The Soldiers of Halla (9 page)

“Get down!” I yelled, and pulled Patrick toward the river's edge. Not knowing what we were dealing with, I
figured it would be better if we weren't seen. We jumped down beneath a cement ledge and peered back at the wall to see what the Ravinians might be up to. We were looking the wrong way. The sound of rushing water pulled our attention back to the river. It looked to me like a whirlpool was forming, creating the sucking sound. A moment later something rose up out of the water in front of the bridge.

“Did King Kong swim?” Patrick asked, transfixed.

A wide tube pushed up from out of the center of the whirlpool. Its steady movement showed that it wasn't alive. It was mechanical. I heard a faint whirring sound beneath the sounds of swirling water. The tube rose up from beneath the surface at a steep angle, until it reached the edge of the long trough that held the rail.

Another mechanical sound followed. Gears were turning. It was coming from the direction of the wall. One of the huge red rectangles began lifting up like a garage door. The rail led right up to it.

“This is our chance,” I announced. “We gotta get in there.”

“What?” Patrick shouted in horror. “What if it's a prison? What if it's one of the Horizon Compounds?”

“We have to know,” I answered while looking between the tube that had come up from the water and the rising door.

“But we can't just run over there and walk through!” Patrick whined. “There's no protection. Nowhere to hide. How are we supposed to get there without being seen?”

“I'm thinking.”

“Hey!” he announced. “We have the power. Why don't we turn into birds and fly in?”

I gave him a sharp look. “For one, I don't know how that
works, and I don't want to try. And two, we're not supposed to be using that power, remember?”

“Then come up with a better idea!”

A shrill whistle sounded. It was coming from the water tube. I felt another slight rumble. The whistle sounded again. It was coming closer.

“It's a train,” I declared. “That track must run along the same route as the old ones. The bridge is history, so they went underwater.”

A moment later a sleek, golden train glided up out of the tube. It looked to me like a cross between a fancy, old-fashioned steam engine and a monorail from Disneyland. It had to be electric, because it moved silently on the single track. The nose came to a point, with a cockpit just above. The body of the train was covered with fancy golden sculptures that looked like vines. They didn't seem to have any other purpose than to be decorative. The engine was short, and pulled two more longer cars, where I guessed the passengers rode. This was not a freight train. It was a mode of transportation for people who traveled in style. It moved slowly and smoothly. I glanced ahead. The massive red door was open. The train was almost all the way out of the tube. I felt sure that once it was out, it would pick up speed.

“Now or never,” I declared.

“Now or never what?” Patrick replied with surprise.

I scrambled to my feet and climbed up over the lip of the cement embankment. Patrick didn't.

“Pendragon!” he wailed. “You'll get us killed.”

I turned back to him but kept moving. “So what?” I said. “We'll just end up in Solara and come right back here. That's what you did, right?”

“Yes, but…it hurt!”

“So then, let's not get killed.”

I ran for the train. A quick look back told me Patrick was doing the same. The train was picking up speed. If we were going to jump on, it would have to be right away. The only place that seemed logical to do it was the space between the two passenger cars. I sprinted to the spot where I guessed it would be when I reached the train, and miscalculated by a few feet. The train was accelerating faster than I thought. Instead of grabbing on to the platform between the two cars, I grabbed on to a chunk of the decorative sculpture that was affixed to the side of the train. I trusted it was strong enough to hold me. I jumped, using my arms to climb the sculpture like a jungle gym. I found myself dangling off the side of the train car as it gathered speed. My idea suddenly didn't seem so bright. I looked back to see Patrick sprinting to catch up. I didn't think there was any way he would climb up the way I did, so I made my way forward, scrambling carefully along the sculpture until I reached the front of the car. From there I swung my legs over the safety rail, onto the small platform in between. I was on!

“Let's go!” I yelled to Patrick.

The train was speeding up. Patrick wasn't.

“Can we please just turn into birds?” he gasped.

“No! Pick it up!” I yelled.

Patrick dug in and sprinted forward. He reached out to me. I grabbed his hand and strained to hoist him up and onto the platform. We were on. That was the easy part. We still had to get past the wall, and the guards. We both crouched down, so as not to be seen from inside either car.

“I hope this wasn't a mistake,” he wheezed.

Mistake or not, we were on our way. The monorail train continued on toward the mysterious wall.

“What do we do if we get in?” Patrick whispered.

“Let's worry about that once we're in,” I answered.

Truth was, I had no idea what we would do. Or what we would find. Though I felt certain we were in the right place. Whatever this monster wall was, whether it was keeping somebody in or out, it had to have something to do with Saint Dane. That much I was sure about.

A moment later we arrived at the massive wall. I held my breath, as if that would do any good. We both pushed ourselves flat against the platform to try and look as inconspicuous as possible. Neither of us moved. Patrick looked one way, I looked the other. When we reached the entrance, I saw two Ravinians standing next to the track, looking the other way. I winced, expecting an alarm to go off. Or a guard to shout that there were stowaways sneaking in.

There were no alarms. We weren't seen. Seconds later we glided through the door and into another world.

T
he first thing I noticed was the smell.

It was good. Sweet even. Until I caught a whiff of the air beyond that wall, I hadn't realized how truly dead the city we had just left had become. On this side of the wall, the world smelled alive. It gave me hope that we hadn't entered a prison. Or one of the Horizon Compounds. The smell alone told me that this was a better place than the one we had left. The golden train glided slowly over the single rail, bringing us deeper into this new and mysterious place.

“We gotta get off,” I whispered to Patrick. “This thing is probably headed toward somewhere with people. Until we know whose side they're on, we better be invisible.”

Patrick nodded and looked over the safety rail of the moving platform. He swallowed hard. He wasn't thrilled about having to jump off a moving train.

“Don't think about it,” I warned. “Go.”

I grabbed the rail with both hands, jumped up, and launched myself up and over with both my legs to one side, like vaulting over a pommel horse in gymnastics. I hit the ground and rolled backward to absorb the shock. It was
disorienting, but I bounced back to my feet quickly and turned toward the train to spot Patrick. He wasn't as quick about it as I was. He stood grasping the handrail, looking nervous, moving away. I wanted to shout “Jump!” but I was afraid of who might hear. All I could do was will him to move.

He did. It wasn't exactly graceful. He landed on one leg, tumbled sideways, and fell on his shoulder. Ouch. I ran to him, hoping that he wasn't hurt. Of course, I knew if something had happened, I could fix it. A healing Traveler hand would do the trick. But that would have sapped more strength from Solara.

“You okay?” I asked.

Patrick sat up, rubbing his sore shoulder. “It would have been easier to turn into birds,” he complained.

I didn't argue the point. He knew what was at stake. I think he was just complaining for the sake of it. That was okay. He deserved to. The train kept moving. No alarm was sounded. No shouts of “Hey! Who are you guys?” Wherever we were, we had arrived unnoticed. I realized that we were sitting on grass. Soft, green grass. It was a welcome, physical sign of life. There would be more. Many more.

“Wow,” Patrick said. “I didn't expect this.”

That was an understatement. Once the train cleared our field of view, we got a good look at our surroundings. I don't know what better word to use to describe what we saw other than “beautiful.” Okay, maybe I can think of a few others. Lush. Green. Idyllic. Maybe even perfect. We were sitting next to the single rail that cut through an absolutely spectacular park. At least, I thought it was a park. There were leafy trees, a meadow covered in wildflowers, a narrow stream that meandered quietly along the length of the track,
songbirds darting about, and sculptures. Many sculptures. A few yards from the side of the track there was a massive white statue of a naked guy. It was like three times life-size. It was awesome, in more ways than one.

“
David
,” Patrick said with a gasp.

“Who?”

“It's the statue of David by Michelangelo. It's a pretty good replica.”

“Maybe it's the real one,” I suggested.

“That's impossible. The
David
is in Florence, Italy. It's eight thousand years old; it would never be here and definitely not kept outside like this.” He gave me a dark look and added, “At least, I hope not. The
David
is one of the great art treasures of all time.”

We crossed over the rail and found a path that wandered through the grounds. We passed many other elaborate sculptures and fountains and footbridges that spanned lazy brooks. Oddly, the air was clear and the sky was blue. I wondered how they were able to keep the dirt and grime that swirled through the air outside from descending here.

“It's like paradise,” Patrick said.

“It definitely isn't one of those Horizon Compounds,” I added. “That answers one question. The wall is to keep people out, because I can't imagine anybody wanting to leave this place. Especially knowing what's outside.”

We passed a few buildings, though calling them “buildings” doesn't come close to describing them. They were more like palaces. Or mansions. Whoever lived there was definitely living large.

Eventually we saw people. At first we hid behind trees, so as not to be seen, but we soon realized it wasn't necessary. There were kids playing touch football on grassy flats.
Couples strolled around, holding hands. Mothers pushed baby carriages. It all looked so normal, like a park. A really incredible park. I was still wearing the brown sweater and khakis I had glommed from the Chetwyndes' boat on Second Earth. Patrick wore jeans and a blue short-sleeved shirt, which is exactly what he was wearing the day I met him. Oddly, our clothes were totally clean. Except for whatever dirt we'd picked up on our trip from the zoo, it was like our visit to Solara had refurbished everything. The people we saw wore a variety of normal-looking Earth clothing. This could have been a park on Second Earth, which meant we didn't stand out.

Besides seeing the people who were enjoying the day, we also saw workers. They wore dark green khaki uniforms with short pants and pith helmets. I didn't think they were dados because they didn't all look the same. There were all types, all races, and both men and women. They were trimming trees, cutting the grass, and sweeping the pathways. Yes, sweeping the pathways. Not a leaf was out of place or blade of grass too long. The place was immaculate.

I asked, “You think if I pulled a flower petal and dropped it, somebody would come running to sweep it up?”

“Look,” Patrick said, pointing to a man who was polishing a bronze statue of a giant guy holding what looked like the world on his back. It looked familiar but I couldn't place it. “Look at the guy's arm.”

My mouth went dry. The man had a cloth patch on his sleeve. It was a red star. The symbol of Ravinia.

“I guess Ravinia is alive and well,” Patrick said soberly.

“I want to know how big this place is,” I said.

“For that we have to get up high,” Patrick offered.

We kept walking, looking for some sort of structure that
would give us a bird's-eye view. I was thankful that Patrick didn't suggest that we turn into birds and get an
actual
bird's-eye view. We needed to get up high the old-fashioned way. It didn't take long for us to find what we needed. I'm not sure why we didn't see it until we were almost on it. Maybe it was because the trees were too dense. Maybe we had been too close to get perspective. Maybe there was so much to see on ground level that we hadn't been looking up. Maybe we were just idiots. Whatever. When we stepped out of a thick stand of trees, it was my turn to gasp. We were staring at one leg of a giant, golden, four-legged structure. Though I had never seen it in person, I recognized it for what it was. It was impossible, yet it was there.

“Is this a replica too?” I said, my voice cracking.

Patrick was staring straight up at the giant golden tower. “It has to be,” he declared. “What other explanation is there?”

People strolled casually through gardens that were situated under the massive structure. A small orchestra played classical music. Vending stands with festive red and white awnings were set up, offering drinks and ice cream, though it didn't look like anybody was paying for the treats. They just walked up and got what they wanted. It was like some big, private party…happening beneath the Eiffel Tower.

“We're not in Paris, are we?” I asked, stunned.

“Let's find out,” Patrick answered, and walked toward the closest leg of the tower, and an elevator that would take us up and give us the view we needed. Neither of us said a word as we entered the red elevator, where a woman wearing a dark green khaki worker uniform greeted us.

“Which level?” she asked with a smile.

“Uh, first stop is fine,” I answered awkwardly. I had never been to the Eiffel Tower and figured going up to the first observation level would be plenty high enough. The elevator clattered as it ascended through the golden trusses.

“It can't be the real deal,” I whispered to Patrick. “The Eiffel Tower isn't golden, is it?”

Patrick shrugged. It only took a minute for us to rise to the first level. The worker opened the door with a smile to allow Patrick and me to exit.

“Thanks,” I said to the woman.

She gave me an odd look, as if I had said something strange. How could that have been strange? All I said was “thanks.” Odd.

“It must be a replica,” Patrick said as we walked across the wide expanse of the first observation deck to get a view out and over the edge. “Who would go through the trouble and expense to transport such a huge tower across the ocean and—”

The words caught in his throat as we got our first glimpse of the world we had been exploring on the ground. We were looking out over an enormous sea of trees, all enclosed by that mighty wall. What we had seen from the ground was only one small section. The wall did wrap around. There was no telling how many acres were enveloped by the massive structure. Hundreds? Many hundreds? It was a vast oasis within a dead world. To our right and left I could see beyond the walls, where there was next to nothing. I made out faint outlines of some of the destroyed buildings, but other than that there was desolation. The swirling dust that blanketed the ruins of New York City were somehow kept away from this lush environment. The contrast of this
green world against that bleak gray was like night and day. Life and death. Real and surreal. Though I'm not exactly sure which was more surreal—the gray, destroyed city on the outside, or this impossible paradise.

The Eiffel Tower wasn't the only recognizable structure. There were others spread randomly throughout this park. I saw the Clock Tower from London's Parliament, where Big Ben chimes. The Greek Parthenon sat on top of a massive rocky hill, though this wasn't an ancient ruin. It looked fully restored, with gleaming marble and colorful friezes. Directly across from where we were, maybe a mile away, was a structure that looked as if it were the center of this strange universe. It sat high above the trees, gleaming in the sun, looking down on all those below. It was the Taj Mahal. Or at least a building that looked like the Taj Mahal.

“One thing's for sure,” I said. “We aren't in France.”

“Is it possible?” Patrick mumbled. “Could these be the actual buildings that were somehow brought here?”

“What else is down there?” I added. “Maybe that statue was the
real David
. Could there be other works of art? Sculptures? Paintings? Have the Ravinians brought all the great treasures of the world to this one spot?”

“If that's the case,” Patrick thought out loud, “they've taken the best of what the people of Earth have created, and brought it here to decorate their own paradise.”

The moment was broken by the sound of a shrill whistle. We both looked to the ground to see a man running through the garden below. The guy looked scared. He bumped into a few people, nearly knocking them over as he desperately tried to escape from…Who? What? A second later we saw two red-suited, golden-helmeted Ravinian guards sprinting out from under the tower, chasing the guy.

“I wonder what he did,” Patrick said.

I thought for sure the guy would get away, because he looked to be running for his life, while the Ravinians were jogging with no urgency. Turned out the two guards weren't the only ones in pursuit. Four more Ravinians closed in on the guy from up ahead. He was surrounded. He changed direction. The Ravinians countered and cut off his escape. Moments later they had him.

“They must be dados,” I said. “They all look pretty much alike.”

“We should get down there and see where they take him,” Patrick said.

He started to run off, but I saw something that made me stop him.

“Wait,” I said.

We both looked down to see that instead of hauling the guy off, the Ravinians forced the guy to his knees. The garden was full of people, but in spite of the drama going on right under their noses, very few seemed to care. They all went about their business of enjoying the day, without so much as glancing at the action.

Only one other person seemed to care. It was a young girl, no more than six. She ran toward one of the soldiers and pulled on his belt as if to get him to leave the runner alone. The soldier turned quickly and loomed over the girl threateningly. The girl froze in fear. Instantly a woman who must have been her mother ran up and grabbed the girl to protect her. The little girl started crying. Her mother bundled her up and sped her away as the soldier turned his attention back to the prisoner. It was then that I noticed that the other people hanging around weren't necessarily oblivious to what was going on. I caught several people
throwing nervous glances over their shoulders, as if they didn't want the soldiers to know that they were being watched.

“What are they afraid of?” I asked Patrick. “That they'll be next?”

“Next for what?” Patrick said. “What are they doing to the guy?”

The answer came quickly. One of the Ravinians strode up to the man. He was holding a three-foot-long silver wand with a black handle that I thought might be a silver weapon like the dados used on Second Earth. I didn't think he needed it. That guy wasn't going anywhere. I didn't realize how right I was. The guy was kneeling with his head down, being held by two Ravinians. The guy with the silver weapon stood behind the man and pointed the silver end of the wand at the back of his head. He held it there as the two guys who were holding the prisoner stepped away.

“Wha—” was all Patrick got out.

We heard a sharp, shrill sound that cut through the air like a laser.
Paf!
There was a brilliant flash of light. An instant later the guy on his knees had turned to black dust.