The Pilgrims of Rayne

IBARA

“Paradise.”

I’m not sure what other word could better describe Ibara. It was paradise. Of course it was a paradise where I was nearly stung to death by a swarm of killer bees and arrested for crimes I didn’t commit. Other than that, it was paradise.

I was taken from the hut where Telleo had been caring for me and pulled roughly across flat sand. I didn’t resist. There were three of them and one of me. Worse, I was operating at about 20 percent. I went along quietly while trying to take in my surroundings.

I wanted to learn as much about Ibara as I could. It wasn’t easy. The three guys who arrested me weren’t exactly acting like tour guides. I had to see what I could while being dragged through town.

Yes, town. Maybe it would be more accurate to call it a tropical village. There were no tall buildings, only wooden huts with grass roofs, like the one I’d been recovering in. There were hundreds of them in all sizes, lined up in orderly rows that created streets of sand. The huts were set back from these sandy pathways with lots of space yards, the huts were surrounded by green leafy plants that were dotted with an amazing array of colorful flowers-bright reds, deep blues, brilliant oranges, and many more, all gleaming in the tropical sun. It looked as if each hut were resting in its own colorful nest. It smelled like a flower shop, but not in an overpowering, sweet way. The air just smelled fresh.

There were no vehicles. Everyone was on foot. Some people hung out in front of the huts, reading. Others carried baskets of food or large containers filled with I-don’t-know-what. I saw people working to repair huts and weaving fresh grass into the roofs. Others were building new huts. Everyone wore variations of the simple clothing I had found at the flume. Many of the men didn’t wear shirts or shoes. Some women wore short dresses. All the clothing was colorful and light. There were lots of kids, too, running around acting like, well, like kids.

The village was built on the shore of a calm, green ocean. A wide beach of powder-white sand separated the huts from the water. I only got a quick glance but saw several boats of all sizes floating just offshore. Some looked like small fishing boats, others were under sail. There were people fishing on shore, too, using long poles. The circular beach curved around, forming a huge bay, the entrance to which looked about a few hundred yards wide. The water inside was as calm as a lake. Beyond the entrance to the bay were the white lines of waves. That meant open sea. Huts were built all along the curve of the beach. It wasn’t crowded, though. There was plenty of greenery, with trees and bushes and flowers. Tall palm trees provided much-needed shade from the killer-hot sun.

The village was built in what seemed like a pretty sweet spot. On one side was the vast, protected bay. On the other, looming high over the village, was a majestic green mountain that rose to a sharp peak. High above on the mountain’s face I saw multiple waterfalls cutting the lush surface. At its base were more huts built onto its gently rising slope. Sounding like paradise yet?

It wasn’t a small village. It was more like a tropical city that was completely protected by water on one side and a spectacular mountain on the other. It seemed like a perfect fishing village. Still, there were enough odd touches that made it seem a little off. I couldn’t get a feel for how advanced this civilization was. Were these simple fishermen who spent their lives picking fruit and catching what they needed from the sea? Or was there more? There had to be, based on the technology I was seeing. Besides the telephone that Telleo used and the lights in the hut, there were lights in the trees of the village. That meant they had power. I also saw that some people were tending the flowers around their huts by spraying water from hoses. That meant they had plumbing. I already told you that I saw people reading books, which meant they had the ability to print.

There were other signs that didn’t jump out at first, but the more I thought about them, the less sense they made. The people weren’t of any particular race. I saw every skin and hair color you could imagine. They had a wide mix of facial features too. This definitely wasn’t a single race of people. I’m no anthropologist, but you’d think if this were a secluded village built by a single tribe, everybody would have the same general look. They didn’t. These people definitely came from different parts of Ibara. I actually started to think that maybe the idea of this being a resort might not be so far-fetched. It fit all the criteria: beautiful setting, awesome beach, a mix of different people, boats, fishing, killer weather, and all the comforts of home. The only thing missing was a boat pulling some water skiers and some guy playing a steel drum. There was only one problem with this theory.

At resorts people didn’t get abducted and falsely arrested. That would seriously ruin a vacation.

Most of what I described here I saw in the few minutes I was being dragged through the village. I tried to take it all in, while the people we passed were looking back at me with just as much interest. And why not? It must have been a sight to see three men dragging a dazed, scab-encrusted guy through the streets. A few bystanders applauded and yelled encouragement to my abductors.

“Nice work!” “Thank you!” “Wonderful!”

What was up with that? What had I done? Was it a crime to get munched by a swarm of bees?

“Where are we going?” I asked as we moved quickly through the sandy streets.

“You’ll be brought before the tribunal,” the big guy answered gruffly. “They’ll decide what to do with you.”

Tribunal. That sounded official. I figured I had better start forming a plausible story as to who I was and why I was there. It seemed like the best thing that could happen to me was to be sent away. At least that’s what Telleo said. I didn’t want to think about what the worst thing might be.

“Help! Thief!” came a woman’s cry.

Instantly two young guys ran out from a cross street in front of us. They each carried cloth sacks and were running away like, well, like thieves. They looked to be a little younger than I was. One had long dark curly hair and dark skin, the other’s hair was long and blond. Neither wore shirts or sandals. Both were laughing as if they had just gotten away with the crime of the century. They turned in our direction, saw us, stopped short… and stopped laughing.

“Uh-oh,” the blond guy gasped.

They took off running in the other direction. My captors stood frozen, not sure what to do.

“Maybe you should go after some real criminals/’ I suggested.

“Go!” The big guy barked at the others. “I can handle him.”

The other two bolted after the thieves. It was now one-on-one. Me against the big guy. I’m embarrassed to say that he was right. He was definitely able to handle me. He slipped a thin cord around my wrist and pulled it tight. He grabbed my other arm, pulled it behind my back and looped the other end of the cord around it, handcuffing me. He knew what he was doing. He pushed me forward and I stumbled on. We passed the street that the two thieves had run down in time to see the two other security guys tackle the thief with the dark hair. He was done. His blond friend got away though. Seeing this scene made me wonder if this idyllic tropical town was not so idyllic after all. It seemed to have a real crime problem.

“What exactly did I do wrong?” I asked the big guy.

“You’re an outsider,” he snapped, all business. “Outsiders are taken before the tribunal.”

Not good. There was no way I could convince anybody I wasn’t an outsider, so if being an outsider was bad, I was in trouble. At least that meant I didn’t have to pretend I knew anything about their town.

“What exactly is the tribunal?” I asked.

“It is the government of Rayne,” he answered.

“So this town is called Rayne?”

The guy didn’t answer.

“What do you have against outsiders?” I asked. Again, no answer.

“What happens if the tribunal thinks I’m guilty of being an outsider? What’s the worst that can happen?” “You’ll be executed,” the guy said flatly.

Oh. This definitely wasn’t a vacation resort. It was time to start worrying.

We didn’t say another word for the rest of our walk (drag) through the village. The farther away we got from shore, the more dense the jungle became. The trees were thicker, creating a protective overhead canopy. We passed open areas of cleared jungle where kids played, large huts that seemed to be community gathering places, and even a section of shops that sold clothing, tools, and food. One large hut looked like a school, with a group of kids sitting in rows, attentively listening to a lesson being given by an older woman. We passed a large, open-air canopy structure where a performance was taking place. About a hundred people sat on the sand listening to a group of musicians play instruments made out of natural materials like bamboo and wood. They sounded pretty good, too. There was a lot of percussion, with a driving rhythm that had many people up and dancing. I wouldn’t have minded stopping to listen for a while. It would have been more fun than being dragged off to a possible execution.

The terrain grew steeper, and we soon had to climb up rocky steps. A few minutes later we came upon a sheer rock wall that looked like a dead end. As we walked closer, high above us on the sheer face of the mountain I saw a large opening cut into the rock. That told me we hadn’t hit a dead end after all. We were going inside the mountain. Sure enough, the path led to a cave opening that looked big enough to drive a car through. It wasn’t scary or anything, unless you considered there were people inside who would decide on whether or not I should be executed. It was a busy place, with people strolling in and out. As we got closer, I saw that it was well lit inside, with tubes of bright light running along the walls. The big guy led me inside and along a long corridor of rock that looked the same as the black rock cave where the flume was. There were open doorways on either side that led into large rooms where people were busily doing things like sewing clothes, preparing food, and doing repair work on small machines. The mountain was honeycombed with rooms and tunnels. There was no way these tunnels could be natural; it was way too complicated. That meant the people of this village cut through rock. Even more impressive was the fact that there was fresh air, even deep inside the mountain. They had ventilation. This living mountain once again pointed to the fact that this was an advanced society. It was a modern, primitive village. Ibara was an enigma.

After walking deep into the mountain, the big guy pushed me toward an opening where rock stairs led upward. I stopped. I was still dizzy from the medication, squirmy from the bee stings, and weak from having slept for five days. The last thing I wanted to do was climb stairs. Too bad for me. The guy gave me a shove. I willed my feet to keep moving, and the two of us climbed for what felt like forever. When we finally got to the top, we were faced with two guards who blocked our way. When they saw the big guy who’d arrested me, they backed off to let us pass.

We had arrived on another level built into the mountain, and a huge cavern. On the far side was the opening I had seen from the ground. Light from outside filled the immense room, making it nearly bright as day. The space was big, but empty. The only sign of life was on the far side, in front of the opening. Three people were there, talking.

The big guy removed the cord from around my wrists and handed it to me. “Don’t do anything foolish,” he warned. “There are guards everywhere.”

I nodded and rubbed my wrists, grateful that the tight cord was no longer scraping my healing bug wounds. “Is that the tribunal?” I asked.

His answer was to shove me toward them. The guy was starting to annoy me. In the next few moments my future on Ibara was going to be decided. What was I going to say to this tribunal? If my only crime was being an outsider, I was guilty Was that enough to have me executed? My mind raced, trying to come up with some kind of plausible story as to why I wasn’t an outsider, but I didn’t know anything about Ibara. Or this village called Rayne. I looked beyond the group and out past the cave opening. I first saw nothing but sky, then the beach, and finally the huts of the village below. It was an awesome sight. It reminded me of being on that lofty platform for the Tato match on Quillan. That was an incredible view too. I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I hadn’t been up there to fight for my life. I hoped I wouldn’t have the same problem here on Ibara.

An idea hit me. Remembering the Tato match did it. I wasn’t exactly sure how to use it, but it could very well have been my only hope.

There was a long, low desk with three large chairs behind it. The desk was full of papers and one of those small telephones. This is where the tribunal worked. I wondered why they were set up in such a huge place. I’m guessing it had something to do with security. Nobody could get close to them without being seen from far off. If they were paranoid about outsiders, what better place to protect their leaders than in the middle of a space where nobody could get close to them without being seen?

There were two women and a man. The man had gray in his hair, and the two women looked like your basic moms. One had very dark skin, the other was white and freckled, but with almond-shaped eyes. Weird. The guy was white, but really tan. He had a scratchy saltand-pepper beard that made him look like a grizzled sea captain. They each wore light green clothes, but with long sleeves and long pants. I’m guessing this was their idea of being formal. The three of them were locked in debate, until the dark woman spotted us. She nodded to the others. They straightened up and sat in their chairs. The guy sat in the middle, a woman on either side of him. I was led to a red line in the floor and roughly pulled to a stop.

“Don’t cross the line,” the big guy commanded.

“Don’t worry,” I replied.

The tribunal looked me over with no expression. I tried to look innocent, though I wasn’t really sure how to do that. I mainly wanted to be respectful and nonthreatening. We stood that way for several seconds. I wasn’t sure if they were trying to psyche me out or if I was supposed to say something. I chose to keep quiet. I kept going over in my head what I was going to say when the questions began. I had come up with a plan. It was something I hadn’t tried before on any of the territories. This seemed like as good a time as any to give it a shot.

“My name is Genj,” the man in the middle finally announced. “I am the chief minister of the Rayne tribunal.” He spoke calmly, with authority. He gestured to the women and said, “This is Moman and Drea.”

The dark woman was Moman, the freckled woman was Drea.

“And who are you?” he finally asked. This was it. Do or die. Literally. “I was hoping you could tell me,” I answered. I saw the surprise on their faces.

“I don’t understand,” Genj said. “I asked you who you are.”

“And I’m saying I don’t know. I remember my name, but that’s pretty much it.”

“What is your name?” Drea asked.

“Pendragon. At least I think it is. My mind is kind of… blank. I remember being swarmed by bees, but it’s a blur. The next thing I knew I woke up in your village. I have no idea how I got here or who I am.”

The three tribunal members looked to one another, not sure how to respond. It was a totally bold move on my part to fake amnesia, but I figured there was no way I was going to convince them I wasn’t an outsider. And if being an outsider meant death, I had to hope that putting a little doubt in their minds would spare me.

Moman asked, “You are saying you have no memory of anything before you were attacked by the bees?”

I had one more card to play. If I was lucky, it would confuse them a little more.

“I do have one other memory,” I answered. “It’s a name, I think.”

“What is it?” Genj asked.

I knew exactly one thing about Ibara. I knew the name of the Traveler. He was lured to Quillan by Nevva Winter and killed playing Tato, one of the deadly Quillan games.

I hoped he would be able to reach back from the grave to help save my life.

“Remudi,” I answered.

The effect on the tribunal was instant. All three sat bolt upright. Even the big guy who arrested me stiffened. I didn’t know why it was such a shock, but it definitely had an effect. I continued to pour it on by saying, “I can’t get that name out of my head. Remudi. Who knows? Maybe that’s my name and I’m not Pendragon. Do you know who I am? Do you know someone named Remudi?”

They looked off balance. That was good. I needed them to be confused and curious enough to want to keep me around to find out more.

Genj looked to the big guy who arrested me and asked, “Is the report we just received correct?”

“I’m afraid so,” the big guy answered.

“Bring him to us right away,” Genj commanded.

The big guy backed away respectfully and jogged off. I was left standing there with my toes on the red line. What report was he talking about? Who was being brought in? The three members of the tribunal stared at me. I felt like I was standing in my underwear. I’d done what I set out to do: I confused them. I didn’t want to say anything else that might mess that up.

“You nearly died,” Genj said. “It’s possible that amount of venom effected your memory.”

Awesome. If they thought a thousand bug bites caused my amnesia, cool.

“Do you have other injuries?” Drea asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said, keeping the possibility open. Though I knew I was fine. “Telleo told me I was saved by some fishermen. She really helped me, by the way.”

“Telleo has a gift,” Moman said kindly. “Her calling is to help people. She would even give aid to a Flighter in need.”

“I don’t know what a Flighter is,” I said honestly.

The three of them exchanged looks. Did they believe me? Probably not. I wasn’t so sure

I believed me either. I had no idea what a Flighter was, so how could I be sure I wasn’t one?

“You are not from Rayne,” Genj stated. “That much we are sure of. But you may be from another part of Ibara. The fact that you know the name of Remudi makes us believe that is possible. A Flighter would not know that name.”

Remudi’s name may have saved my life. But Genj said he thought I may be from some other part of Ibara. What did that mean? If I didn’t come from another part of Ibara, where did he think I came from? Did they know about other territories?

“There is someone you should meet,” Genj said. “Perhaps it will bring light to a confusing situation.”

I sensed someone walking up behind me. I didn’t dare turn around to look. To be honest,

I was afraid to. I heard the voice of the big guy who had arrested me. “Don’t cross the line,” he ordered. I thought he was talking to me, but realized it was intended for the person he was bringing in.

“He stole some clothing and some tools,” the big guy announced. “There were two of them. The other thief escaped.”

Stepping up beside me was the big security guy. With him was the dark-haired thief, the one I’d seen being tackled earlier. The young guy pulled away from the thug’s grip and angrily snarled, “Relax. I’m not going anywhere.” He looked at me and said, “What did they get you for?”

The young thief wasn’t intimidated by the tribunal. Or me.

“This is becoming a habit, Siry,” Genj said to the young guy. “A bad habit.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the kid named Siry boldly shot back at the man. “Those clothes were ours. We worked for them. That lady was crazy.”

The big thug poked Siry in the back. “Show some respect,” he ordered.

“Hey!” Siry protested. “I’m not the guilty one. Talk to that lady. She was supposed to pay us.”

The kid was cocky. From the scowls on the faces of the tribunal, they didn’t believe a word he said. I had the feeling they’d been to this dance before.

“Look at this young man/’ Genj ordered Siry while pointing to me.

Siry gave me a quick once-over. His eyes were blank. I meant nothing to him.

“Yeah, so?” he asked, annoyed.

Drea asked, “Have you seen him before?”

“Why?” he asked without looking at me again. “Is he blaming me for something too?”

“Answer a simple question for once, Siry,” Genj said, growing impatient.

“Don’t know him,” Siry said dismissively.

Moman added, “He says his name is Pendragon. Have you ever heard that name?”

“I told you,” Siry said, still annoyed. “I don’t know the guy”

“Yet he knows the name of your father,” Genj said. I snapped a look to Genj. Did I hear right? “This is Remudi’s son?” I blurted out. “Does that stir memories?” Drea asked. Oh man, did it ever. Not the kind I wanted to share. “Maybe there’s more than one Remudi,” I offered, my mind racing.

“There was only one Remudi from Rayne,” Genj answered. “Jen Remudi. This is his son. Look at him. Does he look at all familiar?”

I focused on the guy. He looked bored. He had the attitude of a street-tough kind of guy. I had only seen Remudi on the big screen on Quillan when he fought in the Tato match. The match that killed him. I tried to see a resemblance in Siry, but there was nothing about him that reminded me of Remudi. Then I remembered. Remudi was the Traveler from Ibara. As far as I knew, none of the Travelers knew their biological parents. Did it follow that the Travelers wouldn’t have biological children of their own? Siry might have been adopted, which meant there would be no resemblance.

It also meant something else. Something I needed to know. Badly. Siry’s arms were folded across his chest in a show of boredom and defiance. I couldn’t see his hands. I grasped the handcuff cord I had been holding and tossed it at the thief.

“Catch,” I barked.

Surprised, Siry caught the cord, revealing his hands. On his right ring finger was a familiar gray band. I had found the new Traveler from Ibara.

(CONTINUED)