Raven Rise (47 page)

“And now,” Saint Dane yelled through the sounds of the whining motor and the terrified screams. “At long last, we can begin.”

A moment later we dropped into the flume.

(CONTINUED)

L
ight blew in through the windows, blinding me. The helicopter spiraled down so violently it made me dizzy. I braced myself for a crash that I felt sure would come at any second, either on the field or on the edge of the flume.

It didn't. Instead of hitting something solid, the helicopter accelerated. It was as if we had been caught in the pull of the flume. The sudden movement threw me against the ceiling. Or maybe it was the floor. I had no idea. Everything was white. I grabbed on to something for support, but the helicopter lurched again, and I lost my grip. I was thrown through the air, out of control. I grabbed my head for protection, ready to be smashed against one of the helicopter's walls. Seconds passed. I didn't hit anything. That was impossible. The helicopter wasn't that big. I thought maybe I had been launched through the open door. Was that a good or a bad thing? Was I free? Or about to get chopped by the spinning rotors? All I could do was hang tight and prepare for the worst.

I was surrounded by a torrent of sound. The whine of the engines, the squeal of twisting metal, the screams of the people from the stadium…and the music of the flume. I couldn't tell whether I was falling or floating. Had I been caught in the power of the flume? There was no reference.

The sounds slowly diminished. The noise of the doomed helicopter blended into the people's screams until it all became white noise. Moments passed. How many? No idea. The white noise slowly faded, leaving only the music of the flume. I no longer thought I would crash into something. I was definitely floating. For the longest time my eyes had been closed, with my arms wrapped around my head. But for how long? Seconds? Years? I had lost all sense of everything.

I slowly dropped my arms and cautiously opened my eyes. What I saw at first made no sense. I was free floating. Alone. The helicopter was gone. Saint Dane and Nevva were nowhere in sight. It seemed as if I were traveling through the flume, but it wasn't the same. Surrounding me were the floating images of Halla. It was a mess of images so dense that I couldn't see through them to the star field beyond. I saw faces I recognized from the different territories. Not individuals, but different races. Batu, Novans, Africans, gars, klees, Asians. It was a swirling sea of a billion faces, all folding in on one another. I heard their voices, too. Nothing specific though. It was more like a random chorus of words, and even song.

I was strangely calm, and more curious than frightened. What did this all mean? Unlike a normal flume trip, I didn't get the sense that I was actually moving. It was more like floating in this sea of faces. Did they see me? Was I just another one of the billion faces? Was this my fate, banished into a limbo of souls? Is this where Naymeer had exiled his enemies?

I saw my first star. Then another. The ghostly faces were slowly disappearing, as if being blown away on a celestial breeze. The star field beyond was being revealed. Order was returning, yet something was wrong. As the faces melted, I realized I wasn't looking out through the crystal walls of the flume. I was free floating in space. That was impossible. How could I survive that?

A new image was revealed. Many, in fact. They weren't clear at first, because of the many faces that still surrounded me. As the faces disappeared, more detail came clear. They appeared to be long white streaks, like clouds. There were several of them, crisscrossing one another in no particular pattern through the star field. They reminded me of the contrails left by jets as they streak through the sky. There were dozens of them, at all different angles. Some crossed in front of me. Others went past me and on to forever. I was floating through a three-dimensional maze of infinite lines.

As the last of the faces of Halla disappeared, I recognized the streaks for what they were. They weren't clouds. They had substance. They seemed to be made of brilliant, clear crystal. Light from the stars bounced off their multifaceted surfaces, making them sparkle. I knew what I was seeing. I had seen it many times before, though from a different perspective.

I was looking at the highways through Halla. I was seeing the flumes…from the outside. All of them. It was a complex maze that seemed to have no beginning and no end. I knew that wasn't the case, of course. The flumes connected the territories of Halla. They were the conduits that allowed us to move between time and space. It was an awesome, humbling sight.

It also raised the question of where I was. I wasn't in a flume, that much was clear. I didn't feel like an astronaut floating in space, either. I know this makes no sense, but it didn't feel as if I were actually there. It was more as if I were imagining what I was seeing, as if it were a vision. There was no physical sensation of any kind. It wasn't as if I were lying down somewhere and dreaming either. I was really there, but I wasn't. I was part of what I was seeing, but I was a ghost. I don't know how else to describe it. I also don't know how long I was there. A minute? An hour? A billion years? It was a calm, almost spiritual feeling of being a part of the continuum of time and space, but not being bound by it. I'm not sure if I liked it or not. It just…was.

Then it all fell apart.

The flumes started to glow. Like neon tubes full of charged gas, the crystal flumes lit up. I heard the music return as well. Unlike every previous trip through the flume, where the music was a calming travel companion, this music sounded harsh. Angry. Chaotic. It was muffled, as if the sound were contained inside the flumes. It grew louder. More frantic. The lights grew brighter. So bright I had to squint. The music grew faster, building to something.

That's exactly what was happening. As the music reached its peak, and the glowing flumes grew so bright they nearly caused a complete whiteout in the heavens, a flume exploded. Chunks of crystal material erupted, blasting every which way. It was followed by another explosion. And another. With each new eruption, the sound was released from inside, filling the universe with chaotic debris and discordant music. When a flume exploded, its light went out. Crystal pieces of all sizes scattered through space. Some looked like mile-long chunks, others were tiny, twinkling shards. Pieces flew past me, though I didn't feel them, which added to the impression that I wasn't really there. At least not physically.

I watched in horror as the explosions continued. One after another. Three at a time. A chunk of one flume crashed into another tunnel that was still intact, breaking it in two. It was a dreadful, violent display. I was witnessing the destruction of the highways through Halla. As a final insult, I saw a large chunk of crystal heading directly for me. I didn't know what to do. Was I in danger? Would it blow past me? Or through me? After all, I was a ghost. When the crystal wall was nearly on me, I did the only thing that felt right.

I closed my eyes.

The Conclave of Ravinia was jammed
with people. More so than ever before. Every seat was filled with a true believer. Many more had to be turned away at the door. There simply wasn't enough room. Those who arrived late had to be content to sit on the stairs outside the marble structure, and wait for news to come from those who were lucky enough to be allowed inside.

The atmosphere outside the conclave was very different from the last gathering. Though security was provided by red-shirt Ravinian guardians and the New York City police, it wasn't necessary. There were no protesters. Quite the opposite. The streets were empty, except for Ravinians who came for the conclave. Nobody else dared to come within three blocks of the building. The demonstration at Yankee Stadium had served its purpose. The Ravinians had power. The Ravinians were feared.

Yet the mood of the Ravinians wasn't one of celebration. There was tension, both inside and outside the conclave building. Rumors of what had transpired at Yankee Stadium flew across the world. What exactly had happened to the people inside? The only solid fact was that over seventy thousand people entered Yankee Stadium on the evening of March 12, and nobody came out. The television cameras showed helicopters arriving over the stadium, and Alexander Naymeer striding onto the stage. He thrust his hand into the air…and that was it. The cameras failed. Every last one. There was no record of what occurred after Naymeer thrust his fist into the air. The broadcast ended. The tapes were clean.

Most Ravinians had their suspicions. Many had witnessed the earlier event at the conclave where twelve nonbelievers were exiled into the flume. Did something similar happen at Yankee Stadium? It was the only logical explanation, save for one minor detail: There was no flume at Yankee Stadium. Not anymore. The earth around the pitcher's mound at the ballpark was scorched. The grass destroyed. It looked as though there had been a fire. That was all. Any sign that a flume had once been there was gone. There were no witnesses. Nobody to describe how an infernal tunnel was blasted into the earth and made to swallow up tens of thousands of people.

The very next month, baseball would return. Soon after, Yankee Stadium would be vacated and turned into a museum. A newer, modern stadium would rise next door, replacing the hallowed site. Eventually the old stadium would be bulldozed, covered up, and forgotten. The mystery would never be solved, because there were no witnesses. What remained was the fear. Fear of Ravinia. It was part fact, part mystique. As horrifying as the unexplained disappearance of seventy thousand people was, it was nothing compared to the fear of what Ravinia was capable of. They would not be challenged again.

It was the turning point. Second Earth was theirs.

There were plenty of rumors about what had happened that spread across the globe. Besides the horrifying mystery that would come to be known as the Bronx Massacre, people wanted to know what had happened to Alexander Naymeer. He hadn't been seen or heard from since those final, dramatic images were broadcast from the stadium. People expected him to make some sort of appearance or announcement, especially in light of the historic vote of confidence given to Ravinia by the United Nations. Yet Naymeer was nowhere to be found. It was with that feeling of uncertainty that the Conclave of Ravinia met. The atmosphere in the room that night was a mixture of relief and dread. Hope and horror. All had gone according to Naymeer's vision. Ravinia was on the threshold of becoming a major force that would dictate the future of the world.

Yet its leader was missing. The Ravinians came to the conclave needing answers.

The room went dark. The Ravinians became quiet. A spotlight hit a podium next to the mouth of the flume. Every last person in that room hoped to see Alexander Naymeer step up to the microphone and speak to them. They desperately hoped to see him. They needed him.

They wouldn't get him. Instead, another man stepped into the light. It was someone the Ravinians were familiar with. Or thought they were. He always seemed to be at Naymeer's side, offering him advice, helping their leader with the challenges of creating a new world. His name was Eugene.

His name was Saint Dane.

His open, kind face served to both calm them and fill them with dread. Why wasn't Naymeer there? This evening Eugene wore a dark suit instead of his trademark Ravinia-red golf shirt. It was another sign that something was wrong. Eugene always had a bright smile. Not tonight. Eugene looked sober. It caused a buzz to ripple through the room. Eugene raised his hand. The crowd quieted in anticipation.

“My friends,” Eugene began somberly. “Alexander Naymeer is dead.”

A collective gasp and cry went up from the crowd as their worst fear was confirmed.

“Please,” he said, his voice amplified through speakers. “Please. Shhh…”

He was soon able to quiet the crowd and continue. The only distraction was the occasional sound of someone's uncontrolled weeping.

“Alexander Naymeer was not a young man. We always knew his time with us would not last forever. He was mortal, as are we all. The excitement of recent events proved too much for his all-too-human body. He passed away quietly, painlessly, his lion's heart beating its last on a life well spent.”

The weeping continued as reality settled in. People nodded and smiled to one another in support. The idea that the god-who-was-Naymeer was actually human somehow made the man even more accessible. More beloved. In spite of his awe-inspiring greatness, he was one of them. His death catapulted him from leader to legend.

“As disturbing and sad as this news may be,” Eugene continued, adding resolve to his voice, “now is not the time for grief. Certainly we should mourn the passing of such a great man, but we should also realize that his passing came at the moment of his greatest triumph.”

People nodded. They agreed. They wanted something positive to grab on to.

Saint Dane was all too willing to give it to them.

“Which raises the question, what are we to do now? Should we lick our wounds and stumble in the dark, after all we have achieved? All that
he
has achieved?”

There was a general murmuring. The crowd didn't like that idea.

“Should we forget what brought us here, and lament that without our leader to tell us what to do, we are nothing?”

A few “nos” were called out.

“To turn back now would mean we are no better than the people we disdain. Our future will not be determined by any one person. Our strength is in our common vision. That is what Naymeer taught us. That is what the world expects from us. That is what Halla expects from us.”

Excitement was growing. The people were getting worked up. The wailing cries were heard no more.

“To turn back now would be an insult to the memory of Alexander Naymeer, and to our own beliefs and values. His mortal body may be gone, but his spirit lives on in each and every one of us.”

Applause broke out.

Eugene smiled. Saint Dane smiled.

“Even now, Ravinians from Second Earth have been sent to Denduron to aid the Bedoowans in their battle against the Lowsee. Military strategists have arrived on Zadaa to help the Rokador plan an insurgency against the powerful yet primitive Batu. The island of Ibara will soon be under siege. Right here at home, the dramatic events that occurred not far from this spot have cemented our power. The people of Second Earth fall into two camps. They either embrace our philosophy, or they fear us and will be marginalized. We are at the forefront of a new world. A new Halla. That is the legacy of Alexander Naymeer. We must not fail him.”

The crowd cheered. The promises were all coming true. Their cult of excellence had taken hold and would grow, even without Naymeer.

Eugene held up his hand to quiet the enthusiastic crowd.

“Naymeer foresaw all of this. He anticipated many things, including his own demise. He knew his body would not live forever. That is why he had the foresight to groom an heir to take his place.”

The crowd once again gasped in dismay. Eugene pressed on, not wanting the momentum to slow.

“As great as our ship is, we must have direction. Guidance. Experience. We must have youth. There is an individual whom Alexander Naymeer has tutored in the ways of Halla. Together they traveled to other territories, learning of the customs and idiosyncrasies that make up many different worlds. They have broken bread with leaders from all territories, forging alliances and laying the groundwork for the common good we all so desperately want. This is the person Naymeer put his trust in. This is the person who will guide us. This is the face of a new Second Earth. A new Halla. Fellow Ravinians, I present to you…our future.”

A spotlight flashed into the flume. Standing there, wearing the dark red robe that was once worn by Alexander Naymeer, was Nevva Winter.

The crowd didn't know how to react. There were confused murmurings rather than cheers. Gasps rather than applause. It didn't bother Nevva. She looked to Eugene.

To Saint Dane.

He gave her a reassuring nod.

Nevva raised her arms as if to embrace the conclave. In an assured voice she announced, “This is not about me. This is not about any one of us. This is about us all. We are the elite. We are the strong. We are the enlightened. We are Ravinia!”

She held up her right hand—the hand with her ring. Light blasted from the stone, activating the flume. The tunnel sparkled, turning instantly to crystal. As Nevva stepped aside, light grew from within, coming forward like a ball of charged energy.

The crowd watched in awe.

The light drew right to the mouth of the flume and formed an image. It was the face of Alexander Naymeer.

People fainted. They fell to their knees. Some cried. Others simply stood in awe, holding their hands out, trying to touch the ghostly image. Naymeer had gone from leader, to legend…to god.

“My friends,” the disembodied image bellowed with a voice that echoed eerily through the conclave building. “The first territory of Halla is now under your control. You alone will decide its future. Do not mourn my passing. Embrace my spirit. Through Nevva, I will be there for you. I will be there for you all. This is not an end, but a glorious beginning. For you. For Halla. For Ravinia.”

The image of Naymeer erupted with light, turning into a three-dimensional star. Nobody flinched. They stood staring, as if the light were the very essence of Naymeer that was sent to embrace them.

Nevva looked to Eugene.

“This is it, isn't it?” she said. “After all this time. It's finally over.”

“It
is
over,” Saint Dane replied with confidence. “And now we can begin.”