The Merchant of Death

by D. J. MacHale

  “You have seen how the Bedoowan tribe treats the Milago,” she began. “There is more you have not seen. There is torture and starvation and disease. The Bedoowan treat the Milago worse than dogs. They do not have enough food or medicine. Half of the babies born do not live past the first few months. The glaze mines claim lives every day. If this horrible treatment is not stopped, the Milago will die out. The time has come to stop it.”

  I didn’t like where this was going. Sure, these people had it pretty rough, and things needed to change. But what I didn’t get was what my part was supposed to be in all this. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know, either.

  Alder said, “The Milago are a gentle people. They are not warriors. It has taken years of hardship to convince them to take action. If it were not for Press, they may never have been ready.”

  “What’s Uncle Press got to do with it?” I asked.

  “Press has been their inspiration,” said Alder with reverence. “He has given the Milago the strength to fight back.”

  Things were happening fast. This was the first time I heard the word “fight,” and I didn’t like it. “What about you?” I asked Alder. “You’re not a Milago. You’re a Bedoowan. How come you’re so concerned about them?”

  Loor stared me right in the eye. “He is a Traveler, Pendragon,” she said forcefully. “Just like I am, and Press, and my mother. That is what Travelers do. They provide help where it is needed. Are you ready for that responsibility?”

  “Well…no,” I said honestly.

  “I did not think so,” spat Loor with disgust.

  Alder gazed at me with a look of confusion, and maybe a little desperation. “But Press has spoken of you for some time now,” he insisted. “He told us that if anything happened to him, you would take his place.”

  “Whoa, whoa!” I said, backing away from him. “Uncle Press didn’t fill me in on any of this! All he said was that there were some people in trouble who needed our help. I figured all we had to do was give somebody a ride someplace, or maybe help move some furniture. I didn’t know he was talking about leading some freakin’ revolution!”

  Loor spun to me with fire in her eyes. “That is the word exactly,” she said with passion. “Revolution. The Milago have been preparing to revolt against the Bedoowan. Press has made them believe they can succeed. Without him, they will not have the strength to fight and they will all die. I do not know why, but he has made the Milago believe that you are able to lead them as he would. That is why you are here, Pendragon. That is what you must do.”

  I felt like I was in the river again, being swept along with no control. My heart was beating about as fast as it had in the river too. I’m not a revolutionary, Mark. The closest I ever came to being in a fight was the time you and I wrestled over who was gonna bat first in Wiffle ball. That doesn’t exactly qualify me to lead a revolution.

  “Look,” I said, trying hard not to let my voice crack. “I feel bad for these people and all, but I’m not up to this. You say I’m a Traveler? Fine, whatever. But up until two days ago I had no idea any of this even existed! How can I suddenly lead a revolution?”

  “But you must,” said Alder seriously. “The Milago believe that you will take over for Press.”

  “Then go get Uncle Press!” I shouted. Alder then looked down at the ground. Obviously something was wrong.

  “Where is Press now?” she demanded.

  Alder kept his eyes on the ground and said, “He is being held in the Bedoowan fortress. Kagan has sentenced him to death. He will be executed tomorrow at the equinox.”

  Oh, man! Uncle Press was going to die! Could things get any worse? Loor spun away from Alder and picked up a rock. With a roar of anger, she reached back and threw it across the river. It was like she was channeling her anger and frustration into this one, mighty throw. She stormed toward me like an enraged bull. I took a few steps back, expecting her to take a swing at me. But she didn’t. Instead she stuck her nose in my face and seethed. “I do not understand why Press believes in you. You are a coward, you are weak, and you do not care for anyone but yourself. But you are a Traveler, and you will begin to act like one. It is time you saw the truth,” and with that she gave me a shove backward. I had to pinwheel my arms to keep from falling over.

  Alder said meekly, “You know I cannot go with you.”

  “I know,” answered Loor. “Meet us after dark.”

  She gave me another shove and walked off. I didn’t know what else to do, so I followed her. We didn’t say much on our walk back to the Milago village and it gave me a chance to digest all that I had just learned. I guess that Travelers are some kind of cosmic do-gooders. That’s very noble and all, but I didn’t volunteer for this particular honor. Just the opposite. I didn’t want any part of it. Everyone kept telling me that I was a Traveler and that I had a responsibility, but who the heck made me a Traveler? I don’t remember signing up. Maybe it’s like the army where you get drafted. But if I were the guy in charge of drafting Travelers, I sure as heck wouldn’t pick somebody like me! They should have picked a Navy SEAL or a SWAT guy or better still, one of those WWF muscle heads. They shouldn’t have picked a fourteen-year-old gym rat. Even if I wanted to help the Milago, the second I opened my mouth they’d know I was a fraud. No, the best thing I could do was stick to Plan A, and that was to get to the flume and get out of here, ASAP.

  There was one thing that bothered me though. Uncle Press was in trouble. No, worse. He was going to die the next day. But what could I do? If I went after him, Kagan’s knights would cut me to ribbons and we’d both be dead. I was in a horrible situation.

  When Loor and I got back to the village we were greeted by Osa, who looked at us with concern. My guess is she could tell that things were going badly. Before Osa could ask what had happened, Loor said, “He must see the mines.”

  Osa didn’t ask why, she just looked at her daughter and gave a weary sigh.

  “Come with me, Pendragon,” said Osa and started to walk off.

  “What if I don’t want to see the mines?” I asked, because I didn’t.

  Osa looked at me with these intense, piercing eyes. She wasn’t scolding me. She wasn’t trying to intimidate me either. This is hard to describe, but the look she gave me was one of absolute certainty. The look said: “You will come and see the mines because that is what you must do.” Maybe it was a kind of hypnotism, but the instant she looked at me, I knew I had no choice. So I followed her. Weird, huh?

  Loor didn’t come with us and Osa didn’t invite her. It was just the two of us and that was fine by me. As we walked through the Milago village, I started to notice something I hadn’t seen before. Whenever we passed one of the Milago, they would give me a quick glance. We’d make eye contact and then they’d quickly look to the ground and continue on their way. It was weird. It was like they were watching me, but afraid to acknowledge that I was there. Up until now, I thought they didn’t even know I existed. Nobody talked to anyone else and they certainly didn’t talk to me. That is, of course, except for Figgis. He was the only Milago who spoke to me. Everybody else kept to themselves. Yet here they were, checking me out. I was betting these villagers were looking at me and thinking: “How can this be the guy who’s going to lead our revolution? He’s a wussy kid!” And they were right.

  I followed Osa back to the path that led to the ocean. We walked a few yards into the woods and I saw that there was another, smaller path that led off to the right. This is the path we took and it led us to a clearing where there was a large foundation made of stone. It looked much like the stage in the center of the village where the Transfer ceremony took place, but there was no wooden platform covering it. There was a huge wooden frame built over the foundation with a large pulley attached. A thick rope looped over the pulley and dropped down into the hole. Two burly men were hauling on the rope, bringing up something from below. The setup kind of reminded me of one of those old-fashioned wishing wells where the bucket would be dropped down on a rope
and then hoisted out with water. But in this case, they weren’t hoisting up water, they were hoisting up glaze. The two men brought the large basket to the surface, grabbed it, and emptied it onto the ground. A few craggy glaze stones tumbled out. The two looked at each other and sighed. Apparently this wasn’t a very good haul. I remembered that they had to bring out enough glaze to balance with the wife of the man who was killed the day before. They added the new stones to a larger pile next to the foundation. There wasn’t much there. If they didn’t bring up more glaze, the poor woman would join her husband at the bottom of the pit. A cold chill went up my spine.

  Osa walked to the foundation, sat down, and swung her legs over the side. “Be careful,” she commanded. And with that, she lowered herself over the side. Where was she going? Did she jump? I walked up to the edge, looked down, and saw that there was a ladder attached to the side. Osa was climbing down into what looked like a bottomless pit. In no time she disappeared into the gloom. I looked over at the two miners. Sure enough, they were looking at me. But the second we made eye contact, they looked away and went back to work. I’m not sure what was creepier: Knowing that everyone was checking me out, or climbing down a rickety ladder into the dark unknown.

  “Now, Pendragon!” echoed Osa’s voice from below.

  I reached over the side and tugged on the ladder to make sure it was sturdy. I swung my legs over, grabbed the ladder and started down. It was a good thing the pit was dark, because if I could have seen all the way to the bottom, I’m not sure I would have had the guts to climb down. The ladder itself was crudely made from saplings lashed together, but it was strong. After climbing down several feet, I found that the foot of the ladder rested on a stone ledge. But this wasn’t the bottom. The top of another ladder was leaning on the ledge next to this one and since Osa wasn’t there, I figured I had to climb down it as well. In all, there were fifteen ladders. Unbelievable. This pit was deep. Every third ledge had a tunnel that led horizontally away from the pit. I figured that these were abandoned sections of the mine. Probably when the glaze ran out on each level, they would tunnel deeper and deeper and deeper.

  Finally I reached the bottom, where Osa stood waiting for me. There was light down here too. Small candles were everywhere. It wasn’t exactly bright, but once my eyes adjusted, I could see just fine. There was one tunnel leading away from the pit, and that’s where Osa went. I followed her obediently. The tunnel was carved out of the rock; I could stand up straight, but Osa had to crouch down a bit. It was a good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic.

  “The main shaft was built generations ago,” she explained. “But when they discovered a rich vein of glaze at this level, the miners decided to do things differently.”

  “What did they do?” I asked.

  Osa didn’t have to answer. After a few more yards the tunnel emptied out into a humongous cavern. The ceiling must have been thirty feet high. It was spectacular. Leading off from the cavern were many other tunnels. It was like we were at the center of a wagon wheel and the tunnels, like spokes, led out from the center in all directions. Down each tunnel was a set of miniature tracks. I had seen pictures of gold mines before and I figured these tracks were for the ore cars.

  “Once it was discovered that this was the level to find glaze, the tunneling started to spread out in all directions,” she explained. “There are miles and miles of tunnels. It is so complex that miners have lost their way and wandered for days.”

  I had to admit it was pretty impressive, especially because these guys did all of the work by hand. We stood to the side of the cavern and watched the activity. There were no powerful mining machines here, just the strong backs of Milago miners. Some were pushing carts full of dirt, others emptied the carts in the center of the cavern and sifted it for bits of glaze. I also heard the distant sound of pickaxes ringing against stone as the miners labored to stretch the tunnels in their search for more glaze.

  “The miners work day and night,” Osa explained. “It is the only way they can possibly meet Kagan’s unreasonable demands.”

  She reached down and picked up one of the miners’ tools. It was a metal pickax with a wooden handle. “These tools are forbidden on the surface because they are made of metal,” she told me. “The penalty for using a metal tool on the surface is death.”

  Now that she mentioned it, I didn’t remember seeing anything made of metal on the surface. All the tools that were used above were made from wood or from stone. It was like the Bedoowan were trying to keep the Milago back in the stone age, except for when it came to getting their precious glaze, of course.

  I began to notice that there was an odd smell to the mine. It wasn’t a horrible smell, in fact it was kind of sweet. “What is that smell?” I asked.

  Osa didn’t answer, but motioned for me to follow her. We walked across the large cavern, stepping across the railroad tracks. As we approached the far side I began to make out something that made me shudder. I hadn’t seen it before because the light was so dim, but now that we were here I could see things plainly. To be honest, I wished I still couldn’t see, but I did. Lying on the floor of the cavern were dozens of miners. They looked horrible. Some moaned in pain, others just sat there with blank looks.

  “They look sick,” I said.

  “They are,” came the sad reply. “The smell is a gas that is released when the glaze is separated from the rock. It is a poison that slowly destroys your ability to breathe.”

  “We’re breathing toxic fumes?” I asked, ready to bolt back to the ladders.

  “Do not worry,” she said calmly. “You must breathe it for years for it to be of concern.”

  I looked at the sick miners and said, “These guys have been breathing it for years?”

  Osa nodded sadly. “It is a painful death.”

  “Why don’t they go up into the fresh air?” I asked with horror.

  “They have no strength left,” was the grim answer. “These poor souls are in the final stages of the disease. They will die here.”

  I took a few steps back from the sick miners. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I was afraid I might catch this nasty disease from them. Suddenly the huge cavern didn’t seem so huge anymore. The walls felt like they were closing in and I wanted out of there in a bad way. Maybe I had a touch of claustrophobia after all.

  “Why did you have to show me this?” I demanded to know.

  “Because it is very important that you understand how desperate the situation is for the Milago,” Osa said.

  I wanted to scream. Osa was setting me up. She was showing me how bad these guys had it so I’d feel sorry for them and agree to lead their revolution. But why? Osa didn’t seem like a fool. She could see that I wasn’t the kind of guy who could lead a revolution. Her daughter figured it out pretty quick. Why wasn’t Osa with the program? I didn’t want to argue here in front of these poor miners, so I headed for the tunnel that led to the ladders.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Home!” was my simple reply. I hurried across the cavern, hopping over the railroad tracks and dodging the ore cars. Then just as I was about to enter the tunnel that led to the ladders, somebody ran in front of me. It was Figgis. But this time he didn’t stop to try and sell me something. He was in a hurry and I’m not even sure he knew it was me who he cut off. I watched the little guy run down the tunnel toward the ladders and was about to follow him when I felt the ground start to shudder. Uh-oh, was this an earthquake? Or a cave-in? A second later there was a huge explosion! I spun to look where the sound came from and saw black smoke billowing out from one of the tunnels. Many of the miners were looking at the smoking tunnel with confusion.

  Now, I’m no expert, but these guys have been doing this mining thing for a long time. Surely they had been through an explosion like this before. You’d think that they would have instantly kicked into emergency gear and either evacuated the mine or started damage control. There could be miners trapped in there who needed to be rescued. But
that’s not what happened. The miners just looked to each other with a mixture of fear and confusion. It was like they didn’t know what to do.

  Finally Osa called out, “Are there men in there?”

  One of the miners shouted out, “Rellin!” This seemed to wake the others up. They quickly came to their senses and headed for the smoking tunnel to rescue their leader. One of the miners tied a rope around his waist, boldly fought the smoke and entered the tunnel. Another few miners held the other end of the rope. I guess the idea was that if he passed out, they could drag him back to safety. Brave guy.

  The ground didn’t shake again. Whatever damage the explosion caused was only in that one tunnel. I didn’t feel I was in any danger and I wanted to stay and see if Rellin was okay.

  “How often do they have explosions like that?” I asked. Osa kept staring at the smoking tunnel and then said something I never expected to hear.