“Is there something in particular you need?” came a pleasant voice.
It was an elderly woman with long gray hair and warm brown eyes. She wore the same green smock as all the other workers.
“Sure,” I answered. “Inspiration.”
The old woman looked deep into my eyes for a moment, then said, “Come with me.”
I followed her on a winding route through the history of Quillan.
“Is this your first visit to Mr. Pop?” she asked.
I nodded and said, “It’s stunning.” It was the only word I could think of to describe it.
“The only thing stunning is that it needs to exist at all,” she replied.
She led me into another area of portraits that was similar to the first display we’d seen. Only the portraits in this gallery were all of children.
“Who were they?” I asked.
“Ordinary children who faced the same fears we all do,” she said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
She gave me a warm smile and left me alone. I walked into the gallery and stared at the faces in these portraits. There were kids of all ages, from toddlers up to young teens. I quickly scanned the histories that were printed below. These were regular kids who had each done something remarkable. One guy overcame blindness to graduate at the top of his school class. There was a girl who looked about twelve who was a champion swimmer, and a little guy who wrote poetry that was widely published. Some stories were dramatic, like the girl who survived for an impossibly long time in the wilderness. Others were simple, like the guy who raised puppies to be trained for use by the handicapped. One kid designed a simple toy that became very popular; another kid helped his single mother raise his younger brothers and sisters. Most of the stories weren’t territory-changing, but they all had one thing in common: They were kids who weren’t afraid to try.
I left the gallery in tears, knowing that Quillan didn’t have kids like this anymore. Worse, parents gambled away their children in the hopes of finding a better life. It didn’t get any worse than that.
I found Nevva and Tylee waiting for me at the elevator. They looked at me as if expecting an answer. I didn’t have one. I truly didn’t know what to do.
“We should get back” was all I said. I sensed their disappointment, but they didn’t say anything.
Tylee had us put our blindfolds back on. As best as I could tell, we retraced the exact same route back to the car and back to Rune. Nobody said a word the whole trip. That was fine by me. I needed to think. I had too many conflicting emotions and concerns. The blindfolds weren’t removed until we were back in the center of the city. When we were allowed to see again, we were on a side street somewhere in the heart of the city.
Tylee said, “I know this decision cannot be easy for you, Pendragon. When you have decided what you want to do, Nevva will contact us, and we will go from there.”
Tylee nodded to Nevva and left. I wanted more time to think, though I wasn’t sure what more thinking would do. The facts weren’t changing. It was entirely up to me. Nevva reached for my arm, and was about to lead me away when we heard music boom through the streets. The overhead screens had come to life. We walked out to the corner and gazed up at the nearest screen. All around us the people of Rune did the same.
Loud electronic music blared from the screens, getting everyone’s attention. The geometric shapes danced and bobbed on the screen.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Is it another game?”
“No,” Nevva answered with certainty. “Unless they’ve changed the schedule.”
The next image we saw on-screen was a familiar one. It was Veego and LaBerge. Veego looked like her normal, intense self, while LaBerge looked like his normal, annoying self. He couldn’t keep still as he sang, “Hiding hiding, running scared, maybe under a bed. Your name will bear the mark of shame, the coward Challenger Red!”
Nevva shot me a look. I kept my eyes on the screen. The image changed and was replaced by another familiar face. It was Challenger Green. The crowd cheered. The big guy seemed to be looking right at me as he said, “Stay away, you frightened little boy. Is it because you know you can’t beat me? Is that why you ran away? We’re laughing at you, Challenger Red. We’re all laughing at you. What made you think you could challenge me in the Grand X? I am the greatest champion Blok has ever known. You were nothing before, and you have returned to nothing. Thank you for not wasting my time. Is there anyone else there brave enough to challenge me? The Grand X is nearly here. Who is brave enough to face me? Or maybe I should say, who is stupid enough?” Challenger Green laughed, the crowd roared its approval, and the screen went dark.
I turned to Nevva and said, “I’ll do it.”
That’s where I’m ending this journal. I’m going to enter the Grand X. I know it sounds crazy. I’m doing exactly what Saint Dane wants. But how can I turn my back on these people? Seeing that library they call Mr. Pop was what did it. Quillan had life once. If the revivers are successful, I think the territory can be turned around. Nevva was right, this definitely feels like the turning point for Quillan. I think Saint Dane was lying. Quillan isn’t lost. Not yet. There seems to be a moment here where things can turn for the better. It’s all about the revivers, and if they think my competing in the Grand X will help them, then I’ve got to do it. It’s what I’m supposed to do. Yes, I think it’s the way it was meant to be.
I can’t say I’m not nervous about it. I am. But I’m confident, too. I can beat that guy. I know I can. Of course anything can happen, but all things being equal, I know I can take him. Whatever positive effect that will have on the revival is the main reason I want to take him on. But there’s another. This guy killed a Traveler. I don’t care if it was during a game. He killed a Traveler. I’m tired of being cautious. I’m going to take him apart.
And I haven’t forgotten Saint Dane’s offer. He told me if I competed in the Grand X, he’d reveal the origin of the Travelers. Do I believe him? Not really. But when I win, I’m going to do all I can to hold him to that. I’m beginning to understand that guy. As much as he’s jerked me around, I’ve been able to get to him, too. If I compete and he doesn’t live up to his end of the bargain, I can turn it around on him as proof of his own weakness. He hates that. He wants to beat me. No, he needs to beat me. He won’t.
That’s why I think this can be the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning of my life as a Traveler. When I win the Grand X, I’m not only going to be helping the revivers save Quillan, I’ll be taking another step toward stopping Saint Dane for good.
But first I’ve got to stop Challenger Green.
Bring it on.
END JOURNAL #26
SECOND EARTH
Courtney read the entire journal at the Sherwood house.
She couldn’t wait. She took the envelope upstairs to the empty living room of the old mansion, sat on the hard floor, and read. Her heart raced the entire time. With each new turn in Bobby’s story, she grew more upset. Bobby had announced that he was going to enter the Grand X. She wanted to cry. Bobby was changing. She feared he was becoming too aggressive, too cocky. It scared her to death.
She needed Mark. She really needed Mark. But Mark was gone. He had jumped into the flume and traveled to territories unknown. The only people who knew where he went and why were Mark . . . and Saint Dane. Saint Dane. Andy Mitchell was Saint Dane. He had been Saint Dane from the very beginning, which meant back in grade school. Courtney zipped through her memories of the creepy kid with the greasy hair who loved to torment others. The thought was impossible, yet strangely, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. It didn’t make her feel any better, but it made sense.
Courtney put Bobby’s pages back into the envelope, hugged her knees, and put her head down to think. Andy Mitchell had tormented Mark all his life, then suddenly became his best friend. What was the point? To get Mark to like him? Courtney didn’t know much about psychology, but she thought about how
quickly Mark had accepted Andy as a changed guy. As a friend. Was Mark somehow drawn to Andy Mitchell because the former bully suddenly showed a different, better side? Did that make him more appealing as a friend? Now that she thought about it, the whole thing was so obvious. Mitchell had magically become a science geek. Saint Dane knew that’s what Mark would respond to, so that’s what he became. Was Saint Dane that smart? Of course he was, she thought. Saint Dane had tricked entire governments into trusting him. He worked his way into the confidences of princes and queens, of bandits and scientists. Saint Dane knew which buttons to push, all right. Mark didn’t stand a chance.
Another thought hit Courtney. Saint Dane was Whitney Wilcox. Saint Dane was Andy Mitchell. Whitney Wilcox tried to kill her, but Andy Mitchell helped Mark save her. Why would Saint Dane try to kill her, only to then save her?
“Oh, my God,” Courtney said as the truth rushed at her.
Her accident was a setup. A devious, diabolical setup. By helping Mark save her, Andy Mitchell had cemented their relationship. It created a bond. They had saved Courtney. Courtney realized in horror that she’d been a pawn. It was about Mark all along. There was no doubt in her mind, Saint Dane had gone to great lengths to get Mark to trust him. Now Mark’s parents were dead. If there was ever a time that Mark needed support from a friend, it was then. And who was there to give it to him? Saint Dane. Courtney wanted to scream. Whatever Saint Dane wanted with Mark, it had to have something to do with his plans for Second Earth. Why else would he bother? She squeezed her hands into fists. They’d been worried for years about what Saint Dane might do on Second Earth, without realizing he was laying the groundwork right under their noses. Worse, they were part of it!
Courtney wanted Bobby home. He needed to know what was going on. They had to find Mark not only to save him, but to stop Saint Dane from using their friend for whatever his plans were for Second Earth. Courtney was faced with a decision. Should she go to Quillan to find Bobby? She felt certain it was wrong for him to enter the Grand X. It was way too risky. And now that Mark needed help, it was all the more reason that he had to come home. For Mark, for Second Earth, and for himself.
Courtney jumped to her feet. She had made up her mind. It was worth the risk of damaging the flume. She grabbed her pack and took a step toward the stairs to the basement . . . when she heard the growl.
Courtney froze. It was coming from the foyer of the mansion. She cautiously slid her hand into her jacket pocket and grasped the canister of pepper spray.
Grrrrr . . .
She knew that growl. There was no mistaking it. Quigs. She glanced over her shoulder to see if there was another way out of this room. A window, a back hallway, anything.
There wasn’t. It was too late anyway. The quig sprang.
It was a huge muscled black dog with rows of sharp teeth that were too big for its jaw. It rounded the corner from the foyer and charged her at full speed, its yellow quig eyes focused, its teeth gnashing.
Courtney pulled out the pepper spray, aimed, and waited. She didn’t want to miss. It meant she had to let it get dangerously close. The quig charged; Courtney steeled herself. She waited . . . waited . . . waited . . . and pulled the trigger.
Fum!
A burst of energy blasted out of the bottle and hit the quig, knocking it backward. It hit the ground, rolled, and lay there unconscious.
“Ahhh!” Courtney screamed and dropped the bottle. It was an unconscious act. Whatever had just shot out of the bottle, it wasn’t pepper spray. Pepper spray didn’t knock out a charging quig. Or anything else for that matter. Yet the demon-dog was out cold. Courtney slowly knelt down and retrieved the canister. She looked at it as if it were something alien, because it was. Looking closely, she realized that it wasn’t her pepper spray. It was the same size and weight, but the canister was metallic silver with no markings. Her pepper spray was plastic with writing that said very clearly, PEPPER SPRAY. This wasn’t it. Courtney reached into her left pocket to check the other canister of spray. It was the exact same as the first. It wasn’t hers. She had no idea when or how they were changed.
Courtney didn’t want to be there anymore. She abandoned the idea of jumping into the flume, at least for the time being. She jammed the silver canisters into her pockets, picked up the envelope holding Bobby’s journal pages, put it into her backpack, and ran out of the Sherwood house. All she wanted was to get home. Too much was happening and none of it was good. She made it back over the wall surrounding the Sherwood property with no problem, and down the tree to the sidewalk. With her head down, she walked quickly along, wanting more than anything else to be someplace safe and sane.
A car horn sounded behind her, making her jump and scream, “Ahhh!”
She turned to see her father pulling up behind her in their Volvo wagon.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to do that.”
Courtney tried to catch her breath.
“You want to tell me why you’re not in school?” Mr. Chetwynde asked.
Oh. Right. School.
“I couldn’t,” she said, truthfully. “I wanted to go, but there’s just too much to deal with. I can’t stop thinking about the Dimonds. I want to go home.”
“I don’t blame you,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “Hop in.”
Courtney wanted to kiss her dad. He always made things better. She wished she could confide in him all that was happening. It was tough not being able to turn to him when she needed him most. She clutched her backpack to her chest and slipped into the passenger seat.
“Any more news on the plane?” she asked, wiping away the tears.
“No,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “But no news is bad news. They’re analyzing radar data but there isn’t much hope. They’re looking for survivors now. Man, what a tragedy. You see stuff like that on the news all the time, but you never think it’ll happen to somebody you know.”
Courtney loved her father. He was her protector. Her champion. He always seemed to know how to make things better. It bothered her to know that she knew so much more about the true perils of the world, and of Halla, than he did.
Mr. Chetwynde added, “They officially released the passenger list.”
“And?”
Mr. Chetwynde gently shook his head and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Dimond were on board.”
Hearing those words made Courtney wince, though it didn’t come as any real surprise. She knew they were gone. It fit too perfectly into Saint Dane’s plans to get close to Mark. Courtney didn’t want to talk any more about airplanes or tragedies. She closed her eyes and settled into the seat for the short ride home. She had grown to hate riding in that old car. The long, painful drive home from the hospital was still a vivid memory. She was glad that their house was only a few blocks away. There wasn’t enough time for her to get sore from the old seat. But no sooner did she close her eyes than she felt a strange sensation. She didn’t understand what it was at first. She looked at her ring. It wasn’t activating. Still, something felt odd. It took a few moments for her to realize what it might be.
“Did you get new car seats?” she asked.
“No, why?”
“This seat is really comfortable all of a sudden. I mean, really comfortable, like an easy chair.”
Mr. Chetwynde chuckled. “That’s an odd thing to think of at a time like this!”
Courtney wiggled her back into the seat. The seat moved in response!
Courtney looked to her dad and said, “C’mon! I rode in this seat for three hours when I got out of the hospital, remember? I felt every bump in the road between here and Derby Falls. This is definitely not the same seat.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “Maybe it’s because you’re feeling better.”
Courtney shifted her butt again. The seat seemed to take on a subtly new shape, giving her perfect support. Whichever way she moved, the seat compensated and cradled her like a down cushion. Courtney figured her dad was either hiding the fact that he spent a bunch
of money on fancy new seats and didn’t want her mom to know, or she was imagining things. She was about to challenge him again when they arrived at their house. Mr. Chetwynde stopped at the curb, kissed his daughter good-bye, and continued on toward work. As she walked up the path to the house, Courtney had a vague sense of unease. Something felt off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Mom? Mom!” she yelled when she got into the house. There was no answer. Courtney realized it was already past nine. Her mother always left for work by eight.
“Dinner’s ready for defrosting, sweetheart,” came her mother’s voice from the living room.
“You’re still home?” Courtney yelled back with surprise.
Courtney’s mom called, “Throw it in the microwave for me?”
“Now?” Courtney yelled back. “It’s too early!”
Courtney’s mom called out again, “I’ll be working late tonight, so don’t wait for me, okay?”
Huh? Courtney walked into the living room saying, “What are you talking about?”
When she entered the room, she looked around for her mom . . . and froze. There was something on the desk that wasn’t there when she’d left earlier. It was the desk where they normally kept their ancient computer. The computer was still there, but it wasn’t ancient. It was a wide high-tech screen showing the image of Courtney’s mother.
The image said, “When I got to work, I saw there was a late meeting scheduled. Sorry. Let me know as soon as you get this message. I hope school wasn’t too rough. Such a tragedy about the Dimonds. I love you.”
The screen went blank.
Courtney didn’t move. She knew that computer screen was not there when she left a few hours before. Even if it were, how was her mother able to leave a video message? From work! That was impossible. Stranger still, how did it know enough to play itself when she came into the house? Courtney wouldn’t normally be home until after three. What was going on?