D. MacHale - Raven Rise

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 kindly 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