“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.”
JOURNAL #37
5
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.’”
“So what’s his real name?”
“We have no real names. Like I said, we aren’t physical beings.”
“But you’re Press Tilton.”
“Because I needed to be.”
“Okay, never mind the names. What happened with Saint Dane?”
“Like
I said, we aren’t about influencing or changing the natural course of events. Since we are reflections of man, our only purpose is to help bring balance to their lives and allow people to reach their full potential, whatever it happens to be. That wasn’t enough for Saint Dane. I don’t know why. Perhaps he had seen too much. Or had too many difficult experiences. But he actually grew angry at mankind. Which is an odd concept because we are mankind. He became obsessed with what he considered the mistakes made by people on all worlds. Instead of rejoicing in man’s various achievements, he dwelled on their errors.”
“Sounds like a ‘glass is half empty’ kind of guy,” I offered.
“The trouble began when he decided that we should start playing a greater role in shaping Halla’s destiny. Instead of allowing people to find their own way, he started to influence their choices.”
“Because he thought he knew better,” I added.
“That is exactly right. He felt Solara had the only true perspective on how mankind should evolve, and that it was our duty to steer the worlds of Halla in the right direction. Or at least, what he thought was the right direction. He thought we were more important and more knowing than mankind. That alone was wrong. We aren’t gods. We don’t know all.”
“Yeah, try telling him that,” I said, scoffing.
“I did. Many did. But he would not be convinced. He was appalled by the state of mankind, or so he said. He thought we were all weak for not taking the responsibility of guiding the very life that created us.”
“Kind of like the Frankenstein monster turning on the guy who made him.”
“Except that Saint Dane considered himself to be superior. What he didn’t accept was that there is no right or wrong. There is just life. With all its flaws and triumphs. To alter that is to change the natural course of evolution, which could lead to the end of it all.”
I had heard a lot in the past few minutes. The past few years. Nothing hit me harder than what Uncle Press had just said.
“Wait, you’re saying that altering the natural course of life could lead to the end of all life?”
Uncle Press stepped away from me and gestured out to the wasteland that was Solara.
“Your dad told you that Solara wasn’t always like this. It wasn’t. Solara was a wondrous place of light and harmony. Since it isn’t a physical existence, its nature is different for each of us. Solara is whatever you want it to be.”
“Like Lifelight?” I asked.
“In a way. In fact, that is one of the influences Saint Dane made. He planted the concept of Lifelight in the head of Dr. Zetlin on Veelox. He wanted to gift mankind with the kind of existence we share here. And you know how that turned out.”
“Yeah. Yikes.”
“Exactly. Saint Dane wasn’t all about power and conquest. At least not at first. He actually thought he was doing the right thing by bestowing his wisdom on the people of the territories. He wouldn’t accept the fact that he might not have all the right answers, and even if he did, he shouldn’t be imposing them on the worlds of Halla.”
“Sounds like his typical arrogant self. So what happened to Solara?”
“Like I’ve been saying, we were created by the spirit of mankind. It not only created us, but it powers us. What they are, we are. We are the spiritual reflection of the state of Halla. We have very little physical power.”
Uncle Press pointed to the roiling, colorful clouds above us. “You’re looking at the base elements of matter. Halla is constantly expanding. This is where it begins. What you see up there is matter that will soon become part of the physical Halla.”
I had new respect for the light show in the sky. They weren’t clouds at all. Those electric images in the sky were the seeds of all that is. Or about to be.
“Uh, wow” was all I could squeak out. Kind of an understatement, I guess.
“Saint Dane injected himself into the natural cycle,” Uncle Press said with a touch of anger. “Like I said, we aren’t gods. We don’t create. But Saint Dane crossed a line that is taboo. He manipulated that material to create matter. Physical matter.”
“He had that kind of power?” I asked, aghast.
“Not at first, and not alone. He brought other spirits together, creating forces greater than any individual life. He didn’t want them for their ideas or wisdom; he needed their energy. He became stronger, far stronger than any single entity in Solara. That power allowed him to manipulate matter on the physical worlds. The first thing he did was create an actual, living being for himself. He became the man you know so well.”
“Too well.”
“But he wasn’t truly human. He could manipulate that physical being, becoming any form he chose. Any person, any creature. He continued gathering power from Solara and created the flumes.”
“Saint Dane made the flumes?” I asked, stunned.
“To connect the worlds. That was a critical part of his plan. To gather together the strength of Halla, he needed to make it one. But to do that, he needed a way for the worlds to physically join. That’s why he needed the flumes. And the quigs to guard them.”
“All that was done using the spiritual power of Solara to manipulate physical matter?”
“Yes. It was not only wrong, there was a stiff price to be paid. With each physical creation, with every manipulation he made to the worlds of Halla, he killed a little bit of Solara.”
“Killed?”
“Solara is dying, Bobby. Saint Dane’s actions have drained its spirit. Each time he manipulates matter, a bit more of Solara dies. From creating that massive flume in Yankee Stadium on Second Earth, to turning himself into a raven. It all drains a bit of life from Solara. You know that he saved Courtney Chetwynde from dying, right?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“That act alone nearly brought Solara down for good.”
I didn’t know how to react to that. Talk about conflicting emotions.
He continued, “I told you that the spirit of mankind is so powerful it cannot die. That isn’t entirely true. Using Solara to physically manipulate Halla is slowly destroying that life force. The reflection works both ways. If Solara dies, Halla dies.”
“Yikes, talk about interfering in the way things are supposed to be.”
“It gets worse.”
“Worse than the total destruction of Halla?”
“Saint Dane doesn’t want to destroy Halla. He wants to control it, and thereby control Solara. His quest has been to change the mindset of mankind. I think you understand, Bobby, that mankind is basically good, with positive goals and the desire for peace and order. Yes, there are wars and strife and every kind of conflict that you can imagine, but taken as a whole, mankind strives for good. Saint Dane has slowly changed that. By finding the turning points on each of the territories and altering their destiny, he has turned Halla into a dark, dangerous place. People live in fear. So many have died, and those who remain fight for survival. Then of course, there are the chosen. Saint Dane has created a superior legion on each territory that live in peace and safety, but even they are consumed with keeping their own power.”
“The Ravinians?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“But doesn’t Saint Dane realize what he’s created? I mean, did he really want to create such chaos?”
“I don’t believe that he cares one way or the other about Halla.”
“Uh, what?” was all I could get out.
“Maybe at one time he did. Maybe he actually did feel that he knew what was best for mankind. But his goals have evolved. I believe he has set his sights on an even greater prize.”
“I thought Halla was everything? What could be greater than that?”
“By crushing the spirit of mankind, he will ultimately control Solara. If that happens, the existing worlds of Halla will mean nothing, because he will have the ability to use the power still held by the spirits of the ages to create his own Halla.”
“What!” I shouted.
“That is Saint Dane’s ul
timate goal, Bobby. He won’t have to bother with what has gone before and the molding of existing worlds to his liking, because he will be able to create his own worlds. Multiple worlds. Why stop at seven evolved worlds when he can create ten? Twenty? A hundred? All would be created according to his vision. Simply put, he will be a god, because he will have the power to create. That is what Saint Dane has been after, Bobby. He has turned Halla toward chaos in order to give himself the power to form an entirely new universe. One that he alone controls.”
I looked around at the bleak world with renewed wonder. I had been right from the start. This was a dead place. Or at least a place that was dying. Saint Dane was killing it. All that had happened was done to break down the positive spirit of mankind, which would in turn cripple Solara and allow him to control its power.
I had thought the guy was an arrogant, egotistical tyrant. I had no idea how right I was. The scope of his vision was so far beyond anything that I had expected, it was almost laughable. Almost. Each territory, each battle, each turning point was just another building block in the foundation of the most incredible crime of all time. Saint Dane didn’t want wealth. Or to rule a group of people. Or to control a country, a world, or even multiple worlds. He wanted to create his own personal universe. From all that Uncle Press told me, it looked like he was going to succeed.
“I’ve got a dumb question,” I said.
“Go for it,” Uncle Press shot back.
“It sounds like you’ve known what he’s been up to for a long time.”
“From the beginning. He and I were together for eons. I believe I knew him better than any other in Solara. I suppose in some strange way you could say that we were friends.”
“Okay, odd, but if you knew what was happening, why didn’t you try to stop him?”
Uncle Press smiled. That was an odd reaction, considering that we were on the verge of Armageddon.
“You’re right, that was a dumb question,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because we did do something to stop him. In an act of total desperation that in many ways went against the nature of Solara, we created the one thing we hoped would stop his mad plan.”
The Soldiers of Halla Page 5
