The Quillan Games (55 page)

Saint Dane chuckled. “Where are you going? Do you want to run and announce to Quillan that Challenger Green wasn't who they thought he was? Maybe you could tell that to your reviver friends.” He grabbed his left biceps in a mock salute. “I liked that touch when you did this to the crowd, by the way,” he said. “Very theatrical. Very effective.”

“Tell me what's going on,” I demanded.

“Oh, I will,” Saint Dane said. “I've been looking forward to this.”

“But . . . you wanted me to compete and lose!” I shouted. “And I beat you!”

“You didn't beat me, Pendragon,” Saint Dane said. “I wanted you to win. I
let
you win! The only reason I let the competition get that close was to build the drama. People love drama.”

I leaned against the back of the elevator for support.

“Actually,” he continued, “the Grand X was the icing on the cake, as they say on Second Earth. You lost the territory long before that.”

I was having trouble breathing. My heart raced. Nothing he was saying made sense.

“You see, Pendragon,” he said, taking a step toward me, “everything you've heard is correct. The people of Quillan are ready to take back their territory. The stage was set by the revivers. All they needed was the last piece. The inspiration. And you gave it to them. It worked! You've seen the result. People are massing by the thousands and marching on the city. It's happening all over the territory. You've given them hope and they are running with it. Anarchy rules!”

“But you let me win!” I shouted. “That means you wanted it to happen this way.”

Saint Dane chuckled. I hated it when he chuckled.

“Hope is a fragile emotion, my friend. It isn't real.” He tapped his bald head. “It exists only in the imagination. If you believe there is hope, there is hope. If you don't believe there is hope, there isn't.”

“Just tell me,” I demanded.

“Defeat is always devastating,” he said. “But it is never more crushing than when it comes after you believe you have won.”

He turned and walked into the trustee courtroom. I didn't want to follow. Nothing he was going to tell me in there would
be good. If there were buttons on the elevator, I would have pushed them. Or maybe I wouldn't have. As bad as I knew this was going to be, I had to know. I followed him.

Inside the courtroom, the two big screens where they had shown the replay of my Hook competition were in place. Saint Dane held the remote control.

“I didn't lie to you, Pendragon,” Saint Dane said. “At least not entirely. I had nothing to do with the creation of Blok. Or of the games.”

“But you brought Veego and LaBerge from Veelox,” I said.

“Ahh, you discovered that,” he said. “Those two are such annoying little cretins. Don't you agree?”

“You know you're not supposed to mix the territories,” I said.

“No, Pendragon,
you
are not supposed to mix the territories! I'm the bad guy, remember? At least from your perspective. You have this illusion that the territories must remain separate and evolve along their own paths. I don't share that philosophy. I believe we won't reach our full potential until the walls are broken down and Halla becomes one.”

“But that would be chaos,” I said.

“Oh? What do you think is happening out in the streets of Quillan right now? A tea party? You knew that once the revival was under way it would create havoc.”

“Yes, but it's the only way they can topple Blok,” I argued. “They're willing to suffer to create a better life.”

“Exactly!” Saint Dane exclaimed. “Before my vision for Halla is complete, I have to break down the old ways and, yes, create chaos. From that, a new Halla will emerge. Is that so different from what you knew would happen on Quillan?”

“It all depends on what your final vision is,” I said.

Saint Dane didn't respond to that right away. Instead he gave me a slight smile. “Well said,” he countered.

“You said that if I competed, you would reveal to me the nature of the Travelers,” I said. “Was that another lie?”

Saint Dane looked at me, then put down the remote.

“I don't think you truly want to know, Pendragon,” he said. “You would rather believe what you want to believe. Your version of reality is so much more . . . comfortable.”

“Don't tell me what I think. I want to know,” I said.

“Very well, then,” Saint Dane said.

My heart hammered in my chest. Was this it? Was the truth finally going to be revealed? Saint Dane looked at me. This may sound strange, but for a moment I actually thought I saw his eyes soften. The evil madness had been replaced by . . . what? Kindness? Sympathy? Compassion?

“You aren't real, Pendragon,” he said softly. “You're an illusion. As am I. As are all the Travelers. It's how we're able to travel through time and space with little concern for the physical rules that restrict the inhabitants of the territories.”

I wasn't buying that.

“Maybe you're not real, but I sure am,” I said. “I can't turn myself into other beings. I feel pain just like everybody else. I was born, I'm getting older, I'm a normal physical person like everybody else on Second Earth.”

“To an extent,” he said. “It's true, you don't have my abilities, and you may never evolve that far, but make no mistake—the Travelers defy the physical laws of their territories. You feel pain, but think of how quickly you heal. I killed Loor but you brought her back from the dead. Does that seem ‘normal' to you?”

“What about Uncle Press? And Osa? And all the others who died?” I said quickly.

“It was their choice,” Saint Dane said. “You didn't want Loor to die, so she didn't. That was your choice.”

My mind was going in a million different directions. He
was telling me everything, and nothing. “So if it's true, where did we come from? How did we come to exist? Where do
you
come from?”

Saint Dane sat down on a chair. It was strange. He no longer seemed like the monster demon who was bent on destroying Halla. He came across as a kindly, concerned adult. Okay, a kindly concerned adult with lightning bolts blazed into his head, but still.

“I'm afraid the answer to that question is at the very heart of our conflict, Pendragon,” he said. “I will be honest with you and say I cannot reveal the answer because it would put me at a disadvantage. I will not do that. But I will say this: You have an opportunity. We are not as different as you think. Join me. We can build a new Halla . . . together.”

He looked at me with kindness and sincerity. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to put an end to this battle and have everything be all right. I wanted to learn the truth. All of it. It would have been so easy.

But the memories came roaring back. All of them. He was a murderer. He caused more pain and suffering than I can even remember. I saw it all. He took joy in it. How could that possibly be the way it was supposed to be? If that was his vision of Halla, then there was no way I could let it happen.

“No,” I said. “I can never be like you. Whatever your vision for Halla is, I can't accept that it includes bringing out the worst in humanity.”

His eyes changed. The kindness evaporated. The evil had returned.

“The worst in humanity?” he said, seething. “You mean like arrogance and vanity and the thirst for power and revenge?” He stood up and walked toward me, backing me off. “Look at yourself, Pendragon. You hold yourself up to be the model of righteous deeds, but what happened here on
Quillan? You believed you couldn't be beaten—that's how I was able to lure you into the games. Your pride was your undoing. I killed a Traveler to see how you would respond. What did you do? You vowed revenge! You cling to the precious words of your uncle, who told you the territories cannot be mixed, yet you intercede time and time again with the natural order of a territory. You're aghast at the fact that I'll bring an animal from Cloral or a weapon from Eelong, yet you are quick to bring something that is far more intrusive. You bring ideas, Pendragon! You were raised on Second Earth, and you are all too quick to impose what you feel are the higher morals of that territory on all others. How is that any different from what I have done? Your arrogance astounds me! You stood facing thousands of adoring people who saw you as a savior, and you reveled in it, didn't you? You loved the feeling of power. Don't lie to yourself, Pendragon. You aren't driven by nobility alone. You are as flawed as anyone. That is the truth, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

“You're twisting it,” I said.

“Am I?” he shot back. “Let me ask you again, Red. Do you like killing?”

“What? No!”

“You think you are unable to kill, but let me remind you how much blood is on your hands. People died when the tak mine exploded on Denduron. How many died when the
Hindenburg
crashed? But that is nothing compared to our battle, Pendragon. If you didn't exist, I wouldn't exist. Everything I've done is because of you! How many more will die before you give up this foolish quest?”

“No,” I said. “No way. You can't blame me for what you've done.”

“We're both responsible, Pendragon,” he said. “When the Convergence comes, you will play as big a role as I.”

“The what?” I asked. “What is the Convergence?”

“It's our future, Pendragon,” he said. “The future of Halla.”

He spun away from me and picked up the remote control. “Do you need more convincing? Let me show you what your arrogance has brought to Quillan. This territory was on the verge of a revolution. The revivers brought together thousands, convincing them that their road to happiness would be to overthrow Blok. Blok knew it was coming, but it wasn't the revivers they feared. No. What Blok feared more than anything else was the past. They had done all they could to destroy anything that would make people want to return to the old ways. It took them generations to wipe out an entire way of life and replace it with their own. They broke down the territory physically, and the people emotionally. They had total control because the people simply didn't know any other way. They had completely purged history. The only true threat to them would be if enough people learned of the past. But it wasn't a real problem because the past no longer existed. Or did it?”

Saint Dane pointed the remote control at the screens. They both came to life with images that made me want to get down on my knees and cry. On each screen was a wide shot of the inside of the secret library that contained all the relics of Quillan's past.

“What's their special secret name for it?” Saint Dane asked. “Oh, yes, Mr. Pop. How very . . . cute. You see, the revivers did an exceptional job of keeping it secret. The trustees heard rumors of its existence, but could never prove that it was real, let alone find it. Well, Pendragon, they've found it . . . thanks to you.”

What happened next was nothing less than Armageddon. I first saw images of the green-smocked curators running
through the aisles in fear. Some tried to grab items, others simply fled. It was futile. Following right behind them was a legion of dados. The first wave came with golden rifles, shooting up everything they saw. Glass shattered; shelves fell over, spilling books and manuscripts; sculptures were pulverized. Bits and pieces of Quillan's past exploded into bits of debris. The next wave of dados brought flame-throwers. Long, hideous jets of fire streaked across the room. Paintings sizzled, books burned, clothing turned to ash. The flames were so intense that even metal burned. I saw the giant hand holding the feather turn black. The room had become a huge incinerator, with the dados in the middle of it, oblivious to the heat, and the sorrow.

They were methodical and thorough. The two screens kept changing views, so I could see it all. I didn't want to, but I had to. Once the room was completely engulfed in flames, the dados retreated and were replaced with a handful of other dados who carried items that looked like small barrels. They moved quickly through the inferno and placed them in various sections throughout the immense space. They quickly retreated. I feared what would happen next.

The barrels exploded. One after the other, they erupted with a powerful fury that rocked the structure itself. I saw heavy beams falling from overhead and walls collapsing. A long beam hit the giant hand, shearing off the feather and toppling the sculpture. More barrels exploded. The last one finally destroyed the cameras that were recording the carnage. Mercifully, the spectacle was over. I had witnessed the complete annihilation of Quillan's past. What had taken eons to create, and generations to collect and hide, had been destroyed in a few violent minutes.

The screen went black, and Saint Dane turned to me. “As I said, truly devastating defeat can only come at the moment
of victory. Those images were shown all over Quillan. I wanted you to win the Grand X, Pendragon. I wanted you to be the champion of the people. I wanted them to think they actually had a chance, because now they know it is truly hopeless. Blok will survive. This pathetic territory will continue on its sad little course. The select few will prosper; the masses will suffer. This was the turning point on Quillan, Pendragon. The destruction of their history. And it's all thanks to you.”

I was stunned senseless. Every devious twist of Saint Dane's plan had finally been revealed. But with all that had happened, there was still one thing I didn't understand.

“How?” I said. “How did I reveal the location of Mr. Pop? I didn't know where it was. I still don't.”

I heard another voice say, “Neither did I.”

I spun around quickly to see another person had entered the room. It was almost as confusing to me as when Challenger Green showed up. Maybe more so, because the implications were far more disturbing.