Pendragon - The Soldiers Of Halla Part 9

I gave him a sharp look. "For one, I don't know how that works, and I don't want to try. And two, we're not supposed to be using that power, remember?"

"Then come up with a better idea!"

A shrill whistle sounded. It was coming from the water tube. I felt another slight rumble. The whistle sounded again. It was coming closer.

"It's a train," I declared. "That track must run along the same route as the old ones. The bridge is history, so they went underwater."

A moment later a sleek, golden train glided up out of the tube. It looked to me like a cross between a fancy, old-fas.h.i.+oned steam engine and a monorail from Disneyland. It had to be electric, because it moved silently on the single track. The nose came to a point, with a c.o.c.kpit just above. The body of the train was covered with fancy golden sculptures that looked like vines. They didn't seem to have any other purpose than to be decorative. The engine was short, and pulled two more longer cars, where I guessed the pa.s.sengers rode. This was not a freight train. It was a mode of transportation for people who traveled in style. It moved slowly and smoothly. I glanced ahead. The ma.s.sive red door was open. The train was almost all the way out of the tube. I felt sure that once it was out, it would pick up speed.

"Now or never," I declared.

"Now or never what?" Patrick replied with surprise.

I scrambled to my feet and climbed up over the lip of the cement embankment. Patrick didn't.

"Pendragon!" he wailed. "You'll get us killed."

I turned back to him but kept moving. "So what?" I said. "We'll just end up in Solara and come right back here. That's what you did, right?"

"Yes, but a it hurt!"

"So then, let's not get killed."

I ran for the train. A quick look back told me Patrick was doing the same. The train was picking up speed. If we were going to jump on, it would have to be right away. The only place that seemed logical to do it was the s.p.a.ce between the two pa.s.senger cars. I sprinted to the spot where I guessed it would be when I reached the train, and miscalculated by a few feet. The train was accelerating faster than I thought. Instead of grabbing on to the platform between the two cars, I grabbed on to a chunk of the decorative sculpture that was affixed to the side of the train. I trusted it was strong enough to hold me. I jumped, using my arms to climb the sculpture like a jungle gym. I found myself dangling off the side of the train car as it gathered speed. My idea suddenly didn't seem so bright. I looked back to see Patrick sprinting to catch up. I didn't think there was any way he would climb up the way I did, so I made my way forward, scrambling carefully along the sculpture until I reached the front of the car. From there I swung my legs over the safety rail, onto the small platform in between. I was on!

"Let's go!" I yelled to Patrick.

The train was speeding up. Patrick wasn't.

"Can we please just turn into birds?" he gasped.

"No! Pick it up!" I yelled.

Patrick dug in and sprinted forward. He reached out to me. I grabbed his hand and strained to hoist him up and onto the platform. We were on. That was the easy part. We still had to get past the wall, and the guards. We both crouched down, so as not to be seen from inside either car.

"I hope this wasn't a mistake," he wheezed.

Mistake or not, we were on our way. The monorail train continued on toward the mysterious wall.

"What do we do if we get in?" Patrick whispered.

"Let's worry about that once we're in," I answered.

Truth was, I had no idea what we would do. Or what we would find. Though I felt certain we were in the right place. Whatever this monster wall was, whether it was keeping somebody in or out, it had to have something to do with Saint Dane. That much I was sure about.

A moment later we arrived at the ma.s.sive wall. I held my breath, as if that would do any good. We both pushed ourselves flat against the platform to try and look as inconspicuous as possible. Neither of us moved. Patrick looked one way, I looked the other. When we reached the entrance, I saw two Ravinians standing next to the track, looking the other way. I winced, expecting an alarm to go off. Or a guard to shout that there were stowaways sneaking in.

There were no alarms. We weren't seen. Seconds later we glided through the door and into another world.

Chapter 10.

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

It was good. Sweet even. Until I caught a whiff of the air beyond that wall, I hadn't realized how truly dead the city we had just left had become. On this side of the wall, the world smelled alive. It gave me hope that we hadn't entered a prison. Or one of the Horizon Compounds. The smell alone told me that this was a better place than the one we had left. The golden train glided slowly over the single rail, bringing us deeper into this new and mysterious place.

"We gotta get off," I whispered to Patrick. "This thing is probably headed toward somewhere with people. Until we know whose side they're on, we better be invisible."

Patrick nodded and looked over the safety rail of the moving platform. He swallowed hard. He wasn't thrilled about having to jump off a moving train.

"Don't think about it," I warned. "Go."

I grabbed the rail with both hands, jumped up, and launched myself up and over with both my legs to one side, like vaulting over a pommel horse in gymnastics. I hit the ground and rolled backward to absorb the shock. It was disorienting, but I bounced back to my feet quickly and turned toward the train to spot Patrick. He wasn't as quick about it as I was. He stood grasping the handrail, looking nervous, moving away. I wanted to shout "Jump!" but I was afraid of who might hear. All I could do was will him to move.

He did. It wasn't exactly graceful. He landed on one leg, tumbled sideways, and fell on his shoulder. Ouch. I ran to him, hoping that he wasn't hurt. Of course, I knew if something had happened, I could fix it. A healing Traveler hand would do the trick. But that would have sapped more strength from Solara.

"You okay?" I asked.

Patrick sat up, rubbing his sore shoulder. "It would have been easier to turn into birds," he complained.

I didn't argue the point. He knew what was at stake. I think he was just complaining for the sake of it. That was okay. He deserved to. The train kept moving. No alarm was sounded. No shouts of "Hey! Who are you guys?" Wherever we were, we had arrived unnoticed. I realized that we were sitting on gra.s.s. Soft, green gra.s.s. It was a welcome, physical sign of life. There would be more. Many more.

"Wow," Patrick said. "I didn't expect this."

That was an understatement. Once the train cleared our field of view, we got a good look at our surroundings. I don't know what better word to use to describe what we saw other than "beautiful." Okay, maybe I can think of a few others. Lush. Green. Idyllic. Maybe even perfect. We were sitting next to the single rail that cut through an absolutely spectacular park. At least, I thought it was a park. There were leafy trees, a meadow covered in wildflowers, a narrow stream that meandered quietly along the length of the track, songbirds darting about, and sculptures. Many sculptures. A few yards from the side of the track there was a ma.s.sive white statue of a naked guy. It was like three times life-size. It was awesome, in more ways than one.

"David," Patrick said with a gasp.

"Who?"

"It's the statue of David by Michelangelo. It's a pretty good replica."

"Maybe it's the real one," I suggested.

"That's impossible. The David is in Florence, Italy. It's eight thousand years old; it would never be here and definitely not kept outside like this." He gave me a dark look and added, "At least, I hope not. The David is one of the great art treasures of all time."

We crossed over the rail and found a path that wandered through the grounds. We pa.s.sed many other elaborate sculptures and fountains and footbridges that spanned lazy brooks. Oddly, the air was clear and the sky was blue. I wondered how they were able to keep the dirt and grime that swirled through the air outside from descending here.

"It's like paradise," Patrick said.

"It definitely isn't one of those Horizon Compounds," I added. "That answers one question. The wall is to keep people out, because I can't imagine anybody wanting to leave this place. Especially knowing what's outside."

We pa.s.sed a few buildings, though calling them "buildings" doesn't come close to describing them. They were more like palaces. Or mansions. Whoever lived there was definitely living large.

Eventually we saw people. At first we hid behind trees, so as not to be seen, but we soon realized it wasn't necessary. There were kids playing touch football on gra.s.sy flats.

Couples strolled around, holding hands. Mothers pushed baby carriages. It all looked so normal, like a park. A really incredible park. I was still wearing the brown sweater and khakis I had glommed from the Chetwyndes' boat on Second Earth. Patrick wore jeans and a blue short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt, which is exactly what he was wearing the day I met him. Oddly, our clothes were totally clean. Except for whatever dirt we'd picked up on our trip from the zoo, it was like our visit to Solara had refurbished everything. The people we saw wore a variety of normal-looking Earth clothing. This could have been a park on Second Earth, which meant we didn't stand out.

Besides seeing the people who were enjoying the day, we also saw workers. They wore dark green khaki uniforms with short pants and pith helmets. I didn't think they were dados because they didn't all look the same. There were all types, all races, and both men and women. They were tr.i.m.m.i.n.g trees, cutting the gra.s.s, and sweeping the pathways. Yes, sweeping the pathways. Not a leaf was out of place or blade of gra.s.s too long. The place was immaculate.

I asked, "You think if I pulled a flower petal and dropped it, somebody would come running to sweep it up?"

"Look," Patrick said, pointing to a man who was polis.h.i.+ng a bronze statue of a giant guy holding what looked like the world on his back. It looked familiar but I couldn't place it. "Look at the guy's arm."

My mouth went dry. The man had a cloth patch on his sleeve. It was a red star. The symbol of Ravinia.

"I guess Ravinia is alive and well," Patrick said soberly.

"I want to know how big this place is," I said.

"For that we have to get up high," Patrick offered.

We kept walking, looking for some sort of structure that would give us a bird's-eye view. I was thankful that Patrick didn't suggest that we turn into birds and get an actual bird's-eye view. We needed to get up high the old-fas.h.i.+oned way. It didn't take long for us to find what we needed. I'm not sure why we didn't see it until we were almost on it. Maybe it was because the trees were too dense. Maybe we had been too close to get perspective. Maybe there was so much to see on ground level that we hadn't been looking up. Maybe we were just idiots. Whatever. When we stepped out of a thick stand of trees, it was my turn to gasp. We were staring at one leg of a giant, golden, four-legged structure. Though I had never seen it in person, I recognized it for what it was. It was impossible, yet it was there.

"Is this a replica too?" I said, my voice cracking.

Patrick was staring straight up at the giant golden tower. "It has to be," he declared. "What other explanation is there?"

People strolled casually through gardens that were situated under the ma.s.sive structure. A small orchestra played cla.s.sical music. Vending stands with festive red and white awnings were set up, offering drinks and ice cream, though it didn't look like anybody was paying for the treats. They just walked up and got what they wanted. It was like some big, private party a happening beneath the Eiffel Tower.

"We're not in Paris, are we?" I asked, stunned.

"Let's find out," Patrick answered, and walked toward the closest leg of the tower, and an elevator that would take us up and give us the view we needed. Neither of us said a word as we entered the red elevator, where a woman wearing a dark green khaki worker uniform greeted us.

"Which level?" she asked with a smile.

"Uh, first stop is fine," I answered awkwardly. I had never been to the Eiffel Tower and figured going up to the first observation level would be plenty high enough. The elevator clattered as it ascended through the golden trusses.

"It can't be the real deal," I whispered to Patrick. "The Eiffel Tower isn't golden, is it?"

Patrick shrugged. It only took a minute for us to rise to the first level. The worker opened the door with a smile to allow Patrick and me to exit.

"Thanks," I said to the woman.

She gave me an odd look, as if I had said something strange. How could that have been strange? All I said was "thanks." Odd.

"It must be a replica," Patrick said as we walked across the wide expanse of the first observation deck to get a view out and over the edge. "Who would go through the trouble and expense to transport such a huge tower across the ocean anda""

The words caught in his throat as we got our first glimpse of the world we had been exploring on the ground. We were looking out over an enormous sea of trees, all enclosed by that mighty wall. What we had seen from the ground was only one small section. The wall did wrap around. There was no telling how many acres were enveloped by the ma.s.sive structure. Hundreds? Many hundreds? It was a vast oasis within a dead world. To our right and left I could see beyond the walls, where there was next to nothing. I made out faint outlines of some of the destroyed buildings, but other than that there was desolation. The swirling dust that blanketed the ruins of New York City were somehow kept away from this lush environment. The contrast of this green world against that bleak gray was like night and day. Life and death. Real and surreal. Though I'm not exactly sure which was more surreala"the gray, destroyed city on the outside, or this impossible paradise.

The Eiffel Tower wasn't the only recognizable structure. There were others spread randomly throughout this park. I saw the Clock Tower from London's Parliament, where Big Ben chimes. The Greek Parthenon sat on top of a ma.s.sive rocky hill, though this wasn't an ancient ruin. It looked fully restored, with gleaming marble and colorful friezes. Directly across from where we were, maybe a mile away, was a structure that looked as if it were the center of this strange universe. It sat high above the trees, gleaming in the sun, looking down on all those below. It was the Taj Mahal. Or at least a building that looked like the Taj Mahal.

"One thing's for sure," I said. "We aren't in France."

"Is it possible?" Patrick mumbled. "Could these be the actual buildings that were somehow brought here?"

"What else is down there?" I added. "Maybe that statue was the real David. Could there be other works of art? Sculptures? Paintings? Have the Ravinians brought all the great treasures of the world to this one spot?"

"If that's the case," Patrick thought out loud, "they've taken the best of what the people of Earth have created, and brought it here to decorate their own paradise."

The moment was broken by the sound of a shrill whistle. We both looked to the ground to see a man running through the garden below. The guy looked scared. He b.u.mped into a few people, nearly knocking them over as he desperately tried to escape from a Who? What? A second later we saw two red-suited, golden-helmeted Ravinian guards sprinting out from under the tower, chasing the guy.

"I wonder what he did," Patrick said.

I thought for sure the guy would get away, because he looked to be running for his life, while the Ravinians were jogging with no urgency. Turned out the two guards weren't the only ones in pursuit. Four more Ravinians closed in on the guy from up ahead. He was surrounded. He changed direction. The Ravinians countered and cut off his escape. Moments later they had him.

"They must be dados," I said. "They all look pretty much alike."

"We should get down there and see where they take him," Patrick said.

He started to run off, but I saw something that made me stop him.

"Wait," I said.

We both looked down to see that instead of hauling the guy off, the Ravinians forced the guy to his knees. The garden was full of people, but in spite of the drama going on right under their noses, very few seemed to care. They all went about their business of enjoying the day, without so much as glancing at the action.

Only one other person seemed to care. It was a young girl, no more than six. She ran toward one of the soldiers and pulled on his belt as if to get him to leave the runner alone. The soldier turned quickly and loomed over the girl threateningly. The girl froze in fear. Instantly a woman who must have been her mother ran up and grabbed the girl to protect her. The little girl started crying. Her mother bundled her up and sped her away as the soldier turned his attention back to the prisoner. It was then that I noticed that the other people hanging around weren't necessarily oblivious to what was going on. I caught several people throwing nervous glances over their shoulders, as if they didn't want the soldiers to know that they were being watched.

"What are they afraid of?" I asked Patrick. "That they'll be next?"

"Next for what?" Patrick said. "What are they doing to the guy?"

The answer came quickly. One of the Ravinians strode up to the man. He was holding a three-foot-long silver wand with a black handle that I thought might be a silver weapon like the dados used on Second Earth. I didn't think he needed it. That guy wasn't going anywhere. I didn't realize how right I was. The guy was kneeling with his head down, being held by two Ravinians. The guy with the silver weapon stood behind the man and pointed the silver end of the wand at the back of his head. He held it there as the two guys who were holding the prisoner stepped away.

"Whaa"" was all Patrick got out.

We heard a sharp, shrill sound that cut through the air like a laser. Paf! There was a brilliant flash of light. An instant later the guy on his knees had turned to black dust.

"My G.o.d!" Patrick cried.

It was a horrific sight. A small, thin tower of ash hovered in the air where his body had been. It hung there for a second, then crumpled into a small pile that the Ravinian with the weapon stepped on and crushed into the ground.

"They killed him," Patrick cried. "They just a killed him."

My stomach twisted, not just because of the gruesome execution, but at the thought that no matter what the guy had been accused of, the Ravinian guards had the ability to act as judge, jury, and executioner. The six Ravinians strode away as if nothing had happened. None of the people who witnessed the execution reacted. If anything, they turned away from the soldiers, so as not to make eye contact.

"I guess paradise comes with a price," I said softly.

"What has Earth become?" Patrick whispered.

I didn't know, but I had an idea of where we would find out. I looked back out over the green oasis to the awesome building that looked down over it all. The Taj Mahal. This opulent building was in the center. It was a place of importance. I felt sure that whatever answers we needed, we would find there.