The Soldiers of Halla (48 page)

I quickly rolled, gasping for air. He was on me again. He jumped onto my back, driving both feet into me, forcing me to the ground. I shifted my weight quickly, throwing him off balance. As soon as I felt him move, I jumped up. My adrenaline was spiked. I knew that I needed to take control. I went after Saint Dane with a fury I didn't know existed inside me. He may have had eons on me, but I knew how to fight. I threw punches as if I were drilling a speed bag. He blocked some, but I was relentless and kept hammering him with short, controlled bursts. No big roundhouses. I knew that every strike had to count. Each time I hit him, the world changed. Dark to light. Reality to insanity. Solid to chaos. I sensed it more than felt it, because I didn't take my eyes off him. This was it. I had to end it. I channeled the years of hatred I had built up into my fists. I was out of control, but totally focused. I pummeled the guy. The worlds kept changing, but I barely noticed. Putrid creatures flew around me, daring me to look. Pulling at my sanity. I wasn't even tempted to look. My focus was unshakable. I had only one goal—to take Saint Dane apart.

He grew tired. He stopped blocking punches, then stopped throwing his own. That didn't stop me. I kept up the barrage until he tumbled backward, fell onto the floor, and didn't move.

He was done, and so was I.

I was out of breath and in pain. My fists were numb. I stood over him and tried to focus. We were in the Taj Mahal.
That was good. I never wanted to set foot in that other place ever again. Saint Dane lay at my feet. A broken, old man. But it wasn't the end. His body had been crushed, but his spirit still lived.

The last battle had yet to be fought.

I reached down, grabbed his robe, and lifted him up. He wasn't unconscious, but he was close. I grabbed the back of his neck and pushed him toward the door. He stumbled forward. The fight was out of him. His spirit was depleted. I felt that. He didn't try to change shape. Or escape. We walked to the front of the Taj Mahal. I only had to give him a couple of shoves to keep him moving. My only goal was to get him to the front of the conclave before the dado army arrived. I wanted us both there as witnesses. When we reached the front door, I shoved him right into it. He hit it with his head. I didn't care. He backed off and pushed the door open.

We stepped out into bright sunlight. I had to squint at first, before my eyes adjusted. When they did, I stopped short. We weren't alone. Standing in front of the Taj Mahal were people. Thousands of people.

I had found the Ravinians.

T
he mass of people stood silently, looking at us. Or at the Taj Mahal. I couldn't tell. Nobody said a word. It was eerie. Saint Dane and I stood on the top step, looking down at them.

Saint Dane laughed. He was bleeding, he was beaten, he could barely breathe, but he laughed. He gave me a sideways look and said, “Now we'll see which spirit is in control of Halla.”

I said, “The spirit doesn't control Halla, the people of Halla control the spirit.”

The smile dropped from his face.

A shout came from the crowd, “What have you done? What have you brought down upon us?”

Saint Dane raised his hands and said, “I am protecting you. Even now our army is returning to wipe away the vermin that has dared to invade our—”

“No!” someone shouted. “They have no quarrel with us. They have only destroyed the guards. They seek refuge.”

“Refuge? This is Ravinia! We don't provide refuge!”

“And why not?” someone shouted.

The crowd started shouting. Saint Dane didn't know
how to react. They were no longer on his side, and he didn't have any Ravinian dado guards to keep them in line. He held up his hands, trying to quiet them, but that only made them shout louder.

It was awesome.

Somebody stepped out of the crowd and walked up the steps. It was Siry. He climbed directly toward Saint Dane, stopping a few stairs below us. He turned to the crowd and raised his hand. The crowd became quiet. Siry looked at me and asked, “You okay?”

“I am now,” I said.

“You have to see something,” he said.

Siry turned to the crowd and shouted out, “Please, let us pass. He must see.”

The crowd obeyed. At the base of the stairs, the people parted, forming an alleyway for us to walk through. I couldn't believe it.

“What is it?” I asked, dumbfounded.

Siry smiled. “Nah, you should see it.” He looked at Saint Dane and snapped, “You too.”

We both grabbed one of Saint Dane's arms and pulled him down the stairs. We hit the bottom and walked through the passageway the people had formed. Nobody spoke. Nobody made a sound. It was eerie. They stood silently, staring at Saint Dane as we passed. I saw the hatred in their eyes.

I thought back to the moment when Mark was supposed to have been executed. As much as Saint Dane had whipped the crowd into a lynch mob, there were many who weren't swept up in the emotion. They had questions and doubts. It gave me hope that some small seed of humanity still existed in the hearts of the Ravinians. What we saw as we passed by them outside the Taj Mahal confirmed it.

I wondered if Saint Dane realized it. If he did, he didn't show it. He held his head up proudly, staring ahead, making eye contact with nobody.

As we walked, I realized that the crowd wasn't made up of just Ravinians. The farther we walked, the more I saw others seeded into the group. We went from clean-looking Ravinians to scruffy-looking exiles and gars. I even recognized some of the rebels. The people were jammed together, shoulder to shoulder, all the way to the front wall of the conclave. Nobody spoke. All eyes were on Saint Dane as he passed.

I looked at Siry and shrugged, as if to ask, “What the hell is going on?”

“Wait,” he replied.

I didn't know what to think. The dados were sure to attack at any moment. What were all the exiles doing inside like this? They should have been getting ready to defend the conclave. We were nearly at the front wall. Up ahead I saw the Travelers, waiting at the bottom of the stairs that led to the top of the wall. All of them. Gunny, Patrick, Aja, and Elli were there as well.

We walked Saint Dane right up to Uncle Press. The two stood there, toe to toe, glaring at one another. They were two old friends. Two enemies. Two warriors who had reached the end of the battle.

“I made a huge mistake,” Uncle Press said.

“Only one?” Saint Dane replied.

Uncle Press nodded. “Yes, only one. I should have had more faith in the people of Halla, because in the end, the battle was won by the people. And that's the way it was meant to be.”

Saint Dane frowned. He had no idea what Uncle Press
meant. Neither did I, for that matter. Uncle Press motioned for us to take Saint Dane up the stairs. I was totally confused. What the heck were we doing? Siry and I pushed Saint Dane ahead of us. We were followed by Uncle Press and the rest of the Travelers. On top of the steps was a large platform. Twenty feet away was the edge of the conclave wall. It was low enough to be able to look over, but high enough so you wouldn't fall. Siry and I stopped Saint Dane on top and waited for the others to join us. We were all there. All eleven Travelers, along with Boon.

Last up were Mark and Courtney. Courtney came over to me and touched my cheek. I winced. It hurt.

“You look like hell,” Courtney said.

I shrugged.

She looked at Saint Dane, then back at me. “He looks worse.” She smiled. “Awesome.”

The whole way from the Taj Mahal, I wondered why Saint Dane hadn't tried to get away by turning into a bird or smoke or something. It was Uncle Press who had the answer to that. He walked over to the edge and looked out. Then turned back to Saint Dane.

“The spirit of Solara is well on the way to being restored,” he began. “Thanks to what happened here today. Just as important, the dark spirit of Solara has diminished.”

That had to be it. Saint Dane no longer had the power.

“The final victory here was not decided by the Travelers. Or by the exiles from Second Earth or the gars from Eelong. It was decided by the Ravinians.”

For the first time since we'd left the Taj Mahal, I saw Saint Dane react. He stiffened.

“What do you mean?” he growled.

“This has been a prison for them. An attractive prison,
but a prison. They knew they were being controlled, but they had no hope of freedom, until today. Until we arrived. Until your guards were eliminated. For the first time in a long time, these people understand that they have the freedom to choose their own destiny, not the one that you impose on them.”

Saint Dane looked shaken.

“But…they live in luxury. They are the chosen.”

“They were slaves to your vision, as much as anyone else in Halla. Today we brought them their freedom.”

“I don't believe it,” Saint Dane said. “I am their benefactor. I protect them. I reward them.”

“All they wanted was the freedom to choose their own destiny, and today they did that,” Uncle Press said.

“How?” Saint Dane shot back.

Uncle Press gestured for us to look over the edge. Saint Dane and I slowly walked forward. As the scene below revealed itself, I thought I was looking at a painting. I'm serious. That's how impossible the image was. Saint Dane gave a little gasp. He was just as surprised as I was.

Down on the ground, for as far as I could see, were dados. Thousands of them. Multiple thousands of them. It was the army that marched on Eelong. I saw red Ravinians, the green uniforms and golden helmets of the Quillan guards, thousands of Mark-looking dados, and just as many klees. They had made it back through the flume downtown and marched along the same route that the exiles and gars had taken to get to the conclave. That's where their journey ended.

These dados were no longer functioning.

They were frozen. Deactivated. Dead. Whatever you want to call it. It was an impossible sea of dados that stood
frozen. They filled the expanse between the conclave and the river, continued across the double-barge bridge, and stretched out on the far side of the river, back toward the city. There was no end to them.

Uncle Press said, “This was the work of your Ravinians. They entered the dado control center and deactivated every last one. They ended the war. You're looking at a sea of worthless junk.”

Now I knew why there were so few Ravinians around during the attack. I had thought they were cowards, when in reality, they had seen their chance. The dados weren't magic. They were mechanical. They had to be controlled from somewhere, and the Ravinians knew where. In the end the positive spirit of Solara had triumphed over the darker motives of man. Saint Dane's chosen had chosen the right path.

Saint Dane pulled back from the wall, his eyes darting left and right. He looked panicked.

“I don't believe it,” he cried. “It cannot be.”

He ran across the platform to look down inside the conclave and the multitude that was inside, staring up at him.

“People of Ravinia!” he shouted. “It isn't too late! The choice is still yours! You are the elite! The perfect! The future of Halla!”

The people glared at him blankly, unmoved, silent.

“Take back what is rightfully yours! You have earned it by proving your own excellence. You don't want to live like animals! You have chosen to excel. To thrive. You aren't shackled by the common trials of those less deserving than you!”

The Travelers stood silently. Saint Dane turned to them.
What he expected any of us to say, I didn't know. He was breathing hard. He looked desperate. He looked…older. Was that possible? Saint Dane's face had changed yet again. He was deteriorating.

“Listen to me!” he called out to the crowd. “You cannot give up in mere moments what your ancestors have worked centuries to achieve! You are better than that. Far better. Together we will rebuild this world. Ravinia will spread beyond these walls. But that cannot happen until we eliminate those who are not deserving.”

Every last person in the conclave stared up at Saint Dane silently. It was eerie.

Courtney stepped up next to me and grabbed my arm. “Did you see that?” she whispered.

I did. For a brief moment Saint Dane had seemed transparent.

“Look at those around you,” Saint Dane bellowed. “The interlopers who have invaded our sanctuary. Is that what you want? Are these the kind of people you want to share your lives with?”

It happened again. Saint Dane momentarily faded, then came back. I looked to Uncle Press. He nodded in understanding. He knew.

Saint Dane pulled himself away from the edge. He was losing it. His blue eyes had turned from fierce to frightened. He reached out to the other Travelers. “There is still hope,” he cried. “Still time. Perhaps I have been too resolute. Yes, too arrogant. I can admit that. There is a better way. We can build a better Halla. All of us. Together. That was always my goal.”

The Travelers didn't react. He went to each in turn, looking for some kind of confirmation. Some hope. They
all stood silently, with no expression. Saint Dane's face was aging. He seemed shorter. He was stooped, no longer standing erect.

He ran to Uncle Press. “We have been friends. You know I only meant well.”

“Perhaps,” Uncle Press said with no emotion. “At one time.”

“We can bring that back!” Saint Dane exclaimed. “That spirit! It can be as it once was. It can! I was only trying to help the people of Halla. You know that.”

Uncle Press didn't say another word. Saint Dane then came to me. We stood eye-to-eye. Both of our faces were battered from the beating we had taken, and given. He clutched at my shirt.

“Pendragon,” he gasped, his voice getting raspy. “My adversary. We are not so different, you and I.”

Saint Dane's image blinked again. For a moment I saw right through him. Literally.

“We both want what is best for Halla; we just come at it from different perspectives. Think. Think, Bobby. Together, you and I embody exactly what Solara is about. There is no right and wrong, there is only balance. Together, you and I, we can restore that balance and heal the wounds.”

“You mean the wounds that you inflicted?” I said.

Saint Dane was losing strength. He started to cry. He fell to one knee while still clutching at me.

“It wasn't supposed to happen this way,” he sobbed. “I made mistakes. I was weak. I was seduced by my own vision. You of all people should understand that. You know that Halla is imperfect, and I am the embodiment of Halla. Forgive me. Please. Save me.”

“I can't,” I said.

“Why?” he cried. “Why can't you?”

Saint Dane was sobbing. His image winked out again, then returned, but not fully. He raised his chin, and I looked into those blue-white eyes for the last time.

“Because this is the way it was meant to be.”

Saint Dane dropped his head, let out a guttural cry, and disappeared.

The demon was dead. His spirit had ended. It was only fitting that, in the end, I wasn't the one who destroyed Saint Dane. His final undoing came at the hands of the very people he'd set out to dominate. The people of Halla finished Saint Dane. In doing so, they took back control of their own destiny.