D. MacHale - Raven Rise

“Drink your tea before it gets cold,” Mrs. Dimond said to him.

Mark grabbed his teacup, took a gulp, then quickly tossed the cup back down onto the saucer with a loud clatter, knocking his spoon onto the floor.

“Whoa, easy there, partner,” Dodger warned.

To everyone else it seemed that Mark was being clumsy. To everyone else but Courtney, that is. She stared at her friend uneasily.

“You okay?” she asked with trepidation.

“Yeah, sure,” Mark answered quickly. He avoided making eye contact with her to try not to give away the fact that he wasn’t even close to okay. He kept his right hand buried in his pocket. He didn’t want anybody to notice that something was missing.

“All right, folks. Here’s the plan,” Dodger announced while clapping the crumbs off his hands. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out three black and red paper folders. “We’ve got three berths in cabin class for the voyage back, day after tomorrow. It ain’t a cheap haul, let me tell you, but since DADO is payin’ for it-”

“Don’t say that,” Mark snapped.

Everyone shot a look at Mark. They weren’t used to him being so opinionated. About anything.

“Sorry, chum,” Dodger apologized. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Mark looked at his shoes. Courtney looked at Mark, frowning.

“We sail at noon, so we should get an early start to the docks,” Dodger continued. “So if you want to do any sightseeing, tomorrow’s the day.”

Nobody said a word.

“Though I guess nobody’s really in the mood for that,” Dodger added.

The awkward silence continued.

“This is what you wanted, right?” Dodger asked, confused. “I mean, did I mess up or something?”

“You did fine,” Courtney offered. “I think we’re all just a little bit tired. Thanks for getting the tickets.”

“Things’ll look better once we get home,” Dodger offered hopefully. “You know, back to familiar surroundings.”

“I’m not exactly sure what home is anymore,” Mark said softly.

Mrs. Dimond looked to her son, pained. He had grown a lifetime in the past four years.

Dodger stood, trying to break the gloom. “There’s a little restaurant next door that looks good for dinner. Okay if I make reservations?”

“Good idea,” Mr. Dimond replied.

Dodger nodded. He didn’t know what else to say, so he ducked out. Courtney and the Dimonds kept looking to Mark, waiting for him to say something. Finally Mark took a breath and looked back at them.

“He’s right,” Mark exclaimed. “Things’ll look better once we get back. Let’s not sit around feeling sorry for ourselves. I’m hungry, and not for one of those dry little turd balls.”

Everyone laughed, in spite of the heavy atmosphere. An hour later they all sat in the Wild Boar restaurant next to the hotel, feasting on shepherd’s pie, haddock cakes, and roast beef. Though it was actually on the menu, nobody took a chance on ordering the wild boar. They talked about England…about what they’d seen and what they might catch a glimpse of the next day. They talked about the Queen Mary and what they looked forward to on the voyage back to New York. They even talked about the weather. The weather! To anybody who may have been eavesdropping they sounded exactly like a normal, everyday family from America on holiday. Truth was, there was nothing normal about them, other than the fact that for a few hours they tried to pretend like everything was okay. It was pretty clear that nobody wanted to talk about anything that had to do with Forge, KEM, or Saint Dane. It was like a short holiday. Very short. By ten o’clock everyone was in his or her room, sound asleep.

Everyone but Mark. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to Dodger’s grinding snore. For hours. At times it got so loud he was surprised the windows didn’t rattle. It wasn’t the snoring that kept him awake though. Mark couldn’t stop thinking about his meeting with Nevva. He had convinced himself that she told him the truth. She only wanted the ring so that Bobby would be truly isolated, with no contact from the rest of Halla. Did he believe her? Surely she must have known that there were other rings floating around. Or had she made deals for those as well?

Mark twisted his head to look over at the next bed. “Dodger?” he whispered.

Dodger’s answer was an even deeper snore. The guy was long gone. Mark had only known him for a short time, but liked the feisty acolyte. And why not? If Gunny trusted him, he had to be a great guy. He definitely proved useful in getting them around on First Earth. He was going to be a huge asset once they got back to New York and had to figure out what their next move would be. Dodger was definitely a friend.

Dodger also possessed the key to knowing if Mark had made the mistake of a lifetime. Sitting on the night table between the two beds was a lamp, a phone, a roll of British pound notes…and Dodger’s Traveler ring. It was right there, a few feet from his head. Mark sat up slowly. The old bedsprings let out a groaning creak. He froze and took another look at Dodger. Would this wake him? Dodger rolled over and mumbled something in his sleep that sounded to Mark like, “Fur bell gone girl.” Mark didn’t think it required a response. He took a breath and stood up quickly. The bed creaked. Dodger didn’t. Mark swept Dodger’s ring off the table and hurried for the door. With the stealth of a cat burglar trying to break out of a house, he left the room and closed the door without disturbing the dreams of his new friend.

A grandfather clock at the end of the corridor chimed twice. Two in the morning. Normal people were asleep. Mark crept down the carpeted stairs to the small sitting room where they all had shared tea. The place was empty. The only sound came from several different clocks that echoed multiple ticks and tocks throughout the small hotel. A single table lamp was lit. There was enough light to see, if not to read. Mark desperately hoped that soon there would be a lot more light filling the room.

He placed the ring down reverently on the thick rug, knelt down, and leaned over so that his nose wasn’t more than a foot away from the ring.

“Ibara,” Mark whispered.

The ring didn’t move. Didn’t twitch. Didn’t grow.

“Ibara,” Mark said again, this time in a normal voice.

The response was the same, which is to say, there was no response. The ring lay dormant.

“Ibara!” Mark called, this time in a voice very near a shout.

It didn’t matter. The ring wasn’t listening.

Somebody else was.

“Mark! What the hell?” came a voice from the doorway. Mark spun quickly, landing on his butt. Standing in the doorway was Courtney.

“It doesn’t w-work,” Mark stuttered nervously. ‘The ring doesn’t work.”

Courtney hurried into the room. She wore the white dress-shirt that she’d bought in New York, and nothing else. It worked perfectly as a nightgown. “What doesn’t work?” she yawned.

“The Traveler ring. It’s dead.”

“Are you trying to send something?” Courtney asked.

“No.”

“Maybe that’s why,” she said hopefully. “It might only work when there’s something to send.”

“How would the ring know if I had something to send or not?” Mark countered.

“How should I know?” Courtney said in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know how it does anything!”

“I’m telling you, it doesn’t work.”

Courtney looked at the ring on the rug, cleared her throat and called out, “Ibara!” Nothing happened. “Zadaa!” Courtney called.

Instantly the ring twitched and began to grow. Mark and Courtney shot each other looks. Flashing light spewed from the growing circle. Courtney sprinted back toward the door of the sitting room and swung it shut to avoid disturbing anyone in the hotel. She hurried back to Mark and sat down to watch the ring grow to Frisbee size, opening up the narrow passageway between territories. Sparkling light flashed through the room. The jumble of musical notes grew louder, coming to First Earth to retrieve whatever message was being sent. But there was no message. It was a false alarm. Nothing would be dropped into the opening.