Raven Rise

by D. J. MacHale

  “No,” Mark argued. “They might expect that. We’ve got plenty of cash. We’ll take a taxi.”

  “All the way to Stony Brook?”

  “Why not? It’s KEM’s money.”

  They landed on the next floor and ran through double doors that opened onto a wide, bright walkway that ringed the arena. There were hotdog stands, souvenir counters…and two red-shirt guards. The Ravinians were walking toward Mark and Courtney, about twenty yards away.

  “They don’t know who we are,” Mark whispered.

  One guard saw them, pointed, and both started running after them.

  “Or maybe they do,” Courtney countered.

  The two turned and ran in the opposite direction, only to see two more red shirts coming toward them. They were trapped. Looking around desperately, they found themselves standing directly in front of one of the tunnels that led back into the arena. Both knew it was the only way to go and ran inside. They had only taken a few steps when a sea of excited people came pouring out. The show was over. The charged-up minions of Naymeer were headed home. Mark grabbed Courtney’s hand and pulled her headlong into the crowd. They were like two salmon swimming upstream, fighting their way through. Once inside the arena, Mark took a sharp right and pushed his way farther into the mass of people.

  “We’ll get lost in the crowd,” he called back to Courtney. “Stay low. Go slow.”

  They had to fight the urge to push faster. Both knew it would only make them stand out. They had to be patient and have the nerve to blend in with the moving mass of humanity. They climbed down a set of stairs and entered another tunnel that led to the outside. The crowd slowly made its way toward escalators going down. Mark and Courtney crouched low, trying to use the people to shield them from their pursuers. They passed a group of red shirts who were scanning the crowd. Courtney saw them first and pulled Mark lower. It took all their willpower not to break into a run. They finally reached the escalator and stepped on.

  “Stop!” came a voice from above.

  They looked up to see red shirts glaring down on them from two levels up. Courtney looked at Mark and said, “Does he really think we’d do that?”

  The escalator dumped them out near a ramp that led farther down. The crowd had thinned and no longer offered cover. Without discussing it, they both ran. They only had to move one more level down before they hit a set of glass doors that led to the street. They pushed through the doors and leaped outside.

  “We gotta find a cab,” Mark announced.

  “Not around here,” Courtney offered. “Too much competition.”

  They were no longer worried about getting caught. There were too many people outside. They walked as quickly as they could toward the sidewalk, but stopped when they saw that blue police barriers were strung along the curb, holding back hundreds of protesters. They held their signs and chanted at the exiting minions.

  The same dark-skinned man in the suit and bow tie had moved his ladder into position so he could be seen clearly by the throng exiting the Garden. He stood above the others, pounding the air with his fist and bellowing into his bullhorn. The other protesters gathered at his feet, shouting along with him.

  Mark listened and said, “They’re not chanting ‘Stop them here.’ It’s ‘Stop Naymeer.’”

  Most of the people who came out of the show simply smiled at the protesters. Some even waved.

  “Look at them,” Courtney whispered. “They don’t care. They’re the chosen ones. The protesters mean nothing to them.”

  “Look out!” Mark yelled, and pulled Courtney back just as a protester hurled himself over the police barrier and attacked one of the minions. A brawl broke out. The barrier came crashing down as more protesters joined in. The Naymeer people defended themselves, but they were more about getting away than retaliating. Soon the New York City police showed up, complete with riot gear. They fought to pull people apart.

  “This is ugly,” Courtney gasped.

  Mark pulled her away, and the two ran a few blocks until they found a yellow taxi to pick them up.

  “Stony Brook,” Mark said.

  The cabbie’s eyes went wide. “Connecticut? That’ll cost you.”

  “Just drive,” Courtney commanded.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the cabbie replied. He hit the meter and they were off.

  Mark and Courtney rode in silence. Both were trying to digest what they’d seen. It was the cabbie who spoke first.

  “What side you two on?” the gruff little man asked.

  “What do you mean?” Mark asked.

  “You came from that meeting. You two Ravini-ites?”

  Mark and Courtney exchanged looks and shrugs.

  “We’re still deciding,” Mark answered. “What about you?”

  “Nah! I think it’s all a lot of hocus-pocus,” the cabbie scoffed. “All that talk about other worlds and the origins of the universe. It makes my head hurt.”

  Courtney snickered. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “I’ll say this though,” the cabbie continued, “I think them guys are dangerous.”

  “How so?” Mark asked.

  “They’re trying to run the whole show. Now they got that thing going at the UN ’cause they want to be some kind of international spiritual advisors. That’s just wrong. It’s what we got governments for. You may not always agree with politicians, but at least they pretend to be fair.”

  “You don’t think the Ravinians are fair?” Mark probed.

  “How can it be fair when they only care about the high falutin’?”

  “What do you mean?” Courtney asked.

  “Hey, I ain’t no dummy, but I couldn’t join them even if I wanted to. They only take you if you’re some kind of egghead. Or you got money. Or a business. I think you gotta have a big fat IQ just to qualify. They don’t want regular workin’ stiffs like me. I don’t know nuthin’ about their plans for the future, but it seems to me, they’re trying to separate the haves from the have-nots. If you’re one of the have-nots, you’re gonna have a lot less, if they have a say. It just ain’t right.”

  Mark uttered aloud, “The elite. The strong. The enlightened.”

  Courtney added, “It’s like they’re trying to weed out anybody who’s less than perfect.”

  “Exactly!” the cabbie agreed. “I can’t get behind that, but a lot of people do. To be honest, it scares me. I’m just a regular guy. It ain’t right I tell ya.”

  Neither Mark nor Courtney said another word until they were dropped off in front of Mark’s house in Stony Brook.

  “Wait for us,” Courtney said. “Keep the meter running.”

  “You bet I will. Hey, you’re not gonna stiff me, are you?”

  “Not a chance,” Mark said. He dug into his wallet and took out two fifty-dollar bills for the cabbie. “That’s a down payment. Wait up the block, okay?”

  The cabbie tipped his hat happily. “Whatever you say. It’s your dime.”

  The cabbie put the car in gear, then gave a final warning. “Remember what I told you. Them people ain’t right.” With that last bit of wisdom, he took off.

  “Them people ain’t right,” Courtney repeated. “Kind of sums it all up, doesn’t it.”

  “Why did you want him to wait?” Mark asked.

  “We won’t be here long. And I didn’t want somebody to wonder why there’s a cab outside your house.”

  “Oh. Smart.”

  The two circled around toward the back of the house, making sure that nobody saw them. Once inside, they found Patrick right where they had left him, sitting in front of Mark’s computer. The only difference was that he was surrounded by bags of Doritos and cans of Mountain Dew. He looked up at them with wild eyes.

  “You okay?” Courtney asked.

  “I’m fantastic!” Patrick exclaimed. “This sugary drink is incredible!”

  “Swell,” Courtney remarked sarcastically. “He’s wired on Dew.”

  “But we have problems,” Patrick continued, ramping d
own. He took another hit of soda. “There’s a fellow named Naymeer who is the leader of Ravinia.”

  He stopped talking long enough to gulp down more Dew. Courtney pulled it away from him.

  “Easy,” she scolded. “You don’t want to be up all day.”

  “Excuse me?” Patrick asked, perplexed.

  “We know all about Naymeer,” Mark interjected.

  He went on to explain all that had happened, from being abducted at Courtney’s house to the rally at Madison Square Garden to the meeting with Saint Dane. Patrick listened, wide eyed, while stuffing Doritos into his mouth. When Mark finished, Patrick didn’t say a word. He stared straight ahead, digging back into the Doritos bag. Courtney couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed it away from him.

  “You’re making me sick!” she exclaimed.

  Patrick barely reacted. He was too busy processing the information. “Traveler from Second Earth,” he muttered. “That’s not good.”

  “No,” Courtney said with mock patience. “I’d say that’s really bad. What did you find out about Naymeer?”

  Patrick snapped back into focus and grabbed a stack of papers he had printed out.

  “It wasn’t difficult,” he explained. “This thing you call the Internet is crude, but there’s plenty of information about Naymeer.”

  He handed some printouts to Mark and Courtney.

  “His full name is Alexander Naymeer. He’s originally from England. An orphan. Apparently, when he was young, he was knocking on death’s door, and then he suddenly had a miraculous recovery. The doctors couldn’t explain it. The nurses called it a miracle. Whatever it was, from that moment on, the guy started telling stories about other worlds and forces larger than anyone could envision. At first people chalked it up to youthful imagination…until he started sharing his visions. Literally. He showed people images of unique people and strange animals and places that didn’t exist anywhere on Earth. They would have locked him up except for the fact that nobody could explain how he did it.”

  “We know how,” Mark interrupted.

  “He started acting like some kind of prophet, telling of the potential for future glory, and how this world and all others could reach a kind of nirvana, as long as the right path was followed.” Patrick dug through the pages, looking for a particular sheet. He found it and said, “Here, this is a quote: ‘We must reward excellence and condemn those whose only contribution to society is to burden.’ He said that when he was nine years old.”

  Courtney held up one of the pages and made a sour face. “Disgusting. You’ve got Dorito fingerprints all over these.”

  “Stop!” Mark snapped at Courtney. “This is serious.”

  “Like I don’t know that?”

  “Patrick, what year was he born?”

  Patrick dug through some papers. “They don’t know for sure, because he was abandoned at a foundling home, but the best guess is 1930.”

  “And what year did he nearly die?”

  Patrick scanned the pages. “That one’s definite: 1937.”

  “First Earth,” Courtney said softly.

  “In England,” Mark added. “It happened when we were there. That’s when Nevva gave him my ring. It saved his life, and started a revolution.”

  Patrick said, “‘Revolution’ is the right word. He’s created a cult of excellence. Its members are all special people in one way or another. They’re leaders, scientists, athletes, successful business people, brilliant students, military leaders, mathematicians. All races. All nationalities. The one thing they have in common is that in some way, they are exceptional.”

  “They’re flawless,” Courtney said, echoing Saint Dane’s words.

  Mark stood and paced. “It’s like he’s trying to create a superclass of people to be the new leaders of Earth, and Halla.”

  “What about everybody else?” Courtney asked. “You know, the regular people?”

  Patrick answered, “He never comes out and says it, but from all that I’ve read, he thinks that the people he considers to be inferior have been the cause of all the world’s ills. According to his vision, they’ll be marginalized.”

  “What the heck does that mean?” Courtney asked.

  “I think it means that according to Ravinia, they’re irrelevant and shouldn’t be given the same rights as others,” Patrick answered.

  “Yikes” was Courtney’s response.

  Mark asked, “So Naymeer’s vision for the future says the poor, the sick, the handicapped, the people who need the help of society will be considered irrelevant and treated differently?”

  “Not just the poor and sick,” Patrick corrected. “It includes anyone whom Naymeer doesn’t consider to be exceptional. That means your average person will be treated as a liability to society.”

  “What about old people?” Courtney asked.

  Patrick shrugged. “If they don’t contribute to society in some significant way, they’re not part of Ravinia and will be treated as second-class citizens.”

  Courtney added, “Wasn’t that kind of what the Nazis were all about? Creating a Super Race?”

  “Yes,” Patrick answered. “At the expense of several million people who didn’t fit the profile.”

  “How can people buy into this?” Courtney complained. “It’s just…wrong.”

  “Not everybody does” was Patrick’s response. “There’s a whole countermovement to Ravinia. They call themselves the ‘Foundation.’ They’re fighting the cause of the common man, saying how everybody has value, and to follow Naymeer would lead to destruction. Look at this.”

  Patrick looked to Mark’s computer and announced, “Play Gastigian.”

  On the monitor screen, a video triggered. They saw the image of a dark-skinned man speaking directly to the camera for a TV interview.

  “That’s the guy from the protest!” Courtney exclaimed. “The guy with the bullhorn.”

  “Shhh, listen,” Patrick admonished.

  The man on the screen spoke with passion. “Naymeer and the Ravinians are putting us on a dangerous course. To disrespect the common man, upon whose backs this world was built, is not only a grave act of injustice, it will certainly bring about the downfall of modern society. If the United Nations votes to accept and perpetuate the teachings of Alexander Naymeer, it will mark the beginning of the fall of modern man.”

  The video ended on the frozen face of the passionate man.

  “Strong words,” Courtney said. “He’s predicting doomsday.”

  “Who is he?” Mark asked.

  “His name is Haig Gastigian. A philosophy professor from New York University. He’s the leading voice against the Ravinians. From what I’ve seen, he’s a hero to many, and an outlaw to the Ravinians.”

  Mark shook his head in wonder. “What he’s saying is just common sense. You’d think everybody would see that.”

  Patrick answered, “Many do. But Naymeer’s philosophy is pretty appealing to a lot of people. People with power. I guess people like easy answers, and he’s promising them a better world. It’s great, as long as you’re on the right side.”

  Mark asked, “What’s this thing with the United Nations? Ravinia is going to be recognized as the spiritual voice of the world? How scary is that?”

  “The UN General Assembly is voting on it soon,” Patrick offered. “It could very well be the beginning of the end.”

  Mark asked, “What do you mean?”

  Patrick sighed. “It means Naymeer’s vision is wrong and dangerous. The proof of that is on Third Earth. It’s created nothing short of chaos and despair. I’m sure he hasn’t shown that particular vision to anybody.”

  “Could that be it?” Courtney asked. “Could that be the turning point for Second Earth? The acceptance of Naymeer’s vision by the UN?”

  “This isn’t Naymeer’s vision,” Mark corrected. “This is pure Saint Dane. What happened on Third Earth could be the fate of every other territory. Saint Dane is revealing the existence of Halla through this Naymeer
guy. This is the ultimate mixing of the territories. How can any society follow its own destiny when they’re aware that so much more is out there? Saint Dane is probably going to follow the same model on every other territory.”

  “Then this is it,” Courtney said with finality. “This is the Convergence. Saint Dane is spreading this vision throughout Halla. He’s rewarding the strong and punishing the weak. If he succeeds, then what?”

  The three fell silent, the weight of those words sinking in. Nobody wanted to ask the next obvious question.

  Mark took the plunge. “What do we do about it?”

  “I told you,” Courtney announced, jumping to her feet. “We travel. This is where it’s all coming down. Second Earth. We can’t handle this on our own.”

  “Then why should we leave?” Patrick asked.

  “To get Bobby. And anybody else who can help. Alder, Loor, Siry, Aja—”

  “Aja’s dead,” Mark corrected.

  “She’s dead on Ibara. Not on Veelox. If we went to Veelox, we’d find her.”

  “And do what?” Mark asked.

  “Bring them here! Saint Dane says it’s over. I don’t think it is. We still haven’t hit Second Earth’s turning point. Maybe this UN thing is it. I don’t know. But things are still happening. The Convergence might have started, but it isn’t finished. Naymeer is still gathering his power. We have to try to stop him. No way we can do it alone. The Travelers should be here. All of them.”

  “What about Bobby?” Mark asked soberly. “What if he really meant it when he said he quit?”

  Mark and Patrick looked to Courtney. She didn’t answer at first. She knew the importance of her next words.

  “I can’t pretend to know what’s going through Bobby’s head after all he’s had to deal with, but you know him as well as I do, Mark. No, you know him way better than I do. He may have been frustrated. He may have been tired. He may have felt totally overwhelmed and needed a long rest. But in your heart, do you really believe that he quit?”

  Mark and Courtney gazed into each other’s eyes for several seconds.

  “No,” Mark finally said. “No I don’t.”

  “Neither do I,” Courtney announced with confidence. “Let’s go get him.”