The Merchant of Death (17 page)

“But if we weren't in the river, we would have been attacked by Kagan's knight!” I shot back.

Loor finally sat up and looked at me. She didn't say anything at first, but her hard look made me feel like some sort of lower life-form.

“You were hiding in the bushes, watching me,” she said. Gulp.
Busted.
“If you had come out to speak with me,” she went on, “I would have told you that I was waiting for that knight.”

Huh? I couldn't get my mind around this. “You were waiting for one of Kagan's knights?” I asked, dumbfounded. “Why?”

“Because he is the Traveler from Denduron and he was coming to give me information about Press. You nearly killed us both to escape from the most important friend we have here on this territory. What am I supposed to say to you, Pendragon? Thank you?”

I
had reached a new low. The more I learned about this world the less I understood. Worse, when I finally tried to take action, I screwed up. Loor and I nearly died on that river and it was my fault. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be in my bed. I wanted to feel Marley's nose nudging me and smell her fishy dog breath. Instead I was lying cold and bruised on the bank of a river on the other side of the universe.

“Loor! Are you all right?” I heard the voice first, then saw the guy crashing through the woods. It was the knight who scared me into our whitewater adventure. As he appeared from out of the brush I could see that he wasn't much older than me. He was tall, and the leather armor made him look even bigger. He wasn't very agile though. The other knights I saw were trained, dangerous dudes, kind of like ancient marines. This guy had the gear and the look, but he acted more like a big puppy who was all floppy arms and legs. He wasn't exactly the fighting machine one would expect. He stumbled out of the woods, tripped over a root, nearly did a face plant in the dirt, then looked at us with wide, frightened eyes.

“We are fine,” assured Loor.

“This was my fault,” whined the knight. “I am so sorry.”

Loor felt herself for broken bones. “Pendragon,” she said, “this is Alder.”

“Alder what?” I asked, though I think I already knew the answer.

“Just Alder,” answered the knight.

Yup, another one-name guy. When does a society progress far enough to start using two names? Whatever.

“I cannot tell you how happy we are that you have arrived, Pendragon,” said Alder enthusiastically. “Now we can begin.”

Uh-oh. What did he mean by “begin”? I was getting sick of being one step behind everybody else.

“Begin what?” I asked.

Alder looked at Loor like he was surprised I didn't know what he was talking about. He should get used to it. I looked at Loor too. Obviously they hadn't told me everything. Loor gazed across the river. I could tell she was debating whether or not to answer. Her jaw was clenching. She looked back to me, stared me down for a second, and then let it out.

“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.”