D. MacHale - The Soldiers of Halla

“Stay here,” Loor commanded, back to business. “Saangi and I will learn what we can. There must be a reason why there was talk of exiles. We will find out why.”

“Can’t we come?” Spader asked innocently.

Loor gave him a quick look up and down. “These people are victims of the Rokador. You look like a Rokador. If you come, I cannot guarantee that we can protect you.”

“Enough said,” Spader said quickly, stepping back. “I like it here just fine.”

Loor and Saangi left the hut to explore this new world, leaving Spader and me to wonder what our next move should be. We sat in the shadows of the hut, hoping none of the Batu prisoners would peek in and see a couple of Rokador-looking guys kicking back. That would bring more trouble than we could handle.

“This doesn’t mean there aren’t any exiles on Zadaa,” Spader pointed out hopefully. “It just means they’re not here.”

I was discouraged. “Maybe. But how do we find them?”

“We will. We have to.”

The two of us sat quietly, both lost in our own thoughts. After a few minutes I realized that something was off. I sensed a change. What was it? I looked at Spader. He felt it too. He was already sitting up, on alert.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s gotten quiet” was his answer.

I don’t know why I didn’t realize it sooner. Mooraj was loaded with people and that created a natural din. That noise was suddenly gone. Alarms went off in my head.

“This isn’t good,” I said, and stood up.

No sooner did I get to my feet than we were attacked. A dozen Batu had surrounded the small hut and quietly closed the ring around us. When we jumped up, they jumped in. They flooded in through the door and dove in through the windows, screaming. We didn’t stand a chance. I feared they would tear us apart, so I yelled, “We are not Rokador! We are not Ravinians! We are friends!”

I don’t know if they believed me or not, but it bought us some time. We were both held by strong-armed Batu who at one time were probably Ghee warriors, because they knew exactly how to handle us.

“We are here with two Batu warriors,” I called out. “Loor and Saangi. We are friends!”

That seemed to stop them. Or at least confuse them. I took another chance and said, “We are looking for exiles. Do you know them? Are they here?”

That got a reaction too. They were definitely confused.

“We’re friends of the exiles,” Spader added.

The men exchanged quick looks. Was it possible? Were the exiles living here in this Batu concentration camp after all? I couldn’t breathe. I knew the next few seconds would be critical.

“Please,” I said. “Loor is our friend. She is looking for the exiles too.”

One of the Batu guys stepped forward. By the way he walked I could tell that he was in charge. Or at least as “in charge” as you could be with a bunch of angry, stir-crazy outcasts. He gave us both a long look up and down, sizing us up. He reached out to Spader’s ear, and gave it a twist.

“Ow!” Spader screamed in pain. “What was that for?”

“I think he’s checking to see if you’re a dado,” I said.

“All he had to do was ask,” Spader shot back, indignant. Then to the Batu he said, “I’m real. See?” He opened his mouth and wiggled his tongue, saying, “Ahhhhh.”

The ear-twister turned and strode from the hut. “Bring them,” he ordered.

The other Batu instantly obeyed and dragged us out of the hut.

“This is good, right?” Spader called to me.

“I don’t know,” I answered. They didn’t kill us. That was victory enough. At least for the time being.

We were dragged through the dusty, filth-strewn byways of Mooraj. I can’t say that I recognized much from my training there. There were so many Batu lying around that there wasn’t much chance to see any of the structures. Man, there were a lot of people crammed together in this compound. It was a dirty, overcrowded ghetto. It was hell. I didn’t know how long they had been held prisoner there, but any time was too long. Everyone stared at us as we were dragged by. I’m sure they thought we were Rokador captives who were about to pay the price for having sentenced them to such a horrible life. I really hoped that wasn’t the case.

We were brought to a long, low building that I thought I recognized, but couldn’t be sure. We were quickly dragged inside, and I saw that both walls of this structure were lined with cots. It was the Mooraj hospital. It was a nightmare. The smell alone was enough to make you refuse treatment. There had to have been a hundred cots, all filled with people. Many more were on the floor. The only constant sound was that of people moaning in pain and misery. I guess I should have been repulsed, and I was, but the overriding feeling it gave me was anger. This was what Ravinia brought to those who didn’t live up to their standards. This is what Saint Dane had directed his followers to create. This was what fueled Saint Dane’s version of Solara. Pain, misery, anger. As I looked over the poor victims of Saint Dane’s misguided quest, I wondered if my theory was wrong. Maybe there was such a thing as pure evil.

“Look,” Spader called out.

Someone had entered the far side of the ward. It was a woman. She stood out mostly because she wasn’t dark skinned like a Batu. She wore a light green smock and pants that made her look like a doctor from Second Earth. She knelt next to a bed that held an elderly man, using a damp cloth to gently wipe his forehead. Though she was caring for the sick and wearing clothes that made her look like a doctor, I knew she wasn’t. The smock wasn’t a doctor’s smock. It was the uniform worn by those who were charged with caring for Mr. Pop, the repository that once contained the history of Quillan. The woman had long gray hair, tied back to keep it out of her eyes as she worked.

“Is it her?” Spader asked.

I called out, “Elli?”

Elli Winter looked up with surprise. At first she smiled, but her smile turned dark. She left the old man and came to us.

“I’m afraid it is too late. The exiles that came to Zadaa are dead.”

Help me,” an emaciated man gasped from the cot nearest us, holding up his hand weakly to Elli.

“Water,” another begged in a raspy whisper. They were looking at Elli as if she were an angel sent to protect and care for them. Did they sense that she was a Traveler? I thought back to the way the gars looked at me as we were riding in that horse-drawn wagon on Eelong. They sensed there was something unusual about me. That’s what it felt like here. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Elli was a gentle, older woman with caring eyes, who showed them the kind of compassion that was in short supply around this hellhole.

“I’ll be back,” she said to both of them soothingly. “I promise.”

She took both their hands and gently placed them back onto their chests. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the looks in their eyes. They were like wounded puppy dogs, desperate for any show of kindness. It broke my heart. It was hard enough to see anybody in such bad shape, but knowing the Batu were once proud, powerful people made it that much worse.

“Come,” Elli said to us as she made her way through the tangle of sick Batu. As she passed the cots, hand after hand went up to her, begging for something. Anything. Elli touched each of them to give whatever solace that might provide. It seemed to help. A little. They appeared more at peace. Elli really was an angel.

She led us out of the horrific infirmary to a small room that was cluttered with trash. There were a few broken chairs, and a table that had empty bottles and cups strewn haphazardly.