The Merchant of Death

Journal #3 (continued)

Denduron

Uncle Press walked defiantly to the center of the killing ring. It was only a few days since I had seen him last, but with all that had happened it felt like it had been months. It was strange to see him dressed in the leather skins of the Milago. I was used to seeing him wearing jeans and his long coat that would flap in the wind as he rode his motorcycle. But things had changed. Though he was still Uncle Press, he also looked like any other Milago miner with his three-day-old beard and messed-up hair. But unlike the other Milago, Uncle Press had an air of confidence. The Bedoowan stopped talking and laughing. There was now tension in their section of the stands, as if this newest gladiator was going to prove to be more of a match than the last.

I looked to the Milago spectators and saw that they were watching his arrival in pretty much the same way. But rather than the look of fear they had for the poor Milago prisoner who had just been devoured, they now seemed to have hope that maybe, just maybe, the visiting team might have a shot here. Only the Novans reacted the exact same way as before. They gave Uncle Press some polite, emotionless applause.

Even though Uncle Press looked all sorts of confident, it was going to take more than confidence to beat a charging, hungry quig. Still, something about the way Uncle Press carried himself gave you the feeling that if any man could beat a quig, it would be this one. He stood in the center of the field and looked up at all the spectators. He did a 360 turn, and stopped when he laid eyes on the Bedoowan section. I could see that he was shaking his head and knew what he was thinking. It disturbed him to think that these people were gathered to watch blood sport.

In the royal box Kagan didn’t sense any of this tension. She was being her normal, oblivious self as she sat on her throne, gnawing her turkey leg. Mallos leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Kagan answered with a shrug that told me she didn’t care one way or the other about what Mallos had asked her. Mallos bowed to Her Royal Chubness, then stepped to the front of the box and surveyed the people in the stadium. He raised his hands and all eyes immediately went to him. Even Uncle Press looked up to see what this evil puppet master had to say.

“People of Denduron,” he bellowed. “The man you see before you has been accused of the high crime of treason. He is guilty of plotting to destroy the peaceful balance of our society and of inciting the Milago into overthrowing the great reign of our beloved Queen Kagan.” When he said this, he looked to Kagan. Kagan acknowledged his look with a loud, deep belch. What a class act.

Mallos didn’t react and continued, “For this crime he has been sentenced to death at the equinox, when the light is the strongest so we can all bear witness to his punishment. Let this execution serve as a reminder that the natural order must never be disrupted. To try and change the normal course of events is a crime against humanity, and punishment will be harsh and swift. Long live Denduron. Long live Queen Kagan. Death to those who oppose the throne.”

Mallos then made a motion to the field and two knights ran across the grass to open the door to let in another quig. It was clear what this was all about. Mallos was using Uncle Press as an example to scare the Milago out of their rebellion. The Milago trusted Uncle Press. In seconds another quig would leap out of that dark door and attack. It would mean the end of the rebellion and the death of my uncle. And the way things were going, Alder, Loor, and I would be the next victims in the ring.

As scared as I was, I realized that there was an even bigger picture unfolding here. Uncle Press had brought us here to try and bring peace to the Bedoowan and the Milago. It was a tribal feud that Mallos (or Saint Dane) was doing a fine job of fueling. By eliminating Uncle Press, and us, there would be nothing to stop the Bedoowan from destroying the Milago. The territory of Denduron would fall into chaos, and Mallos’s evil mission would be complete.

That is, unless I did something to stop it. I knew exactly what I had to do. I was scared out of my mind, but still, I knew what had to be done. Before I had the chance to chicken out, I jumped over the barrier that separated our box from the field and ran toward my uncle.

“Pendragon!” shouted Loor with surprise. I think she was totally shocked that I was the first one to take action for a change. I hadn’t told her what my plan was. There wasn’t time. But she must have figured I had something in mind, so she and Alder quickly followed after me. I know what you’re thinking, Mark, and you’re wrong. I hadn’t gone delusional. I hadn’t suddenly gotten all hero macho and figured I could whup up on a quig. It wasn’t like that at all. But I had an idea and if I was right, it might give us all a chance of getting out of there alive.

I ran up to Uncle Press and stood beside him. I expected him to see me and be totally surprised and shout something like: “Bobby, no! Go back! Save yourself!” But he didn’t. Instead he looked down at me as if he were expecting me to show up all along and calmly said, “I forgot to tell you, that Courtney Chetwynde is pretty cute.”

I gotta hand it to the guy, he was cool. Maybe a little crazy, but cool.

Loor and Alder quickly joined us. Loor had scooped up the wooden weapon that the Milago prisoner had used and was ready to wield it. I was glad to see that she had separated it from the guy’s severed hand first.

Then suddenly a cheer went up from the Bedoowan crowd. I knew what that meant. I looked to the animal entrance and saw a huge quig lumber out of the darkness. This one was even bigger than the first. The spines on its back grazed the top of the doorway as it came through. It seemed slower, too, but that may be just because it hadn’t gotten its blood boiling.

Yet.

Loor jumped between us and the quig and shouted, “I will go for its eyes.”

I guess she felt that fighting was the only chance we had. Big surprise. So she squared off against the beast, prepared for it to charge. She must have realized that fighting this thing would be suicide. But fighting was what she knew, so she was ready.

Uncle Press seemed oblivious to the impending danger. He turned to me and said, “I’ll bet it’s been an interesting few days.”

Was he kidding? Here we were about to be attacked by a vicious beast with three-inch fangs and an appetite for human flesh and he was making small talk! Maybe he didn’t think we stood a chance against the monster and decided to spend his last few moments in peace.

I had one last trick left from the stuff you two sent me and it was time to use it. I have to admit, this was the one item I didn’t think you could come up with. I knew there wouldn’t be a problem getting the laser pointer or the Swiss Army knife or the wristwatch or any of the other stuff, but I knew this last item would be tricky to find. I was thrilled when I saw it in the pack. To be honest, I hoped I wouldn’t have to use it, but here I was and it was in my pocket and it was the only chance we had. Thank you, guys.

The quig spotted us. Or maybe it had smelled us. It didn’t matter which because either way, it was starting to circle for the attack. Its ghastly yellow eyes were trained on us, looking for the right moment to spring. We crowded together, trying to look bigger than we were. I glanced up at the stands and saw that every eye in the stadium was on us. They were ready for the show. Only this time they were expecting a killing frenzy because there were four tasty morsels being served to the quig, not just one.

Loor said, “When it attacks, get behind me.”

“No,” I said with as much authority as I could gather.

Loor gave me a quick glance of surprise, then focused back on the quig. “Do not be foolish, Pendragon,” she said. “I am the one with a weapon.”

Before I could tell anyone what I had planned, the quig reared up on its back legs, bellowed, then galloped toward us. Loor started to run to meet the beast, but I grabbed her belt with one hand and held her back.

“Pendragon!” she yelled at me.

I didn’t let go. I held her tight and with my other hand I pulled out my last trick…the silent dog whistle. I put it to my lips, and blew for all I was worth. Instantly the quig skidded to a stop and cried out in pain, just as the quig had done on the mountain when Uncle Press and I were speeding away on the sled. But this modern dog whistle must have produced a sharper sound than the hollow wooden whistle I used on the mountain because the reaction from this quig was much more dramatic. This quig crashed to its knees and screamed so loud I thought its head was going to explode. But I wasn’t about to cut it any slack. As soon as I emptied my lungs, I took another breath and blew harder than the first time.

The quig screamed in pain. I glanced around the stadium and saw every single person staring back in openmouthed shock. Every person except for Mallos, that is. Mallos simply cocked his head to one side as if this latest development were nothing more than a minor, interesting surprise.

“What is happening?” shouted Alder.

Loor stood stunned as well. Only Uncle Press wasn’t surprised. Finally he kicked into gear.

“The quig pens, go!” he commanded. Then as an aside to me he said, “Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

He knew I had the whistle all along! How could he have known that? Maybe he didn’t know I had dropped the one he gave me in the mountains. Either way, he was calm because he knew I would use the whistle to stop the quigs. I gotta say it again, the guy is cool. And I’m glad he was back in action now because my plan didn’t go beyond blowing the whistle to stop the quig. I had no clue of what to do next, but Uncle Press did. That was good. His plan had us escaping through the only avenue open to us…the holding pen where the quigs were kept. That was bad. But he was right, there was no other way, so we all ran for the door.

The crowd watched in stupefied awe. It was Kagan who made the first move. She jumped off her throne, ran forward still clutching her turkey leg and squealed out, “Stop them!”

One of the Milago spectators yelled out an impassioned, “Run!” The other Milago spectators took his lead and started to cheer for us too. It was like they had all suddenly snapped into delirious football fan mode as they cheered for us like we were running a hundred-yard kickoff return. It was the most life I had seen from these people since I got here. Maybe seeing us escape from that ring was the first time their side had a chance of winning. For those few moments it was like every one of those Milago were down on that field with us, running for freedom.

But what lay ahead was every bit as deadly and dangerous as what we were escaping from. As we ran I continued to blow the whistle and the quig kept writhing in agony. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder and I was jerked to a stop. It was Uncle Press. It was a good thing he stopped me because if I had taken one more step I would have walked right into the path of a spear that was thrown from the top of the stadium by one of the knights. The spear screamed down and stuck into the ground like a javelin in the exact spot where I was headed. I had been so focused on the quig that I forgot there were Bedoowan guards swarming the place. I looked up and saw them all running down the stadium steps toward us. Worse, several had unleashed their spears and the dark, deadly shafts were raining down on us from above.

“Keep your head up, keep moving,” commanded Uncle Press.

Uncle Press had the presence of mind to grab the spear that had barely missed me. Loor took one as well. I didn’t grab one. That little metal whistle was every bit as powerful a weapon as those spears and I wasn’t about to lose this one the way I lost the whistle on that sled. I’d leave the sharp stuff to those who knew how to use it.

With the Milago miners cheering deliriously and the spears stabbing the ground around us, we made it across the field and into the dark tunnel. Just before ducking in I glanced up at the royal box and at Mallos. I didn’t like what I saw. I expected him to be leaning out of the box, shouting commands at the knights to stop us. After all, this was his big demonstration to the Milago and it was falling apart before his eyes. But that’s not what I saw. Instead I saw Mallos standing next to the throne with his arms folded, looking calm. I could swear that he had a smug smile on his face. Maybe I was reading too much into it, but it was almost like he wasn’t surprised by what was happening. No, it was like he was enjoying it! Could he have anticipated this? Were things playing out the way he wanted them to? I remembered his words to me back in the palace. Though he was sending us to certain death, he spoke as if this wouldn’t be the last battle between us. Of course, the question was, if this wasn’t the last battle, what was?

I couldn’t think about it too long, for we were in the process of jumping into the fire outside of the frying pan and I needed to keep my head on straight. I was the last one into the tunnel and away from the falling spears. But before I got too far along I heard a command barked from behind, “Stop!”

I looked back and saw two Bedoowan knights standing in the large open doorway. They each had their spears drawn back, ready to throw, and I was way too close for them to miss. The others had already disappeared into the gloom of the quig pen ahead of me, so it was just me and the knights. It looked as if after all I’d been through, it was going to end with one of these knights skewering me with his harpoon.

As I stood there staring back at the knights who were about to kill me, I froze…and stopped blowing the dog whistle. It was still in my lips, but there wasn’t any blowing going on. I was too scared. That’s what happens when you are seconds away from death.

The knights cocked their arms ready to throw their spears. All I could do was hold my breath and brace against the impact. My only thought was: “Oh man, I hope this doesn’t hurt too bad.”

That’s when my savior arrived. With a screeching howl the quig from the ring came back into play. It charged the knights from behind and slammed them both to the ground with a giant paw on each. When I stopped blowing the whistle, the quig had gotten its act back together…and now it wanted revenge. I actually felt bad for the two knights because they were seconds away from a bloody death. The quig let out an angry bellow that shook the ground. Though the two knights had been about to kill me, I couldn’t stand seeing anyone die the way they were about to. So I took a breath to blow the whistle and stop the quig. Before I could blow, Uncle Press grabbed my hand.

“Save them and they’ll kill you,” he said soberly.

He was right. If the knights got away, they wouldn’t be grateful, they’d try to kill me again. Then they’d go after the others. No, this was war, and the knights were going to be the next victims. I nodded to Uncle Press and he let me go. He walked further into the dark pen and I turned to follow. I don’t think I will ever forget the sounds I heard behind me as I ran. I won’t even describe them to you because it was too horrifying. I will say this: Their deaths weren’t as quick as the Milago prisoner’s. That’s because the quig had to work its way through the knights’ armor first.

For a moment I felt a surge of guilt. Not about the two knights who were being devoured, but for the poor Milago miner who had died in the ring earlier. I had been so stunned by the quickly unfolding events that I hadn’t thought to use my whistle. Could I have saved him? I don’t know for sure. I’ll never know. My only solace came from the fact that if I had tipped my hand back then, we wouldn’t have gotten together with Uncle Press, who was now helping us make our escape. Maybe all things happen for a reason.

But our escape was not yet complete. We now faced a different danger. We were in the bowels of the quig pen. I could only hope that there was another door somewhere that would lead us out. There had to be another way out. The trick was to stay alive long enough to find it. Sunlight snuck in through the cracks in the rock walls, sending bright slices of light throughout the place. Because these light beams were so bright, they created deep shadows everywhere. That’s what I feared. The shadows. There could be quigs lurking there, ready to spring.

The quig pen was nothing more than a big cave that had been dug out of the rock. The cavernous space was broken up by low walls made of stone that acted as corrals for the quigs. I figured that out because a few of the pens had heavy metal chains attached to the walls that I was sure were used to restrain a quig. In each of the large pens there was some kind of haylike material spread out, I guessed to soak up whatever the beasts decided to deposit. It wasn’t doing a very good job, though. The place smelled vile. Remember how I described the smell that came from the latrine hole in the Milago hut? Well, multiply that by about a thousand and you’ll have the smell of the quig pen. It was a combination of quig waste, rotten meat, and death.

Uncle Press turned back to me and said, “Keep that whistle handy.”

Yeah, right, like he needed to remind me of that. If I held that metal whistle any tighter it would have snapped in two. Uncle Press walked on cautiously, with his spear at the ready. I walked close behind him, though I didn’t like being last. I kept glancing back over my shoulder to make sure nothing snuck up from behind. After walking for a few moments, I heard something that made me stop short. It was a growl and it was coming from the pen to my right. I snapped a look and saw a quig lying there on its side. It must have been the quig that just ate the Milago prisoner, because it was looking all sleepy and relaxed. This monster had no interest in us. It was grooming itself by licking its giant paw. The blood it licked off was the final clue that it was indeed the quig who had just feasted. Gross. I continued walking while keeping my eyes on the bloated quig…and tripped over something. When I looked to see what it was, I swear I almost barfed. It was a leg bone. A human leg bone. I knew it was human because the skeleton foot was still attached. I scanned more of the floor and saw that there were tons of bones scattered about. It became disgustingly clear that feeding time for the quigs meant the death of more Milago.

We continued to walk along and I saw that there were many quig corrals, but no more quigs. I guess they didn’t keep many down here at one time. That was fine by me. Maybe the two quigs I saw today were the only quigs down here. But looking around this dark labyrinth I saw many tunnels that led off to places unknown. There could very well be a quig down any one of them who would catch a whiff of us and come running. I wasn’t about to relax until we were out of there.

Then Uncle Press stopped and held out a hand to still me. He had heard something. I listened and heard it too. Something was coming toward us. Fast. I put the whistle to my lips, ready to blow my lungs out, but Uncle Press stopped me. He wanted to make sure what it was first. Good thing too, because as it turned out it wasn’t a quig. It was Alder. If I had blown the whistle, I might have woken up a napping quig.

Alder ran up to us out of breath and said, “Loor has found the way out. This way!” He then turned and ran back the way he came.

Excellent. We were one step closer to getting out of there. Uncle Press nodded to me and took off running after Alder. I followed close behind. We ran through the dark tunnels as quietly as possible so as not to sound the dinner bell. After a few turns I began to see light up ahead. We were headed toward a section of the quig pen that was brighter than where we’d been. We made one last turn around a rock outcropping and I saw why.

There was a large, round hole in the rock ceiling. I saw blue sky above. I even heard the sound of crashing waves. We were right on the edge of the bluffs. The hole was big, maybe about the size of your above-ground pool, Mark. It was just about the right size for a quig to fit through. I now saw how the Bedoowan managed the quig pen. All they had to do was shove a quig into the hole from above and it would fall into this cavern and be trapped. The only way out was through the door to the stadium. I guess once a quig was down here, it never left because the hole was too high for an animal to crawl back out. Of course, that also meant it was too high forus to climb out of too. Our freedom was a mere thirty feet away, but it was thirty feet straight up and out of our reach. I had no clue how we could possibly make it.

But Loor did. When Alder and Uncle Press and I arrived at the hole, she was busily tying a long vine to the end of her stolen Bedoowan spear.

“There is a rope up there,” she explained quickly. “I will get it down for us to climb out.”

I looked up and saw that sure enough there was a thick rope that looped down below the hole. My guess is that this was an emergency escape route for any unlucky Bedoowan who happened to stumble down here. One of his buddies could drop the rope from above for him to climb out.

“Make it fast,” said Uncle Press. “We gotta get out before the knights catch up.”

He was right. Even if we got out of here, that didn’t mean the Bedoowan knights wouldn’t be waiting for us on top. They may have been barbaric, but they weren’t idiots. If this were the only way out, they would be headed for this hole for sure. The faster we got out, the better chance we had of getting away. Suddenly I was less concerned about the quigs than about what we might find above.

Loor expertly tied the long vine to the spear and stood up. She tested its weight since it was now imbalanced because of the vine. Then she looked up at her target. To be honest, I had no doubt that she would nail this on the first shot. That’s how good she was. With a grunt of air, she javelin tossed the spear up at the dangling rope. It flew toward the ceiling with the long vine trailing behind like a contrail. The spear made a perfect arc through the loop of the hanging rope and careened back toward the ground. Loor had just threaded a needle thirty feet in the air. The trailing vine draped over the loop of rope with both ends now touching the ground. Alder quickly grabbed the vine and gave it a yank, pulling down the rope. Our escape route was set. Loor had done it. I told you, she was good.

Now as I looked up at that rope, all that came to mind was the dreaded rope climb in gym class. I hated that. Some guys could climb that rope like monkeys. I wasn’t one of them. Sure I could get up, but it wasn’t quick. And right now, speed was a good thing. But what choice did I have? None. All I could do was hope that adrenaline would help me climb this thing.

Loor started up first. I wasn’t surprised to see that she climbed it like one of the aforementioned monkey boys. I don’t think she even used her legs. She muscled up the rope as if gravity weren’t an issue. She got to the top in seconds and climbed up through the hole. She scanned the outside and leaned back down to say, “We are alone. Hurry.”

That was good. The knights hadn’t figured out what we were doing yet. Maybe theywere idiots after all. Loor then threw something down to us. I had to duck out of the way or it would have hit me. When I looked back, I smiled with relief. It was a rope ladder. I guess not all the Bedoowan were as strong as Loor. Some of the weenies had to take the easy way up, like me. I had no problem with that.

Uncle Press grabbed the bottom of the ladder and held it taut.

“Alder, go,” he commanded.

Without hesitation our Bedoowan friend began his climb. He was kind of a big, clumsy guy so he wasn’t as quick on the rope as Loor. Still, he was on his way up and that was good. As he climbed, Uncle Press looked to me and for the first time he smiled.

“That was a brave thing you did, Bobby,” he said. “Jumping in the ring like that.”

I was feeling pretty good about myself. Granted, I was pretty sure the whistle would work, but still it was a scary thing to do. Maybe I even impressed Loor. But even though I was feeling all proud, I had to act the way all good heroes act at a time like this.

“No big deal,” I said with as much humility as I could muster. “You would have done the same thing.”

I looked up and saw that Alder was struggling, but he was almost at the top. I took the few seconds left before it was my turn to ask something that was bugging me.

“You weren’t surprised to see me,” I said to Uncle Press. “How come?”

“I know you, Bobby,” was his answer. “Maybe better than you know yourself. I knew you’d come after me. And since you had the whistle, I knew you’d use it.”

I don’t think Uncle Press realized how close I was tonot coming. I thought back to where my head was when I first arrived on Denduron and I was ashamed to remember how rescuing Uncle Press was pretty low on my list of concerns. But you know, the bottom line is that I made the right decision. So maybe it’s okay to think like a weenie sometimes, so long as you don’t act like one. There’s a grand philosophy in there someplace. I’ll leave it up to you guys to figure out what it is.

“You were right,” I said. “Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” Uncle Press asked.

“This isn’t the whistle you gave me. I lost that when we hit that boulder.”

Uncle Press gave me a quizzical look. It was the first time I saw doubt in his face since we started this adventure.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “Did you make another one?”

I held up the silver whistle and said, “No, this is from home.”

Uncle Press quickly let go of the rope ladder, then swiped the whistle out of my hand.

“How did you get this?” he demanded. “Did you bring it with you?”

Uh-oh. Something told me I had done a bad thing.

“N-No,” I said nervously. “I wrote to my friends and told them I needed one. Then I took the flume back to the subway and-”

Uncle Press did something stunning. He took the whistle, whirled, and threw it up and out of the hole in the ceiling!

“Throw it in the ocean!” he shouted to Loor above. “Now!”

Loor obeyed without question. She picked up the whistle and threw it. Uncle Press then spun back to me and stared me down with a look of intensity that made my knees buckle.

“I told you,” he seethed. “We can only use what the territory has to offer! That’s why I didn’t bring the gun with me.”

My mind was spinning. That’s exactly what he had warned me about, but frankly, I forgot.

“Did you get anything else from home?” he asked.

Uh-oh again. Not only had I gotten some other things, I left them scattered all over the Bedoowan palace. I wasn’t sure why this was such a bad thing, but from the look on Uncle Press’s face, I had made a grave mistake. Before I fessed up we heard a noise. It came from deep down in one of the tunnels that stretched out behind us. Uncle Press and I both whirled toward the sound. We listened a moment…then heard it again. Yup, it was a growl. Turned out there were more than two quigs in the cavern after all and from the sound of things, our new company had just woken up.

“Climb,” commanded Uncle Press.

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I grabbed the rope ladder and started up. I tried to go fast, but climbing a rope ladder is not like climbing a regular ladder. A regular ladder is solid. A rope ladder is soft and swings. As soon as you put your foot on one rung, it bends down under your weight. If you’re not completely balanced the ladder will twist. And if you aren’t careful where you put your foot, it can easily slip off and that would be disaster. So I tried to climb fast, but the faster I climbed, the tougher it got.

Alder called down from above, “Hurry, Pendragon.”

Yeah, thanks for the tip. My foot nearly slipped off a rung and I had to hang on for my life. The movement caused the ladder to swing and I had all that I could do to get my balance back. Uncle Press wasn’t holding the ladder at the bottom either, which made it more tricky. I looked down and saw that he was staring off into the depths of the cavern. He must have sensed that I was watching him because without looking up he shouted, “Climb!”

Another bellow came from deep within the cavern. Only this was louder and closer. The quig had definitely picked up the scent and was on its way.

“Come on!” I shouted down to Uncle Press.

“No!” yelled Loor. “It is not strong enough for two.”

“There it is!” said Alder, pointing into the cavern.

As I kept climbing I glanced back. A quig appeared from out of the shadows, stalking closer. It was hunched down like a hunting cat, with its belly grazing the ground. Any moment now it would pounce. All Uncle Press had to defend himself was the Bedoowan spear. Why had he thrown away the whistle? If I still had it, he would be safe. Now he was back in the same position he was in at the stadium, only this time I couldn’t help him. I was near the top and stole a quick look down to see that Uncle Press was sliding a heavy, flat rock toward the bottom of the ladder. What was he doing? I climbed up two more rungs and was high enough now to reach up for Alder and Loor. They each grabbed one of my hands and hoisted me up.

“I’m up!” I shouted down to Uncle Press. I quickly scrambled around and the three of us looked back down into the cavern. The quig was only a few yards from Uncle Press and stalking closer. Its horrible yellow eyes were focused on him. If Uncle Press started to climb, the quig would pounce and easily pick him off. His only choice was to fight, and fighting a quig could only end in death. Not for the quig, but for Uncle Press. History was repeating itself. Someone I cared for was about to die so that I would live.

The quig stopped advancing as if it sensed that Uncle Press was more dangerous than the average Milago miner. It crouched, facing Uncle Press, who stood holding his spear at the ready.

I was surprised to see that the first one to make a move was Uncle Press. But he did a curious thing. He relaxed. He lowered the spear and held it down at his side. Why was he doing that? It was like he was giving himself up. He stepped over the heavy rock that he had pushed under the ladder and held his hands out in surrender. To the quig it must have looked as if Uncle Press were opening himself up to be eaten without a fight. The quig didn’t move. It must have been just as confused as I was. But its hesitation didn’t last long. It was suppertime. The quig coiled, wagged its butt, and with a snarl it launched itself at Uncle Press.

Uncle Press barely moved. As soon as the quig had committed itself, he jammed the tail of the spear against the rock that was now behind him. At the same time he dropped to one knee and angled the spear up toward the flying quig. The quig realized too late that Uncle Press had set a trap and that it was now sailing toward a six-foot spike! Yes!

The quig landed on the spear. It impaled him through the chest and came out his back. The weapon didn’t move because it was anchored by the heavy rock. Uncle Press let go of it and did a dive roll to the side just before the wounded quig fell to the ground. But the battle wasn’t over. The quig was injured, but the spear didn’t seem to have pierced anything major. The angry animal squirmed and screamed and writhed on the ground like a fish out of water, but it was still very much alive…and dangerous. Uncle Press had to get out of there fast.

He leaped for the rope ladder. The quig saw this and swiped at him, but his claws bit into the air below his feet. Uncle Press was much better at climbing than I was. He flew up the ladder as if it were rock steady. Yet the quig wasn’t done. Judging from its pained bellows it was in horrible agony, but it still wanted a piece of Uncle Press. It squirmed over to the rope ladder and with a sweep of its mighty paw, grabbed on to it and began to pull. The quig must have been eight hundred pounds. There was no way this flimsy rope ladder could withstand that kind of pressure. I looked next to me to see that the top of the rope ladder was tied to a tree. The point where it was tied was dangerously frayed as if it had been rotting in the rain.

“Look!” I shouted.

Loor and Alder looked to see how the rope ladder was going to break right on top. Loor didn’t stop to think. She jumped over me and grabbed on to the rope. This was crazy. The rope ladder was going to break and if Loor were hanging on when it went, she’d go down with it. Alder realized this and ran to Loor. He sat behind her, grabbed her waist and dug his heels in. Maybe the strength of two would be enough. Or maybe the strength of three. I had to help. It was crazy, but it was the only thing to do. I dove behind Alder and grabbed him around the waist. That’s when I heard thesnap! The rope ladder broke from the tree. Loor held on tight and became the only link that kept it from falling into the pit. I could see the muscles in her arms bulge as she fought desperately to hang on. Alder held on to her and I held on to Alder but we all started to slide toward the edge of the hole. We dug our heels in, desperately trying to stop. I felt the tension in both of their bodies as we strained against the weight of the ladder, of Uncle Press, and of the quig that was pulling from below.

It felt like we were hanging on for hours, but it was probably only a few seconds. Where was Uncle Press? Did the quig get him? Were we hanging on just so that the quig could pull its bad self out from the hole and eat us? It didn’t really matter, because we weren’t going to be able to hang on much longer.

Then, finally, just as we were about to go over the edge, I looked up and saw the welcome sight of Uncle Press’s head poke up from below. He crawled to the surface, rolled away from the rope and shouted to Loor, “Let it go!”

She did. The rope whiplashed away and we all fell back. A second later I heard the heavy sound of the quig hitting the ground below. It let out a yelp of pain. Good. Served it right.

As we all lay there, trying to catch our breath, I looked down the bluff toward the stadium. It was about three hundred yards behind us. We had traveled quite a way in the quig pen. It was hard to believe that a huge stadium was dug below the surface, and even more amazing was how, beneath the stadium, was an elaborate, multileveled palace.

A moment later I realized that we weren’t safe yet. The Bedoowan knights had finally figured out what we were doing. Several of them were now climbing up out of the stadium to come after us.

“We gotta move,” I announced while pointing back to the palace.

Without another word we all jumped up and ran for the woods. Our best hope was to lose them in the dense forest that surrounded the Milago village. Compared to what we had just come through, this was going to be a piece of cake.

Loor led the way again. She took us on another romp through the forest, but this time I knew what to expect. I was in for another grueling cross-country trek, but I didn’t care. The further we got away from the palace, the more I realized that we had done exactly what we had set out to do. Uncle Press was running next to me because we had saved him. We went in, we found him, and we got him out. How cool was that? Better still, my adventure was almost over. As soon as we got him back to the Milago village, he could take charge of their rebellion and I could go home. So even though we were running like scared deer through the forest, I began to relax because my job was nearly complete. I already started plotting how I would go back down into the mines, make my way to the flume, and launch myself home, for good.

Loor ran us a long way around. We were on the far side of the farmland, maybe a half mile from the Milago village.

“Can we rest awhile?” asked Alder.

I was happy that it wasn’t me who burned out first, for a change. So we stopped and the four of us stood together to catch our breath. After a few seconds I looked to Loor and smiled, but she didn’t smile back. Neither did Alder. I looked to Uncle Press and he scowled back at me. What was going on? Was it because I had used the dog whistle from home? Okay, maybe it was against the rules, but if I hadn’t done it, we’d all be on the inside of some quig by now. I think I deserved a little more credit than I was getting. Before I had the chance to say something about it, we heard a sound. It was a loud, sharppop, like a firecracker. No, it was louder than that. It was more like a cherry bomb. Both Loor and Alder tensed. Uncle Press shot a glance in the direction of the sound too. From the look on his face I could tell that something was wrong. It didn’t seem out of the ordinary to me, though. I hear sounds like that at home all the time. It could be a car backfiring, or fireworks, or even somebody’s TV. But we weren’t at home. Whatever made that sound was something out of the ordinary for Denduron.

There were two more pops.Crack. Crack. Uncle Press jogged toward the sound. The rest of us followed.

We traveled a short distance through the woods until we came upon the edge of a clearing. This was an area I hadn’t seen before. It was past the Milago farmland and not exactly on the beaten track. Uncle Press hid behind a tree to watch what was going on. We all followed his lead. What we saw seemed to be some kind of target practice. On one side of the clearing was a line of scarecrow-type figures that were crudely made out of straw. Opposite them was a group of Milago miners, each holding one of the slingshots I had found down in the mines. The miners were practicing throwing stones at the scarecrows. They each had a pile of rocks at their feet that were about the size of walnuts. They would put one of the stones in the slingshot, spin it overhead, and release it. They were pretty accurate, too. But still, a small stone being flung from a slingshot wasn’t going to do much to stop a knight in full armor.

I then found out how very wrong I was.

Someone stepped forward holding a small basket. It was Figgis, the crafty little salesman. He walked up to each of the throwers and held the basket out to them. The throwers reached inside and took out another kind of rock. These new stones looked very different. They were about the same size as the stones they had been flinging, but they looked soft and rusty red colored. It seemed to me these new rocks would do even less damage than the rocks they had been flinging, yet the shooters held them gingerly as if they were precious. The first shooter loaded a new stone, spun the slingshot over his head and let it fly. The rust-colored stone shot across the clearing toward its target. When it hit the scarecrow, the scarecrow exploded in a ball of fire!

Whoa! The Milago had some kind of explosive that detonated on impact! Those were the loud pops we were hearing. I looked to Loor and Alder. They were just as shocked as I was. Uncle Press watched intently. Nothing surprised him.

The next miner flung his stone at a scarecrow and it too erupted in a ball of fire. Figgis jumped up like a child and clapped with delight.

“Where did they find such a thing?” asked Loor.

“They didn’t find it,” answered Uncle Press. “He did,” he said, pointing to Figgis.

The odd little man held the basket of explosives over his head and danced a jig. He was having a great time.

“I knew that little guy was up to something,” said Uncle Press. “But I didn’t know what…until now. He must be selling the stuff to the Milago.”

One word sprang to mind. Tak. That’s what Figgis was trying to sell me. It was a weapon. An explosive. He said that “tak was the way” and maybe he was right. If there was enough of that stuff around, the Milago could use it against the Bedoowan and the odds of beating them would suddenly be very good. Maybe there was hope for them after all. Tak may indeed have been the way.

But Uncle Press looked worried. He didn’t like what he saw.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him.

“If the Milago use that, it will be the end of Denduron,” he answered soberly.

We all looked to him in surprise.

“End of Denduron?” I said. “Am I missing something here? That stuff could help the Milago beat the Bedoowan. Isn’t that the point?”

Before Uncle Press could respond, all hell broke loose. We were attacked. But it wasn’t the Bedoowan knights who caught up to us, it was a group of Milago miners. They jumped us from behind and wrestled us to the ground. One put a knee to my back and jammed my face into the dirt.

“Hold them,” someone commanded.

I struggled to look up and see who was giving the orders and saw Rellin stride up past the miners. What was happening? These were the good guys, right? Why were they attacking us? Did they think we were Bedoowan? Rellin surveyed the scene to make sure that none of us could escape, then his eyes fell on Uncle Press.

“Hello, Press,” he said. “I wish I could say that I was happy to see you.”

Two miners pulled Uncle Press to his feet and held him opposite Rellin.

“You can’t do this, Rellin,” said Uncle Press.

“I am glad that you are alive,” said Rellin. “But do not try and stop us.”

“Listen to me,” said Uncle Press with passion. “I want you to defeat the Bedoowan. You know that. But using that weapon is wrong. It will change everything.”

“Wrong?” spat Rellin. “How could it be wrong to end our misery? Without tak we have no hope of defeating the Bedoowan. But with it, we can return centuries of pain and torture to them in a few short seconds.”

“But at what cost?” asked Uncle Press.

Rellin smiled at him and then said, “Let me show you something.” He walked toward the clearing and motioned to the miners to follow with us. The miners pulled us to our feet and we were dragged along after him. There was no use in fighting; there were too many of them. I wasn’t really sure we should be fighting them anyway. Up until a few minutes ago they were on our side. Now, well, now I didn’t know what was happening. Same old, same old.

Rellin entered the clearing and the Milago miners instantly stood at attention. That was a surprise. Maybe these guys were more organized than I knew. Could all of the cowering and silence have been an act to make the Bedoowan think they were pushovers? Rellin walked over to something that looked like a big box that was covered with a large, brown blanket. He stopped there and turned to us.

“Soon we will begin the battle of our lives,” he said proudly. “But it will not last long thanks to you, Pendragon.”

Me? What did I have to do with any of this? Uncle Press shot me a look. So did Loor and Alder. All I could do was shrug. I had no idea what he was talking about.

Rellin continued, “Tak is powerful, but it is delicate.” Figgis appeared next to him and held up his basket. Rellin reached in and took out a piece of tak that was no bigger than a pea. “All it takes to release the power is a small impact.”

Rellin threw the pea down on the ground and it exploded with a huge bang that echoed through the forest. There was a blast of flame and smoke that left a deep, jagged hole in the ground the size of a water barrel. Man, that stuff reallywas powerful. Figgis giggled. I wondered how much he charged for each piece of tak.

“It is dangerous to use any more than a small amount,” said Rellin. “But we had to find a way to use more. We had to find a way to release the power of enough tak to deliver a single, crushing blow to the Bedoowan. We have not been able to find that way, until now.”

He reached under the brown blanket and pulled something out that made my heart sink. It was a heavy-duty twelve-volt battery, the kind you use in big flashlights. At first it didn’t make sense to me. Where did he get that? Then it hit me. I guess you guys sent me a flashlight after all. The reason I didn’t find it was because Figgis must have stolen it from my pack when he took my Swiss Army knife.

Rellin held the battery up and said, “Such an interesting device you brought to us, Pendragon. I do not know why, but it too gives off power. And it is a power that can be controlled.”

He then reached under the brown blanket and pulled out the flashlight. He looked at it admiringly and played with the on-off switch. I looked to Uncle Press. I wanted to apologize, but it was too late for that. Uncle Press didn’t look at me. His jaw was set and he stared at Rellin.

Rellin then continued, “We can now use the power of this strange device to release the awesome power of tak.” He said this while switching the flashlight on and off. “One little push will unleash as much tak as we desire. The Bedoowan will fall, and they will suffer greatly for how they have treated us.”

I now realized where this was going. They were going to make a bomb. They weren’t satisfied with throwing little bits of explosives in slingshots. No, they wanted a big bang, and I had delivered the means for them to do it. They were going to use the electricity in the battery to set off a huge bomb. Nice going, Bobby.

With a flourish Rellin pulled away the brown blanket that was covering the big box. What lay beneath wasn’t a box at all. It was one of the ore cars from the mines. To my horror, I saw that it was filled with tak. There must have been a few hundred pounds of it. Judging from the big explosion that came from a very small bit of tak, if this load blew up it would be like a nuclear bomb going off.

“This is a mistake, Rellin,” Uncle Press pleaded. “You think this will save the Milago? You’re wrong. If you use this weapon, you may find yourselves free of the Bedoowan, and slaves to a new power. The power of tak.”

I immediately realized what Uncle Press was worried about. The Milago were on the verge of creating a weapon of horrible power. If they used it, it would alter the course of Denduron forever. Not only would there be devastating destruction, but once these simple people used the power of this explosive, where would it end? Already they weren’t satisfied with using small bits of tak. They wanted more power. It was like the Milago skipped over gunpowder and jumped right into the nuclear age…and Armageddon.

The crazy thing was, this all came about because of two people who never could have foreseen the outcome of their actions. There was me, who stupidly brought the last piece of the bomb puzzle from home. And there was Figgis, this strange little man who lived by scrounging things and selling them to whomever had the coin to pay. Figgis had struck the big time now. He wasn’t selling sweaters and knives anymore. No, Figgis was now a merchant of death, and the people he was selling to were eager to buy.

It was clear to me now. The turning point for Denduron wasn’t the battle between the Milago and the Bedoowan. It was the introduction of this strange and horrible new power into the territory. As I looked at that deadly load of explosive in the ore car, there was something else that became clear. I wasn’t going home. Even if I could get to a flume, there was no way I could go back now. No way. Not after the damage I had caused. I had no idea what to do, or how to stop this horror from happening, but I resolved then and there to stay and see this through to the end…even if the end meant my own death.

This may be the last journal I write to you, Mark and Courtney. If it is, then please know that it wasn’t your fault about the flashlight. All you did was help out a friend. The blame is all mine. If you don’t hear from me again, then please know I did everything I could to undo the mess I created. I may not be successful, but at least I tried. Thank you for reading this, and for being my friends.

Hopefully this isn’t a final good-bye.

END OF JOURNAL #3.

Second Earth

Mark threw the parchment pagesdown onto his bedroom floor angrily.

“We should have known!” he shouted. “It was as much our fault as it was Bobby’s!”

Courtney and Mark had waited until they got back home to Stony Brook before reading Bobby’s latest journal. After saying good-bye to Bobby in the abandoned subway station, their journey back home was uneventful. They traveled the same route as the one that brought them to the flume in the Bronx, taking the subway to 125th Street and catching the first commuter train back to Connecticut. Once back in their hometown, they went straight to Mark’s house and locked themselves in his bedroom where they could read Bobby’s journal in private.

“It’s not our fault!” argued Courtney. “The Milago are like a step above primitive. How could we know they’d figure out how to make a bomb with that stuff?”

“Because we read the journal,” countered Mark. “We knew the same things Bobby did. Press told him never to bring anything from one territory to the next. We read that, but we did it anyway!”

Mark paced the floor out of sheer nervous energy.

“We helped Bobby,” argued Courtney. “And maybe we helped the Milago, too. To be honest, I hope they do make a bomb that’ll blow those Bedoowan creeps away. They deserve it!”

“You don’t get it,” argued Mark. “The Milago aren’t ready for this kind of power. They don’t know how to control it.”

Now Courtney was getting angry. She jumped up and said, “What are you saying? Only socially evolved, brilliant people are allowed to blow themselves up?”

“No,” Mark shot back. “It takes socially evolved brilliant people to figure out hownot to blow themselves up. Look at it this way. The Milago are pissed off and they should be. The Bedoowan have been torturing them for centuries. Now suddenly they’re given a weapon that’s so powerful they can wipe out their enemies with the push of a button. They don’t really understand it. They really don’t know how to control it, but they’re angry enough to use it anyway. If that tak stuff is as powerful as Bobby wrote, then they could end up killing themselves as well.”

This made Courtney stop. “Is it really possible to use a battery to set that stuff off?” she asked thoughtfully.

“I don’t know,” answered Mark. “I suppose so. If tak is that volatile then a small electric charge could set off a chain reaction and…boom.”

The two fell silent for a moment, imagining the consequences.

“I guess the trick is to be somewhere else when the button gets pushed,” said Courtney. “I don’t think they’re smart enough to figure out how to make a timer.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” said Mark soberly. “Tak isn’t like anything I’ve ever heard of. If a little bit can make an explosion that big, then the amount Bobby described in that ore car would not only destroy the Bedoowan palace, it would level the Milago village too. And if the explosion makes fire the way it did with those scarecrow targets, then it could create a firestorm. Every living thing for miles around would be torched…the Bedoowan, the Milago, the farm, the forest…”

“And Bobby, Alder, Loor, and Press, too,” said Courtney slowly. “I guess this Figgis guy really is a merchant of death.”

Mark picked up the latest journal and scanned it, looking for something. It didn’t take him long to find it.

“Listen to this,” he said. “This is what Loor said to Bobby.” Mark read from the journal.“My mother explained that there are many territories, and they are all about to reach an important time. A ‘turning point’ she called it. It is a time when the outcome will either send the territory toward peace and prosperity, or plunge its people into chaos and destruction.”

Courtney said, “Yeah, and if the Milago beat the Bedoowan then everything will be okay.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” said Mark. “I think it’s all about tak. Think about it. The Milago have been slaves of the Bedoowan for centuries. If they fight them and lose, then it will be business as usual. But if the Milago tip the balance by using something as horrible as that explosive, then who knows what it could lead to?”

“Then we’ve got to try and undo it!” countered Courtney.

“How?” was Mark’s obvious question. “It’s not like we can go through the flumes. It doesn’t work for us, remember?”

Courtney paced, her mind kicking into overdrive.

“Then maybe we can send something to Bobby,” she said. “Like a…like a…”

“Like a what?” shouted Mark. “We can’t send anything to him. It would only make things worse! The only thing we can do is-”

Ding dong.Mark was interrupted by the doorbell. The two instantly fell silent.

“You expecting somebody?” asked Courtney.

“We skipped school today,” Mark said nervously. “Maybe they’re coming to check up on me.”

The doorbell rang again.

“L–Let’s hide,” said Mark.

Courtney gave him a sarcastic look and said, “Hide? Gimme a break, I think we have bigger things to worry about than getting caught for skipping school. Answer the dumb door.”

Courtney was right, thought Mark. Who cared if they got busted for skipping school? Whoever was at the door he’d deal with them and get back to the bigger problem at hand. When he got downstairs, he hesitated a second and tried to look sick in case it really was somebody from school coming to check up on him. He gave a little sick cough and then called out with a weak voice, “I’m coming.”

He got to the door, unlocked it, swung it open, and then shouted out, “Bobby!”

Indeed, Bobby Pendragon was standing at the front door wearing the same clothes he had worn the night he disappeared. The Milago leather clothes were history.

“Hey, Mark,” he said casually. “Can I come in?”

Courtney came running down the stairs on a tear. “Bobby?” she shouted.

Bobby stepped into Mark’s house and gave Courtney a little smile.

“Miss me?” he said.

Courtney grabbed him in a hug and Mark hugged the two of them together. Bobby was home. He was safe. Everything was going to be okay. When they finally pulled away from the group hug, Mark and Courtney looked at Bobby in disbelief. This was too good to be true. A few seconds ago they were worried about never seeing him again. Now here he was standing right in front of them. But Bobby looked different. Both Courtney and Mark noticed it. It was still Bobby, no doubt about that. But he looked tired, like he had gone through an ordeal that took a lot out of him.

“Are you okay, man?” asked Mark. “You look kind of…sick.”

“I’m not sick; I’m totally beat,” was Bobby’s answer. “I gotta lie down.”

Mark and Courtney quickly led Bobby up the stairs to Mark’s bedroom. They watched him as he walked and saw that he was a little unsure on his feet. They also noticed streaks of blood on his cheeks that came from many tiny cuts all over his face. Obviously a lot had happened since they saw him leave through the flume on his way back to Denduron. To Mark and Courtney only a few hours had passed. But as they had already figured out, time here on Second Earth and time in the other territories weren’t relative. Bobby could have been gone for much longer than a few days for all they knew. Bobby looked as if he’d been through a war, but neither Mark nor Courtney wanted to ask him about it. They both figured that he’d tell them when he was ready. So without another word, they followed Bobby into Mark’s room and watched as he lay down on the bed.

“I gotta get home,” said Bobby weakly. “But I want to rest up first. Is it okay?”

“Absolutely,” answered Mark. “Whatever you want.”

“Thanks, man,” said Bobby and put his head down on the pillow. Mark cringed, wondering how he was going to explain the streaks of blood on the white pillowcase to his mother. But then he felt bad for even thinking so selfishly and put the thought out of his head.

“Will you guys come with me?” asked Bobby without opening his eyes.

“Sure, Bobby,” answered Courtney. “Uh…where?”

Bobby spoke weakly, as if he were nearly asleep. “To my house. Everybody must be going nuts looking for me. I’m gonna need you guys to help explain things.”

Mark and Courtney exchanged looks. Both knew what the other was thinking. Bobby’s house wasn’t there anymore. His family had disappeared and along with them so had any history of the Pendragon family ever having existed. His parents, his sister, even his dog were just…gone. The police had launched an investigation to try and figure out what had happened to them, but so far they had come up empty.

“Whatever it takes,” said Courtney. “We’ll be there for you.”

Bobby smiled.

Mark, on the other hand, was dying with curiosity. He didn’t want Bobby to nod off before finding out what happened on Denduron.

“So tell us what happened!”

Courtney gave Mark a punch in the arm.

“Ow!” yelped Mark and grabbed his stinging arm.

“Go to sleep, Bobby,” said Courtney. “Tell us later.”

Bobby didn’t open his eyes, but he chuckled at his friend’s curiosity. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” he said while reaching up to his shirt. He unbuttoned a few buttons, reached his hand in and pulled out a roll of parchment paper.

“It’s all there,” he said fading fast. “Everything that happened since I wrote last. Wake me up when you’re finished.”

That was the last thing he said. Bobby was in dreamland, the roll of parchment paper still in his hand. Mark glanced to Courtney, hesitated a moment, then took the precious journal. Courtney took the folded-up comforter from the bottom of Mark’s bed and laid it gently over Bobby, right up to his chin. This was probably the first time he had slept in a bed in a long time and she wanted to make sure he was as safe and comfortable as possible. Then the two of them walked quietly to the far side of the room.

“Should we go downstairs and leave him alone?” whispered Mark.

“No,” was Courtney’s reply. “Nothing we could do would wake him up now.”

Mark nodded. He didn’t want to leave either. He slipped the familiar leather twine off the rolled-up scroll and opened it enough to read the very first line.

“Journal Number Four?” asked Courtney.

“Journal Number Four,” answered Mark.

The two sat down next to each other on the floor and began to read the final chapter in Bobby’s adventure.