The ground leveled out. I hadn’t fallen, yet. The Jakills had gotten pretty far ahead of me, but the jungle was thinning, so I could see them. Or most of them. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, so I ran straight ahead. I would have kept going if I hadn’t been suddenly grabbed by some strong hands and pulled down into the shadows of a leafy bush.
It was the blond guy, again. He looked at me and gave me a silent “shhhh” sign. It’s not easy to catch your breath silently, but I tried. Glancing around I saw the Jakills stretched out around me, all looking ahead. All hiding. All alert.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and nearly jumped out of my skin. Spinning, I saw that Siry had slid in next to me. Man, he was quiet.
“They’re just ahead of us,” he whispered.
“Who are they?” I whispered back.
“Stay here and watch,” he ordered.
“What are you going to do?”
Siry gave me a cocky smile and said, “My father thought we were a bunch of misfit kids. Maybe he was right. But never, ever cross us.”
“Siry, what are you going to do?” I asked again.
He motioned for the others. The entire line of Jakills, I’m guessing there were around fifteen, crept slowly forward, crouched low, moving silently. I stayed behind them. I was only there as an observer. The line moved forward, creeping through the brush. Nobody said a word. I had the feeling they had done this kind of thing before. We’d been moving for about a minute when I saw something ahead of us. Everyone noticed at the same time and stopped.
We had caught up with the Flighters. I saw movement ahead and to the right. They were traveling in the same direction we were, about thirty yards ahead. They had no idea we were behind them. Now that I was closer, I could make out some details of these mysterious “Flighters.” I didn’t know what I expected to see, but it definitely wasn’t this.
They were mostly men, though I think I saw a few women. They didn’t seem like trained guerrillas or anything. Just the opposite. They looked like ordinary people. The only thing that stood out about them was their clothes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they looked as if they wore clothes that came from Second Earth. There was a mix of pants and shirts and jackets of all sorts. The clothes looked old, too, like really old. I saw patches and tears and raggy pants. Some had two different kinds of shoes. I saw one guy with a sneaker on one foot and a boot on the other. Some wore hats that looked as if they’d been run through a blender. That’s how mashed up they were.
These people were dirty, too. There was a lot of shaggy hair and dark stains. Their skin seemed gray, which was strange considering they lived in a tropical paradise. They definitely didn’t come across as a dangerous band of commandos. They looked more like a bunch of raggy homeless people lost in the jungle.
Siry lifted his hand. The Jakills stopped. He made a circular motion and the entire line of Jakills moved to the left. I moved behind them. It looked like Siry wanted them to circle around in front of the Flighters. After moving to our left for several yards, we broke into the clearing. We were back in the village of Rayne. To our right was the mountain that held the cave leading to the tribunal. Villagers were running away from the cave, headed toward the burning huts. It wasn’t full-on panic, but there were a lot of people running to see what was happening. They didn’t know they were running past a bunch of Flighters who were hidden in the jungle, quietly waiting. It finally made sense how we were able to catch up with the Flighters. They were waiting until everyone left to investigate the fire. When the area cleared, they’d make their move on the tribunal.
The Jakills were in the perfect position to cut them off.
Siry silently motioned for his band to quickly move toward the cave. They ran from hut to hut, moving against the stream of people leaving the mountain, trying to stay hidden from the Flighters. They finally grouped together behind a hut on the far side of the sandy road from the jungle. I knew that somewhere behind that thick curtain of jungle, the Flighters waited. Not far from us was the cave into the mountain, and the tribunal.
Siry motioned for everyone to wait. More people left the cave, running for the fire. The siren continued to wail. Eventually the area cleared. Everyone was gone. The cave lay open. The Jakills pulled out their short weapons. I could feel the tension. Not fear, tension. They were ready to fight.
I saw a head peer out of the dense jungle across the way. Then another, and another. The Flighters were making their move. Like ghosts appearing out of the ether, they crept from the foliage. It was a strange-looking bunch. There didn’t seem to be any leader. They randomly drifted out of the thicket and crept toward the cave. I counted ten. Ten Flighters. Fifteen Jakills. I was glad to be with the Jakills.
Siry gave me a cocky smile and said, “Watch.”
He lifted his weapon and charged for the Flighters. The rest of the Jakills were right behind him. They ran as a group, headed for the invaders. They didn’t scream or let out a war whoop. They wanted every second of surprise they could squeeze out. To be honest, they didn’t look much more organized or trained than the Flighters, but I couldn’t criticize. Their tactics had worked perfectly. They recognized that the fire was a decoy, they spotted the second group of Flighters, they tracked them silently, they outmaneuvered them, and their counterattack was a complete surprise. Everything they did was perfect. Except for one thing.
They didn’t know how to fight.
One of the gray-looking Flighters spotted the oncoming Jakills. The surprise was over. Siry screamed out a chilling war cry. “Yahhhhh!” The other Jakills followed with their own screams. If the Flighters were surprised, they didn’t show it. They didn’t panic. They didn’t show any emotion. They quickly and efficiently formed a group and prepared for the fight. They didn’t have any weapons. As it turned out, they didn’t need them.
Unlike the Jakills, the Flighters knew how to fight.
The Jakills descended on them, wildly swinging their short clubs as if trying to scare them into scattering. They didn’t scatter. The Flighters took them on. When a Jakill would swing his weapon, a Flighter would block it, or duck to make him miss, then knock the Jakill into next week. They ripped the wooden weapons from the young defenders and clubbed them mercilessly. There was no contest. I didn’t expect that. Siry and the Jakills had been so confident. I hadn’t thought the raggy band of Flighters stood a chance.
Reality was, the Jakills didn’t stand a chance.
I stood near the hut where we had been hiding to watch the carnage. Even though the Jakills were taking a beating, I hoped that their presence alone would be enough to scare off the Flighters and send them back to wherever it was they came from. It didn’t. The Flighters stayed to fight. The Jakills were getting hammered. But they didn’t give up. I’ll say that much for them. They had guts. They kept screaming and flailing, but they got spanked. Siry took the worst beating. He spun like an out-of-control top, swinging his short clubs, trying to get a piece of a Flighter. What he got instead was a lot of air, followed by a shot in the head. At first the Flighters backed toward the jungle, but after handling the Jakills so easily, they grew bold and continued toward the mountain cave.
The Jakills’ counterattack had failed. I may not have known much about Ibara, or the politics or history of the village of Rayne, but it was pretty clear that the Flighters weren’t friends. Even the Jakills, who hated the tribunal, were willing to fight to stop them. It looked like it was only a matter of time before the Jakills were knocked senseless and the Flighters would be free to enter the cave and attack the tribunal. There was nothing to stop them.
Well, almost nothing.
I’ve written many times before how amazing adrenaline is. I was exhausted. I was sick. I was starving. I was scabby. But watching that fight made me forget about all that. It was a massacre. That tends to get your blood boiling. Mine was heating up fast. I had to make a decision. Did I get involved? I didn’t know who the Jakills were or what they stood for, but Siry was the son
of a Traveler. He had the ring. If history meant anything, Siry was now the Traveler from Ibara…and I had to help him.
Like it or not, it was time to stop being an observer.
I scooped up a short weapon that had been knocked away from one of the Jakills. I grabbed another from the hand of a Jakill who was out cold. He didn’t need it anymore. I wasn’t experienced in handling those short weapons, but they were all I had. The clubs were small, but solid. I gripped one in each hand, took a breath, and ran forward to begin my own personal battle to save Ibara.
It didn’t take long to get involved. A Flighter took a swing at me. I dodged back, let him follow through, then clocked him on the back of the head with the butt of the club. A second Flighter launched himself at me. I ducked, took his weight on my back, and flipped him over…in time to face another Flighter who tackled me head-on. He hit me in the gut, driving me down and onto my back. I hit the ground hard, but let my momentum carry us both. I rolled with my attacker, then, using his own momentum, flipped him over my head.
I was fully into the fight. Any pain or leftover rustiness I had from the quig-bee attack was gone. It was survival time. The battle had changed and the Flighters knew it. A ringer had entered the game. They were more cautious about attacking me, which is exactly what I needed. They may have been better fighters than the Jakills, but they weren’t trained.
I was.
My hope was that the Jakills had done enough damage to soften them up a little. Ten-on-one is not a good thing, no matter how good I thought I was. The Flighters kept coming after me, but with enough hesitation that I could exploit their weaknesses. I nailed one in the gut, spun, cracked another on the back of the legs and sent him crumbling. Another Flighter came after me from behind. I didn’t see him; I sensed him. Loor’s lessons were well learned. He took a swing. I grabbed his arm and flipped him over my shoulder.
I may have felt like I was in this battle alone, but I wasn’t. The Jakills kept on fighting. They even had a few surprises of their own to offer. I saw Siry raise a wooden club to his mouth and give it a hard, sharp blow on one end. I didn’t get what he was doing until I heard a Flighter yelp and grab at his back. Those weapons weren’t just clubs, they were blowguns that shot some kind of projectile. The Flighter fell to one knee. He seemed disoriented. I thought maybe Siry had fired a poisonous dart. The Flighter staggered off, headed for the jungle. His fight was over.
Twig fired her blowgun and hit another Flighter in the leg. He squealed, grabbed at it, and limped off. The whole time I continued to defend myself, while getting in a few shots at the Flighters, who were quickly growing less enthused. They had given up on the cave. They wanted to escape. One guy dragged an unconscious Flighter toward the jungle. I knew he was unconscious because I made him that way. Another Flighter quickly helped him, and the three scampered into the bush.
I looked around, ready for the next attack. It never came. I had only been in the fight for a minute or two, but it was over. The Flighters had disappeared into the jungle, carrying their wounded. I looked around the clearing to see several Jakills looking dazed. Three were out cold. One of those was the little guy with ratty eyes. Most stood around, breathing hard, not wanting anything to do with chasing the Flighters.
Siry stood in the center of it all, surrounded by his fallen friends, breathing hard. It looked like he was barely able to stand. Blood flowed from his nose and a gash on his cheek. It reminded me of my own wound that I got from the quig that attacked me on Third Earth. I looked at my forearm. The wound was completely gone. I didn’t know whether to credit my Traveler powers of recuperation, or the incredible medical technology of Third Earth. Either way, I was better. In all sorts of ways. I had shaken the last effects from the bee attack and the medication.
“You can fight,” Siry said breathlessly.
I replied with a shrug.
I glanced up the face of the mountain to the cave opening that led to the tribunal cavern. Standing there were the three members of the tribunal. Genj and I made eye contact. I expected them to send help, or to yell a quick “You okay?” or even give us a simple wave that acknowledged what had just happened. But nobody moved. Several kids lay at their feet, bleeding. They didn’t seem to care. How messed up was that?
I had no idea who the Flighters were, or why they were after the tribunal, or why the Jakills were playing the game from both sides. There was a very strange dynamic happening on Ibara.
Siry knelt down by the little guy with ratty eyes and gently turned his head over. The kid moaned. A nasty-looking black-and-blue mark was already forming on his cheek, right next to a nastier-looking gash.
“He needs help.” Siry was worried. I was glad to see that he cared about his guys.
“What about the tribunal?” I asked.
Siry scoffed.
“I don’t get it. You just saved them from the Flighters.”
“We’re dirt to them, Pendragon,” Siry said with venom. “Their reward will be to let us sink back into the jungle and not arrest us.”
I shot a look up at the tribunal, to see Genj, Moman, and Drea step away from the cave opening. Siry was right. They didn’t care about the wounded Jakills. They didn’t care about Siry, the son of a tribunal member. What was going on? The tribunal wasn’t evil. At least, I didn’t think so. How could they be, if Remudi was one of them? Nothing added up. I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad guys.
The blond thief knelt next to Siry. “Telleo,” he suggested.
Siry nodded. “Yes. She’ll help.”
“We can bring the wounded to the hut where I’m staying,” I offered. “There’s medicine and—”
Siry shot me a vicious look. “We don’t need your help.”
“No? You’ve got a short memory.”
The blond thief played peacemaker. “Why not let him come?” he asked Siry. “Without him, more of us would be bleeding.”
“He was an ally of my father’s,” Siry argued.
“And he won the battle for us,” the blond guy countered.
Siry gave me a dark look. “What do you want, Pendragon? Why are you here?”
“That’s a long story, but you gotta know I’m here as a friend.”
Siry was torn. He wanted me gone, but I’d gotten some credibility by helping them turn back the Flighters.
“The things I showed you, it was to make you understand how different I am from my father. Whatever he stood for, I don’t want any part of it.”
“I understand that.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You’re an outsider. As long as the tribunal thinks they need you, they’ll leave you alone. But if they change their minds and think you’re a threat…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.
“I’ll risk it,” I said.
I heard a sniffing sound as if my dog, Marley, were around and I had bacon in my ear. I turned quickly to find the girl named Twig had her nose by my cheek. “You don’t smell scared anymore.” She looked at Siry and smiled. “I like him.”
“We might need him again,” the blond thief added.
Siry gave me another look. He scowled and said to me, “Don’t get in my way.”
I had been accepted by the Jakills. I hoped that was a good thing.
JOURNAL #29
IBARA
Siry picked out four Jakills to help move the wounded, including his blond friend. The others were told to scatter. The six of us awkwardly carried the unconscious through the village and back to the hut. Along the way we got strange looks from the people of Rayne. We were a bunch of scruffy-looking kids, carrying three bodies. I’d stare too. Many of them quickly turned away and hurried back into their homes, as if we were carrying the plague. When we got back to the hut where I had first woken up after being attacked by the quig-bees, Telleo was sitting outside, reading. She looked so peaceful sitting there. It wouldn’t last.
“What happened?” she asked, jumping to her feet. She looked around anxiously, as if worried that other
s were watching the scene.
“A group of Flighters tried to attack the tribunal,” Siry answered.
“Bring them inside quickly,” Telleo instructed while glancing around again. She definitely didn’t want anybody seeing us. We carried the wounded inside the hut and gently laid them down on beds. Telleo did a quick appraisal of each.
“We have to get a doctor,” she concluded.
“No!” Siry barked.
“They need care,” Telleo protested.
“Then give it to them,” Siry shot back. “I don’t want doctors here.”
Telleo was on the verge of panic. “But I can’t—”
“You can’t or you won’t?” Siry asked sharply.
This shut Telleo down. She nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
Siry pointed to the other Jakills and said, “Go home. There’s nothing more to do here.”
Three of them left right away. The blond thief came up to me. “My name is Loque. Thank you.”
“Pendragon,” I responded.
He gave me a friendly hit on the shoulder and left.
“Let her work,” Siry said to me, and left the hut.
Telleo and I were the only ones left. Or at least, the only ones conscious. She looked scared.
“Can you help them?” I asked.
“I can try.”
“Why doesn’t Siry want doctors?”
“Doctors work for the tribunal. He doesn’t want anything to do with them.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Are you a Jakill?”
Telleo gave me a surprised look and chuckled. “No, I’m not. I don’t think the tribunal even knows that name. I’m surprised that you do.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, I work fast.”
“The tribunal would not be happy if they knew I was helping them. I could lose my job.”
“Isn’t that kind of…wrong?”
“It’s complicated,” she said with a resigned shrug. “I’m glad the tribunal didn’t send you away.”
“I’m glad they didn’t have me executed! They made Siry my babysitter instead. He’s supposed to keep me out of trouble. Some joke, huh?”