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D. J. MacHale

Raven Rise

DENDURON

“Ibara!”

The tunnel remained silent. The only sign of life was the hollow sound of the command as it echoed through the dark void.

“Ibara!” the tall knight cried again, louder, as if that might make a difference. He knew it wouldn’t. The tunnel to infinity ignored his plea. He hadn’t expected this, though he’d feared something was wrong long before the flume went deaf. It struck him the last time he’d spoken with Bobby Pendragon.

Alder, the Traveler from Denduron, stood alone in the mouth of the flume on the territory of Quillan, wondering what had happened. Why wasn’t the flume working? What had his friend done? When Alder left Pendragon on Ibara, he sensed that the lead Traveler was keeping something from him. Pendragon had a plan. Pendragon always had a plan. For some reason he hadn’t wanted to share it. Alder sensed it at the time, but didn’t question. Now he wished he had. He knew in his heart that Bobby Pendragon had done something to prevent him from returning to Ibara. But why? Only Pendragon had that answer, and Pendragon was on Ibara. Isolated. Unreachable.

“What have you done, my friend?” Alder muttered to no one.

The knight felt as if there was only one thing he could do. Go home. That’s where Pendragon would look for him when he was needed. If he was needed.

“Denduron!” Alder shouted into the tunnel. He held his breath, fearful that the flume would continue to ignore his commands and leave him stranded on an alien territory.

It didn’t. The flume growled to life. The tunnel began to writhe like a monstrous snake working out the kinks after a long nap. Alder heard the comforting sound of the rocks cracking and grinding against one another. The flume still worked. It was only the route to Ibara that was closed.

A pin spot of light appeared in the distance, transforming the dull gray rocks into clear crystal as it came to sweep him up for his journey home. Alder braced himself. The light grew bright. The jumble of musical notes that always accompanied a Traveler’s journey grew louder. Alder felt the gentle tug of energy that would pull him in and send him on his way.

He had come to Quillan on a simple mission: to return four weapons to their original territory. They were six-foot-long metal rods. Dado killers. Bobby didn’t want them on Ibara. He wanted to purge that territory of all technology from other territories. Alder got the weapons back with no problem.

If somebody asked him why he’d changed his mind at that moment, he wouldn’t know how to answer. Maybe it was the instinct of a warrior. Maybe it was the fear of the unknown. Maybe it was confusion over the fact that once again things weren’t happening the way he expected them to. Maybe it was all of the above. No matter. The instant before he was swept into the flume, Alder had bent down and grabbed back the four dado-killing weapons. He wanted them on Denduron. Just in case.

A moment later he was on his way.

As he traveled through the flume he gazed out of the crystal tunnel to the star field beyond. The ghostly images of Halla that had been appearing in space had become so dense it was difficult to make out any single one. Alder caught glimpses of screaming rockets, marching armies, and crumbling buildings. Enormous toothy sharks soared through a pack of vicious snarling animals that were imposed over massive, sand-swept pyramids. Alder didn’t recognize or understand most of the stunning images. He was a simple knight from a small farming village. But he understood chaos. Seeing the spectacular fury of these impressions in space made him fear that in spite of their many victories, the Travelers’ battle to save Halla was not over. Not even close.