do that. Any thought of caution was gone as I desperately danced through the twisting cavern. I could hear the bees grow louder, like a buzz saw at my heels.
Ahead I saw the tunnel was growing brighter. I had to be nearing the end.
A quig stung my back. Then another. Why they didn’t all attack at once, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. It only made me run faster.
The tunnel grew brighter. The entrance was near. I had to get there. I had to get out. I had to get to the light. I had to hope the killer bugs wouldn’t follow. It was the only chance I had. Three more stings came quickly. It was like being stabbed with needles. I didn’t swat at them. That would have slowed me down.
I rounded a bend and saw it, the bright opening to the cave. The entrance to Ibara. My only hope for safety. I had made it. I was going to get out of the cave and into the light before the quigs did any serious damage.
Good news was, I made it out.
Bad news was, it didn’t matter.
I broke out into the open to find myself on a beach. Ahead was a calm, green ocean that looked like a postcard for the Caribbean. I sensed tall palm trees swaying in the breeze, the sweet smell of tropical flowers, and gentle, rolling surf. That was the white noise—the surf. The rocky cave that held the flume was near this ocean. When I ran into the light I was no more than thirty yards from the water’s edge. I sprinted through the sand, headed for the shore. My plan was to dive into the surf and get underwater to protect myself from the quig-bees.
I didn’t make it. The quigs attacked. All of them. Being in the sunlight didn’t stop them. If anything, it made them bolder. Now that we were outside, they no longer seemed like yellow, glowing fireflies. They now looked like nasty black bees. Swarming bees. Angry bees. I was hit from behind by what felt like a small wave. The stinging pain soon followed. Like hundreds of burning little needles, the quigs jabbed their stingers into me. They swarmed my legs. For a second it actually tickled the hair. A very short second. The pain followed. It was like they all stung at once. It’s hard to describe the pain because it was like nothing I had ever experienced. They swarmed my head. There were so many of them that the bright beach seemed to grow dark. It was like being enveloped in a dark cocoon. I tried to bat them away. It was futile. There were too many. Instead I covered up. I didn’t want them getting at my eyes.
The Pilgrims of Rayne Page 9
