The Soldiers of Halla

by D. J. MacHale

  “In that final moment, when I was so driven by anger that I was willing to drop Alexander Naymeer from that helicopter, she tried to stop me. Saint Dane wanted me to kill him. It was the final event that completed the Convergence, but Nevva tried to get me to stop.”

  I didn’t know where I was going with this, but I was getting excited.

  Elli wasn’t.

  “Perhaps you’re right, but it doesn’t mean anything. Nevva may have doubts, but that hasn’t stopped her from helping Saint Dane crush Halla.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe if she has some shred of humanity buried somewhere, we can find it. Maybe you can find it.”

  Elli looked horrified. “Are you suggesting I speak with her?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

  “No,” she shot back. “I cannot.”

  She went for the door, but I cut her off.

  “Elli, I might be totally wrong, but maybe there’s a chance to appeal to Nevva. She’s your daughter. Your true daughter. You gave birth to her. That’s a bond none of the other Travelers have. You said you wanted to do something positive? This might be it. You told me you feel as if all you’ve done has been for nothing. No, worse. You think your actions have created problems. Well, this might be the single most important thing you can do. This might be your chance.”

  Elli’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t cry. In that moment I felt the depth of her strength. Her love for Nevva. She always appeared to be a fragile woman. She wasn’t.

  “To what end?” she said softly. “Even if you’re right, what do you expect me to say? What would you want Nevva to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But we’re running out of time. The last hope for Solara is those exiles, and we can’t find them. What if they’re all dead? That’s seeming more likely by the minute. What then? Do we just sit around and wait for Halla to crumble? We could stay here and help care for the Batu and wait for the end, but that’s all we’d be doing. Waiting for the end. I can’t do that, and I don’t believe you can either. We’ve come too far. If there’s any small hope to turn things around, I think we have to go for it. If that means talking to the enemy…talking to your daughter…how can we not? This may be the way it was meant to be, Elli. This may be your moment.”

  Elli was trembling. Physically trembling. It was as if her body wanted to move—to run—but her willpower fought to keep her in place. Her eyes stayed locked on mine. I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. She blamed herself for the choices Nevva made. Now I was asking her to face the daughter she had abandoned. Face the enemy. For what? I didn’t know. Saint Dane was in total control. We had to do something to change that, no matter how desperate it might be.

  The door opened, bumping into me from behind. Spader poked his head in. “How we doing?”

  I looked to Elli. She stared back blankly.

  “Come on in,” I said to Spader.

  He stepped in, followed by Loor and Saangi. I didn’t want Elli to feel as if we were ganging up on her, so I stood next to her.

  As always, Loor didn’t waste time. “What is our plan, Pendragon?” she asked. “There are no exiles on Zadaa.”

  I looked to Elli. She dropped her gaze to the floor, avoiding mine. I deflated. She wasn’t as strong as I’d thought she was.

  “We move on,” I said, disappointed. “We have to keep looking. I’m thinking that we should go back to Solara and regroup. Elli will stay here to care for the Batu. Saangi, maybe you can help her.”

  “No,” Elli snapped.

  We all looked at her.

  “Where is she?” Elli asked, looking right at me. Her gaze was strong. Her tears were gone.

  “Who?” Spader asked.

  “Third Earth,” I replied to Elli. “Are you sure?”

  “Like you said,” she answered, “this may be my moment.”

  “What are we talking about here?” Spader asked with confusion.

  “Change of plans,” I announced. “Loor, Spader, I still think you should return to Solara and wait for word.”

  “And where will you go?” Loor asked.

  “Elli and I are going to Third Earth.”

  JOURNAL #37

  20

  Moving between territories is incredibly easy now.

  It’s like stepping through a sheer curtain and passing from one room to another. No more flumes. No more crawling through secret places to find hidden tunnels that carry us along on a carpet of light and music. Best of all, no more quigs. All we have to do is think about where we want to go, take a step and…hello. We’re there.

  Still, it’s disorienting. It may be like stepping from one room to the next, but they are two very different rooms. And it’s not like I can think, “I want to go to Third Earth at two thirty on Thursday afternoon and land on the bench that’s behind the library.” We still have to rely on the forces of Solara to put us exactly where we need to be and when we need to be there. I’m not really sure how the spirits know, but they’ve done a pretty good job so far.

  This time was no different, though what happened when Elli and I first set foot back on Third Earth made me long for the familiar old gates at the end of a flume trip.

  We held hands and stepped into the same hazy swirl of dust that we’d found on our last visit. There wasn’t much else to see, but there was plenty to hear. A loud, angry grinding sound assaulted us. It was mechanical and it was getting louder. Elli and I froze. We didn’t know where we were. We didn’t know when we were. We didn’t know what the sound was, or if we should be worried about it. In other words, we didn’t know a thing.

  “Look out!” came a desperate cry. Desperate cries were not good, especially if they came as a warning. “Heads up!”

  We looked up quickly to see a shadow overhead that was coming our way. I didn’t have time to register or to react. Luckily, Mark Dimond did. Elli and I were half tackled, half shoved out of the way. Mark wasn’t being gentle, either. He manhandled us toward the wreck of a car and pretty much threw us behind it.

  “What is it?” I gasped.

  “Trouble.”

  Oh. I figured that.

  I barely had time to peek up from behind the barrier to see what he meant. The shadow was a helicopter. I expected it to start firing at us, but its path was too steep. It was flying straight for the ground. Actually, it wasn’t flying at all. It was falling.

  Elli gasped. A second later the large black chopper smashed into the ground. The cabin crumbled and bucked forward. The rotor dug into the dirt. I was transfixed by the destructive violence. It was a good thing Mark was still thinking. He grabbed us both and pulled us down behind the car wreck. The next sound we heard was the squealing of tortured metal, followed by the sharp thumps of shrapnel that hit the far side of the wreck. The rotors had broken up on contact, spewing sharp pieces everywhere. The car windows exploded, raining glass down on us. Chunks of metal flew overhead and dug into the ground behind us. If we had been standing up, we would have been shredded. Elli clung to me in fear.

  It was a rude welcome to Third Earth.

  I looked to Mark. He was staring backward, his gaze fixed. This wasn’t the Mark I knew. Besides being older, he had an intensity that I’d rarely seen. In anyone.

  The grinding sound of the crash continued for a few more seconds, then ended. No more falling parts. No more screaming engine. All we heard was the soft hiss and tick of hot metal.

  “Are the Ravinians attacking?” I asked.

  Mark’s answer was to jump up and sprint for the destroyed chopper.

  “Wait here,” I said to Elli, and followed him.

  Mark ran straight for the wreck. A few others came running from other directions. A quick look around told me that we were back in the empty lot in Manhattan where Mark and I had landed the chopper we hijacked from the Conclave of Ravinia. The garage that held the stolen helicopters was off to our right. It looked as if this doomed helicopter barely cleared the top of that garage before crashing
. The downed helicopter no longer looked anything like a flying vehicle. The engine was winding down. The cabin had become a twisted ball of black metal. The rotor was gone, having been flung in pieces every which way. I still didn’t know who was inside. Was Mark running to make sure that a Ravinian dado wasn’t going to jump out and attack? I didn’t think so. It seemed like he was more worried about helping the guy who was inside.

  He got to the wreck and yanked on the door. Or what was left of it. Mark had to pull with all he had. With an agonizing screech of metal, he managed to muscle it open.

  “It’s okay,” he said to the guy inside. “We got you.”

  “No,” came a cry from inside the chopper. “I can’t move.”

  I made it to the wreck and looked over Mark’s shoulder to the horror within. The pilot wasn’t a dado. The blood and his pained expression told me that much. He didn’t look like a Ravinian, either. His clothes were too shabby. This was definitely a friend. It was a gruesome sight, because his body was impossibly contorted inside the twisted wreck.

  Mark reached for his arm and pulled. The guy screamed in pain.

  “Don’t!” he cried. “My back.” The guy was in a seriously bad way. He took short, quick breaths as his eyes darted back and forth, focusing on nothing. I figured if his back was broken, there was no way he would survive. The blood wasn’t a good sign either. There was lots of it. Medical care on the new Third Earth was nonexistent. At least, outside of the Ravinian conclave.

  “Okay, okay,” Mark said, trying to calm the poor guy. “We’ll cut the wreck away from y-you.”

  Mark stuttered. He may have been all strong and in charge, but he was still Mark and he was under stress. He gave me a look that said it all. His friend wasn’t going to make it. The others crowded around, trying to get a glimpse, but Mark put his arm out to hold them back. He took a breath to calm himself. There was nothing he could do to save the guy. It was now about making his last few moments less terrifying.

  “You made it,” Mark said, soothing. “You got back. I’m proud of you, Antonio.”

  The guy, Antonio, focused on Mark and smiled. “Don’t think we’ll be able to use this chopper though.” He spoke in pained gasps.

  “Sure we will,” Mark said, faking confidence. “There’s only a couple of dings. We’ll get it back in the air.”

  “Good,” Antonio gasped. “We’re going to need it. We’re going to need everything we have.”

  “What happened?” Mark said, leaning in close to the doomed man.

  “They’re coming,” Antonio said between labored breaths. I wasn’t sure if his eyes were wild from pain, or from fear. “Worse than we thought.” Antonio started to sob. He was out of his mind. “Get out, Mark. Get everyone out. Out of the city. Away from here. What we saw…it’s impossible. But it’s real. I saw it.”

  “What was it, Antonio?” Mark asked with a touch of desperation. “What did you see?”

  “The factory,” Antonio said. His eyes closed; he was losing consciousness.

  “Antonio!” Mark barked. “What about the factory?”

  “Where they build the choppers. We stole one…nearly got away…but they attacked. My guys…all killed.”

  “How many?” I asked Mark quietly.

  “Four, including Antonio” was his answer.

  “Were they exiles?” I asked.

  Mark nodded.

  Three more exiles had been killed. Of the original twenty exiles who came here with Mark from Cloral, nine were left. I was afraid it would soon be eight.

  Antonio leaned forward. The small move was painful. I saw it in his eyes and the way he winced, but it didn’t stop him. He needed Mark to understand.

  “I think they’ve found them,” he whispered.

  “Who? Found who?” Mark asked.

  “We heard them talking. After they finish us, they’re going after them. That’s what they’ve been doing. All this time, they’ve been getting ready to go after them.”

  “Who, Antonio?” Mark begged. “Who are they going after?”

  Antonio could barely get the words out. His voice was growing weaker, but I heard. “They found the rest of the exiles.”

  “What!” I shouted.

  Antonio didn’t expect to hear another voice. His eyes looked around in confusion, searching for who had shouted. I pushed next to Mark, so he could see me. “Where are they, Antonio? Where are the other exiles? Are they here on Third Earth?”

  Antonio shook his head. I don’t know how he found the strength. Maybe it was easier than speaking.

  “I don’t know,” he said, defeated. “After they come for us, they’re going after the rest. Get out, Mark. Run. Hide. We can’t stand up to what they’ve got. It’s over.”

  Antonio closed his eyes for the last time. His face grew relaxed. He was at peace. I wondered if his spirit had joined the others in Solara.

  Mark didn’t move. He stared at his fallen friend. I didn’t say anything. There was too much to absorb and process. I didn’t know Antonio, but in those short few moments—his last—I found out that he was a very brave guy. A hero even.

  Mark looked away from his fallen friend, to me. It was the old Mark. The young Mark. His expression was a cross between grief, confusion…and fear. I sensed he was looking to me for answers. I had one, but it wasn’t the time to tell him. He glanced over his shoulder to see a few of his other friends watching. They were close enough to have heard all that Antonio said. They looked worse than Mark.

  Elli was there too. She heard it all. She stood alone, looking lost and afraid.

  “Let’s get him out of here,” Mark announced with authority. “Then we have to hide this wreck. We don’t want anything to be seen from the air.” He looked at me and added, “Are you here for a while?”

  “For as long as it takes,” I answered.

  “Good,” he replied. “You can help.”

  They put me in charge of digging the grave. It was an experience I’d managed to avoid up till that point, but I guess with all that had happened over the past few years, it was inevitable. I made sure that Elli was safe inside the warehouse, then found a shovel and walked across the street to a spot that Mark had directed me to. It was an empty schoolyard. I saw the vague outline of a baseball diamond. Toys were scattered around. A deflated kickball. A ballerina slipper. The arm of a doll. I wondered when the last time was that these toys had been played with. I had to force myself to stop thinking that way. As important as this job was, I didn’t want to spend time looking back. There was trouble ahead. That’s where we needed to focus. Burying the dead was looking back. Still, it had to be done.

  I got to work digging a long, narrow hole among the sad reminders of a past civilization. The ground was soft, I was glad to discover. It allowed me to work fast. The mindless act of digging gave me the chance to dissect Antonio’s last words. The Ravinians were planning an attack. That much was clear. It sounded like Antonio and his team had found the factory where they built their gunships and didn’t like what they saw. It could mean that the Ravinians were building a lot more choppers, in order to launch some kind of massive aerial assault. Was this the final plan for Third Earth? Were the Ravinians going to wipe out every last non-Ravinian they could find?

  Or was it going to be practice for their ultimate goal, which was to wipe out the exiles, and the remaining spirit of Solara along with them? If they were building helicopters, did that mean that all the exiles were somewhere here, on Third Earth? It seemed likely. That would be the ultimate turning point for Third Earth. If the last hope for Solara was here, destroying the exiles would give Saint Dane his final victory. Halla would be his.

  The more I thought of this possibility, the more it made sense. The exiles had to be here. The Ravinians were preparing to attack them. And what was I doing? Digging a grave, not knowing what to do about any of it.

  The sun was going down. Though I wasn’t in an official graveyard, it still gave me the creeps to be standing in an open grave w
hile shadows grew long. I finished the hole quickly and got the heck out of there. I brought the shovel back to the garage and saw that the wreck of the helicopter was gone. They probably salvaged any parts they could use on their own choppers, then ditched the carcass in one of the surrounding buildings. As I walked to the garage, a door opened. Six guys came out, carrying a body wrapped tightly in a white cloth. This was going to be Antonio’s final journey. The procession went past me. I stood there and bowed my head out of respect. One of the guys came to me and took the shovel. I may have dug the grave, but the job of burying Antonio would be theirs. With a nod of thanks, he rejoined the funeral procession. I watched them for a few moments, then went inside.

  Mark and Elli were sitting at a table among several of the stolen helicopters. He had put out food for her, but Elli wasn’t eating. I wasn’t much interested in food either, but I knew we had to eat when we had the chance. I sat down and looked over the feast. It was basically a bunch of canned fruit and vegetables that had been opened and spread out across the scarred, wooden table. A single fork was in each can.

  Mark must have seen the look on my face. He said, “Not exactly the Manhattan Tower Hotel, but it’s good. And it’s safe. There’s a ton of canned food all over the city.”

  “Looks good to me!” I said, lying. I picked up the least vile-looking can and scooped out a big chunk of something that looked like half of a peach. At least, I hoped it was half a peach. If it wasn’t, I didn’t want to know. I popped it into my mouth and tried to swallow it without chewing or tasting it. Not an easy thing to do. It was sweet, that much I could tell. It slid down and I didn’t gag. I hated canned peaches.

  “Try to eat, Elli,” I said. “You never know when we’ll get another chance.”

  She took a couple sips of water. Mark sat staring at the table. His mind was somewhere else.

  “Who was he?” I asked.

  “My best friend” was his answer. He quickly looked up at me and added, “After you, that is. We got shoved into the flume in the Bronx at the same time.”

  “I’m sorry” was all I could say. I didn’t think it could even begin to help him feel better.