The Soldiers of Halla (5 page)

Solara. What was this place?
Where
the heck was this place? Okay,
when
was this place?

“Guys?” I called out. “You still here?”

I didn't expect an answer, but I got one.

“Who you talking to?” came a deep voice.

I spun to see Uncle Press standing a few yards from me, with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face.

“Uh, Mom and Dad. I think,” I said, not really sure that that made sense.

“Try not to be upset with them,” Uncle Press said. “For keeping the truth from you, I mean. For that matter, try not to hold it against me, either.”

“I don't,” I said sincerely. “I really don't. But I'm a little numb right now.”

“It would be strange if you weren't,” he said. “After all, your frame of reference is based on your life on Second Earth. That was the whole point. For all intents and purposes, you are from Second Earth. Right now all the Travelers are learning the truth about their real lives, just as you are.”

“So, they all came from here—wherever
here
is?”

Uncle Press nodded and gazed off into the distance. I saw sadness in his eyes. “I never thought it would come to this,” he said softly.

“Is it my fault?” I asked in a small voice.

Uncle Press shot me a look. “No. We may not have been as successful as I'd hoped, but it was not your fault. Nor was it the fault of any of the Travelers. This was brought on by Saint Dane.”

“Are you going to tell me who he is?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Are you going to tell me what this world of rock is?”

“I am.”

“One more question—”

“Only one?” he asked playfully.

“Okay, lots more questions. But one that matters more than any other.”

“Go for it.”

“Do we really have a shot at stopping him?”

Uncle Press glanced around at this strange world once
again. An odd feeling came over me. I sensed that I wasn't the only one who wanted that answer. Whatever forces were at play here, whatever beings inhabited this lonely rock, they all wanted to know what the future held.

“I'm afraid there's only one person who can answer that, and it isn't me,” he finally said.

“Then who?”

“That would be
you
, Bobby.”

M
y heart raced.

This was it. I was going to learn the truth. The whole truth. About my existence. About Halla. About Saint Dane. As I stood with Uncle Press in that stark, dark place called Solara, I realized that I was finally going to learn it all.

“Just tell me right off,” I said. “You're not going to give some mysterious half answer that's going to drive me nuts, and say something like: ‘Don't worry. You'll learn it all in time,' and then disappear again, are you? Because that would really piss me off.”

Uncle Press laughed. It seemed odd under the circumstances. Then again it was so perfectly Uncle Press. At least that part felt right. I needed to hang on to anything familiar when it happened by. Those little things were my lifeline to sanity.

“No, it's time you knew it all,” he answered.

Phew. Great. Except that's when my heart
really
started racing. I guess I wasn't so sure I was ready to know it all. I liked being Bobby Pendragon from Stony Brook, Connecticut. I liked my old life. The hope of getting it back kept me going
for years. Now it seemed the biggest illusion of all was that I actually had a shot at returning to normal. Or at least what I thought was normal. I had to hope that the new “normal” was going to be something I could learn to accept. Not that I had a choice.

“Let's walk,” Uncle Press said, and led me across the surface of the mysterious, dark world. We walked casually, as we had done so many times together at home. Or rather, on Second Earth. Every so often I glanced up at the dazzling, colorful clouds that careened across the sky. It was a constant reminder that this was
nothing
like home.

“Solara is the essence of Halla,” Uncle Press began, gesturing.

“Yeah, that's what Dad said,” I replied quickly. “Gotta tell you, not impressed so far. Though the whole cloud-light-show thing is kind of cool.”

Uncle Press smiled and continued, “I guess you could say we are on the outer edges of existence. But not in the physical sense. The fact is, Solara is everywhere. Or at least, everywhere that intelligent life exists. We are as old as humanity, and we will exist for as long as humanity exists.”

I didn't comment. I figured it would be better to just let him roll it all out.

“Solara was created from the energy that is mankind. All mankind on all the worlds of Halla. Solara is their spirit. It is the sum total of all intelligent life that ever was.”

He fell silent, letting that sink in.

“Oh?” I responded nonchalantly. “Is that it? Wow, I thought it was something more complicated than that. I thought maybe we were aliens or superheroes or something else that was, oh, I don't know, tricky to understand. Phew.”

Uncle Press gave me a sour look.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped. “Created from energy? What is that supposed to mean? If that's your whole explanation, I'd just as soon you didn't bother.”

He smiled. My tirade didn't throw him. I guess it's hard to throw anybody who represents the sum total of all intelligent life that ever was. Whatever that means. Sheesh.

“Give me a chance,” he said, cajoling. “I know this is hard to understand.”

“You have no idea.”

He continued, “Each life that exists in Halla is unique. Everyone is different, no matter what world they are from. Everyone chooses their own course. One person could be a criminal, while someone else becomes a judge. One person cares for others, while others only care for themselves. One individual might have the talent to create a painting that stirs emotions, while someone else can't draw a straight line. But the person who can't draw a straight line might have an aptitude for mathematics that would make the artist's head spin. Some of that is inherited. Some of that is learned. There are so many paths to travel. So many choices to make. What drives it all is the spirit inside each individual that makes him or her unique. To understand Solara, Bobby, you have to know that that spirit, the force that makes an individual who they are, is so powerful it cannot die. Even after a person's physical body gives out, the spirit that made them who they are lives on…and becomes part of Solara.”

“You're telling me this is…heaven?”

“No,” Uncle Press said quickly. “This is not a reward. This just…is.”

“Good,” I replied with a chuckle. “Because it looks more
like hell.” I was trying to be glib. I think it was a defense mechanism, because what I was hearing was kind of freaky. Uncle Press didn't laugh with me. He was suddenly all business. I gave up on glib.

“We exist because mankind exists,” Uncle Press explained. “The sum of energy that animates and informs mankind is such a powerful force that, once released from its physical shell, it creates its own reality.”

“Solara.”

“Yes. Solara isn't governed by time or by space. It is pure intellect. It is not just a reflection of life, it
is
life. All life. The world you see here exists on the outer edges of physical reality. This rock is the foundation of all that is. It is the most elemental form of life. It is the beginning, but not the end, because there is no end. Halla is always expanding, therefore, so is Solara. From here we can observe every time. Every place. Every thing that has ever existed. Like I said, it is the spirit of all there is. Solara is the essence of Halla.”

I stopped walking and stared at my uncle. How else was I supposed to react?

He gave me a sympathetic shrug and said, “I know it's hard to fathom because you're looking at things from the perspective of someone from one of those worlds. From Earth. This isn't exactly something that's taught in school.”

“Yeah, I must have missed that class,” I replied. “But I'm from
Second
Earth, right?”

“There is only one Earth, Bobby. The territories existed in different times because of the turning points Saint Dane targeted. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.”

“No, wouldn't want to do that,” I shot back. “So you're telling me that every person's life force leaves his or her
body when they die and becomes part of this greater entity? Solara?”

“That's exactly it.”

“And when you say ‘mankind,' you mean everyone in Halla? The klee and the gar from Eelong, too?”

“Absolutely. From all worlds. When I say ‘mankind,' I'm referring to all intelligent life.”

“So, what are you? A ghost?”

“You feel the energy that surrounds us, don't you?”

I nodded. “I see things, but not really. But I know something is there.”

“More than something. You're sensing the life forces that make up Solara. They're all around us. They don't have physical form, at least not the way beings exist throughout Halla. But they are just as real.”

“And you?”

“I'm one of them, Bobby. I'm part of Solara.”

Somehow, in spite of all that I had seen, hearing that Uncle Press was a spirit was difficult to accept. That's not the kind of thing you hear every day. Then again, he was dead. I saw him killed in the flume on Cloral. But here he was, alive and kicking. As was Kasha. And Alder. And Patrick. And Osa. And…and…and…They had all died, but none were gone. It explained a lot. Sort of.

“So you're not my uncle. You're a spirit who floats around with all these other spirits at the edge of the universe? Is that what you're saying? This is all one big haunted hunk of rock?”

Uncle Press chuckled. “That's one way of putting it. But this isn't a ghost story. It is very much about life. I've been around almost as long as there has been intelligent life in Halla.”

I whistled. “Wow, you look good for somebody who's, what, a couple million years old? Nice.”

“Thank you, but of course this physical body isn't that old.”

“No, of course not. How could it be? That wouldn't make sense. Any idea when I'm going to wake up from this dream?”

Uncle Press gave me a friendly shove.

“You're doing fine,” he said warmly, sounding every bit like my uncle Press and not some ancient spirit.

“So, if you're a ghost, why do I see you?” I asked. “Why do you have a physical form and nobody else does?”

“You're getting ahead of me. Let's get back to understanding Solara.”

“Okay,” I said. “What's the point? What are all these spirits doing floating around here, bumping into one another? Does Solara have a purpose?”

“Absolutely. There are seven populated worlds in Halla. Forget the territories. Think worlds. Or planets. Intelligent life has developed on seven of them. Each has its own unique history. But as different as they are, the one thing they have in common is intelligent life. Intelligence does not die. Spirit does not die. Solara holds the collective knowledge and wisdom of the ages. It's what we are. And as such, we act as the conscience of mankind.”

“Explain that.”

“Solara only exists because mankind exists. We aren't separate or distinct. Solara evolves right along with mankind because we
are
mankind. At the same time, we are able to observe the physical life on all seven worlds.”

“Who is ‘we'?” I asked. “Do you mean that every life that was ever created still exists?”

“Yes.”

“Isn't it getting a little crowded?”

“Physical space is not a factor.”

“And who's in charge?”

“It's not that rigid. It just is.”

I frowned. I was trying to understand. I really was.

Uncle Press continued, “Though we exist on an entirely different plane, our existence and that of the physical worlds are not separate. Solara is a direct reflection of the physical life that exists on the seven worlds of Halla.”

I looked around at the bleak surroundings. Believe it or not, I was starting to get it. Sort of. At least I was beginning to understand how Saint Dane's quest might have affected this place.

“We do not interfere with the physical world. However, since we possess the wisdom and intellect of the ages, we act as guides. That's our responsibility. I guess some people on Earth would call us guardian angels. We offer balance. Harmony. We don't interfere or make judgments on what is right or wrong; we simply offer insight.”

“Uhhh, how?”

“Our physical abilities are extremely limited. We're spirits. When individuals are facing critical junctures and aren't sure of what choices to make, we visit their dreams to show them all sides of their dilemma. You've heard of people who dreamed of being visited by people in their past? They really
were
. Sometimes just the calming presence of a lost loved one will help someone see clearly and be confident with his or her choices. Most times people don't consciously remember these dreams. But our guidance was there. We don't tell them what to do, or even
suggest
what they should do. We offer clarity. And confidence. We assure them that
whatever decision they make will be the right one, and to not be afraid to trust their instincts. Our goal is not to change the course of human existence, but to help ease the way. It has been this way since the dawn of mankind.”

The odd thing was that the more he told me, the more I felt as if I already knew it all. When I looked at what he was saying from the perspective of Bobby Pendragon from Stony Brook, Connecticut, it all seemed like a fantasy. But when I let it just wash over me and not fight it with my usual skepticism, I felt as if I had known it all along.

“I'm afraid I might know where this is going,” I offered.

“Tell me,” Uncle Press said with enthusiasm.

“You're talking about people facing critical junctures. Making choices that affect their future. Helping them find their own way without actually influencing their decisions. That means the people of Halla are still deciding their own fate—you're just helping them see the whole picture. It sounds like you really are guardian angels.”

“That's exactly right.”

“But having that ability can be tempting. If you actually
did
want to influence the decisions that people made, you could.”

“Yes, we could. But we haven't.”

“Until now,” I said soberly.

Uncle Press took a deep, tired breath. “Yes, until now.”

“Saint Dane is from Solara, isn't he?” I asked.

“Yes, he is, Bobby.”

“Which means he's got more power than I ever realized.”

“Yes, but there's something else you should know.”

“What's that?”

“He isn't the only one with that power.”

Uncle Press stared at me with a knowing smirk. He was waiting for it to sink in. It didn't take long.

“Are you telling me—”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “The fate of Solara and the future of Halla has been trusted to you, Bobby Pendragon. You have more power than you can imagine.”

I nodded thoughtfully and said, “Tell me about Saint Dane.”