Pendragon - The Rivers Of Zadaa Part 23

"Saint Dane," Teek answered. "He has been advising the elite."

"It's perfect," I said, reeling. "He's taken advantage of a natural disaster and gotten the Rokador all paranoid. Then he's played the other side and pushed the Batu into attacking, which is exactly what the Rokador feared. Unbelievable."

"Why would he do this?" Teek asked.

How could I answer that? "Because he's a bad guy," I said. It was the understatement of all time, but I wasn't about to explain how Saint Dane was a demon from another territory, who was doing his best to destroy the past, present, and future of everything that ever existed. Teek was having a bad enough day as it was.

"Many of the Tiggen guards do not believe this is right," Teek said. "But when faced with extinctiona" He didn't finish his thought. It now made sense why all the guards were looking at us with these long, sad faces. They were reeling from the horror they discovered on their return to Kidik.

They had lost family, they had lost friends. Their entire existence was threatened. Bokka was right. It was a nightmare.

"There's something I don't get," I said to Loor. "The Rokador are nearly wiped out by a horrible disease. They're afraid the Batu will finish the job, so they want to defend themselves by striking first. If it works, thousands of Batu will drown. It would be a double disaster of epic proportions. No question. But is it enough to throw an entire territory into chaos? I mean, where would it all lead?"

Loor leaned on the steel rail of the balcony overlooking the vast Rokador graveyard. Her mind went somewhere else, lost in thought, calculating the possibility. Finally she came back and said, "Zadaa is a violent territory. Many tribes fight to the death to defend their little piece of land."

"The primitive tribes," I said. "The cannibals."

"Yes," Loor said. "The cannibals. It is one of the reasons the Rokador went underground. It was safer. The Ghee warriors were created to protect Xhaxhu. In the past the Rokador have been our allies, so they fell under our protection as well."

"I know all that," I said.

"There is a fragile balance on Zadaa. Xhaxhu is one of the only civilized areas on the territory. The Batu and the Rokador are the future of Zadaa. If the Ghee are wiped out, along with most of the Batu, that balance would be thrown off. It would only be a matter of time before one of the marauding desert tribes attacked Xhaxhu. Perhaps more than one would lay claim. These tribes are barbaric. There would be no one left to defend the city. Generations of knowledge and progress would be wiped out. Zadaa would be sent spinning into turmoil."

I swallowed hard and said, "And these marauding tribes are, are-"

"Yes," Loor answered. "They are cannibals." She looked at me with fear in her eyes and added, "Saint Dane is very close to winning his next territory."

I'm finishing this journal deep within the core of the Rokador world-or what's left of it. Can it still be called a world if barely anyone lives in it? Teek has found a safe place for us. From here we must decide how to stop the Rokador. Which means stopping the Batu. Which means stopping Saint Dane. Which means we are in deep trouble.

I'm afraid things are too far along for us to do anything here that would help. It's all too huge. This isn't about changing somebody's mind, or stopping a small rocket, or even destroying a mine with explosives. It's about stopping an army. That's out of our league.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm beginning to think the best choice for us is to give up Zadaa. As I've said so many times before, this isn't about any one territory. This is about Halla. If Loor and I stay here, we may not survive. Saint Dane may not want us dead, but I can't speak for the rest of the Rokador. If they're willing to drown thousands of Batu, killing us wouldn't make them blink.

We've already lost Kasha. Spader and Gunny are trapped on Eelong. If Loor and I become trapped here, or worse, the Travelers would become so weak I'm afraid we'd have no chance of stopping Saint Dane. As I'm sitting here writing this, I truly don't know what we will do.

Before I finish this journal, there's one last thing I have to write. I told you what Saint Dane said about Courtney. I don't know if he was telling the truth, or just trying to upset me. The more I think about it, the more it's got me worried. There's always some small shred of truth in everything Saint Dane says. The details of what he meant about Courtney finding a beau, whatever that is, don't matter. What matters is that he would know anything about you guys at all. I'm not saying this to scare you. I don't think you're in danger. My biggest fear is that he may have come to Second Earth to begin laying the groundwork for his attack on our home.

All I can say isakeep your eyes open and watch your backs.

I miss you guys.

And so we go.

END OF JOURNAL #22.

SECOND EARTH.

Mark jumped up from where he had been readingon his bedand paced. Back and forth, back and forth, bed to desk, desk to bed. It was a totally useless activity, but he couldn't think of anything else to do. His palms were sweating so fiercely, he had to put Bobby's journal down for fear he would smudge the writing. A thousand random thoughts fought for control of his brain; none of them were good. Only one mattered. Saint Dane was on Second Earth.

The demon wasn't taunting Bobby just for the sake of it. He was here. Mark was sure of that. Saint Dane knew about Courtney and that guy she met. What was his name? Wimpley? Whipple? Wittle? Whatever. How else would Saint Dane know about that if he wasn't here? Was this the beginning of his plot to control Second Earth? Up until that moment, Mark held out hope that by saving First Earth, the Travelers had saved all three Earth territories. That hope had just gone adios. Mark knew that if Saint Dane was here, it wasn't to sightsee and snoop on Courtney. He had plans. Bad plans. And Mark was the only one who knew it had to be true. Courtney was oblivious, and Bobby and Loor were trapped miles underground on an island of the dead where an a.s.sault was about to be unleashed that would wipe out the Batu-the tribe that was keeping the civilized people of Zadaa safe from barbaric cannibal marauders. Saint Dane was on the verge of winning another territory and turn his sights to Second Earth.

Mark's plan of watchingComedy Centraland going to sleep was long gone. He wasn't sure if he could ever relax and sleep again. Or watchComedy Central,for that matter. He felt as if he had to do something, but had no idea what. He checked his watch. It was almost midnight. Should he call Courtney? What would he say? "Hey, how's it going? How was your date? By the way, you didn't happen to see Saint Dane wandering around campus, did you? Bobby and Loor are about to die, and he told them he saw you messing around with that new guy. Sleep tight!"

Mark knew he had to get a grip. When he was excited, he couldn't think straight. To clear his head he went outside and walked around the block. A dozen times. Two dozen times. He had grabbed some carrots on the way out and gnawed on them nervously. n.o.body was out that late at night, even the people walking their dogs. That was good. He didn't need small talk, he needed air. The walking helped him calm down and make a decision. He had to call Courtney. He felt sure that she sounded well enough over the phone to handle the news. The real question was, how much should he tell her about what was happening with Bobby? He couldn't lie about getting the journals anymore. That much was certain. How else would he say he knew about Saint Dane? It was going to be a tricky conversation.

It took Mark a solid few hours to figure out the exact right things to tell her. He decided not to go into detail about the hairy situation on Zadaa. There was nothing they could do to help, so he figured Courtney didn't need to worry about it. Besides, he was worried enough for both of them. He concocted a story that would let her know there was trouble on Zadaa, but didn't include all the gory details about the danger that Bobby and Loor were facing. He even decided to tell her a little about Bobby's feelings.for Loor. He felt she had the right to know. After all, Bobby thought she was reading the journals anyway! Beyond that, he figured if Courtney started asking more questions about the Batu and the Rokador, he'd bring up Loor again and that would probably get her off the subject. It was kind of devious, but he figured it was the right thing to do to keep her anxiety level down and her antennae up.

Mark returned home with his story ready. He went to his bedroom, grabbed his cell phone and-his eye caught something. Could it be? No, it was impossible. Yet it was staring him right in the face.

His clock radio read 2:05.

There was no way he was going to call Courtney that late. He decided the best thing to do was wait until morning. Early morning. He dropped his cell phone back on his desk without looking at it and set his alarm for six o'clock. Courtney would be ticked about getting a call that early, but once she heard what was going on, she'd forgive him. Six was good. Anything earlier than six was still the night before.

Mark grabbed his cell phone again. He wanted it on his bedside table so he could make the call the instant the alarm went off. He placed it next to his clock radio. He was ready. He got into bed, fully clothed, and tried to sleep. It was impossible. His mind wouldn't shut down. He kept imagining what was happening to Bobby and Loor. Time seemed to slow down. He couldn't help but keep glancing at his clock radio.

Time. The concept of the territories existing in different times was a hard one to understand. Did Zadaa exist in the future of Second Earth? Or in the ancient past? Was the war between the tribes on the verge of happening? Or had it been over for centuries? Or did it all exist simultaneously? That was the strangest concept, but the one that was most probable. Halla was explained to him as everything-all time all places all people. Everything that ever was, or will be, all existing in some way, together. It was one of the reasons the Travelers were able to arrive on a territory when they needed to be there. Whatever grand power was controlling it all, it knew how to manipulate time. Or more precisely, it knew how to control their movements through time. That was how Mark and Courtney were able to be on Eelong for a month, and return to Second Earth only a few minutes after they'd left. He figured it was also what allowed Saint Dane to bounce back and forth between territories, messing with one while lurking around another. It seemed to Mark that time was actually some giant sea that you could swim around in and travel any which way. It also seemed to Mark that the more he thought about the whole bizarre concept, the less chance there was of him getting any sleep. 3:58a3:59a4:00a He wished he could take a couple of strokes forward in the sea of time and jump to 6:00. When the digital clock hit 5:00, Mark couldn't take it anymore. He got out of bed and decided to kill the last hour on his computer. He opened his Web browser and did a search for Stansfield in the Berkshire Mountains of Ma.s.sachusetts. He found the Web site instantly and took a virtual tour. He decided it was a pretty nice place and a cool way to spend the summer. He wondered if Saint Dane felt the same way.

Finally, when his clock hit 5:30, Mark had had enough. He had practiced his speech to Courtney a thousand times. He had to make the call. He got up from his computer and sat back on his bed. Now that he actually had to do this for real, he had second thoughts.

He picked up the cell phonea and put it back down again.

Hehad to convince himself again that he was doing the right thing. He picked up the phone. He put it down. He picked it up. It was time. Courtney was on speed-dial: #1. He finally looked at the phone to make sure it was on and- "Message waiting?" Mark said out loud.

Mark had never gotten a message on his cell phone before. He had no idea who could have called him. And when? He almost always had his phone in his pocket, how could he have missed a call? He stared at the blinking words. He didn't even know how to retrieve a message. He had to rummage through his cluttered desk to find the instruction manual. By the time he found the manual, waded through the table of contents, flipped through the French, Spanish, and j.a.panese sections to the English instructions, and finally found the right b.u.t.tons to push to get his message, it was nearly six o'clock. Mark actually laughed to himself. He had made it to six after all.

The prerecorded voice over the phone said, "Message sent yesterday at seven forty-fivep.m."

Mark realized he'd been downstairs eating dinner then. That's why he hadn't heard the ring. He continued to listen. There was a beep, followed by the message. What he heard made Mark want to fall through the floor.

It was Courtney. Her voice was weak, but it was definitely hers. In a frail voice she gasped, "Mark, he's here."

That was it. Abruptly there was another beep, and the prerecorded voice came back on, saying, "End of message." Mark stared at the phone, his heart racing. He played the message over and over and over again. There was no doubt in his mind. Courtney was in trouble, and he feared the reason why. He speed-dialed her number, but gotthe prerecorded voice saying, "The number you are trying to reach is not available." Mark wanted to throw the phone across the room. Courtney always had her cell phone on, except in cla.s.s. But it was six o'clock in the morning! No cla.s.s started that early. Something was very, very wrong.

The police! He'd call the local police! Yes!

No! And tell them what? That he thinks his friend is in trouble? Trouble from what? An interstellar dimension-leaping demon who wanted to trash the universe? Yeah, that would go over real big. He thought about filing a missing person report, but how could he say he knew she was missing? And was she really missing anyway? He didn't know. They'd laugh him off the phone. At the very least, they'd ignore him. He thought maybe his parents could help. He was about to leave the room to get them, but stopped when he realized he had no idea what he would ask them to do, either.

The more Mark thought through his options, the more he realized there was only one thing for him to do. He had to get to Stansfield as soon as possible. He needed to find Courtney so they could work this through together. n.o.body else knew what they knew. n.o.body else could help. They needed to be together.

Now that he had a plan, Mark felt better. He went online to check bus and train schedules between Stony Brook, Connecticut and Derby Falls, Ma.s.sachusetts. He planned on telling his parents that Courtney invited him up to visit for a few days. If they wouldn't let him go, he'd go anyway. He didn't like to disobey his parents, but there were bigger issues at stake. He'd deal with the consequences later. Whatever they were, they would be easier to handle than Saint Dane.

He struck out with ma.s.s transit. The fastest combination of bus and trains wouldn't get him to Derby Falls until late that night. Twelve hours! According to Mapquest, it was only a three-hour drive! Mark began weighing the possibility of getting his mother to drive him, when another idea hit. The concept made him physically shudder, but he was desperate. He grabbed his cell phone and scrolled through the list of phone numbers from incoming calls. He didn't get many. He easily found what he was looking for. Before he had the chance to overthink himself out of it, he closed his eyes and made the call.

Two hours later Mark was riding shotgun on his way to Stansfield Academy.

Behind the wheel was Andy Mitch.e.l.l.

SECOND EARTH.

(CONTINUED).

"Let's do a little math here," Andy Mitch.e.l.l said."And I'm good at this, so you can't argue. I called you for help and it took about, what, an hour out of your busy schedule? You, on the other hand, call me at six in the morning and ask me to drive three hours up to the sticks, so you can see a chick I can't stand, and doesn't like me so much either. Is that about right?"

"Uh, yeah, that pretty much sums it up," Mark said sheepishly. "But you said if I ever needed a favor-"

"I did," Mitch.e.l.l said, snorted, and hawked a lougie out the driver's window.

Mark nearly retched. He was grateful the window was open.

"All I'm saying is, this don't make us square," Mitch.e.l.l said. "The way I see it, I'm in for six, seven hours plus here. After this,youowe me."

This was killing Mark. The idea of relying on Andy Mitch.e.l.l for anything was worse than swallowing metal shavings. To know he was now indebted to the creep made him want to jump out of the car while they were doing sixty-five on the Connecticut Turnpike. To top it all off, since he helped Mitch.e.l.l deliver the flowers that morning, there was nothing covering the rancid smell in the car anymore. What else did Andy use this car for? Stashing bodies for the mob? The only thing that kept Mark from losing it was knowing how important it was that he find Courtney.

"I'm really grateful," Mark said.

"Yeah, we'll see," Mitch.e.l.l said.

Mark closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

"Why do you got to see her so bad?" Mitch.e.l.l asked. "I thought she had the hots for Pendragon?"

"The truth?" Mark asked.

"No, I want you to lie," Mitch.e.l.l said sarcastically. "Sheesh."

Mark had no intention of telling the whole truth, but it was going to be awkward once they got there. He figured he had to tell some version of the truth. "I'm worried about her," Mark said.

"Chetwynde?" Mitch.e.l.l scoffed. "She's the last chick I'd worry about."

"Yeah, well, I think somebody might be giving her a hard time, and I want to make sure she's okay," Mark said.

"And you got this brainstorm at six o'clock in the morning?" Mitch.e.l.l asked.

Mark shrugged and said, "I couldn't sleep."

Mitch.e.l.l shook his head in dismay and said, "Some guy is giving Chetwynde grief and you want to swoop in like Batman to protect her?"

"I'm more of a Superman guy," Mark said.

Mitch.e.l.l laughed. "You're nuts is what you are. Maybe it's a good thing you called me."

Strangely enough, Mark was thinking the same thing. He didn't want to be doing this alone. He wondered what Courtney would say when he showed up with Andy Mitch.e.l.l. He hoped she'd get a good laugh out of it. He hoped to hear her laugh about anything.

Mark didn't hate the drive. Once the "you owe me/I owe you" conversation was over, they began talking about Sci-Clops. It was the one topic they had in common. Mitch.e.l.l told Mark all about the process he went through to develop the elastic metal with the incredible tensile strength that he had demonstrated at his first meeting of Sci-Clops. Mark was fascinated to hear Mitch.e.l.l describe how he was trying to find a way to create something with the durability of metal and the flexibility of plastic. The trick was to find the elements that would form an ionic bond on the atomic level to create an entirely new compound. Much of it was trial and error, and he said how he was still a long way off, but the professors at the university thought that what he'd done so far was pretty impressive.

Impressive was the word. It never failed to amaze Mark to listen to Andy when he spoke about his pa.s.sion for math and science. It simply didn't jive with the slug personality of this guy who drove with one hand and kept pushing his greasy, dirty blond hair out of his eyes with the other. The guy was grossa and genius.

Not to be outdone, Mark told Andy more about the killer robot he had made that won so many compet.i.tions. He explained how the secret wasn't in the hardware, but the software. Mark had never told anyone about this before, but hearing about Mitch.e.l.l's successes with his new compound, he felt as if he needed to show off a little too. He confided in Mitch.e.l.l that he had been working on a new processing code that actually streamlined the binary flow through the processor of the computer that ran his robot. The result was that the clock speed of the standard microprocessor was dramatically increased, which translated to faster commands to the hardware, and therefore a robot that could react and attack way faster-with more programmed moves-than its compet.i.tion. Mark admitted that it was all pretty crude at this point, but he hoped to develop it further so that at some point he might catch the interest of one of the big tech companies.

After hearing his story, Mitch.e.l.l looked at Mark. He didn't say anything, he just looked at him. "What?" Mark asked nervously.

"That's incredible," was all Mitch.e.l.l said. "Absolutely incredible."

It sounded to Mark as if he meant it too. For the first time, Mark felt as if Andy Mitch.e.l.l had respect for him. Not that it mattered. Impressing Andy Mitch.e.l.l wasn't Mark's lifelong ambition. Yet it was an interesting moment. Mark actually felt a connection with this guy. Was it possible? Could they be friends?

He didn't have long to think about it, because a second later his ring began to twitch.

Mark didn't have time to fret about the bad timing. He quickly stuck his hand in his pocket and said, "I'm whipped. I'm gonna lie down in back."

Before Mitch.e.l.l could react, Mark clicked open his seat belt and vaulted into the back of the ancient station wagon.

"Take it easy!" Mitch.e.l.l shouted. "I ain't got no insurance."

Mark's ring was already growing. He pulled it off and crouched into a fetal position, trying to hide it and block the spewing light. He spotted an old, stained tarp in the back. Without a second thought he grabbed it and covered the ring, which had already grown. The tarp kept the light show hidden too. The only thing he couldn't hide was the music. The jumble of notes grew louder in spite of the fact it was m.u.f.fled by the tarp.

"What are you doing?" Mitch.e.l.l asked. "You got a Game Boy back there?"

"l-lt's my watch alarm," Mark said, thinking fast. "It's a weird tone, I know. I think it's busted."

Andy Mitch.e.l.l looked at his watch. "Why's your alarm set for eight forty-five?"

"Uh, th-that's when I get up. Usually."

The notes grew louder.

"Geez, turn it off, will ya!" Mitch.e.l.l complained. "It's making me crazy!"

"Yeah, I'm trying. I can't find the b.u.t.ton."

Mark prayed for the event to end. A second later he felt the ring shrink back to normal as the musical notes abruptly stopped.

"Thank you!" Mitch.e.l.l said. "Jeez."

Mark felt around under the tarp until he touched the roll of paper that had come through the ring. Bobby's next journal had arrived. Mark was certain that contained in its pages would be the result of the war on Zadaa. But he couldn't read it. Not yet. It killed him, but he had to put it away until they found Courtney.

"You all right back there?" Mitch.e.l.l asked.

"Y-Yeah, fine. I'm gonna sleep, okay? Let me know when we get close."

"Yes, ma'am."

Without looking at the journal, Mark slipped it into his backpack. In spite of the fact that he hadn't slept all night, he wasn't the least bit tired. But he had to play out the lie. So he lay there, wide awake, staring at the stained ceiling of Mitch.e.l.l's station wagon. He tried not to think about the journal that was only inches from his head. First things first. He had to find Courtney.

The drive took a little over three hours. Andy Mitch.e.l.l kept to the speed limit, which wasn't all that hard considering his beater of a car rattled like it was going to fall apart whenever they got up any real speed. Mitch.e.l.l followed the directions that Mark had printed out from Mapquest. It got them to the front gates of Stansfield Academy shortly after ten in the morning.

"Nice place," Mitch.e.l.l said. "I always figured Chetwynde had bucks."

"It is pretty nice," Mark agreed.