Raven Rise

by D. J. MacHale

  “Quite the show,” he called out. “Are you enjoying it?”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “That would be telling,” he said, teasing. “Look!”

  He pointed to the giant video screen above the bleachers in the outfield. On the screen was a live image of the General Assembly room of the United Nations. It was unmistakable. The giant UN logo hanging behind the podium was an image that everybody knew. I’d seen it in a million movies, but this was the real deal. The assembly room was packed. A sober-looking man in a suit stood behind the podium. What was his title? Secretary General? General Secretary? President? Whatever. He was the guy in charge. The guy who held the future of Halla in his hands.

  At the stadium, people’s attention shifted quickly to the screen. The actor onstage stopped talking. An eerie quiet fell over the stadium. It was hard to believe that so many people could become so still so quickly.

  This was it. This was the announcement. I knew that in a few seconds, one way or another, I would be witnessing the turning point of Second Earth. Of Halla. The man cleared his throat, stepped up to the microphone, and spoke in English.

  “We live in troubled times,” he began. “We speak of world peace, but that is an elusive goal. The United Nations was formed to promote peace, security, and international cooperation. Our mandate is the same today as it was then, but the challenges have evolved. We enjoy a global economy. Technology has made the world a smaller place, yet disputes between nations, peoples, tribes, and ideologies still tear at the very fabric of peace. The road we have been on for so long is deteriorating. If positive, dramatic change is not effected, the future will be a bleak one. The world needs vision. The world needs hope. Not for any individual nation, but for the world as a whole. With that in mind, today, the General Assembly of the United Nations has voted by an overwhelming margin, to designate the Conclave of Ravinia as the spiritual advisor to the member nations of the United Nations—”

  I didn’t hear another word the guy said. He was drowned out by boos. And shouts. And whistles. And sobs. I turned to Saint Dane. The demon gave me an innocent little shrug and fake frown, as if to say, “Sorry!”

  The last bit of hope was gone. As impressive as this rally was, it had failed to make a difference. I stood there among the people of the Foundation, genuinely fearful of what would become of them in the new world order that was being formed by Alexander Naymeer. By Saint Dane.

  The boos and whistles were suddenly drowned out by another sound. At first I thought it was rolling thunder, but the sky was clear. All eyes looked up toward the video screen, but it wasn’t the screen that was giving off the sound. Moving through the sky, appearing over the scoreboard, were three large military-style helicopters. They swooped over the top of the stadium like three giant birds of prey, scanning for their next meal. They entered the airspace over the stadium, hovering above the empty outfield. Simultaneously, three lines dropped down to the ground, one from each helicopter. The crowd watched in wonder as Ravinian red shirts began to slide down the zip lines, headed for the stadium grass.

  At the same time, the outfield fences opened and buses began rolling in—the same buses we had seen outside. I looked around to see how the police were reacting. They were gone. Not a single blue uniform was in sight.

  I glanced at Saint Dane. He was gone. That surprised me. I thought he would have wanted to stick around to witness the Bronx Massacre for himself.

  JOURNAL #36

  (CONTINUED)

  SECOND EARTH

  One helicopter landed in center field. The other two remained hovering and disgorging dados. The buses charged into left and right field, digging up grass. When they stopped, the doors flew open and red-shirt dados began pouring out.

  The crowd wasn’t in full-on panic. Yet. As a whole, they began moving backward, as if repelled by the sight of the sudden, dramatic arrival of the red shirts. I think there was as much confusion going on as anything else. Still, the people in that stadium looked as if they all felt it might be a good idea to be somewhere else. Those who were standing in front of the stage climbed back into the stands. The people in the stands moved toward the exits. It wasn’t a mad rush, but it was a definite, massive movement…

  That was abruptly ended.

  Red-shirt dados, spewing from every exit that led under the stands, pushed the people back. To keep them in. There was one big difference between these red shirts and any others I’d seen. They weren’t carrying Tasers.

  They were holding machine guns.

  I looked to the higher levels, where the same thing was happening. Dados appeared at all the exits, blocking the way. Nobody was allowed to leave. The scene on ground level was more intense because of the people trying to push their way off the field.

  Confusion was quickly turning to fear.

  People scrambled past me, but there was nowhere to go other than to jam the field-level boxes, which were already packed with people. I knew it would only be a matter of time before panic set in. The crowd would try to rush the dados. What would happen then? Would they start shooting? Was this how the Bronx Massacre would play out? Were thousands of people about to be gunned down in cold blood?

  “My friends!” came a calming voice over the stadium speaker.

  I looked back to the stage to see another performer had arrived. Alexander Naymeer. He stood alone onstage, wearing his dark red robe. His face appeared on the giant video screen above.

  The crowd reaction was all over the map. Some booed. Some cried. Some angrily tried to shout him off the stage. Naymeer was unaffected. He stood there with a benign smile, gazing out at the madness as if proud of his handiwork. The guy actually looked happy. And why not? He had just been given the keys to the kingdom.

  “The choice has been made,” his voice boomed. “Our noble cause has been recognized. A glorious future awaits, but there is much work to be done.”

  People tried to scream him down. Some tried to jump onto the stage, but they were thrown back by the dados that had arrived on the buses and choppers. The nightmare had been carefully planned.

  “Today is the beginning,” Naymeer declared. “It is a day that will forever be looked back upon as the turning point of mankind. It is the day when we grab hold of our own destiny and begin to create the life we so richly deserve.”

  This couldn’t go on much longer. The crowd wouldn’t stand for it. It was going to get real ugly, real fast. While the madness swirled around me, I was strangely calm. I guess it was because there was nothing I could do. However this was going to play out, I wasn’t going to be a factor.

  Or maybe I was.

  Professor Gastigian was the voice of the people. If there was any hope of standing up to Naymeer, the people were going to need somebody to rally behind. I might not be able to save the thousands of poor people in that stadium from whatever fate awaited them, but I had to try to save at least one: Haig. He had to get out of there.

  I took off running for the stage, which wasn’t easy, because I had to weave my way through the people who were pushing the other way, desperately trying to get off the field. I knocked over more than one person as I fought my way back toward the TV truck.

  “You are here today because you have made a choice,” Naymeer continued. “Rather than rising to your fullest potential, you have chosen to let others lead the way for you.”

  Naymeer’s voice had taken on that edge again. He was transforming from kindly father figure to harsh judge.

  “You have chosen to tear down rather than build up. You criticize rather than strategize. Instead of working to improve your lot, you are satisfied with being carried on the backs of others.”

  Naymeer stalked the stage, pointing an accusing finger at the crowd. He was getting worked up. It was all building toward something that I knew couldn’t be good.

  “For that, I pity you. If we are to see our way through to a greater world, we will no longer make excuses. No longer tolerate lethargy. Idleness. Sloth. You
have chosen your own path. You could have reveled in the glory of Halla. Instead you will be swept away by the tide of purification.”

  With that, he thrust his hand into the air. A single beam of light shot from his ring, headed for the sky. The crowd let out a collective gasp. They no longer pushed their way toward the exits. Every last person froze, transfixed by the dramatic sight.

  I didn’t stop moving. I couldn’t. I was on a mission. The infield was nearly empty. The few stragglers who remained stood staring at the impossible display coming from Naymeer. From his ring. Mark’s ring. The beam of light shot skyward with no end. It could have reached into space and beyond. What was it? What did it mean?

  A shadow flashed on the stage. Somebody had gotten through security and was headed for Naymeer. I looked away from the beam of light in time to see who the brave intruder was.

  It was Alder. He must have gotten onto the stage from behind. I guessed the guards weren’t expecting an assault from backstage. It was as if time slowed down. Alder was doing what he always did—he was taking charge. He was a warrior. A knight. While I was in brain lock, already admitting defeat, Alder was taking action. Whatever the light was that sprang from Naymeer’s ring, I figured it couldn’t be good. Alder must have thought the same thing, because he was making a full-on assault. He sprinted across the stage. His target was Naymeer. I held my breath, waiting for the tackle.

  It never came. As Alder coiled to launch himself at Naymeer, two red-shirt guards stepped onto the stage from opposite sides. Their machine guns were leveled at their waists.

  “Alder!” I screamed to warn him. There was no chance that he heard me. Even if he had, it wouldn’t have made a difference. I changed direction and sprinted for the stage. For my friend.

  The dados fired. Both weapons clattered loudly. Alder was hit so hard and so furiously, it knocked him off course and threw him from the stage. The sight was so jarring and violent, it made me stop short. Alder landed on the dirt of the infield. He didn’t move. His blood quickly mixed with the light brown dirt. People screamed in horror. The violence had begun. And Alder didn’t move. Naymeer never took his eyes off his beam of light. I don’t think he even knew what had just happened. He stared up at the shimmering laserlike ray as if he himself were in awe of its majesty. And Alder didn’t move. I started running again. I could save him. I could bring him back to life.

  I never got the chance.

  Before I could reach him, I was tackled by two red shirts. All I wanted to do was get to Alder. To get my hands on him. To will him back to life. I nailed one dado in the head with an elbow, sending him reeling. The other one wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug that I tried to break, but couldn’t.

  “Alder!” I shouted desperately. “You’re all right! You will not die!”

  Two more dados joined the guy who held me. They dragged me away. Away from Alder.

  “Alder!” I screamed again. “Hang on!”

  I didn’t have the strength to break free of the dados. I couldn’t lay my hands on Alder. I couldn’t work whatever impossible magic we Travelers had. There was nothing I could do to help my friend. My fellow Traveler. The guy who followed me unquestioningly. The knight who’d saved my life so many times before. Alder was dead.

  He died the way he had lived, fighting for what he knew was right. I didn’t even react. Seriously. How could I? Call it shock. Call it denial. Whatever. I couldn’t focus on the fact that the knight from Denduron was lying dead in the dirt. Not him. Alder was invincible. It was something I knew I would have to deal with at some point, but not just then, because my nightmare was only beginning.

  I desperately struggled to break loose from the dados. It was a waste of energy. They dragged me to the side of the stage, away from Naymeer. The Ravinian leader hadn’t moved. The beam of light from his ring shot straight into the sky. I heard a clap of thunder. At least, it sounded like thunder. It could have been the seam between territories cracking open. Then another beam of light shot down from the sky, next to the first. It was as if the first beam hit something in the heavens and bounced back. The light hit the ground in front of the stage with another thundering boom, as if it were a bomb. The ground shook. The force of the impact knocked us off our feet. The dados lost their grip. I nearly got away, but the dados were too fast. They wrapped me up again and dragged me off. I kept my eyes on the infield. The ground was glowing. Whatever the light was, it had heat. Smoke rose from the point of impact.

  Both beams of light disappeared. Naymeer took a quick look at his handiwork, nodded in satisfaction, and strode off the stage. What had he done? The light spread across the ground, creating smoke and sizzle. Every eye in the stadium was on it. Except for mine, that is. The dados pulled me behind the stage.

  I saw Naymeer coming down the backstage stairs. He was met by two dados, who escorted him toward the helicopter that had landed in the outfield. Whatever was about to happen, Naymeer wasn’t going to be around to see it. Or maybe he wanted to watch it from the air.

  The door to the TV trailer flew open. Two more red-shirt dados blasted out. They were holding Professor Gastigian. They too must have realized how important Gastigian was to their enemies. Haig struggled against them, but it was no use. The old man couldn’t battle two dados. I wasn’t doing such a great job either. There was nothing I could to do help the professor. There was nothing I could do to help Alder. It was a complete and total loss. Haig was dragged toward the waiting helicopter. Surprisingly, I was too. Up ahead, the rotors of the big chopper started to whine and turn. Naymeer climbed aboard, followed shortly after by Haig, who was thrown aboard. I was last. The red shirts took me right to the door and pushed me in. I hit the deck and tried to bounce back to my feet, but a dado followed me in and pushed me back down onto the deck. He stood over me with his machine gun ready. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  The door was slammed shut from the outside. The dado on board reached back with one hand and threw the handle to lock it tight. The rotors whined. The chopper shuddered. Moments later we were airborne.

  The helicopter looked like a military troop carrier. It was pretty much a big, flying room with bench seats along either side. Haig was on the floor in a heap. I didn’t see Naymeer. I figured he must have gone to the cockpit. I rolled to my right and crawled toward the window. I needed to see what was happening below. The dado didn’t stop me. I guess he figured there was nowhere for me to go. The helicopter rose quickly and hovered between the other two choppers, giving me a blimp’s-eye view of Yankee Stadium. Looking down, I saw the area in front of the stage was burning. What seemed like a random fire from ground level looked very different from above. It wasn’t simply burning grass. There was a pattern to the fire. A very distinct pattern. Burning on the field below was the star symbol. The people in the stadium were actually drawn to it out of curiosity. With Naymeer off the stage and the helicopter gone, they must have thought the show was over. I could see them pushing closer to the field from every level, straining to get a look at the burning symbol, as if it had all been some spectacular stunt.

  It was spectacular all right. But it was no stunt.

  The fire seemed to have a life of its own. Instead of burning out, it flared brighter. This was no ordinary fire. It burned into the ground, sinking lower, eating into the earth. Smoke swirled, nearly obliterating the flames. As if that weren’t impossible enough, the fiery star began to spin. It was as if the symbol were a physical object. Like a demonic dygo, it burrowed into the ground, creating what at first looked like a deep pit. As it dug deeper, I could see there was more to it than that. The spinning star went straight down into the earth, leaving a wall of gray rocks in its wake. It was a sight I knew all too well.

  Right there, in the center of Yankee Stadium, a monstrous flume was being born. It was larger than any flume I’d ever seen. The mouth had to be thirty yards wide.

  “Quite the show,” came a voice to the rear of the helicopter. It was the red-shirt dado. My antenna went up. Until th
en, none of the red shirts had spoken. What was different about this one?

  I should have guessed. The guard lowered his machine gun, raised his arms, and transformed. Yes, it was Saint Dane. I didn’t react. Nothing surprised me anymore. I was floating through a dream. The demon casually strolled across the cabin and sat down on the far side, making himself comfortable.

  “Don’t bother staring at me, Pendragon,” he declared. “The show has only begun.”

  What did that mean? I looked back down to see the spinning star was so deep within the flume, it was no more than a pin spot of light. It had burrowed into the depths of infinity. A moment later its light winked out. It was quickly replaced by another type of light. A familiar one. From deep down inside the vertical tunnel, a faint glow appeared. The new flume was coming to life.

  Seeing the tunnel activate made me realize what this was all leading to. The demonstration at the conclave the night before was prelude. This was the main event. Whatever happened to Mark and Courtney and the other poor victims was about to be repeated here…times seventy thousand.

  I was about to witness the Bronx Massacre.

  Saint Dane didn’t even bother to watch. He sat straight, with his arms folded across his chest. “I thought it was quite accommodating of the Foundation to provide us with the opportunity to make this bold statement.”

  “What statement?” I spat. “That the Ravinians are mass murderers?”

  “The people of Earth made their choice, Pendragon,” Saint Dane said with finality. “They have accepted the Ravinians’ philosophy. Still, there are doubters. The events here today will prove the power of the Ravinians is absolute.”

  “You mean you’ll create such fear that nobody would dare oppose them.”