“Bobby,” Uncle Press said patiently, “you heard what I said. Third Earth is still in play. This is it. It may all come down to this last territory. I have to go.”
“No, you don’t,” I said forcefully. “I have to go. You have to stay here.”
The two of us stared each other down. I don’t think Uncle Press knew how to react to my demand. He had everything figured out, except for me.
Patrick stepped between us. “Uh, I kind of like the idea that Press comes to Third Earth,” he offered meekly.
Uncle Press added, “Bobby, go to Second Earth. That’s your territory.”
“The exiles aren’t there,” I argued. “Why would they be? That’s where Naymeer started sending them into the flume.”
This gave Uncle Press pause.
“He’s right,” Patrick said thoughtfully. “The Ravinians shot those people through the flume in the early twenty-first century. Unless they somehow boomeranged back, they aren’t on Second Earth. If our mission is to locate the exiles, going to Second Earth would be a waste of time.”
“It’s not just about the exiles,” Uncle Press argued. “We have to track down Saint Dane on Third Earth.”
“Exactly,” I shot back. “And who better to do that? I’ve been chasing that creep around Halla for years. You may know his history, but I know how he thinks.”
Uncle Press looked to Loor. Loor nodded. She was on my side.
“Uncle Press, do you remember how you got me to go with you that night back in Stony Brook?”
He gave me a small smile, remembering. “Sure. I told you that some people needed our help.”
“And I went because I wanted to help them. I still do. Maybe now more than ever. As impossible as everything is that you told me, I believe it. All of it. It’s hard to get my head around the fact that I’m anything other than Bobby Pendragon from Second Earth, but maybe that’s okay, because Bobby Pendragon has unfinished business. I’m the lead Traveler, remember? Saint Dane told me more times than I can count that this battle is between him and me. Heck, you told me the same thing. I get it now. I understand. I went with you that night because I trusted you, Uncle Press. Now I’m asking you to do the same. Trust me. This battle is mine. Let me finish it. I think that’s the way it was meant to be.”
We all looked up to the sky, drawn by an encouraging sight. Several clouds that had been dark, sparked to life. Brilliant color blazed from the heavens.
“You did that, Pendragon,” Loor said in awe.
Uncle Press laughed and shook his head. “I guess we’ve come full circle. I had to drag you into the fight, and now I can’t drag you out.”
“We haven’t come full circle yet,” I cautioned. “Not until I stop Saint Dane.”
The sky crackled with energy.
Uncle Press smiled. “I was right about one thing. The spirit of Halla isn’t dead. It lives in those exiles, and it flows from you Travelers. From you, Bobby. You represent all that Halla is about. You aren’t perfect. Far from it. But you understand that to find the greater good, you have to look inside each individual. That’s why you are the lead Traveler. This is the way it was meant to be. I should have known that.”
“You did know. You just want to stop him as badly as I do. As we all do.”
“It’s true. You’re right. Go to Third Earth.”
I felt a strange shift. Not a physical one, but more to do with my own attitude. Uncle Press had been my mentor. He’d helped create the Travelers to battle Saint Dane. He’d chosen me to be the leader. But I never felt much like a leader, until that moment. I always felt Uncle Press was the light we should follow, even if he wasn’t physically around. He set the standard. He knew what the game was all about. Now we all knew. The spirits of Solara had called upon me to lead the Travelers in the battle against Saint Dane, and for the first time there was no question in my mind: I wanted the job. Uncle Press had given us what I hoped would prove to be the most important power of all. He’d given us knowledge. It was up to us to use it wisely. It was up to me to use it wisely.
Gulp.
Loor said, “There is a battle coming, Pendragon. I feel it. If the exiles are on Zadaa, I will find them and return here. I want to be by your side in the end. Not like on Ibara.”
“You weren’t on Ibara because I wanted you safe, in case you had to lead the Travelers into the future. The future is here. We’ll face it together.”
Loor and I hugged. It felt good, and a little strange, because for the first time I was her physical equal. I had grown. I was strong. I was a warrior. Together we were going to do some damage.
“Find him,” Loor ordered, pulling away from me. “When you do, we will take him down together.”
She nodded to Uncle Press and to Patrick. With one hand she reached back and grabbed her wooden stave. She held it out across her body, ready for whatever she would find on Zadaa.
“Be careful,” I said.
“Always,” she replied, took a step forward, and was gone.
I ignored the rumbling in the sky.
Uncle Press, Patrick, and I were the only three left.
“Are you sure Press shouldn’t come with us?” Patrick asked nervously. “I mean, I agree that you should come, Pendragon, but the three of us could-”
“No, Bobby’s right,” Uncle Press said. “When the other Travelers return, I should be waiting for them.”
“Do you know anything about what’s happening on Third Earth?” I asked.
Uncle Press shook his head. “Only what we saw when those gunships attacked.”
“Third Earth wasn’t like that the last time I was there,” Patrick offered. “When I was still…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. The memory was tough for him. He had been killed on Third Earth. Saint Dane told me.
Saint Dane.
I was going to get one last shot at him. If he thought the war was over when I killed Alexander Naymeer, he was in for a very big surprise. The Travelers weren’t finished. We were going to follow Spader’s advice. We were going to get dangerous.
“This is it, Bobby,” Uncle Press said. “Our last chance.”
I stood next to Patrick. He looked squeamish. Patrick wasn’t built for conflict. He was a teacher. A librarian. But he was brave. He had proved that many times over. With his brown hair falling in his eyes, he looked much younger than a guy in his twenties. Twenties? Did I actually write that? Who knew how old Patrick really was? Or any of us, for that matter. We were spirits. We were from a world other than the one we had grown up in. We were Travelers.
And we had one more shot at finishing the job we were born to do.
“You okay?” I asked him.
“I am,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I really am.”
“Then let’s go get him,” I said. I took Patrick’s arm and looked at Uncle Press. “And so we go.”
We both stepped forward on Solara…
And were instantly barraged by the sound of rolling thunder as we stepped into the swirling sand of the zoo in Central Park on Third Earth. As much as I knew that it was exactly what was supposed to happen, it was still a strange experience. I was disoriented. It didn’t help that the thunder didn’t stop rolling. At first I was afraid that by all of us traveling back to our home territories, we had done serious damage to Solara. That wasn’t it. Maybe that would have been better, because the truth wasn’t so good. It wasn’t thunder we were hearing.
The gunships were back.
Two of the dark, deadly helicopters were flying in low, headed right toward us.
“Go!” I shouted at Patrick and shoved him out of the path of the incoming birds of prey. We hid under a crumbling brick archway that was not more than twenty yards from the long building that the helicopters had pulverized earlier. The helicopters continued on, passing overhead, heading off to who knew where. I’m happy to say that they weren’t firing any more rockets. Once they flew off, I moved to step out from our shelter, but Patrick pulled me back.
“Wait,” he whispered. “Look.”