Pendragon - The Rivers Of Zadaa by D.J. MacHale

Author:D.J. MacHale
Language: eng
Format: epub

MESSAGE WAITING.

But he didn't look.

JOURNAL #22

ZADAA

War.

It's such a small, innocent word that's used to describe something that isn't small or innocent. Why is that? Shouldn't war at least be a "four letter word"? Whatever. I'm sitting here, deep underground in Rokador territory, waiting for it all to begin. Or end, depending on how you look at it. Everything we feared would happen is going to happen. The Batu are about to attack. The assassination of Pelle a Zinj pretty much cemented that. Whatever chance there was of finding peace between the tribes has died along with Pelle. The only question left is how soon the fireworks will start.

We know a lot more about what's going on now. None of it is good. We now know what Saint Dane has been up to here on Zadaa. All of it. He had a hand in engineering the assassination, as I figured he did. If Pelle had lived, there was a good chance he would have stopped the war. But that wouldn't have worked into Saint Dane's plan. He needed Pelle gone, and he got an impressionable Rokador to do it for him. As usual. He never does the dirty work himself. It's always about getting the people of the territory to hurt themselves.

But that was only the beginning of his plan to topple Zadaa. As I write this journal to you guys, I'm afraid he's going to win here. I don't see how we can stop it. The events that are about to take place will change the course of Zadaa forever. It won't be for the better, that much I can guarantee.

I'm going to tell you everything that's happened since Pelle was killed. These are the events that have led Zadaa to the brink of disaster. As I sit here, so far belowground, I can't help but wonder if I will ever see the sun again. Any sun.

There is a huge irony here too. By manipulating events so that Pelle was killed, Saint Dane put the tribes on a path to war. However, the trigger was pulled by an event that was totally out of his control.

It began to rain.

"Keep moving," Loor ordered as we ran against the festive crowd that continued to follow the parade toward the palace of Zinj. These people had no idea that their joy would soon turn to anguish. They were about to discover that their beloved prince had been killed. It was a sad feeling, knowing that these happy, jubilant people would soon be crushed.

Suddenly the crowd stopped moving. A moment before, they had been pushing to get to the palace. The streets were so dense with people, we could barely work our way through. Now the mass of humanity had stopped. Oddly, one by one, they looked toward the sky. The raucous music and laughter of the festival died. An eerie quiet fell over the masses. Loor and I were so focused on getting through, we didn't stop to question what was happening. That

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