“Wha-” 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 god!” 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… 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.
I also felt that along with those answers, we’d find Saint Dane.
Chapter 11
We took the elevator back down from the first observation level of the Eiffel Tower and started walking in the direction of the Taj Mahal.
How bizarre a sentence is that?
We walked among the people who were enjoying the day, seemingly unfazed by the fact that they had just witnessed a swift, grisly execution. Or maybe they were in denial. A few guys threw a Frisbee. A family had a picnic on a flowered blanket. A couple sipped wine while laughing at some secret joke. It was all so creepy. Seeing such normal activity after what had happened was almost as chilling as the execution itself. Did they truly not care? Or was it an act they put on for the Ravinians, to avoid stepping into their sights as well?
“The Taj Mahal is set up to be the center of this strange Eden,” I said to Patrick. “I’m thinking we’ll find answers there.”
After walking quickly (but not so quickly as to attract attention) through the winding paths, we found the train that had been our vehicle into this world. It was stopped at a small building that looked like a replica of an old-fashioned brick train station, complete with a green-shingle roof and a wrought-iron fence around it. Like the rest of the place, it was immaculate. The paint sparkled like new, as if the station had just gotten a fresh coat that very morning. An overhead sign ran the length of the shelter roof. In elegant golden letters were the words “Taj Mahal.”
“I guess we’re here,” Patrick declared.
“Where?” I asked. “Disneyland?”
A flagpole rose up next to the building, holding a flag that fluttered in the breeze. Looking up I hoped to see an American flag. Or a New York State flag. Or any flag other than the one that was there.
It was a red flag with the Ravinian star.
The train was parked on the far side of the station. Beyond that was a row of tall, thick trees that blocked our view of what lay beyond. Patrick and I walked past the train and onto a platform on the far side. We followed a brick path that left the station and snaked through the tall trees to reveal…
The Taj Mahal. As with the Eiffel Tower, I’d never seen the real thing, but I’d seen enough pictures to know that this was either a pretty good replica, or the real deal. You couldn’t miss that single, huge onion-shaped dome that crowned the gleaming white building. Smaller domes surrounded the center one, while four circular towers stood tall like sentries, one on each corner of the foundation. A long reflecting pool stretched out before us, leading to the grand structure. To either side of the pool was grass and trees and more sculpture gardens. Lined up in rows to one side, it looked like hundreds of statues of life-size Chinese soldiers.
“I’ve seen those before,” I said. “Like in National Geographic or something.”
“It looks like some of the Terra-cotta Army of Emperor Qin,” Patrick answered. “They were created to guard him in the afterlife. I think it was in something like two hundred BCE.”
I gave him a sideways look. The guy knew his stuff.
People strolled around the statues and enjoyed the gardens here as well. But I noticed something a little different. There were more Ravinian guards hanging around. Each had a silver weapon strapped to his back. They walked in pairs, which said to me they weren’t out to enjoy the day. They were working. They were there to provide security.
That meant we were in the right place.
Patrick and I walked casually, trying to look like we had no purpose other than to check out the statues and enjoy the day.
Patrick spoke softly. “Is it possible that the Ravinians transported all this from around the world?”
“I don’t know” was my answer. “I guess they could have built their own. Either way, this place is all about living large. I haven’t seen a single house that isn’t like, awesome.”
With each step we took toward the massive domed structure, my feeling grew stronger that we were getting closer to Saint Dane. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Or maybe I was beginning to consciously tap into the whole spirit of Solara. I can’t say, but I felt sure it wouldn’t be long before we once again faced the demon. Our goal was to find out what he was up to on Third Earth.
When we reached the high platform that the building stood on, we saw that the Ravinian guards had increased. Instead of patrolling randomly, they were stationed at entry-ways built into the box.
“Do we turn into birds now?” Patrick asked.
The solitude was broken by the sound of a helicopter. We turned to see two tailless choppers heading our way. They descended quickly and landed near one of the archways that led into the base of the building. No sooner did they touch down than several Ravinian guards sprinted for them. Two left their post at the entrance to the building, directly in front of us.
I looked to Patrick. “Could it really be this easy?”
We walked quickly for the building. Before ducking under the arch, I took a look back to see that the Ravinian guards had opened the side doors of the choppers and pulled out four people who seemed to be prisoners. The guards grabbed them by their arms and dragged them toward the building. In that brief instant I recognized one of them. It was the powerful guy with the long black hair, who had helped all those people out of the building at the zoo. My stomach sank. He was a hero. Now he was done. At least he was still alive. For the time being, anyway.
“C’mon,” I ordered, and we ducked inside.
All I knew about the Taj Mahal was that it was built by some emperor in India to be a mausoleum for his wife back in the day. Not that I know much about mausoleums in India. Or mausoleums for emperors. Or their wives. Or anything about any mausoleums, for that matter. But what we saw inside looked nothing like a place for the dead.
It was a palace. Seriously. The walls were lined with ornate tiles that depicted all sorts of detailed scenes of idealized countrysides. Hanging in what would be the sky of these scenes were paintings. Paintings that I recognized. Again, I don’t know much about art, but in the fourteen years I lived on Second Earth, you kind of couldn’t miss seeing the big, famous paintings of the world. I didn’t know any of their names or who painted them, but they sure looked familiar.