The Merchant of Death tpa-1

by D. J. MacHale

  That’s right! Now I remember where I’d seen her before. Uncle Press had brought her to our house. We had met before! I remember thinking how beautiful she was, and how odd it was that she didn’t speak. The mystery was over: She was a friend of Uncle Press’s. But that realization was quickly replaced with another. Man, I’d almost forgotten. Uncle Press was in trouble. At least I think he was in trouble. Those knight boys who lassoed him and pulled him off didn’t exactly look like his pals. A rush of adrenaline shot through my body and I sat up fast.

  “He’s in trouble!” I shouted. Bad move. Not the shouting part, the sitting up fast part. My body was one big black-and-blue mark from our bobsled crash in the forest. A wave of pain hit me like, like, well, like that stick would have hit me if Loor were taking batting practice on me. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before, but I was really hurt. It felt like every one of my ribs was cracked. The pain was so intense it took my breath away. My legs went weak and I had to lie back down or I would have passed out again. Osa quickly grabbed my shoulders and gently lowered me back on the bench.

  “It is all right,” she said in a soothing voice. “The pain will not last.”

  How could she know that? Unless maybe she thought I was about to die. Nothing short of death was going to stop this burning pain anytime soon. But what happened next was nothing short of amazing. I lay there taking short quick breaths because deep breaths made the pain even worse. Osa then reached out and gently put her hand on my chest. She looked into my eyes and I swear, Mark, it was like I melted. The tension totally flew out of me.

  “Relax,” she said softly. “Breathe slowly.”

  I did. Soon my heart stopped pounding and I could take a deep breath. But most amazing of all, the pain went away. I swear. A second before I was hurting so bad I couldn’t even cry. Now it was gone. Completely.

  Osa took her hand away and glanced over to Loor for a reaction. Loor turned away. She wasn’t impressed. But I sure was. It was some kind of miracle.

  “How did you do that?” I asked while sitting up and feeling my ribs.

  “Do what?” was Osa’s innocent reply.

  “Are you kidding?” I shouted. “My ribs! I was like, dying. You touched me and poof, I’m off injured reserve.”

  Osa stood up and said, “Perhaps you were not hurt as badly as you thought.”

  “Yeah right,” I shot back. “I know what pain is, especially when it’s mine.”

  That’s when Loor decided to join the party.

  “We are wasting time,” she said in a peeved voice. “Press is being held by Kagan.”

  I didn’t care much for Loor’s style, but she was right.

  “Who is this Kagan dude?” I asked.

  “There are many things you must learn,” said Osa. “Press was to begin teaching you, but until he returns the task will be mine. Come.”

  She walked over to the hole in the wall that was a door and stood next to her daughter. They both looked at me, which I took as my cue to follow. I stood up, ready to feel the pain in my ribs shoot back. It didn’t. Amazing. I then looked at Loor to see if she would spring into attack mode again. She didn’t. So far so good.

  “Shouldn’t we find Uncle Press?” I asked.

  “We will,” responded Osa. “But first you must learn about Denduron.”

  Denduron. Right. That’s where I was. There wasn’t much I liked about Denduron so far, and I couldn’t imagine finding out anything else that would make me like it any more. But I didn’t have a whole lot of options, so I followed the others toward the door. I took two steps and then stopped, remembering something very, very important.

  “Uhhh, where do I go to, uh, you know, I’ve got to-”

  “Relieve yourself in there,” Loor said coldly, pointing to a far corner of the room where there was a wooden screen separating a small space from the rest of the hut.

  “Great, thanks,” I replied and hurried toward it. When I looked behind the screen I learned two things. One was that these people didn’t have indoor plumbing. The toilet was nothing more than a hole in the ground surrounded by a circle of stones. Not exactly comfy. The second thing was that the mystery of why this place smelled so bad was solved. I guess these people hadn’t figured out that an outhouse should definitely be “out” of the house. Man, it smelled like a sick elephant had been using this thing. But what the heck, it wasn’t my house and I had to go bad. So I held my breath against the stink and then took about five minutes to figure out how to undo the leather clothes. I guess these people hadn’t yet discovered zippers, either. It was during this that I realized the furs I had been wearing were gone. I guess somebody took them while I was unconscious. That was fine by me because if I’d had to get through another layer, I would have wet myself for sure.

  After I finished, I hurried across the stone hut to catch up. I didn’t know what I was expecting to find outside, so I guess no matter what I saw it would have been a surprise. But when I stepped outside, I had to stop and catch my breath because I had just stepped into another world, and it was like nothing I had ever seen before. The hut I had just come from was in the middle of a village of stone huts. They all looked the same, more or less, with stone walls and roofs made of woven branches and straw. There were no decorations of any kind to distinguish one from the next. Some had smoke curling up from stone chimneys, which meant there were fires burning inside for cooking and for heat. The roads and pathways that snaked between the huts were dirt, well-worn and narrow. And why not? It’s not like they had to worry about cars or anything. All the huts were built around a big grassy area kind of like a town square, with a large, round platform about ten feet across at its center. The base of the platform was made of stones like the huts, and it was topped by a surface made of lashed-together logs. The setup reminded me of those towns that have a gazebo in the center of a park for concerts and stuff. But the stage was empty now. No shows today.

  The village was busy with people doing whatever people do in a village like this. They were hurrying here and there, some carrying baskets of food, others moving a herd of goats. They all wore the same kind of leather clothes I was wearing, so even though I felt out of place, I probably didn’t look it. The people who looked out of place were Osa and Loor. As I described them to you, they were both tall, dark-skinned, and athletic looking. There were no other people of color in this village. Just the opposite. The people of Denduron were the palest people I had ever seen in my life. It was like they never saw a day of sun in their lives. That was strange because even though it happened to be overcast just then, I had seen three suns in the sky from on top of the mountain. Could it be that the suns here didn’t give you a tan? Or was it mostly always overcast, like Seattle or something? Whatever the reason, it was pretty obvious that Osa and Loor were not from Denduron, just as they had said.

  The village had been cut out of a forest. Looking one way, beyond the huts, was vast farmland. I could see many people working out there, tending to crops. Looking off in the opposite direction I saw the mountain where Uncle Press and I had made our idiot bobsled run to escape the quigs. Any other direction showed nothing but forest. Not that I’m an expert anthropologist or anything, but this first brief look at the village made me think of books and movies I’d seen about Europe back in medieval days. The only thing missing was some huge castle that loomed over the village.

  Osa and Loor let me stand there for a few minutes so I could take in the surroundings. I was about to join them, when suddenly I was grabbed from behind and spun around.

  “Ogga ta vaan burr sa!”

  It was a little guy with long scraggly hair, an eye patch over one eye, and a smile that showed more spaces than teeth. On each of his fingers was a different ring that looked to be braided out of rope. Ten fingers, ten rings. The guy was grubby, but he sure liked jewelry. I had no idea what he wanted until he shoved a furry-looking thing at me. I jumped back, but then realized it was some kind of woolly shirt, like a sweater.

&nb
sp; “Ogga ta vaan,” he said again with a smile as he shoved the piece of clothing at me. I figured he was harmless and that he wanted me to take the thing. Hey, what the heck? Maybe it was a local “welcome” custom. It was kind of chilly and this leather shirt thing I was wearing wasn’t keeping me all that warm. So I smiled back at him and reached for it. But just as I was about to take it, the little guy pulled it back, held out his hand, and rubbed his fingers together. Yes, he was giving me the international sign, no, I guess it was more the intergalactic sign for “you want it, you pay for it.” This weird little guy was trying to strike a deal for the sweater.

  “Figgis, leave him be!” said Osa as she stepped between us.

  “Mab abba kan forbay,” said the little guy innocently. At least I think it was innocently. His language made no sense to me.

  Osa looked at Figgis and said, “He has only just arrived. Go sell your wares somewhere else.”

  The guy was a salesman. He seemed to deflate in disappointment and started to walk away, but then he turned back and gave me a sly, toothless smile. From out of his grungy shirt he held up a shiny red apple, trying to tempt me. It looked good.

  “Go!” commanded Osa.

  Figgis snarled at her and ran away.

  “Figgis would sell you his breath if he could,” she explained. “They say he wears that patch because he sold his eye to a blind man.”

  Nice. That’s a fairly disgusting image.

  “Osa,” I asked. “Are you from Earth?”

  Osa laughed and looked to Loor to share the joke that I didn’t get. Loor didn’t laugh back. Big surprise.

  “Why do you think that?” she asked.

  “You know English,” I said.

  “You are wrong, Pendragon,” she said. “I do not understand a word of English. Come.” She left me there and continued walking with Loor.

  Huh? I could be mistaken, but I thought sure we were speaking English. I should know. Aside from a little classroom Spanish, it’s the only language I know. This was getting frustrating. Every time I thought I was starting to get a handle on things, something would come along and pull the rug out from under me. I figured I better get used to it.

  Osa and Loor were already way ahead of me, so I had to run to catch up. I had to jog to keep pace with their long strides while making sure to keep Osa between me and Loor. I liked the mom, but I didn’t trust the daughter. I kept catching her throwing me these “you aren’t worthy to breathe air that could go to someone more deserving” looks. She was giving off a major cold vibe. I figured it would be best to stay out of her way.

  “I don’t understand,” I said to Osa. “How can you say you don’t know English if you’re speaking it?”

  “I am not speaking English,” she answered. “You are speaking English. I am speaking the language from Zadaa, which is our home territory.”

  “Sounds like English to me,” I said.

  “Of course it does. That is because you are a Traveler.”

  This was getting more confusing by the second.

  “So, you’re saying that Travelers understand all languages?” Logical question, right?

  “No,” came the illogical reply. “Travelers hear all languages as their own. And when they speak, others will understand them no matter what their native language.”

  Cool. If this were true, maybe I’d have a shot at getting better than my usual lousy C in Spanish class. Still, something didn’t fit.

  “Okay, so how come when that Figgis guy spoke it sounded like blah, blah, blah to me?”

  Suddenly Loor jumped in front of me. I had to put on the brakes or walk into her. That would have hurt.

  “Because maybe you are not a Traveler!” she said with a challenging snarl.

  Ahhh! Suddenly it all came clear. Loor didn’t think I was who I was. That’s why she was acting all strange and aggressive. Of course, I wasn’t even sure myself who I was supposed to be, so there wasn’t anything I could say to convince her that I was me. Or I was who I was. Or…you get the idea.

  Again Osa came to my rescue saying, “The reason you did not understand Figgis is that you have not yet learned to hear. You understand us because we are Travelers, but Figgis is not. You must learn to hear, without trying to listen.”

  Say what? Hear without listening? That sounded like fortune cookie logic.

  “How can he be a Traveler? He is just a boy!” Loor said to her mother vehemently. “He is soft and frightened. He will do more harm than good.”

  Wow. How’s that for an ego pounding? Ouch. Unfortunately though, she was right. Iwas soft and frightened. Maybe I wasn’t a Traveler after all. Frankly, it wouldn’t kill me to find out I wasn’t, no matter how much it would have helped my Spanish grades. I was beginning to think that maybe this was all some big mistake and they would send me home.

  Osa looked at me with those dark, knowing eyes, but spoke to Loor saying, “No, Pendragon is a Traveler. But he has much to learn.” Then she looked at her daughter and said, “And you seem to forget that you are but a child yourself.”

  Loor stormed off in a huff. I got the feeling she didn’t like being told she was wrong. Osa turned to me and said, “You will find that she is not always so angry.”

  “Hey, no big deal,” I shot back. “Just so long as she isn’t angry at me!”

  Osa smiled and walked on. I followed, and she began to tell me about Denduron.

  “The people who live in this village are a tribe called the Milago,” she began. “As you can see they live a simple life. They grow all of their own food and live peacefully with the other tribes of Denduron.”

  Milago. Uncle Press had used that word just before those knights showed up. He said they’d find me, so I guess they are the good guys.

  “What about those knight-looking guys who attacked Uncle Press?” I asked. “Are they Milago too?”

  “No,” answered Osa. “That is what I want to show you.”

  We continued walking out of the village and along a path in the woods for about a quarter of a mile. (I judge all distances by the track at Stony Brook High. It’s a quarter of a mile around, and it felt like we walked about the distance of that track.) We broke out of the woods into a clearing and I was yet again hit with an amazing sight. Remember how I said the only thing missing from this medieval village was a big old castle looming over it? Well, as it turns out there was a big old castle, it just wasn’t doing any looming.

  Here’s what I saw: When we emerged from the path through the trees, we came upon a huge, open field of grass. We walked across this rolling field until we came to a cliff on the far side. Down below the cliff was water. Yes, we were at the edge of an ocean as vast and as blue as the Atlantic. The sea was to my right, and I turned to look down the coast-an uneven, craggy shoreline with big, rocky cliffs. I saw that the cliff we were on was actually one side of an inlet. Looking down over the edge, I saw wave after wave of seawater crashing on the rocks below. Far below. We were so high above the water I started getting sweaty palms. I’m not good with heights. I looked up and straight ahead to the cliff on the far side of the inlet to see that the land on top was covered with more lush sea grass that waved in the ocean breeze. Then what I sawbelow that grass took my breath away.

  Built right into the face of the cliff was a monster fortress. It looked as if it were literally carved out of the rock that made up the bluff. I could see several levels of stone balconies where knights like the ones who attacked Uncle Press were keeping guard. They marched back and forth with lethal-looking spears over their shoulders. I’m not exactly sure what they were guarding against. Marauding fish, I suppose.

  I counted five levels of balconies, so this fortress was big. Osa must have read my mind because she said, “You are only seeing the outside wall of the palace. It is built far into the cliff. It is a village in itself.”

  From what I saw so far, these people didn’t have any heavy-duty construction equipment, so this place was chiseled out of the rock by hand. It must ha
ve taken centuries to dig such a huge building out of hard rock using simple tools.

  “There have always been two tribes here,” she continued. “The Milago work the land, the Bedoowan are the soldiers and rulers. At one time many of the tribes of Denduron were at war. The Bedoowan protected the Milago from marauders, and in return the Milago provided food. Each tribe relied upon the other, while they remained very much apart. It lasted that way for centuries, with both tribes living in relative harmony. But the Bedoowan were powerful and power can lead to arrogance. It was forbidden for a Milago to marry a Bedoowan, or even to become friends. As so often happens in situations like this, the Bedoowan began to look upon the Milago as their slaves.”

  “But still, they protect the Milago, right?” I asked.

  “There have not been invaders here for many years. The need for protection no longer exists,” said Osa.

  “So the Milago guys still do all the work and the Bedoowan guys do…what?”

  “That is a good question. The Bedoowan are ruled by a royal family, with the role of monarch passed down to the eldest child. There was a time, not too long ago, that the Bedoowan monarch wanted to break down the barriers between the two tribes and allow them to become one. But he died and left the monarchy to his firstborn. There are some who believe that the father was murdered by those who did not want the Bedoowan to give up their superior position.”

  “And let me guess: The new monarch likes having slaves and wants to keep the two tribes apart,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said. “The Milago are afraid to even say the name…Kagan.”

  There was that name again. I was beginning to get the picture, and I didn’t like it.

  “The knights who attacked Uncle Press thought he was spying on Kagan,” I said. “But Uncle Press pretended that he was a miner. Are there mines here?”

  “Yes,” she said with a sad breath. “That is the worst part of the story.”

  Oh great, it gets worse. Just what I wanted to hear. But before Osa could continue, I heard the sound of a far-off drum. It was a steady, booming sound that came from the direction of the Milago village.