D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

Genj looked to the women of the tribunal with dismay. They didn’t know what to do with the information. Should they be relieved? Or terrified? My vote would have been for both. The war was coming, but for the first time since I’d seen Rubic City, I felt a ray of hope. Hearing the story of Veelox and Ibara and Aja Killian’s brilliant plan made me believe the pilgrimage was the turning point for Ibara. Saint Dane had to know that. Attacking Ibara with his army of dados would have destroyed the pilgrimage and set Veelox back again. No question. But with the launch of the fleet, the impossible had happened.

Dane was too late.

He could attack and lay the entire island to waste, but the hope for Veelox was now out to sea. I almost laughed. Was it possible that Saint Dane would call off the attack once he realized the turning point had passed?

“Did you know about this, Telleo?” Siry asked

“Not everything,” she answered. “I knew the time was getting closer for pilgrims to be sent out to explore the rest of the world, but I didn’t know the reasons, or the history of Veelox. I still don’t.”

“Tell us of your involvement, Pendragon,” Genj asked. “Who are you really and why has Remudi put his trust in you?”

All eyes turned to me. Gulp. How was I going to explain that? I decided to simply tell them the truth about the army that was amassing in Rubic City. The tribunal had to prepare the island for war. With the passing of the turning point, I could only hope that Saint Dane would back off. But I couldn’t guarantee it. I had to convince the tribunal that they would soon be under attack.

Unfortunately, I never got the chance. Our conversation was stopped short by a far-off sound. My heart dropped. Genj was looking right at me when we heard it. I saw the surprise in his eyes. I wanted to hold on to that moment. I didn’t want him to see what I feared was happening. This was their moment of triumph, but with that one sound I knew it wouldn’t last.

It was the sound of cannon fire.

“No!” cried Moman.

Everyone ran for the opening and gazed out to sea. I walked slowly toward the opening in the rock and saw exactly what I feared. All nine ships were away from their piers and sailing toward open ocean. Most had their sails up or close to it. They were scattered along the coast, headed for different destinations.

Beyond them were four gunboats loaded with Flighters.

The colorful, unarmed ships that carried the hope of a new Veelox were under attack.

Saint Dane wasn’t too late.

(CONTINUED)

I don’t know why I let myself believe, even for a second, that things might work out for the best. When has that ever happened? Ever. Saint Dane was always one step ahead of me. I started this day thinking the biggest threat to the people of Ibara would be the attack of an army of dados. Reality turned out to be much worse. These people were on the verge of a new beginning. They were about to plant the seeds that would, hopefully, grow into a new world. Those are the moments that Saint Dane targets. The moments of victory. The times when hope is at its greatest. That’s when he strikes. This time he struck very hard.

The gunboats swooped in quickly. They were much faster and could outmaneuver the larger, heavier sailing ships. That much I knew because I had been in the middle of just such an attack. I had to think the pilgrim’s ships were even more sluggish because they were loaded down with people. They had no defense. Their ships had no guns. They were doomed.

The gunboats first targeted the ships under sail. They fired round after round, point-blank into the hulls of the wooden ships. Even from far away I could hear the sound of the wooden hulls being torn apart. Two ships were on fire and the attack had barely begun. Flames ate up the sails as if they were paper. Terrified people ran up from what must have been carnage below deck. I saw adults grabbing young children and holding tight as they leaped over the side. Some clutched bags for flotation. These ships weren’t equipped with modern safety devices like life vests or rafts. The victims were on their own. Many just swam, desperate to get away from the burning ships. That didn’t stop the Flighters. They pounded away with their guns, hammering at the ships until they were nothing but floating piles of burning wood.

The automatic defense system of Ibara surfaced from below. The strange, silver guns rose up from beneath the water and unloaded on the gunboats. But the Flighters had learned from their earlier attack. They kept moving, changing direction quickly, doubling back, weaving in and out of the pilgrim’s ships. They made it nearly impossible for the guns to hit their marks. Most of the rounds splashed harmlessly into the water.

Worse, the pilgrims made a huge tactical mistake. They moved toward each other. Like circling the wagons in the Old West, they made a desperate attempt to protect themselves. It was the worst thing they could have done. Not only did they make themselves easier targets for the Flighters, they provided cover for the attackers from the guns. The Flighters quickly put the snarl of pilgrim ships between them and the island. Soon the guns were hitting the pilgrims’ ships. It was horrifying to see the innocent people getting slammed by the Flighters from one side, and from friendly fire on the other. In no time, each and every pilgrim ship was either on fire, sinking, or already gone. The island’s guns stopped firing, having only caused more damage. It didn’t look like a single Flighter gunboat was even nicked.

Survivors churned the water. I expected the Flighters to attack them next. They didn’t, I’m happy to say. Small fishing boats were already under way, headed to pick them up. The Flighters didn’t bother with them, either. It was pretty clear what their mission was. Sink the pilgrim ships. That would end their quest. Murdering them would have been overkill, so to speak. It took all of twenty minutes for the Flighters to put a thundering, fiery end to generations of planning and hope. To Aja’s plan. As the last ship dipped beneath the ocean, the Flighters turned and headed back for Rubic City. They had swooped in like avenging hawks, done their job, and left as quickly as they had come.

Battle? Did I call that a battle? There was no battle. It was a slaughter. Watching it unfold from that mountain was worse than horrible. There was nothing any of us could do except watch and cry. Genj and the women of the tribunal were in shock. They may have known about Veelox s past from the writings of their ancestors, but I didn’t think they’d ever experienced something as swift and violent as that. There was no telling how many of the pilgrims were killed. The fishing boats were picking up dozens, but I didn’t think there was any way they could have all survived. Not the way those ships were blasted into shrapnel. This was a simple, peaceful world… that had just been rudely pulled into reality.

Saint Dane told me that defeat is the most devastating when it comes at the moment of victory. That’s what happened before on Veelox. It’s what happened on Quillan. Seeing the pilgrim ships blown out of the water was like seeing the archives of Mr. Pop being torched on Quillan. It wasn’t just about the destruction of items or the loss of life.

It was about the total and complete obliteration of hope.

I went from stunned, to numb, to angry. Saint Dane had won. Again. He found the turning point of the territory and coerced the people to turn it the wrong way. In this case, his allies were the Flighters. They were just as much a part of Veelox as the people of Ibara. The difference was the people of Ibara wanted to rebuild. The Flighters were animals. Saint Dane liked animals. He knew how to manipulate the weak-minded, the opportunists. I wanted to scream. I wanted to get behind the controls of one of those defense guns and shoot something out of the water. I wanted to feel the pulverizing effect on one of those Flighter gunboats.