“You don’t sound okay,” I pressed.
“To be honest, I’m a little scared,” she admitted. “This all feels a little like a dream.”
I knew what she meant. If I were back home and being taken to meet the president or the pope or somebody big like that, I’d be tense too. Actually, this was bigger than that. We weren’t going to see just any old important person. We were going to meet some mythical character that Nevva had only heard stories about. I guess the better analogy would be it was like being taken to meet Santa Claus. Yeah, that would make me kind of nervous.
It felt like we had been traveling for at least a couple of hours when Tylee finally said, “We’re here.”
I felt Nevva tense up next to me. I probably did the same. We were led out of the car by strong hands and walked for several hundred yards in sunlight. Though I couldn’t see, I knew we weren’t in the city anymore. The sounds were different. Wherever we were, it was far away from civilization. The only sounds I heard were the crunching of our footsteps on gravel, and birds. Yes, they had birds on Quillan. Hearing them actually raised my spirits. There was life outside the dead city.
Tylee explained, “We are now in what was once an industrial complex, but it has long been abandoned. There are thousands of structures like this spread out beyond the borders of the city. It is the perfect place to go if you want to get lost.”
“The dados don’t come out here?” I asked.
“There’s no need to,” Tylee answered. “Blok shut down all the outlying industry. The trains no longer run. With no jobs, people had to move into the city. That’s why Rune is so crowded.”
Nevva added, “It’s another way the company controls people’s lives. All over Quillan they’ve herded the population into cities, where they can monitor our every move.”
We stopped, and I heard a heavy metal door being opened. Wherever we were going, it was secure.
“So Mr. Pop lives out here in the middle of nowhere?” I asked.
Nobody answered. I figured I’d be able to ask him myself. We walked inside the building for several minutes. The quick echo of our footsteps made it sound like we were walking down a corridor. Finally the long, mysterious journey came to an end when Tylee announced, “You can remove your blindfolds now.”
When I pulled off the cloth, I saw that we were in front of silver steel doors. It was an elevator. Nevva bit her Up. Her eyes darted around nervously.
“It’s okay,” I said. “This is a good thing.”
She nodded, but she was definitely on edge. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself. We entered, and had only descended for a short time when the elevator shuddered to a stop. The doors remained closed.
Tylee faced us and said, “Pendragon, Nevva, you two are about to experience something that very few others have. And that’s a shame. Hopefully that will soon change. There is a group among the revivers called guardians. I’m one of them. We have been given the single most important task ever conceived of in the history of Quillan. For generations we have been entrusted with the care and protection of Mr. Pop. Guardians have died rather than give up his secrets. I’m not ashamed to admit that some have threatened to reveal his truths and were executed without hesitation. That’s the level of importance we give to our task.” “Strong words,” I said.
Tylee said, “Once you step through these doors, you’ll understand.”
“Wait,” I said. “You guardians have been protecting Mr. Pop for generations? How old is this guy?”
Tylee smiled and said, “As old as Quillan.”
Nevva and I exchanged confused looks.
“Would you like to meet him?” Tylee asked.
We nodded dumbly. Suddenly I was nervous too. Tylee stepped aside and pressed a button on the control panel. The silvdr doors slid open quietly.
“Nevva, Pendragon,” Tylee said, “this is Mr. Pop.”
We stepped out of that elevator and into another world. It was a vast underground warehouse. The structure seemed even bigger than the warehouse full of wooden crates that led to the gate and the flume. We’re talking immense. But it wasn’t the room itself that took my breath away, it was what it contained. The instant the doors opened, I understood everything. I knew why security was so tight. I knew why Mr. Pop was spoken about in hushed tones. I knew how he would guide the people of Quillan into the future. I knew why they didn’t want Blok to know he existed. I knew why people died to guard his secrets. I knew why Tylee said protecting him was the single most important job ever conceived of in the history of Quillan, because what we saw in that room was the history of Quillan.
Mr. Pop wasn’t a person, he was civilization.
I looked to Nevva. Her wide eyes told me she was just as surprised as I was.
“Did you know?” I asked.
All she could do was shake her head. She had no idea.
This huge, impossible vault held the artifacts that defined the history of a territory. Everything that had been wiped out by the juggernaut that was Blok, was here. I’m not sure where to begin telling you about it. I’ll just dive in and describe it as it comes to me: There was artwork. Beautiful artwork of all styles-realistic, impressionistic, modern. Paintings and murals and sketches were displayed in one giant section. Next to it was a library. There were many thousands of volumes on shelves stacked nearly to the ceiling. These were the writings and thoughts of the people of Quillan. This is what Blok destroyed-or tried to.
Nevva and I didn’t speak; we simply followed Tylee as she led us on a slow stroll through this amazing archive. Music came from one section. It sounded kind of like classical music from Second Earth. There were multiple bins of small disks that contained every piece of music ever composed and recorded on the territory. It was all there.
Another section had hundreds of mannequins, though this wasn’t scary and sad like that empty store at the mall. These mannequins wore clothing from all different periods in Quillan’s history. There were vibrant colors and colorful patterns and some daring styles that would even turn some heads on Second Earth. There wasn’t a single gray, plain suit to be seen anywhere.
I felt as if I were floating through an impossible museum. I can’t begin to imagine how Nevva felt. This was her history, a history she never knew. It was Quillan. We passed cars from different eras, models of homes of every sort, examples of furniture and kitchens. There were even artifacts from ancient Quillan cultures. I saw dugout canoes and rudimentary tools. We passed one section that was ringed with hundreds of portraits. Tylee explained how each of these people had been notable in their time. Beneath each portrait was a detailed history of the person’s life and his or her contribution to the history of Quillan. There were artists and athletes, politicians and kings, outlaws and scientists. No aspect of Quillan’s history had been overlooked, whether it was good or bad. The infamous criminals were given the same treatment as the noted scholars.
Every so often we’d pass someone who was quietly going about the business of caring for the displays. The people all wore dark green smocks that made them look kind of like doctors. Or scientists. Tylee explained that these guardians maintained and cared for everything within these walls. I saw one | guy touching up an ancient oil portrait that was starting to fade. Another woman mended a gown that was frayed at the shoulder. Two guys worked on a car. They kicked over the engine and it sputtered to life. The two guys hugged each other as if they had just performed a miracle. I guess in some ways, they had.
We passed sculptures of every kind. Some were realistic depictions of people, others were modern-looking pieces with fascinating shapes and textures. One marble sculpture reached as high as the ceiling. It was a massive, muscular hand, holding a wispy feather. As big as it was, it looked incredibly delicate. We saw vases and hats and flowers and jewelry and poetry and toys and, and, and-I could keep going forever. We toured for an hour and only scratched the surface. It was clear why Tylee brought us here. She wanted us to see what Quillan once was. She want
ed me to see what Quillan once was.
“So Mr. Pop isn’t a person,” I finally said.
“We created a name,” Tylee answered. “It was a simple way to refer to this collection without raising suspicions as to its true nature.”
“The people need to see this,” I said.
“Of course they do,” Tylee replied. “What you’re seeing here isn’t just our history, it’s our essence. Our very being. This room is filled with tragedy and triumph. There’s a library of data where you can look up most every event of note. But this isn’t just about grand events. It’s about the little things that make up a life. There’s creativity in here. There’s individuality in here. It’s everything we ever were, and lost. No, that’s not right. We didn’t lose it-it was taken away. You’re right, the people desperately need to see this. They need to learn from it. They need to remember what we were and what we can be again. Our goal in preserving this is to have it ready for the time when the people are ready to take back their lives. It will be our guide to help us into the future. Hopefully, we can pick up where we left off, and not make the same mistakes.”
“But most people don’t know it exists?” I asked, amazed.
“Only in theory,” Tylee answered. “People have heard of Mr. Pop and how he will help show us the way. He’s a symbol in the form of a man. It gives people hope that there is more out there than the grim future that Blok has created. When the revival begins, and we can be sure that this collection is safe, these items will once again be shared with all the people of Quillan.”
Nevva was crying. It must have been pretty emotional to see what your life could have been. I didn’t blame her one bit. But I think she was embarrassed by showing such emotion in front of us.
“I need some time,” she said, and left Tylee and me alone.
Tylee said, “Nevva has helped the revival in so many ways. She knows that before we can recapture Quillan, we must recapture the minds and the imagination of the people. I truly believe in her idea of creating a hero of the people, who will triumph in the Grand X. It’s a brilliant way to charge people’s emotions. You’ve seen what’s at stake. But I understand your reluctance. Whatever choice you make, I’ll respect it. Now, I’ll leave you to explore, and think.”
She left me alone. I have to admit, I was rocked. Up until that point, all I had seen was the horror of Quillan. But here, within these walls, I saw hope. Thinking of those masses of zombies walking along the city streets, I couldn’t help but wonder what any of those brain-dead people would think if they saw Mr. Pop. It would be like a caveman seeing fire for the first time. I had to believe that learning the truth would change the course of Quillan. As I stood alone in that archive, I truly didn’t know what to do.
“Is there something in particular you need?” came a pleasant voice.
It was an elderly woman with long gray hair and warm brown eyes. She wore the same green smock as all the other workers.
“Sure,” I answered. “Inspiration.”
The old woman looked deep into my eyes for a moment, then said, “Come with me.”
I followed her on a winding route through the history of Quillan.
“Is this your first visit to Mr. Pop?” she asked.
I nodded and said, “It’s stunning.” It was the only word I could think of to describe it.
“The only thing stunning is that it needs to exist at all,” she replied.
She led me into another area of portraits that was similar to the first display we’d seen. Only the portraits in this gallery were all of children.
“Who were they?” I asked.
“Ordinary children who faced the same fears we all do,” she said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
She gave me a warm smile and left me alone. I walked into the gallery and stared at the faces in these portraits. There were kids of all ages, from toddlers up to young teens. I quickly scanned the histories that were printed below. These were regular kids who had each done something remarkable. One guy overcame blindness to graduate at the top of his school class. There was a girl who looked about twelve who was a champion swimmer, and a little guy who wrote poetry that was widely published. Some stories were dramatic, like the girl who survived for an impossibly long time in the wilderness. Others were simple, like the guy who raised puppies to be trained for use by the handicapped. One kid designed a simple toy that became very popular; another kid helped his single mother raise his younger brothers and sisters. Most of the stories weren’t territory-changing, but they all had one thing in common: They were kids who weren’t afraid to try.
I left the gallery in tears, knowing that Quillan didn’t have kids like this anymore. Worse, parents gambled away their children in the hopes of finding a better life. It didn’t get any worse than that.
I found Nevva and Tylee waiting for me at the elevator. They looked at me as if expecting an answer. I didn’t have one. I truly didn’t know what to do.
“We should get back” was all I said. I sensed their disappointment, but they didn’t say anything.
Tylee had us put our blindfolds back on. As best as I could tell, we retraced the exact same route back to the car and back to Rune. Nobody said a word the whole trip. That was fine by me. I needed to think. I had too many conflicting emotions and concerns. The blindfolds weren’t removed until we were back in the center of the city. When we were allowed to see again, we were on a side street somewhere in the heart of the city.
Tylee said, “I know this decision cannot be easy for you, Pendragon. When you have decided what you want to do, Nevva will contact us, and we will go from there.”
Tylee nodded to Nevva and left. I wanted more time to think, though I wasn’t sure what more thinking would do. The facts weren’t changing. It was entirely up to me. Nevva reached for my arm, and was about to lead me away when we heard music boom through the streets. The overhead screens had come to life. We walked out to the corner and gazed up at the nearest screen. All around us the people of Rune did the same.
Loud electronic music blared from the screens, getting everjyone’s attention. The geometric shapes danced and bobbed on the screen.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Is it another game?”
“No,” Nevva answered with certainty. “Unless they’ve changed the schedule.”
The next image we saw on-screen was a familiar one. It was Veego and LaBerge. Veego looked like her normal, intense self, while LaBerge looked like his normal, annoying self. He couldn’t keep still as he sang, “Hiding hiding, running scared, maybe under a bed. Your name will bear the mark of shame, the coward Challenger Red!”
Nevva shot me a look. I kept my eyes on the screen. The image changed and was replaced by another familiar face. It was Challenger Green. The crowd cheered. The big guy seemed to be looking right at me as he said, “Stay away, you frightened little boy. Is it because you know you can’t beat me? Is that why you ran away? We’re laughing at you. Challenger Red. We’re all laughing at you. What made you think you could challenge me in the Grand X? I am the greatest champion Blok has ever known. You were nothing before, and you have returned to nothing. Thank you for not wasting my time. Is there anyone else there brave enough to challenge me? The Grand X is nearly here. Who is brave enough to face me? Or maybe I should say, who is stupid enough?” Challenger Green laughed, the crowd roared its approval, and the screen went dark.
I turned to Nevva and said, “I’ll do it.”
That’s where I’m ending this journal. I’m going to enter the Grand X. I know it sounds crazy. I’m doing exactly what Saint Dane wants. But how can I turn my back on these people? Seeing that library they call Mr. Pop was what did it. Quillan had life once. If the revivers are successful, I think the territory can be turned around. Nevva was right, this definitely feels like the turning point for Quillan. I think Saint Dane was lying. Quillan isn’t lost. Not yet. There seems to be a moment here where things can turn for the better. It’s all about the revivers, a
nd if they think my competing in the Grand X will help them, then I’ve got to do it. It’s what I’m supposed to do. Yes, I think it’s the way it was meant to be.
I can’t say I’m not nervous about it. I am. But I’m confident, too. I can beat that guy. I know I can. Of course anything can happen, but all things being equal, I know I can take him. Whatever positive effect that will have on the revival is the main reason I want to take him on. But there’s another. This guy killed a Traveler. I don’t care if it was during a game. He killed a Traveler. I’m tired of being cautious. I’m going to take him apart.
And I haven’t forgotten Saint Dane’s offer. He told me if I competed in the Grand X, he’d reveal the origin of the Travelers. Do I believe him? Not really. But when I win, I’m going to do all I can to hold him to that. I’m beginning to understand that guy. As much as he’s jerked me around, I’ve been able to get to him, too. If I compete and he doesn’t live up to his end of the bargain, I can turn it around on him as proof of his own weakness. He hates that. He wants to beat me. No, he needs to beat me. He won’t.
That’s why I think this can be the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning of my life as a Traveler. When I win the Grand X, I’m not only going to be helping the revivers save Quillan, I’ll be taking another step toward stopping Saint Dane for good.
But first I’ve got to stop Challenger Green.
Bring it on.
END JOURNAL #26
Courtney read the entire journal at the Sherwood house.
She couldn’t wait. She took the envelope upstairs to the empty living room of the old mansion, sat on the hard floor, and read. Her heart raced the entire time. With each new turn in Bobby’s story, she grew more upset. Bobby had announced that he was going to enter the Grand X. She wanted to cry. Bobby was changing. She feared he was becoming too aggressive, too cocky. It scared her to death.
She needed Mark. She really needed Mark. But Mark was gone. He had jumped into the flume and traveled to territories unknown. The only people who knew where he went and why were Mark… and Saint Dane. Saint Dane. Andy Mitchell was Saint Dane. He had been Saint Dane from the very beginning, which meant back in grade school. Courtney zipped through her memories of the creepy kid with the greasy hair who loved to torment others. The thought was impossible, yet strangely, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. It didn’t make her feel any better, but it made sense.
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