“I’m guessing he didn’t do so well,” I said.
“At first he did, but it didn’t last. It never does. I won’t bore you with the tragic details, but my father ended up losing his job and was sent to the tarz. Do you know what that means?”
Unfortunately, I did. I nodded.
“My mother was never the same,” Nevva said. “Losing my father was like losing a piece of herself. She became bitter. The idea that my father died trying to educate me so I could work for the very company that sent him to his death was something she could not accept. To this day I’m not entirely sure of what happened, but I believe she did something foolish. She had access to the trustees because of her job. The security police never told me the exact charges, but I believe she tried to somehow harm the trustees. My mother was not a violent person, but she was pushed beyond her emotional limits. There’s no saying what people might do when they get to that frightening place. My mother wasn’t herself anymore. I’ll never forget that morning. She kissed me good-bye and said she loved me. I never saw her again.”
Nevva looked to the ground. For a second I thought she was going to cry. I didn’t interrupt her. I knew how she felt, sort of. I had lost both my parents too. Though I’m holding on to the hope that I’ll see them again. Nevva didn’t have that hope.
After a few moments she took a breath and said, “My story isn’t unique. Blok creates pain. It feeds on pain. It profits from pain.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“The trustees actually took pity on me,” she answered. “At least that’s what they called it. I call it payback. They took over my education and created this job for me as special assistant. Though it’s more of a sentence than a job. I’m paying for what my mother did to them . . . or tried to do. I may not be laboring in the tarz, but make no mistake, I am their slave. Sometimes I wish they would send me to the tarz, so I don’t have to listen to them anymore.”
“When did you learn about being a Traveler?” I asked.
“Shortly after my father was sent to the tarz,” she said. “A man paid me a visit and said there was something important he needed to show me. He was a stranger, but there was something about him that made me trust him.”
“It was Press, wasn’t it?” I asked.
For the first time since I’d met her, Nevva smiled.
“He told me all about you,” she said. “He told me that one day you would arrive and help me guide the territory out of this horrible time. That was so long ago, I never thought this day would come. In the meantime he took me through the flumes and showed me the wonders of Halla. I saw all three Earth territories and learned of their history. I could relate to how the Milago were treated by the Bedoowan on Denduron, and how badly the gars were treated by the klee of Eelong. I swam underwater on Cloral and jumped into my own fantasy on Veelox. Without those experiences, I never would have believed I was a Traveler.”
“Do you know that Press is dead?” I asked.
Nevva nodded. “I understand we have lost many Travelers.”
“There’s been a boatload of tragedy,” I said. “The one thing I hang on to is that I don’t believe anybody died in vain. Saint Dane is getting weaker. At one time I thought for sure that Halla would be his, now I’m thinking we’ve turned the tide. We’re going to stop him.”
“Do you think he’s come to Quillan?” Nevva asked me.
I wasn’t sure how to break the news to her. Nevva seemed like somebody who was all about being buttoned up and in control. I didn’t want to just blurt out: “You idiot! He’s a trustee!” That wouldn’t have been cool, so I answered carefully.
“I’ve seen Saint Dane take many forms,” I said. “Sometimes he creates his own character, other times he takes on the life of someone who already exists. Don’t ask me how he can do it. Uncle Press never explained it, and I haven’t figured it out myself. Let’s just say he’s got powers, and he uses them to confuse us.”
“You’re about to tell me he’s already here, aren’t you?” Nevva asked.
“Mr. Kayto,” I answered. “Saint Dane assumed his character.”
For a second I thought Nevva was going to faint. She actually seemed to sway, like it was going to be lights-out. I almost jumped up to grab her, but she collected herself and looked right at me.
“For how long?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “He revealed himself to me after I was in front of the trustees. He likes to tell me he’s around, just to make me squirm.”
“What is he trying to do here?” Nevva asked.
“If he’s telling the truth, he’s not doing anything to harm Quillan.”
“Really?” Nevva asked hopefully.
“That’s not good news,” I answered. “It’s because he thinks Quillan is already doomed. He’s just hanging around to pick up the pieces.”
“Oh,” Nevva said softly.
“There’s more,” I said. “He wants me to compete in the Grand X, just to see me lose. Humiliated, embarrassed, whatever.”
Nevva’s eyes lit up. “Are you serious?” she asked. I could have sworn she was happy about that news.
I said, “Why don’t you tell me why you put these challenger clothes at the flume.”
Nevva jumped to her feet and said, “Quillan can be saved, Pendragon. The time is coming. Change is coming. All we need is one last piece of the puzzle before the revival can begin.”
“Revival,” I echoed. “That’s what you said when I was brought here. What is it?”
“It’s the future of Quillan,” Nevva answered. “And the past. Quillan is not dead. There’s hope. It rests with the revival. That’s what I want to show you. I can explain it all, but it’s best you see for yourself. You need to see.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“The planning has taken a generation,” she said. “The revival is ready to erupt; all that’s needed is one more element.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“You, Pendragon. It’s you.”
JOURNAL #26
(CONTINUED)
QUILLAN
Nevva made me put the cloth bag back over my head before leaving the cell so I wouldn’t be able to see where I was.
“Trust me,” she said. “This isn’t my choice.”
“Yeah?” I said. “Whose choice is it?”
“You’ll find out very soon,” she said while handing me the bag. I had to trust her. What else could I do? I put the bag over my head, and she led me on what seemed like an elaborate journey up stairs, down corridors, up elevators and down elevators. It felt like we walked for half a mile. Then again, she could have been walking me around in circles. I had no idea. Finally I felt the warmth of the Quillan sun. We were out on the street. When she pulled the bag off my head, I had to squint against the bright light.
“Is it safe?” I asked. “I mean, if a dado sees me, I could get yanked right back to the castle.”
“You tell me,” she said as she pointed around the corner. I took a peek and was confronted by a sea of people, walking along both sides of the street, jamming the sidewalks. She said, “Without the loop it’s easy to get lost.”
I felt like a needle about to jump into a haystack. It helped that I wasn’t wearing the bright red challenger shirt anymore. As we walked along, I never felt more insignificant. It was like being one of those fish that moved around in a giant school, with everybody turning at the exact same time. No, I take that back. At least fish have interesting things to look at. The city of Rune was nothing but a whole lot of gray, and loaded with zombies. I’d rather be a fish.
Nevva took me on a short tour, proving that everything Saint Dane told me about the territory was true. If anything, it was worse. Who knew? The demon wasn’t lying. I guess he didn’t fool around when it came to giving bad news. He enjoyed it too much. I told Nevva what Saint Dane had explained to me about Blok. I was hoping she would tell me he was making it all up, and it wasn’t as bad as all that. She didn’t.
r />
She first brought me to the apartment of a family she knew. It was in one of the tall, gray, featureless buildings that lined the wide avenues. Their home was on the twentieth floor, with no elevator. We had to climb, and that wasn’t the worst part. Fifteen people lived in a one-bedroom apartment. Fifteen. It looked barely big enough for two. My first thought was that these people had fallen on hard times and had to make the best of their situation. I was wrong. Nevva told me their living situation was normal. The rents were so expensive that entire families had to live together in order to survive. I thought back to my home on Second Earth, and how Shannon and I used to argue over who was spending too much time in the bathroom—in a house with three bathrooms. It’s amazing how easy it is to take something for granted.
The food situation wasn’t much better. The family invited us for dinner. I wish they hadn’t. We all sat on the floor as a woman handed us each a portion. There wasn’t any meat. We got a slice of bread, a hunk of brown something that I think was a potato, and two pieces of a tribbun. That was it. I was hungrier after I ate. It killed me to take food out of the mouths of these people, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer. As bad off as they were, they still wanted to share. It told me a lot about them.
As we left the apartment, I asked Nevva, “How can they survive on so little food?”
She answered, “You’re beginning to see why these people will grab at any chance to better their lives. Betting on one of the Quillan games might mean an extra slice of bread on everyone’s plate. Or something to drink with more calories than water.”
“Or it could mean losing it all,” I said soberly.
Nevva nodded. We walked several blocks until we came to a large, windowless building. Inside, I saw it was a manufacturing center. Nevva and I moved along a catwalk that looked down on a huge room holding row after row of people sitting at stations, assembling shoes. I’m serious. They were making shoes. These weren’t happy cobbler elves, either. It was a massive assembly line of people, all doing it by hand. It was one of the most depressing things I had ever seen. Nobody spoke or even looked at the person next to them. They worked diligently, hunched over their stations. Some sewed, others dyed, still others cut pieces out of material. The only sound came from the clattering of tools or the cutting of fabric.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Quillan isn’t a backward territory. Why haven’t they built machinery to do this work?”
“They have,” Nevva explained. “But machinery is expensive. People aren’t. At one time much of what you see being done here was automated. Blok had the machines destroyed.”
“But . . . why?” I asked. “It can’t be cheaper to have people do the work!”
“It is when you pay them slave wages,” Nevva answered. “Machinery must be serviced and repaired. People can be replaced. Besides, as long as these workers rely on Blok for their wages, the company controls their lives.”
It was like stepping through the looking glass. Blok was so completely in control of the territory and its people, it was more cost-effective to pay workers slave wages than to automate the manufacturing process. Blok was deliberately holding back the territory from advancing in order to keep control of the people. No, they were forcing the territory into taking a step backward. To the company, the people of Quillan were disposable. It was absolutely diabolical.
A horn sounded. The people stopped working, stood up, and filed out quickly and quietly. As hundreds of people exited to our right, a fresh group of workers entered from our left. The horn sounded, the new people sat down at the stations and picked right up where the other group had left off. The whole process from horn to horn probably took thirty seconds.
“They’re like living dados,” I said numbly.
“Oh, no,” Nevva said. “Dados have it much better. They don’t realize how bad off they are.”
I didn’t want to see anymore and asked to leave. Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come. Nevva took me to a building that from the outside didn’t look much different from any of the other buildings in the city. Big, gray, blah. The inside was a different story. It was a giant round space with a colossal domed ceiling. At one time it must have been a pretty fancy place. The walls were made of a light-colored brown brick. The dome itself looked like a stained-glass sculpture. The floor was made of a brilliant white marble. It reminded me of Grand Central Station in New York City. I wasn’t far off, because Nevva told me that at one time it had been a busy train station. There were dozens of gates ringing the circle that led to tracks. In the center was a structure that looked like a ticket booth with a golden ceiling. Along one wall was a big board that at one time must have shown the train schedule to travelers. I could imagine this place being a busy station with loads of people hurrying to far-off places.
It wasn’t like that anymore. The round structure couldn’t even be seen from the street because it was hidden by gray, windowless walls that made it disappear into the rest of the dismal cityscape. Inside, the place had gone grimy. The stained-glass ceiling had been bricked over from above so light wouldn’t shine through. The walls were streaked with dark stains. The marble floor was chipped up. The gold roof of the ticket booth was tarnished. It had been a long time since the place was used by travelers. Or at least, used by travelers who were there by choice.
The place was still busy, all right, but not with happy travelers. Nevva and I stood high above the floor, looking down from a window near the ceiling to observe the action below. I saw that the floor was loaded with people who stood in lines that snaked around wooden fences erected to keep them organized and moving. As if these fences weren’t enough, security dados wandered through the crowd, making sure there weren’t any problems. All the people in line had loops around their arms. I noticed in the street that not everybody had loops. But not in here. Each and every person wore a loop. They were all glowing yellow.
There were men and women of all ages, and some children, too. It didn’t look like the children were with adults either. They all looked to be on their own, and scared. They were pushed along by those in line in front or in back of them, or were prodded by a stern dado if they didn’t move fast enough. What made it even worse was that most of the little ones were crying.
The lines led to one of five tall desks. Behind each was a sour-looking person at a computer screen. As the next one in line reached the desk, this person referred to the screen, input something, then sent the traveler on his or her way to one of the gates that led to the trains. If I were on Second Earth, I’d say this looked like a busy train station and the people were checking in or buying tickets for their journey. But this wasn’t Second Earth.
I was about to ask Nevva what it all meant, when I heard a scream coming from the floor. A man had just checked in and apparently didn’t like what the guy behind the desk had to say, because he turned and ran away. He shouldn’t have bothered. The dados were all over him. They tackled the guy, then picked him up and dragged him toward one of the gates to the trains. The guy was screaming and crying the whole way. The reaction from the other people was mixed. Some looked away, but I saw a few women burst into tears. As soon as any kind of emotion was shown, a dado rushed right to that person. They didn’t do anything, they just walked alongside them, being all intimidating. I think it was a warning in case they decided to bolt.
“Do I really want to know what’s going on here?” I asked nervously.
“You may not want to, but you have to,” Nevva said. “These are the losers.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Exactly what I said,” Nevva countered. “This is where they bring those who have placed the ultimate bet, and lost. They are processed, categorized, filed, and then shipped off to where they will be needed most. It’s all very efficient. My guess is that fellow who ran away was headed for the tarz.”
“Whoa, wait,” I said. “You’re telling me these are all people who bet on the games and lost?”
“Only the one
s who made the ultimate bet,” Nevva corrected me. “They are here to pay with their lives, or the lives of their loved ones.”
I looked down on the crying children. It was too much to believe. People were being treated like cattle.
“They don’t all die,” she said. “Some only have sentences that last a few quads. Others aren’t as lucky, like those sent to the tarz.” As she spoke she looked down on the people coldly. There was no emotion in her voice; she was just stating facts. I didn’t think it was because she didn’t care. After what had happened to her parents, I think she had built up some kind of defense mechanism. But this was all new to me. I didn’t know how to deal. I wanted to cry myself.
Nevva added, “I’m sure some of the people are here because they bet against you in Hook and Tock. After all, you were barely known to them.”
That rocked me. I had actually played a part in forcing these people to be torn from their families, and their lives, to be slaves of Blok. Worse. Many wouldn’t be coming back. I wanted to scream.
A little boy beat me to it. He yelped and ducked under the wooden fence to run away. I found myself silently cheering. I wanted him to run as far away from this insanity as his little legs would carry him. He didn’t deserve this. None of these people deserved this. All they were guilty of was being driven to desperation by the greed of Blok. This wasn’t their fault. Two dados chased the little guy. I never saw what happened to him, because he ducked into one of the tunnels that led to the trains, with the dados right after him. In my mind I pretended that he had escaped. I knew I was kidding myself, but I needed to believe it was possible to escape from this insanity.
“I gotta get outta here,” I said.
Nevva nodded and led me away from the window. I knew I’d never forget the image of the little running boy. My experience of the last few hours left me sad and angry. Saint Dane was right. This territory was lost. How could this have happened? Was it like he said? Was it all because of greed? I couldn’t accept that. There had to be more.