The Merchant of Death

by D. J. MacHale

  “Everyone get some rest,” Uncle Press ordered. “Tomorrow’s going to be a tough day.”

  He was right; we all needed rest. So we took places apart from one another in different corners of the hut. This is when I wrote the last journal that I sent you. Loor wrote too, as did Alder. We were all documenting our experiences as Travelers, though I’m pretty sure we all had different opinions about how things were going. The only one who didn’t write was Uncle Press. He laid down on one of the benches and closed his eyes. I wondered how much sleep he had gotten while a prisoner in the Bedoowan palace. Not much, probably.

  As I wrote I sensed that there was tension in the room. Maybe it was just my own paranoia, but I had the feeling that the others were blaming me for the tough position we were in. Whenever I looked up, both Alder and Loor would quickly look away. The truth was, I didn’t blame them. As I played out the events of the past few days in my mind, the sickening realization came to me that the situation on Denduron was much worse because of me. If Uncle Press hadn’t brought me here, then he probably wouldn’t have been captured by the Bedoowan. And if he hadn’t been captured then he wouldn’t have needed to be rescued, and I wouldn’t have written to you guys to send me the stuff from home. And if I hadn’t gotten that stuff from home, then the Milago wouldn’t have the ability to explode that huge bomb. And if I weren’t here, Osa would still be alive because…if, if, if. Whenever you look back and say, “If,” you know you’re in trouble. There’s no such thing as “if.” The only thing that counts is what really happened, and the truth was that every chance I got, I screwed up. Even when I thought I had done something good, it always turned out bad.

  Then, just to rub salt in everyone’s wounds, my watch alarm started to beep. I had totally forgotten about my Casio. Alder and Loor shot a look at me. They had no idea what it was. Uncle Press just cracked an eye open and gave me a deadly look. Without saying a word I jumped up and ran to a corner of the hut where I pulled the watch off and threw it into the latrine. I think it was a safe bet that nobody would go down there after it. I even pulled my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket and dumped it in the ooze. I looked back at the others to see they were all staring at me. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “What?” I yelled. “So I messed up! Yeah, I got that stuff from home, but it was the only way I could think of to get Uncle Press out. And it worked, didn’t it?”

  Nobody said a word. They just stared back at me. It was making me crazy.

  “It’s not like you tried to stop me, Loor…Alder,” I added. “You used the stuff too!”

  “But we did not know it was wrong,” said Loor quietly. “You did.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, but I was still in an arguing mood so I yelled, “I didn’t ask to come here, you know! It’s not like I had a choice. I’m not a warrior like Loor or Osa. I’m not a knight like Alder. And I’m not a…not a…I don’t knowwhat you are anymore, Uncle Press, but I’m sure as hell not like you! You never should have brought me here.” I was ready for a fight. I wanted them to say what a loser I was because I had a great comeback. I’d agree with them. I never claimed to be anything more than a junior-high kid from the suburbs. That’s it. I wasn’t a revolutionary, or a fighter, or anything else they wanted me to be. It wasn’t fair to blame me for not living up to their expectations. I was doing the best I could. If that wasn’t good enough, well, too bad.

  But that’s not what happened. Instead Uncle Press sat up on the bench and softly said, “Come here, all of you. Sit down.”

  We all kind of awkwardly exchanged glances and walked over to him. I had no idea where this was going. Uncle Press then spoke to us in such a calm manner that it took all of the tension out of the room. It kind of reminded me of the way Osa always seemed to have the ability to chill everybody out.

  “I understand how tough this is for all of you,” he began. “You haven’t known about being Travelers for very long, and it’s gotta be confusing.”

  “I do not understand why this has happened to me,” said Alder. “Why must we be Travelers?”

  “I was not given a choice,” added Loor. “It does not seem fair.”

  I then realized that I wasn’t the only one who was freaking out. Loor and Alder hadn’t known about being Travelers for very long either. The only difference was they were better equipped to handle the assignment than I was. The closest I ever came to that kind of training was in Saturday morning karate class when I was ten. I usually ended up getting a bloody nose and running home crying. That’s not exactly elite warrior training. I was definitely out of my league here.

  Uncle Press smiled warmly and said, “If you want to know why you are Travelers, all you have to do is look back on what you’ve already done. The way the three of you rescued me from that palace was an amazing thing. You proved yourselves to be smart and brave and resourceful. But more important was the fact that you willingly put your lives at risk because it was the right thing to do. Ordinary people wouldn’t do that. You want to know why you’re Travelers? Look first to yourselves.”

  “But what are these powers?” asked Loor. “We understand words that we should not.”

  “There’s a lot for you to learn,” said Uncle Press. “But the best way for that to happen is for you to experience it. As time goes on everything will come clear, but you need to learn it on your own.”

  “Come on,” I said impatiently. “You gotta give us more than that. Are there others? I mean, are there more Travelers?”

  “Yes,” said Uncle Press. “Every territory has a Traveler. When you arrive in a new territory, always find the Traveler. They know best about the customs and history of their home territory and can help you along.”

  “Like Alder,” said Loor.

  “Yes, like Alder,” confirmed Uncle Press.

  “And what about Mallos…Saint Dane?” I asked. “He’s a Traveler too, right?”

  Uncle Press’s expression grew hard. “Yes,” he said coldly. “This is something you should know about now,” he said. “Every territory is in conflict. There are always wars and disputes and battles. That’s the nature of things. Always was, always will be. But no matter what the conflict of a territory is, the true enemy is Saint Dane. Here on Denduron it’s not the Bedoowan, or Queen Kagan, or even the quigs. The real threat is Saint Dane. He’s the one who must be stopped.”

  “What’s his deal?” I asked. “Why is he so dangerous?”

  I could tell we were getting into hairy territory, because Uncle Press had his game face back on. “He’s dangerous because you never see him coming,” was Uncle Press’s answer. “He changes himself. On Denduron he has become Mallos, advisor to the queen. Bobby, you saw him back on Second Earth. He took on the form of a policeman. I’m not sure if he physically changes, or if he uses some kind of mind control to make you think he looks different, but the bottom line is you don’t always see him coming. And make no mistake about it, the guy is evil.”

  Uncle Press paced faster. We all listened closely because it was clear we needed to hear what he was now telling us. “But his evil isn’t obvious,” he continued. “He doesn’t murder, or cause floods or fires. His methods are much more devious. He will go to a territory and move himself into a position where he caninfluence events. He’s smart and convincing. He’ll appear to be your friend while the whole time he’s pushing you toward disaster.”

  “Like with the Bedoowan?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” shot back Uncle Press. “The Milago and the Bedoowan have been in conflict for centuries, but Saint Dane has pushed it to the edge. Before he got here things were rough for the Milago, but nowhere near as bad as they are now. He worked his way into the trust of Queen Kagan—”

  “Who isn’t exactly a rocket scientist,” I added.

  “No, she isn’t,” he agreed. “For a while it was looking as if the Bedoowan might cut the Milago some slack, but it was Saint Dane’s influence that convinced the Bedoowan to push harder. He’s the one who started the unre
asonable demands for glaze and the Transfer ceremony and the horrible quig slaughters in the stadium. It looks to the Milago as if the Bedoowan wanted all this, but it was really Saint Dane, or Mallos as he calls himself here. He whispers suggestions to Kagan, and she makes them law.”

  “But…why does he do this?” asked Alder.

  “To push the territory toward chaos,” was Uncle Press’s firm answer. “Saint Dane doesn’t care about the Bedoowan or the Milago. He’s using the Bedoowan to push the Milago into getting so desperate that they will fight back. He wants a war. But not just any war, he wants the Milago to use tak. I see that now.”

  “He wants them to blow everybody up?” I asked.

  “Not exactly,” he continued. “Yes, using that bomb will cause terrible damage, but the long-term effects are what Saint Dane is after. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. I didn’t know about tak.”

  “Could Saint Dane have brought it from another territory?” I asked.

  “I doubt it. My guess is that it’s natural to Denduron and somehow Figgis stumbled across it…and Saint Dane is taking advantage. Tak now represents power to the Milago. They’ve been held down for so long that they’ll grab at anything to pull themselves up. But once they start using tak on the Bedoowan, where will it stop? They could create weapons that would make them the most powerful tribe on Denduron. There are thousands of tribes here. None of them have a weapon like this. Putting the power of tak into the hands of one tribe is like tipping the balance. The Milago may be a peaceful bunch now, but they’ve got years of pent-up anger. Put that kind of power in their hands and they could overrun Denduron. That’s the kind of chaos Saint Dane is looking for.”

  There it was. Loor had told me about the mission of the Travelers, but Uncle Press had now spelled it out pretty clearly. If this war began and the Milago used tak, it would be disaster. It really was a bigger deal than just a battle between two warring tribes. But there was something else that was bugging me.

  “What is Halla?” I asked Uncle Press.

  Uncle Press shot me a surprised look. “Where did you hear that name?”

  “From Saint Dane,” I said. “Before he took us to the stadium he told me that Halla would fall and we would fall with it. What is Halla?”

  “Halla is everything,” he answered. “Every territory, every person, every living thing, everytime there ever was. Halla is what separates order from chaos. If Halla crumbles, there will be nothing left but darkness. Everywhere. For everyone.”

  Whoa. Now there was a concept to try and get my mind around. None of us spoke for a long while. We had just shifted into a new gear here. Was it possible? Could it be that the battle between the Milago and the Bedoowan was not only about the future of Denduron, but about the future ofall territories? If things turned sour here, could that somehow affect things back home? This was the most devastating thing I had heard so far. The stakes had become so huge that it was hard to comprehend. Before any of us had the chance to ask another question, the wooden door to the hut flew open and a Milago miner stormed in.

  “Rellin wishes to see you,” he announced.

  Uncle Press stood, but the miner held his hand up to stop him.

  “Not you,” he said. “Pendragon.”

  “Rellin wants to seeme ? What for?”

  “Go with him, Bobby,” said Uncle Press. “Listen to what he has to say. You know how important it is.”

  Yeah, this was important all right. It was so important that I wished somebodyelse were going. But I got up to follow the miner out of the hut. Before I left, I looked at Uncle Press. “I messed up,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  Uncle Press smiled and said, “It’s okay, Bobby. Mistakes will be made.”

  That actually made me feel better. We were still in deep trouble and it was still my fault, but at least I didn’t feel like a total nimrod for what I had done. One thing I could say for sure though: I wouldn’t do it again. I guess that’s what Uncle Press meant by telling us we would have to learn about being Travelers by experiencing it ourselves. You don’t truly learn something until it’s real, and the bomb that was about to blow us all into dust was very real. It’s a tough way to learn a lesson.

  I followed the miner out of the hut. Night had fallen, though I had no idea what time it was. My watch was floating in the latrine, remember? The village was empty. I could see lights coming from the huts, but nobody was walking about. It felt like the calm before the storm. The miner walked quickly until we came to one of the larger huts. He motioned for me to enter. It wasn’t like I had a whole lot of choices, so I went in.

  Rellin was waiting for me. He sat near the fire and offered me a cup of some kind of liquid. I wasn’t sure if I should take it or not. Maybe it was poison. Or maybe it was a peace offering and by not taking it I’d be insulting him. I decided to take the cup and only pretend to drink. Of course if it was poison and I didn’t clutch my throat in agony he’d pretty much know I faked taking a drink. Maybe I was overthinking this.

  Once I had taken the cup and faked the drink (with no reaction from Rellin) he stood up and walked to a wooden table. Lying there was the battery from my flashlight. But something was attached to it. I looked closer and my stomach twisted when I saw that it was a small piece of tak. The wires and the switch had been pulled out of the flashlight and were used to connect the tak to the battery. These guys learned fast. They had made a little bomb. If they flipped the switch from the battery, it would complete the circuit and send a jolt of electricity through the tak. It may be a small jolt, but probably enough to detonate the unstable explosive. Rellin picked it up and examined it. I wanted to shout for him to be careful, but I could see that he appreciated the power and was handling it with caution.

  “We have been trying to find a way to control tak,” he said. “But until now we have been unsuccessful.”

  My mind flashed back to the moment down in the mines when there was an explosion and Rellin had to be rescued. He was probably experimenting with tak and something had gone wrong. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle were coming together.

  “This is how we will ignite the tak,” he continued. “Tomorrow this small device will explode and that will set off the larger load. When my army hears the explosion it will be their signal to attack. They will then overrun what is left of the Bedoowan. It will all be so very simple, because of you.”

  Gee, thanks. I’m thrilled that I could help us all move closer to Armageddon. Rellin put the small bomb down and sat back by the fire. He motioned for me to sit across from him.

  “You have seen our lives,” he said sadly. “We are dying. The Bedoowan will never allow us to be free. Tak is our salvation. With tak the Milago can pull themselves up from the dirt and become the proud people we were destined to be.”

  He was absolutely right. The Milago had it bad. They lived like tortured animals. Nobody deserved that. They had every right to fight back, but they didn’t understand that they were going about it the wrong way.

  “You and your people want to help us,” he continued. “For that we are grateful. But there is one thing we need from you that will be more helpful than you can imagine.”

  “What’s that?” I asked warily.

  Rellin stood up and walked quickly back to his little homemade bomb. He picked it up and held it out as if it were the Holy Grail.

  “Bring us more of these devices,” he said with passion. “If we had more we could become the most powerful army on Denduron. Once the Bedoowan are defeated, the Milago would never have to live in fear again. We could turn our miserable lives around to become the leaders of Denduron!”

  Oh, man. Uncle Press was absolutely right. Now that the Milago had a little taste of power, they weren’t going to be satisfied with just beating up on the Bedoowan. They hadn’t even won yet and they already had visions of taking over the rest of Denduron. The good guys were going to become the bad guys, and the result would be chaos.

  “Will you help us, Pendragon?” asked
Rellin sincerely.

  This was my chance. Maybe myonly chance to try and talk Rellin out of his plan. I couldn’t argue against centuries of hatred, so the best thing I could do was try and make him see the downside to his plan. I had to choose my words carefully.

  “I’m not an expert on these things,” I said. “But if you blow up that big load of tak, there may not be much left of the Bedoowan to conquer. Heck, there may not be much left of the Milago, either. Where I come from, there are many weapons like this. But the biggest fear we have is that they will be used. You don’t understand what you’re doing, Rellin. Your lives may be horrible now, but you may be worse off after the explosion. There must be a better way.”

  “No!” he shouted angrily.

  I hadn’t chosen my words carefully enough.

  “You do not understand!” he yelled at me. “You have not lived your life in fear, in pain, in hunger. This is the only way. This is how the Milago will defeat the Bedoowan. Now, will you help us?”