The Soldiers of Halla

by D. J. MacHale

  He blinked once. And again. “L-Listen, Bobby,” he stuttered, and instantly reacted to it. “Damn! I hate that.”

  “It’s okay. You should be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous. I’m stunned. And you’re crazy. We’ve got rebels hiding all over the area. We’ve built up a pretty decent armory of stolen weapons, too. But to defend ourselves. We don’t have the manpower to attack that fort. I admire your guts, Bobby, but it’s suicide.”

  “I’m not asking you or your rebels to join in the attack,” I said.

  Mark frowned. “Then who the heck is going to do it? You? The Travelers? It might be different if we could enlist those seventy thousand exiles, but short of that, no way.”

  My answer was to smile at him. It took about five seconds until I saw the look of realization change his expression.

  “Are you serious?” he asked with a mixture of hope and disbelief.

  “Deadly.”

  “They agreed to attack the conclave?”

  Patrick and I shared looks.

  “Not yet,” I admitted. “That’s my next stop.”

  Mark winced. My boast of leading an overwhelming attack force suddenly appeared not only crazy, but hollow. I figured it was time to let him know exactly where we stood. With everything.

  I had briefly explained it before, but this time I laid it all out in detail. For the next hour Patrick and I told him about Solara and the force of spirit that helped guide mankind. We explained how Saint Dane corrupted that spirit into giving him the power to create a new universe. I even explained our plan to create a flume that would bring the exiles to Third Earth. We told him everything. Mark didn’t question a word. I think that as incredible a story as it was, we were filling in the blanks that had been confounding him since he was fourteen years old. He had been just as involved with this war as I had. He understood. He accepted. Mark Dimond was up to speed.

  When I finished, the first thing he said was, “So whatever chance we have, we owe to Nevva Winter.”

  “Without her, the exiles would be dead and so would Halla.”

  He shook his head in dismay. “That may be the most incredible thing you’ve told me. Nevva Winter. Geez.”

  “Kinda makes you think there might still be hope for mankind, doesn’t it?”

  Patrick added, “But we still have to convince the exiles. Without them, none of this works.”

  We let Mark work the information over in his head. I knew him. He was calculating possibilities.

  “How long?” he asked.

  “No idea. But I’m thinking that if they’re moving dados, Saint Dane is getting ready to make that flume and move on Eelong.”

  “Doing recon is cake,” he said. “If something happens, you’ll know it.”

  “That’s all I’m asking,” I said.

  “It’s not all you’re going to get,” Mark added.

  “Excuse me?” Patrick asked.

  “You see how we live. Hiding, running, wondering when a helicopter might show up to blow us away. We live like rats waiting to be exterminated. Up until now we’ve only thought about survival. I can tell you, if given the chance to strike back, we’re going to take it.”

  “We’re not asking you to put your friends or any of the rebels on the line,” I said. “Your weapons will be welcome, but I can’t ask you to risk your lives.”

  Mark laughed. “Risk our lives? This is no life! Bobby, you’re looking at a bunch of people who’ve lost hope. Hearing what you’re saying is the first ray of light we’ve seen in a very long time. Do you think for one second that if there’s a chance to fight for ourselves, no matter how impossible it may seem, we wouldn’t go for it?”

  I felt like I was being watched. Looking around, I saw that several of Mark’s grungy rebel friends had been hanging around, eavesdropping. At least twenty men and women stood to the rear of one of the helicopters, staring at us. They heard every word we were saying.

  “Is it true?” I called to them. “Are you willing to attack the conclave?”

  They exchanged tentative looks. At first I thought it was because they weren’t sure how to answer. I quickly realized it was more about deciding who would be the one to speak. Finally a girl stepped forward. It was Maddie, the crazy cabdriver. Her eyes blazed.

  “Say when” was her simple answer.

  Patrick smiled. “Looking better all the time.”

  Mark was all business. “We can offer more than reconnaissance. We’ve been making plans to cause some trouble on our own. Maybe they can fit in with yours.”

  I looked around at the eager faces of the rebels and answered, “At the risk of losing any faith you might have in us, there is no real attack plan. We’re figuring this out as we go along. So if you’ve got any ideas…”

  Mark looked at his friends. I expected to see disappointment all around. Just the opposite happened. They seemed even more charged up than before.

  Mark said, “Maybe I should tell you what we’ve been planning.”

  He went ahead and detailed a series of guerrilla attacks they had planned to carry out on the conclave. They didn’t expect them to be any more than a nuisance to the Ravinians, but coupled with the addition of an able-bodied army, these small-scale attacks suddenly felt like they could be the foundation of a very large-scale invasion.

  We shared our own ideas on how we might be able to pull off the impossible. After batting around all the ideas, we came up with a plan.

  “It could work,” Mark said. “It relies on a lot, but it could work.”

  “It has to work,” I added.

  “I’ll call in every last able-bodied person within a fifty-mile radius and start the wheels in motion,” Mark explained. “We have weapons stored all over Manhattan. Will the exiles be armed?”

  “They have portable weapons that neutralize dados” was my answer.

  Mark’s eyes lit up. He looked at his friends. They were just as impressed.

  “Those would be handy,” he said, understating the obvious. “Not worried about mixing territories?”

  “Not anymore,” I answered. “The Convergence has made Halla one under Saint Dane’s thumb.”

  Patrick asked Mark, “Where should we gather? Seventy thousand people need a lot of room.”

  Mark thought for a moment, then said, “Most of our weapons are stored downtown. I think the best rallying spot is Washington Square Park.”

  “Done,” I said. “That’s where we’ll create this end of the flume.”

  “Assuming you can,” Mark said, letting a bit of skepticism show. “And that you can convince the exiles to join up.”

  “We can,” Patrick said with supreme confidence. “And we will.”

  Patrick Mac had come a long way from being the tentative teacher who lived the perfect life on Third Earth. Maybe more so than any of us, his world had been turned upside down. While all of us witnessed the social upheavals caused by Ravinia on our homes, Patrick’s territory had gone through the most dramatic change. There were times when I worried that he could keep it together. But he always met each challenge head-on. Being able to work through his fears proved that, in many ways, Patrick was the bravest of us all.

  Patrick and I left Mark and his people to begin making preparations. We stepped outside for one moment alone.

  “Looks like you were right,” I said to him.

  “About what?” Patrick asked.

  “It’s come down to Third Earth. The last territory. It really is your turn.”

  Patrick got a faraway look in his eye. I believe that for those few moments, his head went back to what Third Earth was before. His true home. The way it was meant to be. He came back to reality with a look in his eye that was as determined as I’d ever seen from him.

  “Then I guess I’d better make the most of it,” he said, almost cocky.

  The Traveler from Third Earth was ready to go.

  I had one more moment with Mark. My friend and I had been through so much, together and apart, eve
n before I had become a Traveler. He was my oldest friend. He was my brother.

  “So…she’s okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, she’s good. Better than good. You can ask her yourself pretty soon.”

  “You think she’ll come here with the exiles?” he asked, daring to hope.

  I laughed. “Are you serious? We’re talking about Courtney, right?”

  Mark laughed too. “Yeah, dumb question. She’ll probably lead the way.”

  The two of us looked at each other. Neither knew what to say. Instead, we hugged.

  “You know something,” he said softly. “The memory of our life back at home is the only thing that’s kept me going.”

  “I know. I think that goes for everybody.”

  “I miss it.”

  “Me too.”

  “Are we going to win this one?” he whispered, so none of the others could hear.

  “We have to” was the only answer I could give.

  He pulled away from me. His eyes were watery. “We better. I want to go home.”

  “I do too,” I said.

  It was the first time I had been less than honest with Mark. Of course I wanted to go home. To Second Earth. To Stony Brook. To my old life. But win or lose, that wasn’t possible. I wasn’t from Second Earth. Not really. I was only a visitor. My life back there had been fabricated. It tore me up to accept that. There was no way I’d say that to Mark. At least, not then. Our friendship meant too much to me.

  Patrick joined us. It was time to get going.

  “Be alert,” I said to them. “And be ready.”

  “Good luck,” Patrick said.

  I gave one last look to Patrick, then to Mark, then stepped off the territory to begin the most important mission I’d ever undertaken as a Traveler. I had to convince a multitude of civilians that they had one more battle to fight.

  Whether they wanted it or not, they were the final hope for Halla.

  JOURNAL #37

  36

  Gunny met me on the outskirts of the village of Black Water.

  He had been waiting for me. That was the plan. In the time Gunny had spent with the gars on Eelong, they had come to trust him. Spader too. But I didn’t think it would be smart to bring Spader along on this diplomatic mission. This wasn’t the time for enthusiasm and “Hobey! Let’s go get ’em!” We needed a steady, guiding hand if we were to convince the exiles to come on board. Gunny was that guy. He sat on a rock, overlooking the village, waiting.

  “How’d it go, shorty?” Gunny said as casually as if he were asking about the weather.

  “Mark and his people are with us. Patrick will let us know if things start happening on Third Earth.”

  Gunny shook his head. He looked tired. “Such a thing,” he said wistfully, as he gazed down at the village of Black Water. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “This all just keeps getting more complicated.”

  Gunny was the oldest Traveler. He’d seen so much more in his life than the rest of us. His real life, that is. As tough as it was to accept the fact that we all originally came from Solara, it must have been the hardest on Gunny. He had lived pretty close to a full life on Earth before learning he was a Traveler. He had a different perspective than most of the rest of us.

  “You okay, Gunny?” I asked. “I mean, we’ve been hit with a lot of things lately.”

  “You know, shorty, I’m near sixty-five years old. At least, I think I am. I’ve kind of lost track of the years. I seen a lot of things, even before I learned about the Travelers. It’s not easy for an old duffer like me to accept new things, and I’m not so sure I would have believed this business about us being spirits from some other dimension, ’cept for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  Gunny held his hands up. Both of them. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed before, but Gunny had two hands again. I blinked. How could that have happened? His left hand had been chewed off by a tang on Eelong years before. Now it was back, as good as new. He flexed it and made a fist to show me how real it was.

  “How?” was all I could get out.

  “Don’t really know” was his answer. “When Spader and I got swept out of here, wouldn’t you know it, but my old hand came right along with me. Like nothin’ ever happened. I guess I should be happy about it, and I am. But what it tells me, more than anything, is that we really aren’t natural to Earth. We’re made-up beings, and that’s why those spirit folks were able to make me up a new hand. Heck of a thing.”

  “But a good thing, right?”

  “Sure, ’cept it makes me a might sad. I liked the life I was living.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Makes me realize something else, too. I was poor most of my life. Had to teach myself to read and write. Never wore a single piece of clothing that didn’t first belong to somebody else, till I joined the army. But I made something of myself. I was the bell captain of the Manhattan Tower Hotel and proud of it. I might not have been setting the world on fire, but I was good at what I did. People appreciated it, and I was happy.”

  “Can’t ask for much more than that.”

  “My point exactly. Thing is, a guy like me wouldn’t make it in this new setup. There’s no room for regular folks in this world of Ravinia. There’s the few people who have it all, and everybody else. There’s always been those who have more than others, but now, the regular folks don’t even have the chance to build a life they can be proud of. With all the philosophizing and theorizing and threats and highfalutin goals, it all comes down to one thing: Saint Dane is killing the chance for people to be happy.”

  Gunny had pretty much summed up what this was all about. Saint Dane was taking away the chance for people to be happy. It sounds so simple, but being happy is probably the number one goal for everyone, no matter what world they come from. Talk about basic rights. What was that phrase from the Declaration of Independence? Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? Except for a chosen few, Saint Dane was taking away those rights. It took a sixty-five-year-old guy who had lived most of his life not knowing anything about Travelers or Halla or guiding spirits to put it into such clear perspective.

  “And that’s why I’m glad you’re here right now,” I said to my friend. “You and I have to convince those people down there that this is their chance to take back those rights and have another shot at being happy.”

  Gunny took a deep breath and stood up. His energy was renewed. “Then let’s get it done,” he declared.

  It wasn’t long before Gunny and I were sitting in the chambers of the gar leaders in the dead center of the ring of buildings that made up the village of Black Water. It wasn’t hard to get an audience. Aron was still one of the village elders. Most of the others remembered Gunny and were grateful for all he had done to help educate the gars while he was trapped there with Spader. Some of them remembered me, too. We were friends. We were trusted.

  Also in the meeting were ten leaders of the Yanks. Years before, they had divided the group up into ten distinct units, to help manage and organize their lives. Each group elected a leader that reported to the gar elders. The liaison between the gars and the Yank leaders was none other than Courtney. She was in the meeting too. Courtney had a foot in both camps. She knew Black Water, and she was from Second Earth. She could speak intelligently to both groups. It seemed to be a pretty smart way to quickly organize a village that had suddenly tripled in size. The proof was not only in the fact that the village ran smoothly, but also that they were able to work together and organize a solid defense against the klees. Everybody was feeling pretty good about themselves.

  I hated to have to burst their bubble.

  I won’t detail all the arguments we put before the group. I’ve already written most of them earlier in this journal. Bottom line was that Gunny and I tried to impress upon them that they may have defeated the klees once, but they’d be back again. And again. More important than that, we warned them that an attack was coming that was far more threatening than an
ything the klees could throw at them. We warned them that an army like they had never seen was preparing to march on Black Water with the single goal of wiping out the Yanks. The gars weren’t necessarily the target, but with the kind of attack that was being planned, it would be wrong to believe the gars would be spared.

  “The question isn’t if the attack will come,” I said. “It’s when. I believe it’s going to be soon.”

  Both the gar leaders and the exile leaders exchanged uneasy looks. It was a lot to accept.

  “What is your proposal, Pendragon?” Aron asked.

  I outlined the bare bones of our plan. I knew it wouldn’t be an easy sell. It not only involved getting multiple thousands of people to jump into a flume—again—but when they reached the other side, they would be faced with a seemingly unbeatable foe. How unbeatable depended on a number of things, none of which we had control over. As I said the words out loud, and listened to myself speak, the whole idea sounded impossible. Maybe even insane. What was I thinking? The more I spoke, the more I realized that these people wouldn’t go for it in a million years. Heck, if I were in their position, I wouldn’t go for it either. It was suicide. I finished on a whimper, ready to get tossed out of there.

  Before anyone had a chance to respond, Gunny stood up. “I can only imagine what you’re thinking,” he began. “Believe me, we feel the same way. The odds we face are long indeed. There is no guarantee of victory. People will die. Perhaps by the thousands. To that, I have two things to say. You are faced with a dire situation. Black Water will come under attack again. Soon. By a force much larger and more deadly than you have just defeated. Your weapons may stop some of theirs, but the numbers are not on your side. Their army is immense. They will keep coming, and attacking, until every last one of the people who came here from Second Earth is killed. That is a simple, sad fact. After they are finished, it’s anybody’s guess as to what shape you will be in when the klees decide to come calling again. Make no mistake. Whether you choose to follow our plan, or decide to stay and defend yourselves, you will have to fight this army. The choice you have is to fight them here, or take the battle to them. We wish there was a third choice. There isn’t.”