The Quillan Games Read online

  At the bottom of the box was a blue envelope with the word PENDRAGON on it. I quickly opened it to find a single sheet of bright yellow paper with fancy red lettering. It was an invitation that read:

  Riggedy riggedy white

  Come and spend the night

  We’ll play some games

  Some wild, some tame

  Cause if you will, you might

  Your hosts on Quillan,

  Veego and LaBerge

  Veego and LaBerge. I had no idea what that meant. I had no idea what any of it meant, but one thing was very clear: The next stop for me was Quillan. Alone. Loor wanted to come, but I needed to learn what Quillan was going to hold before deciding which Traveler could best help me there. Besides, Loor had just come back from the dead. She needed the rest. At least I thought she did. What did I know? I’d never seen anybody come back from the dead before. So I reluctantly left Loor at the mouth of the flume on Zadaa, stepped into the tunnel, and shouted, “Quillan.”

  And that’s where my latest adventure began. . . .

  JOURNAL #24

  (CONTINUED)

  QUILLAN

  The flume.

  As impossible an experience as flying through time and space may be, it has become the only time when I can totally relax. There are no surprises, nobody lurking around the corner waiting to pounce, no Saint Dane. I hope it stays that way. Once I announce the territory where I’m headed and get swept into the crystal tunnel of light and music, I can relax. I think back to that very first flume ride from Second Earth to Denduron and how flat-out terrified I was. Now I’m at peace. It’s almost like a flume ride recharges my batteries. I do think there’s a whole lot more to these magical tunnels than simply being highways across the cosmos, though. There has to be some kind of intelligence at work here. How else would the flumes know where to send us? More importantly, how else would they know when to send us? We always arrive where we need to be, when we need to be there. Even if there are two gates on a territory, we always end up at the gate where we need to be. I’m sure that when I learn the truth about the Travelers and Halla and Saint Dane, I’ll also learn all about the flumes and how they can do what they do. Until then, I’ll accept the flume rides as being my little vacation away from reality while speeding me to my next destination.

  Still, there is one thing that haunts me about the flumes. Ever since Saint Dane won the battle for Veelox, I’ve been seeing strange, ghostly images floating through the starfield beyond the crystal walls as I travel through the cosmos. The black sky full of sparkling stars is now littered with near-transparent living pictures of people and things that exist on the various territories. I’ve seen the Hindenburg from First Earth, along with Jinx Olsen’s flying seaplane. I’ve seen the white-skinned Novans of Denduron marching in line, and underwater speeders from Cloral being chased by bloated spinney fish. Batu warriors from Zadaa have floated alongside zenzen horses from Eelong. I’ve seen immense Lifelight pyramids from Veelox and even small animals that look like cats from Second Earth. Many things I don’t recognize. I’ve seen swarms of people holding spears in the air, cheering for something or other. I’ve seen stiff-looking muscular men, running quickly, with stern faces and sharp jaws. I wouldn’t want to get in their way. I’ve even seen some clown faces, laughing maniacally. I hate clowns. Have I mentioned that?

  There are thousands upon thousands more images that I won’t bother to describe, because I think you get the idea. Many I recognize, but just as many I don’t. They are ghosts from all the territories, floating together in the sea of space. That’s why it makes me uneasy. We all know that elements from the territories are not supposed to be mixed. We’ve learned that the hard way over and over. Yet here in space, or wherever it is, the images of all the territories are jumbled together. It’s not like they are interacting or anything. It’s more like I’m watching movies projected all over the place. But seeing these images right next to one another makes me realize just how different each of the territories is. They all have their own histories and their own destinies. That can’t change. Mixing them would be like throwing random numbers into a perfect equation. The result won’t be the same. I think that’s what would happen to the territories if the cultures were mingled. None of the territories would be the same and that could be disastrous.

  Which is exactly what Saint Dane wants. He’s played fast and loose with the rules about mixing elements between territories, and I’m beginning to realize why. The more he can throw a territory off balance, the easier it will be for him to send it all crashing into chaos. I believe he’s not only working to push the turning point of each territory toward disaster, but he’s helping his cause by mixing them together as well. What does that all mean to me besides making my stomach twist? Nothing, except that it’s all the more reason he must be stopped. As I was speeding through the flume toward Quillan, I couldn’t help but wonder if those images floating in space were there as a warning, or evidence that the worst had already begun and the walls between the territories were beginning to crumble.

  It was the first flume trip that I didn’t enjoy.

  I didn’t have time to sweat about it for long, though. I heard the jumble of sweet musical notes that always accompany me on a flume ride begin to grow louder and more complex. This familiar song signaled that I was nearing the end of my trip. I took my focus away from the images in space and looked ahead. A bright light shone at the end of the tunnel. I was about to arrive on Quillan. The time for theorizing was over. The show was about to begin.

  As the cushion of light gently deposited me on my feet, every sense instantly went on alert. I stood there for a second to get my bearings. It was dark, but that could have been because I had just been sailing along in a shower of light. I needed a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. I waited with my knees bent, ready to jump at the first sign of trouble. After only a few seconds I heard an odd noise. It sounded like chattering. I’m not sure how else to describe it. There was a series of high-pitched clicking noises coming from somewhere off to my right. They didn’t sound dangerous or aggressive. Just . . . odd. I strained to hear, but it stopped. Silence. All I heard was the faint echoing of the musical notes as they receded into the depths of the flume. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to step into something stupid. I waited a solid minute, but the noise didn’t come back. Whatever it was, it was gone.

  Looking around, I saw nothing but black. Swell. I would have given anything for a flashlight . . . assuming they had flashlights on Quillan. Another minute passed, and I figured I wasn’t doing any good standing in the dark, so I took a tentative step forward and . . . smack! I walked right into a wall. Head first. Ouch. I took a quick step back, feeling more stupid than hurt. I reached out, more carefully this time, and eased forward until my hand touched the wall. At least I thought it was a wall. It sure felt like one. It was hard. It was flat. It stretched out to either side of me. You know . . . wall. The space between the opening to the flume and this wall seemed to be only a couple of feet. It was the smallest gate area yet. Of course, I knew there had to be a way out, the trick was finding it. I took a few steps back into the flume to get some perspective. I stood there for a few seconds until, slowly, I began to make out cracks in the wall. Actually, they looked more like seams. The lines were straight, crossing one another, forming a grid pattern with two-foot squares. I didn’t see this at first because I was so close to the wall and my eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark. The light coming through was very faint. But it was there. I knew there had to be a way out, so I slowly scanned the wall, looking for anything that might be a doorway, or a window, or a hole. I didn’t care. I was starting to get claustrophobic.

  I heard the clicking sounds again. This time to my left. I shot a look that way to see . . . nothing. But there was no mistake. Something was there. I had no way of knowing how far off in each direction this wall stretched. The seams disappeared off to either side. It’s not like they ended abruptly, they just kind of faded out into the d
ark. This wall could have gone on for miles for all I knew.

  The chattering stopped. Whatever it was, was creeping me out. I wanted out of there. Out of desperation I walked up to the wall, put my hand on it, and started pushing. I reached up over my head and pushed on one of the squares that was marked off by the seam of light. It didn’t budge. I moved my hand down, pushing on the square below it. Nothing happened. My thinking was that maybe one of these squares was also a doorway of some kind and . . .

  It didn’t take me long to find it. The fifth square pushed out. One side was on a hinge. Instantly light flooded in. I glanced back to the flume to see the big, round mouth of the rocky tunnel. I looked off to the sides to see if I could catch a glimpse of whatever it was that was doing all the clicking, but my pupils had already contracted because of the light. All I saw was pitch black. The mystery would have to wait. The door was about at my waist and just large enough for me to enter. I put one leg through, then ducked down and put my head through, and finally I dragged my other leg behind.

  I was out! Great. But where was I? I turned around to see that the wall I had come through was made of cement, or stucco. Whatever it was, it was definitely man-made. That answered one of my questions. Wherever the flume was, it wasn’t in some natural cave or tunnel. It was in a building. I suppose the hinge on the door should have been a tip-off too. Duh. The face of the wall was covered with what looked like a grid of metal. That accounted for the pattern of squares I’d seen inside. It looked to me like some kind of support to keep the wall secure. It was one of the sections of this grid that was actually the gate to the flume. I was about to close the hatch behind me, when I realized I needed a way to figure out which of these squares was the gate once it was closed. They all looked the same. Of course, I needn’t have worried. They didn’t all look the same. I saw a small star burned into the upper right corner of the open panel. It was no bigger than a quarter, but it was there. It was the mark that showed this was a gate to the flume. I knew how to get back. I closed the two-foot square secret door, then quickly opened it again, just to make sure I wasn’t locking myself out. If I had to get to the flume fast, I didn’t want to have to monkey with a temperamental door. After closing it again, I put my back to the wall to get my first look at Quillan.

  I found myself in a huge room that looked to be a storage facility. Wooden crates of all sizes were stacked everywhere. The ceiling was about forty feet high. The walls to either side were so far off I couldn’t tell how big the room really was. The words “airplane hangar” came to mind. I could now see that the grid on the wall behind me must have had a couple of thousand squares in it . . . with exactly one that led to the flume. It was a brilliant place for it, like hiding a needle in a haystack . . . made of needles. I just hoped I could find my way back to the haystack and find that particular needle. Light came from glowing strips in the ceiling. I couldn’t tell if they were electric lights or openings to the outside. The light they gave off wasn’t bright. The whole place was kind of gloomy. But there was enough light for me to get the overall feeling of the place. There looked to be thousands upon thousands of containers of all sizes. Some were as small as a shoe box, others were big enough to hold a car. There was no way to tell what any of them contained, other than the black series of numbers that was painted on each. From looking around I came to my first conclusion about Quillan. It wasn’t a primitive society. They had manufacturing and construction and enough advanced technology to create a huge indoor space.

  There looked to be a thick coating of dust on all the crates, which told me this was a place for deep, long-term storage. Who knew how long these crates and boxes of whatever had been there? Good thing, too. Having a flume in a heavy-traffic area wasn’t a good idea. This place was ancient, and probably forgotten. The word “tomb” came to mind, which conjured a whole nother image of what might be in those containers. I had to shake that idea, quick.

  The containers were arranged in such a way that there were twisting alleyways between them that led deeper into the room. Or out of the room. I had no idea which way was which. I could have been near the exit, or on the far side from it, or anywhere in between. I was going to have to make my way through this labyrinth and hope it didn’t take a year to find the exit. Getting back was going to be another matter. I looked at my Traveler ring to make sure the stone was sparkling the way it does when I get near a flume. I knew I would have to trust the ring to get me back to this spot, and this tiny hole in the wall.

  I was about to take a step to begin my search for the exit when I realized something important. I was still wearing the white tunic of a Rokador from the territory of Zadaa. I had no idea what they wore on Quillan, but the odds were long that they’d have the same white pajama-looking clothes as I had on. Usually acolytes leave clothes for the Travelers at the flumes. But I didn’t see any here. Then again, I didn’t see much of anything because it was pitch dark. I went back to the square in the wall with the star, pulled it open, and peered through. After a few moments my eyes adjusted, and I saw what I was looking for.

  On the ground was a pile of clothing. Perfect. I climbed back inside and picked up the clothes that were left for me, or any other Traveler who paid a visit. I first picked up a long-sleeved, bright red shirt. There were no buttons or zippers. No collar either. It was like a long-sleeved T-shirt, but the material was heavier and a little bit stretchy. The only design was a series of five black stripes that ran diagonally across the front from the left shoulder down to the right side of the waist. It reminded me a little bit of a rugby shirt. There was also a pair of pants. Simple, black, made from the same stretchy material. I was psyched when I saw the shoes. They were like my running shoes from Second Earth. They were black and didn’t look fancy, but they definitely looked comfortable. On my travels I had worn leather sandals and rotten rags and leather dress shoes and swim boots and pretty much anything else that was designed specifically to be uncomfortable. Here, I couldn’t wait to get them on. I quickly took off my Rokador clothes and slipped into the local attire. I kept on my boxers. That’s where I drew the line. If the future of all humanity was going to be decided on whether or not I wore boxers from Second Earth, there was no hope of saving it. The clothes fit perfectly, as usual. Even the sneakers. For the first time in forever I actually liked wearing my clothes.

  I then noticed there was something else on the floor. It looked like a silver bracelet. It was a thick oval ring with a single groove etched deeply all the way around. It wasn’t fancy or anything. Nor did it look like it had any function. It was kind of clunky and felt heavier than it looked. But I figured if it was at the flume with the local clothing, I was meant to have it. So I jammed it in the back pocket of my new pants, along with the paper that had the strange rhyming invitation from Veego and LaBerge.

  That’s when I heard the chattering again. Whatever was making the sound, this time there were more of them. Many more. The clicking and crunching sounds grew. I waited a second, expecting the sound to disappear again. It didn’t. Whatever it was, their numbers were growing. I slowly turned around. What I saw shouldn’t have surprised me. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it right away, but I didn’t. Bad move. What I saw in the darkness on the far side of the flume were dozens of tiny little eyes peering at me. That’s all I saw. The eyes. Yellow eyes.

  Quig eyes.

  My adrenaline spiked. A nanosecond later I was in the air, head first, diving for the square doorway out of the gate. I sailed through the opening, hit the ground, rolled, then popped back up and turned to see if I was being followed. I stared at the opened door, waiting for something to come out. It didn’t. That’s because it was already out. I felt a little tickle on my shoulder. Before I could react, something bit me. Hard.

  “Owwww!”

  I threw myself against a tall crate, hoping to crush whatever had attacked me. I slammed my shoulder, but I didn’t care. I wanted whatever had chomped me to be gone. I heard a crunching sound, and a squeal. Throw
ing myself away from the crate, I looked down as the vicious little hitchhiker fell to the ground.

  It was a spider. A big spider. No, a HUGE spider. It looked like a tarantula on steroids. The beastie had to be the size of a kitten, but there was nothing cute or cuddly about it. Its thick body and multiple legs were bloodred; it had pincers in front that snapped like an angry lobster’s, and its head was so black that its yellow quig eyes looked as if they were glowing. I wasn’t sure if it had snagged me with one of its pincers or bitten me with its mouth. Either way, I hoped it wasn’t poisonous, or I would be done before I even got started on Quillan.

  When I slammed the quig-spider into the crate, I rattled it, but didn’t kill it. The thing was on its back with its legs scrambling in the air. I was about to go over and step on it, when it suddenly flipped back onto its feet, and looked at me. I swear, guys, this little monster looked at me. It had intelligence. But as vicious as this little beastie looked, there was worse news.