Raven Rise

by D. J. MacHale

  Alder stood over them as casually as if he had just swatted two flies. After defeating an entire army of dados, getting past two Bedoowan knights was somewhat less of a challenge. Alder stepped over his fallen comrades and pushed open the large wooden door that led into the building. The sudden darkness inside made it difficult to see. He stood with his back to the door, on full alert. Though he couldn’t make out detail at first, it was clear to him that the entire building was one room. There were windows near the ceiling that glowed with the light from the suns of Denduron. Alder waited impatiently for his eyes to adjust. After a few seconds he began to make out shapes.

  His heart sank. The room was an arsenal. Most of the floor was taken up with rows of brand-new, gleaming cannons. To the rear was a cache of what looked like thousands of tak-filled cannonballs. The giant room was ringed with balconies that were laden with tak arrows, bows and crossbows. Another balcony was filled with what looked like small bricks of tak. They weren’t fancy, but if one of those tak bombs exploded, it could destroy a house. Or eight. Alder’s fears had become reality. The people of Denduron had been busy. They were ready for war. The tak mine had provided tons of explosives. With weaponry like this, Alder had no doubt that the Bedoowan army could overrun the Lowsee, and any other tribe they set their sights on. The conquest of Denduron was about to begin, along with the fall of Halla.

  Alder walked forward in a daze, staring at the tools of death and destruction that loomed over him. He almost didn’t see that he was about to step into a hole. He pulled up short at its edge and peered down into the darkness.

  “The mine,” he whispered to himself.

  It was the same hole that he and Pendragon had dug with the dygo. Only now there were ore-car tracks leading down into it. The shaft was steep, but not straight down. It was walkable. This was a working mine. From the looks of the arsenal, it was a productive one. Alder knew what he had to do. That realization led him to a sobering truth. He didn’t have time to figure out a way to explode the tak from afar.

  This was a suicide mission.

  It wasn’t a truth he welcomed, but he felt that if Pendragon was willing to give up his own life on Ibara to destroy the dado army, then perhaps he should be willing to do the same to save his own territory. His only consolation was that Pendragon felt certain a Traveler’s existence wouldn’t end with death. Was that possible? Were the Travelers actually illusions, as Saint Dane told Pendragon? As Alder stood in that vast arsenal, there was only one thing he could be certain of: He was going to find out the truth about the Travelers.

  He dropped his stave, ran to the side wall of the structure, and grabbed two of the tak bricks. He ran back to the mine shaft and was about to descend when his eye caught something else. Hanging along the opposite wall from the tak bricks were coils of rope. Fuses. There were hundreds of them, all wound neatly, ready for use. Alder’s heart leaped. He had an idea. After gently placing one of the small tak bombs on the floor, he ran and grabbed one of the coils of rope. Looking around quickly, he spotted one of the small metal devices he’d seen the knights using to ignite the rope. It looked like a narrow loop made of two thick wires. On one end was a flat piece of metal, against which the other end of the loop rested. Alder grabbed it and squeezed. As one end of the loop scratched against the metal plate, sparks flew.

  He knew how to ignite the fuses.

  He jammed the device into his pocket, ran back to the mine opening, where he picked up the second tak brick, and descended into the mine. He didn’t have to go far. Triptyte illuminated the length of the tunnel, lighting up a frightening and awesome sight. Thousands of reddish-brown tak bricks were stacked along both walls of the tunnel. Thousands. The amount of explosive that had been pulled out of the mine was mind numbing. Alder carefully put down the two small tak bricks he had carried in. He wouldn’t be needing them. All he needed was the fuse. He even let himself believe that he had a chance to not only destroy the mine, but stay alive. As much as he didn’t fear death, he didn’t exactly welcome it either. Besides, Pendragon had to know what had happened on Denduron. So did the other Travelers. Saint Dane wasn’t close to done. If they were to know what was happening on Denduron, Alder had to survive.

  He quickly set to work, kneeling down and unreeling the coil. The rope was dry, which was why it burned so easily. It also made it easy to snap off a length. Alder measured out four six-foot lengths. He had no idea how long it would take for six feet of fuse to burn. He wanted enough time to get out and away from the mine, but didn’t want the fuses to burn for so long that somebody might find them and put them out.

  Even with the fuses, Alder wasn’t entirely convinced that this tactic would ensure his safety. Sure, he felt confident that he could get out of the mine and the armory building before the boom, but how far would he have to run in order not to be killed when the vast stores of tak exploded? Which direction should he go? He could easily be running to a spot that was directly over a thick, underground vein of tak.

  He decided not to worry about it. What else could he do? He took three of the lengths of rope and buried one end of each in the soft tak stacked along the walls. He put two across from each other in the tunnel, and the third a few yards deeper into the dark. The last he saved for the mine car that was sitting on the track in front of him. The car was loaded with newly mined tak, ready to be molded into bricks. He jammed one end of the fuse into the clay. He was ready. He took one quick look around and actually chuckled.

  “This will be dramatic,” he said to himself.

  Without hesitating for another second, he took the metal loop, held it against the other end of the rope leading to the tak in the mine car, and squeezed. Sparks sprayed, igniting the fuse. The clock was ticking. He gave the mine car a shove, sending it rolling deeper into the shaft. Turning quickly, he ran back to the other three fuses, igniting each. Soon, all four ropes were burning. It was time to be somewhere else.

  Alder sprinted back toward the mouth of the mine tunnel while calculating his best route of escape. Where would it be safe? He had no idea. All he could do was get as far away from the mine as possible and hope the vein of tak didn’t spread too far. He feared that miners might still be down in the tunnel. He feared that the explosion would do serious damage to the Milago village. He feared for the potential loss of life. But his fear for what Denduron had become, and its future, was greater. He knew he had done the right thing. The only thing. His next challenge was to survive long enough to warn the other Travelers that Saint Dane was back in the hunt. He was nearly at the end of the tunnel…

  When he saw that he wasn’t alone. Graviot stood at the mouth of the mine, along with four other Bedoowan knights. Alder pulled up short, his hope of survival quickly evaporating.

  “What has happened to you, Alder?” Graviot asked sadly. “Have you lost your senses?”

  Alder didn’t answer. He had to buy time. Did the knights know that fuses were burning a hundred yards into the tunnel?

  “You are right,” Alder said, trying to sound troubled. “I do not know what has come over me. Perhaps I fear war more than I ever imagined. I believe I should throw myself on the mercy of King Rellin.”

  “What is that smell?” Graviot asked quizzically.

  All five knights went on alert. If they didn’t realize a fuse was burning, they would soon. Alder didn’t make the first move. He would leave that to the other knights.

  “There is a fire in the mine!” one of the knights shouted, horrified.

  “What have you done?” Graviot exclaimed.

  All five knights took off running into the mine. Alder had a brief thought that these were good men. Their first thought wasn’t to save themselves, it was to put out the fire. He respected them for that.

  But it didn’t stop him from taking them apart. The knights weren’t as experienced as Alder. Alder flung himself sideways at the first two, knocking them back. He kept moving, rolling off them and unleashing a barrage of punches and kicks to keep the others
back. Graviot struggled to crawl deeper into the mine, but Alder was on him before he could stand. He lifted the young knight into the air, spun, and flung him toward the others. His strength was impossible. He was possessed. He knew the future of Halla might be decided by this one, brutal fight. There was no way he could keep all five back for long; he could only hope that it would be long enough.

  One of the knights charged him. Alder turned his back to the knight and drove his arms forward, making an impossible target. The knight bounced off him as Alder spun and nailed him with a roundhouse kick to the jaw. It was the last kick he would throw.

  He felt a sharp blow to the back of his head and fell forward. The world began to spin. He knew he had been hit by something harder than a fist or a foot. Where had the weapon come from? The knights weren’t armed. Alder hit the dirt floor and rolled onto his back. He was losing consciousness. He looked up to see if the knights were sprinting into the tunnel. They weren’t. He hoped to see a white flash that would signal the beginning of the end of the tak mine. He didn’t. What he saw instead was a sixth man standing in the center of the tunnel—a miner. In one hand he held a pickax used for digging through rock. At least Alder knew what had hit him. It was what the miner had in his other hand that crushed Alder.

  The miner held four three-foot lengths of partially burned rope. There would be no explosion. The tak was safe.

  The war would begin.

  Alder’s eyes opened cautiously. Where was he? His head hurt, no big surprise. Getting hit with a pickax will do that. He squinted against a bright light that shone directly into his eyes. Though it hurt to move, he held his hand up to shield the light. As his focus sharpened, he saw that the light was blasting in through a small window halfway up the wall. A closer look told him the truth. Across the window were bars. Prison bars. He was being held captive. He wasn’t surprised. He tried to destroy the mine, the village, and Rellin’s aspirations for conquering Denduron. Of course they threw him in jail. The only surprise was that they hadn’t executed him before he had the chance to wake up.

  He was alone in the cell, lying on the floor. He took a breath and coughed. It was a dirt floor and he had sucked in a lungful. He wiped his mouth…and saw his ring. His Traveler ring. Alder brightened. There was still a chance. He could contact Pendragon through the ring. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? If he could get a message to Pendragon and let him know what was going on, the lead Traveler might take up the fight. He could come back to Denduron. With Siry. And Loor. They could take up the fight for Denduron once again, but that couldn’t be unless they knew what had happened. But how? He had no paper to write a message and didn’t think the guards would give him any. No, he had to send a sign. Something. Anything that would make Pendragon think. He stared at the ring, desperate for an idea.

  The answer was right in front of his eyes. Literally. Alder’s sleeve was covered with blood. He wasn’t sure if it was his own blood, or from one of the other knights. It didn’t matter. His sleeve was soaked. The blood was already drying and turning brown. It looked as if someone had been seriously injured. It was exactly what he needed.

  Alder was dizzy. He had to force himself to focus. He reached out, grabbed his sleeve with his other hand, and pulled, trying to rip off a bloody piece of fabric. He didn’t have the strength. He brought the bloody sleeve to his mouth and bit, gnawing at the fabric, tasting the blood. After several minutes of chewing on the grisly material, he finally tore a small hole. It was plenty. Once the tear started, he was able to rip it farther and eventually pull off a piece of fabric about six inches long. It was perfect. Alder rolled the gruesome swatch of fabric into a tube, took off his ring, and placed it on the ground next to his face. He didn’t care if a guard saw what was about to happen. There was nothing he could do to hide the show of light and music.

  “Ibara,” Alder called.

  The ring didn’t move.

  “Ibara!” he called again, louder.

  It didn’t matter. The ring didn’t respond.

  Alder remembered the silent flume when he’d tried to rejoin Bobby on Ibara. For the first time in his life, he cried. Tears of frustration ran down his dirty cheek, stinging his open cuts. His warning would not find its way to the lead Traveler.

  “What has happened to you, Pendragon?” he sobbed. “What has happened?”

  THIRD EARTH

  Patrick Mac desperately needed to see something familiar. Something he could wrap his mind around that would allow him to start rebuilding his sanity. He chose to go to the library—his refuge. His fortress of solitude. Things always made sense to him when he was in a library. Libraries were orderly and structured and filled with the knowledge of the ages. He always found answers in the library. He hoped that would happen again on the new Third Earth.

  He hoped the library still existed.

  He walked through the destroyed streets of New York City in a daze. There were plenty of people, but to Patrick they seemed more like rats. They scurried in and around the derelict buildings, grubbing through garbage cans for food or crouching down on all fours to slurp water that dripped from rusted, leaking pipes. It was like walking through a dream. Or a nightmare. The world he knew was gone. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to get to know this new one.

  Nothing looked familiar and he quickly got lost. Where was the library? He knew that his beloved refuge was built on the same spot where the library had always been, as far back as the nineteenth century. Where was that? On the old Third Earth it was a short walk across a grassy plain, over a footbridge that spanned a clean brook, and a few hundred yards along a pathway made of sparkling, crushed quartz.

  Now he was faced with a sea of crumbling buildings. He wasn’t even sure where he was starting from. Did he still live in Chelsea even if Chelsea was no longer underground? He desperately looked around for something that would give him his bearings. This was still New York City. Obviously something had changed in the past that sent it on a very different path from the history he knew, but it was the same city. There had to be something he would recognize. He was a historian, after all.

  He passed several storefronts. Most were shuttered, but a few were open for business, selling cans of food or bottled water. To Patrick it seemed as if this were a city trying to recover from the ravages of a war. The thought made him shudder.

  He stumbled a few more steps, rounded the corner of a building, and smiled. The sight was so obvious it actually made him laugh. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Looming over him was a huge skyscraper. On his old Third Earth it had a shiny silver skin. On this transformed territory it looked more like the ancient, historical version he had seen in holograms. It was the Empire State Building. This huge, majestic structure was one of the few historical buildings that had been retained when the move underground began. However, this didn’t look much like the building he remembered. Instead of the gleaming steel tower, this ancient structure was pitted and sad. Giant holes were peppered through its walls, as if monster moths had eaten their fill. The majestic antenna that topped off the structure was long gone. Patrick feared that a strong wind would topple the once-mighty building like a rotted tree. As sad as this sight was, it lifted his spirits. He had his bearings. His beloved library wasn’t far away.

  The closer he walked toward the Empire State Building, the more crowded the streets became. Some people actually seemed to be walking with purpose, as if they had places to be and people to meet. This was once a center of business for the city. Patrick wondered if these were people on their way to or from work. Most wore nondescript clothing that looked old and worn. Still others had on old-fashioned business suits, complete with neckties. The clothing looked tired though. And dirty. And sad. Still, the people walked with their heads up. Whatever had happened to them, they were resilient. It actually made him smile.

  “Typical New Yorkers,” he said to himself.

  As he walked, he kept glancing up at the skyscraper to judge where the library might be. It wasn’t
easy. The sidewalk was full of gaping holes. Many streets were closed off altogether because of buildings that had either collapsed or were about to. It was frustrating. As soon as he felt he might be getting close, he would have to detour around debris that sent him in the wrong direction. Finally Patrick saw a sight that brought tears to his eyes. It was a stone statue of a lion. This lion and his matching partner still guarded the front steps of the library, both on his Third Earth as well as in its past. He was home.

  It wasn’t the home he remembered though. The other lion lay on the ground near the first one, crushed. Only its face was recognizable. The stone steps led up to an austere building that in Patrick’s time was only a facade. The interior of the old library had been torn down to make room for the high-tech structure that housed the powerful computers containing the history of Earth. What Patrick saw when he climbed these familiar steps was that the old library building was still there. It gave him mixed feelings. He was glad to see the library, but he had held out hope that he would be able to access the computers that would tell him what had happened to Earth. Seeing the ancient, crumbling building told him that there would be no computers inside. He hoped there would still be books.

  Entering through the front door, Patrick was faced with an alien sight. This was the library. The old library. He stepped into a grand hall with large windows that were rounded on top. This was only an entryway. There wasn’t a book in sight. He walked to his left, down a wide corridor that led him into a large room, the sight of which made him smile. Patrick was a teacher, a librarian, and a historian. What he saw in that room was like stepping into Earth’s past. Not a hologram depiction. The real deal. Patrick saw with his own eyes what an old-time library was like.