D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

He said I wasn’t an advanced Traveler. Meaning I couldn’t shape-shift into other beings. People, birds, smoke. Yeesh. But Nevva Winter could. He said he taught her. Was it as simple as that? With a couple of lessons and a little homework could I learn how to become somebody else? That would be a handy little tool. But even without the ability to transform myself, there are a few realities about being a Traveler that I have no explanation for. We heal easily. Not instantly, but easily. We can influence people’s thoughts, though I have to admit, I was never very good at that. And of course the most disturbing truth of all is that Loor was killed, and through whatever force of will I possessed, I brought her back from the dead.

Knowing those few things makes me wonder if what Saint Dane said about illusions might somehow be true. I mean, I feel totally human. But humans don’t come back from the dead. Are we flesh and blood? Or something else? Trouble is, I have no idea what that something else might be. Maybe there are some people who think it would be cool to shape-shift and turn into other beings. I’m not one of them. The concept is way more interesting than the reality. I’m Bobby Pendragon. I was born on Second Earth. I have a great mother and father. I have a little sister. I’m normal. I want to stay normal. I don’t want to be an illusion.

I try not to think about it too often. One thing at a time. One challenge at a time. One crisis at a time. Thinking about it all was making me too anxious. I was tired of thinking. I wanted some action.

I heard the musical notes grow louder, signaling I was near the end of my journey. But there was another sound. One I hadn’t heard at the end of a flume ride before. It sounded like white noise that grew louder as I got closer to Ibara. I didn’t have long to wonder what it might be, because seconds after I heard it, I was underwater.

There was no warning. One second I was sailing along, the next I was wet. The force of my landing shot water up my nose, as if I had jumped off a high dive, feet first, without holding my nose. The pain wasn’t my worst problem. I couldn’t breathe, because, well, I was underwater. I was about to drown. I actually wondered if the inhabitants of Ibara were fish and changed my mind about not wanting to be able to transform into other beings. Sprouting gills and turning into a flounder would have helped just then. I didn’t know which way was up, or how deep I was. I knew if I didn’t get my wits back, I’d be done in seconds. I relaxed, and let a little precious air out of my lungs to see which way the bubbles would float. They drifted past my eyes toward a wide circle of light. That had to be the surface. I kicked for it.

I’m happy to say that I was only a few feet down. I quickly broke the surface, gasping for air. I was okay, except for the pounding headache from the nasal enema. I blew the water out of my head and took a quick look around. I was treading water in the middle of a round cauldron made from black rock in an underground cave. The big pool of water was about twenty feet across. I quickly kicked to the side and held on to the rocky edge to catch my breath. I was safe. I had made it. I was on Ibara.

The entire cavern was made out of the same black, volcanic-looking rock as the pool. The ceiling wasn’t high like the big gate on Cloral. This was a smallish cave, with a biggish vat of water taking up most of the floor. I had to conclude that this round pool of water was the flume. Yup, the flume was full of water. Was it possible that the inhabitants of Ibara were fish after all?

I hoisted myself out of the pool. The sides were about two feet high, forming a ring of craggy rocks that made the pool seem like a minivolcano. I swung one leg up and over to discover the floor outside the pool was sand. Not dirt, sand. I sat down on the soft surface and took another look around. Light seeped in through long cracks in the cavern walls that were randomly spaced all around me. That meant this cave wasn’t far underground. Or underwater. My clothes from First Earth were soaked of course, but I wasn’t at all cold. If anything, I was feeling kind of hot and sticky. Glancing around I saw a small pile of colorful clothes not far from where I was sitting. There were a couple of pairs of shorts that looked like board shorts. They were longer than board shorts though. It looked like they would come down below my knees. I wondered if maybe they were actually supposed to be long pants and the people of Ibara were little. If so, I’d be a giant on Ibara. Or at least a really tall guy. That would be cool. I’ve always been kind of medium. I wouldn’t have minded being the tall guy for once. The pants were simple, with no zippers or buttons, just a drawstring. The material was light and cottonlike, with no tags inside. These simple shorts told me that on some level, the people of Ibara were civilized.

There were three pairs, each a different bright solid color: red, orange, and green. After Quillan I never wanted to wear anything red again, so I peeled off my wet First Earth clothing and put on a pair of bright green shorts. They fit perfectly, of course. I debated about wearing my boxer shorts but figured they’d be too obvious. So I went jungle.

There was also a pile of shirts. At least I thought they were shirts. They looked more like vests-no sleeves. I couldn’t tell which was the front and which was the back. I figured it didn’t matter. I picked out a green one that sort of matched the

94 105 green color of the shorts and slipped it over my head. It fit loosely, which was good, because it was hot on Ibara. Tropical hot. If I learned anything from the clothing, it was that the people were pretty casual and lived in a warm tropical climate. Oh, and they weren’t fish.

The last touch were shoes, or what looked like shoes. There were a couple pairs of sandals that looked woven out of some natural material. I picked a pair that fit perfectly. They slipped between my toes like flip-flops, but there were also little bands that fit over my heels and kept them from truly being flip-flops. They were comfortable, and more practical than flip-flops. If I had to, I could run in them. I was ready. It was time to get out of there.

I wanted to see Ibara.

Scanning the rocky walls, I saw several wide cracks that ran vertically from the sandy floor. Some looked wide enough to squeeze through. I poked my head into a few, only to find a rocky dead end. I continued to search the perimeter of the cavern, feeling sure that one of these rough openings would be the way out. As I explored, I became more aware of sounds. I heard the same white noise as I had when I was still in the flume. Whatever it was, it came from beyond the walls of this cave. There was also another sound. It was a faint, far-off hum. I could barely hear it, but it was there. Constant. Steady. Mysterious.

I had nearly made my way completely around the perimeter when I found it-the way out. It was an opening that was larger than the others, which was the first giveaway. The second was the sandy floor that stretched inside. This was definitely the route away from the flume. I left the cave and found myself in a twisting, dark tunnel. It was so narrow

I had to turn sideways a few times to fit my so often the route opened into another small cave before narrowing down again. I passed a few intersections and had to guess which route to take. The winding passageways started feeling like a maze. I made one turn, walked several feet, and hit a dead end. It was a very complicated series of tunnels. That was good because it would prevent people from accidentally discovering the flume. On the other hand it made it tough to get the heck out.

As I walked along, I heard the humming grow louder. I passed through one rock opening and heard the sound more distinctly. A few times I made a turn and the sound dimmed. My curiosity about Ibara continued to grow. The twisting caverns were dark. Every so often a crack of light appeared to help me on my way, but mostly I had to walk slowly, with my hands out in front for fear of introducing nose to rock.