The Rivers of Zadaa (37 page)

“No,” I whispered. “This can't be happening. I will not accept this.”

So many memories of Loor came rushing at me. I remembered when I first met her on Denduron, and she wouldn't accept me as a Traveler. I had memories of nearly drowning her in the river when I thought I was rescuing her from an enemy that turned out to be Alder, of her holding her mother as she died, of standing by me on Cloral at Uncle Press's funeral, of meeting you guys on Second Earth, of jumping into Lifelight with me and battling the fantasy monsters in the Barbican, of standing with me in the rain here on Zadaa, hoping for a kiss.

I pressed my hand into her chest as if I could close the wound. Trying to bring her life back. Praying that she could be saved. This was her moment of victory. She had saved her home territory. I didn't accept that she could die at the moment of her greatest triumph. It wasn't right. I didn't believe for a second that this was the way it was meant to be. I wouldn't let myself believe. The tears ran down my cheeks, my eyes stung, but I wouldn't take my hand off Loor to wipe them away. I was determined to make this nightmare go away, but it wasn't going anywhere. This was real. Loor was gone and I was alone.

It was at that very moment, the instant when I believed that all hope was gone…

That I felt a heartbeat. It was weak, but it was there. Her heart was beating. I quickly took my hand away from her chest and felt her neck again. There was a pulse. I must have missed it before. She was alive! But for how much longer? I didn't know what to do. I had to get her to a doctor, but there was no way I could carry her up through the crack in the rock using the footholds dug into the stone. No way. I had to get help. My mind went into hyperdrive. Saangi. I had to get Saangi. But first I had to cover the wound so it wouldn't bleed anymore.

I quickly took off my Rokador tunic and with the sword, I cut the sleeve off to make it into a bandage. I cut the other sleeve off and wadded it up into a pad. My idea was to put the pad on the wound, then tie it down with the other sleeve to stop the bleeding. That's how you stopped bleeding. Direct pressure. The makeshift bandages were ready. I went back to Loor and untied the front of her armor chest piece to get at the wound. I pulled the two leather pieces apart and saw…

There was no wound. Huh? I checked around the area, but there was no wound to be found. How could that be? I saw Saint Dane impale her. I saw the sword come out of her back. I reached over and grabbed the sword—it still had her blood on it. There was still blood all over her armor. It was real. That had to have come from somewhere. What had happened?

“Pendragon?” Loor said weakly.

She was awake!

“Don't sit up,” I warned. “You're hurt. Saint Dane—”

“I know,” she said. “Saint Dane came at me with the sword. I did not move in time. He…he killed me.” Loor's hand went to her chest. She felt the area where there should have been a wound. She looked at me with wide, confused eyes. I was just as confused as she was. Loor moved to sit up.

“Let me help,” I said, and went to give her a hand.

“No, I am all right,” she said. “Pendragon, what happened?”

“What do you remember?” I asked.

Loor sat up on the edge of the flume. She was shaken, but otherwise totally okay. “I remember him coming at me out of the flume. I remember the sword. I remember his white eyes looking right at me. He said ‘Now—'”

“Die,” I finished the sentence. “He said, ‘Now die.'”

Loor continued, “I remember. I felt like I was falling. But it was not a frightening thing. I felt safe. There were people around me. I knew they were friends, but I did not recognize anyone. They were unfocused shadows. I said I was ready to go with them. A woman said that it might be my time, or not. We would know soon. They were all very happy to see me, and I was happy to see them as well. I liked being with them. I was happy. But I do not know who they were. Then somebody said, ‘This is not the way it was meant to be, Loor.' It was a man. I knew who he was, but I didn't. The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't see him. The next thing I knew I was here, looking up at you.”

“I guess it wasn't time” was all I could add.

Loor nodded thoughtfully. “Pendragon,” she said, “something has been bothering me.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I said.

Loor ignored my sarcasm and continued. “There have been other times where things did not make sense to me. Did you not think it was odd how you recovered so quickly from your wounds after the fight with Saint Dane?”

“Well, yeah,” I said. “But I figured I was a quick healer. I've always been a quick healer.”

“But you were nearly killed,” she said. “Your recovery was nothing short of impossible. And what of Alder? That arrow should have killed him, yet he was up and fighting with us so soon afterward. Did you not think that was unusual?”

“I had a few other things to worry about at the time,” I said.

“And here,” she said. “I should be dead. I was dead. Yet I am not. How can that be?”

Good question. I wished I had an equally good answer.

“Could it be because we're Travelers?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she answered. “None of us knows our own true history. We were not born of our parents' blood. There is much we have yet to learn.”

“Then why did Osa die? And Kasha? And Uncle Press? They were Travelers.”

Loor gave this some deep, troubled thought. She said softly, “Maybe it was because you did not know you could heal them.”

Those words stunned me. I let them sink in for a minute, then rejected the idea. I jumped to my feet and paced.

“No way,” I said. “That's impossible. This isn't about me. I can't bring back the dead.”

“Perhaps not,” Loor said. “Or perhaps with Travelers, it is different.”

“So you're saying I could have saved Uncle Press? And the others?”

“No, but only because you did not know. You told me that Uncle Press said to you that killing Saint Dane was futile, because he would only come back in another form. Saint Dane is a Traveler. We are Travelers. We may be more alike than you think.”

The idea was incredible. I would have thought it was ridiculous, if not for what had happened to Loor. She was dead. I know she was. There was no heartbeat. She had a mortal wound. Yet there she sat, as good as new, and the wound was magically gone. I wasn't ready to accept the fact that I had incredible healing powers, but it would have been stupid to ignore the fact that there may be more to being a Traveler than we first thought.

I was about to suggest we get her back home, when the flume sprang back to life.

“You gotta be kidding me!” I said.

I helped Loor to her feet, and we backed far away from the tunnel. Neither of us wanted to be sitting ducks again. It was too late to climb out of the cavern. Whoever was coming, we had to face them. Though just to be safe, I quickly picked up the sword that Saint Dane had left behind.

The flume did its normal pyrotechnics with light and music. I squinted through the bright display to get a glimpse of who would be coming back at us. This time there were no shadows emerging from the tunnel, primed to kill. The light disappeared and the music stopped. Nobody was there.

“Look!” Loor said.

Resting on the bottom of the flume, near the mouth was a brightly colored square box. It looked like an elaborate gift. It had bright red and yellow stripes and looked about the right size to hold a big pumpkin. The whole thing was tied up with a bright red bow.

“I've lost my mind,” I said.

Loor walked boldly over to examine the package. I was behind her, but without the same enthusiasm. There was a huge, yellow tag dangling from the bow. Loor looked at it, then held it out for me to see. There was one word written on the rectangular tag. In fancy letters was the word PENDRAGON.

“Oh, great,” I said with absolutely no enthusiasm. “Is it my birthday?”

Loor pulled off the tag and found that it was folded in half. She opened it to see what was written inside. Her face fell.

“What?” I asked quickly.

She turned the tag around so I could read it. It said: “With my compliments. S.D.”

“S.D.,” I said. “Cute. Do I want to know what's inside?”

“Don't you?” Loor asked.

I didn't, but I had to. I thought back to the time Saint Dane had made a present of Gunny's hand in a bag. There was every reason to believe there would be something just as nasty in this box. I knelt down and pulled off the ribbon.

“This might be dangerous,” I said.

“There is only one way to find out,” Loor said.

I grasped the sides of the lid, winced, and pulled it off. Instantly a jack-in-the-box clown popped out. It was a scary-looking thing, with a garish smile and a jester's hat. It was on a spring, and bounced around while laughing over and over. I thought I recognized the laugh.

“There is something else inside,” Loor pointed out.

Sure enough, there was an envelope in the bottom of the box. It was bright blue and looked sort of like a birthday card. Again on the outside was the word PENDRAGON. I rolled my eyes and opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of heavy paper. It was bright yellow, with fancy, red writing. It read:

“What does it mean?” Loor asked.

“It means I'm going to Quillan.”

 

I'm writing this journal to you from the territory of Quillan, in very strange surroundings. More of that in a second.

I reluctantly left Loor in the flume cavern on Zadaa, convinced that she was healthy, but clueless as to why. Did I bring her back from the dead? Do I have that kind of power? Do all Travelers have that kind of power? Loor raised a lot of good questions. I've never been sick a day in my life. If ever I was injured, it never lasted. My coaches used to call me the Terminator, because no matter what happened to me, I kept coming back. I never thought twice about it…until Loor died. Or un-died.

Having the ability to heal quickly isn't what's got me freaked out. It's more about why. Healing that fast isn't normal. Neither is rising from the dead. Saint Dane is a Traveler with powers that defy the imagination. We're Travelers too, but we don't have those same powers. Or do we? I have to admit, I sat here trying to change myself into looking like somebody else. It didn't work. All I accomplished was feeling stupid.

Still, I can't ignore the facts. Loor was dead. Then she wasn't. Whether I did it, or she did it herself, or it was the combination of both of us, I don't know. But it happened. That leads me to the biggest, most troubling question of all: Am I human?

Don't laugh. Humans don't rise from the dead. Humans get sick. Humans don't have the power of persuasion. And most of all, humans don't shoot around Halla trying to stop Saint Dane. (I know, you guys did, but you weren't supposed to.) It raises other questions too. What happened to my family? Uncle Press said my mother and father weren't my real parents. Then who were? Where did I come from and why was I living in Stony Brook? How could all records of their existence have disappeared? That's impossible, isn't it? None of the Travelers know where they came from. They were all told that their parents weren't their biological parents, but were never told who their real parents were. I have to admit, it's got me all sorts of worked up again. I had put all those questions aside to focus on Saint Dane. Now they're coming back to haunt me.

And speaking of Saint Dane, he has led me to the territory of Quillan. Actually, he invited me. Or had me invited. I'm writing this journal from my room. It's in this monstrous castle where a couple of characters named Veego and LaBerge live. The castle is right out of the Brothers Grimm, but this room looks more like I'm living at the circus. The walls are purple and yellow striped; the ceiling is covered with balloons; I'm writing on a desk that looks like a giant hand; and the bed looks to be floating in the air. I have no idea what's holding it up. Oh yeah, there are hundreds of dolls in the room. Clown dolls. I hate clowns.

I'm supposed to have dinner with my hosts soon, so I should finish this journal. I have no idea what's in store for me here, other than some scary clown nightmares. But I feel certain this is where I should be. Saint Dane brought me here for a reason; I need to find out what it is.

As I wrote before, please be careful. Whatever he's doing on Second Earth, assuming he's really there, I've got to believe it's in the early stages. I don't think you're in trouble. That's not his style. It's not you he wants to beat, it's me.

The adventure on Zadaa has changed me in so many ways. I've learned some things about myself, and discovered some new and disturbing questions. Above it all, I still think we are closer to beating Saint Dane. He's starting to sweat. No, he's starting to panic. It's my job to keep the pressure on, so that's what I'm going to do.