deeper into the room. Or out of the room. I had no idea which way was which. I could have been near the exit, or on the far side from it, or anywhere in between. I was going to have to make my way through this labyrinth and hope it didn’t take a year to find the exit. Getting back was going to be another matter. I looked at my Traveler ring to make sure the stone was sparkling the way it does when I get near a flume. I knew I would have to trust the ring to get me back to this spot, and this tiny hole in the wall.
I was about to take a step to begin my search for the exit when I realized something important. I was still wearing the white tunic of a Rokador from the territory of Zadaa. I had no idea what they wore on Quillan, but the odds were long that they’d have the same white pajama-looking clothes as I had on. Usually acolytes leave clothes for the Travelers at the flumes. But I didn’t see any here. Then again, I didn’t see much of anything because it was pitch dark. I went back to the square in the wall with the star, pulled it open, and peered through. After a few moments my eyes adjusted, and I saw what I was looking for.
On the ground was a pile of clothing. Perfect. I climbed back inside and picked up the clothes that were left for me, or any other Traveler who paid a visit. I first picked up a long-sleeved, bright red shirt. There were no buttons or zippers. No collar either. It was like a long-sleeved
T-shirt, but the material was heavier and a little bit stretchy. The only design was a series of five black stripes that ran diagonally across the front from the left shoulder down to the right side of the waist. It reminded me a little bit of a rugby shirt. There was also a pair of pants. Simple, black, made from the same stretchy material. I was psyched when I saw the shoes. They were like my running shoes from Second Earth. They were black and didn’t look fancy, but they definitely looked comfortable. On my travels I had worn leather sandals and rotten rags and leather dress shoes and swim boots and pretty much anything else that was designed specifically to be uncomfortable. Here, I couldn’t wait to get them on. I quickly took off my Rokador clothes and slipped into the local attire. I kept on my boxers. That’s where I drew the line. If the future of all humanity was going to be decided on whether or not I wore boxers from Second Earth, there was no hope of saving it. The clothes fit perfectly, as usual. Even the sneakers. For the first time in forever I actually liked wearing my clothes.
I then noticed there was something else on the floor. It looked like a silver bracelet. It was a thick oval ring with a single groove etched deeply all the way around. It wasn’t fancy or anything. Nor did it look like it had any function. It was kind of clunky and felt heavier than it looked. But I figured if it was at the flume with the local clothing, I was meant to have it. So I jammed it in the back pocket of my new pants, along with the paper that had the strange rhyming invitation from Veego and LaBerge.
That’s when I heard the chattering again. Whatever was making the sound, this time there were more of them. Many more. The clicking and crunching sounds grew. I waited a second, expecting the sound to disappear again. It didn’t. Whatever it was, their numbers were growing. I slowly turned around. What I saw shouldn’t have surprised me. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it right away, but I didn’t. Bad move. What I saw in the darkness on the far side of the flume were dozens of tiny little eyes peering at me. That’s all I saw. The eyes. Yellow eyes.
Quig eyes.
My adrenaline spiked. A nanosecond later I was in the air, head first, diving for the square doorway out of the gate. I sailed through the opening, hit the ground, rolled, then popped back up and turned to see if I was being followed. I stared at the opened door, waiting for something to come out. It didn’t. That’s because it was already out. I felt a little tickle on my shoulder. Before I could react, something bit me. Hard.
“Owwww!”
I threw myself against a tall crate, hoping to crush whatever had attacked me. I slammed my shoulder, but I didn’t care. I wanted whatever had chomped me to be gone. I heard a crunching sound, and a squeal. Throwing myself away from the crate, I looked down as the vicious little hitchhiker fell to the ground.
It was a spider. A big spider. No, a HUGE spider. It looked like a tarantula on steroids. The beastie had to be the size of a kitten, but there was nothing cute or cuddly about it. Its thick body and multiple legs were bloodred; it had pincers in front that snapped like an angry lobster’s, and its head was so black that its yellow quig eyes looked as if they were glowing. I wasn’t sure if it had snagged me with one of its pincers or bitten me with its mouth. Either way, I hoped it wasn’t poisonous, or I would be done before I even got started on Quillan.
When I slammed the quig-spider into the crate, I rattled it, but didn’t kill it. The thing was on its back with its legs scrambling in the air. I was about to go over and step on it, when it suddenly flipped back onto its feet, and looked at me. I swear, guys, this little monster looked at me. It had intelligence. But as vicious as this little beastie looked, there was worse news.
It wasn’t alone.
I heard the scratching sound again and shot a look toward the hatch to the flume. What I saw made my stomach drop. Out came hundreds, no, thousands of the little quig monsters. They cascaded out of the hatchway and down onto the floor like a living, evil waterfall. I could hear their sharp little claws clicking against the cement floor like nails. Sharp nails.
Was I scared? What do you think? But as I watched those vicious little beasties stream out of the gate, I actually had a fleeting thought that snuck through the terror: I was in the right place. Saint Dane had brought quigs to the flume. This territory was hot. Things were going to happen. But it wasn’t more than a flash of a thought that was immediately replaced by another.
These monsters were coming for me. It was time to be someplace else.
(CONTINUED)
QUILLAN
I’m not afraid of spiders.
A lot of people are terrified of the little critters, but I never understood that. They’re bugs. They’re tiny. Even if they bite you, which is rare, it’s not all that painful. What’s to be scared of?
On Quillan, plenty. At least at the flume, anyway. These quig-charged little monsters weren’t anything like the spiders on Second Earth. They were the size of small hams and bit like angry dogs. If that weren’t bad enough, there must have been eight-freakin thousand of them, all with one thing on their evil little minds: Get Bobby Pendragon.
I was now officially afraid of spiders.
I did the first thing that any brave Traveler would do under the circumstances: I turned and ran like hell. But I had no idea where to go. I was caught in a maze of wooden crates. My only thought was to weave my way through and find the door out of that musty old tomb of a warehouse. The crates were stacked up all over the place, some towering almost to the forty-foot-high ceiling. Whatever they were storing in there, there was a lot of it. I didn’t turn around to see if the spiders were following. I didn’t need to. I could hear them. Thousands of little spider claws clattered against the cement floor as they scrambled to get me. They all gave off this odd high-pitched squeak that sounded like a juiced-up war cry. A single one of these would sound creepy. Multiplied by many thousands made the hair go up on the back of my neck. They were fast, too. It was hard to outrun them. Worse, I couldn’t break into a full-on sprint because the aisles were so narrow and windy. Every so often I’d hit an intersection and make a quick decision which way to go. Left, right, left, left. I had no idea where I was going, but it didn’t matter so long as it was away from that attacking army of bugs.
I didn’t know how long I could stay ahead of them. My fear was that I’d hit a dead end and be trapped. Quigs took different forms on each territory, but the vicious killing machines that Saint Dane created to guard the flumes all had one thing in common: They were bloodthirsty. Remember the quig-bears on Denduron? The smell of blood made them eat their own. The quig-sharks on Cloral nearly tore themselves apart to get under the rock overhang where Uncle Press and I were hiding in fear. At least I was hiding in fear. Uncle Press was pretty cool about the whole thing, if I remember. But whatever. Bottom line was, here on Quillan I didn’t want to get trapped in a dead end with these yellow-eyed fiends.
I hoped that if I got far enough away from the gate, the quigs would lose interest. A quick look over my shoulder told me I was wrong. If anything, there were more of them rolling toward me like a dark, demonic wave. I looked around to get my bearings and realized I was in the middle of a sea of crates, with no exit to be seen. Anywhere. I was getting tired, fast. and I was no closer to escape than when I started. But stopping wasn’t an option.
