D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

The Jakills’ counterattack had failed. I may not have known much about Ibara, or the politics or history of the village of Rayne, but it was pretty clear that the Flighters weren’t friends. Even the Jakills, who hated the tribunal, were willing to fight to stop them. It looked like it was only a matter of time before the Jakills were knocked senseless and the Flighters would be free to enter the cave and attack the tribunal. There was nothing to stop them. Well, almost nothing.

I’ve written many times before how amazing adrenaline is. I was exhausted. I was sick.

I was starving. I was scabby. But watching that fight made me forget about all that. It was a massacre. That tends to get your blood boiling. Mine was heating up fast. I had to make a decision. Did I get involved? I didn’t know who the Jakills were or what they stood for, but Siry was the son of a Traveler. He had the ring. If history meant anything, Siry was now the Traveler from Ibara… and I had to help him.

Like it or not, it was time to stop being an observer.

I scooped up a short weapon that had been knocked away from one of the Jakills.

I grabbed another from the hand of a Jakill who was out cold. He didn’t need it anymore.

I wasn’t experienced in handling those short weapons, but they were all I had. The clubs were small, but solid. I gripped one in each hand, took a breath, and ran forward to begin my own personal battle to save Ibara.

It didn’t take long to get involved. A Flighter took a swing at me. I dodged back, let him follow through, then clocked him on the back of the head with the butt of the club. A second Flighter launched himself at me. I ducked, took his weight on my back, and flipped him over… in time to face another Flighter who tackled me head-on. He hit me in the gut, driving me down and onto my back. I hit the ground hard, but let my momentum carry us both. I rolled with my attacker, then, using his own momentum, flipped him over my head.

I was fully into the fight. Any pain or leftover rustiness I had from the quig-bee attack was gone. It was survival time. The battle had changed and the Flighters knew it. A ringer had entered the game. They were more cautious about attacking me, which is exactly what I needed. They may have been better fighters than the Jakills, but they weren’t trained.

I was.

My hope was that the Jakills had done enough damage to soften them up a little.

Ten-on-one is not a good thing, no matter how good I thought I was. The Flighters kept coming after me, but with enough hesitation that I could exploit their weaknesses. I nailed one in the gut, spun, cracked another on the back of the legs and sent him crumbling. Another Flighter came after me from behind. I didn’t see him; I sensed him. Loor’s lessons were well learned. He took a swing. I grabbed his arm and flipped him over my shoulder.

I may have felt like I was in this battle alone, but I wasn’t. The Jakills kept on fighting. They even had a few surprises of their own to offer. I saw Siry raise a wooden club to his mouth and give it a hard, sharp blow on one end. I didn’t get what he was doing until I heard a Flighter yelp and grab at his back. Those weapons weren’t just clubs, they were blowguns that shot some kind of projectile. The Flighter fell to one knee. He seemed disoriented. I thought maybe Siry had fired a poisonous dart. The Flighter staggered off, headed for the jungle. His fight was over.

Twig fired her blowgun and hit another Flighter in the leg. He squealed, grabbed at it, and limped off. The whole time I continued to defend myself, while getting in a few shots at the Flighters, who were quickly growing less enthused. They had given up on the cave. They wanted to escape. One guy dragged an unconscious Flighter toward the jungle. I knew he was unconscious because I made him that way. Another Flighter quickly helped him, and the three scampered into the bush.

I looked around, ready for the next attack. It never came. I had only been in the fight for a minute or two, but it was over. The Flighters had disappeared into the jungle, carrying their wounded. I looked around the clearing to see several Jakills looking dazed. Three were out cold. One of those was the little guy with ratty eyes. Most stood around, breathing hard, not wanting anything to do with chasing the Flighters.

Siry stood in the center of it all, surrounded by his fallen friends, breathing hard. It looked like he was barely able to stand. Blood flowed from his nose and a gash on his cheek. It reminded me of my own wound that I got from the quig that attacked me on Third Earth. I looked at my forearm. The wound was completely gone. I didn’t know whether to credit my Traveler powers of recuperation, or the incredible medical technology of Third Earth. Either way, I was better. In all sorts of ways. I had shaken the last effects from the bee attack and the medication.

“You can fight,” Siry said breathlessly.

I replied with a shrug.

I glanced up the face of the mountain to the cave opening that led to the tribunal cavern. Standing there were the three members of the tribunal. Genj and I made eye contact. I expected them to send help, or to yell a quick “You okay?” or even give us a simple wave that acknowledged what had just happened. But nobody moved. Several kids lay at their feet, bleeding. They didn’t seem to care. How messed up was that?

I had no idea who the Flighters were, or why they were after the tribunal, or why the Jakills were playing the game from both sides. There was a very strange dynamic happening on Ibara.

Siry knelt down by the little guy with ratty eyes and gently turned his head over. The kid moaned. A nasty-looking black-and-blue mark was already forming on his cheek, right next to a nastier-looking gash.

“He needs help.” Siry was worried. I was glad to see that he cared about his guys.

“What about the tribunal?” I asked.

Siry scoffed.

“I don’t get it. You just saved them from the Flighters.”

“We’re dirt to them, Pendragon,” Siry said with venom. “Their reward will be to let us sink back into the jungle and not arrest us.”

I shot a look up at the tribunal, to see Genj, Moman, and Drea step away from the cave opening. Siry was right. They didn’t care about the wounded Jakills. They didn’t care about Siry, the son of a tribunal member. What was going on? The tribunal wasn’t evil. At least, I didn’t think so. How could they be, if Remudi was one of them? Nothing added up. I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad guys.

The blond thief knelt next to Siry. “Telleo,” he suggested.

Siry nodded. “Yes. She’ll help.”

“We can bring the wounded to the hut where I’m staying,” I offered. “There’s medicine and-“

Siry shot me a vicious look. “We don’t need your help.” “No? You’ve got a short memory.”

The blond thief played peacemaker. “Why not let him come?” he asked Siry. “Without him, more of us would be bleeding.”

“He was an ally of my father’s,” Siry argued.

“And he won the battle for us,” the blond guy countered.

Siry gave me a dark look. “What do you want, Pendragon? Why are you here?”

“That’s a long story, but you gotta know I’m here as a friend.”

Siry was torn. He wanted me gone, but I’d gotten some credibility by helping them turn back the Flighters.

“The things I showed you, it was to make you understand how different I am from my father. Whatever he stood for, I don’t want any part of it.”

“I understand that.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re an outsider. As long as the tribunal thinks they need you, they’ll leave you alone. But if they change their minds and think you’re a threat…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.