Courtney hobbled over to the cushy easy chair that her father had moved up to her room, and settled in. She looked at the pages, ready to read.
“Courtney?” Mark said.
“Yeah?”
“Welcome back.”
Courtney smiled and began to read, “ ‘Journal number twenty-four. Quillan. I like to play games. Always have. . . . ’ ”
SECOND EARTH
(CONTINUED)
“Dinner’s ready!” called Mrs. Chetwynde from downstairs.
Courtney had already finished reading Bobby’s journal aloud. She and Mark were busy sitting there, not moving, staring at each other, trying to digest the news from Bobby’s latest entry. Courtney broke the silence first.
“He sounds bad,” she said.
“Can you blame him?” Mark asked. “He’s only got the biggest responsibility in the history of all time on his shoulders.”
“I wish there was something we could do to let him know he’s not alone,” Courtney lamented.
“But he is alone,” Mark said soberly.
Courtney looked out the window. She wanted to cry. Bobby was doing an incredible job battling Saint Dane. It hurt to hear that in spite of all his success, he was feeling so sad and lonely. It wasn’t fair. It almost made her wish that when Bobby and Loor were together, that Loor had kissed him.
Almost.
Mark added, “And now he’s even more alone, because the Traveler from Quillan is dead.”
“It’s a weird feeling,” Courtney added glumly. “It’s like hearing a relative died that you never met.”
“Really,” Mark said soberly. “I-I can’t believe another Traveler is gone.”
“And Bobby’s just getting started on Quillan!” Courtney shouted out. “He’s being set up for something, I know it.”
“I think so too,” Mark said. He jumped up and started pacing nervously. “Why else would Saint Dane have sent him that invitation? And what about the loop and the challenger clothes at the flume? Saint Dane must have put them there.”
“Really,” Courtney said. “And those two weird people, Veego and LaBerge. They had something to do with putting on that fight. Bobby’s being lured into that Toto competition.”
“Tato,” Mark corrected.
“Whatever,” Courtney snapped. “Bobby walked into a trap.”
“What else can he do?” Mark argued. “If he wants to find out what’s happening on Quillan, he’s got to be right where he is. Where Saint Dane asked him to be.”
Courtney took a deep breath. She knew Mark was right. But it didn’t make her any less anxious about it. “I guess,” she said, pouting. “I hate getting the story in short doses, and I hate even worse not being able to help him.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the deal,” Mark said.
Courtney tapped her foot on the floor. Her good foot. She was full of nervous energy. “There’s something I don’t understand,” she finally said. “Why doesn’t Saint Dane just kill him?”
“What?” Mark shouted in surprise.
“Don’t get all squishy,” Courtney countered. “It’s a legitimate question. With all of Saint Dane’s powers, you’d think he’d just swat Bobby down and be done with him. The same with the other Travelers. He’s had plenty of chances. I mean, if he spent all that time trying to get rid of me, you’d think he’d at least give it a shot.”
Mark stopped pacing and sat back in the chair. “I have to admit, I’ve wondered that myself.”
Courtney said, “You think maybe it’s because they can’t be killed? Like with Loor.”
“But they can be killed!” Mark shot back. “There’s a whole roster of dead Travelers as proof, and it’s getting longer.”
“Then what about Loor?” Courtney asked. “She was dead and then she wasn’t.”
“I don’t know,” Mark said, shaking his head. “Maybe it’s like Bobby said. It might have something to do with the power they have when they’re together. Bobby was there for Loor, and she survived. The Traveler from Quillan was alone, and now he’s gone.”
“So . . . could that be it?” Courtney asked nervously. “Is it finally happening? Is Saint Dane luring the Travelers to Quillan, separately, to kill them off one by one?”
The two shared a nervous look. The thought of a systematic Traveler execution was a grim one.
“Is this the Travelers’ last stand?” Courtney asked, surprised by her own conclusion.
Mark jumped up and paced again. “No!” He shouted. “N-No way. It can’t be that simple.” He was forming the ideas as he spoke. “I’ve studied every word of Bobby’s journals. I know everything that’s happened to him since he left home, and I see a pattern.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“Saint Dane likes to play,” Mark answered. “He lures Bobby to a territory and gives him just enough information to get him thinking.”
“But the clues usually send him in the wrong direction,” Courtney pointed out.
“I think that’s part of it,” Mark said. “Saint Dane challenges Bobby. He forces him to make tough choices. Bobby never has a clear path.”
“So what’s the point?” Courtney asked impatiently. “Why does Saint Dane give Bobby any shot at all?”
Mark answered, “Because I think for Saint Dane, it’s more than just trying to tip a territory toward chaos. I think he wants to beat Bobby. No, I think he needs to beat Bobby. If he didn’t, why would he bother dealing with Bobby at all?”
“Because Bobby forces him to deal,” Courtney said. “He’s all over Saint Dane.”
“Yeah, Bobby and the Travelers keep messing up his plans, but Saint Dane keeps giving him opportunities. I don’t think anything that happens is by coincidence. I think Saint Dane has orchestrated everything, and part of it is to go head-to-head with Bobby whenever he can.”
“Even when he lost his cool and beat Bobby up on Zadaa?” Courtney asked. “And tried to kill Loor?”
“Especially then,” Mark answered. “Did he really lose his cool? Or was it just one more strand in the web he’s weaving to mess with Bobby and keep him off balance?”
“You’re making my head hurt,” Courtney said. “And thanks for nothing because it’s the only body part I’ve got left that doesn’t ache.”
“Sorry,” Mark said.
Courtney asked, “So you think Saint Dane cares more about messing with Bobby than about ruling Halla?”
“No,” Mark said. “Just the opposite. I believe that for Saint Dane, the road to Halla goes through Bobby. Until Bobby is defeated, he can never truly win. Just killing off the Travelers won’t be good enough for him. Everything he does has a bigger purpose.”
“Including setting up the Traveler from Quillan to die?” Courtney asked.
“Yeah, it’s sick, but that’s what I think,” Mark said with confidence.
Courtney glanced at the yellow pages of Bobby’s journal from Quillan. “You make it sound like it’s all one big game,” she said.
“It kind of feels that way,” Mark said. “With very big stakes.”
Courtney looked out the window again and said, “The more we learn, the less sense it makes.”
“I’ll make it even more confusing,” Mark said. “If I’m right about all this, then the really big question is, why? If this is all some big cosmic game, who made up the rules? What’s the point? Why is Bobby so important? What is Saint Dane trying to prove? And—”
“And who’s he trying to prove it to?” Courtney finished Mark’s thought.
“Exactly,” Mark said. “There’s nothing in Bobby’s journals that gives me a clue, other than what Gunny said—”
“Right,” Courtney interrupted. “He thinks that somebody out there chose the Travelers.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know who it might be and neither does Bobby. Which means all he can do is keep playing the game and hope for the best.”
“Courtney! Mark!” Mr. Chetwynde called from downstairs. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
&n
bsp; “Coming!” Courtney shouted.
“So what do we do?” Mark asked.
“What do you mean?” Courtney shot back. “It’s not like we can jump into a flume and hop over to Quillan to tell him our theory.”
“No, I mean about you. Saint Dane nearly killed you. We both agreed that Bobby should know.”
Courtney stood up. “I changed my mind,” she said with finality.
“But—”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if we wanted to tell him, how could we? We don’t know if the Traveler from Quillan had an acolyte. Who would we send the message to?”
“We could send it to one of the other acolytes, like Saangi, and she could tell Loor and—”
“And Loor would go to Quillan and do what? Tell Bobby that he’s gotta get home because Saint Dane is messing with poor Courtney? What if that’s exactly what Saint Dane wants? I’ve had a lot of time to wonder about why he came after me, and all I can come up with is that he wants Bobby to run home to protect me.”
“Yeah, I thought about that too,” Mark agreed.
“Look,” Courtney said. “We can’t travel to another territory, that’s a fact. We’re stuck here. But you know what? That’s a good thing. Saint Dane is going to come after Second Earth. What he did to me might be part of his plan for this territory, or maybe he was just trying to distract Bobby. We don’t know. But the fact remains, Second Earth is in play. It’s not our job to go to other territories and interfere. Our job is to help Bobby protect Second Earth. I say we hold off on telling him anything about what’s happened until the turning point on Quillan passes, no matter which way it goes. The battle isn’t on Second Earth right now; it’s on Quillan. That’s where Bobby belongs, and it would be wrong for us to distract him.”
Mark nodded.
“Now let’s eat, I’m starving,” Courtney said, and walked stiffly for the door. Conversation over.
The dinner that Mark shared with the Chetwyndes was a lot of fun, in spite of all that was bothering Mark and Courtney. They did their best to put their concerns about Bobby aside and focus on the celebration to welcome Courtney home. It was a warm, wonderful time. The tension between Courtney and her parents that existed before she left for summer school had evaporated. Courtney realized that her brush with death went a long way toward putting her priorities in order. Not being the best girl on the soccer team suddenly seemed trivial. Her parents were just happy that she was alive. Courtney kind of liked that fact too. If Saint Dane had accomplished anything, it was to bring Courtney and her family back together.
For Mark and Courtney there was an added reason to celebrate: They had survived Saint Dane’s plot to hurt Courtney. Courtney’s body may have been worse for wear, but their resolve was stronger than ever . . . and their confidence. It truly was a time to celebrate, in spite of the sad and scary news from Quillan.
Mark and Courtney decided to go about their lives as normally as possible, which meant Mark started his junior year at Davis Gregory High, and Courtney continued the grueling process of physical therapy. Both knew they had to stay aware, in case Saint Dane made another appearance, though neither knew exactly how to do that, or what to look for. Of course they were wary of strangers or anyone new who came into their lives. Courtney wasn’t about to let another Whitney Wilcox weasel his way into her confidence. At least not until Saint Dane was done for good.
Mark brought Bobby’s latest journal to the National Bank of Stony Brook, where all of Bobby’s journals were kept in a safe-deposit box. Every day he would check the newspaper and the online news services, searching for any hint of something that might lead to a turning point on Second Earth that Saint Dane could exploit. After a week of sleepless nights spent online, he realized it was futile, because everything seemed like it could lead to a turning point. There was no shortage of stories about strife in other countries as well as at home. There were countless reports of terrorism and border disputes and sickness and crime and any number of things that Mark could easily imagine blossoming into a full-blown turning point. It was making him crazy. He began to realize that even if he ran across the right information, he’d never recognize it and make the connection to Saint Dane. He had to accept the fact that he’d never come across an item on Yahoo! that read: STRANGER APPEARS OUT OF NOWHERE TO OFFER PROSPERITY BUT REALLY PLANS DISASTER. Short of that, he knew he was spinning his wheels, so he reluctantly gave up doing research.
Courtney’s mom dropped her off every day at the High Point Rehabilitation Center, where she spent a solid two hours being tortured. She worked right alongside many elderly people with various problems. One man had suffered a stroke and had to learn to use his legs again. Courtney found herself being a cheerleader and coach for the guy, encouraging him to keep trying. She also helped a young boy who had injured his hand so badly, he had trouble holding a fork to eat. Courtney sat by him, telling him jokes and getting him to focus. Many times the older man was nearly in tears out of frustration, but Courtney was able to get him to think ahead to where he would soon be, as opposed to dwelling on where he’d been. In the few weeks that Courtney was there, she saw great improvement in both the old man and the kid. The therapists told her she played a big part in their recovery, which made Courtney feel great.
Her own recovery went very well. Most of the patients there would have to be coaxed and cajoled into exercising, since exercise usually meant pain and frustration. With Courtney it was the opposite. The therapists had to caution her to back off, for fear she’d hurt herself again. The term “back off” was not in Courtney’s vocabulary. She had a deadline. She wanted to play soccer that spring. But more than that, she was driven by her hatred of Saint Dane, and what he’d done to her. It fueled her and it healed her.
The investigation continued in Derby Falls as to who the stranger named Whitney Wilcox was, who showed up at Courtney’s summer school, pretended to be a student, nearly killed Courtney, and then vanished. Courtney spoke many times with the local detectives and with school officials, answering the same questions over and over again. But it was all for show, because she knew they were wasting their time. They’d never find the guy. At one point she wanted to blurt out, “Look, Whitney Wilcox was actually a demon named Saint Dane who is trying to crush all of humanity, and the reason he tried to kill me is because my friend Bobby Pendragon is off in another time and territory trying to stop him, and I think he wanted to get Bobby to come home and protect me. Does that clear things up for you now? Have a nice day.”
She didn’t say that.
Instead she bit her tongue, answered their questions as truthfully as possible, and secretly felt sorry for them because it was such a total waste of their energy.
By the time November rolled around, Courtney was itching to get back to school. Up until then she had been getting her assignments brought to the house. Her parents even hired a tutor to help her with math. (Courtney wasn’t big on math.) Her grades rebounded from the disaster of the year before, and after the first quarter she was back on the honor roll. As great as that felt, Courtney was still frustrated. She wanted to get back to normal, and normal meant going to school.
The final step was to get a clean bill of health from her doctors. The bones in her leg and arm were healing nicely. She could get around, though she still used a cane as a precaution. What the doctors were more concerned about was that she had recovered enough from her internal injuries to resume a normal, busy, tiring life. It was the week before Thanksgiving when Courtney had the examination she had been aiming for. She walked into the doctor’s office, sat on the crunchy paper that covered his exam table, and announced, “Just so you guys know, the Monday after Thanksgiving, I’m going back to school.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow and smiled. After asking a number of questions as to how she was holding up, examining her, ordering a few blood tests, and then checking over her chart, the doctor called Courtney and her mom into his office to say, “Congratulations. You are good to go.”
&
nbsp; If there ever was a Thanksgiving when Courtney felt she had a lot to give thanks for, it was this one. Her life was back on track. She still had some pain and stiffness, especially after the weather turned cold, but Courtney was confident that in time any residual effect from the crash would be gone. She did feel a little nervous about going back to school though. She hadn’t been there since the previous spring. She knew there would be questions as to where she had been. Mark told her how there were all sorts of rumors flying around school. Kids were saying how she’d had a total nervous breakdown and had to be committed to an insane asylum and spent the last few months strapped into a straitjacket in a padded hospital room. That made Courtney laugh, because of course none of it was true, except for the breakdown part, but secretly she was nervous about what she would tell people. Courtney prided herself on being strong, so it was embarrassing for her to admit that during the previous semester, she’d had trouble coping.
It wasn’t like she could tell the truth about what had put her over the edge either. She couldn’t say how she and Mark had traveled to Eelong and caused the death of one Traveler and trapped two others. That wouldn’t fly, unless she really wanted to be put in a straitjacket and a padded hospital room.
Courtney wasn’t used to admitting fault, or weakness, so the worry about how to explain her absence to the kids at school caused her more anxiety than just about anything else. Eventually she came up with a story that was partially true. She decided to be honest. Sort of. She would boldly say how she was under a lot of stress and was having trouble dealing with it. So rather than forcing it and alienating all her friends, which would have only made things worse, she chose to take a timeout. Courtney wanted to show strength in discussing her weakness. Then, she decided, she would immediately tell people about how she was nearly killed up in Massachusetts. She knew that story would be way more interesting than the one about her being depressed, and hoped the kids would soon forget about why she was gone in the first place. With that plan in place, Courtney felt she was ready to reenter her life.
The Quillan Games Page 12