D. MacHale - The Quillan Games

Normal. Yikes. There was these challengers were treated. They were expected to perform like trained dogs, put their lives on the line and for what? A couple of bucks for their families? And a party? How wrong is that? I was beginning to get the picture that Quillan was a pretty messed-up place. There were a lot of disturbing puzzle pieces flying around. I needed to start piecing them together.

My run with Fourteen ended up at the place called the “garden.” It was on the far side of the wooded compound, surrounded by trees. We jogged into a clearing and I saw a familiar sight: the octagonal platform where the Tato match had been played. The match that killed Remudi. This was the “garden” the guy out in the street told me about.

It was a strangely forlorn place, mostly because nobody was there at the time. I stopped running and stepped onto the platform. It seemed big, but I’m sure it felt much smaller when it was towering high in the air. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be on this tilting platform, desperately trying to keep my balance. I glanced past the platform, wondering where Remudi might have fallen. I know this sounds weird, but even if I hadn’t seen the match, I would have known that something tragic had happened to a Traveler there. I don’t really know how to describe this; it felt just as weird to me as I’m sure it does to you reading it, but it was like I could sense the loss of life. I know, you’re thinking I’m getting all cosmic on you, and maybe I am, but I swear, I felt as if a cold hand had grabbed my heart.

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked Fourteen.

“Forgive me,” he said. “This is on the way to the field where a game is being played.”

“Then let’s go,” I said, jumping off the platform. I didn’t want to be there anymore and hoped I’d never have to set foot on it again.

The two of us jogged back into the woods, away from the octagon and the cold feeling of death that had settled over me. A few minutes later we came out of the woods to see a big playing field of grass. It could easily have been a football field or a soccer field. There was a game being played that involved not only challengers, but horses.

We quickly climbed up into a tower that was an observation platform. Looking down on the field, I saw two teams of four challengers on horseback. Each team had two girls and two guys. They weren’t wearing their personal challenger shirts. Instead they had team colors. A white team and a black team. They still had the familiar diagonal stripes across the front, though. The playing field was about the size of a football field. There were large nets at either end that looked like goals. I saw pretty quickly what the point of the game was. Each of the riders had a long stick with a net on the end. They fought over a soccer-size red ball, trying to scoop it up. They would then pass it to a teammate to throw into the opposing team’s net. It was like lacrosse on horseback. Sort of. There was more.

Each team had three more players, but they were on foot. They could run with the ball or kick it like a soccer ball. It was a dangerous position to play. I saw one guy get whacked with a stick. It wasn’t an accident. He was running with the ball, and got clocked so hard he dropped the ball and landed on his head. If he hadn’t rolled out of the way, he would have been trampled. That didn’t look like an accident either. The guy who nearly ran him down was trying to get him.

“This is insane,” I said to Fourteen.

“The challengers on foot are those who are less gifted,” he said in his flat, monotone voice.

“The guys who still live near the clown room?” I asked.

“Yes,” Fourteen answered. “They will never compete in the individual challenges. They are expendable.”

“So it’s okay in this game to run them down?” I asked in horror.

“It is encouraged,” he answered. “LaBerge feels it adds to the excitement.”

I glanced up above one of the goals to see a scoreboard flashing numbers. This was a game that was being broadcast throughout Quillan. It was hard to watch. Wondering who was going to score wasn’t nearly as nail biting as wondering who was going to get hit, or trampled. I couldn’t watch. The sounds of the pounding hooves often gave way to sick dull sounds of bodies being pummeled. It was absolutely barbaric… and strangely familiar. I felt as if I knew this game, but that made no sense because I definitely never saw anything like it. It was kind of like lacrosse and polo and soccer, but it felt more familiar than that.

I had no idea why, until I asked Fourteen, “What do they call this game?”

“It is called Wippen,” he said.

Wippen! I did know this game! Wippen was a game they played on the territory of Eelong. The catlike klee would ride on zenzens, which I know you remember were horses with extra leg joints that made them tall and gangly. On foot were the poor gars, the humans, who often didn’t survive a game. This was the exact same game that was played on Eelong, right down to the name! But how could that be?

“What do you know about Wippen?” I asked Fourteen. “I mean, is it a traditional game played on Quillan?”

“I do not know,” he answered. “You would have to ask LaBerge. He designs the games.”

The more I thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense that it could be a total coincidence. Maybe it’s possible that two games could be developed on two different territories that were exactly alike, but to both be called “Wippen”? That was too much. Yet another confusing twist had been thrown into the soup.

“I don’t want to watch,” I said to Fourteen, and climbed down the platform.

As we jogged back toward the castle, an idea came to me. “Hey, does this mean there will be a party tonight?” I asked.

“Yes,” Fourteen said. “Would you like to attend?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

This was going to be my first real chance to interact with the other challengers, other than trying to keep them from killing me in a game, that is. I didn’t want to miss it. I ran back to my room, took a shower, and got dressed in a clean Challenger Red uniform. Fourteen brought me a delicious dinner of grilled meat, vegetables, and a tasty, buttery pile of fluff that reminded me of mashed potatoes but, I was told, was mashed tribbun. Who knew I would develop a taste for such an odd fruit? Or vegetable. Or potato? Whatever.

After eating, I lay down and closed my eyes to rest up and think about what to say to the challengers. I needed information about Quillan. It was the only way to piece together what Saint Dane’s plan might be for the territory, because Nevva Winter wasn’t helping much… or at all. I was beginning to worry that something had happened to her. I didn’t know what her life was like here on Quillan, other than that she was some kind of lowly assistant to the trustees. Whoever they were. Veego and LaBerge answered to them, so they must have been a powerful bunch. I decided that I’d wait for her until the time came that I had to enter another match. No way I was going to die for the amusement of these losers. If I had to play again, I’d use the blocking diode that Nevva had given me and beat feet out of there.

As usual, all this thinking meant I didn’t get much rest before Fourteen came for me. Oh well. As we walked down the corridor toward the party room, I found myself getting butterflies. I felt a little bit like I was going to my first middle-school dance. Only I wasn’t nervous about asking somebody to dance with me, I was more concerned about being accepted enough to start learning more about how Quillan worked.

By the time we arrived, the party was already jamming. It was even bigger and rowdier than the party I saw before. Fourteen must have sensed my surprise.