D. MacHale - The Soldiers of Halla

I heard a woman’s voice call to them. “Stop there!”

It made the hair go up on the back of my neck. I knew that voice. My first reaction was to scream. I didn’t, because it was also good news. Sort of. It meant that we were in the right place.

“Bring their leader forward,” the woman commanded.

Patrick and I carefully maneuvered around the pillar where we were hiding to see her. She stood next to the throne on top of the platform, looking down on the guards and their victims. She wore a long, deep red robe with golden trim. Her dark brown hair was piled up on top of her head like some kind of fashion model, as opposed to the way she normally wore it, which was straight down. Under other circumstances, I’d say she was beautiful. These weren’t other circumstances.

I wanted to leap onto that platform and strangle Nevva Winter.

Two Ravinian guards stepped forward, holding one of the victims. It was an older guy with shaggy gray hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. His face looked swollen. A trickle of blood oozed from the side of his mouth. He’d been beaten. The red-shirt guards dragged him to the center of the Ravinian star and pushed him down onto his knees. He didn’t resist. Of the four prisoners he looked to be the weakest. The other three each had two guards holding them. One of them was the powerful-looking hero guy with long black hair. His head was down, his chin against his chest. He may have been beaten up, but he was alert. I saw him stealing quick glances, sizing up the situation. I guess he didn’t want the Ravinians to know that he wasn’t done yet. It made me like this guy even more.

Nevva drifted down the stairs and approached the man on his knees. Her eyes were locked on him. He didn’t lift his own eyes to meet her gaze. When Nevva spoke, she actually sounded as if she had sympathy for the guy. I knew better. Nevva was heartless.

“It would be better for all of you if you told us what you know,” she said softly, as if trying to put him at ease.

The guy took a deep, pained breath and twisted his head to look up at her.

“Better?” he rasped. “Are you saying that Ravinia will show compassion?”

“I’m saying that if you refuse to speak, things will go badly for you. For you all.”

The guy chuckled. It made him cough. It was a sickening, gurgling hack. There was blood down there. I could feel his body tense in pain. I thought back to the guy at the zoo that the Ravinian guards were kicking. These guys must have gotten the same treatment.

“I don’t see how things could get much worse than they already are,” he wheezed.

A voice boomed from on top of the platform. “Believe me, things can always be worse.”

I felt Patrick tense up. I must have done the same. That voice always had that kind of effect. My instincts were right. We were definitely in the right place. We both looked up to the platform to see the proof.

Saint Dane stepped in front of the throne.

It was definitely the demon, but I had to do a double take. He didn’t look the same. He was still thin and stood very tall. He still had those cold blue-white eyes. His voice was the same. But the guy standing there looked more like Saint Dane’s younger brother than Saint Dane.

His hair was back. It was as long as I remembered from when I first met him, before it burned off, leaving a bald, scarred dome. It was parted in the middle and fell straight past his shoulders. But it wasn’t gray. It was black. Jet-black. He wasn’t wearing that familiar black suit, either. The cut of the suit he now wore was the same as the old one. It still buttoned tight under his chin, but it was deep red with golden braids around the cuffs and collar. The strangest thing of all was that he looked younger than I remembered. If I were to guess, I would have said that Saint Dane always looked like he was in his fifties. He now looked to be in his thirties. He didn’t seem to be playing a role, either. It was definitely Saint Dane as himself. But it wasn’t. I hate to write this, but I have to be true to what I saw. This new and improved Saint Dane actually looked… yikes… handsome.

Patrick was every bit as stunned as I was. He looked at me as if to ask, “Is that really him?”

I nodded. It didn’t matter what color his hair was or what kind of silly suit he wore; it was him.

The demon walked casually down the stairs, headed for the kneeling man.

“You are quite brave,” Saint Dane said to the man. It was a compliment, but it was cold. “You are all brave. I commend you. However, you must know that your cause is lost. How many of your rebel band are left? A few dozen? How many have you seen die? Too many. Such a waste. Don’t you want that to end?”

The guy on his knees was breathing heavily. He kept his eyes on the ground.

“Look at me,” Saint Dane said softly. The guy didn’t.

“I said look at me!” he bellowed while grabbing the guy’s chin and forcing his head up.

Nevva took a step back. I wasn’t sure if she was bothered by this or she didn’t want to get in the way if Saint Dane started swinging.

“You have a choice,” Saint Dane said, once again calm.

“You always have a choice. You can tell us what you know. A simple answer. One word. That’s all I need, and your suffering will end.”

“I don’t know what you’re asking me,” the guy seethed. He was holding back anger. I knew the feeling.

“Of course you do,” Saint Dane said jovially. “When you entered the flume, you did not come here. That much I know for certain.”

I grabbed Patrick’s arm. What was Saint Dane talking about? Who were these guys?

“I’m not sure how you ended up here,” Saint Dane continued. “Obviously it was before the flumes were destroyed. That is of no interest to me. What I want to know is where you were sent when you first entered the flume. Is that so much to ask?”

My heart raced. These guys weren’t Travelers. But who were they? My heart leaped. Was it possible? Could these guys be the very people we were looking for? Were they some of the enemies of Ravinia who were sent into exile? I was excited and terrified at the same time. Excited that we may have found them. Terrified because Saint Dane had found them too.

“So tell me, my friend,” Saint Dane said to the man on his knees. “All I need is a word. The name of a territory. Where is it that you ended up when you entered the flume? Tell me and your suffering will end.”

“All right,” the guy wheezed. “I’ll tell you.”

I saw the other victims tense up. The Ravinian guards held them tight.

“Wonderful,” Saint Dane exclaimed.

“Come closer,” the guy said with a raspy voice.

Saint Dane walked up to the guy and towered over him.

The guy whispered something so softly that I couldn’t hear. Neither did Saint Dane, for he bent over to get closer. When Saint Dane was down on the same level as his prisoner, the guy spit in his face. Even from where we were, I could see that there was more blood than saliva. Saint Dane didn’t flinch. The Ravinians started to pull the guy back, but Saint Dane held up his hand.

“Leave him be,” he said calmly.

The demon got right back in the guy’s face. He didn’t even wipe off the blood and spit that dribbled off his chin. He locked eyes with the poor guy. I knew what that felt like. The guy was in serious trouble.

“I will kill your three friends first,” Saint Dane said icily. “It will be slow. It will be painful. I will break their bones with my own hands, starting with their feet and working my way up their spines. They will bleed. The best they can hope for is that the pain will cause them to pass out, for drowning in your own blood is a horrible way to die. Is that the fate you wish to condemn them to? The choice is yours, my bold friend.”