D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

Courtney stood behind Mark, watching nervously. “Tell me it’s still there,” she begged.

“Got it!” Mark announced.

He held up the innocuous little device that was about to change history. Courtney remembered it all too well. To her it looked like a small ball of Silly Putty. Inside was a complex skeleton that was controlled by an advanced computer of Mark’s design that changed shape in response to voice commands. The plastic skin Saint Dane had stolen from Third Earth. The computer technology was all Mark’s. He called it “Forge.” It was the brainchild of the Dimond Alpha Digital Organization. It was a little ball of clay. It was the grandfather of the dados.

“Kill it,” Courtney commanded.

Mark held his invention up and stared at it like a loving parent.

Dodger jumped up and put his ear to the door.

“They’re coming,” he said calmly. “Now would be good.”

“I’m sorry, Courtney,” Mark said softly. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“We’ll have all the time in Halla to talk about it later. Do it!”

The anguish on Mark’s face was obvious. He dropped the high-tech ball onto the deck, closed his eyes, and stamped his foot down. Courtney heard the satisfying crack and crumble, as Forge was crushed into history. At the exact instant Mark’s foot destroyed Forge…

Courtney’s ring came to life. She held it up for the others to see.

“Does this mean things have changed back?” Mark asked.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Courtney answered.

She took the ring off and placed it on the deck.

Dodger kept his ear to the door. “I don’t hear them coming anymore. Do you think they know?”

“I guarantee they know,” Courtney replied.

Mark twisted his foot into the carpet, making sure every last bit was pulverized. He scooped up the remains and tossed them out the porthole. Forge was no more.

The ring grew as light flashed through the room. Dodger joined the other two and watched the show. Moments later the ring returned to normal. Next to it was a rolled parchment.

“That didn’t take long,” Courtney said nervously.

“Time flies when you’re flying through time,” Dodger said.

Courtney picked up the pages and clutched them to her chest. “I guess we’ll read this in the brig. I’m proud of you, Mark.”

She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Mark stared at the floor.

“You did the right thing, chum,” Dodger said. “Sorry for, you know, nearly shooting you before. I didn’t want to.”

D. J. MacHale

The Pilgrims of Rayne

Mark didn’t react. He kept staring at the floor. “Are you okay?” Courtney asked.

“I don’t know,” Mark answered. “I won’t know until I find out if my parents are still alive.”

This is my last journal.

I know I’ve written words like that before, but it was always out of fear that something might prevent me from writing. That’s not the case here. Nothing is going to happen to me. Not anymore. I made sure of that. As I write this journal, I feel safe for the first time since I left home to become a Traveler. It wasn’t easy getting to this place. In fact, it was a nightmare. But it’s over now. Sort of. I’m going to have to relive it in these pages. Part of me wants to skip writing it all down, because it’s too painful. That wouldn’t be fair. Not to you, Courtney. Not to the other Travelers. Not to Uncle Press. I have to finish what I started, just as I did here on Ibara. After looking back on all that’s happened since I wrote my last journal, there is one thing I can say with absolute certainty. The battle for Halla is over. How that happened will be related to you here, in my final journal. I hope I can find the right words to paint the picture as it happened. As I saw it. As it was meant to be.

When we returned to the island of Ibara with the tak, we dressed Alder in local clothes and hurried out of the newly dug tunnel, headed for Tribunal Mountain. Not a single quig-bee bothered us. The poison must have killed them all. When we reached the village, the people were milling around nervously. Many cried. Others consoled them. There was an air of foreboding.

“It’s like we never left,” Siry said to me in wonder.

“I told you. The flume puts us where we need to be, when we need to be there. It looks like the Flighters attacked the pilgrims only a few hours ago.”

“Amazing,” Siry whispered in awe.

I didn’t think it was amazing at all. The amazing thing was that I didn’t question it. As we hurried through the village, I saw that Alder was taking it all in. Analyzing our chances. He didn’t have anything good to say.

“Where is the army?” he asked.

“There is no army” was my sober answer.

“Then who will fight the dados?”

“You’re looking at them,” I answered.

“These people are not prepared for war,” he declared. “They are not trained. How do you plan to fight off an army of machines with fishermen?”

“Now you see why we need the tak” was my answer.

As we got closer to the mountain, I saw that Genj had done what I’d asked. A crowd had formed at the mountain’s base. The security force was rounding up every person in the village who was willing and able to fight. Seeing this crowd of frightened villagers made me realize just how right Alder was. These people had no chance of defending their island.

The tribunal was waiting for us in their cavern room. Telleo was there too. The security guys waved us right in. Man, things had changed. We were no longer outlaws.

“This is Alder,” I announced. “He is a warrior. He can help us.”

When Genj saw us, he frowned. “You went for help and returned with a single man?”

Genj looked skeptical. So did Moman and Drea. Telleo didn’t look so thrilled either. That was okay. They didn’t know Alder.

“There’s no way to know how long we have,” I said. “We need to form our defense now.”

“I don’t understand,” Moman said. “The Flighters have already attacked. The pilgrim ships are destroyed. Why would they attack again?”

“It’s not the Flighters we have to worry about,” I explained. “There is an army gathered on Rubic City that is going to invade Ibara. They are worse than Flighters. They’re machines.”

Genj and the others stared at me as if I were from Neptune. Or wherever it was crazy people came from on Veelox.

“I’ve seen it,” Siry added. “They’re going to come here on small ships. Thousands of them.”

Genj asked, “And who is this person who controls the army? The man who killed Remudi?”

“He’s the leader of the Flighters,” I answered. It was only a small lie. He was leading the Flighters. Of course, he had bigger plans than that, but I didn’t want to go there just then. Or ever. The tribunal exchanged looks. They still needed convincing.

“Look,” I said sharply. “Either let us help you, or everything you’ve worked for, everything your ancestors worked to build, everything Aja Killian envisioned for Ibara is going to be destroyed. The choice is yours.”

That stung them.

“I believe Pendragon,” Telleo said. “The Flighters have destroyed our future. Why do we doubt they’ll stop there?”

“We aren’t warriors,” Genj declared.

“I know,” I said. “We’ve got to be smart… and lucky.”

It was time to prepare for the defense of Ibara. My idea of bringing tak was to use it as a weapon against the dados. My thoughts didn’t go much beyond that. Having Alder around suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea. He knew tactics. He was part of an army. Okay, it was an army of knights, but it was still an army. We spread out the maps of Ibara that Aja had given me on the tribunal’s table and huddled around.