Raven Rise (13 page)

I've lost my Traveler ring.

I don't know when it happened, or where. My big fear is that it slipped off my finger while I was working, got jumbled up with some dado parts, and is now lying on the bottom of the ocean. I haven't given up hope of finding it. I'm always on the lookout and have asked everyone to keep an eye out for it. Losing that ring has made my exile here on Ibara all the more final. It's why I'm not able to send this journal to you, Mark and Courtney. You may never read these words. When I made the decision to seal the flume, I knew that as much as it would trap me here, I would still be able to communicate with you. Now that I can't, I still don't regret what I did, but it's made the experience way more lonely.

Until I find it, and I will find it, I'll continue to write these journals and hope that one day you will read them. The rest of my life here will continue as it has. Now that the village has been cleared, the next step is to rebuild the homes. I'm looking forward to that. Who knows? Maybe once that's under way, we'll begin to construct new ships to send more pilgrims off to repopulate the rest of Veelox, just as Aja envisioned.

Beyond that, I have one other goal, which may be as important as anything else I've done here. I want to rid Ibara of anything that came from other territories. Maybe that's kind of like closing the barn door after the horse has gotten out, but in spite of what we had to do to protect this island, mixing the territories and their destinies was wrong. My hope is now that Saint Dane is out of the picture, the same can happen on all the territories. That is the way it was meant to be. That's the way Uncle Press said it was meant to be. I'm going to do all I can to make sure Ibara gets back on the right track.

And so we go.

Or maybe I should say, “And so I go.”

END OF JOURNAL
#33

Mark, Courtney, and Patrick stepped out
of the mouth of the flume into the root cellar beneath the abandoned Sherwood house in Stony Brook.

Connecticut.

Second Earth.

The carpet of light and music quickly receded back into the flume, leaving them alone.

At home.

In the dark.

Courtney was the first to notice that something was wrong. “There's nothing here,” she announced.

“Of course not. We're underground,” Mark replied.

“I mean there are no Second Earth clothes. When Bobby and I left, we brought a bunch of things from home. Shoes, shirts, pants. They're gone.”

All three scanned the small, dark cellar but found nothing.

“Maybe somebody discovered this place,” Patrick suggested.

“Not likely,” Courtney replied. “We're in the basement of a mansion that's been empty for decades. This isn't right.”

“It's okay,” Mark said. “If wearing First Earth clothes is the worst thing we have to do, we're lucky.”

“I don't like it,” Courtney groused. “It's not a good way to start.”

“What should we do?” Patrick asked tentatively. He was nervous. Both Mark and Courtney sensed it.

“It's okay, Patrick,” Mark said calmly. “Relax.”

“Relax?” Patrick echoed. “You didn't go through what I did.”

Mark and Courtney exchanged looks.

“Yeah, we've all been on a picnic,” Courtney said sarcastically.

Patrick immediately realized his mistake. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to suggest that it's been easy for any of us.”

“We'll be fine,” Mark interjected. “We're all a little stressed. Let's just get out of here and back to my house. We can figure out our next move from there.”

Courtney went first, walking the few steps across the dirt floor to the ancient wooden door that protected the long-abandoned root cellar. She pushed it open slowly. There was a loud creek of rusted hinges that echoed throughout the cellar.

“Gotta oil that,” she said casually, and stepped into a pitch-dark basement.

Mark followed right behind her. “Looks like it's nighttime,” he observed.

Patrick was right behind him, staying close. When they had all passed through, Courtney closed the creaky old door behind them.

“Check this out,” she said to Patrick while running her hand across the door's wooden surface. “We watched this being burned into the door by the ring. It was incredible.”

The darkness made it difficult for Patrick to make out detail. He ran his hand across the wood to feel the scar of the five-inch star that marked the gate to the flume.

“What does it mean?” he whispered.

“It means it's a gate,” Courtney answered. “Duh.”

“No, I mean the book cover. Ravinia. And the tattoos those men had on their arms. What's the connection?”

Mark stood between the two and answered, “That's what we're going to have to find out.”

The three turned to face the empty basement.

“Wait for our eyes to adjust,” Mark suggested. “It won't take long. Light from the street comes in through the windows over there and—”

The words caught in Mark's throat. He stared straight ahead into the pitch-black empty basement…that wasn't empty anymore.

“Uh-oh,” Courtney gasped.

“What?” Patrick asked nervously.

As their eyes adjusted, they were able to make out the forms of boxes stacked everywhere.

“What's the problem?” Patrick asked, his panic growing. “What are they?”

“Doesn't matter,” Mark answered. “They aren't supposed to be here. The house is empty.”

“Not anymore,” Courtney stated.

Grrrrr.

The sound came from upstairs. Mark and Courtney stiffened.

“Oh hell,” Courtney muttered.

“Did you hear that?” Patrick asked. “This place doesn't sound empty.”

Courtney whispered, “Did anybody see a small silver canister back by the flume? About three inches long?”

“No,” Patrick whined. “What is it?”

Grrrrrr.
The growl was louder.

“A weapon,” Courtney answered.

“A weapon!” Patrick echoed loudly.

“Shhhh!” Mark scolded.

“Weapon?” Patrick whispered. “For what?”

Courtney's answer was simple and direct. “For quigs.”

Bang!
The basement door at the top of the stairs flew open, followed by the sounds of vicious barking and claws scrambling on steps.

“The d-door!” Mark yelled.

He took off across the basement, headed for the door he knew led up and outside. He remembered the door from long ago. He had never needed to use it. Until then.

“Ow!” Mark screamed as he ran headfirst into a stack of boxes and fell backward. Boxes tumbled over, scattering onto the floor, tripping up Patrick. Courtney grabbed the Traveler before he could fall.

“Don't stop,” she commanded.

“Find the door!” Mark ordered as he scrambled to his feet.

The animal continued barking and growling as it charged down the stairs. Mark caught a glimpse of the black beast. It looked big, but at least there was only one. Courtney reached the wall first and was faced with a barrier of boxes stacked up high, blocking off their only means of escape. The door was buried.

The barking echoed through the huge basement as the vicious dog hit the floor, heading for its prey.

“Is there another way out?” Patrick yelled desperately.

“Up those stairs,” Courtney answered. “On the other side of the quig.”

The three turned their backs to the wall of boxes and faced the charging black animal. They all knew there was no way to fight a bloodthirsty quig. At least Mark and Courtney knew. Patrick would soon find out.

Mark shouted, “Whichever one it goes for, the other two have to get out.”

He took a subtle step forward. Mark wanted to be the one the quig hit first. Courtney realized it, grabbed his jacket, and pulled him back, saying, “I don't think so.”

The dog was almost on them. The barking was deafening. Nobody knew who it would attack first. The animal chose Mark. It leaped at him, hit his shoulders with both paws, and knocked him back into the cardboard boxes. Mark fell, the boxes fell, the dog was on top of him dripping slobber onto his face.

“Run!” Mark shouted. He held the dog off as best he could, waiting for the pain to come when its teeth ripped into his face.

Patrick and Courtney froze, not knowing what to do. They both looked down to see…

A big black Labrador retriever was standing on Mark's chest, licking his face.

“That's a quig?” Patrick uttered, stunned.

“Uh, I, uh” was all Courtney could say.

“Get him off!” Mark yelled.

Courtney grabbed the big dog and pulled him back. The dog spun and licked her right on the mouth.

“Eeyew, stop!” she complained. “Sit!”

The dog obeyed. It sat down, eager to please. The barking was finished. He lifted his paw, expecting somebody to take it. Mark sat up, looked at the big goofy dog, patted him on the chest, and said, “Uh, good boy.”

“I—I don't understand,” Patrick stammered.

Mark willed his heart to stop racing. The fear of a sudden, painful death had gotten him a little worked up. “This isn't a quig,” he gasped.

“Obviously. He's not much of a watch dog, either,” Courtney said, hugging the big, friendly fur ball. “What if we were here to rob the place?”

All three tensed up again. Their fear of the quig was replaced with another.

“Somebody lives here,” Mark announced, stunned.

“We're trespassing,” Courtney added.

“Does that mean things have changed again on Second Earth?” Patrick asked.

“We gotta get outta here,” Mark ordered.

He turned to the wall, pushing aside some of the cardboard boxes to try to get to the door. What he found instead was a solid wall.

“They cemented over the door,” he declared.

“I don't get it. How long have we been gone?” Courtney asked in wonder.

“Long enough. We've got to go up through the house,” Mark announced, heading for the stairs.

The others followed. The dog trailed behind, wagging his tail happily.

“Let's hope they're asleep,” Mark whispered.

“Let's hope they don't have guns,” Courtney added.

“Yeah, that too.”

They crept quickly and quietly up the wooden stairs. Both Courtney and Mark had been through the house many times before, yet they had no idea what to expect when they entered the living area this time. Patrick had no idea about anything. The dog probably knew something, but he wasn't talking. The door on top of the stairs was still open, thanks to the black Lab. Mark reached the top step first, and he stopped to look back.

“If the barking didn't wake anybody up, maybe the house is empty,” he whispered hopefully.

“Or maybe the police are up there waiting for us,” Courtney countered.

Mark gave her a sour look. He glanced down at Patrick. Patrick looked as if he were going to faint. Mark gave him a smile of assurance. He wished that somebody would give him one too. He turned forward and quietly stepped into the house. It was exactly as Mark and Courtney remembered it…

Except that it was fully furnished. The basement door led up into the grand foyer. From there a circular staircase led to the second floor. Mark gazed around in wonder at the opulent surroundings. He looked to Courtney and opened his eyes wide as if to say, “Wow.”

The place definitely deserved a “wow.” Mark thought that whoever now lived there had some serious money. A soft glow from the living room gave them enough light to see detail. A huge, ornate crystal chandelier hung overhead. Rich Oriental rugs graced the highly polished wooden floors. Oil paintings of idealized countrysides hung everywhere. Mark glanced into one room to see fancy, expensive-looking furniture, along with enough sculptures to make it appear more like a museum than a household. The wall paint was no longer chipped and scarred. Intricate wooden trim traced every corner. The stairs leading to the second floor looked like highly polished marble. It was a showplace.

The only detail that truly mattered just then was the front door on the far side of the foyer. Freedom was only a few yards away. The dog pushed past Mark and scampered deeper into the house, passing through an archway that led into the living room. Mark motioned for the others to follow him toward the front door. All three moved quickly and quietly across the floor, until Courtney stopped so suddenly that Patrick bumped into her from behind. Nobody said a word, nobody complained. Though Patrick did throw her an impatient look. Courtney didn't notice. She was too busy staring through the archway where the dog had just gone.

Mark tugged on her sleeve to keep her moving. Courtney ignored him. She kept staring into the next room. Mark tugged again. Courtney's silent answer was to point into the room. Patrick and Mark followed her gaze. Patrick gasped. Mark stared in wonder.

Beyond the archway, in the living room, a fireplace blazed. The fire in the hearth was the source of the warm, flickering light that was guiding their way. That wasn't what they were staring at. Nor was it the dog, that had curled up in front of the fire to keep warm. What got their attention was hanging over the fireplace. In the dim light it wasn't clear if it was a painting or a sculpture or even a photograph. It didn't matter.

Looming over the fireplace, measuring about five feet across, was a huge, five-pointed star. It was the symbol that marked the gates. It hung in a place of honor, like a revered icon.

Mark's knees went weak. He was getting too much information to assimilate in such a short time. There was no doubt anymore. Things had changed, and it wasn't just that somebody had moved into the Sherwood house. The star symbol was now known here on Second Earth. It was out in the open. Did that mean the flumes had been discovered too? Mark forced himself to look away. He had to focus. They were in a bad place. They wouldn't find the answers if they were stuck in jail for breaking and entering. That realization snapped Mark back to his senses. He pulled Courtney's arm again, this time more forcefully. They had to get out of there.

The three moved quickly to the front door. A thick, dead-bolt lock sat just above the door handle. Mark put one hand on the handle, the other on the bolt's turn key. He glanced back at the others and whispered, “We'll go for the wall where we always climb over. Stay close to the house, in the shadows.”

Mark twisted the lock. They didn't have to be quiet anymore.