D. MacHale - Black Water

The food was a joke, though maybe that’s a bad way of putting it because there was nothing funny about it. Every so often a klee would appear on the grid above and dump down a load of fruit. The shower of food would hit the stone floor and smash to bits. It was a rotten way to be fed, but the gars didn’t care. They scrambled to pick up every putrid crumb they could find. Some even licked the stone floor afterward. I had no idea what most of the stuff was. It all smelled rank. At first I couldn’t bring myself to eat, especially after what I saw on that farm with all the dead tangs. But after a while I got so hungry I didn’t care anymore and joined the feast. I didn’t die. Obviously.

From what I’ve written so far, you may be wondering how long I spent in this hole. The fact is, I’m not exactly sure. When I first woke up, I didn’t think I’d be there for long, so I didn’t try to keep track of time. But after a few days I figured I’d better start getting my head together, so each time it got light, I scraped a notch in the floor with a small chunk of rock. But even then, I didn’t know how long a day on Eelong was. Was it twenty-four hours like on Second Earth? Or forty-eight? Or twelve or…whatever. Time hasn’t had a whole lot of meaning since I left home. But as I think back on the gruesome experience of being trapped in that cell, I can guesstimate that by Second Earth standards, I spent at least a month in there. I’m serious. A month. It was a month too long. I’d be kidding you if I said it didn’t change me.

With each passing day, I got angrier. I couldn’t believe that klees could treat gars so inhumanely, especially since I discovered the gars weren’t dumb animals. I’m not saying they were playing chess with the klees or anything. Far from it. But they could think, and they had feelings, and they had a lot more to offer Eelong than what the klees gave them credit for. It wasn’t right.

I was also angry at Durgen for sticking me here, and at Kasha and Boon for not getting me out. I was afraid they had abandoned me and left me to die. Most of all, I got angry at Saint Dane. Not that I needed any more of an excuse for that, but he was the real reason I was trapped in this cell. And with me out of the way, there was nobody to stop him from tricking the klees into destroying their own territory.

As long as I’m being totally honest, I have to admit that I was getting mad at Uncle Press, too. He was the one who got me into this Traveler mess in the first place. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably be eating a pizza with you guys and catching the Yankees on TV. Or the Jets. What season is it, anyway? Instead, I sat in a putrid prison, grossed out by my own stench, wondering if this was my last stop. Morbid, aye? Sure, but why not? There was nothing else to think about. I had already counted the stones in the walls (8,462), done every math problem I could think of, and even came up with my own lyrics to that old song “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” since I never understood the real lyrics anyway. Tell methat’snot desperate. While Eelong edged closer to disaster, I was stuck in a sewerlike prison, helpless, hungry and making up mind games to keep from going insane.

I shouldn’t rant so much about my own feelings, but I’ll say one more thing. Once I finish writing this journal I’m going to put the horrible memories of my stay in the gar dungeon away in a safe place. I’ll get over it, but I won’t forget. And when it all goes down with Saint Dane, I’ll bring this nightmare back and use it for strength against him. Bet on it.

Besides describing the horrible conditions, there were a few things that happened during my stay that I need to write down before I forget them. When I was first thrown into the dungeon, I hadn’t had any real contact with gars, other than in that wagon on the way to our ill-fated farming expedition. But now, stuck in a confined space, I was officially a gar. I wanted to know more about them. It wasn’t easy. They were afraid of me, and maybe a little bit loony from being starved and imprisoned. (They didn’t have the outlet of making up lyrics to “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Poor them.) They didn’t accept me. Most kept their distance, cowering in the shadows and shivering with fear, as if I would hurt them. It took me a while to realize why. Even though I looked like them, I was way different. I was taller and I walked with the authority of a klee. These little guys were always a little hunched over and afraid of their own shadows. To them I was a freak. When I made a move to pick up some fruit that had been tossed down, the gars would back off and let me take what I wanted before helping themselves.

A few times I heard them whispering to each other. I’d try to join in by saying something simple like “Hello?” or “My name is Pendragon.” But they’d immediately shut down and scamper away. It didn’t help that I tried to stay in shape. I constantly did sit-ups and push-ups to keep my muscle tone from going south. But every time I’d start exercising, the gars would huddle together and look at me like I was performing some strange ritual. After a while I gave up trying to communicate with them. It was too frustrating.

I soon began to wonder about the point of it all. Why were we being kept here? Durgen said something about getting “value” from me by selling me to handlers. But after being there for several weeks, there was no sign of a handler or of anybody else who might have bought me. I didn’t think they were going to eat us. If that were the case they’d be feeding us a lot better. Most of the gars down here were skin and bones, not exactly a tempting taste treat for a hungry klee. It all seemed so pointless.

Then one day, with no warning, the wooden door flew open and two klees leaped in. The gars scampered to the far side of the cell in fear, no big surprise. I didn’t. I was too tired to be scared.

The klees scanned the group. One said, “It’s a sorry bunch.” He pointed at two of the bigger gars and said, “Those two!” Without any deliberation, they pounced on the chosen gars and dragged them out of the cell. The gars were terrified, letting out cries of panic. None of the others did anything to save them. To be honest, neither did I. What could I do? I thought about standing up and blowing these cats away by singing a song, or reciting a poem, or telling them about Madden football. You know, anything that would be un-gar-like. But I decided not to draw attention to myself. My job here was about Saint Dane. I figured I shouldn’t do anything that might get me in trouble and stop me from dealing with the bigger picture.

About an hour later the door opened again, and one of the gars was thrown back into the cell. He looked exhausted. He crawled on his hands and knees to a corner and collapsed. He was a mess. Or shouldIsay, a bigger mess than before. Icouldn’t tell for sure, butIthoughtIsaw a dark stain on his chest. From whereIwas sitting, it looked like blood. Ididn’t think it was his, andInever saw the other gar again. Connect the dots. Something nasty had happened.

Days went by. Iwas losing strength. Ihad never been hungry before. Imean, reallyhungry. Missing lunch and getting a little rumble in the tummy didn’t count. This hurt. Ihad long since given up being picky about the food and would have eaten bugs if there had been any around. Ididn’t sleep much, and whenIdid, my dreams were horrible. I always seemed to be running from some horrible fate. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, relieved that I was safe, and then crushed to realize I was still in this prison.

One night I dreamed that I was lying on my back, looking up at the stars through the ceiling grid. The sky was beginning to lighten, which meant it was morning. The silhouette of a large klee appeared above and stared down at me. I looked up at this big cat, thinking how real this dream felt, when the klee snarled and said, “Good morning, Pendragon. Enjoying the morning air?”