D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

He motioned for me to take a look. I climbed up next to him to find we were on a rock ledge, high above the shore. We were facing the ocean that bordered the large protected bay. Looking out, I saw nothing but green sea. Down below was a curious sight. This wasn’t a sandy beach. It was a rocky, rugged coastline. Jutting out from the shore were five long, wooden piers. Tied up to either side of each pier was a sailing ship. Ten in all. Each was identical. They looked to me like old-fashioned pirate ships, complete with double wooden masts.

I’m guessing they were about a hundred feet long, with a structure at the stern. They were identical, except for their colors. Each was painted a different bright, tropical color. There were vibrant greens, brilliant blues, and a few deep corals. It was an awesome sight. The ships gleamed in the sun. Their brilliant colors made them look more like amusement park rides than practical ships. I’d seen old-fashioned sailing ships at the Mystic Seaport back home, but I’d never seen so many in one place. It was a small fleet. “They look new,” I observed.

“They are,” Siry answered. “They’ve only been out for short test sails.”

“Is this the fishing fleet?” I asked.

“No,” Siry answered. “They’re way bigger than any fishing boat. Officially, the tribunal says they’re to replace the older fishing boats, but people who’ve been aboard say they aren’t outfitted for fishing.”

“What do you think they’re for?” I asked.

Siry looked down at the colorful fleet. He thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. I don’t care. When I look at these ships I only think of one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Siry looked at me with dead seriousness and said, “Escape.” “What?”

“Many of the Jakills have been on ships since they could walk. They know how to sail. They’ll have no trouble handling one of those.”

“Whoa, wait,” I said. “You’re not thinking of-“

“Yeah, we are,” Siry said. “We’re going to steal one of those ships and leave the island.”

“What about the security force? Aren’t they guarding the ships?”

“They’re more worried about Flighters coming from the sea. They won’t expect a threat from Rayne. That’s part of the problem, Pendragon. The people here have given up. No, worse, it’s like the spirit of adventure has been bred out of them. They go along, living on the beach, catching their fish, picking fruit, and singing songs. There’s no life here. No excitement. It’s a dead culture. The Jakills are going to change that.”

“No offense but I’ve seen you guys fight,” I said vehemently. “If the security force jumps in, you’ll never set foot on one of those ships, let alone sail it away.”

Siry stepped in front of me, folded his arms, and smiled. “I agree. It was the one thing that kept us from going forward with our plans. I think we’ve solved that.”

He gave me a wide, Cheshire cat grin. It didn’t take long to understand what he was thinking.

“You’re kidding, right?” I said quickly.

“You said you wanted to help us.”

“Yeah but, we’re talking about piracy!”

“There was one thing my father said that stuck with me, Pendragon. He said that Ibara was getting close to a turning point. He said the future of our home depended on how that turning point went. I think he was right, and I think the Jakills are that turning point. We want to get out from under this controlling society and explore Ibara. We want to make this a better place. You said you wanted to help? Get us onto one of those ships. I think that’s what my father would have wanted you to do.”

I stepped past Siry and looked down on the brightly colored sailing fleet. This territory was an enigma. It seemed the people who lived on this island were being sheltered from the bigger world beyond. But why? What was out there? Did the tribunal know? Were they protecting their people? Or keeping them prisoner? There was a big fat truth lying out there, somewhere across the ocean. I had no doubt that what ever it was, it had something to do with the overall destiny of Ibara, which meant it had to do with Saint Dane. I needed to know what was out there, not for the same reasons as Siry and the Jakills, but for the sake of the whole territory.

How could I do that? I could go to the tribunal and try to learn from them. But in spite of my loose connection to Remudi, I was an outsider. If the tribunal totally controlled the lives of everyone in Rayne, what chance did I have of getting them to be truthful with me? Unfortunately, the answer was clear. There was zero chance of that. It was looking as though my best hope of learning the truth about Ibara was in joining up with a renegade band of kids who were hungry for adventure.

“When do we leave?” I asked.

This is where I’m going to end this journal and send it to you, Courtney. Like I said, I’m about to become an outlaw. I’ve decided to put in with Siry and the Jakills and help them hijack one of the sailing ships. The flumes have always put us where we needed to be, when we needed to be there. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I’ve landed on Ibara when the next Traveler is about to make such a bold move. Something is about to happen on this island. Change is coming. The Jakills are at the leading edge. Their disenchantment with the status quo feels like a revolution. Things are definitely coming to a head. By all accounts the strange Flighters have become more aggressive. Just as strange is the mystery fleet of sailing ships that the tribunal constructed. What are they for? Why are they being so secretive about them?

Strangest of all, I need to know what lies beyond the shores of this island. In some ways I feel as if I haven’t even discovered Ibara yet. I’ve only experienced this one small, secluded island. Is the rest of Ibara like this? Who are the Flighters, and why are they harassing the people of Rayne?

And of course, where is Saint Dane and how is he involved? Each time I meet a new person, my first thought is that he might be Saint Dane. It’s tough to live in that constant state of paranoia. I’ve got to go with my gut, and my gut tells me that to unravel the mystery of Ibara, I’ve got to become a Jakill.

No, I’ve got to become a pirate.

END OF JOURNAL #29

Courtney read Bobby’s journal, by herself, in Gunny’s lonely basement apartment in the Manhattan Tower Hotel. The pages were almond colored and perfectly square. Each measured about twelve inches across. Bobby had written them in black ink and placed them in a flat, watertight pouch that he rolled up and tied with a band. As the story on Ibara unfolded on the pages before her, Courtney realized again how much she missed Mark. Learning of Bobby’s problems alone was a lonely, torturous experience. She needed Mark. She needed a friend. She wanted to trust Dodger. But after what happened with Whitney Wilcox on Second Earth, she wasn’t going to put her faith in a stranger too quickly. So after the bellhop witnessed Bobby’s journal arrive in the garden outside the hotel, Courtney panicked. She swooped it up and hurried into the hotel to get away.

“Hey!” the bellhop yelled, chasing after her. “Where you going?”

“Leave me alone!” Courtney shouted without breaking stride. “That thing showed up out of nowhere!” he exclaimed, stunned. “How did you do that?”

“Magic. I’m a magician. Pretty good, huh? Show’s over. Go away.”

She hurried up the steps of the hotel. Dodger was right after her.

“You ain’t no magician,” he said. “There’s something else going on here. You’re not some kind of spaceman, are you? Or spacegirl?”

Courtney stopped again. “You’re kidding, right? You won’t believe it was phony magic, but you’d buy that I’m from Pluto?”