He sat down, looking tired.
“Making a useless gesture,” he said. “With all the confusion after what happened to Mr. Pop, we thought we might get to the trustees to . . . I don’t know what. The building’s been evacuated. We didn’t see anyone, until just now.” The guy looked like he was going to cry. “It’s over. It’s done. Everything is . . . gone.”
I knew how he felt. I wanted to cry too.
“I don’t even know your name,” I said.
“It’s Sander,” he said. “You were amazing, Pendragon. Everything was coming together. The revival had begun. And then . . . ” He couldn’t finish.
“Let’s go see what the others have found,” I said.
We left the courtroom. In the corridor there was a reviver standing outside the door to the office Saint Dane had used as Mr. Kayto. We hurried to meet him.
“Are they in there?” Sander asked.
“N-No,” the guy said, sounding shaken. “Look.”
We entered the office and saw the other revivers standing by the large floor-to-ceiling window—or what was left of it. The window had been smashed out.
“They jumped,” one of the revivers said.
Sander looked cautiously out the window and down to the ground. I knew there would be nothing to see. They were gone. The grim reality hit me that I now faced two enemies with the same powers.
“Come on,” Sander said. “It won’t be long before the dados return. We’re not safe here.”
Sander brought me back to the underground. Though Nevva had revealed the location of the malls, there were still several safe places where the revivers could gather. Or what was left of them. The revival was dead. Destroying Mr. Pop had the exact effect that Saint Dane wanted: It destroyed the people’s will to resist. Their hope was gone. In a short few moments the people had gone from the heights of enthusiasm to the depths of despair. The movement would not recover from it. Mr. Pop was more than a symbol—it was the last physical evidence of their past civilization, and it was gone.
I spent the next few weeks living with the remains of the revivers, trying to make sense of what had happened. They accepted me because I had given my all to help them, as futile as it may have been. I had earned their respect and their thanks. The whole time I spent with them, I didn’t say much. I listened. I didn’t like what I heard. These people were the heart of the revival, and they had given up. The destruction of Mr. Pop was too much for them to handle. Saint Dane was right. Hope is a fragile emotion that’s easily lost. These people had lost all hope.
I knew how they felt, but my own loss of hope went far beyond the territory of Quillan. I felt as if we had reached another turning point. The turning point of Halla. I feared it had gone the wrong way. Knowing that I was partly to blame was hard to take. Saint Dane played me. So did Nevva. They built up my ego and made me think I was invincible. For all I knew, this was Saint Dane’s plan all along. We Travelers have had a lot of success. I’ve had a lot of success. When Saint Dane physically attacked me on Zadaa, it pushed me into becoming a fighter. I was good at it. I may not have had the full-on killer instinct, but I was good. It now looked as if everything was designed to put me in this position, and cause the loss of another territory. And Halla.
My shame became complete when I was walking on the street several days after the Grand X. The screens on top of the buildings came to life. Who appeared? Veego and LaBerge. They were back in business. If that weren’t bad enough, they were there to introduce a new Quillan game. The contestants were the new Challenger Red and Challenger Green.
The new Challenger Green was . . . Tylee Magna. They had captured her shortly after Mr. Pop was destroyed. None of the revivers knew what had happened to her until that moment. The revivers had not only failed, their leader was being forced to play the Quillan games. I didn’t watch the match. I couldn’t.
I spent much of my time alone, writing this journal. This is the hardest journal I have had to write so far, because I feel as if I’m writing the final chapter. I don’t know what to do next. Go to Ibara and track down Nevva Winter? But what of Saint Dane? Where was he headed next? He mentioned something called the Convergence. Is that a territory? An event? I have no way of knowing.
I think one of the reasons I wasn’t quick to leave Quillan was because I didn’t want to accept total defeat. I wanted to believe there was some seed, some person, some slight burning ember that was dug out of the ruin of Mr. Pop that would tell me all wasn’t lost. But the longer I spent here, the more I realized I was dreaming. Quillan was dead. I helped kill it.
I almost ended the journal here. I was about to send it off to you guys when Sander paid me a visit in my little cell room.
“There’s someone here who wants to see you,” he said.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Sander answered. “She says she knows you.”
I had no idea who it might be. Could another Traveler have shown up? Was it Loor? Or Aja? I followed Sander out to the common area that was an abandoned barbershop. Sitting in the ancient unused barber chair was an elderly woman. I didn’t recognize her until she spoke.
“Hello,” she said. “Do you remember me?”
“Yes!” I said. “I met you when I visited Mr. Pop. You gave me this for luck.” I still had on the dark beaded necklace with the single gold bead. “You probably should have kept it yourself,” I said, taking it off to give back to her.
“I don’t want it,” she said brusquely, almost in anger.
“Oh, okay,” I said. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I barely escaped ahead of the attack,” she said.
We both fell silent for a moment, remembering the carnage.
“Is there something I can do for you?” I asked.
“Maybe,” she said. “And maybe there’s something I can do for you. A while back I was given a gift. At the time I couldn’t accept it. My life was falling apart and I didn’t have the strength to deal with much of anything. I’m not proud of that, but at the time I did what I thought was right. I went into seclusion. I left behind everything I knew and dedicated myself to the revival, and to caring for the archives. For Mr. Pop.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Not as much as I,” she said. “If I hadn’t done what I did, the library might still be safe. I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.”
“I don’t get it,” I said. “How could dedicating your life to Mr. Pop lead to its being destroyed?”
The woman took a deep tired breath, then said, “My name is Elli. Elli Winter. Nevva is my daughter.”
My head felt light. I had to sit in the other barber chair.
“Did she tell you about me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “She thinks you tried to assassinate the trustees and that’s why you disappeared.”
Elli scoffed and said, “Maybe that would have been the smarter thing to do, as things turned out. Did you know my husband died in the tarz?”
“Yes,” I said.
“He loved Nevva. She was his world.”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “You said she’s your daughter?”
“Yes. We adopted her. She was always a precocious child. She challenged everything and questioned everyone. I wasn’t surprised when I found out she’d gone to work for the trustees of Blok, but I was never more proud than when I heard she had joined the revivers. I was able to keep up with her through word of mouth, but never wanted her to know where I was.”
“Why didn’t you tell her you were okay?” I asked.
“At first it was because of what happened to my husband. I was devastated. I truly couldn’t face the world, even Nevva. And then I was given some news that confused me even further. Instead of trying to understand, I ran away. Time went on and I found peace, but I didn’t know how to tell Nevva what I had done. I was so ashamed. That’s why I chose to live in the library. It was the most secret place I could find. Nobody came there. I was in a
place where I could be alone to think and try to understand all that had happened.”
“So what was the news you got?” I asked.
Elli was wearing a dark cloak. She reached into the folds. “I told you that I received a gift. It was shortly after my husband died. I think you might know what this is.” She pulled her hand out of the cloak, clutching something tightly. She held it out and opened her hand to reveal . . . a Traveler ring.
“I was supposed to be the Traveler from Quillan, Pendragon. Your uncle Press brought me this ring and told me of my destiny. He said that I would be the Traveler until Nevva was ready, then I would pass the responsibility on to her.” Tears welled up in Elli’s eyes. “But I couldn’t do it. I was frightened. Hearing stories of flumes and territories and Halla and Saint Dane and you—it was all too much for me. So I ran away. Press was understanding, he told me that Nevva would take my place right away, but asked me to keep the ring. Now I find that my daughter has turned her back on everyone. She betrayed her people, and she betrayed the Travelers. If I’d been stronger, if I had been a better mother and faced my responsibilities, none of this would have happened.”
Elli was in tears. I put my arms around her and held her tight. She clutched at my shoulder.
“Why did she do it? What was she thinking? Is my daughter evil?”
“I’m not going to defend her,” I said. “But I will say that Saint Dane is a powerful influence. He’s got her twisted into believing that to follow him is the best way to save Halla. Nevva is brilliant, maybe that’s why she was vulnerable. Saint Dane somehow appealed to her intellect, and won her over.”
Elli pulled away from me and wiped her eyes. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do that.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“No, it’s not,” she said with authority. “I’m not the same person I was. This may sound strange coming from an old woman, but I’ve grown up. I’m ready.”
“For what?” I asked.
Elli took a deep breath and announced, “I’m ready to be the Traveler from Quillan.”
After all that had happened. After the devastation and betrayal and crushed ideals and total despair that had marked my stay on Quillan, I finally found it: In this simple old woman I found a small glimmer of hope. Would it be enough to resurrect a territory? Or save Halla? It’s way too soon to tell. But when you get as low as I had gotten, and this territory had gotten, having someone willing to take on the fight goes a long way. Saint Dane was right. Hope is a fragile thing. It’s easy to lose, but it’s possible to get it back.
And I got it back.
I’m ending the journal here and sending it to you guys. I’m going to spend a few weeks with Elli, filling her in as best I can on all things about the Travelers. That’s pretty funny. How can I be the one to explain what it means to be a Traveler, when I barely know myself? I can’t help but run Saint Dane’s words over in my head. He said we weren’t real, that we were illusions. I don’t believe him. We are very real. We have saved territories. We have made mistakes, but we have made a difference. Mostly it’s been good. I’m not ready to give up the fight yet. I was, but Elli changed my thinking. If she’s willing to give it another go, so am I.
But right now I need to see a familiar face. I need to see people I know I can trust. I need to see you guys. Having Nevva turn on us has really set me back. It makes me wonder what reality really is, and where this is all going to lead. If there’s one thing I’ve gotten from Quillan, it’s that the battle with Saint Dane is a lot more complex than I thought. There’s good. There’s evil. And there’s a sea of confusion in between. I can only hope that at some point I’ll be able to sort it out.
And so we go. I’ll see you guys soon.
END JOURNAL #27
SECOND EARTH
“I’m sorry,” Courtney said as she put the pages down.
Bobby was lying on the floor. He wasn’t used to sitting on soft furniture anymore. “Don’t be,” he said. “I only have myself to blame for what happened.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Courtney said. “But what I meant was, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.”
“What’s that?” Bobby asked.
“You need a break. I’m not going to give it to you. I’ve got to tell you what’s been happening here. It’s only going to make it worse.”
Courtney spent the next hour telling Bobby all that had happened since they left each other as the flume collapsed on Eelong. She didn’t leave out a single detail, telling him how no time had passed while they were on Eelong; about the depression she went into after learning of Kasha’s death; about her recovery at summer school, and of course, about Whitney Wilcox. She told him the whole story of Andy Mitchell and how he joined Mark’s science club, and how they became friends and ultimately how he helped Mark save her life. She told Bobby all about the science project that he and Mark had worked on and how Mark’s parents were killed in the plane tragedy.
The hardest part of all was telling Bobby how Andy Mitchell was Saint Dane all along. From the time they were kids. She ended by telling Bobby that after learning of the tragic death of his parents, Mark jumped into the flume with Andy Mitchell. With Saint Dane. Where? She didn’t know.
Bobby listened to the whole story without saying a word. Courtney saw him wince a few times, but he never interrupted. She ended her story by explaining how, after she had been pulled into the flume and dumped back on Second Earth, strange things had appeared, like the talking cat and the impossible computer and the pepper spray that wasn’t pepper spray. When she finished, she sat back on the couch, exhausted. The two sat there for the longest time, not saying a word. Courtney knew that Bobby needed time to digest all that she had told him.
Finally Courtney said, “I know you came home to get away, but I don’t think a place exists to get away anymore.”
Bobby nodded. Courtney could tell he was rolling all the events around in his head.
“Let’s take this slowly,” he said. “We first need to confirm some things. Are you with me?”
“You know I am,” Courtney said.
The first order of business was to get Bobby better clothes. Courtney’s dad was roughly Bobby’s size, so she raided his room. She got Bobby better jeans and a shirt that fit him. It was cold out, so she also grabbed a Polarfleece jacket that her dad wore hiking. She thought that Bobby looked way better, and more importantly, wouldn’t get a second glance from anybody. The mystery of what had happened to Bobby and the Pendragons was still out there. People didn’t talk about it every day anymore, but the police investigation was still ongoing. It wouldn’t be a good thing for him to be recognized. But Bobby had grown so much that Courtney was pretty sure nobody would recognize him. Just to be safe, she grabbed a pair of her dad’s sunglasses. The illusion was complete. No way did he look like the fourteen-year-old Bobby who had disappeared three years earlier.
Even though both of them were old enough, neither had gotten their driver’s licenses. Courtney had been dealing with too many issues to take the time, and there weren’t any driver’s ed classes being taught on Eelong, Zadaa, or Quillan. That meant to get around they had to ride bikes. Courtney rode hers and Bobby borrowed her dad’s.
“Hey,” Bobby said as they started to pedal. “It’s just like riding a bike.”
Courtney laughed. For that one instant she felt as if things were back to normal. Bobby was making dumb jokes and they were riding bikes through Stony Brook. Courtney allowed herself to pretend life hadn’t changed, if only for a few precious minutes.
Their first stop was at the florist shop that was run by Andy Mitchell’s uncle. It was gone. There was an empty lot where the building once stood. Neither Bobby nor Courtney said a word. Neither was surprised. The next stop was Glenville School, the grammar school where Bobby, Courtney, Mark, and Andy Mitchell had all gone. Bobby waited outside while Courtney went in to the office and spoke to the secretary, explaining how Andy Mitchell was going to some big science fair i
n Orlando, and she was doing a piece on him for the high school paper and could she please look through some of the old records for pictures and whatnot of Andy? The secretary said she couldn’t give out official records, but she’d look to see what she could find.
Fifteen minutes later she returned with strange news that wasn’t strange to Courtney at all. There was no record of Andy Mitchell. Nothing. Zero. The secretary didn’t understand, because she remembered Andy very well. She’d caught him smoking in the boys’ room more than once. The woman wanted to keep talking, but Courtney had heard enough. She thanked the woman and left.
Bobby and Courtney rode to Stony Brook Avenue, where they bought a couple of boxes of golden fries and cans of Coke from Garden Poultry Deli. The sun had warmed the day up enough so they could sit in the pocket park near the deli and enjoy their greasy-delicious lunch while they talked.
“So it’s true,” Bobby said. “Saint Dane was Andy Mitchell the whole time. I always hated that guy. He was such a tool to Mark.”
“It’s scary to think he was watching us our whole lives,” Courtney said. “He’s been plotting this for years.”
“What was that science project they were working on again?” Bobby asked.
“They called it ‘Forge.’ It looked like a hunk of Play-Doh, but it was voice activated. You told it what shape you wanted it to be, and it turned into it. It was pretty incredible. Do you think that’s significant?”
“I think everything is significant,” Bobby said. “Do you still have that pepper spray?”
Courtney reached into her pack and took out a silver canister.
“That is not the same thing I put in my pocket when I left this morning,” she said.
Bobby looked around to see if anybody was watching. He pointed the canister at a sculpture of an owl that was carved out of wood, and pressed the trigger.
Fum!
The owl was knocked off its perch.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Courtney said.
Bobby handed her back the canister and said, “I have. On Quillan. That’s the same kind of weapon the dados used.”