D. MacHale - The Soldiers of Halla

“There is only one Earth, Bobby. The territories existed in different times because of the turning points Saint Dane targeted. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“No, wouldn’t want to do that,” I shot back. “So you’re telling me that every person’s life force leaves his or her body when they die and becomes part of this greater entity? Solara?”

“That’s exactly it.”

“And when you say ‘mankind/ you mean everyone in Halla? The klee and the gar from Eelong, too?”

“Absolutely. From all worlds. When I say ‘mankind/ I’m referring to all intelligent life.”

“So, what are you? A ghost?”

“You feel the energy that surrounds us, don’t you?”

I nodded. “I see things, but not really. But I know something is there.”

“More than something. You’re sensing the life forces that make up Solara. They’re all around us. They don’t have physical form, at least not the way beings exist throughout Halla. But they are just as real.”

“And you?”

“I’m one of them, Bobby. I’m part of Solara.”

Somehow, in spite of all that I had seen, hearing that Uncle Press was a spirit was difficult to accept. That’s not the kind of thing you hear every day. Then again, he was dead. I saw him killed in the flume on Cloral. But here he was, alive and kicking. As was Kasha. And Alder. And Patrick. And Osa. And… and… and… They had all died, but none were gone. It explained a lot. Sort of.

“So you’re not my uncle. You’re a spirit who floats around with all these other spirits at the edge of the universe? Is that what you’re saying? This is all one big haunted hunk of rock?”

Uncle Press chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it. But this isn’t a ghost story. It is very much about life. I’ve been around almost as long as there has been intelligent life in Halla.”

I whistled. “Wow, you look good for somebody who’s, what, a couple million years old? Nice.”

“Thank you, but of course this physical body isn’t that old.”

“No, of course not. How could it be? That wouldn’t make sense. Any idea when I’m going to wake up from this dream?”

Uncle Press gave me a friendly shove.

“You’re doing fine,” he said warmly, sounding every bit like my uncle Press and not some ancient spirit.

“So, if you’re a ghost, why do I see you?” I asked. “Why do you have a physical form and nobody else does?”

“You’re getting ahead of me. Let’s get back to understanding Solara.”

“Okay,” I said. “What’s the point? What are all these spirits doing floating around here, bumping into one another? Does Solara have a purpose?”

“Absolutely. There are seven populated worlds in Halla. Forget the territories. Think worlds. Or planets. Intelligent life has developed on seven of them. Each has its own unique history. But as different as they are, the one thing they have in common is intelligent life. Intelligence does not die. Spirit does not die. Solara holds the collective knowledge and wisdom of the ages. It’s what we are. And as such, we act as the conscience of mankind.”

“Explain that.”

“Solara only exists because mankind exists. We aren’t separate or distinct. Solara evolves right along with mankind because we are mankind. At the same time, we are able to observe the physical life on all seven worlds.”

“Who is ‘we‘?” I asked. “Do you mean that every life that was ever created still exists?”

”Yes.”

“Isn’t it getting a little crowded?” “Physical space is not a factor.” “And who’s in charge?” “It’s not that rigid. It just is.”

I frowned. I was trying to understand. I really was.

Uncle Press continued, “Though we exist on an entirely different plane, our existence and that of the physical worlds are not separate. Solara is a direct reflection of the physical life that exists on the seven worlds of Halla.”

I looked around at the bleak surroundings. Believe it or not, I was starting to get it. Sort of. At least I was beginning to understand how Saint Dane’s quest might have affected this place.

“We do not interfere with the physical world. However, since we possess the wisdom and intellect of the ages, we act as guides. That’s our responsibility. I guess some people on Earth would call us guardian angels. We offer balance. Harmony. We don’t interfere or make judgments on what is right or wrong; we simply offer insight.”

“Uhhh, how?”

“Our physical abilities are extremely limited. We’re spirits. When individuals are facing critical junctures and aren’t sure of what choices to make, we visit their dreams to show them all sides of their dilemma. You’ve heard of people who dreamed of being visited by people in their past? They really were. Sometimes just the calming presence of a lost loved one will help someone see clearly and be confident with his or her choices. Most times people don’t consciously remember these dreams. But our guidance was there. We don’t tell them what to do, or even suggest what they should do. We offer clarity. And confidence. We assure them that whatever decision they make will be the right one, and to not be afraid to trust their instincts. Our goal is not to change the course of human existence, but to help ease the way. It has been this way since the dawn of mankind.”

The odd thing was that the more he told me, the more I felt as if I already knew it all. When I looked at what he was saying from the perspective of Bobby Pendragon from Stony Brook, Connecticut, it all seemed like a fantasy. But when I let it just wash over me and not fight it with my usual skepticism, I felt as if I had known it all along.

“I’m afraid I might know where this is going,” I offered.

“Tell me,” Uncle Press said with enthusiasm.

“You’re talking about people facing critical junctures. Making choices that affect their future. Helping them find their own way without actually influencing their decisions. That means the people of Halla are still deciding their own fate-you’re just helping them see the whole picture. It sounds like you really are guardian angels.”

“That’s exactly right.”

“But having that ability can be tempting. If you actually did want to influence the decisions that people made, you could.”

“Yes, we could. But we haven’t.” “Until now,” I said soberly.

Uncle Press took a deep, tired breath. “Yes, until now.” “Saint Dane is from Solara, isn’t he?” I asked. “Yes, he is, Bobby.”

“Which means he’s got more power than I ever realized.” “Yes, but there’s something else you should know.” “What’s that?”

“He isn’t the only one with that power.”

Uncle Press stared at me with a knowing smirk. He was waiting for it to sink in. It didn’t take long. “Are you telling me-”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “The fate of Solara and the future of Halla has been trusted to you, Bobby Pendragon. You have more power than you can imagine.”

I nodded thoughtfully and said, “Tell me about Saint Dane.”

Uncle Press leaned over and picked up a baseball-size chunk of gray rock. He held it in the palm of his hand, weighing it. For a second I thought he was going to throw it. Instead, he placed it back down reverently. I guess you don’t go around chucking the stuff that is the foundation of all there is.

“Saint Dane is part of Solara,” Uncle Press began. “One of its oldest souls. He helped guide mankind throughout the ages.”

“Guide?” I shot back. “You call what he did guide? I thought you said you weren’t supposed to interfere or decide on what was right or wrong?”

“We aren’t,” Uncle Press said quickly. “And he didn’t. But over time he grew restless. His name isn’t really Saint Dane, by the way. Once things started to change, he took that on. He called it ‘ironic’”