D. MacHale - Raven Rise

“Ahh,” Saint Dane exclaimed. “A few stragglers have arrived.”

We looked down to see the red shirts were escorting two more outsiders up the aisle. These two weren’t going as easily as the others. The red shirts held each by the arm and pushed them forward. The two didn’t fight; they knew it was futile. But they didn’t go quietly, either. The people in the seats whispered nervously as they passed. They began to realize something was wrong too.

Alder stiffened. My knees went weak. I pressed my face against the glass. My heart raced. The two new arrivals were Mark and Courtney.

Alder gasped out Patrick’s other words: “Begins with Bronx Massacre.”

“Yes,” Saint Dane confirmed. “This is where it truly begins.”

I whirled to Saint Dane.

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

Saint Dane was smug. I hated smug. I’ve mentioned that before, right?

“You predicted that the enemies of Ravinia would try to stop the movement,” he declared. “Once they understand the consequences of their opposition, their will to rebel will disintegrate.”

Mark and Courtney were gently, yet forcefully, pushed into the group. The twelve stood huddled together directly in front of the flume. What they didn’t realize was that a group of red shirts was moving in behind them. Circling them. Cutting off any chance for escape.

Naymeer stood in the center of the flume, facing them. “I am sure you’ve heard rumors about the worlds of Halla,” he announced to the newly arrived group. “It’s true. The people in this room have witnessed the wonders. Now, tonight, you will be given the same privilege.” He raised his hand. Light flashed from his ring. The people huddled closer as the flume activated.

Naymeer continued, but when he spoke, his benign grandfatherly tone took on a firm, dark edge. He stared the group down and declared, “When those who oppose us learn of what transpired this evening, they too will realize that the rise of Ravinia is inevitable. There can be no opposition.”

With that, Naymeer stepped aside to reveal the light that had appeared deep in the recesses of the tunnel. The group stood together, transfixed, staring into it like deer caught in the headlights. Mark and Courtney tried to move away, but were forced back into the group by red shirts who were ready for them. Mark looked concerned, but Courtney was clearly scared. The people in the audience whispered to one another. They were just as clueless about what was going to happen as I was.

I take that back. I wasn’t totally clueless. I feared that we were about to witness the Bronx Massacre.

“Stop it!” I shouted to Saint Dane.

Saint Dane remained calm, with his arms folded. “Now why would I do that?”

These people were about to become victims. Whether it was to be exiled somewhere in Halla or to be executed, they would never see this life again. They were to become a warning to the world not to challenge the Ravinians. Naymeer promised his own people Utopia. He was about to promise something much worse to those who opposed him. They were about to be sacrificed in the name of Ravinia. This was the beginning of Ravinia’s reign on Earth…

And Mark and Courtney were caught in the middle.

I ran for a table that sat against the far wall.

“Guards,” Saint Dane called out, barely concerned by my move.

The red shirts ran for me. Too late. Alder launched himself at the dados, laying them out flat with his body parallel to the ground. I picked up the table and hurled it at the glass. Saint Dane dove out of the way. That was okay. He wasn’t the target. I wanted to break glass. The table hit the window, creating a spider web of cracks without breaking through.

Alder took on both the red shirts, keeping them away from me. His hands were tied, which made it more of a fair fight. I didn’t know how long he could keep them occupied. I didn’t need long. Saint Dane stepped directly in front of the cracked glass and faced me. The growing light from the flume filled the huge room below, casting him in shadow.

“Must you always prolong the inevitable?” he asked, sounding bored.

“Uh, yeah,” I answered.

He was in the perfect spot. Right in front of the damaged glass. This was going to feel good. I sprinted right at him. His eyes opened in surprise. He didn’t have time to react. I nailed the demon dead on, driving my head into his chest, knocking him back into the glass. The already damaged glass shattered, and the two of us launched into space. We fell through a blizzard of glass, plummeting toward the poor people who were directly below. I grabbed on to Saint Dane’s jacket, determined to keep him between me and the ground. If anybody was going to get hurt, I wanted it to be him. Not that I had thought it through, but I suppose I had a flash of hope that we’d land on some unsuspecting, soft Ravinians who wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time.

I don’t know what or who we landed on, but we did land. Hard. I was aware of a jumble of arms and legs and screams as people dove out of the way. I was shaken, but okay. I landed squarely on Saint Dane and was thrown against the backs of some chairs. When I looked to him, he was gone. No, that’s not right. He was still there, but he had changed. Transformed. He had become a clean-cut-looking guy with short hair and a red golf shirt. He sat up, not hurt in the slightest.

“Stop him!” he shouted while pointing at me.

Nobody listened. They didn’t want any part of me. They backed away as if I were radioactive. Saint Dane may have considered them perfect. I considered them cowards.

Crash! I looked up to see one of the red shirts had been thrown through the window. Alder was back in charge. The guard plummeted down, along with the shattered glass. He landed against the back of a chair and bounced. Seriously. Dados bounce.

Bedlam was breaking loose. Between the flume activating and bodies crashing down from above, the Ravinians wanted out. They starting pushing their way toward the stairs.

Bright light filled the room. I didn’t have much time.

“Courtney!” I shouted. “Mark!”

I climbed up on a chair to see the red shirts pushing the group of frightened people toward the flume. Courtney heard me and turned.

“Bobby!” she screamed.

Her eyes were wild. She was terrified. She tried to fight her way back, but a red shirt grabbed her by the waist and pushed her forward. Closer to the flume. By this time the other people in her group knew something was wrong. They tried to resist, but the ring of dados closed on them, forcing them toward the light. I jumped down from the chair, pushing my way through the fleeing Ravinians, desperate to help these people. To help Mark and Courtney. It was impossible to move. There were too many people pushing against me, moving the other way. I was stuck. The music from the flume grew louder. I climbed back up on a chair just as the group of people were shoved into the tunnel, along with several red-shirt dados.

Mark fought his way out of the crowd. For a second I thought he was going to get away, but he turned back and tried to grab Courtney’s hand to help her. He was more worried about her safety than his own. That was Mark. The move cost him. A red shirt ran up from behind and pushed them both back into the pile of victims. The light enveloped them all. The music was deafening. A moment later it ended. The light disappeared. The music died. The last sound I heard was the faint echo of Courtney’s voice calling, “Bobby!”

The Bronx Massacre.

They were gone. But to where? Were they dead? Or exiled to some unknown location? Whatever the truth was, Naymeer had sent a message. Don’t mess with the Ravinians. Or else. I couldn’t let myself believe that Mark and Courtney were dead. I had to tell myself that they were just…gone. Thinking any other way would have crushed me. Knowing that they were out there somewhere, needing my help, gave me new strength. That was good, because I was still in the thick of it.