Raven Rise by D.J. MacHale Page A

time. Inside the dimly lit room were tables loaded with ancient papers. It was all pretty haphazard. The walls were lined with books. With all that he’d seen that strange morning, the sight of so many books was still jarring.
    â€œClose the door,” Richard commanded as he shuffled to a bookcase and ran his hands along the volumes. “I shouldn’t worry so much anymore. I’m tired. Nobody cares. Why should I?” The old man found what he was looking for. He pulled a heavy leather volume out from between the others and placed it on the table. Patrick expected him to open it. He didn’t. Instead he reached into the empty space the book had occupied. Patrick watched with fascination as the old man opened a hidden panel in the wall behind the bookcase and took out a flat object wrapped in red cloth.
    â€œThis is all that’s left,” Richard explained. “At least, it’s all that I know about. I suppose there are other bits here and there, but this is all that I’m aware of.” The old man walked toward Patrick, carrying the mysterious parcel. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re looking for answers. Maybe it’s time more people tried.” Patrick pulled the red covering away to reveal what looked like the cover of a book. Just the cover. One edge was shredded, as if torn from the binding.
    â€œThey’ve destroyed all the evidence,” Richard continued. “They’ve destroyed history. It’s been so long that people now question if it ever happened at all. There are a few who try to keep the memory alive, if only to stop the insanity from happening again. But it’s too late for that. It’s still happening. It never stopped. That’s why I’m afraid. That’s why I checked your arm. I needed to see if you had the mark that made you one of them.”
    â€œWho are they?” Patrick asked, numb.
    Richard’s answer was to show him the book cover. “Take this,” Richard ordered. “It’s not doing any good hidden away here.”
    It was definitely the cover from some ancient volume. How old, Patrick couldn’t begin to guess. It was made of cracked brown leather and had two faded gold imprints. Running vertically down one side was a single word in ornate one-inch-high letters.
    â€œRavinia,” Patrick whispered, reading.
    The word meant nothing to him, but it wasn’t the word that held his attention. It was the symbol next to it. The symbol was familiar. The symbol made his head spin.
    â€œBeware of people who are marked with that symbol, Teacher,” Richard warned. “After all these years, they aren’t finished. They haven’t given up. I don’t know what their goal is, but it isn’t good. If they knew this book cover existed, they’d destroy it. And then they’d destroy you.”
    The large symbol was five inches across. At one time it must have been embossed with shiny bright gold. All that was left of the color were small flecks. Patrick ran his hand over the imprint, hoping to gather insight. He didn’t. He was more confused than ever.
    The symbol was a five-pointed star. It was the symbol that marked the gates to the flumes.

    Shortly after, Patrick sat alone in the overgrown park behind the library. At one time it was called “Bryant Park,” but would now more aptly be called “Junky Messed-Up Park.” Benches were broken, garbage was strewn, weeds choked everything they could grab on to. Patrick held the book cover inside his shirt, against his chest. He looked up at the gloomy gray sky. He wanted to cry. What had happened to his home? What had gone so terribly wrong? He was alone. He needed help. He needed to get a grip.
    He needed to be a Traveler.
    He pulled off his ring and laid it on the ground. He didn’t worry about being seen. Not a soul was around. His plan was to send the book cover to Bobby Pendragon. Pendragon would