D. MacHale - The Soldiers of Halla

“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.

“My god!” Patrick cried.

It was a horrific sight. A small, thin tower of ash hovered in the air where his body had been. It hung there for a second, then crumpled into a small pile that the Ravinian with the weapon stepped on and crushed into the ground.

“They killed him,” Patrick cried. “They just… killed him.”

My stomach twisted, not just because of the gruesome execution, but at the thought that no matter what the guy had been accused of, the Ravinian guards had the ability to act as judge, jury, and executioner. The six Ravinians strode away as if nothing had happened. None of the people who witnessed the execution reacted. If anything, they turned away from the soldiers, so as not to make eye contact.

“I guess paradise comes with a price,” I said softly.

“What has Earth become?” Patrick whispered.

I didn’t know, but I had an idea of where we would find out. I looked back out over the green oasis to the awesome building that looked down over it all. The Taj Mahal. This opulent building was in the center. It was a place of importance. I felt sure that whatever answers we needed, we would find there.

I also felt that along with those answers, we’d find Saint Dane.

We took the elevator back down from the first observation level of the Eiffel Tower and started walking in the direction of the Taj Mahal.

How bizarre a sentence is that?

We walked among the people who were enjoying the day, seemingly unfazed by the fact that they had just witnessed a swift, grisly execution. Or maybe they were in denial. A few guys threw a Frisbee. A family had a picnic on a flowered blanket. A couple sipped wine while laughing at some secret joke. It was all so creepy. Seeing such normal activity after what had happened was almost as chilling as the execution itself. Did they truly not care? Or was it an act they put on for the Ravinians, to avoid stepping into their sights as well?

“The Taj Mahal is set up to be the center of this strange Eden,” I said to Patrick. “I’m thinking we’ll find answers there.”

After walking quickly (but not so quickly as to attract attention) through the winding paths, we found the train that had been our vehicle into this world. It was stopped at a small building that looked like a replica of an old-fashioned brick train station, complete with a green-shingle roof and a wrought-iron fence around it. Like the rest of the place, it was immaculate. The paint sparkled like new, as if the station had just gotten a fresh coat that very morning. An overhead sign ran the length of the shelter roof. In elegant golden letters were the words “Taj Mahal.”