D. MacHale - Raven Rise

I hit the sand and ran the rest of the way to the water. The craft was about fifty yards offshore. I could now see that there was a body on board, facedown. It didn’t look like a dado. The hair was too long. Dados didn’t have long hair. Robot hair didn’t grow. I figured it must have been a Flighter. Whoever it was, the guy was in bad shape. Or dead. I was torn. Should I go out and drag the thing to shore? I didn’t want to be helping anyone who might cause trouble. But there was only one person aboard. Flighters traveled in packs, like wolves. It might not have been a Flighter, but somebody from Rayne who somehow got cast adrift. One thing was sure: If the person was alive, they needed help. I decided to risk it. I ran into the water and did the crawl out to the craft, always keeping my head above water and my eyes on the skimmer. Junior Lifeguard training never leaves you.

The closer I got, the more detail I could make out, but I still couldn’t tell if it was a guy or a girl. Whoever it was had long blond hair. Their clothes were in shreds. There was a definite Flighter vibe going on. I suddenly felt vulnerable. If this was a trick, the Flighter could easily jump up, gun the engine, and run me over. I stopped about five yards away and treaded water.

“Hello?” I called. “You okay?”

The body stirred.

“Can you talk?” I called.

The victim lifted his chin. The blond hair fell in front of his face. He twisted his head, as if trying to understand where my voice was coming from.

“Who are you?” I called.

The person on the skimmer yelled out a word that I can only describe as somewhere between a hoarse croak and a cry of agony.

“Help,” he called.

I didn’t hesitate a second more and swam for the craft. It may have been a trap, but so what? I grabbed on to the side rails and looked up at the horrible, sunburned face.

“Who are you?” I called.

The guy could barely move. He reached up a hand and pushed the blond hair away from one eye. A lifeless eye. He was blind. His face was blistered. It was a hideous sight. I had no idea who the poor guy was.

“Did I make it?” he asked hoarsely.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Where are you trying to go?”

The guy smiled. I think I had answered his question.

“Pendragon,” he gasped with obvious relief.

I froze. He had recognized my voice. He knew me.

“Where else would I want to go but home to Ibara?” he croaked.

It was when he said the word “home” that the truth hit me. It was impossible. It couldn’t be. But it was. “Loque?” I asked in dismay.

The guy nodded. I couldn’t move. Loque was dead. I saw him die in a crushing avalanche of shattered glass. Yet he was there, lying on the skimmer. Back home.

Alive.

I looked into his dead eye. He nodded. My heart hurt.

It actually hurt. There were so many emotions going on. I had to fight off both laughing and crying. He pulled himself over to the edge of the craft until his lips were right next to my ear and whispered the few words that I really didn’t want to hear.

“They’re coming.”

It took every last bit of gas in his tank to say those words. Once the message was delivered, he passed out.

Loquewas alive. Barely. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy or terrified. The idea of the Jakill making it all the way back to Ibara only to die within sight of shore was unthinkable. And what did he mean by “They’re coming”? Who was coming? When? Why? It didn’t sound like a good thing. I didn’t thinkLoquewould fight to stay alive just to deliver a casual message that some friendly folks were going to drop in for a visit.

“Loque!” I cried, shaking him. “Who’s coming?”

He didn’t budge. He was gone. With one hand I grabbed the edge of the skimmer. With the other I paddled furiously toward shore. Within minutes I hit the beach and dragged the craft onto the sand. A quick check for a pulse told me he was still with me. But for how long?

“Help!” I screamed, hoping somebody was within earshot. “Somebody!”

I was lucky. Or rather Loque was lucky. A young kid was wandering toward the beach to fish. I waved him over. When he got close enough to hear me, I yelled, “We need a doctor.”

The kid stood staring at me, his eyes wide.

“Now!” I shouted, shocking him into action. He sprinted back toward the village.

I waited for help to come, not sure of what to do. His heart was beating, so he didn’t need CPR. All I could do was make him comfortable. I thought back to what had happened with Loor in the caves below Zadaa. She was dead. A sword had been driven through her heart. But I held her in my arms and willed her to stay alive. It was a ridiculously desperate thing to do, except for the fact that it worked. Loor somehow survived with no injuries. To this day I don’t know how that happened. Could I do it again? I put my hand over Loque’s heart, but had no idea how to go about healing somebody. I closed my eyes and repeated to myself, “Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die.”

The good news is that he didn’t die on that beach, but I don’t think it had anything to do with me. There was no miraculous recovery. No instant healing. If anything, his heartbeat grew fainter. That meant that whatever happened with Loor, it wasn’t because I had magical healing power. The mystery of why she came back to life would continue.

It wasn’t long before several men and women came running toward us from the village. I recognized one as a doctor that Telleo worked with. Man, what a relief. Loque had a chance. An hour later he was lying in a cavern medical room in the base of Tribunal Mountain. I waited outside to get a report on how he was doing. Between the doctors and Telleo, I knew he was in good hands. If he had any chance of surviving, these were the guys who would pull him through. It was torture sitting alone, waiting for news. All the memories of that nightmare in Rubic City came back to me.

Loque was Siry’s best friend. I guess you could call him the second-in-command of the Jakills. Siry was the leader of the young rebels and didn’t want anything to do with me, or with being a Traveler. It was Loque who calmed Siry down. He was the strong voice of reason to the tightly wound, angry Siry. If not for Loque, Siry might never have accepted his role as a Traveler, which led to the saving of Ibara. Loque was a hero, which made the memories of that horrible day all the more painful. Twig had been captured by the Flighters. Siry, Loque, and I were on the run. We hid in the ruins of a massive cathedral-like structure with Flighters swarming all around us. When we thought they were gone, it was Loque who took it upon himself to scout around, to see if it was safe for us to come out of hiding. I’ll never forget seeing him standing in front of that massive wall of stained-glass and noticing the ominous shadow outside. The cannon. We realized what was happening, but too late. The Flighters shot the glass wall, shattering it into a billion pieces that rained down on Loque.

How could he have survived that? The only one who could answer that question was Loque, and he was barely clinging to life. The guy deserved to live. His sacrifice and vision helped save Ibara. He was a brave and loyal friend. For me, I wanted there to be one less victim of Saint Dane’s vicious crusade.

I had been waiting around for a few hours, writing my journal, when Telleo finally came to talk to me.

“It doesn’t look good,” she said sadly. “He was in surgery for a long time. He’s lost a lot of blood. Being exposed to the elements out on the water didn’t help. He’s totally burned.”

“His eyes?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Telleo said somberly. “Losing his vision may be the least of his troubles.”