I remember things getting dark. Not lights-out dark, just darker. I remember wondering if night had fallen. I stopped moving, too. Wherever I was being taken, I was there. It felt cold and a little damp. I probably lost consciousness a few times. I couldn’t tell for sure. I don’t know how long I was out of touch like that, but I do remember my first clear thought. I remember thinking that wherever I was, it smelled insanely bad.
My eyes opened and I focused for the first time since I didn’t know when. It was still dark, but it wasn’t night and I wasn’t outside. I registered stone walls and a high ceiling with an interesting pattern on it. At first I thought it was a checkerboard, because there were boxes floating overhead. That was weird. I laid on my back looking up at this strange checkerboard, trying to make sense of it, when a klee appeared overhead. It wasn’t a checkerboard after all; it was a grid. The cat walked on top of it and looked down at me.
“Welcome home,” the klee said with a sneer. He poured a bucket of water down through the grid. I didn’t have time to react and got hit with a wave of smelly water. At least it woke me up. I sat up, blowing the disgusting water out of my nose, and looked around. I was in a large, dark room with stone walls; the high ceiling was a grid made of crisscrossing bamboo. It was a cage of some sort. And I wasn’t alone. Lying against the walls were a dozen other people, gars, looking ghostly white and sickly thin, as if they hadn’t had decent food in months.
I looked at one of the gars and asked, “Where is this?”
“This,” he said. “End of life.”
JOURNAL #17
(CONTINUED)
EELONG
I was in prison.
I don’t think that’s what the klees called it. To them, this was a holding pen for animals. Nobody here had committed any crimes, except for being born a gar. To the wretched gars I shared the dungeon with, it was another added bit of cruelty to their already miserable lives. At night the gars huddled against the slimy stone walls, hugging one another, trying to share what little body heat they could generate. During the day, the sunbelt beat down so relentlessly that I now know what a lobster feels like when it’s being boiled. And no matter what the time of day was, the smell was vicious.
Along one wall was a water trough dug into the stone floor that we were supposed to use as a bathroom. Nice idea, with constantly running water and all. Trouble was, the water wasn’t running fast enough to take everything away, and the klees never set foot inside the dungeon to clean up. So it was like living inside a toilet. Making things worse, the running water gave the cell a damp feeling that cut to the center of my bones. I felt like one big toothache.
There was one wooden door with a barred window, where I could see klee guards walk past. The only cushioning we had to make the hard floor more comfortable was dirty hay that had probably been dumped there a century before. The stuff smelled so bad I never sat on it. I chose to be uncomfortable rather than nauseous. There was no ceiling, only the bamboo grid that was beyond reach. At least this open ceiling made it possible to see the sky and catch a breath of fresh air. It was good to see the stars at night, clouds drifting by during the day, and the band of sun as the day wore on. Unfortunately it also meant that when it rained, we got wet. At least it helped wash the stench out of the cell.
The food was a joke, though maybe that’s a bad way of putting it because there was nothing funny about it. Every so often a klee would appear on the grid above and dump down a load of fruit. The shower of food would hit the stone floor and smash to bits. It was a rotten way to be fed, but the gars didn’t care. They scrambled to pick up every putrid crumb they could find. Some even licked the stone floor afterward. I had no idea what most of the stuff was. It all smelled rank. At first I couldn’t bring myself to eat, especially after what I saw on that farm with all the dead tangs. But after a while I got so hungry I didn’t care anymore and joined the feast. I didn’t die. Obviously.
From what I’ve written so far, you may be wondering how long I spent in this hole. The fact is, I’m not exactly sure. When I first woke up, I didn’t think I’d be there for long, so I didn’t try to keep track of time. But after a few days I figured I’d better start getting my head together, so each time it got light, I scraped a notch in the floor with a small chunk of rock. But even then, I didn’t know how long a day on Eelong was. Was it twenty-four hours like on Second Earth? Or forty-eight? Or twelve or . . . whatever. Time hasn’t had a whole lot of meaning since I left home. But as I think back on the gruesome experience of being trapped in that cell, I can guesstimate that by Second Earth standards, I spent at least a month in there. I’m serious. A month. It was a month too long. I’d be kidding you if I said it didn’t change me.
With each passing day, I got angrier. I couldn’t believe that klees could treat gars so inhumanely, especially since I discovered the gars weren’t dumb animals. I’m not saying they were playing chess with the klees or anything. Far from it. But they could think, and they had feelings, and they had a lot more to offer Eelong than what the klees gave them credit for. It wasn’t right.
I was also angry at Durgen for sticking me here, and at Kasha and Boon for not getting me out. I was afraid they had abandoned me and left me to die. Most of all, I got angry at Saint Dane. Not that I needed any more of an excuse for that, but he was the real reason I was trapped in this cell. And with me out of the way, there was nobody to stop him from tricking the klees into destroying their own territory.
As long as I’m being totally honest, I have to admit that I was getting mad at Uncle Press, too. He was the one who got me into this Traveler mess in the first place. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably be eating a pizza with you guys and catching the Yankees on TV. Or the Jets. What season is it, anyway? Instead, I sat in a putrid prison, grossed out by my own stench, wondering if this was my last stop. Morbid, aye? Sure, but why not? There was nothing else to think about. I had already counted the stones in the walls (8,462), done every math problem I could think of, and even came up with my own lyrics to that old song “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” since I never understood the real lyrics anyway. Tell me that’s not desperate. While Eelong edged closer to disaster, I was stuck in a sewerlike prison, helpless, hungry and making up mind games to keep from going insane.
I shouldn’t rant so much about my own feelings, but I’ll say one more thing. Once I finish writing this journal I’m going to put the horrible memories of my stay in the gar dungeon away in a safe place. I’ll get over it, but I won’t forget. And when it all goes down with Saint Dane, I’ll bring this nightmare back and use it for strength against him. Bet on it.
Besides describing the horrible conditions, there were a few things that happened during my stay that I need to write down before I forget them. When I was first thrown into the dungeon, I hadn’t had any real contact with gars, other than in that wagon on the way to our ill-fated farming expedition. But now, stuck in a confined space, I was officially a gar. I wanted to know more about them. It wasn’t easy. They were afraid of me, and maybe a little bit loony from being starved and imprisoned. (They didn’t have the outlet of making up lyrics to “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Poor them.) They didn’t accept me. Most kept their distance, cowering in the shadows and shivering with fear, as if I would hurt them. It took me a while to realize why. Even though I looked like them, I was way different. I was taller and I walked with the authority of a klee. These little guys were always a little hunched over and afraid of their own shadows. To them I was a freak. When I made a move to pick up some fruit that had been tossed down, the gars would back off and let me take what I wanted before helping themselves.
A few times I heard them whispering to each other. I’d try to join in by saying something simple like “Hello?” or “My name is Pendragon.” But they’d immediately shut down and scamper away. It didn’t help that I tried to stay in shape. I constantly did sit-ups and push-ups to keep my muscle tone from going south. But every time I’d start exercising, the gars would huddle
together and look at me like I was performing some strange ritual. After a while I gave up trying to communicate with them. It was too frustrating.
I soon began to wonder about the point of it all. Why were we being kept here? Durgen said something about getting “value” from me by selling me to handlers. But after being there for several weeks, there was no sign of a handler or of anybody else who might have bought me. I didn’t think they were going to eat us. If that were the case they’d be feeding us a lot better. Most of the gars down here were skin and bones, not exactly a tempting taste treat for a hungry klee. It all seemed so pointless.
Then one day, with no warning, the wooden door flew open and two klees leaped in. The gars scampered to the far side of the cell in fear, no big surprise. I didn’t. I was too tired to be scared.
The klees scanned the group. One said, “It’s a sorry bunch.” He pointed at two of the bigger gars and said, “Those two!” Without any deliberation, they pounced on the chosen gars and dragged them out of the cell. The gars were terrified, letting out cries of panic. None of the others did anything to save them. To be honest, neither did I. What could I do? I thought about standing up and blowing these cats away by singing a song, or reciting a poem, or telling them about Madden football. You know, anything that would be un-garlike. But I decided not to draw attention to myself. My job here was about Saint Dane. I figured I shouldn’t do anything that might get me in trouble and stop me from dealing with the bigger picture.
About an hour later the door opened again, and one of the gars was thrown back into the cell. He looked exhausted. He crawled on his hands and knees to a corner and collapsed. He was a mess. Or should I say, a bigger mess than before. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought I saw a dark stain on his chest. From where I was sitting, it looked like blood. I didn’t think it was his, and I never saw the other gar again. Connect the dots. Something nasty had happened.
Days went by. I was losing strength. I had never been hungry before. I mean, really hungry. Missing lunch and getting a little rumble in the tummy didn’t count. This hurt. I had long since given up being picky about the food and would have eaten bugs if there had been any around. I didn’t sleep much, and when I did, my dreams were horrible. I always seemed to be running from some horrible fate. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, relieved that I was safe, and then crushed to realize I was still in this prison.
One night I dreamed that I was lying on my back, looking up at the stars through the ceiling grid. The sky was beginning to lighten, which meant it was morning. The silhouette of a large klee appeared above and stared down at me. I looked up at this big cat, thinking how real this dream felt, when the klee snarled and said, “Good morning, Pendragon. Enjoying the morning air?”
Whoa. I sat up quickly. This wasn’t a dream. It was the cat named Timber, from the Council of Klee. Or should I say, it was Saint Dane.
“You really should tidy up a bit,” Saint Dane added. “I can smell you from up here.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked angrily. “I’m stuck in here where you can keep an eye on me.”
“Oh no, my friend,” Saint Dane said. “Quite the opposite. I would much rather have you free to match wits. Having you lurking about makes things so much more interesting.”
“Then get me out of here,” I demanded.
“Ahh, if only I could,” Saint Dane replied with mock sincerity. “But it would be wrong to interfere with the ways of the territory. That’s against the rules, you know.”
“Yeah, right,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could generate. “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
“I will give you a piece of advice though,” Saint Dane added. “There is a way for you to get out. Seize the opportunity when it arrives.”
“What is it?” I demanded to know.
“Good-bye, Pendragon,” Saint Dane said as he slinked away. “Enjoy your day.”
“Saint Dane!” I shouted. I was out of my mind. I jumped up and tried to climb the rock walls, but it was hopeless. They were slick and I only got about a foot off the floor before crashing back down, banging my butt on the stone. I had hit bottom. Literally. I was hungry, I was weak, and Saint Dane had just teased me into losing control. I never liked to show weakness to the demon. I didn’t want him to know he was getting to me. But as of that moment, I had officially been gotten to.
“Black Water,” came a soft voice next to me.
I looked to my right to see that one of the gars had bravely crept a few feet from me. He held his hand out, palm up. Resting in it was one of the mysterious, amber cubes.
“What is Black Water?” I asked.
“Home,” came another weak voice.
The first gar held the cube closer to me, as if he wanted me to take it. I carefully reached out, expecting the gar to pull it away, but he let me take the precious crystal cube right off his hand. I was surprised to feel that the cube was as light as a marshmallow. I handled it gingerly, afraid that if I put any pressure on it, it might crack. I turned it around to examine all sides and discovered that there was a single black side, just like the other cube I had seen.
“Soon,” the gar said. “Home.”
“What home?” I asked. “What is Black Water? What’s going to happen?”
“The Advent,” the gar said.
Before I could ask what that meant, the wooden door to the cell screeched open and two klee guards entered. The gar snatched the cube back and tried to hide it in his ragged clothes. Too late. The first klee guard saw it and pounced on the frightened gar.
“What is this?” he shouted. He pulled the cube away from the gar and held it up. “Is it something to do with Black Water? Is that it?”
The gar cowered in the corner, shivering with fear. The klee dropped the amber box onto the stone floor and with one violent move, stomped it. A sickening crunch told me the box was indeed as fragile as I had feared. The other gars jumped, as if the klee had stomped on them. The only thing left of the strange little box was a pile of shattered glass. The gars stared at it, as if their last hope had been crushed right along with it.
The klee grabbed the gar he had stolen the cube from. He lifted the poor guy to his feet, holding him by the back of his neck and hissed. “I’m sure the Inquisitors will convince you to tell us. Guard!” A third klee entered the cell. The first klee guard shoved the gar toward them saying, “He had one of those boxes. Take him to the Inquisitors.”
The third klee dragged the terrified gar from the cell. The first klee pointed to a gar who was on his knees, shivering and crying.
“Him!” the klee ordered. The second klee guard quickly pulled him to his feet. The first klee looked around again until his eyes fell on . . . me. “And you,” he snarled. “You look like you might give us a decent show.”
I was tired of playing the role of a primitive, docile gar. I slowly got to my feet and stood up to my full height. I actually thought I caught a look of surprise on the klee’s face. He wasn’t used to a gar being so big, or acting so brashly.
“If giving you a decent show will get me out of here,” I said calmly, “then it’s showtime.”
The klees stared at me, dumbfounded. I’m guessing a gar had never spoken to either of them like that. I had thrown them off. I liked that. What I didn’t like was that the gar who was chosen first now looked more terrified than before. He shook his head violently and cried, “No!”
Uh oh. Had I made a mistake? Saint Dane had said there was a way to get out of here if I seized the opportunity. This sure felt like an opportunity, but was I crazy for believing anything he had to say? A month of confinement and hunger was making my thinking a little fuzzy. Okay, a lot fuzzy.
The first klee guard grabbed my arms. I pulled away and said, “You don’t have to do that; I’ll go wherever you want.”
The klee hesitated, then glanced at his friend. The other klee shrugged. Neither knew what to make of me. Then the first klee grabbed me again and pulled me to the d
oor. I didn’t fight. I didn’t want to waste what little gas was left in my tank. A moment later I was dragged out of the cell for the first time in a month. My legs were wobbly, but it felt good to use them again. Behind us, the other klee pulled the gar along as we traveled through a long stone corridor.
“What’s this all about?” I asked. “What are we supposed to do?”
The klee answered by giving me a rough shake. I didn’t want my brain rattled anymore, so I stopped asking questions. We reached the end of the corridor and went through a door that led outside. Feeling the cool morning breeze was awesome. I felt like I was returning to civilization. Sort of. I now got a look at the prison building where we were being kept. It was a square courtyard. The stone building that surrounded it was one story high. I wondered how many other animal pens this building held. Probably lots. The ground inside the courtyard had a few worn grassy patches, but mostly it was brown dirt. In the center was a ring of stones about twenty feet in diameter. This is where we were headed. I saw several klees hanging around the courtyard, doing nothing. When we appeared, they all made their way toward the circle.
When we reached the center, the klees gave us each a shove. I stumbled into the circle but managed to keep my feet. The gar wasn’t so lucky. He took a tumble, and stayed on the ground. I was beginning to get an uneasy feeling about this. The gar and I were now alone inside the circle, with more klees arriving to watch. They gathered around, chatting excitedly and laughing. There was a definite air of anticipation. I had the feeling that whatever show they wanted us to put on, it wouldn’t involve singing or dancing.