D. MacHale - The Rivers of Zadaa

Sticking out of his back was the handle of a thick knife. My brain locked. It was almost an exact copy of what had happened to Alder, except for one thing. Pelle was dead. Nobody moved. Reality hadn’t hit. From the time Pelle stopped talking until total chaos broke out was probably only five seconds, but time slowed down for those few moments. It was an unreal sensation…that got very real, very fast.

“Death to the Batu!” shouted a Rokador who had been standing directly behind Pelle. It was a guy I had never seen before, wearing a long, yellow tunic. Splattered across the front was a wash of blood. Pelie’s blood. This guy was the killer. He had made his way up behind the unprotected prince and stabbed him in the back. I wondered if it was Saint Dane, but realized that it couldn’t be. Saint Dane never did his own dirty work.

“The Rokador will prevail!” the killer shouted, pointing at me. His eyes were crazed. A Ghee guard tackled the guy, the other fell to his knees to protect Pelle. He needn’t have bothered. The crown prince of Xhaxhu was dead. The people around us began to scream and scatter. But the festival was so loud, few of the thousands in this square realized what was happening. On the royal platform, the king and queen glanced over curiously, unaware that their son had just been murdered. The remaining Ghee warriors closed around them protectively forming a shield against the masses.

Loor grabbed my arm and pulled me away. We started up the stairs, only to see a stream of Ghee warriors, in armor, flooding out of a building and pushing their way through the crowd to get to Pelle. They were armed and ready to go. Their dark black armor stood out ominously from the brightly colored tunics of the revelers.

“Not that way,” I said.

“Rokador!” one of the Ghee guards shouted at me. “Do not move!”

In that one second my mind flashed forward to what was about to happen. I was a Rokador who stood only a few feet away from the beloved Batu prince when he was murdered…by another Rokador. Emotions were running high. They might throw me in prison just for being there. Or think I had something to do with it. Or worse, they might tear me apart right then and there out of anger. We had to get gone while everybody was still in shock. There was a small window; we had to take it.

Loor always said, “Never make the first move.” I didn’t. The Ghee guard lunged at me. I was ready to defend myself, but Loor did the honors. With his attention focused on me, Loor got in both the secondandthe third shots. With a quick blur of fists, she hammered the guy and swept his legs out, sending him crashing to the stairs. She may have looked like a beautiful princess, but she was still a Ghee warrior.

“Hurry,” she ordered, and forced her way down the stairs, through the crowd. I was right after her, but before leaving I took one last look at the murder scene. The Batu killer was ranting: “Death to Xhaxhu! Freedom for the Rokador!” He was out of control. The Ghee guard needed help to control this guy, and he got it. The other Ghees arrived from above. Three descended on the killer, burying him in a wave of black armor. The others went right to their fallen prince.

“Pendragon!” Loor called.

I was about to follow her when I saw something that hit me like a punch in the gut. Several Ghee warriors were lifting the body of Pelle a Zinj to get him off the steps. They were all focused on their fallen leader. All but one. This one guy looked away from Pelle, and right at me. I knew who it was. It was the same Ghee who nearly beat me to death in the warrior compound. It was Saint Dane. He gave me a small smile and a wink.

I felt the blood drain from my head. I nearly passed out right there. I probably would have if Loor hadn’t yanked my arm and pulled me away from the scene. We fought our way through the dense crowd of joyous Batu who still didn’t know that their lousy lives were about to get a lot lousier. The parade continued, the music played, the cheering echoed off the pyramids. It wouldn’t last long. As the saying goes, this was then-last hurrah. Loor and I pushed our way through the crowd and moved back along the parade route to get to her home. It was surreal. We didn’t say a word to each other along the way. I was on autopilot. I don’t even remember much of the trip. That’s because my mind was racing ahead, wondering what would come next. As we ran, an idea began to take shape. The more I thought about it, the more I felt sure I was right. It wasn’t a happy thought.

We finally got out of the crowd and stood together in the entryway of a pyramid trying to catch our breaths. Loor was so wired, she paced like an angry cat. I knew that when I told her what I was thinking, she’d become even angrier.

“That was it,” I said softly.

“That was what?” she asked, her eyes wide and wild. “The end of our chance for peace? The death of the lone voice of reason? The destruction of Xhaxhu? Tell me something I do not know, Pendragon.”

“Saint Dane was there,” I told her.

Loor shot me a surprised look. “Are you certain?” she asked.

“How could I forget?” I said. “He took the form of a Ghee warrior. The one who nearly beat me to death. I don’t think I could mistake that.”

“So he had something to do with Pelle’s death?”

“Probably,” I said. “He might have snuck that Rokador near the palace, or given him the knife, or talked him into assassinating Pelle for all I know.”

“Without Pelle, the chances for war just became greater.”

“Especially because he was killed by a Rokador,” I added. “Revenge is going to get people’s blood boiling. But there’s more. I think this was it.”

“You said that before,” Loor barked. “What do you mean?”

My stomach turned over. I felt sick. I knew I was right, and it was killing me.

“This was the turning point,” I said flatly. “The turning point for Zadaa.”

Loor gave me a blank stare. Maybe her mind didn’t want to accept it. “Why do you say that?” she finally said, though much softer.

“Because if we hadn’t been there, Pelle would still be alive,” I answered. “He was safely on that platform, protected by his guards. There was no way that assassin would have gotten to him. But he came into the crowd to see us. We changed the equation. The turning point on Zadaa just got pushed the wrong way, and we helped push it.”

This is where I’m ending my journal, guys. I’m going to send it to you through my ring right now. Tomorrow Loor and I leave for the underground. Our goal is to get to Kidik and learn the truth that Bokka died trying to tell us. We have no choice. Saint Dane is waiting. This would be a dangerous trip under any circumstances, but now the clock is ticking. Pelle a Zinj is dead. That’s the tragedy I referred to at the beginning of this journal. With his murder, there’s no doubt that the Batu will attack the Rokador. The only question is, when?

Be well. Be safe. The next time I send you a journal, it will probably be from far below the surface of Zadaa.

And so we go.

END JOURNAL #21

Courtney Chetwynde felt as if she were drowning.

If there was one word that could be used to describe Courtney, it would be “controlled.” Courtney was always in control because she had the tools to do it. She was smart and pretty and athletic and funny, and pretty much all the things that lesser human beings could only aspire to. Courtney had the whole package. Things always went her way because she madesurethey went her way. She was a force of nature. In school, with sports, with boys, even with her parents. Courtney had it all.

Until she lost it all.

It wasn’t as dramatic a change as what happened to Bobby Pendragon. She wasn’t plucked out of her perfect life, flumed across time and space and given the responsibility of saving all existence. What happened to Courtney was, in some ways, worse. Bobby left his normal life behind. Courtney stayed home and had her normal life turned inside out. And it had nothing to do with her relationship with Bobby, and becoming an acolyte with Mark Dimond. At least not at first.