The Quillan Games (2 page)

And she woke up. Simple as that, she opened her eyes. Her wound was gone too. Like it had never been there. But it
had been
there. I swear. The drying blood on her black leather armor was proof of that. It was un-freaking-believable. Since that moment I've tried to make sense of what happened. But how can you make sense of the impossible?

Sorry for repeating all of that, but as hard as it is for me to understand what actually happened in that cave, it's almost
as troubling to wonder what it might mean for the future. My future. Up until then a few things had happened with the Travelers that made me think we aren't exactly, oh, how should I put it? Normal. I had been injured pretty badly on Zadaa, and healed faster than seemed possible. The same happened with Alder from Denduron. He was hit in the chest with a steel arrow that should have killed him. But his wound healed quickly, and he recovered so fast it was like it had never happened. But healing quickly and coming back from the dead are two different things. Still, it's not like we Travelers can't die. We can. If we were invincible, then Uncle Press, Seegen, Spader's dad, Osa, and Kasha would still be around. It's not like we can't be hurt, either. I've taken the lumps and felt the pain to prove it.

But I've seen three Travelers take mortal wounds . . . and live to tell the tale. Loor, Alder, and Saint Dane. I hate to put my friends in the same category as that monster, but after all, he is a Traveler too. On the other hand, Saint Dane is capable of doing some things that the rest of us can't. I can't transform myself into other people. Believe me, I tried. Once. I felt pretty stupid afterward too. How do you “will” yourself to become somebody else? I closed my eyes, concentrated my thoughts, and said to myself:
Become Johnny Depp.
Nothing happened. Maybe I should have been more specific and thought:
Become Johnny Depp in
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
as opposed to Johnny Depp in
Pirates of the Caribbean. It all seemed so silly. Especially since nothing happened. I didn't even bother trying to think:
I want to become black smoke and drift across the room.
If I couldn't become Johnny Depp, no way was I turning to smoke. Bottom line is, Saint Dane may be a Traveler, but he's operating on a whole nother level than we are.

Still, both he and Loor came back from the dead. There
was no getting around that. I wondered if it was possible that I had something to do with Loor's recovery. But I was with Uncle Press when he died. Same with Kasha. Neither of them came back. When I try to relive each of those final, horrible moments, the only thing I can think of that was different with Loor was that it happened so quickly, and I was so totally stunned that I didn't allow myself to believe it was real. It sounds crazy, but it was like I wouldn't accept her death. I didn't want to let it happen . . . and it didn't. She woke up. I know, impossible, right? But it's true.

I suppose I shouldn't be so upset about it. The ability for a Traveler to “will” another Traveler into staying alive is a pretty good thing. To be honest, it gives me a lot more confidence in our battle against Saint Dane. Not that I want to try it out again. No way. Testing death is not high on my “to do” list. As nifty as that might be, the idea leads me to some truly disturbing thoughts. I've always questioned the reasons that I was chosen to be a Traveler. I don't think you'll find a more normal guy than me. But after this whole healing/coming back from the dead thing, I'm beginning to wonder just how normal we Travelers really are. Uncle Press said that my mom and dad weren't my real parents, but he never told me who my real parents are. That starts me thinking. Where exactly did I come from? Knowing that my family disappeared along with every scrap of evidence that any of us ever existed defies every law of nature, yet it happened. It seems as if all the Travelers have had similar experiences. Each of us was raised on our own territory, yet none of us has a history to show for it.

I guess the overriding feeling I'm left with is sadness. Ever since I left home, my goal had been to get back to my normal life. It was the single biggest driving factor in everything I'd done since stepping into the flume for the first time.

I'm not thinking that way anymore.

This is tough to admit, but I'm beginning to wonder if I truly belong on Second Earth. I miss you guys more than I can say, but my family is gone. It's as if some grand cosmic entity highlighted everything to do with Bobby Pendragon, and hit the delete key. What would I say if people asked me where I came from? What would I say? “Well, I grew up in Stony Brook, Connecticut, but my entire history was wiped out, and my family disappeared right after I left through a flume to battle a demon who was trying to crush all of existence. Pass the salt.” I don't think so.

I don't say this to make you guys feel sorry for me. Just the opposite. These journals are about writing down all that happens to me as a Traveler, so that when this cosmic battle with Saint Dane is over, there will be a record. And for the record, I'm fine. But there's nothing more important to me than finding the truth. About me, about my family, and about Saint Dane. I have to stop this guy. Not only for the sake of Halla, but for me, too. I have absolute faith that once he is stopped for good, the journey will lead me to the truth. That goal is what keeps me going. I'm going to try to not question so much, keep my head down, and get it done. Getting it done means stopping Saint Dane. That's why I'm on Quillan.

I wrote to you in my last journal how, shortly after Loor rejoined the living, she and I stood at the flume while it activated and deposited a brightly colored square box in front of us. It had red and yellow stripes and was tied up with a big red bow. Hanging from the ribbon was a yellow tag with the word
PENDRAGON
written in fancy red lettering. Loor unfolded the tag and we saw that written inside were the words: “With my compliments. S.D.” Right. Saint Dane. (It was either that or South Dakota, but that didn't make any sense.) I didn't know what to make of the box. The demon
had just murdered Loor, had fought me to the death, was killed and had come back to life, and now he was sending me a birthday gift. And it wasn't even my birthday. Compared to that, maybe getting a present from South Dakota wouldn't have been so odd. Welcome to my twisted world. Fearing that something nasty would be inside, I squinted when I pulled off the top. What jumped out was nasty indeed. At least to me. You remember, right? Springing out was a jack-in-the-box clown. It was a scary-looking thing with a hideous smile and a court jester's hat. In fact, pretty much all clowns are scary-looking to me. I hate clowns. I wondered if Saint Dane knew that. The clown laughed with some recorded cackle as it bobbled on the spring. It sounded familiar. Swell.

At the bottom of the box was a blue envelope with the word
PENDRAGON
on it. I quickly opened it to find a single sheet of bright yellow paper with fancy red lettering. It was an invitation that read:

Riggedy riggedy white

Come and spend the night

We'll play some games

Some wild, some tame

Cause if you will, you might

Your hosts on Quillan,

Veego and LaBerge

Veego and LaBerge. I had no idea what that meant. I had no idea what any of it meant, but one thing was very clear: The next stop for me was Quillan. Alone. Loor wanted to come, but I needed to learn what Quillan was going to hold before deciding which Traveler could best help me there.
Besides, Loor had just come back from the dead. She needed the rest. At least I thought she did. What did I know? I'd never seen anybody come back from the dead before. So I reluctantly left Loor at the mouth of the flume on Zadaa, stepped into the tunnel, and shouted,
“Quillan.”

And that's where my latest adventure began. . . .

(CONTINUED)

T
he flume.

As impossible an experience as flying through time and space may be, it has become the only time when I can totally relax. There are no surprises, nobody lurking around the corner waiting to pounce, no Saint Dane. I hope it stays that way. Once I announce the territory where I'm headed and get swept into the crystal tunnel of light and music, I can relax. I think back to that very first flume ride from Second Earth to Denduron and how flat-out terrified I was. Now I'm at peace. It's almost like a flume ride recharges my batteries. I do think there's a whole lot more to these magical tunnels than simply being highways across the cosmos, though. There has to be some kind of intelligence at work here. How else would the flumes know where to send us? More importantly, how else would they know
when
to send us? We always arrive where we need to be, when we need to be there. Even if there are two gates on a territory, we always end up at the gate where we need to be. I'm sure that when I learn the truth
about the Travelers and Halla and Saint Dane, I'll also learn all about the flumes and how they can do what they do. Until then, I'll accept the flume rides as being my little vacation away from reality while speeding me to my next destination.

Still, there is one thing that haunts me about the flumes. Ever since Saint Dane won the battle for Veelox, I've been seeing strange, ghostly images floating through the starfield beyond the crystal walls as I travel through the cosmos. The black sky full of sparkling stars is now littered with near-transparent living pictures of people and things that exist on the various territories. I've seen the
Hindenburg
from First Earth, along with Jinx Olsen's flying seaplane. I've seen the white-skinned Novans of Denduron marching in line, and underwater speeders from Cloral being chased by bloated spinney fish. Batu warriors from Zadaa have floated alongside zenzen horses from Eelong. I've seen immense Lifelight pyramids from Veelox and even small animals that look like cats from Second Earth. Many things I don't recognize. I've seen swarms of people holding spears in the air, cheering for something or other. I've seen stiff-looking muscular men, running quickly, with stern faces and sharp jaws. I wouldn't want to get in their way. I've even seen some clown faces, laughing maniacally. I hate clowns. Have I mentioned that?

There are thousands upon thousands more images that I won't bother to describe, because I think you get the idea. Many I recognize, but just as many I don't. They are ghosts from all the territories, floating together in the sea of space. That's why it makes me uneasy. We all know that elements from the territories are not supposed to be mixed. We've learned that the hard way over and over. Yet here in space, or wherever it is, the images of all the territories are jumbled together. It's not like they are interacting or anything. It's more like I'm watching movies projected all over the place.
But seeing these images right next to one another makes me realize just how different each of the territories is. They all have their own histories and their own destinies. That can't change. Mixing them would be like throwing random numbers into a perfect equation. The result won't be the same. I think that's what would happen to the territories if the cultures were mingled. None of the territories would be the same and that could be disastrous.

Which is exactly what Saint Dane wants. He's played fast and loose with the rules about mixing elements between territories, and I'm beginning to realize why. The more he can throw a territory off balance, the easier it will be for him to send it all crashing into chaos. I believe he's not only working to push the turning point of each territory toward disaster, but he's helping his cause by mixing them together as well. What does that all mean to me besides making my stomach twist? Nothing, except that it's all the more reason he must be stopped. As I was speeding through the flume toward Quillan, I couldn't help but wonder if those images floating in space were there as a warning, or evidence that the worst had already begun and the walls between the territories were beginning to crumble.

It was the first flume trip that I didn't enjoy.

I didn't have time to sweat about it for long, though. I heard the jumble of sweet musical notes that always accompany me on a flume ride begin to grow louder and more complex. This familiar song signaled that I was nearing the end of my trip. I took my focus away from the images in space and looked ahead. A bright light shone at the end of the tunnel. I was about to arrive on Quillan. The time for theorizing was over. The show was about to begin.

As the cushion of light gently deposited me on my feet, every sense instantly went on alert. I stood there for a second
to get my bearings. It was dark, but that could have been because I had just been sailing along in a shower of light. I needed a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. I waited with my knees bent, ready to jump at the first sign of trouble. After only a few seconds I heard an odd noise. It sounded like chattering. I'm not sure how else to describe it. There was a series of high-pitched clicking noises coming from somewhere off to my right. They didn't sound dangerous or aggressive. Just . . . odd. I strained to hear, but it stopped. Silence. All I heard was the faint echoing of the musical notes as they receded into the depths of the flume. I didn't move. I didn't want to step into something stupid. I waited a solid minute, but the noise didn't come back. Whatever it was, it was gone.

Looking around, I saw nothing but black. Swell. I would have given anything for a flashlight . . . assuming they had flashlights on Quillan. Another minute passed, and I figured I wasn't doing any good standing in the dark, so I took a tentative step forward and . . .
smack!
I walked right into a wall. Head first. Ouch. I took a quick step back, feeling more stupid than hurt. I reached out, more carefully this time, and eased forward until my hand touched the wall. At least I thought it was a wall. It sure felt like one. It was hard. It was flat. It stretched out to either side of me. You know . . . wall. The space between the opening to the flume and this wall seemed to be only a couple of feet. It was the smallest gate area yet. Of course, I knew there had to be a way out, the trick was finding it. I took a few steps back into the flume to get some perspective. I stood there for a few seconds until, slowly, I began to make out cracks in the wall. Actually, they looked more like seams. The lines were straight, crossing one another, forming a grid pattern with two-foot squares. I didn't see this at first because I was so close to the wall and my eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark. The light coming through
was very faint. But it was there. I knew there had to be a way out, so I slowly scanned the wall, looking for anything that might be a doorway, or a window, or a hole. I didn't care. I was starting to get claustrophobic.