The Soldiers of Halla (6 page)

U
ncle Press leaned over and picked up a baseball-size chunk of gray rock. He held it in the palm of his hand, weighing it. For a second I thought he was going to throw it. Instead, he placed it back down reverently. I guess you don't go around chucking the stuff that is the foundation of all there is.

“Saint Dane is part of Solara,” Uncle Press began. “One of its oldest souls. He helped guide mankind throughout the ages.”

“Guide?” I shot back. “You call what he did guide? I thought you said you weren't supposed to interfere or decide on what was right or wrong?”

“We aren't,” Uncle Press said quickly. “And he didn't. But over time he grew restless. His name isn't really Saint Dane, by the way. Once things started to change, he took that on. He called it ‘ironic.'”

“So what's his real name?”

“We have no real names. Like I said, we aren't physical beings.”

“But you're Press Tilton.”

“Because I needed to be.”

“Okay, never mind the names. What happened with Saint Dane?”

“Like I said, we aren't about influencing or changing the natural course of events. Since we are reflections of man, our only purpose is to help bring balance to their lives and allow people to reach their full potential, whatever it happens to be. That wasn't enough for Saint Dane. I don't know why. Perhaps he had seen too much. Or had too many difficult experiences. But he actually grew angry at mankind. Which is an odd concept because we
are
mankind. He became obsessed with what he considered the mistakes made by people on all worlds. Instead of rejoicing in man's various achievements, he dwelled on their errors.”

“Sounds like a ‘glass is half empty' kind of guy,” I offered.

“The trouble began when he decided that we should start playing a greater role in shaping Halla's destiny. Instead of allowing people to find their own way, he started to influence their choices.”

“Because he thought he knew better,” I added.

“That is exactly right. He felt Solara had the only true perspective on how mankind should evolve, and that it was our duty to steer the worlds of Halla in the right direction. Or at least, what he thought was the right direction. He thought we were more important and more knowing than mankind. That alone was wrong. We aren't gods. We don't know all.”

“Yeah, try telling him that,” I said, scoffing.

“I did. Many did. But he would not be convinced. He was appalled by the state of mankind, or so he said. He thought we were all weak for not taking the responsibility of guiding the very life that created us.”

“Kind of like the Frankenstein monster turning on the guy who made him.”

“Except that Saint Dane considered himself to be superior. What he didn't accept was that there is no right or wrong. There is just life. With all its flaws and triumphs. To alter that is to change the natural course of evolution, which could lead to the end of it all.”

I had heard a lot in the past few minutes. The past few years. Nothing hit me harder than what Uncle Press had just said.

“Wait, you're saying that altering the natural course of life could lead to the end of all life?”

Uncle Press stepped away from me and gestured out to the wasteland that was Solara.

“Your dad told you that Solara wasn't always like this. It wasn't. Solara was a wondrous place of light and harmony. Since it isn't a physical existence, its nature is different for each of us. Solara is whatever you want it to be.”

“Like Lifelight?” I asked.

“In a way. In fact, that is one of the influences Saint Dane made. He planted the concept of Lifelight in the head of Dr. Zetlin on Veelox. He wanted to gift mankind with the kind of existence we share here. And you know how that turned out.”

“Yeah. Yikes.”

“Exactly. Saint Dane wasn't all about power and conquest. At least not at first. He actually thought he was doing the right thing by bestowing his wisdom on the people of the territories. He wouldn't accept the fact that he might not have all the right answers, and even if he did, he shouldn't be imposing them on the worlds of Halla.”

“Sounds like his typical arrogant self. So what happened to Solara?”

“Like I've been saying, we were created by the spirit
of mankind. It not only created us, but it powers us. What they are, we are. We are the spiritual reflection of the state of Halla. We have very little physical power.”

Uncle Press pointed to the roiling, colorful clouds above us. “You're looking at the base elements of matter. Halla is constantly expanding. This is where it begins. What you see up there is matter that will soon become part of the physical Halla.”

I had new respect for the light show in the sky. They weren't clouds at all. Those electric images in the sky were the seeds of all that is. Or about to be.

“Uh, wow” was all I could squeak out. Kind of an understatement, I guess.

“Saint Dane injected himself into the natural cycle,” Uncle Press said with a touch of anger. “Like I said, we aren't gods. We don't create. But Saint Dane crossed a line that is taboo. He manipulated that material to create matter. Physical matter.”

“He had that kind of power?” I asked, aghast.

“Not at first, and not alone. He brought other spirits together, creating forces greater than any individual life. He didn't want them for their ideas or wisdom; he needed their energy. He became stronger, far stronger than any single entity in Solara. That power allowed him to manipulate matter on the physical worlds. The first thing he did was create an actual, living being for himself. He became the man you know so well.”

“Too well.”

“But he wasn't truly human. He could manipulate that physical being, becoming any form he chose. Any person, any creature. He continued gathering power from Solara and created the flumes.”

“Saint Dane made the flumes?” I asked, stunned.

“To connect the worlds. That was a critical part of his plan. To gather together the strength of Halla, he needed to make it one. But to do that, he needed a way for the worlds to physically join. That's why he needed the flumes. And the quigs to guard them.”

“All that was done using the spiritual power of Solara to manipulate physical matter?”

“Yes. It was not only wrong, there was a stiff price to be paid. With each physical creation, with every manipulation he made to the worlds of Halla, he killed a little bit of Solara.”

“Killed?”

“Solara is dying, Bobby. Saint Dane's actions have drained its spirit. Each time he manipulates matter, a bit more of Solara dies. From creating that massive flume in Yankee Stadium on Second Earth, to turning himself into a raven. It all drains a bit of life from Solara. You know that he saved Courtney Chetwynde from dying, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“That act alone nearly brought Solara down for good.”

I didn't know how to react to that. Talk about conflicting emotions.

He continued, “I told you that the spirit of mankind is so powerful it cannot die. That isn't entirely true. Using Solara to physically manipulate Halla is slowly destroying that life force. The reflection works both ways. If Solara dies, Halla dies.”

“Yikes, talk about interfering in the way things are supposed to be.”

“It gets worse.”

“Worse than the total destruction of Halla?”

“Saint Dane doesn't want to destroy Halla. He wants to
control it, and thereby control Solara. His quest has been to change the mindset of mankind. I think you understand, Bobby, that mankind is basically good, with positive goals and the desire for peace and order. Yes, there are wars and strife and every kind of conflict that you can imagine, but taken as a whole, mankind strives for good. Saint Dane has slowly changed that. By finding the turning points on each of the territories and altering their destiny, he has turned Halla into a dark, dangerous place. People live in fear. So many have died, and those who remain fight for survival. Then of course, there are the chosen. Saint Dane has created a superior legion on each territory that live in peace and safety, but even they are consumed with keeping their own power.”

“The Ravinians?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“But doesn't Saint Dane realize what he's created? I mean, did he really want to create such chaos?”

“I don't believe that he cares one way or the other about Halla.”

“Uh, what?” was all I could get out.

“Maybe at one time he did. Maybe he actually did feel that he knew what was best for mankind. But his goals have evolved. I believe he has set his sights on an even greater prize.”

“I thought Halla was everything? What could be greater than that?”

“By crushing the spirit of mankind, he will ultimately control Solara. If that happens, the existing worlds of Halla will mean nothing, because he will have the ability to use the power still held by the spirits of the ages to create his
own
Halla.”

“What!” I shouted.

“That is Saint Dane's ultimate goal, Bobby. He won't have to bother with what has gone before and the molding of existing worlds to his liking, because he will be able to create his own worlds. Multiple worlds. Why stop at seven evolved worlds when he can create ten? Twenty? A hundred? All would be created according to his vision. Simply put, he
will
be a god, because he will have the power to create. That is what Saint Dane has been after, Bobby. He has turned Halla toward chaos in order to give himself the power to form an entirely new universe. One that he alone controls.”

I looked around at the bleak world with renewed wonder. I had been right from the start. This was a dead place. Or at least a place that was dying. Saint Dane was killing it. All that had happened was done to break down the positive spirit of mankind, which would in turn cripple Solara and allow him to control its power.

I had thought the guy was an arrogant, egotistical tyrant. I had no idea how right I was. The scope of his vision was so far beyond anything that I had expected, it was almost laughable. Almost. Each territory, each battle, each turning point was just another building block in the foundation of the most incredible crime of all time. Saint Dane didn't want wealth. Or to rule a group of people. Or to control a country, a world, or even multiple worlds. He wanted to create his own personal universe. From all that Uncle Press told me, it looked like he was going to succeed.

“I've got a dumb question,” I said.

“Go for it,” Uncle Press shot back.

“It sounds like you've known what he's been up to for a long time.”

“From the beginning. He and I were together for eons. I
believe I knew him better than any other in Solara. I suppose in some strange way you could say that we were friends.”

“Okay, odd, but if you knew what was happening, why didn't you try to stop him?”

Uncle Press smiled. That was an odd reaction, considering that we were on the verge of Armageddon.

“You're right, that was a dumb question,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because we
did
do something to stop him. In an act of total desperation that in many ways went against the nature of Solara, we created the one thing we hoped would stop his mad plan.”

“What was it?”

“We created
you
, Bobby.”

F
rom the first moment I left home to go with Uncle Press so long ago, there were very few times when I actually felt I was up to the challenges put in front of me.

Sure, there were times when I had plenty of confidence. I had become a decent fighter. I think I did pretty well figuring out Saint Dane's schemes. At least some of them, anyway. I had faith in my fellow Travelers. We made a good team. But whenever I turned my thoughts to the larger, more cosmic issues, I always felt I was behind. I didn't know why I had been chosen to be the lead Traveler. I was just a kid. I always felt as if they should have picked somebody better equipped to match up with Saint Dane. Hearing all the incredible things that Uncle Press had to say about Solara did nothing to change my mind. The battle against Saint Dane was no longer about a tribe or a city or a country or a world. It wasn't even about Halla. It was about trying to stop a guy who had taken on the power of a god and was about to create his own universe. How the heck was I supposed to compete with that?

As we stood together on that mysterious world at the
edge of reality, I really hoped that Uncle Press had a good answer.

“I don't mean to criticize,” I said to my uncle. “After all, you have the combined knowledge and wisdom from all time, and I'm just a basketball jock. But, how do I say this? What the
hell
were you thinking? You're trying to stop a demon who has the power to control the power of all that ever was, and you chose
me
to stop him? Doesn't seem like the brightest move, if you ask me.”

“It was the only move,” Uncle Press answered.

“Then Saint Dane won before the game even began” was my conclusion.

“Not true. I've watched you, Bobby. I've seen your every move. We made the exact right move.”

“You saw it all? Everything? You know exactly what happened?”

“Everything. Solara is everywhere, remember?”

“Everywhere. Right. You even saw me when I was, like, going to the bathroom?”

He gave me another sour look.

“Sorry, habit. If I don't make fun of what's going on sometimes, I'll explode.”

“I know that, too.”

“So if you saw everything, you know I was outmatched every step of the way. Even when I thought we'd won, he turned it back on us. It's been totally futile.”

“But it hasn't been. Saint Dane knew that you and the Travelers were the only threat to his plan. Stopping you was as important to him as swaying the destiny of the territories. He could have ignored you, but he didn't.”

“He kept asking me to join him.”

“Of course he did. I think you can see why now.”

“Not exactly.”

“I know you've wondered how the battle was supposed to play out. What Saint Dane told you is true. He was trying to prove the rightness of his way of thinking. That was the battle. His philosophy of control and elitism, versus your thinking that people should be free to choose their own destiny.”

“Yeah? Then who the heck were we trying to convince? Is there some kind of grand judge on Solara? A panel? An executive council? The bosses of the ages, who are going to pass judgment on who won and who lost?”

“In a way you were trying to prove yourselves to the most important judges of all. The only judges that counted.”

“Who?”

“The people of Halla.”

“Uh…huh?”

“Saint Dane's plan was to turn the territories upside down. Mankind is inherently good. Saint Dane wanted to change that. He wanted to create an atmosphere of mistrust. Of constant competition and pervasive desperation and fear. On each territory he appealed to the lowest instincts of man. Greed, arrogance, self-absorption, paranoia. But for his ultimate goal to succeed, it had to happen on a universal scale. On
all
the worlds of Halla. That's why he found those turning points in the histories of those worlds. He needed to find the moment in time of each territory that would have the maximum negative impact on that world. By turning a territory away from its natural destiny, which was to follow the positive instincts of man, he forced the territories into chaos. That, of course, brought out their worst. Since Solara is a reflection of mankind, the spirit of Solara changed right along with those worlds. The high thinking and positive
energy that created us changed. It's why you can barely feel the spirits of Solara. They are growing weaker and dying off. The desolate world you see now is a direct result of Saint Dane's meddling with the nature of man.”

“So how was I supposed to stop that?”

“Not just you. You and the other Travelers. Saint Dane became a physical presence in Halla. For him it was no longer about visiting dreams and whispering guidance. Once he determined the turning points, he became part of their societies, seemingly helping them make decisions, but actually leading them toward disaster.”

“Yeah, I know all that.”

“The only way to stop him was to create our own actual presence in Halla. We took ten souls and gave them physical life. One on each territory.”

Uncle Press stopped talking. He must have seen the look on my face.

“What do you mean ‘took ten souls'?” I asked cautiously.

“You're from Solara, Bobby. All the Travelers are from Solara.”

I knew he was going to say that. It's exactly what my parents had told me. But hearing it put so plainly was still a shocker. Maybe in the back of my mind I was hoping for another explanation, but that was just wishful thinking.

“So I'm really not Bobby Pendragon” was my sober response.

“Oh no, you are very much Bobby Pendragon. That was the whole point. We chose a strong, wise, caring spirit and gave it life on Second Earth. We created a family to raise and nurture that spirit, teaching him the ways of that world. The same happened with each of the territories. Each Traveler was given a mentor from Solara to prepare them for the
conflict with Saint Dane. It's why I became a physical being. I bounced between territories, ensuring that the Travelers were being properly prepared and ultimately telling them of their true destiny.”

“That's why Press Tilton was born,” I said.

“Not exactly born. More like created. The only hope we had of countering Saint Dane's influence was to do so with actual, living beings. But instead of just one, we chose ten. Saint Dane had grown too powerful; there was no way we could match what he had become with only one Traveler. Our intent was for the Travelers to bond and work against him, which is exactly what happened.”

My mind flashed to a million different questions.

“But wasn't that just as bad as what Saint Dane was doing? I mean, the spirits of Solara aren't supposed to monkey with reality, right?”

“You're right. By creating the Travelers, we were also sapping the strength of Solara. In some ways what Solara has become was also our doing. The tools we gave the Travelers came at a cost. We showed you all how to use Saint Dane's flumes. We marked them with stars and created rings to help locate them. We advised you to write journals and send them to your acolytes. Whenever you stepped into a flume, we ensured that you arrived where you needed to be, when you needed to be there, in order to continue the struggle with Saint Dane.”

“And we could heal one another,” I added.

“Yes, as much as you were human, you had that ability as well. But each time it was used, another piece of Solara slipped away. It was a price that had to be paid. The alternative was far worse, which was to hand Solara over to Saint Dane without a fight.”

“Why didn't you just tell us all this from the get-go? Maybe we would have had a better chance.”

“No, in spite of our manipulation of physical reality, your mission retained the spirit of Solara. You were behaving exactly as natural inhabitants of the territories would act because that's what you were. Everything you did, every decision you made, came from your experience as a living being, with all the flaws and fears and strengths that every being has. We counted on your strength and character to triumph. And it did. You had many victories, Bobby. Each time, Solara was given a new, positive shot of life. It was restored not only because you kept a territory on its natural course, but your own personal spirit returned strength to us. You personified the triumph of the spirit of mankind.”

We walked a bit in silence. Uncle Press was letting me process the information. It was all beginning to make sense. It was incredible, but it was making sense. My questions were being answered. I can't say I liked any of the answers, but at least I was getting them.

“You gotta know how impossible this all seems to me,” I finally said. “You tell me I'm an ancient spirit from an alternate universe on the edge of reality, but I still just feel like Bobby Pendragon. I mean, I have no memory of being anything other than Bobby Pendragon. I'm half expecting you to burst out laughing and tell me it was all a goof, and you can't believe I fell for it. Psyche!”

“You feel like Bobby Pendragon because you
are
Bobby Pendragon.”

“Lead Traveler,” I added.

“Yes, lead Traveler. You above all were created to be the heart of the Travelers. It was based on the strength of your spirit long before you set foot on Second Earth.”

“And I blew it all by killing Alexander Naymeer,” I said soberly.

Uncle Press frowned. “What you did is exactly what Saint Dane wanted you to do. You gave in to the darker nature of man. First by brazenly mixing the destinies of the territories—”

“What was I supposed to do?” I shot back. “Let the dados destroy Rayne?”

“Yes.”

Oh.

“I couldn't let that happen.”

“I understand, but it cost. That was the beginning of the final slide. With that battle, Solara grew dark. Not only because of the tak you brought to Ibara, but because you reintroduced that weapon to the Milago and Bedoowan tribes of Denduron, who then used it to invade and enslave the Lowsee tribe. The fall of Solara mirrored your own. As it grew weaker, we relied more on your own personal spirit to hold on. The final blow came when you killed Alexander Naymeer. You had hit bottom, and so has Solara. Out of desperation, we destroyed the flumes.”

“
You
destroyed the flumes?” I asked, shocked.

“It was all we could do. With Halla crumbling, we felt that preventing the Ravinians from traveling between territories might slow the fall. I'm afraid it was too little too late. Saint Dane didn't need them anymore to achieve his goals. His Convergence was a success. Each territory was already on its own downward spiral.”

Great. I was more or less responsible for letting Saint Dane destroy all that was good about Halla, and allowing the ultimate evil to take control.

“I'm sorry,” I said softly. What else could I say? It felt pretty
inadequate, but it was all I had. I sensed movement nearby. I expected to look up and again catch the fleeting image of a spirit. Instead I saw Spader. He stood on a rock outcropping, staring at me. He looked shaken, which wasn't like him.

“Quite the natty tale, isn't it, mate?” he said. “Not at all what I expected, no sir.”

Loor walked up behind him. She had a totally blank look on her face. I'm guessing that she was just as stunned as I was. She was quickly joined by the other Travelers. Gunny, Patrick, Kasha, Elli, Siry, Aja, and Alder. None of them looked very good. When we were last together, they'd each had a spark of defiance in their eyes that said they were still ready to fight. Now they looked as if they had all seen a ghost. Which they had. Except that they had been looking at themselves. Once I saw that everyone had arrived, I turned to Uncle Press.

“So I guess that's it,” I said. “I blew it.”

“
We
blew it, shorty,” Gunny called out.

“Whatever,” I snapped back. “It doesn't matter. It's over. All that's left is for Saint Dane to return to Solara and take control of the wreckage.”

“That's his plan,” Uncle Press said. “Once Halla has totally turned, the negative forces that have overcome mankind will create a rebirth of Solara. A much different Solara. It will still be filled with the spirit of mankind, but it will be a dark, negative spirit. After that, Saint Dane can use it as he will to manipulate matter and create an entirely new Halla. That's the road we're on.”

Siry called out, “And what happens to us?”

“That's your choice,” Uncle Press answered. “You can accept what's happened as inevitable and become part of this new Solara, or you can make one last stand.”

Aja huffed and said, “There isn't much left to stand on.”

Uncle Press gave us one of those sly smiles that I knew so well. He knew something. He hadn't shared it all.

“Saint Dane isn't infallible,” he said. “You've all seen that. In spite of the high opinion he has of himself, he
isn't
a god. He's made plenty of his own mistakes.”

“And yet he's still won,” Elli pointed out.

“Not yet,” Uncle Press replied quickly. “There is one territory left. It may be hanging by a thread, but it hasn't been lost.”

“Third Earth,” Patrick said with reverence.

“Saint Dane made a mistake,” Uncle Press said, enjoying himself. “A huge one. It's up to us to make sure that it was a fatal one.”

“So we're not done yet?” I asked.

Uncle Press gave me a wink and said, “Do you really think I'd have brought you all together like this if I thought we were done?”