Raven Rise (25 page)

(CONTINUED)

“Bobby Pendragon is the Traveler
from Second Earth,” Mark said with no emotion.

“He was.” Saint Dane sighed. “I'm afraid he decided the task was no longer to his taste. But I'm sure you knew that.”

Saint Dane turned and walked into the luxury suite. Mark ran after him. Courtney was right behind.

“How did you get off Ibara?” Mark called after him.

“I'm sure you'll find that out soon enough,” Saint Dane answered without turning back.

Courtney asked, “Does that mean Bobby can leave too?”

“Pendragon quit,” Saint Dane spat at them. “Why do you think the Convergence has begun? He lost because he didn't have enough faith in himself, or his convictions, to continue. He was flawed, which came as no surprise to me.”

“‘Flawed,'” Courtney echoed. “You make it sound like a crime.”

“Indeed,” Saint Dane agreed. “Pendragon was flawed. That is why he quit.”

“He didn't quit!” Courtney shot back. “He blew up the flume to trap you on Ibara.”

Saint Dane held out his arms and smiled. “And you see how successful he was. Pendragon destroyed the flume on Ibara because he no longer had the will to continue the struggle. Paint that any way you like, but it is the truth. His weakness didn't close a door, it opened one. For me. It's a door that cannot be closed.”

“Unless Bobby wants it closed,” Courtney threw back at him.

“Why are you so concerned with Pendragon when such momentous events are happening right before you?” Saint Dane chastised. “Pendragon is history. This is what it's all been leading to. The Convergence has begun. Accept it.”

“What does that mean?” Courtney yelled desperately. “What is the Convergence?”

“Weren't you listening? It's the creation of a new order, just as Naymeer said. My vision for a unified Halla is one breath away. It's happening on all the territories. Each one is falling into line, just as I said it would.” Saint Dane walked to the kitchen area and looked over the tray of sandwiches on the counter. “This is quite nice,” he commented. “I may have to attend a sporting event here. What exactly is a Knick?”

“Why are we here?” Courtney demanded to know.

Saint Dane turned to them, but as he moved, he transformed into the character of Eugene, the clean-cut guy who escorted them to the suite. Mark and Courtney both jolted with surprise.

“I told you,” Eugene answered brightly. “You're the special guest of Naymeer. He wanted you here.”

Mark fought to keep his composure and asked, “Why? He doesn't even know who we are.”

“Naymeer is the Traveler from Second Earth now,” Eugene said with pride. “He needs acolytes. What better choice than you two? After all, you have loads of experience!”

“You can't be serious,” Courtney spat out. “You expect us to give up on Bobby?”

With a quick move to his right, Eugene transformed into the character of Whitney Wilcox—the soccer-playing preppy from Stansfield Academy. He even had a soccer ball that he bounced off his knee.

“You're a winner, Courtney,” Whitney said cockily. “The way I see it, you've only got one choice. Take it. Be a winner. You too, Mark. You can come along for the ride.” Whitney laughed, bounced the ball off his knee again and kicked it at them. Courtney caught it without flinching.

“Nice!” called Whitney.

“Not gonna happen,” Courtney said flatly.

“N-No, it's not,” Mark echoed.

Whitney transformed. This time Saint Dane became Andy Mitchell. Mark's nemesis. Mark's partner in Forge. Mark's nightmare. He looked as he did on Second Earth, complete with long, greasy blond hair and a dirty T-shirt. He hawked up a lougie and spit into the sink. Mark and Courtney didn't blink.

“Guess what, Dimond? This one's on you too!” Mitchell cackled.

“What does that mean?” Mark asked.

Andy Mitchell strolled over to the glass partition that overlooked the arena. The lights were back on. The Halla portion of the show was over. Naymeer was once again addressing the audience.

“Naymeer's ring,” Mitchell said. “Look familiar?”

“All the Traveler rings look the same,” Mark answered through clenched teeth.

“I guess,” Mitchell agreed. “But that one. That one's special.”

“Why?” Mark asked.

Mitchell smiled, showing a mouthful of yellow, nicotine-stained teeth. “Because it's yours.”

Mark and Courtney stared back at Mitchell for a long, confused moment. It was Mark who first put it together.

“Nevva,” he whispered, dazed.

Mitchell continued, “First you created the dados, then you offered up the one thing that kicked off the whole show. I pretty much owe you everything, Dimond. The least I can do is offer you a seat at the table. Chetwynde, too, so long as she keeps her mouth shut. She can be really annoying.”

Mark stood frozen. Courtney grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. Mark didn't move at first, but was too stunned to resist for long, and the two moved toward the exit.

“Hey, where you going?” Mitchell called. “There ain't no place to go. No place to hide. It's all over but the shouting.” He let out a scream. “Ahhh!” Then shrugged and smiled. “Oops. Guess now it's over.”

Courtney kept pulling Mark toward the door. She backed into it, reached behind herself for the knob, and opened it up.

“Think about it!” Mitchell called. “You're either with me or against me. I don't think you want to be against me. Not anymore.”

Courtney pulled Mark through the door and let it slam shut.

“We're outta here,” she said to him and pulled him toward the elevator.

Mark didn't move.

“It's my ring,” he said, as if in a trance. “That's why Nevva wanted it. It wasn't to isolate Bobby. It was to start the Convergence.”

Courtney jumped back and got in Mark's face. “Saint Dane started the Convergence,” she snarled. “Not you. Not that slick old dude. Saint Dane.”

“If Bobby quit,” Mark said flatly, “I think I will too.”

Courtney shook him. Hard. “You are
not
quitting! We've been waiting for this moment for years. It's the turning point of Second Earth, Mark. It's not what we expected. Fine. So what? This is our time. It's on us now, just like we always thought.”

“But it's all my fault,” Mark said weakly.

Courtney wound up and slapped Mark across the face. She didn't hold back, either. She really whacked him. Hard. Mark stared at her, stunned.

“Wake up!” she yelled. “As long as we're still alive, it's not over. But if you give up now, then it really
will
be your fault.”

Mark looked surprised, and hurt.

Courtney added, “I don't know what this whole Ravinia thing is leading to, but after what happened to Third Earth, you know it can't be good.”

“I wish Bobby was here,” Mark said meekly.

“He's not. We are. What's it gonna be?”

Mark's pained look slowly turned to one of resolve. His eyes focused. He stood up straight and said, “What do we do?”

“We get Patrick,” she answered quickly.

“And then what?”

“If Saint Dane is here, it must mean the flume to Ibara is open.”

“So?”

“So you're right. We need Bobby. Somebody's got to get to him and make him un-quit.”

Mark gave this a moment's thought, then shook his head quickly. “Courtney, we can't.”

“Yeah we can. We're going to get out of here, get Patrick, and travel.”

“Hey!” came a shout from down the hall.

Mark and Courtney looked quickly to see two red-shirt guards running toward them. Both turned and ran in the other direction. They sprinted along the corridor past the photos of famous events. Mark wondered if one day there would be a picture of Naymeer hanging there. The thought made him angry. The anger made him dig in. They ran faster.

“The elevator,” Mark shouted.

“No.”

They kept running. Halfway down the corridor they hit a fire exit, blasted through the door, and ran down the stairs.

Courtney said breathlessly, “We'll get to Grand Central and take the train home to get Patrick.”

“No,” Mark argued. “They might expect that. We've got plenty of cash. We'll take a taxi.”

“All the way to Stony Brook?”

“Why not? It's KEM's money.”

They landed on the next floor and ran through double doors that opened onto a wide, bright walkway that ringed the arena. There were hotdog stands, souvenir counters…and two red-shirt guards. The Ravinians were walking toward Mark and Courtney, about twenty yards away.

“They don't know who we are,” Mark whispered.

One guard saw them, pointed, and both started running after them.

“Or maybe they do,” Courtney countered.

The two turned and ran in the opposite direction, only to see two more red shirts coming toward them. They were trapped. Looking around desperately, they found themselves standing directly in front of one of the tunnels that led back into the arena. Both knew it was the only way to go and ran inside. They had only taken a few steps when a sea of excited people came pouring out. The show was over. The charged-up minions of Naymeer were headed home. Mark grabbed Courtney's hand and pulled her headlong into the crowd. They were like two salmon swimming upstream, fighting their way through. Once inside the arena, Mark took a sharp right and pushed his way farther into the mass of people.

“We'll get lost in the crowd,” he called back to Courtney. “Stay low. Go slow.”

They had to fight the urge to push faster. Both knew it would only make them stand out. They had to be patient and have the nerve to blend in with the moving mass of humanity. They climbed down a set of stairs and entered another tunnel that led to the outside. The crowd slowly made its way toward escalators going down. Mark and Courtney crouched low, trying to use the people to shield them from their pursuers. They passed a group of red shirts who were scanning the crowd. Courtney saw them first and pulled Mark lower. It took all their willpower not to break into a run. They finally reached the escalator and stepped on.

“Stop!” came a voice from above.

They looked up to see red shirts glaring down on them from two levels up. Courtney looked at Mark and said, “Does he really think we'd do that?”

The escalator dumped them out near a ramp that led farther down. The crowd had thinned and no longer offered cover. Without discussing it, they both ran. They only had to move one more level down before they hit a set of glass doors that led to the street. They pushed through the doors and leaped outside.

“We gotta find a cab,” Mark announced.

“Not around here,” Courtney offered. “Too much competition.”

They were no longer worried about getting caught. There were too many people outside. They walked as quickly as they could toward the sidewalk, but stopped when they saw that blue police barriers were strung along the curb, holding back hundreds of protesters. They held their signs and chanted at the exiting minions.

The same dark-skinned man in the suit and bow tie had moved his ladder into position so he could be seen clearly by the throng exiting the Garden. He stood above the others, pounding the air with his fist and bellowing into his bullhorn. The other protesters gathered at his feet, shouting along with him.

Mark listened and said, “They're not chanting ‘Stop them here.' It's ‘Stop Naymeer.'”

Most of the people who came out of the show simply smiled at the protesters. Some even waved.

“Look at them,” Courtney whispered. “They don't care. They're the chosen ones. The protesters mean nothing to them.”

“Look out!” Mark yelled, and pulled Courtney back just as a protester hurled himself over the police barrier and attacked one of the minions. A brawl broke out. The barrier came crashing down as more protesters joined in. The Naymeer people defended themselves, but they were more about getting away than retaliating. Soon the New York City police showed up, complete with riot gear. They fought to pull people apart.

“This is ugly,” Courtney gasped.

Mark pulled her away, and the two ran a few blocks until they found a yellow taxi to pick them up.

“Stony Brook,” Mark said.

The cabbie's eyes went wide. “Connecticut? That'll cost you.”

“Just drive,” Courtney commanded.

“Yes, ma'am,” the cabbie replied. He hit the meter and they were off.

Mark and Courtney rode in silence. Both were trying to digest what they'd seen. It was the cabbie who spoke first.