The Quillan Games

QUILLAN

I didn’t get the chance to answer Saint Dane’s challenge, because there was a knock on the door.

“I look forward to hearing your decision, Pendragon,” Saint Dane said as he brushed some invisible lint off his suit. He walked back to his desk and called out, “Yes, come in!”

The door opened slowly. LaBerge meekly peered in.

“Excuse me, Mr. Kayto, sir,” he said nervously. “I don’t mean to interrupt you, but is everything all right? I mean, should we leave Challenger Red here with you or bring him back to the compound? Whatever you wish.”

“I’m done with him,” Saint Dane said. “He should return with you. Thank you for your concern.”

LaBerge looked surprised that a trustee was being so polite to him. “Oh, thank you,” he said. “I know you’re busy. We won’t bother you any longer.” LaBerge looked at me and cocked his head, as if to say, “Let’s go.”

After what had just happened and all that I’d heard, I wasn’t so sure my legs would hold me. I slowly got to my feet and didn’t topple over, I’m happy to report. Saint Dane was sitting at his desk, already engrossed in reading a report of some kind. But I knew it was an act. He wasn’t thinking about some blah blah report from Blok. He was thinking about me.

“Not gonna happen,” I said to him. “I won’t do it.”

Saint Dane looked at me and smiled. “Then my life just got much easier because I’ve proven that you are indeed a coward. Good day.”

I walked toward the door, and LaBerge. The confusion on his face was obvious. I didn’t say a word; I just walked past him into the corridor.

“Good day, Mr. Kayto,” LaBerge said subserviently as he backed out. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Close the door,” Saint Dane barked.

LaBerge quickly closed the door and ran after me. I was already halfway down the hall when he caught up. “what happened back there?” he asked nervously. “You can’t talk to a trustee like that!”

“I guess I can,” I shot back at him. “You heard me.”

“Not while you’re a challenger,” LaBerge said, trying to be tough. “I will not allow anyone who works for me to be so disrespectful of-“

I grabbed LaBerge by the collar of his goofy green suit and pinned him against the wall.

“Ow!” he complained.

“I don’t work for you,” I said. “And I am not a challenger. Get yourself another victim.”

“You’re saying that as if you think you have a choice,” he sniveled.

I let the guy go and continued down the hallway toward where I thought the elevator was. I wasn’t staying in this building or with these idiot gaming people any longer. I was going to hit the elevator, get outside, and find my way back to the flume. Saint Dane was right. Quillan was history. I didn’t want to spend another minute here. I had no doubt that there would be some dados outside, waiting to take me back to the castle. They were going to have their hands full. I wasn’t going back there without a fight. The elevator was there, open. I stepped in and turned around just as LaBerge jumped in after me. The doors closed automatically, and we were on the way down.

The guy stared at me. I don’t think he wanted to be alone with me in that elevator. I think he knew I was a raw nerve. If he so much as burped I would have, well, I don’t know what I would have done, but I was ready for a fight. Saint Dane’s words kept rolling through my head. There was too much to make sense out of quickly. All I knew was I wanted out of there and off of Quillan. That’s all I could focus on. Escape. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the blocking diode. I wasn’t waiting for Nevva. It was now or never. The little metal clip snapped easily over the loop.

“What is that?” LaBerge asked. “What are you doing?”

As soon as I snapped it over the loop, the light around the center glowed red. I hoped that meant the loop was deactivated.

“You can’t do that,” LaBerge whined. “I just did,” I growled.

LaBerge took a step toward me, but I shot him a look that made him back off.

“Fine, whatever you say,” the weenie agreed, groveling.

The elevator began to slow. I didn’t know what was going to be waiting for me outside the doors. I had to be ready.

“You realize this is futile,” LaBerge said.

For some reason those words got through to me. It wasn’t so much what he said, but how he said them. It was with no emotion, like it was a simple statement of fact. It gave me a second of hesitation, but that’s all. I wasn’t going back to that castle.

The doors slid open. I put one foot on the back of the elevator and pushed off, propelling myself out of the compartment. I quickly realized that Nevva Winter was right. We were being watched. They were ready for me. I shot myself out of the elevator and into the arms of four security dados. I didn’t stand a chance. I was grabbed by the arms and the legs, and lifted onto their shoulders. No amount of struggling mattered. I might have been able to beat one of those guys, or maybe even two. But not four. I was helpless and frustrated. I wanted to shout out, but didn’t want to give anybody the satisfaction of seeing me lose it. So I bit my lip and held it in.

Veego was waiting inside the front door of the building.

“Don’t injure him” was all she said. “He must be able to compete.”

The dados carried me outside and down the steps where a car was waiting. I was vaguely aware that people had stopped to watch from across the street. I’m sure the scene confirmed all their fears about how bad a place the Blok building was. I was thrown roughly into the backseat. Veego and LaBerge jumped in on either side of me and quickly closed the doors. Two dados were in the front seat and the driver hit the accelerator.

“The doors are locked,” Veego said calmly. “You cannot get out.”

I sat between the two of them, feeling like a helpless child. I wanted to explode.

“Where did you get the blocking diode?” Veego asked.

I didn’t answer. The dado drove us quickly along the city streets, weaving in and out of traffic.

“What is wrong with you?” LaBerge asked. “Don’t you realize what an honor it is to be in your position? The trustees put their faith in you and you treat them with such disrespect? It’s embarrassing is what it is.”

They kept talking but I wasn’t listening. I was doing all that I could to calm down and plan my next move. It was looking like I couldn’t stop them from taking me back to the castle, which meant I was going to have to make my escape from there. I hoped there wouldn’t be increased security around me. That would make things even more difficult. But not impossible. One way or another, I was out of there. I needed to regroup. Maybe talk to Loor. I wished I could talk with Gunny or Spader, but that wasn’t going to happen. I even thought about coming home to Second Earth to see you guys. I know that Saint Dane has been sniffing around there. A thousand plans raced through my head, all of which were some variation of getting the hell off Quillan. There was no way I was going to risk my life in the Grand X. If that made me a coward in Saint Dane’s eyes, fine. It wasn’t going to shake my confidence. No, he wasn’t going to goad me into the games, no matter how tempting a prize he was offering. As we raced through the busy streets of Rune, I made up my mind. I was going home.

I think it was at that exact moment, the moment when I realized what I needed to do, when everything changed. The car that was traveling directly in front of us slammed on its brakes. It was so sudden and we were traveling so fast that our car slammed into it.

“Ahhh!” screamed LaBerge. “What happened?”

Veego shot a quick look out the rear window.

“Don’t stop,” she commanded. “Get us out of here!”

D. J. MacHale

The Quillan Games

On command, the dado spun the wheel and hit the accelerator. With a lurch we shot to the left and launched forward.

“What are you doing?” LaBerge shouted. “That was an accident! We have to stop!”

“Shut up,” Veego spat at him.

At that exact instant we were slammed from behind, hit by another car. We rocked forward so violently that my head hit the back of the seat in front of me.

“That was no accident,” Veego said calmly. “They’re coming after us.”

“Who?” LaBerge shouted.

I thought he was going to cry. The dado hit the accelerator again and turned into oncoming traffic. “Look out!” LaBerge cried.

The dado was good. We were traveling fast, but his robotic reflexes were faster. He dodged the oncoming cars quicker than is humanly possible, which made sense, because he wasn’t human. I looked back to see two cars accelerating behind us. A moment later I felt a sharp jab in my side. Veego had jammed one of those golden stun guns into my ribs.

“You will die before I let them get you,” she hissed.

She didn’t realize how wired I was. She had barely gotten the words out when I jammed my elbow into her biceps. She squealed in pain and let go of the gun.

“What is happening?” LaBerge cried. “Why are they chasing us?” He saw me grab the gun from Veego. “Ahhh!” he squealed.

With one quick move I grabbed the gun, aimed at the front windshield between the two dados, and pulled the trigger.

Fum! The windshield shattered but didn’t break away. The dados were driving blind. They either had to stop on their own, or would hit something that would make us stop.

We hit something.

Whatever it was, the force of the impact sent us up on two wheels and flipped the car. LaBerge screamed. The three of us tumbled together in the backseat like we were in a washing machine. A fast-moving washing machine. The car landed on its roof and kept moving. I braced myself for another collision, rolling myself into a ball with my arms wrapped around my head. The next hit came quickly. It stopped our forward movement but sent us spinning. The whole event only took a few seconds, but as it was happening, it felt like a lifetime. The metal of the car screeched and scraped as we spun across the pavement. The side windows exploded under the pressure of the collapsing roof. Luckily, they blew out, not in, or we might have been shredded. I had no idea which way was up. All I could see was a jumble of Veego and LaBerge.

Finally we hit something else and came to a stop. But it wasn’t over. No sooner did we stop moving than the car started rolling again. I had no idea what was happening, but it felt as if we were being lifted up into the air. I soon realized we were being flipped back upright, onto our wheels.

“Help! Help!” LaBerge squealed.

With a bone-jarring shudder the car was righted. I heard the sound of wrenching metal. There were people outside using tools to pry open a door. It only took seconds. The door was wrenched open and light poured in.

“We’re saved!” LaBerge shouted.

Everything was a blur. Being bounced around and getting my head whacked a few times didn’t help. I felt hands groping at me and pulling me out of the wreck. I realized they weren’t doing the same for Veego or LaBerge. Or the dados for that matter. It was me they were after. As they yanked me out of the car, I saw several people dressed all in black, with black hoods over their heads to hide their faces. Nothing made sense. Were they commandos? Burglars? Hijackers? Dados? There were enough of them that I understood how the car had been flipped over so quickly. These guys had done it, physically. I was too dizzy to do anything but go along with them. They lifted me up and quickly carried me to a car that I saw had a crushed front grill. This must have been the car that hit us from behind. I was vaguely aware that many people were on the street watching. Nobody came to help. I was bundled into the backseat of the damaged car. Two of the guys got in back with me, another got in front. A few more ran to another car, which must have been the car we hit from behind. There was no question. This was an organized operation. They had come after me. Somewhere in the distance I heard a siren. Was it an ambulance? The fire department? More security dados?

“Go!” shouted one of the guys.

The car lurched forward and I was once again moving. One of the guys pulled a cloth bag over my head. I tried to fight against it, but I was too weak.

“It’s all right,” a calming voice said. “You’re safe. This is just for security.”

Security. Right. Wherever we were going, they didn’t want me to know. I was too loopy to care anyway. I think I might have passed out. I can’t say for sure. We could have been driving for five minutes or five hours. It was all a blur to me. However long it took, we finally screeched to a stop. I didn’t move. I was dazed, but not afraid. These guys wanted me alive. Why else would they have pulled me out of the wreck?

“C’mon,” one of them said, and helped me out of the car. The urgency was gone, but they didn’t take the bag off my head. From the sound of things, we were inside. As we walked, I heard a metal door closing, so it must have been a garage. Without saying another word they led me quickly along, making a few turns and going down several flights of stairs. Wherever they were taking me, it was deep within the bowels of this building. Finally, they had me sit down on a hard chair, where somebody pulled the bag off my head.

I saw that I was in a small, dark room. It looked like a cell. I had seen enough of them to know. There was a bed and a chair, but no windows. Light came from a single overhead bulb. Facing me were three of the kidnappers. They looked pretty imposing with their black outfits and dark hoods. They stood there, legs apart, facing me.

I sat up straight, took a breath, and said, “Well, that was fun.”

The commando in the center reached up and pulled off his hood. All I could do was stare. It was a woman, but that’s not why I was shocked.

She said, “You are now officially part of the revival.”

It was Nevva Winter.

This is where I’m ending my journal. I’ve been stuck in this cell for nearly a day. I’m not sure if I’m a prisoner or not. Nobody is saying much. Nevva left, but promised to be back quickly to explain what is happening. I’m not going to hold my breath on that one after she left me dangling last time. Still, they’re treating me well. They even gave me this paper so I could write. The food isn’t as good as at the castle, and neither is my room, but I’ll take this any day over being back there and wondering when I’d have to compete in another game. It’s given me the chance to write this journal and think about all the things that Saint Dane said to me.

The thing is, I don’t know how much of it to believe. I get all that he told me about Blok and how Quillan is such a messed-up territory. I’ve seen plenty of evidence to know that what he said was the truth, or close to it. What’s bothering me more is the challenge he gave to me. I’m trying to get inside his head. Is this really all about him trying to destroy my confidence? Like I wrote to you before, I have to believe that for Saint Dane, a big part of controlling Halla is about beating the Travelers, and me. This may be a weird thing to say, but it feels like Saint Dane is not only trying to push each territory into chaos, but he’s also trying to convince me that Halla would be better off under his guidance. How twisted is that? Does he really think I’d buy that?

As much as I know that this is a battle for all of Halla, and it’s crucial that we Travelers fight it, part of me is tempted by his offer. I know, it would be idiotic for me to risk my life, but imagine how much stronger we Travelers could be if we understood the nature of our existence. Uncle Press knew, but he died before he could explain it to me. There are so many unanswered questions, and no one has any more answers than I do. Would we have a better chance against Saint Dane if we had a few of those answers? Is it worth risking my life for? Am I being selfish by not taking the chance?

I don’t know. My head hurts too much to come up with an answer. Hopefully by the time I write again, the way to go will be much clearer. Until then, I’ll sit and wait to find out why I’m sitting in a dark cell that smells like fish, in a deep basement, somewhere on a doomed territory.

It looks like my trip home is going to have to wait.

And so we go.

END OF JOURNAL # 25

Courtney had never read one of Bobby’s journals alone. It was a strange and not-too-pleasant experience. Whenever she read about the most recent twist in Bobby’s adventure, she always had Mark there to help her analyze it. She needed that sounding board. Mark and Courtney were polar opposites. Where Courtney was aggressive and emotional, and shot from the hip, Mark was thoughtful and cautious. Together, they were perfect. Going it alone was difficult for Courtney. It was like Adam without Eve, Lewis without Clark, Itchy without Scratchy. She needed Mark, if only to help her keep from hyperventilating as she learned about each new challenge that Bobby had to deal with. She wondered if Mark had had the same problem when she was away at school and he had to read Bobby’s journals from Zadaa on his own.

Mark. Where was Mark? She thought it was lame of him not to call and tell her he wouldn’t be coming over after he helped Andy Mitchell clean up his uncle’s flower shop. She figured it must have taken a lot longer than expected, but still. He should have called. If anything, it made Courtney feel less guilty about reading Bobby’s journals alone. She figured if Mark had a problem with that, she’d throw back could he expect her to wait a whole night before reading a new journal?

Mark and Andy’s plane to Orlando was leaving early in the morning. She knew there was no way he would come over before that to read the journal. He’d have to get there at four a.m. to have enough time to read the journal and then get to the airport. As much as Mark could do no wrong in the eyes of Courtney’s parents, it would be tough to explain why he was dropping by before dawn. Did Mark really think that Courtney would wait until he got back from Florida to read the journal? No way.

Courtney grabbed her cell phone and punched Mark’s number again. It went right to his message box. “It’s after midnight” she said curtly. “Where are you? I know you won’t come over because it’s so late and you’ve got an early flight, so I’m sorry but I’m going to read. There’s no way I can wait until you get back from Orlando. What can I say? I’m weak. Buh-bye.”

She felt only a little bit guilty about telling that fib. She was going to have to tell Mark she read the journal at some point. At least this way, she figured, it sounded as if she waited until the very last possible moment. She hoped Mark would understand and not be too upset with her.

It was late. It was a school night. She was tired. Courtney delicately inserted Bobby’s journal back into its envelope and placed it safely inside her desk drawer. She even locked it, not that her parents ever went in there. Still, she wanted to be safe. She knew there was no way Mark would call this late, so she turned off her phone, changed into her pajamas and T-shirt, and hopped into bed…

And lay there wide awake. For hours. Her body may have been exhausted, but her mind was racing. Her thoughts were full of challengers and video arcades and mechanical spiders and all the other images that Bobby if Nevva Winter was going to be able to help him. She also wondered if Quillan was indeed lost. As horrible as that would be, if it were true, Courtney wanted Bobby to leave that territory immediately and live to fight another day. Taking part in that Grand X in order to learn about the origin of the Travelers from Saint Dane wasn’t worth the risk. She wanted him home. Courtney feared for Quillan, but loved the idea of Bobby coming home. Now. She and Mark would tell him about what happened with Saint Dane, and how he took on the identity of a kid named Whitney Wilcox and nearly killed her. Saint Dane was on Second Earth and Courtney wanted Bobby there too.

All these thoughts about Bobby and Quillan kept sleep from coming. But another thought kept tugging at her. Why hadn’t Mark called? She had gone from being angry with him to being worried. Mark was nothing if not the most responsible person in the history of responsibility. This wasn’t like him. Not one bit. She had to believe it had something to do with Andy Mitchell. She was happy that Andy wasn’t bullying him anymore, but if it meant that Andy’s jerkyness was rubbing off on Mark, it wasn’t worth it. She couldn’t wait to hear the explanation. Why hadn’t he called?

Somewhere between thinking about Mark not showing, and wondering where Bobby would stay when he came to Second Earth, Courtney fell asleep. As great as it was to be back at school, she hadn’t built up her stamina yet. Her sleep was so deep, she didn’t dream. She must not have even moved, because the next morning she found herself in the exact same position as when she’d gotten into bed.

What roused her was her mother calling. “Courtney? Courtney! Wake up!”

Courtney had to pull herself out of coma mode. For a second she thought she was back in the Derby Falls hospital, looking forward to another grueling day of physical soap operas. Seeing her bedside clock was a relief, until she registered that the clock said 6:10… 6:10! Her alarm wasn’t set to go off until 6:30; 6:10 was still night. What was her mother doing calling her so early?

“Courtney, come down here, now!”

There was an urgency to her mother’s voice that Courtney didn’t like. Had she done something wrong? Courtney pulled her creaky body out of bed. Sleeping in the same position may have been restful, but it didn’t do much for her healing muscles. She limped across the room and wasn’t able to walk without stiffness until she was halfway down the stairs. Blood flow was good. It took away the pain. The TV was on in the living room. Courtney headed that way, but was intercepted by her mother. Mrs. Chetwynde looked bad. She had a wild look in her eyes that Courtney had never seen before.

“What’s up, Mom?” she asked.

“Did Mark leave for Florida last night?” she asked tentatively.

Huh? If Courtney wasn’t awake before that, she sure was then. By the look on her mother’s face, something was definitely up.

“No,” she said. “He stayed to help Andy Mitchell clean up his uncle’s florist shop. Why?”

Courtney saw the relief in her mother’s eyes. “Oh, thank God,” she said.

“Why? What’s going on?” Courtney asked.

“Come here,” Mrs. Chetwynde said. “It’s all over the news.”

Mrs. Chetwynde headed back for the living room. Courtney followed apprehensively. The term “all over the news” was never a good thing, especially not first thing in the morning. Good news was always expected and usually didn’t end up on TV. Bad news came suddenly and spread fast. Courtney saw that her father was staring at the TV. On the screen was a live shot that looked to be taken from a helicopter over the ocean. There was a coast guard ship in the water, and another helicopter flying nearby.

“What happened?” Courtney asked.

“A plane went down,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “An airliner. Apparently it had engine trouble over the Carolinas and flew out to sea to dump fuel before landing. It never came back.”

“Oh, man,” Courtney said. “Did it crash in the ocean?”

“That’s what they think,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “There’s no wreck, but there’s no sign of the plane, either. It had to have gone down.”

“Such a tragedy” Mrs. Chetwynde said. “All those people.”

“How big a plane was it?” Courtney asked.

“Wide-body, fully loaded,” Mr. Chetwynde said grimly. “Two hundred and eighty passengers, seven crew members.”

Courtney inhaled quickly. It was an involuntary reaction to such horrible news.

“That’s why I asked about Mark,” Mrs. Chetwynde said. “The flight left last night from JFK around seven o’clock, bound for Orlando.”

“Mark didn’t make that flight,” Courtney said with authority. “He was going to help Andy and then maybe get a later flight or take one early this morning-“

The words froze in Courtney’s throat. A realization hit her so suddenly that it felt like a rush of blood in her brain. It made her ears ring. Mrs. Chetwynde saw the look on her daughter’s face change suddenly.

“What?” she asked Courtney.

Courtney’s thoughts went into hyperdrive, calculating the possibilities. She wanted to come up with an undeniable fact that would prove her fear couldn’t be true. She went through everything she’d heard the day before, every option, every scenario, but came up empty.

“What’s the matter?” Mrs. Chetwynde asked. “You said he wasn’t on that flight.”

“He wasn’t,” Courtney croaked, barely able to get the words out. “But his parents flew out last night.”

Mr. Chetwynde pulled his eyes from the TV and shot Courtney a look. The three stood there, frozen, not wanting to believe. Courtney broke the trance first. She ran to the kitchen and called Mark’s house. She got the answering machine and a cheery greeting from Mrs. Dimond that said: “Hi there! Leave a message, okay?”

Courtney slammed the phone down. Her parents had followed her and stood together, watching.

Mrs. Chetwynde asked, “How do we find out if they were on that plane?”

Courtney bolted from the kitchen and ran for the stairs. She leaped up, three at a time. The stiffness and pain may still have been there, but she didn’t feel them. Courtney blasted into her room and found her cell phone. She was going to call Mark, but when she turned on the phone, she saw that she had a message waiting for her. She wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad news. All she could do was play it. Courtney hit the message code, and listened.

The digital voice said, “Message recorded at three thirty a.m.” Courtney allowed herself a small breath. The call had come in long after the doomed flight took off. A moment later Mark’s voice was heard.

“I… It’s me,” he said.

Courtney was hit with two huge waves of conflicting emotion. Mark was alive. She would have screamed with joy and relief, if not for the tone of his voice. Courtney knew Mark better than most anyone on the territory. She only needed to hear those few words to know that he was hurting. She feared she knew the reason why.

Mark was crying. Courtney could hear him sniffle, then let out a soft, pained whimper. “They’re gone,” he said.

Courtney’s knees went weak. Those two simple words confirmed it. The plane that went down over the dark ocean was carrying Mr. and Mrs. Dimond. Courtney started to cry. Mark’s parents were dead. If not for the accident at Andy’s uncle’s shop, Mark and Andy would have been on that plane too. She wanted to be with Mark to hold him and tell him how everything was okay, though she knew it wasn’t. She wanted to know where he was. Probably at the airport, or the police station, or somewhere. Where did people go when they heard that their family was lost at sea and wouldn’t be coming back? Who tells you those things? She hated herself for not leaving her phone on the night before.

Courtney knew what she had to do. She would find Mark and bring him back to her house. She wasn’t sure what other relatives he had, but she knew that none of them lived in town. He was an only child. Until things could be sorted out, she wanted Mark to stay with them. Maybe even after they were sorted out. They would be his new family. Courtney had no doubt that her parents would take him in. After all, he’d saved their daughter’s life!

All of these thoughts and plans flashed through Courtney’s head in the few seconds after she heard the words that his parents were gone. It may have been a defense mechanism to keep back the pain, but that was Courtney. She was ready to take positive action and provide solutions. What she heard next, though, knocked those thoughts right out of her head.

“Come to the flume,” Mark said. Click. He hung up. End of message.

Courtney stared at the phone. Had she heard right? “Did you get him?” Mr. Chetwynde asked. Courtney whipped around to see both her parents arriving at her door.

“Uhhh…” was all Courtney managed to squeak out. Her brain had maxed out. She couldn’t process the information fast enough.

“Did you get Mark?” Mrs. Chetwynde asked. “Are his parents okay?”

Courtney knew she had to get a grip. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and said to herself, One thing at a time. She exhaled and said softly, “He left a message. His parents were on the plane.”

“Oh, no!” Mrs. Chetwynde cried.

Mr. Chetwynde hugged his wife. Courtney joined them. Her father put his arm around his little girl, and the three stood there, giving one another support and comfort in this sad and shocking moment. It was the kind of support and comfort Courtney knew Mark would never have again with his own family. Courtney stayed in her parents’ arms, not wanting the moment to end, because she knew what she had to do next. She feared there was more to this than a tragic accident. For whatever reason, Mark had gone to the flume. She didn’t dare speculate as to why. All she could do was hope he was okay. Anything beyond that was too frightening to think about.

(CONTINUED)

Courtney skipped school. The day before, going to school was one of the most important things in her life. It symbolized her return to being normal and healthy. Now, after what happened, school dropped off the list of important things to do. She didn’t want to hear the kids talking about the accident. She didn’t want to answer questions about whether or not she had talked to Mark. She didn’t want to put on a stoic face and pretend there wasn’t more going on than anyone knew. Because there was. Courtney had to go to the flume.

She grabbed her backpack and left at the regular time to catch the bus. Her parents wanted her to stay home, but she said she’d rather go. She didn’t say where. After hugging her parents good-bye, maybe a little tighter than normal, she left for the bus stop… and walked right past it.

The Sherwood house wasn’t a far walk through Courtney’s suburban neighborhood in Stony Brook. She had been there several times. It was a giant abandoned mansion that had once belonged to a guy who made his fortune raising poultry. He died years ago, and it had been empty ever since while his heirs argued over what to do with the land. Courtney’s dad said it would be in court for years because nobody was giving in. The property was too valuable. Courtney had no idea what the issues were. She didn’t care. The kids told stories about how the Sherwood house was haunted by the ghost of the chicken guy, who could be heard clucking at midnight. Courtney had told that story herself more than once. But now, she knew the truth about the house, and it was far more amazing than the appearance of a clucking ghost.

In its basement was a flume to the territories. When she and Mark became Bobby’s acolytes, they saw it being created. In this basement they jumped into the flume and traveled to Cloral and then Eelong. It was where the Traveler named Seegen died. It was where they saw Saint Dane for the first time, when his long gray hair exploded in flames, leaving him bald and scarred. It was where the demon dropped off the dirty bag that held Gunny’s hand, to lure Bobby to Eelong. Now there was going to be another chapter added to the story of the Sherwood house. Mark had gone there after hearing of the death of his parents. Courtney needed to know why.

The estate was surrounded by a high stone wall. The front gates were locked tight with a padlock. That never stopped Mark and Courtney. Along the side of the property a tree grew close enough to the wall that a quick climb got you on top. Courtney went right for the tree, glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then climbed like a squirrel. Though Courtney was still stiff and sore, climbing wasn’t a problem. Getting down on the other side was. There was no tree there. She had to jump. She knew that was going to hurt. Worse, she wasn’t sure how her damaged leg would hold up in a jarring fall. Once on top of the wall, she couldn’t waste time. If somebody saw her up there, they’d call the police for sure. Courtney quickly threw her legs over the side, and while putting all her weight on her arms, lowered herself down until she was stretched out to her full body length, with only her fingertips holding on to the top of the wall. It was still a four-foot drop to the ground.

Her newly healed left arm felt like it was on fire. Still, she didn’t drop right away. What if the impact was too hard? Her left leg would shatter. She made the snap decision that she had to land on her right leg. But landing on one foot from that high wasn’t so smart either. If she landed wrong, she could do just as much damage. She might even blow out her knee. In those few seconds Courtney wished she had thought this part through a little better. It was too late, she was losing her grip. She took a breath and slipped off. She dropped the few feet and landed on her right foot, bending her knee and trying to absorb as much of the impact as possible. She hit and fell, landing on her right side. Courtney had heard the term “bone jarring” but it never meant much to her, until then. Her bones had been jarred. She lay there on the patchy grass, breathing hard, doing a mental checklist of body parts. Though the painful burn was intense, nothing seemed to be damaged. Everything moved. She waited for the agony to pass, and after a minute she was able to sit up. As much as the fall hurt, the only real damage was to her lower lip. She had bitten it. She’d live. And walk.

Courtney pulled herself to her feet and took a few tentative steps. So far, so good. The hard part was still to come. Courtney knew the Sherwood house very well. She had been in almost every room. It wasn’t as if she had been exploring, though. She and Mark had taken a very quick tour of the house, on the run, while being chased by a vicious pair of rampaging quig-dogs. The quigs hadn’t shown themselves since then, but Courtney wasn’t taking any chances. She was armed with two canisters of pepper spray, one in each pocket of her jacket, like a gun-slinger with a six-shooter on each hip. She knew there was no way she could outrun one of those beasties in her condition. If they were going to attack, she would stand her ground and unload on them with the burning spray.

With one hand on each canister, Courtney walked tentatively to the house. It was a spooky old mansion, even in daylight. Since it was late fall, the yard was gray and bleak, with dead leaves blowing everywhere. It was easy to see why the place had a reputation for being haunted. She climbed the stairs up to the porch and went right for the front door. It was never locked. She figured the people who took care of the place thought the lock on the front gate was enough to keep out intruders. Fools.

Courtney’s heart raced. She feared that a quig-dog might attack, but she was also anxious about what she would find at the flume. She hoped it would be Mark. She pushed the door open and peered into the big, empty foyer.

“Here, doggie doggie doggie,” she called.

All she heard back was the lonely echo of her own voice. Her confidence rose. Quigs weren’t subtle. If they were around and wanted to attack, they would have by now. Still, she kept her hands on the pepper spray just in case.

She closed the door and went right for the stairs that led down to the basement. Now that she was getting close, her anxiety rose. She wanted to know what she would find down there. She picked up the pace as she climbed down the stairs and walked across the vast empty basement to the wooden door that led to the root cellar, and the flume. She stopped outside the door and looked at the star symbol that marked it as a gate. She remembered back to when she and Mark saw it magically burned into the wood by some unseen force. As she stood there, staring at the symbol, she shook her head in wonder. Life was turning out to be a whole lot different than she’d expected.

“Mark?” she called. “You in there?”

No answer. She pulled open the creaky wooden door and stepped into the dank earthen cellar.

Mark wasn’t there. The large, rocky tunnel that was the flume was quiet and dark. Courtney’s eyes took a second to adjust. She stood at the mouth of the flume, looking into the depths of infinity.

“What did you do, Mark?” she said aloud.

Her biggest fear was that Mark had jumped into the flume, headed for another territory. But only Travelers could use the flumes. They learned that lesson the hard way. It collapsed on Eelong for one reason and one reason only: because Mark and Courtney had traveled. She had trouble believing that Mark would use the flume again knowing how dangerous and wrong it was. But Mark might not have been thinking clearly. She couldn’t imagine getting the news that her parents had both been killed. For all she knew, Mark might have lost it. There was no way that anybody could think straight after hearing something like that. The question was, how “off” did his thinking get? Was he so messed up that he didn’t worry about the dangers and jumped in? If that happened, where would he go? To find Bobby? But why?

As well as she knew Mark, she couldn’t get inside his head to figure out why he would have come here, or asked her to come. She had done what he asked. But coming here didn’t answer any questions. It only raised more. With a shrug, she turned to leave.

That’s when she saw it. She hadn’t noticed at first, because her eyes were still adjusting to the dark. Now she saw something on top of an overturned wooden box a few feet back from the mouth of the flume. It was a manila envelope. A regular old Second Earth envelope. Written in large black letters was a single

Word: COURTNEY.

Courtney dove at knew it had to be from Mark. That’s why she was there, to get this. Without wasting another second, she tore it open, being careful not to damage anything that might be inside. Peering in, she saw a slip of paper, and two smaller envelopes. She pulled the paper out first to see it was a note.

It read: This is the hardest thing i’ve ever had to do. Please forgive me. Mark.

Courtney couldn’t catch her breath. What had he done? She was beginning to think he might have jumped into the flume after all. She dropped the note back in the large envelope and pulled out one of the two smaller envelopes. It had weight. Something solid was inside. Written on the outside of the envelope was a series of numbers: #15-224. Courtney knew exactly what it was, an assigned account code. Seeing this, Courtney also knew what she would find inside the small envelope. She tore it open and dumped the contents into her hand. It was a small brass key. Courtney held the account number and the key to the safe-deposit box where Mark stored Bobby’s journals at the National Bank of Stony Brook. Bobby had opened the account on First Earth, 1937, and asked them to keep his journals safe there. Mark had dutifully stored every bit of correspondence from Bobby in that bank. Courtney nervously bit her already hurting lip to stop herself from crying. Mark had handed over the responsibility of Bobby’s journals to her. But why?

There was one more small envelope in the bigger envelope. Courtney pulled it out to discover this one had some weight as well. She tore it open, looked inside, and this time she couldn’t stop herself. She cried. Courtney wasn’t somebody who cried much. She barely shed a tear throughout her whole painful ordeal after the accident. But at that moment, tears filled her eyes and she flat out sobbed. She hadn’t expected this. It hit her like a speeding truck. The emotion poured out; she couldn’t help it. Inside this envelope was something that couldn’t be, yet was. It was Mark’s Traveler ring. It was the ring that was given to him so long ago by Loor’s mother, Osa, before they even knew that Bobby was missing. Before they heard of things called flumes and territories and Travelers. Before they heard of Saint Dane. This ring had never left Mark from the moment Osa gave it to him, until now. When she saw it, Courtney knew. There was no doubt in her mind. Mark had jumped into the flume and wherever he’d gone, he wasn’t coming back.

“Mark, what were you thinking?” she sobbed.

Courtney sat down on the wooden box and let her emotions pour out. There was nothing she could do. Mark left no other clue as to what had happened. Courtney knew that had to be intentional. If Mark had wanted Courtney to know more, he would have told her. Seeing the items he left, it was pretty clear what Mark had in mind for her. He wanted her to receive Bobby’s journals and keep them safe. Alone. She would do it, no question. She was prepared. But she wasn’t prepared to be without Mark.

She didn’t want to be at the flume anymore. It felt like the walls of the basement were closing in on her. She wanted to be outside, in the light, where she could breathe and think. The open mouth of the flume gave her the shivers, as if it were taunting her. There were answers in there, through the tunnel, but they were beyond her reach.

She quickly put the safe-deposit key in her jacket pocket, along with the envelope that had the account number. She folded up Mark’s note to her and slipped it inside the same pocket. She was left with the heavy silver ring with the gray stone that was surrounded by carved symbols-one for each territory. She was about to drop it into her pocket, when she stopped. No, she thought, that was wrong. This ring wasn’t a “thing” to be carried around. It was a living symbol of Halla. Of Bobby and the Travelers. Of Mark. There was only one way to respectfully possess a Traveler ring. Courtney held the heavy ring in the palm of her left hand. She had held this ring before, many times, but never with such a feeling of importance. Of destiny. Though she and Mark were both acolytes, it was Mark’s ring. Osa had given it to him. Whenever she touched it, she always felt a little bit uncomfortable, as if she weren’t worthy. But now Mark had given it to her. It was her ring. She was now the sole acolyte from Second Earth. There was only one thing to do. Courtney held the ring up and looked at it with reverence. She wiped away her last tears and said, “Mark, wherever you are, I hope you know what you’re doing, you dork.” She slipped the silver circle onto the ring finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly

Instantly, as if in response, Courtney heard a crackling, groaning sound. She froze. She knew what that meant. She’d heard it before. She spun around and saw it.

The flume was coming to life.

(CONTINUED)

Courtney jumped back, away from the flume, hitting her back against the stone wall opposite the mouth. She stared in wonder as the tiny light appeared far in the distance, growing larger. Someone was coming in. Courtney had seen this phenomenon before. She had flown through the flume herself, but never had she experienced any of it alone. She found herself holding her hand out to her side, as if to reach for Mark, but Mark wasn’t there.

The light grew brighter. She could hear the faint sweet musical notes that always accompanied the Travelers on their journeys through the flumes. The tunnel itself seemed to twist, ever so subtly, as if stretching out and preparing itself to welcome the visitor-whoever it might be.

“Please be Mark,” Courtney said to nobody. “Or Bobby.”

She didn’t have to say who she didn’t want it to be.

As the light grew brighter, the gray stone walls of the tunnel melted into crystal. Courtney knew it wouldn’t be long now. Whoever was coming was almost there. Brilliant light blasted out of the tunnel and threw dancing, sparkling beams all around the root cellar. Courtney squinted and shielded her eyes, but wanted to see it all. Moments later she saw the shadow of a Traveler landing in the mouth of the tunnel.

“Mark?” she shouted over the now-loud music. “Bobby?”

The light didn’t disappear after the Traveler arrived. It continued to shine brightly. That was unusual. Courtney had only seen that happen once before. It wasn’t a happy memory. If Courtney could have backed herself through the stone wall, she would have.

“Hi, Courtney,” came a friendly guy’s voice. “Long time no see!”

Courtney nearly fainted. She knew that voice. In her mind she was suddenly transported back to a lonely road in the Berkshire mountains. She was lying in a heap, bruised and broken. The headlights of the car that hit her cut through the darkness. The driver of the car stepped in front of the headlights so she could see him. It was the guy who nearly killed her. The guy who tried to kill her. The guy she was riding to meet because she had such a mad crush on him. Courtney’s head was spinning. This wasn’t making sense. That was a memory. A horrible, life-changing memory. Why was she seeing it happen again?

The Traveler stepped out of the flume. He was a cute guy of around seventeen with curly blond hair and a devilish smile. He wore sweats that said: stansfield academy, and carried a soccer ball. It was a nightmare. It was Whitney Wilcox.

It was Saint Dane.

“Miss me?” he asked brightly as he kneed the soccer ball into the air and caught it. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. For a while there I didn’t think you’d make it.”

Courtney could barely breathe. She stared in wide-eyed shock.

“I–I don’t understand,” she stammered.

Whitney laughed heartily. “Now there’s an understatement! What’s even funnier is you don’t understand how much you don’t understand.”

Courtney shook her head. It was all she could do.

‘I’m sure you and Mark have been fretting over what I’ve planned for Second Earth. Haven’t you?”

Courtney didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

“I’ll bet you were wondering if Pendragon’s success on First Earth spared your territory. Be honest, that’s what you were hoping for, right?”

Whitney kicked the soccer ball expertly from foot to knee and back to foot, then caught it.

Courtney stood frozen.

“Well, I’m sorry to say you’d be wrong. I’ve been having fun here on your self-absorbed little territory for quite some time now‹Want to see what I’ve been up to?”

She didn’t, but she had to.

Whitney threw the soccer ball into the air, turned, and kicked it back into the light that blasted from the flume. When he turned back to Courtney, he had transformed. He wasn’t Whitney Wilcox anymore. He was…

“Mitchell!” Courtney screamed.

Standing in the mouth of the flume was Andy Mitchell. He snorted, pushed his greasy hair back, and said cockily, “Yo, Chetwynde, how they hangin’?”

“No…” Courtney said, stunned. “No!”

“Oh yeah,” Mitchell said. “Right from the start. We grew up together, Chetwynde!”

He spit out a lougie and laughed. He may have been Saint Dane, but he had all the mannerisms of Andy Mitchell that Courtney knew so well-because he was Andy Mitchell!

“My favorite part was when I stole Pendragon’s journals,” he cackled. “Man, I had you guys squirming. Pretty good how you got out of that one, I’ll give you that.”

It was too much for Courtney to comprehend. Her whole sense of reality had been turned inside out. “So…there never was an Andy Mitchell?” she asked numbly.

“Of course there was,” the kid answered. “You’re looking at him. Except he wasn’t exactly what you thought he was.” Mitchell cackled out another laugh and brushed his hair back. “Surprise!”

“Where’s Mark?” Courtney asked with a touch of desperation.

“Oh, no,” Mitchell said, wagging his finger. “That would be telling. Let’s just say our friendship has entered a whole new phase.”

As the truth sank in, Courtney was hit with a realization that was so stunning, it rocked her back into complete focus. She was no longer frightened. She was mad.

“You killed the Dimonds, didn’t you?” she seethed. “That plane disappeared because of you, Saint Dane.”

Andy Mitchell took a deep bow and said, “Just another piece in a very complicated puzzle.”

Courtney snapped to attention. That was the single most horrifying thing she had ever heard. Everything that had ever happened with Andy Mitchell, from the moment they met him in kindergarten until the death of Mark’s parents, was all a plot. Saint Dane had been working his way into their lives long before they knew about Travelers and flumes and Halla. Whatever his plan for Second Earth was, it had been in the works for years.

“Enjoy your life, Chetwynde,” Mitchell said as he turned back toward the flume. “What is it that your Traveler friend says? Oh yeah. Hobey-ho. Let’s go!”

He leaped into the flume.

“No!” Courtney shouted.

Courtney didn’t think, she acted. She ran at Mitchell, ready to tackle him and keep him from leaving. It was an insane move, but Courtney wasn’t in her right mind. She jumped into the flume, but it was too late. Mitchell was gone. Courtney hit the crystal floor, empty handed.

“Saint Dane!” she screamed at nobody. He was gone.

Courtney was on her hands and knees, still bathed in the light of the flume. That’s when she felt it. The slight tug. Courtney snapped a look deeper into the tunnel. She saw that the light wasn’t disappearing. What was going on? The tug became stronger. Courtney realized with horror that she was being pulled farther in! She got her wits together and crawled backward. At least, she tried to crawl. It was like pulling against a tornado. She spun around, sat on her bottom, and dug her heels into the crystal floor. It didn’t help. She was being pulled, inch by agonizing inch, deep into the flume. The harder she fought, the more difficult it became. She made one last-ditch attempt to stop herself by flipping over and trying to grab the edge of the tunnel with her fingers. It was too late. Her hands scraped across the coarse crystal, and she was yanked into infinity.

When Courtney spun back to look past her toes, she saw that she was on her way. She was traveling. But to where? She had been through a flume before, so she wasn’t terrified. At least she wasn’t terrified of the experience. The fact that she was there at all was a different concern. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths and calm down. She had to be prepared for whatever she would find on the far side.

There was one small consolation. Unlike every other time she’d traveled through the flume, the rocky tunnel hadn’t cracked. That was what ultimately destroyed the flume on Eelong. Every time she and Mark had traveled, the flume physically cracked a little bit more, until that last fateful trip when it collapsed and Kasha was killed. But when she was sucked into the flume this time, there was no damage. She couldn’t begin to guess why, but she was grateful.

As she sped through the crystal tunnel, she gazed out onto the starfield beyond. As Bobby had described, she saw many of the ghostly images from the territories, as if they were being projected in space. She recognized some galloping zenzens from Eelong, along with the miniature helicopter that Bobby and Kasha flew to Black Water. She saw what looked like a vast tribe of primitive people, chanting and singing. She also saw something that she recognized from history books as the LZ-129- the airship Hindenburg from First Earth. All the images jumbled into one another, making Courtney feel as if she were traveling through an ocean of time and space, where all the territories existed together.

She had no idea how long she had been flying through the flume. It was long enough that she had calmed down and prepared to face whatever she would find on the far side. At least, she hoped she was ready. She hadn’t said the name of a territory when she left. Then again, neither had Saint Dane. There was no way to know where she might end up. Above all else, she hoped she would find Mark or Bobby.

The musical notes grew more frantic, which meant she was about to arrive at her destination. Courtney tensed up. Just before she landed, the last thought she had was that she wished Mark was with her. A moment later her feet touched solid ground. She stood up, having been gently deposited at the end of the line. Brilliant light swirled everywhere, making it impossible to see where she was. It took a few seconds for the light and music to recede back into the flume, and allow her the first look at her new surroundings. She took a quick look around to see… she was back in the root cellar under the Sherwood house. She was still on Second Earth!

Courtney had no idea what to make of that. It was the absolute last place she expected to be. On the other hand, it was the best place she could be. She was safe at home, though she knew “safe” was a relative word. She was relieved, but frustrated. There was nobody she could go to and ask what had happened. She didn’t have Mark to help figure it out. She was about as alone as she had ever been in her life.

She said to herself, Get used to it, Chetwynde.

She felt an odd sensation. Her first thought was that she was being pulled back into the flume, so she jumped forward like she was stepping on hot coals. A quick look back showed her that the flume wasn’t activating. So what was she feeling?

The answer came a second later. Light sparkled from the ring on her finger. The Traveler ring. Mark’s ring. No, her ring. She quickly took it off and put it on the ground in front of the flume. The ring grew and light flashed from the opening. Courtney closed her eyes. She needed a second to catch her breath. She didn’t know when she’d get another chance. The musical notes grew louder, and ended just as quickly. When Courtney opened her eyes, the ring was back to normal. On the ground next to it was another envelope just like the last one that had come through. It was Bobby’s next journal from Quillan.

The first journal she was solely responsible for.

She said out loud, “And so we go.”