D. MacHale - The Merchant of Death

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 unreasonable 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.