Raven Rise (44 page)

I wanted to jump across the table and hug the guy. We had an ally. A true ally. With power.

“So maybe there's still hope,” I exclaimed.

Haig shook his head gravely. “Hope? That's a fragile concept. For all that I've done, I'm afraid we're tilting at windmills. Ravinia has become very powerful. Naymeer is spoken of in the same breath as respected world leaders. People believe in him. They don't want to hear the downside of his vision.”

“So that's it? We're going to roll over and give up?”

“No,” he said adamantly. “There is one last opportunity. Call it my last hurrah. The United Nations is voting tomorrow evening. Of course we have organized a protest to take place outside their headquarters in midtown. But the truly impressive display will happen at the same time in another venue. The Foundation has reached out to people from all over the world who fear the Ravinians. I'd venture a guess that there are more people out there who are against Naymeer than with him. Call them ‘the silent majority.' I'm anticipating a showing that is seventy thousand strong. The eyes of the world will not only be on the United Nations, they will be on us. The common people. We will not be ignored. We will not be silent anymore. Our numbers are strong and we will prove it, in force.”

“That's incredible,” I said. “Do you think it might sway the UN vote?”

Haig shrugged. “Who's to say? At the very least, it will be seen by people all over the world. Perhaps it will convince them to think twice about Naymeer and all that he stands for. Your coming to see me could help with that.”

I looked to Alder. He shrugged. “How?” he asked.

“Your name is known, Bobby Pendragon. A few years ago you made national news when you disappeared along with your family. It's a fascinating mystery that has never been solved, until now. Your return, and the story you can tell of Halla, might open the doors of possibility for all people, not just the Ravinians. Naymeer has guarded the truth about Halla, keeping it for himself and his minions, excluding those who were deemed unworthy. You can change that. You can offer up the truth to the world. The whole world. Present Halla as a wonder for all to share. You'd be empowering the common man. Who knows? Armed with the truth, it might give them the will to reject Naymeer and his cult of the elite.”

My head was swimming. Haig wanted me to go before seventy thousand people, no, the entire world, and reveal the truth about Halla. How could I do that? It was a huge request. A huge responsibility. On the one hand, given what was happening with the Ravinians, Haig could be right. It might actually help. Still, my first thought was to say no. In my gut it felt like the exact opposite of what Uncle Press said was one of the most important responsibilities of a Traveler. We were not supposed to mix territories and their natural destinies. Explaining the nature of Halla to the people of Earth felt like I would be doing exactly that.

But things had changed. With the Convergence, was that no longer an issue? There were plenty of people who knew about Halla already. Heck, the Ravinians were traveling to other territories, thanks to Naymeer. The flumes had become busy highways. Maybe keeping silent about Halla was actually giving the green light to Naymeer. If his people knew the truth, why shouldn't everyone?

It was a bold step, but I decided that Haig was handing us the one tool we didn't think we had. He was offering us a platform to speak to the world. I had told Alder that world opinion was much too vast and complicated for us to influence. I told him we had to think small. I was wrong. With Haig, we were able to think as big as Earth. That was worth the risk. We had to take the chance. Besides, we had nothing to lose.

“All right,” I said. “I don't know what I'll say, but I'll try.”

Haig reached out and gave me a friendly slap on the knee. “Good man,” he exclaimed. “Who knows? Perhaps your mission as a Traveler was always about this one moment. Seize it, Pendragon. Your words to the world might be the deciding factor in saving Halla.”

I looked to Alder. He smiled, but uncertainly.

“If we're not arrested first,” I said, half joking.

“You won't be,” Haig answered. “You'll be my guests tonight. Sleep here. Order pizza…or whatever it is you eat on—what's the name of your home, Alder? Denderoon?”

“Close enough,” Alder answered, actually having fun with it.

Haig jumped up. He was excited. “Boys,” he said, “for the first time in a very long while, I'm thinking we might actually stand a chance.”

Alder and I did exactly as instructed. We ordered pizza. Pepperoni. It was delicious. Alder drank Coke for the first time and didn't like it. I didn't know why. Maybe he's a Pepsi guy. Haig set us up in his guest room, where there were twin beds. It was a luxury compared to the places we'd been crashing lately. I spent a few hours writing this journal, to try and get my thoughts down. Writing this one has been tougher than most, because I don't know if Mark and Courtney will ever get the chance to read it.

You know what? Lose that. I have to be positive. Mark, Courtney, you
will
read this someday. Since day number one, writing these journals as if I'm talking to you has helped keep me sane. I'm not going to stop now. When you read this, know that I'm worried as all hell about you right now, but I have faith that you're all right, and someday we'll see one another again. Count on it.

Alder and I went to sleep that night with the faint hope that in spite of all that had happened and all that had gone wrong, there was still a slim chance that the people of this territory, of Second Earth, would see reason. We had to find hope somewhere. As someone once said, without hope, you have nothing.

It took a while for me to get to sleep. As exhausted as I was, I couldn't get the image out of my head of those poor people being thrown into the flume. Of Courtney. Of Mark. I tried to think ahead to what we would do if Haig's rally failed and the UN passed its resolution, but I couldn't. It was too much. One major hurdle at a time.

Once I finally conked out, I slept like the dead. I think we both did. We didn't wake up until almost noon. Haig had breakfast waiting for us. Or maybe it was lunch. Whatever. It was a delicious feast of bacon and eggs and pancakes and so many other delights I hadn't had since I lived at the Manhattan Tower Hotel. Haig was off making preparations, so Alder and I watched TV. We saw news reports of the members of the General Assembly arriving in New York for the vote. Those images were countered by footage of people arriving from all over the world for the Foundation's rally. It was like Super Bowl Sunday, with planeloads of people flooding out of the airport. It was a welcome change to see the other side of this drama. There were people out there who cared. Who didn't buy into Naymeer's elitist cult. They were regular people who feared what their lives would become under this new and frightening way of thinking.

We also saw news bulletins about the hunt for the terrorists. Us. There were stories about the strange disappearance of Bobby Pendragon and his family. The newscasters actually speculated that since my disappearance, I had been training in terrorist camps in Asia. Unbelievable. Naymeer's propaganda machine was in high gear. I took it as a good sign. People were being reminded about Bobby Pendragon. That could only help when I went before the world that night to tell my true story.

Yikes.

Finally, at around three o'clock, Haig returned to his apartment.

“Ahh!” he exclaimed with a smile. “I see that you were not arrested.”

“So far so good,” I replied.

“It's time to go. I have two cars waiting outside. You will follow me.”

Alder and I got up and grabbed our sweatshirts.

“Hey, you never told us where this rally is going to be,” I said.

Haig smiled proudly. “I managed to secure one of the most hallowed venues in all of New York. Arguably in the entire world.”

“Really? Where?” I asked.

“Yankee Stadium,” he announced with a sly wink. “We're going to the Bronx! Tell me that won't get noticed!”

With a spring in his step, Haig left the apartment.

Alder and I didn't move. Haig's words were like a shot to the gut.

“What is a Yankee Stadium?” Alder asked uneasily.

“A sports arena,” I answered, numb. “Home of the most famous team in baseball.”

“It is a large venue?” Alder asked.

“Huge. Think of the battle arena that was part of the Bedoowan castle. You could fit ten of them inside Yankee Stadium.”

“And it is in the Bronx?”

I nodded. “Seventy thousand people. All together in the same place. All enemies of Ravinia.”

The two of us stood there; we were both thinking the worst.

“Pendragon,” Alder finally said with caution, “is it possible that the horror we witnessed last night at the Ravinian conclave…was
not
the Bronx Massacre?”

(CONTINUED)

A
lder's fear was the same as mine. Twelve people had been thrown into the flume the night before. The jury was still out as to their actual fate, but even if they had been executed, did that constitute a legendary massacre that would be spoken about in dreaded whispers for centuries? Would the disappearance of twelve people create such fear of the Ravinians that the entire world would tremble and fall to its knees?

It suddenly seemed unlikely. The loss of twelve people, though tragic, wouldn't have that kind of impact. The loss of seventy
thousand
people would.

“We must stop it,” Alder declared.

“How?” I shot back. “Thousands of people are showing up from all over the world. You think they're going to cancel the whole show just because we said so?”

“Think of the alternative,” Alder said with a lot more calm than I was feeling. “Seventy thousand people may be in danger. That truly is a massacre.”

“
May
be!” I repeated. “We don't know for sure. What if we're wrong? Haig said it himself. This is the last best hope to try to stop Naymeer. To stop Saint Dane. If we somehow pull off a miracle and abort this rally, we'd be killing our last chance of saving Halla.”

“If we do
not
stop it, it may be the turning point of Second Earth and the beginning of Naymeer's dominance. Stopping it would save thousands of lives and alter the course of Earth's history. This might truly be our chance to stop Naymeer.”

“Unless we're wrong,” I argued again.

Alder and I stared at each other. Neither of us knew what to do. I grabbed my sweatshirt and headed for the door. “We won't solve anything by hanging around here.”

We blasted out the door and ran down the stairs to the front entrance of the brownstone. Two black SUVs were waiting outside, along with several of Haig's bodyguards.

“We've got to ride with Haig,” I said to the first guy I came to as we ran down the outside steps.

Before he could answer, the first SUV took off. Haig was on his way north. The guard shrugged an apology. I didn't waste time and went for the second SUV. Alder and I jumped in the backseat and slammed the doors. Behind the wheel was a big guy with a neck as thick as his head. He turned to us and said, “Hey, how come you two bozos get special treatment?”

I wasn't in the mood to explain anything to anybody. Especially somebody who called me a “bozo.”

“Drive,” I snapped.

The big guy shrugged and revved the engine. “Whatever you say. The professor says I gotta get you there, I'll get you there. That's my job. But I was wonderin' why do you two get the VIP treatment when—”

“Drive!” I shouted again.

He did. With a quick lurch, we were off.

Traffic was light, so we were able to move quickly uptown, toward the Bronx. Toward a potential massacre.

“You got a phone?” I called to the driver.

“Sure? Want it?”

“Yeah.”

He grabbed his cell phone off the seat next to him and tossed it to me. “Don't go making any long-distance calls.”

“I have to talk to Professor Gastigian. What's his number?”

“He doesn't have a cell,” the big guy answered.

“You're kidding! Somebody in that car must have one!”

“Nope. The professor hates 'em. He doesn't let anybody carry one around him. He says we all got by just fine for a long time without cell phones.”

“Until today,” I grumbled, and tossed the useless phone back into the front seat.

“I do not know what to do, Pendragon,” Alder said, sounding less than his usual confident self. “I am at a loss to understand your territory.”

“We might be wrong. Wiping out a stadium full of people isn't exactly a small thing. Naymeer has a lot of power and influence, but unless he's got some kind of massive weapon, things might be okay.”

The driver turned around and gave me a strange look. “Do I want to know what you're talking about?”

“No,” we both said together.

“I hope you are right,” Alder said. “My instincts tell me otherwise.”

Mine did too. We had gone from thinking this rally might be the salvation of Halla, to fearing it would be the most horrific disaster in history. The Bronx Massacre. That's what Patrick wrote. We thought for sure it was the incident at the flume. But that would seem like a footnote if something horrific were to happen to a stadium full of people. Was Naymeer capable of doing something so diabolical? To what end? Fear? Intimidation? Or was having so many of those opposed to him, all in one place, too tempting to pass up? With one deadly swipe he could wipe out the most vocal of the people who resisted him. Would the rest of the world stand for that? Or would they be too frightened of Naymeer to bring him to justice?

How could he wipe out an entire stadium of people anyway? It was all seeming kind of far fetched. I hoped I wasn't talking myself into believing that everything was going to be fine, but the hard truth was that even if we knew for certain the people in the stadium were in danger, we had no way of helping them.

I had been to Yankee Stadium many times before. I'm a Yankees fan. Or I
was
a Yankees fan. I had no idea who was on the team anymore. Or who the manager was. Or who had won the last four World Series. It seems strange to think how important baseball used to be for me. My dad took me to a lot of games. He even took me and Uncle Press to a World Series game. Yankee Stadium was a special place for me.

When we crossed the bridge to leave Manhattan, we saw it. I caught sight of the familiar blue letters that ringed the upper rim of the stadium and made a brief wish that someday I'd get the chance to see a ball game again. Any ball game. Anywhere. I might as well have wished to sprout wings and fly.

The parking lots surrounding the stadium were already packed. The rally was under way.

“Where do we go?” I asked the driver.

“We're gonna drive right inside near left field,” he answered. “I never been down on the field. Maybe I'll get a Yankee autograph.”

The guy was an idiot.

Alder stared up at the stadium, wide eyed.

“You were not exaggerating,” he said. “It is colossal.”

There was a big police presence. I guess that's what happens when a protest is going on. Especially one with multiple thousands of angry people. Alder and I ducked down, in case some overeager cop recognized us and decided to be a hero by bringing down the terrorists. We drove along the outer wall of the stadium that ran parallel to the third-base line. The police waved us through with no problem. As we swung around toward the gate in left field, my eye caught something. Parked across the street from the stadium was a line of buses. They looked like the same buses that had picked up the Ravinians after the abrupt end of the conclave. I wouldn't have thought twice about it, except that standing at the doorway to each of the buses was a red-shirt dado. Why were they there? This wasn't a Ravinian show.

I nudged Alder and pointed. He saw the dados and frowned.

“That is not a good sign,” he said gravely.

We didn't have time to wonder what it could mean. Our car was being waved inside an open gate. We had arrived. Though I had been to Yankee Stadium many times, the first moment that I got a peek inside the park itself was always a breathtaking one, if only for the sheer size of the place. A day at the ballpark was as much about the sensory experience as it was the game. I loved seeing the perfectly manicured, brilliant green grass and razor-sharp diamond. We drove through the gates, past the bull pen, and right onto the warning track in left field. It was like a dream come true for a baseball fan. Too bad I wasn't enjoying it.

Alder was so overwhelmed by the sight that he pushed himself back into his seat. It wasn't exactly like going to a ball game, but the experience wasn't any less impressive. The place was packed. I mean, totally packed. World Series packed. There wasn't an empty seat anywhere. You couldn't even see the aisles, because people crowded the stairs. A big stage was erected over second base, complete with a lighting grid and a huge bank of speakers. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was set up for a rock concert. It even sounded like one. A guy with a guitar was onstage singing. I recognized him but couldn't remember his name. I know my parents listened to him a lot. I guess he was real popular back in the day, but I doubted that he ever played to an audience this big. The giant screen in center field showed his image as he sang some old song that I didn't know the name of.

People were allowed down on the field in front of the stage. They were packed in, shoulder to shoulder. Behind the stage, the grass of the outfield was empty. A couple of cars and limos were parked there, which is probably how the performers got in and out. Even the outfield bleachers were packed. Standing room only. In all, it was an impressive rally. Professor Gastigian had done his job. It was actually good to see how many people were willing to take a stand against Naymeer and the Ravinians. I had to believe that these people represented only a fraction of the people in the world who didn't agree with him, or his vision. It made me feel as if there might be hope yet.

It also scared the hell out of me. If anything bad were to happen here, anything, lots of people would get hurt. The idea of Naymeer trying something so villainous seemed impossible. But the impossible often happened. Every day.

The driver steered us behind the stage, where a big, eighteen-wheeler truck was parked.

“The professor's in there,” he said. “And hey, if you see a Yankee, get me an autograph, all right?”

“What is a Yankee?” Alder asked.

The driver gave him a sideways look. “Where you from? Mars?”

“Denduron, actually.”

I had had enough of the witty banter with the driver, so I jumped out of the car. As soon as I opened the door, I was hit with a rush of noise. Besides the old guy onstage singing some ancient song, the people in the stands were chanting and singing. They swayed back and forth, repeating phrases like the protestors used outside the conclave: “We the people,” “Liberty and justice,” “All men are created equal.” It seemed that whichever way I turned, I was hit with a different wave of singing. Unlike the protesters outside of the conclave, these people were calm. Police were patrolling everywhere, but there were no problems. There were homemade signs everywhere, and hands waving in the air. It was a totally peaceful, positive event. Maybe everyone was on good behavior because the world was watching. Or maybe they knew they were fighting a losing battle and this was their last party. There were TV cameras all around us, mostly on the backs of camera guys who ran around catching the flavor of it all. It was an amazing, impressive spectacle. I hoped it would stay that way.

Alder and I ran to the truck and climbed the few metal stairs that led to a door. Inside we saw it was a TV control truck. One whole wall was taken up with small video monitors that showed the feeds from the various cameras roaming the stadium. Some were on the guy with the guitar, but most of the cameras were trained on the faces of the people. As different as they all were, they shared the same sad, frightened look. They all feared that their world was about to change, and not for the better.

A couple of technicians sat in front of the monitors, with a guy I figured was the director because he was calling out camera changes.

“Camera One, pan left. Let's see some faces. Take! Ready four, pull back from the guitar. Take. Dissolve to three. Dissolve to six. Nice!” He went on and on like that. It would have been interesting if I hadn't been thinking about imminent genocide.

“Pendragon! Alder!” Professor Gastigian bellowed.

Haig strode toward us from the far end of the truck. In his hand he grasped a handful of papers. The guy was totally lit up with excitement. His eyes sparkled.

“Isn't this wonderful?” he announced. “Seventy thousand plus. They have to be taking note of this at the UN. They have to be listening.” He held up the pages. “Look. E-mails. Hundreds of them. Thousands. From all over the world, offering support for us and condemnation of the Ravinians.”

“Professor,” I said, “we have to talk about something important.”

“What's more important than this? Look!”

He led us back to the TV monitors and pointed at the screens on the far right side.

“Look there,” he said. “The UN.”

On several video monitors were shots of the protest happening in front of the famous United Nations building. Hundreds of people marched with signs, chanting. It was as peaceful and impressive as the event at Yankee Stadium.

“Yeah, it's terrific,” I said. “But there's a chance that—”

“Look at them. Five thousand strong at the UN alone,” Haig declared. “These images are being sent all over the world, live. Every network is carrying it. Live. The news channels too.”

“When is the vote?” Alder asked.