D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

The place was outfitted with an odd assortment of junk. Wooden and bamboo furniture was randomly scattered. Tables held dirty bowls and cups, along with the remnants of half-eaten fruit. This wasn’t a neat bunch. I saw several large, wooden chests tucked under platforms. Clothes were hanging all around, giving the place the appearance of a messy bedroom. There were books and drums, baskets and tools.

It wasn’t all a random mess. I saw a few beautiful sculptures made out of black rock. There was the head of a girl, a hand, a man’s torso. Very cool and probably very stolen.

Most everything I saw looked as if it could have come from the village. A few things didn’t. There were large chunks of sheet metal being used as roofing over some huts. High up on one of the platforms was a brass telescope on a tripod. There was a picture frame dangling from one platform. It was golden and intricate, with no picture. One thing stood out that I had no explanation for. It was a metal sign hanging between two vertical poles. It was about two feet square and looked as if one side had been eaten away, leaving only the left half. The sign had been white at one time, with faded black letters that now read:

FOURT BR T RU CI

It looked to me like a chunk of an old traffic sign. But there was no such thing as traffic on Ibara. It made the mystery of this territory grow deeper. This clearing looked like it was home to a bunch of castaways who had to make do with bits and pieces left over from their wrecked ship, while using whatever else the jungle provided to make shelter.

The people who hung out in this odd little oasis completed that image.

I counted fifteen people. They all looked to be in their midteens, the same as Siry. There were mostly boys, but a few girls were mixed in. They all had the same grungy look. Their clothes were worn, and nobody seemed to be too concerned about taking a bath. They all looked pretty healthy though. They weren’t out here in the jungle starving. Most hung out on the various levels of the bamboo structure, looking down at the new guy. Me. The group that had ambushed me stood on the ground, circling me. I looked into each of their eyes. They all had the same look as Siry. It was an odd mixture of boredom and anger. Not a good combination.

A thin girl with long, stringy, blond hair jumped at me to see if I’d flinch. I didn’t. She laughed and got right up close, nearly putting her nose on my cheek. She sniffed, then giggled. “Scared,” she said playfully. “I can smell it. Yes I can.” She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and scurried away.

A big guy walked up to me, holding out a cup of liquid. “Thirsty?” he asked.

My answer was to stare at him.

“Me too,” he said, and drank it himself. Most of it ended up spilling down his cheeks. He let out a belch and dropped the cup. The others laughed. Another little guy, who had the pointed nose and tiny eyes of a rat, skittered up and pulled the top of my shirt aside to look at my back.

“Bee stings,” he snorted. “Lots of ‘em. Do they hurt?”

“No,” I said.

The little ferret slapped me on the back with his open hand, hard. “How about now!” He cackled out a laugh and scurried away. Creep.

This was a real fun bunch. Siry was beginning to seem like the normal one. I looked beyond the group that was having fun annoying me to see Siry with the blond thief who had escaped from the security goons earlier. They were looking through the sack the blond thief had gotten away with. He pulled out two small saws and a hammer. Siry patted the blond guy on the arm, as if to say, “Nice job.”

“Hey!” I shouted to Siry. “I’m hungry.”

Siry gave the tools back to blondie and walked slowly toward me. He had a cocky air about him. He was completely in charge and knew it.

“I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “You expect me to care?”

“No,” I said. “I expect you to give me something to eat.”

Siry snorted, as if to say, “You’re dreaming.” But he waved at the girl with stringy hair and said, “Twig, get him something.”

“Get it yourself!” the girl named Twig shot back.

Siry gave her a withering look. She backed off and left the group. It was pretty clear that Siry was the boss here. A moment later the girl came back with half a piece of fruit that looked like a pear. She held it out to me. I looked at it, then to the girl.

“Untie me,” I said.

The girl hesitated, then made a move for the chair. I think she was actually going to do it until…

“Stop,” Siry commanded. “Feed him.”

The girl shrugged and held the pear up to my mouth. The fruit looked like it had been sitting in the sun too long. I didn’t care. I was hungry. I took a big bite. It was mushy and sweet. It was delicious. I needed the energy.

“Thank you. Twig,” I said sincerely.

The girl softened. She smiled, then jammed the rest of the fruit into my mouth.

“Feed yourself,” she said snottily, and walked off as the others laughed. I closed my teeth, took a big bite, and let the rest fall to the ground.

Siry stood in front of the group, facing me. “You asked me what I believe in. I believe in the Jakills.”

The group erupted in spontaneous cheers. “Yeah! The Jakills!” they shouted.

When they calmed down I said sarcastically, “Cute name. What does it mean?”

“It means the tribunal hates us, because we stand for everything they fear.”

Several of the others grumbled in agreement, including the Jakills peering down from the platforms above.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like change,” Siry said. “And truth. The leaders of this village won’t face the truth. They won’t let anyone face the truth.” “What is the truth?” I asked.

Siry looked around. Every last eye was on him. He was their leader, no question.

“The truth is,” he said, playing out the drama, “the truth is we’re the future of Ibara.”

The group cheered. It was the most sincere thing I’d heard from him. Siry was pretty charismatic. He knew how to play to his people.

He went on, “The tribunal fears us because they know we’re going to take away their power.”

“Yeah?” I laughed. “How? By hanging out in the jungle and eating rotten fruit?”

Everyone fell silent. The kids hanging off the platforms leaned down a little closer. I had challenged Siry and insulted all of them. It might have been a dumb thing to do, but I had to be just as bold and confident as they were. I had to prove that I was a match for Siry.

He stared at me with dead eyes. That was worse than looking angry. Angry is predictable. Siry took a step toward me and said in a low voice, “You told me my father died willingly for something he believed in. Would you?”

“Willingly?” I scoffed. “Nobody dies willingly. Your father didn’t. He fought for what was right.”

“And what exactly was that?” Siry asked. “Tell me. Tell us all!” He threw his arms out and walked around the group, saying, “We all want to know. Traveler man! You say my father was a hero who battled an evil demon? Who is this demon? What does he want? Bring him here, I want to see him.”

Everyone laughed at his cocky posturing.

“He’s already here,” I said coldly.

That made everybody quiet down real quick. Siry hesitated. A few threw him questioning looks. Siry reloaded and continued the performance. He called out to the jungle, “Hello? Demon? Where are you? I’d like to see the man who killed the great Remudi.”

Some of the kids laughed. Others glanced around nervously, as if a demon effect then stalked back toward me. “If you want to find true evil, you don’t have to look any further than the tribunal of Rayne.”

“What are they guilty of?” I asked.