Uncle Press continued, “The worlds of Halla have fallen. Each territory is in chaos. The darker nature of mankind has triumphed, just as Saint Dane wanted.”
Gunny stepped forward and asked, “So then, why is Solara still hanging on?”
Patrick asked, “Because there’s still hope for Third Earth?”
“There is still hope for Third Earth, but I don’t believe that’s the reason. Third Earth has become a war zone. That’s where we all gathered before coming here.”
That made sense. The zoo, the shattered buildings, the tilted Empire State Building. Third Earth was a mess, worse than when Patrick was last there.
Elli asked, “Do you believe that saving Third Earth will stop Saint Dane?”
“I don’t know. I’d be lying if I told you otherwise. Truth is, it’s all we’ve got left. But I’ll tell you something I do believe. I don’t think that saving Third Earth is as important as how we save it,” Uncle Press answered.
We all exchanged confused glances. We had no idea what he was talking about, which was pretty much par for the course even at this late date.
“Make no mistake, we are on our last legs,” Uncle Press continued. “The spirits of Solara no longer have the ability to move through the physical worlds. They are all here now. Or at least, what’s left of them. There is no way of knowing what is happening throughout Halla, except through your eyes.”
“Us?” Siry said in surprise. “How can we know what is happening out there? We’re trapped here too. And the flumes are destroyed.”
“You’ve all heard how the creation of the Travelers was our only hope to stop Saint Dane. That is still true now. More than ever. The spirits of Solara have gathered back here in order to channel their remaining energy to you. To us. I’ll be with you until the end.”
“Well, there’s one spot of good news!” Spader declared, trying to be positive.
“That’s how we will be able to maintain a physical presence and make our final stand. The remaining positive spiritual energy that exists in Solara is being channeled to us. The Travelers.”
Aja looked glum. “Nothing like a little pressure.”
Alder said, “But if there are no flumes, we will be unable to travel.”
“You don’t need the flumes anymore,” Uncle Press declared.
That made everybody start talking at once. I was right there with them. What the heck did that mean?
“Whoa, whoa!” Uncle Press called out, trying to get everybody to settle.
I said, “I think you better explain that.”
“Saint Dane created the flumes to connect the territories. He wanted technology and physical items, and ultimately people, to travel freely and blend all the worlds. To converge. He was able to travel between territories whenever he wanted and from wherever he happened to be. He stepped from one world into the sea of time and space, and right into the next world, instantly, effortlessly. You all experienced it yourselves when you arrived here from Third Earth.”
That was exactly what happened. My family and I took two steps-the first on Third Earth, the second here in mysterious lavaland. But the idea that we could have been doing that all along made me a little, oh, what’s the word? Angry. Yeah. Angry is a good word. None of the other Travelers looked too happy either.
Loor was the only one who had the discipline to ask the question calmly. “Was there a reason that we were not told of this ability?” she asked.
Uncle Press answered with equal calm. “Because you didn’t have it before.”
“Why not?” was my obvious follow-up. “It would have made things a little simpler, don’t you think?”
“For one, we wanted to maintain the illusion that you were natural to your own territory. By hitchhiking through Saint Dane’s flumes, you didn’t need to know of your true origins.”
“Not a good enough answer,” I said, testy.
“But the main reason is that the flumes were there. They worked. Changing your physical selves to step in and out of the sea of time and space would have been too great of a drain on Solara. The same would have happened if you changed your physical beings the way Saint Dane did. Each time he became a different person, he took more of the spirit of Solara along with him. If you all did the same thing, we wouldn’t be talking to each other right now. That’s how draining it is for us to manipulate matter.”
Spader jumped forward. “You mean we have the same spiff powers as Saint Dane?”
“No,” I countered. “No way. I tried to change myself, more than once. Unless there was some secret switch or something, it didn’t work.”
“Because we didn’t allow it,” Uncle Press replied. “We wanted you to behave as normal beings, not spirits.”
“But Nevva Winter could change,” I said.
“Because Saint Dane allowed it. As I said, he is slowly controlling the power of Solara. We didn’t allow you to use that ability or to travel without the flumes because it would have caused untold damage to Solara.”
“And now?” Gunny asked.
“Now there are no flumes,” Uncle Press said. “And you all have the same abilities as Saint Dane. The spirits of Solara will see to that. But we must be cautious with how we use them. Our resources are very near the end. It’s risky, but hey, things have gotten a little desperate.”
I could guess what everyone was thinking. It was an amazing feeling to know we could travel between territories without having to worry about finding a gate to the flumes. But it was also pretty scary. How badly would we be hurting Solara each time we used that ability? However things played out, we wouldn’t be able to rely on flashing between worlds at will. Or turning into ravens. Whatever the final battle would be, it would be like all the others. In real time. With our physical selves. Win or lose.
I was the first to speak again. “You said that Saint Dane made a mistake.”
Uncle Press looked up at the sky. I followed his gaze. Was I imagining things, or were there already fewer color-charged clouds floating by?
“Halla has fallen,” Uncle Press said bitterly. “The nature of mankind has turned. Even with Third Earth still in doubt, Solara should be dark. But it isn’t.”
Aja said, “Of course not. Ravinia may dominate the territories, but there are still people out there who haven’t given up. Their spirit must be feeding Solara.”
“That’s not it,” Uncle Press countered. “Halla is in chaos. For those few who lived through the Ravinian revolution, life outside of the conclaves is brutal. Like I said, survival is their only goal. They forage for food. Disease and despair are rampant. They live in constant fear of being attacked and killed for what little they have. There is no joy. No working toward a better future. That’s the kind of spirit that now feeds Solara. Think of the Flighters on Veelox. Their existence has become the norm. There is little positive spirit coming from Halla anymore, which is exactly what Saint Dane wanted.”
Siry asked, “So then, what is keeping Solara alive?”
Uncle Press answered, “There is a strong, focused source of light. Of hope. It’s like the last trickle of water in a dried-up oasis. It isn’t much, but it’s out there somewhere. It’s real and it’s keeping Solara from crumbling.”
“What is it?” Aja asked.
“It’s Saint Dane’s mistake,” Uncle Press answered. “On Second Earth, as the Ravinians were about to take power, they made a single dramatic purge of thousands of their enemies. A massive group of those who opposed Ravinia were sent into a flume.”
“The Bronx Massacre,” Alder said.
“Seventy thousand people went into that flume,” I said.
Patrick added, “History said it was a mass execution.”
“That’s what most people believed. Seventy-some-odd thousand people became victims of Ravinia in order to intimidate those who dared oppose them. It was diabolical, but it worked. Ravinia soon controlled Second Earth.”
“So what was the mistake?” Patrick asked.
“Saint Dane used those people to help him gain power on Earth, but if he truly wanted to be rid of them, he should have killed them.”
“So… he didn’t?” Patrick asked hopefully.
“No. I believe they are still out there living in exile. These were the only people in Halla who, as a group, were brave enough to stand up to Naymeer and try to put an end to Ravinia. I believe they are still alive.
