Hello!
So this was an idea that I've wanted to write about for a while now. I thought it was interesting how we see Saint Dane and his encounters with the Travelers, but what I noticed was that we don't get to see Patrick and Saint Dane ever engaging in any discussions. With Patrick being my favourite Traveler, I thought this would be fun to write. So in this one-shot, I had Saint Dane try and convince Patrick that he's not really needed in the fight for Halla, when compared to the other Travelers, and that he should step out of the battle. I hope you like it :)
While the two acolytes made their way over to Courtney's house in search of some clothes, Patrick remained at Mark's house in front of the computer. The three had agreed that if there was anyone who could unravel this whole mystery of Naymeer and Ravinia without leaving behind any details, it was Patrick. Digging through layers of information, searching through complex databases and putting all the pieces of the puzzle together in a way that made perfect sense was all part of the Traveler's world.
As he'd stated earlier: It's what I do.
Only a few minutes into his search and already the Traveler from Third Earth was once more back in a realm that he could feel total confidence in. As a teacher and a librarian, so much of his time was dedicated to online searching, keeping history alive and passing on the knowledge he'd accumulated over the years to those of the next generation.
So far, he had yet to stumble across a challenge he couldn't solve.
This time would be no different.
Whoever this Naymeer fellow was, and whatever connection it was he and Ravinia shared, Patrick would get to the bottom of it.
It wasn't long till he'd pulled out bits and pieces of this Naymeer character from the Internet. Search after search, he brought together every detail he'd come across and before he knew it, the mystery was starting to unravel. Who was this guy? Where was he from? How had he gotten such a massive following? What was Ravinia?
All were questions he had now found answers to.
This online tool Mark had called the Internet may indeed have been crude when compared to Third Earth's computers, but it had done its job. It was all he'd needed to crack the case of who this newest character in the fight against Saint Dane was.
"So that's who you are then," said Patrick, leaning back in the chair. "Well, that explains a lot." Stacked in a neat pile on the wooden desk were the various sheets he'd printed off, each providing useful clues as to who this mysterious man was. Now that he'd gathered all the relevant facts, it couldn't have made more sense.
As he sat there reflecting on all that he'd recently discovered, a startling, unexpected voice cut through the silence like nails on a chalkboard.
"Well done, Sherlock Holmes! You've solved the mystery."
Patrick nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise. For the past few hours, no one else had been there with him but the moment he heard this newest voice, a cold chill shot up his spine. He didn't need to turn to see who it was that had disrupted his work, because he already knew. Something in the way the voice crept into the room like an unwelcome visitor made him think it was a voice that simply couldn't be mistaken for anyone else's. And how could it?
No, this was a voice that belonged to one person and one person only.
What confused Patrick was what he was doing here at all.
Yes, the next territory in his quest to take control of Halla was Second Earth, but why had he suddenly decided to show up here?
It was one question the Traveler didn't have an answer to.
"What's the matter, Teacher?" the visitor asked, his face breaking out in an arrogant smile. "Not happy to see me?"
Patrick finally turned around, only to see that his fears had been confirmed. So often he'd heard of the many encounters between Pendragon and the demon Traveler. All the stories he'd ever heard came flooding back to him and sitting there right then, he felt as if he'd stepped in the Lead Traveler's shoes.
He stood there perfectly still in front of the widow, reaching his full height of seven feet. As usual, he wore his all-black suit, but what left Patrick staring with unblinking eyes were the bloody scars that lined his bald held, looking unnervingly like bloody lightning bolts. But worst of all, what made Patrick's heat skip a few beats faster were the white-blue eyes that froze him in place.
"S-Saint Dane?" Patrick stammered, the words catching in his throat. "Y-you were trapped on Ibara, though?" He opened his mouth again, but found the words just wouldn't come out. It was like his throat had gone dry.
"I'm glad to see you've at least figured out who I am," the Traveler answered, shaking his head in amusement. "For a moment, I feared you might have forgotten. And no need to worry. No longer will I be spending my time on that little island they call Ibara. In case you weren't aware, the show is finally about to begin."
"B-but how did you get escape?" asked Patrick, puzzled as to how the Traveler had at last found his way off the island. Whatever the answer, it really didn't matter because the demon was now here. On Second Earth.
"Does it really matter?" Saint Dane chuckled. "Whether you like it or not, I'm here now. So I'd strongly advise you to wrap your head around that…if you can."
It was like the words had gone through one ear and out the other. This sudden visit from the demon Traveler had thrown Patrick off balance in more ways than one. In all the time Patrick had been a Traveler, not once had Saint Dane dropped in to stir up another bout of his usual trouble. Not with him anyway. It had always been Pendragon that he took the most enjoyment out of engaging in a battle of wits with. For Patrick, he'd always been the one to remain on Third Earth, stepping in to help Pendragon when he could.
But he wouldn't have anticipated that the demon would drop in to pay him a visit.
"Seems like you've been settling in nicely on Second Earth," Saint Dane observed, casually walking over to the bookshelf. There, he scanned the row of books but just as quickly, directed his attention back to the listening Traveler. "Though I'm sure you're undoubtedly homesick. Then again, Third Earth really isn't the wondrous place it used to be. More like hell on Earth now…isn't it?"
"It…it was perfect," Patrick uttered sadly, his mind once more reflecting back on what Earth had once been in 5010. "Now it's spiralling into chaos."
"Indeed," Saint Dane answered, sounding calm and as confident as ever. "It's only a matter of time now. I applaud the efforts of you and the Travelers, but alas, you cannot go on fighting a war that was always mine to win."
"It's not yours to win," Patrick argued, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking. "Halla isn't meant to be ruled by one single person. The people are strong in spirit, and they won't go down without a fight."
"So I've been told," the demon replied, the arrogance returning in his voice. "Tell me this then, Teacher…how exactly do you and the others plan on stopping me when your so-called Lead Traveler is no longer leading you?"
There was a brief pause, and then Saint Dane shot Patrick a victorious smirk.
"That right there is your answer," he said, his eyes appearing whiter than ever. "You and the rest haven't a chance against me without the guidance of your leader. And some leader you all spent so long following. A coward who backs out of the fight. That is who you all put your faith in. So disappointing."
Patrick was about to answer, when the demon abruptly cut him off.
"But there's something else that disappoints me."
"What's that?" asked Patrick, not really wanting to know.
Saint Dane turned, stared Patrick square in the face and uttered one, simple word.
"You."
Patrick stared at him momentarily, and then asked in a puzzled tone, "What?"
"As greatly disappointed as I am in Pendragon," Saint Dane said, the smallest smile showing on his face. "I can still respect the lengths he's gone to in our ongoing struggle. And while the other Travelers have time and again left me disappointed, there is one Traveler in particular that couldn't have disappointed me any more. That, my misguided friend…would be you."
"I...I don't understand," Patrick stammered, the words echoing in his head.
"Funny," the demon shot back, still walking about the small room like he owned it. "As a Teacher, I felt sure you'd catch on to what I was referring to. There's no question, Patrick, that you possess a passion and skill for what you do, but if you haven't yet figured it out, you aren't exactly on par with your fellow Travelers."
Patrick watched the demon, unable to form any kind of response. He was too busy repeating all these words in his own mind, wondering if what he was hearing was true.
"I know you wish to help Pendragon," Saint Dane told him. "But have you ever truly asked yourself why you bother at all?"
"I'm a Traveler," Patrick answered in a small voice. "I can—"
"So you say," the demon interjected. "But don't you ever ask yourself how little you have to contribute to this fight? Surely you've seen the sacrifices others have made? Surely you've heard of all Pendragon has done in this futile quest to keep Halla in order? You don't have to look far to see the truth, Teacher. I can see it in your eyes. You and the Travelers like to think I don't know what thoughts race through your mind, but I can read your fears all too well. You aren't a fighter, Patrick. Not like Loor, Alder, Kasha, Pendragon. Need I go on? Even the young Jakill has more fight in him than you. Then we have Spader. He's followed Pendragon to various territories, always there to join him in the fight. And where are you while all this is occurring? Safe and sound back on your precious Third Earth, where else? Then we have the Traveler from First Earth. Without the sage guidance of his departed uncle, Pendragon looks to Gunny for assurance and clarity. And we mustn't forget about dear Aja, the brilliant phader. And finally, there is Elli, the eldest of your crew. She may be old, but I've the strange feeling she might have some fight in her that we've yet to observe."
The demon then stopped and turned back to Patrick to see the Traveler's eyes were fixed on the floor. No doubt he was now struggling to block out all he was hearing and based on what Saint Dane was seeing, he was floundering.
It was exactly what he'd predicted.
"But where does that leave you, the Traveler from Third Earth?" he asked, chuckling under his breath. "That's certainly the question, isn't it? Where does the cowardly teacher fit in to this giant mess?"
Patrick shook himself together, working hard to keep his mind from dwelling on all he'd been told.
"Pendragon says we all have our roles to play," he answered, though the uncertainty in his voice was palpable. "We're all important."
"And you believe him?" Saint Dane challenged. "Do you really believe that's what he thinks? Or does he say that only to make you feel like you're somehow valuable in this battle?"
When Patrick didn't immediately answer, Saint Dane responded by letting out a conceited laugh.
"And that is why you don't belong in this fight, my friend," the demon explained. "Don't ignore what you already know, Teacher. There's no place in this fight for you. What was your reaction upon awakening to a Third Earth that was nothing like the one you recalled? Panic. Disbelief. Fear. Simply put, you nearly went over the brink of insanity. Is that how a Traveler fighting to protect all existence should act when things get difficult? Is that the sort of Traveler you think Pendragon wants alongside him?"
Patrick glanced down at the Traveler ring on his third finger. So much time he'd spent marvelling at the wonder of it all – flumes, traveling, territories existing in different times and space and above all, Halla. Just as much time he'd spent debating about whether or not he truly was needed in this ongoing fight. He couldn't deny what Saint Dane was telling him. He wasn't a fighter. If this battle came down to a fight of physical strength, then he wouldn't stand a chance. He knew that of the other Travelers, Pendragon would be better off seeking help from those who had more to offer.
Reflecting on all of these thoughts, the Traveler from Third Earth lowered his head silently. His eyes were still fixed on the ring on his finger. While the demon's words replayed themselves in his mind, some other part of him was still fighting to remember who he was. It was in there somewhere, deeply buried. Somewhere under all those words Saint Dane had thrown at him was the truth.
He couldn't let himself lose sight of who he was.
How long he went on staring at the ring, he wasn't sure. But as he sat there, it was like the words were now coming together. It was like the ring was speaking in some secret, silent language that only Patrick could hear.
He had to remember who he was.
Patrick Mac. Teacher. Librarian. And most importantly, the Traveler from Third Earth.
"You're right," Patrick uttered softly. "I'm not a fighter. I know I can't offer all that the others can. There's no arguing that."
"I say what I say only to make things clearer for you," the demon answered, sounding as in control of the situation as ever. "You just don't belong in a fight like this. With the end so inevitably near, I'd suggest you back out now. Go back to your teaching. Go back to where you're supposed to be. Don't make things more difficult than need be."
The Traveler then looked again at the window, letting his gaze fall on the outside world. All too soon, it was a world that would look very different then it did right then. And how much easier things would be now that he'd have one less Traveler to have to concern himself with.
"Before you go," Patrick said, the confidence slowly but unmistakably creeping into his tone. "I have just one more thing to say to you."
Saint Dane turned, and raised his brow curiously.
"And what exactly is that?" he asked, his eyes flashing.
When the Traveler spoke next, it was with a tone the demon hadn't yet heard from him. Up till then, he'd both seen and heard the doubt Patrick was clearly struggling with, but listening more closely, that doubt had since vanished. In its place was a tone that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than one that came from a person who had total confidence in what they were saying.
It was the last thing the demon Traveler had anticipated to hear from this encounter.
Just before Patrick spoke, something Bobby Pendragon had said to him not that long ago came back to him.
You're the man, Patrick. If anybody can solve this, it's you.
"I'm not a fighter," Patrick told the Traveler, sounding so sure of himself that Saint Dane actually wondered if there was more to this guy then he'd previously assumed. "You're right about that. But you're wrong about me. Am I scared? Yes. Do I have doubts sometimes? Absolutely. Do I sometimes need a push to get me going? Yes. But at the end of the day, I keep reminding myself that I do have something to offer in this fight."
"Do you now?" Saint Dane sneered. "Care to elaborate on that?"
"Myself," Patrick told him simply. "I might just be a teacher and librarian, but why should that mean I don't have things to offer? As a teacher and librarian, I've been around computers for years. I know how to dig deep and find answers to whatever question I'm faced with." As he went on speaking, he himself heard a confidence he hadn't heard in the longest time. In a way, it was re-energizing him. "I'm a historian, so there's something else I can offer. Knowledge. When Pendragon and Gunny came to Third Earth, I helped them learn the importance of why the Hindenburg needed to crash, and what would have resulted had it been saved. After that, I helped Pendragon and Courtney learn more about Mark Dimond and what he'd done with Forge on First Earth. And now here on Second Earth, I'm going to do all I can to help the acolytes."
Patrick fell silent for a brief moment, and then a small smile spread over his face.
He'd finally remembered. More than once he feared he'd forget what it was that made him the Traveler he was.
But he hadn't forgotten. It had been there all along, and he'd just revived it.
"That's why I'm a Traveler," he concluded, looking to the demon Traveler. "That's what I have to offer in this fight. And whether you like it or not…I'm not going anywhere, Saint Dane."
The demon didn't answer right away. Instead, he watched Patrick with a dumbfounded expression, but just as quickly, he wiped it away. Replacing it was his typical arrogance and without a word, he turned to face the window once more.
"Perhaps I was wrong about you," Saint Dane said, half to himself. "Perhaps there is more to you than I initially thought." He chuckled lightly and added, "Interesting. Very well then. Well, I hope you're not short of courage, Teacher." He threw Patrick an ominous grin and declared, "You're going to need it."
With that, the demon then began to transform. As Patrick watched with widened eyes, Saint Dane's body morphed into that of a liquid-like state. The process took all but a few seconds. The next thing Patrick knew, he was watching a large, black raven break through the glass-paned window.
The last thing the stunned Traveler heard was the distinctive sound of a loud caw! as the jet-black raven shot off in to the distance with a sharp flap of its wings.
Patrick sat there, unable to take his disbelieving eyes off the now broken window. He was still trying to wrap his racing mind over what had just happened. One moment, it seemed like he was busily working away to solve the mystery of who Naymeer was. The next, he was engaging in what had been his first real encounter with the demon Traveler.
As overwhelming as it all was, there was one sense of comfort that had now dawned on him.
Saint Dane's plan was to belittle him in the hopes of throwing him off balance. He'd wanted to prey on his weakness and use it to his advantage.
He'd wanted leave him a prisoner to his own conflicting emotions.
He'd wanted him to step out of the ultimate fight.
He'd wanted him to give up.
Through all his remarks, he'd wanted him to question his own worth as a Traveler.
Now that it was all over, Patrick came to a realization that held such importance to him that he wanted to hold on to it. It was something he didn't want to let slip out of his grasp.
It was the realization that he was a Traveler…and there was indeed a place in this fight for him.
He thought back to what Saint Dane had just said to him.
Well, I hope you're not short of courage, Teacher. You're going to need it.
Patrick let his eyes fall down, once more taking in the sight of his Traveler ring. So many thoughts, emotions and questions for what the future might hold rushed through his mind. One thought, however, stood out from all the rest.
Don't worry, thought Patrick, staring down at his ring with eyes filled of determination. I will be.
Saint Dane thought he could shove Patrick out of the fight with nothing more than an effortless push.
Much to his own surprise, he had failed.
Patrick Mac, the Traveler from Third Earth…was locked in the battle for Halla.
Now…and till the end.