him and reached for it. But just as I was about to take it, the little guy pulled it back, held out his hand, and rubbed his fingers together. Yes, he was giving me the international sign, no, I guess it was more the intergalactic sign for “you want it, you pay for it.” This weird little guy was trying to strike a deal for the sweater.
“Figgis, leave him be!” said Osa as she stepped between us.
“Mab abba kan forbay,” said the little guy innocently. At least I think it was innocently. His language made no sense to me.
Osa looked at Figgis and said, “He has only just arrived. Go sell your wares somewhere else.”
The guy was a salesman. He seemed to deflate in disappointment and started to walk away, but then he turned back and gave me a sly, toothless smile. From out of his grungy shirt he held up a shiny red apple, trying to tempt me. It looked good.
“Go!” commanded Osa.
Figgis snarled at her and ran away.
“Figgis would sell you his breath if he could,” she explained. “They say he wears that patch because he sold his eye to a blind man.”
Nice. That’s a fairly disgusting image.
“Osa,” I asked. “Are you from Earth?”
Osa laughed and looked to Loor to share the joke that I didn’t get. Loor didn’t laugh back. Big surprise.
“Why do you think that?” she asked.
“You know English,” I said.
“You are wrong, Pendragon,” she said. “I do not understand a word of English. Come.” She left me there and continued walking with Loor.
Huh? I could be mistaken, but I thought sure we were speaking English. I should know. Aside from a little classroom Spanish, it’s the only language I know. This was getting frustrating. Every time I thought I was starting to get a handle on things, something would come along and pull the rug out from under me. I figured I better get used to it.
Osa and Loor were already way ahead of me, so I had to run to catch up. I had to jog to keep pace with their long strides while making sure to keep Osa between me and Loor. I liked the mom, but I didn’t trust the daughter. I kept catching her throwing me these “you aren’t worthy to breathe air that could go to someone more deserving” looks. She was giving off a major cold vibe. I figured it would be best to stay out of her way.
“I don’t understand,” I said to Osa. “How can you say you don’t know English if you’re speaking it?”
“I am not speaking English,” she answered. “You are speaking English. I am speaking the language from Zadaa, which is our home territory.”
“Sounds like English to me,” I said.
“Of course it does. That is because you are a Traveler.”
This was getting more confusing by the second.
“So, you’re saying that Travelers understand all languages?” Logical question, right?
“No,” came the illogical reply. “Travelers hear all languages as their own. And when they speak, others will understand them no matter what their native language.”
Cool. If this were true, maybe I’d have a shot at getting better than my usual lousy C in Spanish class. Still, something didn’t fit.
“Okay, so how come when that Figgis guy spoke it sounded like blah, blah, blah to me?”
Suddenly Loor jumped in front of me. I had to put on the brakes or walk into her. That would have hurt.
“Because maybe you are not a Traveler!” she said with a challenging snarl.
Ahhh! Suddenly it all came clear. Loor didn’t think I was who I was. That’s why she was acting all strange and aggressive. Of course, I wasn’t even sure myself who I was supposed to be, so there wasn’t anything I could say to convince her that I was me. Or I was who I was. Or…you get the idea.
Again Osa came to my rescue saying, “The reason you did not understand Figgis is that you have not yet learned to hear. You understand us because we are Travelers, but Figgis is not. You must learn to hear, without trying to listen.”
Say what? Hear without listening? That sounded like fortune cookie logic.
“How can he be a Traveler? He is just a boy!” Loor said to her mother vehemently. “He is soft and frightened. He will do more harm than good.”
Wow. How’s that for an ego pounding? Ouch. Unfortunately though, she was right. Iwas soft and frightened. Maybe I wasn’t a Traveler after all. Frankly, it wouldn’t kill me to find out I wasn’t, no matter how much it would have helped my Spanish grades. I was beginning to think that maybe this was all some big mistake and they would send me home.
Osa looked at me with those dark, knowing eyes, but spoke to Loor saying, “No, Pendragon is a Traveler. But he has much to learn.” Then she looked at her daughter and said, “And you seem to forget that you are but a child yourself.”
Loor stormed off in a huff. I got the feeling she didn’t like being told she was wrong. Osa turned to me and said, “You will find that she is not always so angry.”
“Hey, no big deal,” I shot back. “Just so long as she isn’t angry at me!”
Osa smiled and walked on. I followed, and she began to tell me about Denduron.
“The people who live in this village are a tribe called the Milago,” she began. “As you can see they live a simple life. They grow all of their own food and live peacefully with the other tribes of Denduron.”
Milago. Uncle Press had used that word just before those knights showed up. He said they’d find me, so I guess they are the good guys.
“What about those knight-looking guys who attacked Uncle Press?” I asked. “Are they Milago too?”
“No,” answered Osa. “That is what I want to show you.”
We continued walking out of the village and along a path in the woods for about a quarter of a mile. (I judge all distances by the track at Stony Brook High. It’s a quarter of a mile around, and it felt like we walked about the distance of that track.) We broke out of the woods into a clearing and I was yet again hit with an amazing sight. Remember how I said the only thing missing from this medieval village was a big old castle looming over it? Well, as it turns out there was a big old castle, it just wasn’t doing any looming.
Here’s what I saw: When we emerged from the path through the trees, we came upon a huge, open field of grass. We walked across this rolling field until we came to a cliff on the far side. Down below the cliff was water. Yes, we were at the edge of an ocean as vast and as blue as the Atlantic. The sea was to my right, and I turned to look down the coast-an uneven, craggy shoreline with big, rocky cliffs. I saw that the cliff we were on was actually one side of an inlet. Looking down over the edge, I saw wave after wave of seawater crashing on the rocks below. Far below. We were so high above the water I started getting sweaty palms. I’m not good with heights. I looked up and straight ahead to the cliff on the far side of the inlet to see that the land on top was covered with more lush sea grass that waved in the ocean breeze. Then what I sawbelow that grass took my breath away.
Built right into the face of the cliff was a monster fortress. It looked as if it were literally carved out of the rock that made up the bluff. I could see several levels of stone balconies where knights like the ones who attacked Uncle Press were keeping guard. They marched back and forth with lethal-looking spears over their shoulders. I’m not exactly sure what they were guarding against. Marauding fish, I suppose.
I counted five levels of balconies, so this fortress was big. Osa must have read my mind because she said, “You are only seeing the outside wall of the palace. It is built far into the cliff. It is a village in itself.”
From what I saw so far, these people didn’t have any heavy-duty construction equipment, so this place was chiseled out of the rock by hand. It must have taken centuries to dig such a huge building out of hard rock using simple tools.
“There have always been two tribes here,” she continued. “The Milago work the land, the Bedoowan are the soldiers and rulers. At one time many of the tribes of Denduron were at war. The Bedoowan protected the Milago from marauders, and in return the Milago provided food. Each tribe relied upon the other, while they remained very much apart. It lasted that way for centuries, with both tribes living in relative harmony. But the Bedoowan were powerful and power can lead to arrogance. It was forbidden for a Milago to marry a Bedoowan, or even to become friends. As so often happens in situations like this, the Bedoowan began to look upon the Milago as their slaves.”
“But still, they protect the Milago, right?” I asked.
