D. MacHale - The Soldiers of Halla

“Uh, Mom and Dad. I think,” I said, not really sure that that made sense.

“Try not to be upset with them,” Uncle Press said. “For keeping the truth from you, I mean. For that matter, try not to hold it against me, either.”

“I don’t,” I said sincerely. “I really don’t. But I’m a little numb right now.”

“It would be strange if you weren’t,” he said. “After all, your frame of reference is based on your life on Second Earth. That was the whole point. For all intents and purposes, you are from Second Earth. Right now all the Travelers are learning the truth about their real lives, just as you are.”

“So, they all came from here-wherever here is?”

Uncle Press nodded and gazed off into the distance. I saw sadness in his eyes. “I never thought it would come to this,” he said softly.

“Is it my fault?” I asked in a small voice.

Uncle Press shot me a look. “No. We may not have been as successful as I’d hoped, but it was not your fault. Nor was it the fault of any of the Travelers. This was brought on by Saint Dane.”

“Are you going to tell me who he is?” I asked. I am.

“Are you going to tell me what this world of rock is?” “I am.”

“One more question-”

“Only one?” he asked playfully.

“Okay, lots more questions. But one that matters more than any other.” “Go for it.”

“Do we really have a shot at stopping him?”

Uncle Press glanced around at this strange world once again. An odd feeling came over me. I sensed that I wasn’t the only one who wanted that answer. Whatever forces were at play here, whatever beings inhabited this lonely rock, they all wanted to know what the future held.

“I’m afraid there’s only one person who can answer that, and it isn’t me,” he finally said.

“Then who?”

“That would be you, Bobby.”

My heart raced.

This was it. I was going to learn the truth. The whole truth. About my existence. About Halla. About Saint Dane. As I stood with Uncle Press in that stark, dark place called Solara, I realized that I was finally going to learn it all.

“Just tell me right off,” I said. “You’re not going to give some mysterious half answer that’s going to drive me nuts, and say something like: ‘Don’t worry. You’ll learn it all in time,’ and then disappear again, are you? Because that would really piss me off.”

Uncle Press laughed. It seemed odd under the circumstances. Then again it was so perfectly Uncle Press. At least that part felt right. I needed to hang on to anything familiar when it happened by. Those little things were my lifeline to sanity.

“No, it’s time you knew it all,” he answered.

Phew. Great. Except that’s when my heart really started racing. I guess I wasn’t so sure I was ready to know it all. I liked being Bobby Pendragon from Stony Brook, Connecticut. I liked my old life. The hope of getting it back kept me going for years. Now it seemed the biggest illusion of all was that I actually had a shot at returning to normal. Or at least what I thought was normal. I had to hope that the new “normal” was going to be something I could learn to accept. Not that I had a choice.

“Let’s walk,” Uncle Press said, and led me across the surface of the mysterious, dark world. We walked casually, as we had done so many times together at home. Or rather, on Second Earth. Every so often I glanced up at the dazzling, colorful clouds that careened across the sky. It was a constant reminder that this was nothing like home.

“Solara is the essence of Halla,” Uncle Press began, gesturing.

“Yeah, that’s what Dad said,” I replied quickly. “Gotta tell you, not impressed so far. Though the whole cloud-light-show thing is kind of cool.”

Uncle Press smiled and continued, “I guess you could say we are on the outer edges of existence. But not in the physical sense. The fact is, Solara is everywhere. Or at least, everywhere that intelligent life exists. We are as old as humanity, and we will exist for as long as humanity exists.”

I didn’t comment. I figured it would be better to just let him roll it all out.

“Solara was created from the energy that is mankind. All mankind on all the worlds of Halla. Solara is their spirit. It is the sum total of all intelligent life that ever was.”

He fell silent, letting that sink in.

“Oh?” I responded nonchalantly. “Is that it? Wow, I thought it was something more complicated than that. I thought maybe we were aliens or superheroes or something else that was, oh, I don’t know, tricky to understand. Phew.”

Uncle Press gave me a sour look.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped. “Created from energy? What is that supposed to mean? If that’s your whole explanation, I’d just as soon you didn’t bother.”

He smiled. My tirade didn’t throw him. I guess it’s hard to throw anybody who represents the sum total of all intelligent life that ever was. Whatever that means. Sheesh.

“Give me a chance,” he said, cajoling. “I know this is hard to understand.”

“You have no idea.”

He continued, “Each life that exists in Halla is unique. Everyone is different, no matter what world they are from. Everyone chooses their own course. One person could be a criminal, while someone else becomes a judge. One person cares for others, while others only care for themselves. One individual might have the talent to create a painting that stirs emotions, while someone else can’t draw a straight line. But the person who can’t draw a straight line might have an aptitude for mathematics that would make the artist’s head spin. Some of that is inherited. Some of that is learned. There are so many paths to travel. So many choices to make. What drives it all is the spirit inside each individual that makes him or her unique. To understand Solara, Bobby, you have to know that that spirit, the force that makes an individual who they are, is so powerful it cannot die. Even after a person’s physical body gives out, the spirit that made them who they are lives on… and becomes part of Solara.”

“You’re telling me this is… heaven?”

“No,” Uncle Press said quickly. “This is not a reward. This just… is.”

“Good,” I replied with a chuckle. “Because it looks more like hell.” I was trying to be glib. I think it was a defense mechanism, because what I was hearing was kind of freaky. Uncle Press didn’t laugh with me. He was suddenly all business. I gave up on glib.

“We exist because mankind exists,” Uncle Press explained. “The sum of energy that animates and informs mankind is such a powerful force that, once released from its physical shell, it creates its own reality.”

”Solara.”

“Yes. Solara isn’t governed by time or by space. It is pure intellect. It is not just a reflection of life, it is life. All life. The world you see here exists on the outer edges of physical reality. This rock is the foundation of all that is. It is the most elemental form of life. It is the beginning, but not the end, because there is no end. Halla is always expanding, therefore, so is Solara. From here we can observe every time. Every place. Every thing that has ever existed. Like I said, it is the spirit of all there is. Solara is the essence of Halla.”

I stopped walking and stared at my uncle. How else was I supposed to react?

He gave me a sympathetic shrug and said, “I know it’s hard to fathom because you’re looking at things from the perspective of someone from one of those worlds. From Earth. This isn’t exactly something that’s taught in school.”

“Yeah, I must have missed that class,” I replied. “But I’m from Second Earth, right?”