I nodded numbly. It was Elli Winter. Nevva’s mother. The Traveler from Quillan.
“I don’t know what to say about my daughter,” she said sadly.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I replied.
“You owe me, Pendragon,” came a guy’s voice that sounded pretty ticked off.
From out of the haze stepped Siry Remudi, the young bandit. The Traveler from Ibara. “If I knew you were going to bury the flume, I never would have left Ibara!”
“I didn’t want to trap you there,” I explained.
Siry smiled. “Yeah, I get it. I’ll let it go this time, but don’t you ever leave me out again.”
“I take it you got my note,” came another familiar voice. It was Patrick. Alive and well, or whatever it was that we were.
“I did,” I answered. “I wish I could have done more with the information.”
“You did just fine,” Patrick assured me. “Nobody could have done better.”
I heard an animal snarl. Under normal circumstances I probably would have jumped. I didn’t. A beast on four legs stalked out of the haze, stood up, and walked the rest of the way on two legs. Kasha, the cat from Eelong, joined the circle.
“You made me a promise, Pendragon,” the klee growled.
“I did?”
“You said that one day you would bring my ashes back to Eelong. I haven’t forgotten.”
I nodded.
“Hello, shorty!” came a warm voice that made me smile, and almost start crying again.
Stepping out of the haze, wearing the same dark suit he always wore on First Earth, was Gunny Van Dyke.
“Whoa now!” he exclaimed as he looked me over. “Maybe I can’t be calling you ‘shorty’ no more!”
I ran over and gave him a hug.
“Heck of a thing, Pendragon,” he said wistfully. “Heck of a thing.”
“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.” I sniffed.
He held me out at arm’s length and asked, “You all right, son?”
Unbelievable. With all that had happened, Gunny was worried about me.
“Getting right real fast,” I answered.
He smiled warmly. “Wouldn’t expect nothing less.”
“Where is he?” I asked him.
Gunny gave me a mock confused look. “Who? Who you talking about?” His eyes twinkled and he smiled slyly. He knew exactly who I was talking about.
“Hobey!” I heard a familiar voice call. “Don’t go starting the party without me!”
Running into the circle, out of breath, was Vo Spader. The Traveler from Cloral. Though he looked a little older than the last time I’d seen him, so much about him was the same. His black hair was still long. He wore his black aquaneer’s swimskin. He still had that mischievous look in his eye, that said he was ready for whatever adventure was coming his way.
“Haven’t missed anything, have I?” he asked me.
“Heck if I know,” I answered. “I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Ahh,” Spader scoffed. “You’ll get a handle, no worries.” He grabbed both of my arms and leaned in to me. In a quiet, sincere voice he said, “I meant what I said, mate. I’m there for you. I’m ready.”
I didn’t realize how much I missed Spader until that moment. He gave me a hug, then backed away and stood next to Gunny in the wide circle.
I was standing in the center of a ring of Travelers. It’s hard to describe my emotions. It was all too much to comprehend.
“Wait,” I said to nobody in particular. “We’re not all here.”
Everyone exchanged looks. Nobody responded. At least nobody in the circle.
“Not yet,” came a familiar voice from outside the ring.
A tall, dark form strode confidently into view. She wore the light armor of a Batu warrior. Strapped to her back was the long, wooden cross-stave weapon that had served her so well. Seeing her gave me a surge of confidence like I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
The Traveler from Zadaa had arrived.
Loor walked right up to me and stood looking into my eyes. “Why didn’t you come for me?” she demanded to know.
“I wanted to protect you” was my answer.
Loor looked surprised. Surprise turned to disbelief. Disbelief turned to intensity. “You wanted to protect me?” she declared, incredulous.
All I could do was nod dumbly.
Loor leaned in. She got right in my face, nose to nose. “Do not make that mistake again,” she ordered…and kissed me. Right on the lips. It wasn’t exactly the intense, romantic kiss we almost shared that incredible, rainy night back in Xhaxhu during the Festival of Azhra, but it was still pretty okay.
Except that I nearly fell over.
Loor backed off, stepped into the circle, put her hands on her hips and declared, “Now we are all here.”
We were. Every one of us. Almost. Uncle Press strode into the ring, joining me in the center. I looked to him and quietly asked, “What about Mark and Courtney?”
Uncle Press shook his head and spoke softly. “They’re not Travelers, Bobby. I’m sorry.”
His explanation made sense, but it didn’t make the news sting any less.
Uncle Press stepped away from me and walked around the inside of the circle. As he moved, he looked at each Traveler in turn. Nobody said a word. Nobody dared to. The only sound was the far-off howl of wind and the crunch of Uncle Press’s boots on the gritty dirt.
“We’ve lost,” he declared. “The fate of Halla was in our hands. All of our hands. Yet this is where we find ourselves. Beaten. Alone. Outcast.”
As painful as this was to hear, nobody turned away from him. Each in turn held his eyes when he approached them.
“None of you asked for this responsibility. None of you know why you were chosen. Why you are Travelers. There was a reason for that. It’s time you knew.”
My eye caught something in the distance. It was mostly obscured by the haze. For a brief moment the wind pushed the dust around enough for me to catch a glimpse. It was only a shadow, with no detail, but it seemed to be a building. A tall building that came to a point on top. It was on a slight angle, as if it were listing to the side. I still had no perspective to understand how far away it was, or how big it was, but its shape looked vaguely familiar. A small glint of light flashed off what looked like glass windows. Then it was gone, obscured by the haze.
Uncle Press continued his walk around the inside of the circle of Travelers. He made sure to look everyone dead in the eye. Nobody flinched. When he had covered the full loop, he stopped at me.
“Bobby,” he said, “I told you a long time ago this would not end until Saint Dane thinks he’s won. Do you remember?”
“Remember? I’ve thought about it every day.”
Uncle Press nodded thoughtfully. “Would you say he thinks he’s won?”
“Yeah, pretty much” was my answer.
Uncle Press continued to walk. I saw his jaw muscles working. He was clenching his teeth. He was not happy. “I’ll tell you all something right here, right now. This is not the way things were meant to be.” He was angry. In all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen him show that kind of emotion. He wasn’t out of control or anything. He was just incredibly intense.
“Pendragon,” he barked. He never called me Pendragon. It made me jump. “You’ve made mistakes. We’ve all made mistakes. My question to you is, are you able to see past them? Or will it end here?”
I didn’t answer right away. That was too huge a question to give a quick, flip answer to. It was probably the most important question I had ever been asked in my life. I had to be sure that whatever I said, I meant it. That I believed it. A few short minutes before, I was lying alone in the dust, feeling defeated and alone. Now I stood in the center of a group of people that meant everything in Halla to me. In turn, I looked into the eyes of each one. I needed to draw strength from them. I needed to know I wasn’t in this alone.
I looked to Elli Winter, the ki
ndly historian from Quillan who had lost her husband, and then lost her daughter to the temptations of greed and the lure of power.
To Siry Remudi, the young outlaw, who was driven to uncover the truth about Ibara and live up to the high expectations of his father.
To Patrick Mac, the teacher from Third Earth, who struggled through his own insecurity and ultimately gave his life in a failed effort to put Earth back on course.
To Kasha, the hunter klee, who rebelled against her tribe to fight for equality among the races of Eelong.
To Vo Spader, the carefree aquaneer from Cloral, who set out to avenge the death of his father, and had a hand in stopping Saint Dane on three territories.
To Gunny Van Dyke, the soft-spoken hotel worker, whose calm wisdom helped the klee of Eelong to thrive, and who made an impossible, brave choice by letting a tragic moment in history play out the way it was supposed to, in order to save First Earth.
To Aja Killian, the brilliant scientist, who tried in vain to save Veelox, but didn’t live long enough to know that the plan she put in motion eventually succeeded hundreds of years in the future.
To Loor, the fearless girl from Zadaa, whose abilities as a warrior were second to her fierce belief in using her skills to fight for what was right and just.
And finally to Alder, the selfless knight from Denduron, who always put the safety and well-being of others ahead of his own. His loyalty and sincere goodness were perhaps the greatest of any of us.
Then there was me. Bobby Pendragon. The Traveler from Second Earth. The lead Traveler. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, the role that the other Travelers played in this battle was secondary to mine. Not that they didn’t sacrifice and fight as hard, or harder, than I ever did, but when it came down to it, I was the one on the line. Saint Dane told me more than once that the battle for Halla was really the battle between the two of us. It was probably the only truthful thing he ever said. He said it was all about him and me.
I lost.
As I stood there, looking into the eyes of the Travelers, something happened. For each one of those brief moments, I reconnected with a true friend. Though no words were exchanged, they were each telling me the same thing. They were with me. I truly believed that if I had asked any one of them to follow me through the gates of hell, I’d have to hold them back from going in first.
“Pendragon?” Aja called out.
I turned to her.
“A long time ago I asked you to give me another crack at Saint Dane. You said you’d see what you could do. Remember?”
“I do.”
“I’m calling in that promise, Pendragon. Right now. See what you can do.”
The other Travelers looked to me, waiting for a response.
Uncle Press called out, “What do you say, Bobby?”
I took one last look around at my friends. The Travelers. Each one of them gave me the same, silent response. They nodded with confidence.
I walked to my uncle and declared, “I say…we are so not done yet.”
Uncle Press smiled. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t huge. But it was real. Just as quickly, he let it drop and turned to the others.
“All right then,” he announced. “Now it’s our turn.”
He strode out of the circle, walked off, and disappeared into the haze. Where he was going, I didn’t know. The Travelers watched him leave, then turned to me as one. They had heard my answer to Uncle Press. They wanted their own.
“He’s right,” I declared. “I’ve made mistakes. More than my share. Hopefully, I’ve learned from them, but I can’t guarantee anything. There’s only one thing I can promise. I’m taking this to the end. Saint Dane thinks we’re already there. I don’t. Where it will be…when it will be…I don’t know. But I’m going to be there. Whether he likes it or not, Saint Dane will be there too. He says things have played out the way he planned. Maybe they have. I say we start making plans of our own.”
The circle closed. The Travelers drew close and stood together, shoulder to shoulder, facing me. I couldn’t have been more proud.
I stood up straight and said, “And so we go.”
I walked past them, headed after Uncle Press. The Travelers followed behind me. First Alder, then Loor, then the others. There were eleven of us. Each more different than the next. All with the same mindset.
Things weren’t the way they were meant to be.
It was our job to make things right.
We were the soldiers of Halla.
It was time for us to take it back.
END OF JOURNAL #36
To Be Continued…
Raven Rise Page 48
