D. MacHale - The Soldiers of Halla

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.

It 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.