The Soldiers of Halla (8 page)

Two of the dark, deadly helicopters were flying in low, headed right toward us.

“Go!” I shouted at Patrick and shoved him out of the path of the incoming birds of prey. We hid under a crumbling brick archway that was not more than twenty yards from the long building that the helicopters had pulverized earlier. The helicopters continued on, passing overhead, heading off to who knew where. I'm happy to say that they weren't firing any more rockets. Once they flew off, I moved to step out from our shelter, but Patrick pulled me back.

“Wait,” he whispered. “Look.”

There was movement on the ground. The air was so full of swirling dust and dirt that I couldn't make out what it was at first.

“Please tell me that's not a polar bear looking for lunch,” I whispered.

Actually, it would have been better if it were the polar bear. A line of men appeared, headed our way. The first detail I noticed was the glint of gold off their helmets.

“Dados?” I asked Patrick.

Patrick shrugged.

There were ten of them. They carried silver rifle-looking weapons. Their uniforms were dark red.

“Ravinians,” Patrick whispered.

“They're looking for something. Or somebody,” I added.

“I hope it's not us.”

“There's never a polar bear around when you need one.”

The patrol was definitely searching for something. The long building that had been shot up by the helicopters was still burning. That meant the attack had just happened.

“I don't think they're looking for us,” I whispered. “But I'd just as soon they didn't find us.”

Suddenly the loud chime of church bells sounded directly above our heads. I jumped. Patrick jumped. I think
the soldiers jumped too. They were just as startled as we were.

And they turned our way.

I grabbed Patrick and pulled him back into the ruins of the building. The bells continued, and I realized that they were playing a tune. “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Or the “Alphabet Song.” Whatever. Same tune.

“It's the clock,” I whispered.

It probably wasn't the exact same machine I had seen back on Second Earth. After all, this was three thousand years later. They must have restored it through the ages, because on top of the arches over our heads was a fanciful clock, with bronze animal sculptures that rotated around it to mark the hour, while the bells chimed out a nursery rhyme. It was kind of a sweet thing. That is, for a little kid on a sunny afternoon. For us it meant trouble, because it was drawing the soldiers' attention our way.

“They're coming,” Patrick whispered.

There was no way to get into the building we were hiding next to. The doorway was blocked with debris. We were trapped.

“We'll have to fight,” I whispered.

“I—I don't fight,” Patrick stammered.

“I'll get the gun from the first one. Just stay out of the way.”

I pushed Patrick farther back. It looked as if our mission on Third Earth would begin with violence. The lead soldier drew closer. I tensed up, ready to spring.

“Here!” one of the other soldiers called.

The soldier who was nearly on us stopped and ran back to the others. If he had taken one more step, I would have pounced. I had to force myself to back down. It's tough
committing yourself to attack, and then have to pull back. Kind of like being all set to sneeze and then it doesn't come. Okay, maybe it's not exactly like that, but you get the idea.

“They found someone,” Patrick announced.

The two of us peered out to see two soldiers dragging a man out of the ruins of the long building they had destroyed. The guy was a mess. I couldn't tell if he was sick or unconscious or dead. They had him by his shoulders and pulled him along with his feet dragging on the ground. When they got him to the center of the group, they dropped him down like a bag of laundry. The guy hit the ground and bounced. Ouch. When he went down, he let out a grunt.

“He's alive,” one soldier growled.

Without hesitation another soldier hauled off and kicked the guy square in the gut. The poor man grunted and doubled over in pain. He was alive all right. Who knew how long he'd stay that way around these sadistic goons?

“How many are left?” the soldier who kicked him asked.

The guy's answer was a cough that sprayed blood. He was dressed in rags, much like the people I'd seen jumping out of the window to escape the attack. His hair was unkempt, and it looked like he had a short beard. Again, he wasn't Flighter-nasty, but he definitely hadn't seen a bar of soap in a while.

“Where are they?” another solder asked angrily.

The first soldier kicked him again. I guess he was the designated punter. Creep. The victim answered again with a pained grunt and a wet cough. The placekicker was about to launch another kick when he was stopped by one of the other soldiers.

“We do not want to lose him,” he told his sadistic friend. “Bring him to the conclave.”

He immediately pulled out what was probably a walkie-talkie and barked some orders into it.

“Did he say conclave?” Patrick whispered.

He was thinking the same thing I was.

A moment later the sound of the helicopter returned. The chopper flew in low over our heads and landed next to the dry sea lion pool. The soldiers dragged the beaten victim toward the gunship and threw him inside. Two soldiers jumped in with him, and the chopper lifted off. It wasn't on the ground for more than twenty seconds. The remaining soldiers trudged off in the same direction from where they had come. Their work was done….

And “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” hadn't even finished playing.

“He did say conclave, didn't he?” Patrick asked.

“That's what I heard.”

“Is it possible? Could the Conclave of Ravinia still be at the flume in the Bronx? It wasn't there the last time I was on Third Earth.”

“Things have changed, Patrick,” I said, stepping out from our hiding place. “I think we're going to find a lot of things that weren't here the last time you were.”

“But if the Conclave of Ravinia is there, it means Ravinia is still active.”

I looked around at the ruins of what was once a beautiful series of buildings inside a lush, green park. This was once a place of joy for all ages. It was now rubble.

“And if Ravinia is still active,” I offered. “Can Saint Dane be far away?”

“We're going to the Bronx, aren't we?”

“Yeah,” I declared. “We're going to the Bronx.”

As we began our journey north, a troubling question
kept nagging at me. I didn't mention it to Patrick because he was already on edge. I didn't want to push him over. It was about the concept of Solara, and how its positive spirit empowered us. I actually understood that, sort of. But if Solara's spirit was nearly depleted, and Saint Dane was a spirit from Solara, where was he drawing his power from? I couldn't help but wonder if the answer to that question would be the key to Saint Dane's defeat or the proof that he had become invincible.

To find that out, we first had to find Saint Dane.

I
t was a good thing we landed back in the zoo.

Not because I loved zoos and getting chased by polar bears, but because it was the only proof that we were actually in New York City. Once we left the ruins, there was nothing that even looked close to the New York that either Patrick or I knew. The city was destroyed. As we walked north toward the Bronx, we passed block after block of forlorn shells that used to be buildings. It reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Europe after the bombings during World War II. Compared to this new New York of Third Earth, Rubic City on Ibara was a vacation spot.

We walked like a couple of zombies, numbed by the sight of the carnage that surrounded us. There were no people. None. Not even creepy ratlike Flighters living in squalor. The city was dead. Of course that raised the question of what the polar bear had been eating to stay alive. I didn't want to think about that.

“It's like a bomb fell,” I finally whispered. “Or a thousand.”

“Maybe that's what happened,” Patrick replied. “This is far worse than the New York I left.”

“I wonder what year this is. I mean, did Third Earth change again, or did this happen after your time?”

Neither of us had the answer, and it wasn't like we could grab a newspaper to find the date. All we could do was keep moving north. As we trudged through the rubble, the air began to clear. I kind of wished it hadn't, because it gave us a better view of the destruction. At one point I glanced at Patrick and saw tears in his eyes. He noticed that I was looking at him and quickly wiped them away.

“Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “It's kind of a lot to handle, you know?”

I nodded, though I wasn't sure if he was talking about the destruction of his city, or about all the truths that had been revealed to us. Probably both.

“I guess it's finally my turn,” he said with an ironic chuckle.

“For what?” I asked.

“Third Earth. My territory. Last but not least.”

“Yeah, home sweet home,” I said, trying to make light.

Patrick smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. Another tear fell. He wiped it away quickly. “I don't know if I can do this,” he finally uttered.

“Yeah, you can,” I said with confidence. “You've already proved that.”

“I'm a teacher, Pendragon. I'm not a warrior like Loor or Alder…or you.”

“You're a Traveler,” I said quickly. “Don't think of yourself as ‘Patrick Mac the teacher.' Think of yourself as someone who has the power of Solara at your command.”

He looked at me sideways. “That's just odd.”

I had to laugh. “Yeah, tell me about it. It sounded good though, didn't it?”

Patrick shrugged and laughed. Neither of us had gotten over the shock of all that we had learned in Solara. I was still Bobby Pendragon from Second Earth, and he was still Patrick Mac from Third Earth.

“You know something,” I said. “I think this is the way we're supposed to feel. I mean, we're handling this like normal people from Halla, right? That was the whole point. The only thing that can stop Saint Dane is the spirit of mankind. Real, physical mankind. Flaws and all. If the spirits, or whatever they are, from Solara could have stopped him, they would have. But they didn't. That's why we're here. They made us into real people. I think we're supposed to be scared. And unsure. And angry. And indignant. And freaked out and all the things that real people feel. It's like we represent mankind. And if mankind can't save itself, then maybe it can't be saved.”

Patrick nodded thoughtfully. “Nice speech,” he finally said. “But it doesn't make me feel any better.”

I laughed. “Really. This is freaking scary.”

For the first time Patrick seemed to brighten. “But hearing you say that
does
make me feel better. If you're scared, at least it means I'm not the only one who feels out of his league.”

I was scared all right. About a lot of things. But there was one fear I didn't want to share with Patrick. It went beyond the battle that lay ahead. I was afraid of what would happen to us once the war was finally over. No matter which way it came out. In some ways, losing to Saint Dane would be easier. Seriously. If that happened, I had no doubt that we would cease to exist. I don't know if that could be considered “dying” or not, but if the final positive spirit of mankind was snuffed out, I felt certain that the Travelers
would be snuffed right along with it. As frightening as that was, I understood it. What I didn't understand was what would happen to us if we won. What would life become? Would we turn into spirits and float around someplace called Solara to guide mankind? What the heck would that be like? It didn't stop me from wanting to beat Saint Dane, but still. Yikes.

Patrick stopped. He stared ahead with wide eyes. I looked too, but didn't see anything unusual.

“What?” was my obvious question.

“What is that?” he asked.

I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The swirling dust and fog in the air had gotten thick again. As it moved, I caught glimpses of something solid. At first it looked like a group of vertical pillars floating in the air. Barren trees? Light poles? I couldn't tell. It took a weak gust of wind to blow away some of the dust to give us a better view. In seconds the structure had substance. It was a bridge. Or at least what was left of a bridge. It was one other touchstone that I remembered about New York. We had reached the water that surrounded the island of Manhattan. I figured the structure ahead was the railroad bridge that spanned the distance between Manhattan and the Bronx. We were getting closer to the conclave.

“We'll have to walk over that wreck,” I said.

Patrick shook his head nervously. He didn't want to go.

“I think it's the only way,” I added.

“That's not what I'm worried about,” he croaked without taking his eyes away.

I wasn't sure why the bridge didn't bother him. It worried me plenty. At one time the metal span had to withstand the pounding from hundreds of trains that rumbled over it every
day. Now it didn't look strong enough to withstand the pounding of our feet. The steel structure swayed and squealed in the wind. It was more wreck than bridge. It looked as if one good sneeze would send it crashing into the river.

“No problem,” I said, trying to sound sure of myself. “We'll make it across.”

Patrick swallowed and said, “What are we going to do about
that
when we get there?”

He continued to stare ahead. I was definitely missing something. I looked again, trying to see anything that would scare him like that. All I saw was a white wall of fog on the other side of the bridge….

That wasn't fog.

“Yeow” was all I could say.

On the far side of the river, set back a few hundred yards from the bank, was a wall. A huge wall. No, an immense wall. It was so gigantic that I thought it was a bank of fog. I had never seen anything so vast. It must have been twenty stories high. It spread out before us for what seemed like miles to either side, like a gargantuan dam. It was a monster.

“I'm guessing that wasn't on Third Earth when you were here,” I muttered weakly.

Patrick shook his head without taking his eyes off the structure.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

Two helicopters flew by above us. They were coming from the south, headed for the wall. They were traveling fairly low, which meant they had to quickly gain altitude or they would smash into the flat, smooth surface. The dark vehicles lifted higher and cleared the top of the structure with expert ease. Once over, they dropped down out of
sight. It looked as if they were headed in for a landing on the other side.

“Any guesses?” I asked, numb. I was officially as stunned as Patrick.

“It looks like a fortress,” he said. “No telling how big it is, but I'm thinking it covers the spot where the Conclave of Ravinia is. Or was.”

I took a deep breath and said, “We could stand here forever wondering. There's only one way to find out what that big boy's all about.”

Patrick finally broke his gaze from the wall and looked at me. “How are we supposed to get over that bridge? It's a wreck.”

Turned out he was nervous about the bridge after all.

I started walking toward the structure. “I don't know. But we won't figure it out standing here staring at it.”

I led Patrick toward the decrepit bridge. We soon found that we were walking on the remains of railroad tracks that hadn't seen a train in a very long time. Most of the ties were missing, and every few yards there were rusted gaps in the rails. When we reached the twisted structure of bridge itself, my heart sank. Up close it looked even flimsier than from a distance. And believe me, it looked pretty bad from back there.

“If this crashes, it's over,” Patrick pointed out.

“Yeah,” I said. “Good thing we can't die.”

“Our bodies can die, Pendragon. Trust me. I've been there. It isn't pleasant.”

“Sorry,” I said quickly. I'd forgotten that he had been killed on the old Third Earth. Could life get any stranger?

He added, “Maybe we should try to turn into birds and fly across.”

“Last resort,” I said quickly. “Uncle Press told us to use our abilities sparingly.”

“But if we can't get across—”

“We'll get across,” I said, and started walking.

The second I looked down through the rails to the river below, I changed my mind. I was no longer sure that we would make it. The ties were rotted, but didn't necessarily look it. Some seemed porous, but were actually strong. Others looked solid, but crumbled under my weight. The only way to tell was to step on a tie and hope that it didn't crack. Much of the bridge bed below the tracks had fallen away, leaving gaping holes. We had to move like a couple of tightrope walkers on the rails that spanned these gaps. It was terrifying.

Each step brought with it a new, ugly sound. Metal groaned. Pipes snapped. Chunks of cement fell away and crashed into the churning water far below. I wasn't just worried about where we stepped, but about the bridge as a whole. How stable was it? If things started to sway, it would go down for sure, and we'd be crushed in tons of twisted steel. That would hurt. It came down to a test of our own inner strength, and balance. It must have taken an hour to cross the hundred yards of bridge. It felt like a hundred miles. But we made it. The gaps below the rails became smaller with each step. My confidence grew. I hopped the last few yards until my feet were once again on solid ground. I turned quickly to see Patrick not far behind. He was looking down, concentrating, with his arms out wide for balance.

“You got it,” I said.

He too hopped the last few yards, joining me on the far side of the river.

“Let's not go back that way,” he declared, panting.

We turned together to look ahead.

“Whoa” was all Patrick could get out.

Yeah. Whoa.

The massive wall was a few hundred yards from where we stood. Still, it towered over us. It really did look like a dam. The surface was light gray and smooth, with an etched pattern of rectangles that revealed it was constructed with a series of blocks. It must have taken years to build. Like the great pyramids. Looking left and right, I couldn't see where it ended. Was it a straight wall? Or did it turn on an angle to enclose whatever was on the other side? That would have been even more incredible. If this wall continued around, it would have to be the largest structure ever built by man.

“Eighth Wonder of the World,” I said. “I have no idea what the other seven are, so don't ask.”

Rising up from the base of the structure every fifty yards or so were huge, red vertical rectangles that could have been massive doors. Or decorations. I couldn't tell. They each looked about twenty yards high and half as wide.

“We aren't alone,” Patrick pointed out.

I'm not sure why I didn't see them at first. It must have been because I was too busy gaping up at the monstrous wall. But at the base of this structure, were people. Even from as far away as we were, I could see that they were Ravinian soldiers. They had on the same red jumpsuits and golden helmets that those guys wore who beat up the man in the zoo. They walked in a line, maybe thirty yards apart, along the base of the wall. Other than the helicopters, it was the first sign of life we'd seen since the zoo.

“They look like guards,” Patrick pointed out.

“Yeah, but are they trying to keep people out or in?”

“It could be a Horizon Compound,” Patrick offered. “Naymeer built walled cities to keep the lower classes separate. I heard they were horrible places.”

“I guess,” I said, thinking. “But would the Ravinians really need to build something that extreme just to separate people? I mean, that thing would hold back King Kong.”

Patrick and I exchanged nervous looks, both thinking the same thing. Could that wall have been built to hold back something monstrous?

“No way,” I finally said. “That's just…fantasy.”

“You mean like everything else we've been hearing isn't?”

I was about to argue why I didn't think we had to worry about a giant ape when the ground began to rumble. I have to admit, for a brief second I thought that it might have been from the thundering footsteps of a monster monkey.

We were near the river. The area between us and the wall was a wide stretch of concrete. It reminded me of an empty parking lot at a stadium. That's how big it was. Weeds grew up through the spiderweb of cracks that spread out everywhere.

“Earthquake?” Patrick asked through chattering teeth.

As if in answer, we heard a grinding, machine sound. To our left the cement surface began to shift. One of the cracks wasn't a crack. It was a seam. It split apart, creating a gap that stretched from the bank of the river in front of the destroyed bridge, all the way to the wall. The two sides lowered and retracted beneath the ground to either side, creating a gap that was maybe five yards wide. At the bottom of this gap, running the length of the newly formed channel, was a single metal track.