They stung my arms. Hundreds and hundreds of times. It was like getting hit with drops of burning acid. They stung my cheeks and my nose. I felt sharp stings on my ears and under my arms. I wanted to open my mouth to scream, but feared they would fly inside.
The buzzing was deafening. They had me. I was theirs. The pain was so intense, I stopped feeling it. My brain must have shut down. I went into pain overload. I grew dizzy. Whatever poison their stings were unloading into me was doing its job. I staggered, trying to keep moving toward the water, in hope that I could dive in and shake them. No go. I was too far away. The beach started to spin. The buzzing was everything. I dropped down to one knee, fighting to stay conscious, though I’m not sure why. Conscious meant torture. I had to give in to the poison. It was a relief.
My last thought was that there was no way I could be an illusion. An illusion could never hurt so bad.
And everything went black.
JOURNAL #29
IBARA
I was swimming again.
At least that’s what it felt like. I drifted, weightless, not sure of up or down or in between. I could breathe, too. For a second I thought maybe I’d grown those gills after all. In that dreamlike state, nothing seemed strange. I was hanging out somewhere south of nowhere, and not minding it one single bit.
It didn’t last. My first clue that I was returning to reality was the weight. My body felt heavy. Impossibly heavy. It was like I was living in somebody else’s skin. I didn’t like it much. I felt paralyzed. And hot. Very hot. It was like I was wrapped tight in an itchy wool blanket but couldn’t lift my arms to scratch. Not that I would have known what to scratch anyway. I was one, massive burning itch. I eventually became aware enough to realize I was lying down and my eyes were closed. It was too much of an effort to crack them open, so I decided not to try. I was afraid of what I might see. My head felt like some guy had his hands on either side and was squeezing. I thought about telling whoever it was to back off, but my lips wouldn’t open. They were stuck shut. I swallowed. Ouch. Sandpaper throat.
Reality slowly slipped in. I kind of wish it hadn’t. The more aware I became, the more I realized how hurting I was. I finally cracked one eye open. The light was painful. I forced myself to look around. I’m not sure why I bothered—there wasn’t much to see. I was on my back staring up at a sea of grass. Yes, grass. I tried to focus, but I was too uncomfortable to think about anything except how uncomfortable I was. Besides the head squeeze, I felt as if I had an Olympic case of poison ivy. No, poison oak. That’s worse. If there’s anything worse than poison oak, that’s what it felt like. But it wasn’t poison oak. It was the bees. The quig-bees. I was aware enough to remember those buggers. I looked down at my arm to see it was covered in red, hideous welts. Stings. Ouch. I had been stung more times than I could count. Note to self: Avoid mirrors. That would be ugly. I figured I’d look like that “It’s clobberin’ time!” guy from the Fantastic Four. I’d just as soon pass on that image, thank you very much. As bad as I felt, I realized there was something good in all this. I was alive. I would heal. I was good at that. What I didn’t know was where I had landed, and how I got there.
“You’re awake,” came a soft, feminine voice.
That was nice. Soft and feminine was nice. She didn’t sound like a fish, either. I cracked my eye open again and she came into view, looming over me, upside down. She looked into my eyes. Or eye. I first noticed her hair. It was long and dark red. She had it pulled back and tied with a yellow ribbon. Very practical. Her eyes were green. I’d never seen such deep green eyes. They could have been colored contact lenses, that’s how stunning they were. She was pretty, I guessed. It was hard to tell, looking at someone upside down and with one eye.
As she looked at me, I saw the worry in those green eyes. Worry was good. I was pretty worried myself. At least we were on the same page.
“How long?” I croaked.
“You’ve been asleep for three days. We’ve given you medicine to make you sleep. You have to heal. You were very lucky.”
“Really?” I groaned, trying to sound sarcastic.
She smiled. She got it.
“The venom from the bee stings isn’t fatal, unless you’re allergic. I’m guessing you’re not, or you’d be dead.”
Good guess.
“You’ve got to keep still until the poison passes through your system.”
Fine. Whatever. The last thing I wanted to do was get up. Or walk. Or talk. Or anything else that involved movement or thought. That pretty much ruled out everything but sleep.
“I’ve never seen so many stings,” she said with concern. “Did you do something to aggravate the bees?”
I wondered how she would have reacted if I’d told her that they were mutant bees sent by a demon from another territory to attack me because I was there to stop him from destroying her world. I decided to keep that to myself.
“No,” I croaked.
“Drink this,” she said, and held a small cup to my lips. I had to lift my aching head. Ouch. I took a few swallows, though more dribbled down my chin than my throat.
“You’re healing remarkably fast. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I had.
“A little more sleep and you’ll be up on your feet so we can begin.”
“Begin what?” I asked.
She leaned down and said, “We’ve got to learn who you are, and why you’re on Ibara.”
Oh. That.
Whatever she gave me was already making me drowsy. I was swimming again. I liked it. Before I got back into the pool, I forced my eye open one more time and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Telleo.”
Telleo. Nice name. Nice hair. Nice to know somebody was taking care of me, whoever she was.
“Thank you, Telleo.”
She gave me a warm smile. “And what is your name?”
That was an easy one. The tougher questions would come later. I was going to have to come up with some answers. But not just then. I had to go swimming. “It’s Pendragon. Good night.”
When I woke up, I felt much better. Not good. Better. The nasty, burning itch had settled into a seminasty, burning itch. The hundreds of bee stings had scabbed over. Sometimes it’s good to be a Traveler. I wondered how long it would take a non-Traveler to recover from that kind of an attack. Don’t get me wrong, I was still a mess. But I could function.
“Can you sit up?” came a familiar voice. Telleo appeared at the foot of my bed.
“I think,” I croaked. “How long did I sleep this time?”
“Two days. I stopped giving you the medication this morning. It’s time for you to rejoin us.”
I was so stiff I could barely move. I wasn’t sure if that was because of the bee stings, or because I had been lying there for five days. Probably both.
“Oil can,” I murmured through clenched teeth.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I had to stop making Second Earth jokes.
When Telleo helped me sit up, my head went light. “Whoa, not good,” I babbled.
She eased me back down. “Let’s try that again later.”
I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling. It was made of woven, green grass. I hadn’t imagined it before. I really was seeing grass. It was a simple cottage with wooden walls. I was lying on a bed that was about a foot off the wooden floor. The mattress was comfortable, but thin. The door was crudely fashioned out of lengths of something that looked like bamboo. The furniture was simple, straight and wooden. There were a few chairs and a table made out of the same bamboo-looking stuff as the door. The table was loaded with earthen jugs of various sizes. I figured these contained the medicine Telleo had been giving me. From what I could see, there weren’t any other rooms. This was it. On first glance the place looked like a primitive hut.
On second glance I saw things that didn’t fit the rustic profile. There was a tube of light that ran the length of each wall near the ceiling, like a neon bul
b. These people didn’t rely on fire for light. They had power. Though we were inside, there was a soft breeze. I looked across the room to see a series of fan blades, built into a frame, turning slowly. Again, they were powered. The final weirdness came when Telleo walked to the table of earthen jugs, reached to the far side, and picked up a small, cream-colored device that looked like a bar of soap.
She touched it a few times and spoke into it. “He is awake,” she said.
It was a telephone. I watched as she mixed together a concoction in the earthen jugs. She was a small girl, not much taller than five feet. She was light skinned, but tan. She wore a short, yellow dress that seemed to be made from the same material as my clothes. It was kind of the same style, too, with a loose, sleeveless top. She also wore the same kind of sandals. I guessed she was older than I was, but not by much.
As I watched her work, I wondered how big a part she was going to play in my adventure on Ibara. Would she be a friend? An enemy? Or would her role end as soon as I left this place?
“Hungry?” she asked, bringing me a brown mug of something.
“I don’t want to go back to sleep.”
“You won’t. This is broth. You need to get your strength back.”
I took the cup gratefully and sipped. It was warm, salty, and good. It tasted like chicken soup. I guess it doesn’t matter where or when you are, chicken soup is the universal tonic. As I sipped, Telleo went back to work at her table. She busied herself with whatever she was doing, but kept stealing curious looks at me. She had no idea who I was or where I came from. I, on the other hand, had no idea where I was or how I got there. Between the two of us, we were pretty clueless. I needed to learn about Ibara, but had to choose my questions carefully.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” I said.
“You’re welcome. It’s my job.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“I assist the doctors.”
“So this is a hospital?”
“No, it is a community hut used by the tribunal.”
Tribunal. I was beginning to learn. I still had no idea what kind of society this was. From what I’d seen of this small hut, it was a weird mix of the primitive and the modern. The thought hit me that this might actually be some kind of vacation resort. You know, where people spend loads of bucks to stay in authentic huts and pretend like they’re roughing it.
“You were brought to the village by a group of fishermen who saw the attack,” she explained. “If they hadn’t arrived and sprayed the bees, there’s no telling how badly you would have been hurt.”
“So I guess I really was lucky,” I declared.
Telleo looked like she wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure if she should.
“What?” I asked.
She looked around, as if making sure we were alone, then quickly knelt down by me. When she spoke, the words came quickly, like she didn’t have enough time.
“Where did you come from?” she asked curiously. “I know you aren’t from here.”
She wasn’t being aggressive or anything. She seemed genuinely curious. Trouble was, I had no idea of how to answer. It was time to get vague.
“You’re right. I’m not from here.”
I figured that was about as generic and truthful an answer as I could risk. She looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. She suddenly seemed much younger than I first thought. It was like talking to a naive little girl.
“But there was no boat,” she countered. “At least not where the fishermen found you. They searched the beach.”
“There are other ways to travel,” I said, again being vague.
She gave me a curious look. “I don’t understand. How else could you get here without a boat?”
I didn’t mention the flume. My answer was a noncommittal shrug.
“There is so much I don’t know,” she said, mostly to herself. She looked at me and her eyes grew sharp. “Some thought you should be left on the beach to die. I wouldn’t let them. We aren’t savages.”
“Nice to know. Thank you,” I said sincerely.
“Don’t thank me,” she said. “Tell me the truth. Are you a Flighter?”
Gulp. Flighter? I had no idea. Was it good or bad to be a Flighter? I decided to be vague again. “I didn’t come here to cause trouble. That’s the absolute truth.”
Telleo stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether she believed me. Finally she gave me a relieved smile. “I didn’t think so. You don’t seem at all like a Flighter. I’m glad.”
Phew. Me too. Note to self: Flighters = Bad.
She stood up, excited again. “So tell me where you’re from. I’ve never been much farther than the border of Rayne. There must be so much to see. I hear stories, but it’s not the same as seeing things for yourself.”
Rayne. What was that? I wished I could have just asked, but that would raise too many questions in return.
“I’d like to go outside,” I said, ducking the question.
Telleo bit her lip nervously. “That’s not wise.”
I forced myself to sit up, more slowly this time. “Why not? I’m feeling better. I think I can—”
The door burst open. Three men strode in, each wearing the same kind of clothes I had on. They stood together, glaring at me. Glaring was bad. They were all about my size, or bigger, which meant I wasn’t going to be the tall guy. Oh well. They all had long hair, nearly to their waists. They wore leather straps around their middles, like belts. Tucked into these were short, wooden clubs. Weapons. One on each hip. This was not a welcoming committee.
Telleo faced them boldly, her legs apart. “He shouldn’t be moved yet.” She tried to sound all bad, but she didn’t have it in her.
The guy in the center, the biggest of the three, stepped past her and looked down his nose at me like I was a disease.
“You are under arrest,” he growled.
Oh. Great. I’d only been awake on Ibara for a few minutes and I was already in trouble. I didn’t want to challenge his authority, so I didn’t stand up. “Why?” I asked innocently. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“And you won’t get the chance,” he spat back.
“You can’t arrest me for something I might do wrong,” I complained.
“He’s not a Flighter,” Telleo argued. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”
The big guy gave her a steely look. “And how would you know that?”
Telleo said sincerely, “Because he told me, and I believe him.”
Yeah, go Telleo!
The guy smirked. I hate smirks. “And that’s why you care for the sick, and we handle security.”
Telleo wouldn’t back down. “He must stay until he gets his strength back.”
“Strength is the last thing we want him to have,” the big guy snarled.
He motioned to his two pals. They strode quickly toward me. Uh-oh. Before I had a chance to react, they each grabbed one of my arms and yanked me to my feet. I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. My head was too busy spinning.
“Please!” Telleo begged. “He is ill.”
“Your duty is complete, Telleo,” the big guy barked. “Return to the medical section and forget you ever saw this man.”
“Whoa, no!” I shouted. “Don’t forget me, Telleo. They can’t arrest me if I didn’t do anything. That’s not how you live here, right? You’re not savages, remember? You don’t let people die and you don’t hurt innocent people.”
It was getting scary. This suddenly had all the makings of a mob hit. No questions, no trial, no trail. The scabby guy gets taken away and is never seen again. I wanted to fight back, but didn’t have the strength. Heck, I could barely see straight.
“Don’t worry,” Telleo said as they pulled me toward the door. “The tribunal will understand. If you’ve done nothing wrong they will just send you away.”
I didn’t know what “away” meant. Heck, I didn’t even know what “here” meant. I didn’t know much of anything except I was being drag
ged away by three thugs who thought I was guilty until proven innocent. But of what?
She gave me a sad, helpless smile. I wondered if I would see her again.
“Thank you,” I said.
The big guy kicked the door open, and I was pulled out of the hut to get my first real view of Ibara—the world I was supposed to try and protect from Saint Dane. The world that had already branded me a criminal.
JOURNAL #29
IBARA
“Paradise.”
I’m not sure what other word could better describe Ibara. It was paradise. Of course it was a paradise where I was nearly stung to death by a swarm of killer bees and arrested for crimes I didn’t commit. Other than that, it was paradise.
I was taken from the hut where Telleo had been caring for me and pulled roughly across flat sand. I didn’t resist. There were three of them and one of me. Worse, I was operating at about 20 percent. I went along quietly while trying to take in my surroundings. I wanted to learn as much about Ibara as I could. It wasn’t easy. The three guys who arrested me weren’t exactly acting like tour guides. I had to see what I could while being dragged through town.
Yes, town. Maybe it would be more accurate to call it a tropical village. There were no tall buildings, only wooden huts with grass roofs, like the one I’d been recovering in. There were hundreds of them in all sizes, lined up in orderly rows that created streets of sand. The huts were set back from these sandy pathways with lots of space between them. Instead of yards, the huts were surrounded by green leafy plants that were dotted with an amazing array of colorful flowers—bright reds, deep blues, brilliant oranges, and many more, all gleaming in the tropical sun. It looked as if each hut were resting in its own colorful nest. It smelled like a flower shop, but not in an overpowering, sweet way. The air just smelled fresh.
The Pilgrims of Rayne Page 10
