The Pilgrims of Rayne

IBARA

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.

My anger wasn’t just about the poor pilgrims. This was about Ibara. Veelox. Halla. The territory was there for Saint Dane to take. Ibara was the last holdout of civilization. There was no way it could stand up to an attack by the dados. After that, what? Where would Saint Dane go next? Second Earth? Third Earth? I’d never felt the kind of anger I was feeling at that moment. I guess a better word for it was “rage.” I wanted a piece of Saint Dane again, right there. I wanted to fight him. I wanted to take him apart.

Nobody said a word. What could they say? For the tribunal the quest was over. It was a mission that had been handed down to them by their ancestors, and it had failed miserably. It was only going to get worse.

I couldn’t let that happen. I had been forming a plan since I first saw the dados, but until that moment, I didn’t seriously consider it. It was a last-ditch act born of desperation. It was wrong. But looking down on the destruction of the pilgrim fleet, and knowing that the dados were amassing to attack Ibara made something snap in me. Yes, I was angry. Maybe it was about time. Following the proper rules that Uncle Press set out and playing fair and being the good little Traveler wasn’t working anymore. Right and wrong didn’t matter anymore. It was time to get dirty. It was time to fight back.

D. J. MacHale

The Pilgrims of Rayne

“Genj,” I said. “You can’t let this cripple you. If you do that, Ibara really will be lost.”

“We’re already lost,” he said, dazed. “It will take generations to replace those ships.”

“What’s out there, Pendragon?” Telleo asked, frightened. “Who is doing this?”

“Someone who wants to crush you,” I said. “Remudi knew that. Now he’s dead.”

“Dead?” Moman repeated, shocked. “How?”

“He died at the hands of the guy who is going to attack this island. I’m here to stop him.”

“How?” Siry asked. “The dados-“

“Gather your people together,” I ordered Genj. “Bring them to the center of town. Tell them they’re going to have to defend Rayne. They saw what happened to the pilgrims. What’s coming will be worse. We’re going to need every person in this village who can fight.”

Genj was shaken. He looked like a confused, old man. “This is… is… all wrong. So many generations have planned for this day. It just cannot be!”

I took Telleo by the arm and looked her square in the eye. “Get through to him. You’ve got to be ready when we get back.”

“Where are you going?” Telleo asked.

“Don’t even ask. It’s up to you all to make sure this village is ready to fight.”

“How long will you be gone?” Drea asked.

“Not long. Maybe a few hours. We can’t afford to be gone any longer than that.”

“What’s the point, Pendragon?” Siry asked. “We’re going to get help.”

Soon after, Siry and I ran through the village, headed for the beach. People were milling around, dazed. Many had witnessed the destruction of the pilgrim fleet. Most had no idea what it all meant. We made one stop. It was back at the tribunal hut where Telleo nursed me to health. There we gathered several small wooden canisters that contained a poison. It was harmless to us, but deadly to its intended target.

Bees.

We left the hut and quickly ran to the beach. It wasn’t difficult finding the rocky cave near the shore.

“Why are we here?” Siry asked. “I’ve been in this cave before. There’s nothing here to help us.”

I didn’t explain. He’d find out soon enough. We entered the cave and moved quickly through the labyrinth of tunnels. Whenever we came to an intersection, I looked at my Traveler ring to show me the way. The gray stone was glowing brighter with every turn. When we were about to enter the large, cathedral-like cavern where I first encountered the quig-bees, I decided not to take any chances. I motioned to Siry. He pulled a stopper out of one of the canisters and tossed it in ahead of us.

“That’s enough poison to kill a couple thousand bees,” he said.

“You better be right,” I said, and poked my head around the corner in time to see a storm of bright yellow lights falling from the ceiling. It was raining quigs. Dead quigs. Thousands of yellow lights soon carpeted the sandy floor.

Siry gasped at the sight. “I’ve lived here all my life and never saw anything like that.”

“Get used to it.”

We ran through the cavern, crunching dead quigs under our feet. A few turns later we found the cavern with the rocky pool of water that was the mouth of the flume.

“This is it,” I declared.

“This is what? I’ve been here before. It’s just a pool.”

I took the poison canisters and placed them along the cavern wall, in case we needed them when we got back. It didn’t hurt to be sure, but if my plan worked the way I wanted, we wouldn’t be needing them. I stepped up to the pool and looked into the calm, green water. I hadn’t yet flumed out of there; I wasn’t sure what to do.

“I’ll go along with whatever you want, Pendragon. But you have to tell me what this is about.”

“You gotta be strong,” I said. “You’re about to see things you never thought possible. All I can tell you is that your father knew it all. If you have any love or respect for his memory, trust him. Trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then let’s go for a swim,”

I dove headfirst into the pool. Siry was right behind. We didn’t bother changing clothes. The time was long past for that, especially with what I had in mind. Was I doing the right thing? I didn’t know and didn’t care. Not anymore. I wanted to hurt Saint Dane and nothing was going to stop me.

“It’s a bottomless pool,” Siry said as the two of us treaded water. “There’s nothing down there.”

“You’re wrong,” I corrected. “Everything is down there. Everything there ever was or will be.” I took a breath and called out, “Veelox!”

The water started to swirl. It was like being in a giant Jacuzzi. Lights appeared deep down below.

“Pendragon?” Siry said nervously.

“Relax. It won’t hurt a bit.”

A moment later we were both sucked down below the surface, and rocketed to the past for what I hoped would be a meeting between me, Siry… and a ghost.

(CONTINUED)