The Lost City of Faar tpa-2

by D. J. MacHale

  Andy Mitchell had just stolen Bobby’s journals.

  CLORAL

  It’s over.

  I guess I don’t have to tell you guys that I made it, since I’m writing this journal. I’m back on Grallion now, where I’m feeling safe for the first time in a long time. But the sad truth is that not everybody was as lucky as I was.

  As I sit here in my apartment reliving the events of the last few days, I’m feeling a little numb. Maybe this is what they mean when they say somebody is in shock. Everything that happened seems like it was a dream. Maybe that’s a good thing. When you feel as horrible as I do, then pretending it was all a dream makes it a little easier to handle.

  Many people acted bravely, even in the face of death. I think that’s what I’ll remember most about the ordeal I’ve just been through. I have met some special people here on Cloral. I hope they think the same of me.

  This is what happened.

  Kalaloo led Uncle Press, Spader, and me along a winding path that brought us higher up on the mountain. The path ended at a giant outdoor shelter that was perched on a plateau near the peak. We walked up several marble steps to a large, round platform that had all sorts of tile work on the floor. We’re talking intricate stuff here. There were elaborate scenes of people building ships and swimming with schools of colorful fish, and even one scene that showed the dome being built over Faar mountain. I guessed this incredible mosaic showed the history of Faar. I hated to walk on it. It was like walking on art.

  Around the perimeter of this platform were massive round columns that supported a giant, marble dome. It felt like we had just arrived on Mount Olympus! Above the stairs that led to the platform, attached to the dome was a large, marble symbol. It was the familiar symbol of Faar that Spader’s father had drawn for him.

  In the center of the platform was a circle of bleachers that were also made out of marble. People were sitting there, gibbering with animation. I counted twelve in all. Men and women, all wearing the same tunic-looking outfits that everyone else on Faar wore. Of course, they were all bald, too. Even the women. Weird. I figured this was the Council of Faar that was waiting to meet with us. Kalaloo led us into the circle and everyone immediately fell silent. It was kind of creepy. We stood at the dead center, surrounded by all these bald people who looked at us with sour expressions, as if we were strangers intruding on their perfect world. The fact is, we were.

  We stood there like dopes, not sure of what to say. Finally Kalaloo took the lead.

  “We have news,” he announced to the group. “Not all of it is good. These brave voyagers are continuing the work of our good friend Spader, who died so tragically.”

  He walked behind Spader and put a hand on his shoulder. “In fact,” he continued, “this is the son of Spader. We must welcome them all.”

  The twelve members of the council applauded politely, but they didn’t have a whole lot of enthusiasm. It was all so stiff and formal. I really wanted to start screaming, “Wake up, people! Saint Dane is coming to kick your teeth in! Hel-lo! You gotta get ready!” But that wouldn’t have been cool.

  Uncle Press then brought the council up to speed. He told them of the tragic mistake the Clorans made by creating a fertilizer that turned the underwater crops into deadly poison. He told them how thrilled we were to hear that the good people of Faar had the means to undo the harm and make the crops safe again. I have to admit, he was good. He strode around the circle like a lawyer presenting his case. Nobody could take their eyes off him.

  Uncle Press then gave them the bad news. He told them that a raider had discovered the location of Faar, and was probably headed this way to attack them at this very moment.

  This caused a big hubbub. Finally, the council was showing some life.

  “How did this happen?” one woman demanded. “How could a raider learn of Faar?”

  Uncle Press didn’t back away from the truth.

  “I’m afraid he learned of Faar’s location at the same time we did,” he answered. “The elder Spader had a map to guide us here, and the raider pilot saw it.”

  Spader dropped his head in shame, but I gave him a shove. He had nothing to feel bad about. He didn’t have any choice but to show the map to Saint Dane.

  “Trusting the elder Spader was a mistake,” shouted one man angrily. “We should never have let him leave!”

  This caused another uproar. The crowd was getting hostile. It was true, we were the ones who were bringing the boogeyman to their doorstep. I couldn’t blame them for being angry, but I was beginning to like them better when they sat there like boring, bald statues.

  “Please!” shouted Uncle Press, trying to restore order. “There is a larger issue here!”

  “Larger than the safety of Faar?” yelled a councilwoman.

  “Yes!”

  The crowd grumbled, but they wanted to hear what Uncle Press had to say.

  “The man who is coming to attack Faar is the same man who poisoned the crops,” Uncle Press said. “He wants nothing less than the destruction of Cloral. Spader’s father realized that. If he didn’t come here, you wouldn’t have learned about the disaster until it was too late. Now there’s a chance to stop it.”

  “But he brought the shark to our very door!” a man yelled angrily.

  “The shark was already at your door!” Uncle Press shot back. “Did you think the people of Faar would be immune? You eat from the underwater farms, don’t you? How many of you would already be dead if you hadn’t been warned?”

  No one said anything because Uncle Press was right. If Spader’s father hadn’t gone to Faar and sounded the alarm, there would be many more dead than the people of Magorran.

  I saw the council members exchange worried glances. Their perfect world was looking a little bit shaky right about now.

  “I beg you,” said Uncle Press with passion. “You must send out the Faarians to begin the process of saving the farms as soon as possible. That’s what this man is coming for. He wants to prevent you from saving Cloral.”

  “And who will save Faar?” one woman demanded to know. “We are not warriors. Our sole defense has been secrecy. We have no weapons to fight with, no shields to protect us.”

  Good question. Nobody had a good answer.

  Finally someone spoke up. “Maybe there is a way,” Spader said to the group. “Right now floating above us is an aquaneer from Grallion. I can swim up in a jiff and tell her the score. It wouldn’t take long for her to get back to Grallion, gather a force of aquaneers, and return to stop the raiders. It would be a real natty-do, but I trust my aquaneers against a band of raiders any day!”

  “That will never do,” said Kalaloo. “You would have to reveal the existence and location of Faar. Think of what we would be giving up in exchange for their protection.”

  “Think of what you’d be giving up if you don’t get any protection,” Uncle Press countered.

  It was a tough choice. Nobody was quick to offer an opinion. The decision that would be made in the next few moments, no matter what it was, would change the future of Faar and of Cloral forever.

  That’s when an elderly man who had been quiet up until now, stood up. This must have been out of the ordinary, because every one of the council members seemed to snap to attention. It was clear that this guy had their respect. I got the feeling that he didn’t speak much, but when he did, the others listened. In other words, he was theman. He spoke slowly and with a soft rasp.

  “We have been preparing for this day since the waters closed over our city,” he began. “No one, not even the builders of the dome, expected us to hide until the end of time. Cloral is a changed world. Mostly, for the better. I believe it is time for us to rejoin it.”

  This caused some quiet murmuring among the council members. Finally a woman stood and said, “Are you suggesting we transpire?”

  I’m not sure what “transpire” meant, but the woman said it with such horror that I’m guessing it was a pretty dramatic thing.

  �
��No,” the elderly man answered. “Nothing that drastic. I am suggesting we move slowly and reintroduce ourselves to our brothers above.”

  “Can I remind you?” interrupted Uncle Press. “We have to move quickly to save the underwater farms. If we don’t you may not have any brothers left up there to reintroduce yourselves to.”

  The council members shared troubled looks. They were about to make the most important decision in the history of this city since they discovered the waters were going to rise up and swallow them. It was pretty intense.

  I finally got the guts up to say something.

  “You’ve been helping the Clorans forever,” I said, trying not to let my voice shake. “Maybe it’s time you let them helpyou.”

  The elderly man locked eyes with me. He may have been old and frail, but those fierce eyes told me he was a force that shouldn’t be taken lightly.

  “What is your name?” he asked me.

  “Pendragon.”

  He seemed to be sizing me up, and it was giving me the creeps. I suddenly wished I had kept my mouth shut. But then he gave me a small smile.

  “Much has been said before this council today, all of it well-intentioned. But the words of the youngest ring the clearest.”

  He then turned to the council and continued with conviction. “It is time to accept help from those we have helped for so long. All in agreement with sending young Spader to return with his aquaneers, say ‘ho.’”

  The responses didn’t come all at once. Nobody wanted to go first. But eventually each council member responded with a “ho,” and with every response, they became louder and more assured.

  “All against, say ‘no.’”

  There wasn’t a single “no” to be heard. The elderly man then turned to us and said, “We have set a new course. Young Spader, please go now. We must act swiftly.”

  Spader looked to Uncle Press and me. His eyes were alive with excitement. He was born for this moment.

  “Will Yenza do this?” Uncle Press asked him quietly.

  “You know that answer,” Spader said with absolute conviction.

  “Then what are you still doing here?” Uncle Press said with a smile.

  “Hobey-ho!” I said, and gave him a reassuring clap on the shoulder.

  “Don’t start the do without me, mates!” he said, then turned and bounded off the platform.

  I could only hope that he got to Yenza fast, and that her help wouldn’t be too little, too late.

  “Now,” said the elderly man. “There is the matter of the underwater farms. Kalaloo, are we prepared?”

  “I believe so,” he answered. “The crafts are being loaded.”

  “Then off you go,” the man commanded.

  Kalaloo said to us, “Come. You’ll want to see this.”

  We definitely wanted to see how the Faarians were going to save the underwater farms. It seemed pretty impossible to me, but as I’ve learned, nothing is impossible.

  After a respectful bow to the council members, we started off the platform.

  “Pendragon!” called the elderly man.

  I stopped and turned back to him.

  “This fellow who wants to harm us… should we truly fear him?”

  Nowtherewas a question. What he was really asking me was if Saint Dane were capable of destroying Faar. I had to answer this question as truthfully as possible. I didn’t want the council to second-guess their decision. I held the old man’s gaze so he knew how serious I was.

  “I could just say yes,” I began. “But the absolute truth is that he is evil beyond your imagination. You can’t back down from him. The biggest mistake you could make would be to not fear him enough.”

  The old man nodded in understanding. He looked tired. He raised his hand to me in thanks and to tell me to get going.

  Kalaloo hurried us off the council platform, along a different path down the mountain and into a tunnel that brought us into Faar’s mountain. We walked along a narrow hallway that brought us deep inside the city. I was amazed to see wonderful works of art hanging on the walls. Most were posed portraits of stern-looking men and women. I figured they were past council members, but didn’t bother to ask. We had more important things to do than study art history.

  “We must go to the base of the mountain,” explained Kalaloo. “That is the staging area.”

  “It’s a long way down,” said Uncle Press.

  “Not the way we’re going,” answered Kalaloo.

  We arrived at a big tube. It came down through the ceiling and disappeared into the floor. There was a door in the tube right in front of us, and I imagined there were more doors if you walked around. Kalaloo led us through the door into a small room that was no bigger than an elevator. As it turned out, that’s exactly what it was. The big tube held four elevators.

  Kalaloo grabbed a lever on the side of the room and pushed it forward. I heard awhooshof air, and a moment later we were on our way down. We were hauling, too. There wasn’t any door on this thing and seeing the floors fly by made it seem even faster. I held on to the side of the car nervously. Kalaloo laughed.

  “Do not worry, Pendragon. You are floating on a cushion of air. That is how we power so much of Faar, with air that is compressed through channels built into the mountain.”

  That was cool. But until we were on firm ground again, I had to hope this aerovator wouldn’t spring a leak. We descended so fast my ears popped. Kalaloo then eased up on the throttle and we began to slow. A moment later we gently touched down.

  “Like floating on a cloud,” I said, trying to sound casual, but my voice cracked.

  Uncle Press laughed. He knew I was freaked out.

  Kalaloo led us out through another long corridor that soon brought us back into daylight. As soon as we stepped outside I looked up to see that we were at the base of Faar’s mountain. It was a pretty majestic sight, this mountain city with the glittering dome covering it.

  We hurried along a pathway that led to the large buildings I described to you before. We passed many other Faarians along the way. I couldn’t help but notice that the people down here were moving a little more quickly. Where everyone else was kind of strolling around, enjoying the weird music, these guys down here had jobs to do.

  “The mutated crops may be deadly,” Kalaloo explained, “but the cellular change that occurred was a fairly simple one. We have prepared a chemical compound that when spread over the living plants will quickly reverse the process.”

  That sounded good, but we weren’t talking about sprinkling plant food on a rose bush. We were talking about thousands upon thousands of acres of farmland. I didn’t care how advanced these guys were, that was a big job.

  “How can you possibly spread the chemical over such a vast area?” Uncle Press asked. Great minds think alike. He didn’t believe it was possible either.

  “That is the easy part,” answered Kalaloo with a proud smile.

  We were now at the door to the large building. Unlike the ancient, marble structures farther up on Faar’s mountain, this building seemed a bit more modern. It reminded me of a big airplane hangar.

  When we stepped inside, I saw that my first impression wasn’t far off. It wasn’t an airplane hangar, but it could have been. The space inside was vast. The ceiling was high and there were no walls or partitions to divide up the space. It was just one big garagelike room. But the building itself wasn’t the impressive part. What my eye first went to was every science fiction geek’s fantasy. Since I thought it was pretty cool, maybe that means I’m a science fiction geek too.

  Lined up in front of us side by side was a fleet of small submarines. I counted twenty in all. My first thought was that they looked like those helicopters where the pilots sit in big, clear bubbles. They were about the same size and the fronts had similar-looking bubbles. Inside one bubble, I saw seats for two pilots, surrounded by the vehicle’s controls. Attached in front was a long mechanical arm that I guessed must be used for grabbing things, kind of like what they
have on the space shuttle. Behind the bubble the body of the submarine was light green, which I figured made it tough to see underwater.

  Each sub floated in its own individual pen. I looked below the waterline and saw two large cylinders attached to the bottom of the sub that could only be the engines. Each sub pen had its own big door that I was sure would open when it came time to launch.

  The place was pretty busy. Faarians were swarming over the submarines, preparing them for their mission. It looked like they were being fueled up because many of the vehicles had thick hoses attached to the back. These hoses came down from giant bins that were up near the ceiling. But I knew they didn’t need fueling, since they used water for power. I wondered what these snaky tubes were for, but waited for Kalaloo to explain. In all, it was a pretty impressive operation.

  “We call them haulers,” Kalaloo said proudly. “They may not look like it, but at full speed they move so quickly they are nearly impossible to see.”

  If that were true, then “haulers” was the perfect name because it sounded like they could really haul.

  Kalaloo motioned for me to get inside one of the subs. I thought that was cool. The bubble had a door on top that was open, so I slipped down into the pilot’s seat. I felt like I was at the controls of a jet fighter, especially since the main control was a stick near my right hand, just like a jet.

  “One pilot drives the hauler,” he continued. “The other navigates, controls the arm, and delivers the cargo.”

  “Cargo?” asked Uncle Press.

  Kalaloo pointed to the tube that ran from the bins in the ceiling down to the haulers.

  “That is the main purpose of the haulers. We have used them to secretly tend Cloral’s underwater farms for generations. The back is a cargo area where we carry seed, or fertilizer, or minerals, or anything else that is needed. Right now we are loading the chemical that will save the mutated crops.”

  Now it made sense. The hoses weren’t loading fuel, they were filling up on the chemical that would save the farms. These haulers were like underwater crop dusters.