D. MacHale - The Lost City of Faar

“Where are they now?” asked Mitchell.

Mark considered telling Mitchell that they were both upstairs, but he realized he couldn’t take another week of dodging Mitchell.

“They’re out,” said Mark.

“Good! Where are the journals?”

“W-Wait in the living room,” Mark said. “I’ll get them.”

There was no way he was going to show Andy Mitchell his secret hiding place in the attic. Having him know the journals were in his house was bad enough. So while Mitchell sat in front of the TV laughing at Pepe Le Pew, (Who laughed at Pepe Le Pew? Nobody thought Pepe Le Pew was funny!), Mark went to get the journals.

He tried to be as quiet as possible so Mitchell wouldn’t know where he was going. Mitchell was the kind of guy who was a step away from juvi. Mark wouldn’t put it past him to break into the house and steal the journals. But there was no way he would do it if he didn’t know where they were. So Mark quietly went up into the attic, opened the desk drawer, took out the four brown scrolls that were Bobby’s first journals, and quickly went back downstairs. He got as far as the second-floor hallway near his bedroom when -

“You got a bathroom?” Mark jumped and yelped in surprise. Mitchell was upstairs, in his face.

“Of course we got a bathroom,” answered Mark. “Downstairs, near the — “

Mark felt his ring twitch. Oh, no. He couldn’t believe it was happening now, in front of Mitchell. Again.

“What’s the matter?” asked Mitchell. “You look sick. You gotta use the can too?”

Mark had to think fast. He didn’t want Mitchell to see the next journal arrive. The less this creep knew, the better.

“Use the bathroom in my room,” Mark ordered. “It’s closer.”

Mark would sooner drink acid than let Andy Mitchell go into his room, but it was the only thing he could think of quickly.

“Lemme read the journals while I’m sittin’ on the can,” snorted Mitchell.

Mark didn’t need that image. But then he felt his ring move again. It was starting to grow. There wasn’t any time so he handed the four precious journals over to Mitchell and pushed him into his room.

“Let me know when you’re done,” said Mark, and pulled his bedroom door closed.

Mark had pulled it off. Mitchell would be occupied long enough for Bobby’s next journal to arrive. Mark ran down the hallway, yanking the ring from his finger. It had already grown to its largest size and was getting hot. Mark ducked into his parents’ bedroom so that when the light show started, there would be no chance of Mitchell hearing or seeing anything.

Mark closed his parents’ door, placed the ring on the floor, and backed away. Instantly the glowing lights told him the doorway to Cloral was opening up. With a quick tumble of the familiar musical notes and a final, blinding flash, the delivery had been made.

Mark looked at the floor to see the ring had returned to normal and another roll of green paper had been deposited next to it. For a moment the excitement of getting Bobby’s next journal made Mark forget about his problems with Mitchell. He knew that the pages on the floor were going to tell them about the battle for the Lost City of Faar. He wanted to grab the pages, pull them open, and start reading right away. But he couldn’t do that for two very good reasons. One was that Courtney wasn’t here. They never read the journals without each other. He had messed up a lot recently, but that was one thing he wouldn’t fail on. The other was that Andy Mitchell was sitting on his toilet, reading the journals from Denduron. The thought made him shiver.

He didn’t want to risk going up to the attic to hide the newest journal, so he ditched it under his parents’ bed. The journal would be safe there until Mitchell left. Of course, at the speed that Mitchell read, it might take a week to get him out of there. But that was a risk Mark would have to take.

After stashing the journal under the bed, Mark went back to his room to begin the long ordeal of explaining every other word of the first four journals to Mitchell. He opened his bedroom door and saw that the bathroom door was closed. That was good. He didn’t want to catch a glimpse of Andy Mitchell sitting there with his pants around his ankles. Gross.

“Do me a favor, Andy,” Mark called out. “Finish what you’re doing and read the journals out here, okay?”

Mark didn’t want to risk getting the journals wet, with water or anything else.

“All right?” Mark called out.

Mitchell didn’t answer. Mark went to the bathroom door and knocked.

“You okay in there?” he asked.

Still no answer. Mark began to panic. Could Mitchell have fallen down and hurt himself? Could he have gotten sick? How would he explain any of this? He had no choice, he was going to have to go inside. But then he feared Mitchell was just being Mitchell and choosing not to answer. The last thing he wanted to do was open the door and catch him sitting on the toilet. But still, he had to make sure nothing was wrong. So he opened the door.

“Are you all — “

The bathroom was empty.

“Andy?” Mark called out in confusion. “Mitchell!”

Mark backed out of the bathroom, totally confused. What had happened? He looked around his bedroom, trying to see any telltale clue that would explain what was going on.

That’s when he saw it. His window was open. With rising panic he ran to it and looked out. The roof of the first-floor porch was just below the window. There were many times when Mark and Bobby used this route as a secret way to get in and out of the house. The roof led to a rose trellis on the far side of the house. Climbing down the trellis was like climbing down a ladder.

Mark went into brain lock. The evidence was all before him. He didn’t want to accept it, but he had to.

Andy Mitchell had just stolen Bobby’s journals.

It’s over.

I guess I don’t have to tell you guys that I made it, since I’m writing this journal. I’m back on Grallion now, where I’m feeling safe for the first time in a long time. But the sad truth is that not everybody was as lucky as I was.

As I sit here in my apartment reliving the events of the last few days, I’m feeling a little numb. Maybe this is what they mean when they say somebody is in shock. Everything that happened seems like it was a dream. Maybe that’s a good thing. When you feel as horrible as I do, then pretending it was all a dream makes it a little easier to handle.

Many people acted bravely, even in the face of death. I think that’s what I’ll remember most about the ordeal I’ve just been through. I have met some special people here on Cloral. I hope they think the same of me.

This is what happened.

Kalaloo led Uncle Press, Spader, and me along a winding path that brought us higher up on the mountain. The path ended at a giant outdoor shelter that was perched on a plateau near the peak. We walked up several marble steps to a large, round platform that had all sorts of tile work on the floor. We’re talking intricate stuff here. There were elaborate scenes of people building ships and swimming with schools of colorful fish, and even one scene that showed the dome being built over Faar mountain. I guessed this incredible mosaic showed the history of Faar. I hated to walk on it. It was like walking on art.

Around the perimeter of this platform were massive round columns that supported a giant, marble dome. It felt like we had just arrived on Mount Olympus! Above the stairs that led to the platform, attached to the dome was a large, marble symbol. It was the familiar symbol of Faar that Spader’s father had drawn for him.

In the center of the platform was a circle of bleachers that were also made out of marble. People were sitting there, gibbering with animation. I counted twelve in all. Men and women, all wearing the same tunic-looking outfits that everyone else on Faar wore. Of course, they were all bald, too. Even the women. Weird. I figured this was the Council of Faar that was waiting to meet with us. Kalaloo led us into the circle and everyone immediately fell silent. It was kind of creepy. We stood at the dead center, surrounded by all these bald people who looked at us with sour expressions, as if we were strangers intruding on their perfect world. The fact is, we were.