JOURNAL #36
(CONTINUED)
SECOND EARTH
I didn’t feel an impact. I felt something else. Gravity. My body suddenly felt heavy. I was no longer floating, or whatever it was I was doing. It felt like lying down. Other sensations returned. I felt a chill. Air moved over me. Sound returned too. I heard the moan of a far-off, hollow wind. I didn’t think I was hurt. There was no pain. I wondered whether I was dead. Not knowing what being dead felt like, I had no opinion.
Wherever I was, I was lying facedown. I cracked an eye open to see that I was stretched out on bare ground that was covered with a fine, light brown dirt. Or sand. I couldn’t tell. I brought my hand to my face and touched it. It was just that. Dirt. I guess that sounds like no big deal, but it was to me. It meant I was someplace solid. Some place real. The question was, where?
I sat up to see…nothing. Or almost nothing. A quick three-sixty showed me a whole lot more of nothing. Still, the place felt real. I had the thought that I was in the middle of a desert, with nothing around me for miles. The air was hazy and full of dust particles that hung like fog. I had no depth perception. Could I see for ten miles or ten inches? There was no perspective. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know when I was.
It was a lonely place to be.
That’s exactly how I felt. Lonely. I was totally, miserably alone. I had lost the battle for Halla. For Second Earth. I had become a killer. Most of the people who meant anything to me were gone. I had failed them all. Saint Dane had done exactly what he said he would do. What he predicted he would do. He had torn the territories of Halla down, so that he could rebuild them and rule the way he saw fit. Halla was now controlled by a dictator.
I sat alone in that grit, not able to move. Not wanting to move. I wouldn’t know where to go anyway. I wanted to lie down, close my eyes, and let the swirling sand bury me. I was done. I had no future. There was no future worth having. If I wasn’t dead, I wanted to be.
That’s when I heard a voice.
At first I thought I was imagining it. It could have been a trick of the wind. It wasn’t loud, or distinct in any way. I thought maybe it was someone speaking far away, and the words were being carried to me on the breeze like a whispered memory.
I heard it again. Closer. More distinct. One single word cut through the howl.
“Bobby.”
I knew that voice. It was so familiar, but I couldn’t grab on to it. It was like the answer drifted on the edge of my consciousness, waiting for me to reach out and grasp it. I looked around and saw nothing but dusty haze. I felt sure I was hearing a ghost.
My eye caught movement. A shadow. Something was out there. I focused on it, desperate to see anything that would tell me I wasn’t trapped in an endless limbo. The shadow moved closer. It was a person. Someone was walking toward me. I couldn’t find the energy to stand. The shadow walked boldly, confidently, as if it knew exactly where it was going. Whoever it was, whatever it was, it didn’t seem like a ghost. It seemed to be wearing some kind of long, open coat that flapped in the breeze.
My heart stopped. I swear. I couldn’t breathe. I had finally reached out to the edges of my very being and grabbed hold of the truth. It was impossible. It was beyond reason. The ghost was a man. Or the man was a ghost. He stepped out of the dusty haze and stood over me.
I saw his face. A face I hadn’t seen in years. A face I thought for sure I would never see again. But he had made a promise. He said we’d be together again. That was a long time ago. So much had happened. I’d given up hope.
I shouldn’t have.
He kept his promise.
Uncle Press always kept his promises.
“Hi, guy,” he said casually. “Havin’ a rough day?”
He looked exactly as he did the day we left home so long ago. His hair was still longish and a little messy. He still needed a shave. He still wore a brown work shirt and jeans. It really was his long, tan coat I saw flapping around as he walked. He stood over me, looking down with the smile I had missed for so long. There were a million things I wanted to say. Only one came out.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Stand up, Bobby.”
I slowly got to my feet and faced my uncle.
“Hey,” he said with a crooked smile. “When did you get taller than me?”
I jumped forward and hugged the guy. I couldn’t help myself. There was something else I couldn’t help doing. I cried. Yeah, I cried. I felt as if I were six again. I think what put me over the edge was touching him. He was real. He wasn’t a shadow or an illusion created by my wishful imagination. It really was Uncle Press. We stood that way for I don’t know how long. He let me cry. He patted my back. He let me enjoy the feeling of having at least one part of my family back. It felt safe. I think I would have stayed like that forever, if I hadn’t heard another voice call to me.
“All right! Enough!” a girl’s voice said sarcastically. “You’re going to get me crying too, and you do not want to go there.”
I turned quickly to see a blond girl in blue coveralls and yellow-tinted glasses. She stood with her legs apart and her arms folded across her chest, looking at me like a disapproving parent.
“Hello, Pendragon,” Aja Killian said. “What took you so long?”
I stood there, stunned. My mouth opened, but no words came out. A shadow moved toward her from behind, coming forward out of the haze. It was a big guy, who lumbered up behind Aja to give me a small wave. He once again wore the armor of a Bedoowan knight.
“I know you tried to help me,” Alder said.
I stood there with my mouth open, unable to think or make sense of what I was seeing.
“A-Are you all right?” I asked my friend. It seemed like such a lame question.
“I am now” was his definite answer.
I turned to Uncle Press and asked, “Is this real?” Uncle Press shrugged, as if to say, “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
My eye caught more movement. There were shadows everywhere. We were surrounded by a ring of phantoms.
“Hello, Bobby,” said an elderly woman with long gray hair. “Remember me?”
I nodded numbly. It was Elli Winter. Nevva’s mother. The Traveler from Quillan.
“I don’t know what to say about my daughter,” she said sadly.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I replied.
“You owe me, Pendragon,” came a guy’s voice that sounded pretty ticked off.
From out of the haze stepped Siry Remudi, the young bandit. The Traveler from Ibara. “If I knew you were going to bury the flume, I never would have left Ibara!”
“I didn’t want to trap you there,” I explained.
Siry smiled. “Yeah, I get it. I’ll let it go this time, but don’t you ever leave me out again.”
“I take it you got my note,” came another familiar voice. It was Patrick. Alive and well, or whatever it was that we were.
“I did,” I answered. “I wish I could have done more with the information.”
“You did just fine,” Patrick assured me. “Nobody could have done better.”
I heard an animal snarl. Under normal circumstances I probably would have jumped. I didn’t. A beast on four legs stalked out of the haze, stood up, and walked the rest of the way on two legs. Kasha, the cat from Eelong, joined the circle.
“You made me a promise, Pendragon,” the klee growled. “I did?”
