JOURNAL #1

THIRD EARTH

Are you reading this, Jay?

If you are, then I have to breathe a sigh of relief. It's critical you receive my journals, seeing as these are the only record of what's to come.

In many ways, it feels like just yesterday that my life was as normal as could be. I spend a lot of time reflecting back to those days, because already it feels like a lifetime ago when actually, it hasn't been long at all. It's amazing how time can play with your mind. It's thrown me for a loop, that's for sure.

Up until recently, I was a teacher and a librarian at Chelsea High, and I couldn't have asked for a more gratifying job. The school was like a second home to me, the students were great, and I was able to teach what I loved – history. Growing up, I never had a fleeting doubt that becoming a teacher would be the perfect job for me. It was no accident that I had ended up a teacher and librarian; this really was the one and only place for me to be. This had become my world – history, knowledge, and more books than I could ever possibly read. I felt safe and secure when surrounded by countless books and computers that allowed me to further my knowledge as a historian.

What I never could have anticipated was that my once peaceful life – the life I loved – would be thrown completely upside down and inside out. There was no warning whatsoever, no indications at all that I was actually destined for something I never could have imagined in the first place. No, I'm still trying to wrap my head around all of it. I have an infinite number of questions, yet twice as many answers I've still yet to uncover. My only hope is that my head won't explode by the time I find more of the answers.

Maybe I ought to rewind the clock back to when things first changed for me.

It was the first week of October, and the leaves were just beginning to swap out their colors for the usual reds, yellows and oranges. Of all the seasons, autumn was always my favourite. I often traveled up to the aboveground world over Chelsea, just to get a glimpse of what looked like a painting. It was like something you'd see from Vincent Van Gogh. It was a beautiful sight, and the view alone was enough reason to take a trip aboveground. Up here, you could feel the crisp, cool breeze in your face while strolling amongst the green, rolling hills of countryside that stretched on for miles.

I had gotten up at the same time I did every morning, showered, eaten breakfast, and taken the elevator down to the fifteenth floor. On most days, I was able to make it from my apartment to my classroom in twenty minutes or less.

As for today, it was another seemingly normal day at Chelsea High. The only difference was that when I left home, it didn't occur to me that my ordinary life was about to change in ways that would have made my poor head spin.

"That's it for today's lesson," I announced, looking around at my students. "Anyone have any questions?"

"Do we have to have homework?" sighed Roger.

"Yes, Roger," I answered, not surprised by the question. I knew my students well, and I knew them well enough to know that homework wasn't exactly exciting news. "I know you don't like homework, but history is important. If we want to learn and prepare for the future, we need to have an understanding of the past. We can't move forward while forgetting what's behind us. Besides, history itself is quite extraordinary."

"But it's the weekend," he countered with a small smile, as if hoping to change my mind.

"I know," I shot back, shutting down the computer system. "And you'll have plenty of time to get the assignment finished before the weekend starts."

Of course no one ever looked forward to homework, so I tried not bombarding the students with too much. I knew what it was like having to spend the bulk of your weekend completing assignments or research projects. Then again, I always liked challenging myself, especially when it came to history. Math and science, on the other hand, I wouldn't have minded leaving behind in the classroom.

It'd been a few years since I first started my teaching career. More than once it had been pointed out to me that I had a certain knack for presenting history in a way that made it seem fresh and interesting, alive even. To bring the past to life in an engaging, energetic way was something that came naturally to me, or so I've been told. I think it helps that I have a great passion for anything to do with history, so perhaps it helps others see history in a different light.

No, I wouldn't trade being a teacher and a librarian for anything else in the world. I loved my work, but I was about to learn that there was another, shocking part of my life that would make me question everything about myself. Not only that, it would make me question the laws of how the world itself operated.

It was the end of the day, and I was just packing up and was about to head back to my apartment. It was only a few floors down from Chelsea High, so I was always packed up and back home in less than five minutes.

That was the plan – but someone else had other plans that apparently involved me.

"Hello, Patrick."

I heard the voice before I saw who it was. I quickly turned and saw a man who looked to be in his forties standing in the center of the doorway. He had shoulder-length brown hair, and wore a work shirt and jeans. Over this he wore a long tan coat that fell to his knees. By the way he carried himself, he seemed to be a man on a mission. There was an unmistakable spark in his eye, and without even needing to ask, I knew I needed to speak with him. How that even makes sense, I haven't the slightest clue. One moment, I'm thinking about home, and the next, my focus is on this stranger. But…who was he?

"You know me?" I asked in confusion. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we've met."

The man chuckled, and told me, "I've been watching you for a while now."

"Uh…what?" was all I could say. I was feeling a little strange, but not in the traditional sense of feeling frightened by a stranger. For whatever reason, I didn't feel nervous around this guy, whoever he was. No, if anything, I felt like he was to be trusted.

"There's a lot to explain," the man went on. "But it's time you learned the truth."

"Excuse me?" I asked, perplexed.

Instead of answering, the man simply remained standing in the open doorway, the expression on his face unchanged. It was like he knew exactly what I was thinking, as if he'd known me his entire life.

"The truth? And what's that?" I asked, feeling both curious and slightly fearful.

"Let's go for a walk," the man suggested. "It'll take a while to explain."

"I don't know why," I told him, while following him out of the classroom. "But I feel like I can trust you, if that makes any sense."

"I get that a lot," the man shot back with a knowing smile.

"So who are you?" I asked, my head swimming with questions.

"Press Tilton's the name," he said, holding out his hand to shake. "Nice to meet you."

I shook his hand, and said, "Okay, Press. So what exactly is it you need to tell me?"

"Patience, Patrick," he said, stopping in front of the glass elevator. "One step at a time. I'll tell you this though: your entire life has been leading up to this. Everything you've ever done, it's all been in preparation for this."

I gave him a quick dumbfounded look, the confusion written all over my face. With a smile, Press stepped into the elevator and without a word, I followed behind him. Whatever it was he was referring to, it sounded, well...a tad bit ominous.

"What do you mean?" I asked, hesitation creeping into my voice.

"Don't worry," he assured me. "I'm here to tell you of your calling, your true calling. It's what you've been preparing for, though you didn't know it till now."

"I have a…true calling?" I asked, running my fingers nervously through my hair.

"That you do," said the man with confidence.

But I'm just a teacher! I thought. I felt like I'd just been shoved into a vast ocean, and then sucked into a whirlpool with no hopes of escaping.

Without another word, the two of us left the elevator and began heading to a place that was all but familiar to me – the New York Public Library. As always, the stone lions on either side of the stairs were there to greet us. Like Chelsea High, I always felt at home when at the library. It was a place filled with the knowledge of the ages, and if ever I needed answers, it always seemed I could find them here.

"Any particular reason why you brought us here?" I asked Press. I took a seat on the stone steps, staring out at the sun that was just starting to make its way beneath the grassy hills.

"No," was his answer. He took a seat next to me, also gazing out at the view. "But I know you feel at home here, so I figured this was as good a place as any to come and talk about things. I'm guessing you've got a million questions."

"Something like that," I agreed. "What do you mean by my true calling?"

"You're a Traveler, Patrick," Press explained, once more throwing my head for a spin. "As am I."

"Traveler?" I said, unsure of what he meant. "Sure, I've traveled to a few places, Colorado, Texas—"

Press chuckled and interrupted, "No, I don't mean traveler in the traditional sense. Though you're not too wrong about that, actually. When I say you're a Traveler, I mean you're destined to help keep things on the right path, to restore order and promote peace."

"Uh…what?" I said, trying to make sense of this. "Let me get this straight. So, I'm supposed to what, exactly?"

"There are ten territories, Patrick," Press went on. "Each territory is soon going to reach a crucial point, a turning point, we call it. Depending on the outcome, the territory will either continue in peace, or will be thrust into a state of despair and chaos. That's where the Travelers come in. It's our job to keep things in line. There's just one problem."

"Problem?"

"He goes by the name of Saint Dane," Press said, turning to me with a serious expression. "He's the one who's positioned himself against us. Unlike us, his intentions are nothing less than to break down the walls, cause pandemonium and bring Halla to its knees."

"Halla?" I asked, raising a brow.

"Halla is everything," said Press, gesturing out to the grassy fields. "Every person, time and place that ever existed or will ever exist. Every thing, every person and every time out there all still exists. The sea of Halla keeps it all together."

All I could do was stare at the guy with a bewildered look. It was like my jaw had just hit the floor. What on earth was he talking about? Halla? Travelers? Saint Dane? By the look on my face, it was like he'd just grown ten extra heads. What he was revealing to me sounded like something out of a wild fantasy, or a science-fiction tale. He couldn't possibly be serious!

"I know," said Press with a laugh. "It's a lot to absorb."

"I think there's some sort of mistake," I said to him. "I mean, I'm not a hero. I'm just a teacher and librarian. That's it. You can't be serious when you say I'm actually some kind of…of…protector? There has to be a mix-up!"

"I'm dead serious," Press assured me. "And there's no mistake. You are a Traveler. And you're capable of a lot more than you think, Teacher."

"But I'm not a hero!" I shot back incredulously. "There's no way I could ever do something like what you're saying. I teach history! I teach students and work in a library and look after books and…and I'm not cut out for anything other than that. I'm sorry, but if you're looking for someone to take on a great and noble task, then I'm not the right person for that. If you need a teacher or a librarian, on the other hand, then I'm your guy."

Press smiled in response and asked me, "Anything else you can tell me about yourself?"

I shrugged and said, "No, I think that's about it."

"You're resourceful, Patrick," Press told me, sounding as confident as I'd ever seen anyone. "You've got a real gift when it comes to digging through history, solving problems and finding answers to complex problems. You might see yourself as just a teacher or just a librarian, but look beyond that."

"Well, sure I'm good with computers, but—"

"Every Traveler is going to play an important role in this war," said Press thoughtfully. "Yours will be no different."

I sat there, trying hard to wrap my head around all he was telling me. But no matter how hard I tried, it just didn't make an ounce of sense. I was just an ordinary guy who lived to study and teach! There was no way I was cut out for the higher calling duties Press was telling me about. It made me wonder if maybe he truly had gotten me mixed up with someone else. What other explanation was there?

"You must have meant for someone else to take on that responsibility," I said, staring out into the distance.

Instead of answering, Press simply sat there in silence. I waited for a response, but the guy just remained sitting there, as if waiting for me to throw another question at him. Was there a chance this might all just be a dream? It wouldn't surprise me to wake up in my own comfortable bed with Earnest curled up next to me. It made far more sense to assume this was all a dream as opposed to reality.

"This is all a dream," I concluded, laughing to myself. "That I can make sense of. People dream up ridiculous things all the time. But to think what you're telling me is reality is just…not possible. In a few minutes, I'll wake up in my own bed in my own apartment back in my old life."

"If you say so," said Press, the knowing smile still evident on his face.

I turned to him, studied his expression for a moment and then shook my head in disbelief. I rose to my feet and stared out again at the towering trees, grassy plains and wished more than anything that I would find myself awaking in my own bed. I didn't want to have to accept that this was reality. But the growing pit in my stomach told me I might not have a choice.

"This can't be real!" I told him firmly, a hint of stubbornness creping into my voice. "All this about Halla and Travelers and Saint Dane. It just sounds too fantastical! Ridiculous even."

"I understand, Patrick," said Press with empathy. "You're overwhelmed. But trust me when I tell you, it'll all come clear. Trust me on that. It won't stay like this forever."

"But why me?" I asked, the nagging question still stuck in my brain. "Why am I a Traveler?"

"That would take an even longer time to explain," was the reply. "You'll learn more as you go along and with time, all the questions will be answered and things will become clear.

I shook my head, rubbed my eyes tiredly and took a seat beside him.

"But I'm just a teacher," I told him again. "I'm not cut out for that sort of stuff."

"Push, Patrick," said Press, as if reading my thoughts. "We all need a push every now and then. And you might not realize it, but you've been preparing for life as a Traveler from the very beginning. A few weeks ago, when you and your class ventured out into the woods to retrieve that stolen book, that was all to help prepare you."

"Prepare me?"

"You were extremely resourceful out there," he told me. "You and your class were able to fend off a pack of wolves and ultimately found the missing book. And though you never knew, it was one of your own classmates who helped bring you up to become a Traveler."

"But…but they're just kids!" I shot back in confusion.

"Em Stickler," Press continued. "She was the Traveler before you. Now you are the Final Traveler from your territory. It was her job to prepare you for this job, and now it's time for the Last Generation to step forward."

"Em never told me that," I said, my head floundering. "She was a Traveler?"

"Yup," said Press. "But her time is now up. It's your time now, Patrick. But I should warn you, things aren't going to be easy. You'll have to encounter things you never thought possible but no matter how low things get, I need you to remember something. It's probably the most important piece of advice I can offer you."

There was a brief pause. In that one, single moment of silence, I found myself wishing more than ever that I was back home in my underground apartment in Chelsea. Instead, I was sitting beside a guy who was quickly transforming my life in more ways than I could have thought possible.

"I need you to remember who you are. You're capable of more than you think, Patrick. When things get hard and you want to give up on it all, I need you to look to yourself. You won't find the answers out there, or through anyone else. Just look to yourself."

I took a few minutes to replay all he'd told me. I was still struggling to accept the fact that someone as completely normal as myself was supposed to suddenly embark on some heroic mission. In a way, I could somewhat make sense of Travelers and Halla. Sure, I'd always supposed there were other worlds and the idea of those wanting to protect the balance of things I could bring myself to conclude as being real. What I couldn't make sense of was what kind of role I could possibly play in something as grand as all this? I was a teacher! A librarian! But this Press guy seemed to think otherwise, considering that he kept assuring me I'd have an important role to play.

"Okay," I finally said. I took a hesitant breath, collected my racing thoughts and went on, "So, what next then? Am I no longer Patrick Mac?"

"Oh, no," Press said quickly. "You're still Patrick Mac. You'll always be who you are, there's no changing that. The only difference is you'll now be embarking on a journey that's long been waiting for you. And you won't be alone. You and the other Travelers will have to work together if we have any hope of keeping Halla together. It's the only chance we've got."

I took a minute to try and assure myself I wasn't spiralling into a state of madness. It was mind-boggling to think that from this point forward, my life would never be the same. It didn't matter what I thought, because if Press was right – and I had no reason to think otherwise – then I had no choice but to accept it.

"I-I can't say I'm happy about this," I told Press nervously, fiddling with my fingers. "I've never done anything like this before, traveling to other worlds and…and battling demon Travelers. It all just sounds so…so…"

"Impossible?" Press asked, finishing my sentence.

"Well, yes," I admitted, shrugging. "It certainly has me feeling pretty shaky."

"One step at a time, Patrick," he said. Once more he gazed off into the distance, as if his mind was traveling to a million other places. "It'll be a difficult road ahead, absolutely. But don't doubt for a second that you can't play an important role in the war to come, because each and every one of you will play your roles, count on it."

I rubbed my eyes with my hands, and took a deep sigh. I was suddenly feeling very tired, and wondering how in the world I'd ended up in what truly felt like a fantasy. To think that myself and a group of other people would soon be bouncing about to other worlds, fighting wars and chasing an evil demon whose only goal was destruction and chaos, well…it was hard to believe.

"So…what now?" I asked, fearful of the answer.

"Now it begins," Press responded. He rose to his feet, appearing as confident as when I'd first seen him earlier back at Chelsea High. He looked back to me, and added sombrely, "Each of the territories are unique, and more different than the next. But Third Earth is special, Patrick. It's crucial we do all we can to keep this territory from falling under Saint Dane's control."

"And if it does?" I asked, the fear creeping into my voice. The thought of something dreadful suddenly happening to my beloved home was a frightening one.

"One step at a time," he reminded me. He then reached into his pocket, and retrieved what looked like a ring. It was like no ring I'd ever seen though. It looked to be made out of stone, and engraved around it were odd, mysterious symbols that seemed to be from a secret, alien language. Of course, it was no language I'd ever encountered, but all the same, I couldn't help feel a little intrigued as to what they each meant.

"What's that?" I asked curiously, staring at the ring.

"Your Traveler ring," Press instructed. He handed it to me, and I took it gingerly. I held it in my hand, staring down at it with countless questions rushing through my head. "You'll need it to communicate with the other Travelers. It'll help show you where the flumes are and above all, you'll use them to deliver your journals."

"Journals?"

"It's important you keep record of everything," Press went on. "Everything you see, feel and do. I know it's confusing, but trust me when I say, you'll likely need them again someday. So starting now, I'd like you to begin your own series of journals."

I nodded slowly, and then took another breath. I was struggling to come to terms with all I was learning; it was just so difficult. In the back of my mind, I kept on thinking I was no one else but Patrick Mac, a teacher and librarian. That was who I'd been all my life. But I was now a Traveler. What that meant, I still wasn't entirely sure. All I knew was it had me feeling pretty uneasy.

There was a short pause, and then Press shared eye contact with me. "Lot to take in, isn't it?"

"Yes," I declared, slipping the ring onto my finger. Oddly enough, it fit perfectly, as if it had been crafted solely for me. "I have to admit though, I'm…I'm pretty scared."

"I'd be surprised if you weren't," Press shot back. He placed a hand on my shoulder in a fatherly gesture and told me, "But you won't be alone. And whatever happens, when times get hard…keep your head up, Teacher."

"I'll try," I said, returning my focus to the ring.

Before leaving, I had just one more question to ask him.

"Does this mean I have to give up teaching?"

Press chuckled, and assured me, "No, you'll just be juggling two different lives now. Don't worry though. You don't have to give up what you love. Like I said, you're not giving up what makes you you."

I nodded in silence, and gave a small, weak smile. "So where are you off to?"

"Oh, around," he answered casually. He winked at me, and started down the steps, sounding once more like a man on a mission. "Places to go, people to see. The usual."

"Busy man," I commented.

"Yes, indeed," he agreed, looking back to me. "As are you. You've got a busy day tomorrow."

At first, I didn't quite understand what he meant. Tomorrow was Saturday. I didn't have much planned for the weekend, other than taking Earnest down to the vet for her usual check-up, and picking up a few groceries afterwards. I'd assumed he'd only brought me here to explain everything and that would be that. But now it seemed like he wasn't quite finished with me just yet.

"I do?" I asked, puzzled.

"Get some rest, Patrick!" he called, turning and heading off to…somewhere. "I'll swing by to get you in the morning."

"Right, okay…" I called back to him. I didn't know what else to say, considering that my racing head was already filled with never-ending questions that were fighting for brain space. All I could hope was that a good night's sleep might help clear my thoughts. Either that, or my head would erupt from the overwhelming sense of impending doom.

As I expected, sleep didn't come easily. When someone drops by to inform you that your life isn't quite what you thought it was, it makes sense that nodding off to dreamland would be practically impossible. I tossed and turned most of the night, still dwelling on everything Press had revealed to me. I wanted more than anything to nod off and get some sleep, but sleep refused to come. As I watched my sleeping cat with drowsy eyes, I found myself thinking how nice it must be to drift off without a care in the world.

Life must be nice as a cat! I thought, suddenly wishing I was a cat.

So while Earnest slept like a log through the night, I went on tossing and turning restlessly. As the hands of my bedside clock went on ticking constantly, the hours passed by, the questions in my head still bouncing about in a state of chaos. No matter how hard I tried and despite how sleepy I now felt, all I managed to do for the rest of the night was lay there staring up at the ceiling, completely dazed.

This is where I'll finish up my journal, Jay. I'd give anything for even a few hours of sleep, but I feel like that's asking for the impossible. What with where my head now was, there wasn't a chance in the world I could doze off.

Am I excited about seeing the past? A hundred and ten percent yes.

Am I fearing my own future as a Traveler? A hundred and twenty percent yes.

END OF JOURNAL #1