I looked at Siry and shrugged, as if to ask, “What the hell is going on?” “Wait,” he replied.
I didn’t know what to think. The dados were sure to attack at any moment. What were all the exiles doing inside like this? They should have been getting ready to defend the conclave. We were nearly at the front wall. Up ahead I saw the Travelers, waiting at the bottom of the stairs that led to the top of the wall. All of them. Gunny, Patrick, Aja, and Elli were there as well.
We walked Saint Dane right up to Uncle Press. The two stood there, toe to toe, glaring at one another. They were two old friends. Two enemies. Two warriors who had reached the end of the battle.
“I made a huge mistake,” Uncle Press said.
“Only one?” Saint Dane replied.
Uncle Press nodded. “Yes, only one. I should have had more faith in the people of Halla, because in the end, the battle was won by the people. And that’s the way it was meant to be.”
Saint Dane frowned. He had no idea what Uncle Press meant. Neither did I, for that matter. Uncle Press motioned for us to take Saint Dane up the stairs. I was totally confused. What the heck were we doing? Siry and I pushed Saint Dane ahead of us. We were followed by Uncle Press and the rest of the Travelers. On top of the steps was a large platform. Twenty feet away was the edge of the conclave wall. It was low enough to be able to look over, but high enough so you wouldn’t fall. Siry and I stopped Saint Dane on top and waited for the others to join us. We were all there. All eleven Travelers, along with Boon.
Last up were Mark and Courtney. Courtney came over to me and touched my cheek. I winced. It hurt.
“You look like hell,” Courtney said.
I shrugged.
She looked at Saint Dane, then back at me. “He looks worse.” She smiled. “Awesome.”
The whole way from the Taj Mahal, I wondered why Saint Dane hadn’t tried to get away by turning into a bird or smoke or something. It was Uncle Press who had the answer to that. He walked over to the edge and looked out. Then turned back to Saint Dane.
“The spirit of Solara is well on the way to being restored,” he began. “Thanks to what happened here today. Just as important, the dark spirit of Solara has diminished.”
That had to be it. Saint Dane no longer had the power.
“The final victory here was not decided by the Travelers. Or by the exiles from Second Earth or the gars from Eelong. It was decided by the Ravinians.”
For the first time since we’d left the Taj Mahal, I saw Saint Dane react. He stiffened.
“What do you mean?” he growled.
“This has been a prison for them. An attractive prison, but a prison. They knew they were being controlled, but they had no hope of freedom, until today. Until we arrived. Until your guards were eliminated. For the first time in a long time, these people understand that they have the freedom to choose their own destiny, not the one that you impose on them.”
Saint Dane looked shaken.
“But… they live in luxury. They are the chosen.”
“They were slaves to your vision, as much as anyone else in Halla. Today we brought them their freedom.”
“I don’t believe it,” Saint Dane said. “I am their benefactor. I protect them. I reward them.”
“All they wanted was the freedom to choose their own destiny, and today they did that,” Uncle Press said.
“How?” Saint Dane shot back.
Uncle Press gestured for us to look over the edge. Saint Dane and I slowly walked forward. As the scene below revealed itself, I thought I was looking at a painting. I’m serious. That’s how impossible the image was. Saint Dane gave a little gasp. He was just as surprised as I was.
Down on the ground, for as far as I could see, were dados. Thousands of them. Multiple thousands of them. It was the army that marched on Eelong. I saw red Ravinians, the green uniforms and golden helmets of the Quillan guards, thousands of Mark-looking dados, and just as many klees. They had made it back through the flume downtown and marched along the same route that the exiles and gars had taken to get to the conclave. That’s where their journey ended.
These dados were no longer functioning. They were frozen. Deactivated. Dead. Whatever you want to call it. It was an impossible sea of dados that stood frozen. They filled the expanse between the conclave and the river, continued across the double-barge bridge, and stretched out on the far side of the river, back toward the city. There was no end to them.
Uncle Press said, “This was the work of your Ravinians. They entered the dado control center and deactivated every last one. They ended the war. You’re looking at a sea of worthless junk.”
Now I knew why there were so few Ravinians around during the attack. I had thought they were cowards, when in reality, they had seen their chance. The dados weren’t magic. They were mechanical. They had to be controlled from somewhere, and the Ravinians knew where. In the end the positive spirit of Solara had triumphed over the darker motives of man. Saint Dane’s chosen had chosen the right path.
Saint Dane pulled back from the wall, his eyes darting left and right. He looked panicked.
“I don’t believe it,” he cried. “It cannot be.”
He ran across the platform to look down inside the conclave and the multitude that was inside, staring up at him.
“People of Ravinia!” he shouted. “It isn’t too late! The choice is still yours! You are the elite! The perfect! The future of Halla!”
The people glared at him blankly, unmoved, silent.
“Take back what is rightfully yours! You have earned it by proving your own excellence. You don’t want to live like animals! You have chosen to excel. To thrive. You aren’t shackled by the common trials of those less deserving than you!”
The Travelers stood silently. Saint Dane turned to them.
What he expected any of us to say, I didn’t know. He was breathing hard. He looked desperate. He looked… older. Was that possible? Saint Dane’s face had changed yet again. He was deteriorating.
“Listen to me!” he called out to the crowd. “You cannot give up in mere moments what your ancestors have worked centuries to achieve! You are better than that. Far better. Together we will rebuild this world. Ravinia will spread beyond these walls. But that cannot happen until we eliminate those who are not deserving.”
Every last person in the conclave stared up at Saint Dane silently. It was eerie.
Courtney stepped up next to me and grabbed my arm. “Did you see that?” she whispered.
I did. For a brief moment Saint Dane had seemed transparent.
“Look at those around you,” Saint Dane bellowed. “The interlopers who have invaded our sanctuary. Is that what you want? Are these the kind of people you want to share your lives with?”
It happened again. Saint Dane momentarily faded, then came back. I looked to Uncle Press. He nodded in understanding. He knew.
Saint Dane pulled himself away from the edge. He was losing it. His blue eyes had turned from fierce to frightened. He reached out to the other Travelers. “There is still hope,” he cried. “Still time. Perhaps I have been too resolute. Yes, too arrogant. I can admit that. There is a better way. We can build a better Halla. All of us. Together. That was always my goal.”
The Travelers didn’t react. He went to each in turn, looking for some kind of confirmation. Some hope. They all stood silently, with no expression. Saint Dane’s face was aging. He seemed shorter. He was stooped, no longer standing erect.
He ran to Uncle Press. “We have been friends. You know I only meant well.”
“Perhaps,” Uncle Press said with no emotion. “At one time.”
“We can bring that back!” Saint Dane exclaimed. “That spirit! It can be as it once was. It can! I was only trying to help the people of Halla. You know that.”