The Quillan Games (35 page)

(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.”

T
his is the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning. I'm not sure which. After you finish reading this journal, guys, you can tell me. In fact, you can tell me in person because I'm coming home. It's time. Ever since Saint Dane made that comment on Zadaa about knowing what's happening with Courtney, I've been worried about what might be going on back there. Maybe I should have already come home, but I made the choice to go to Quillan. I hope that wasn't a mistake.

My experience here on Quillan has been different than on any of the other territories. As I'm writing this, I'm still not a hundred percent sure of what the turning point is. Saint Dane was right about one thing—this territory is a mess. I already told you a lot about it. I've seen so much more. I'll tell you about it in this journal. The big question is, is Quillan already lost? I don't think so.

I've been given a golden opportunity to try to make things better, at least in a small way. It may not be a huge, global turning point, but who knows? Maybe a small positive change can snowball and help put the territory back on
its feet. That's hoping for a lot, but what can I say? It's all I've got.

It won't be easy. In fact, it's pretty scary. But that's okay. I'm up for it. I'm writing this journal now, because it's about to begin. When it's over, I believe I will have done as much as I can for the people of Quillan. But there's more to it than that. If I'm successful, and I will be, I think I'll be taking a huge step toward reaching the end of this whole odyssey. Not just here on Quillan, but as a Traveler. Saint Dane is losing, I'm sure of that now. He's desperate. We've lost Travelers along the way, and that is a tragedy, but we're winning. You know how I keep writing about how I'm afraid that we may be winning battles and possibly losing the war? I don't think that's the case anymore. I think we're winning battles and getting close to winning the war, too. Saint Dane's confidence isn't what it used to be. Since I became a Traveler, he has done everything he could to get me to give up, but I'm still here. He tried to get me to join him, but I never considered it, even for a second. On Zadaa he went so far as to beat me up physically to get me to give up the fight. It didn't work. It only made me stronger. Here on Quillan he's trying something new. He's going to fail at that, too. All this tells me is that he's running out of ideas. We're going to beat him, guys. I think what's happening here on Quillan is the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning . . . of my life as a Traveler. Of course there are no guarantees. Anything can happen. But for the first time since I left home, I can see the end, and it's good.