D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

“First tell me about your father,” I said softly. “What was he like?”

Siry paced nervously, running his hand along the wooden frame of the shelves. It seemed like a load of conflicting emotions were battling for his head space.

“He was a tough guy/’ he finally began. “People respected him. He started out as one of those security goons, but he was smart and landed on the tribunal.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re proud of him.”

Siry scoffed. “He was tough with me, too. He wanted me to be, I don’t know, perfect. He kept saying that the son of a tribunal member had to set an example. He said I would take his place one day. You know, on the tribunal. I wanted to make him proud.”

“So what happened?”

“I found out the tribunal was lying to us. Most people had no idea. But I knew. You didn’t have to be a genius to realize something else was out there. All it took was for something to wash up on shore. Knowing there was some greater truth was kind of, I don’t know, disturbing. Knowing the tribunal was lying about it made it worse. The people trusted them. They betrayed us.”

“And your father was one of them.”

Siry nodded.

“So that’s when you started the Jakills?”

“I wasn’t the only one who felt betrayed. But we were smart enough to keep our ideas to ourselves, not like the people who vanished for asking too many questions. We only shared our thoughts when we were safe from the ears of the tribunal. But it wasn’t all about anger. At least, not at first. We had fun, too. Everybody on that island is so, I don’t know, behaved. I guess we caused some trouble. It was our way of protesting the lies we had to live with. The tribunal thinks we’re a bunch of trouble-making kids. They have no idea that we want to open the eyes of every person on that island. have to open our own eyes. That’s why we’re here.”

He got right in my face. Some of his swagger was back. “That’s my story. Tell me yours.”

The time for tact was long gone.

“You’re in the middle of a battle that’s much bigger than you realize. You’re right about one thing though. Your father did want you to take his place someday… as a Traveler.”

Siry scoffed, but it felt like this time it was out of habit. “Yeah, right. Saint Dane, Halla, the future of all existence! My father lied to his people. Why should I believe anything he said?”

“Because it’s true,” I said flatly. “You said you wanted the truth, that’s it. I don’t know why your father did what he did, but he was a Traveler. There has to be a good reason.”

“And how do you fit in to all this?”

“I’ve been chosen to be the lead Traveler. Why? I don’t know. By who? I don’t know that either.” “What do you know?”

“I’ve followed Saint Dane to seven territories. Five times we stopped him. Twice we failed. That’s not good enough. I think what’s happening on Ibara could be the beginning of the final battle for Halla. He’s here, Siry. I don’t know where yet, but I guarantee, he’s here, and I believe he’s going to try and stop you.”

“Me?” he asked, surprised. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“Wrong,” I shot back. “You’re a Traveler now. He knows all about you. He knows about all of us. I guarantee he also knows the truth about Ibara that you’re trying to find. Question is, how is he using that truth to turn this territory upside down and set himself up to win the final battle? That’s why I’m here. I’m trying to learn the truth, just like you. The only difference is I’m fighting for Halla, not just this one territory. Whether you believe it or not, you are too.”

Siry nodded thoughtfully and sat down on one of the empty bunks. I didn’t know if I was getting through to him, or if he thought I was as crazy as I sounded.

“I don’t want to be responsible for the future of all existence,” he said, sounding tired. “I just think people should be able to choose their own destinies.”

“You know what that means?”

“What?”

“It means you’ve taken your father’s place.”

Siry almost smiled. Almost. “I hate to admit this,” he said, “but we wouldn’t have made it this far without your help.”

“Does that mean you trust me now?”

He reached under his shirt, where he had a wide blue belt strapped around his waist. He took it off and unfolded it to reveal it was a waterproof pouch. He reached inside the pocket and took out a yellowed piece of paper.

“I found this on the beach a long time ago,” he explained. “It was in a tube to keep it dry. The tube was broken. There’s some damage.”

He treated the document as if it were precious. He gently unfolded the paper and placed it down reverently on one of the wooden shelves.

Before I looked at it, he said, “This is proof the tribunal has been lying. It’s what brought the Jakills together and sent us on this adventure.”

He stepped aside so I could see the mysterious paper. It was a map. A very old and worn map. It was crude, not like a modern road map with lots of detail. This was more of a hand-drawn antique. There was no telling how old it was. Most of the writing had long ago worn off, but I could still see the detail of land masses.

“What am I looking at?” I asked.

“I know every detail of our island,” he explained. “Every cove, every mountain, every stream.” He pointed to an outline on the map and declared, “That’s it. There’s the bay where Rayne is built. There’s Tribunal Mountain. It’s all there.”

I wasn’t so much interested in the detail of the island, as I was about the fact that this map showed other land masses. The closest to the island was so large, the borders ran off the edges of the page.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“That,” Siry declared, “is where we’re going. If we’re going to find other life, that is the place to start.”

There was a peninsula that jutted out from the large land-mass. Its tip was the closest piece of land to the island. More interesting was the fact that the peninsula had faded letters on it. It had a name. I couldn’t quite make it out, so I took the fragile map and held it up toward a porthole so that light would shine through from behind. The words were faint and not lined up properly, but I could definitely make out the word “Rubity.”

“Rubity,” Siry said. “That’s where we’re going.”

As I held the paper up to the light, I saw another word, barely visible along one border. The letters weren’t evenly spaced and could barely be made out, but there was no mistake. The word was “JAKILL.”

“We think it might be the name of the mapmaker,” Siry said before I could ask. “That’s one mystery solved, right?” he added with a sly smile.

“How long will it take to sail there?” I asked.

“Depends on the wind, but it’s not far. A day. Maybe longer.”

“That’s close,” I said, surprised.

“That’s why we chose it. But it’s also a big risk. If Rubity is populated, there’s a good chance we’ll find something there we’d rather not.”

“What’s that?”

“Flighters.”

I didn’t have much to do on the ship. No, I had nothing to do on the ship, other than to walk around and be impressed by how the Jakills were such good sailors. They expertly trimmed the sails and kept the spider web of lines from tangling and basically sailed the ship like they were born to do it. I took the chance to talk with some of them and learned their major fun growing up was sailing small boats. Some even spent time on the larger fishing vessels or apprenticed under the guidance of experienced sailors. It definitely qualified them to be sailing this minipirate ship.