Atlantis in Peril (10 page)

On Promi's shoulder, Kermi shuddered.

“But they do,” Sammelvar continued, “have one weakness. Only one.”

Promi's eyebrows lifted. “Tell me.”

“They have never known love.”

“What?” asked Promi, confused.

“Just what,” Escholia asked her husband, “are you suggesting?”

Sammelvar scowled. “I'm not really sure.” He locked gazes with Promi. “But I suspect . . . the best thing you can do, if attacked by a mistwraith, is somehow to give it your love.”

Promi recoiled, backing away. “Are you completely crazy?”

Escholia stared at her husband in utter disbelief. Kermi looked horrified. Even the ever-loyal Theosor shook his mighty head.

“That's not advice,” said Promi. “That's idiocy! Suicide! Even if it made sense, which it doesn't—it's impossible.”

“No,” corrected Sammelvar. “It's not impossible. Just very, very difficult.”

“And crazy!” Promi frowned at his father. “First of all, there's no possible way to love something so horrible—so it really can't be done. By anyone. And second, even if I could find some way to do that . . . what would happen? Would love kill the mistwraith? And if it did, would that also kill me?”

Sammelvar ran a hand through his hair. “I just don't know. All I can say is if you do try this—you must truly give it your all. And you must hold on
long enough
that you won't be destroyed.”

Promi scowled. “Thanks for the advice. But there's no way I'm going to take it.”

Sammelvar merely sighed. “Then go, my son. With our blessings . . . as well as our hopes.”

Faith

U
nwilling to wait even a minute before setting off to find Jaladay, Promi refused his parents' invitation to spend the night with them in their ring of mist. As lacey shreds floated by, darkening toward the end of the day, he felt only increased urgency to find his sister.

Even if that meant dealing with mistwraiths.

Promi's parting from his parents was hurried, as well as awkward. Though they didn't speak any words, their expressions said enough. Promi knew he'd never forget his mother's misty blue eyes, so full of worry, and his father's careworn face, weighed down by everything that had struck his world, as well as his family.

Saying good-bye to Theosor was no easier. Promi gave the wind lion a hug, burying his face in the thick mane. He breathed in the rich smell of Theosor's fur, which reminded him of all they had done together. And he couldn't help but wonder whether he'd ever smell that again.

Looking into the lion's deep brown eyes, Promi said telepathically,
Travel far and stay safe, my friend.

“It will be hard for either of us to stay safe,” Theosor replied.

“Are you saying,” asked Promi with a hint of a grin, “that it will be impossible?”

“Our specialty,” rumbled the wind lion. But there was no joy in his words.

“Well, manfool,” said a grumpy voice on Promi's shoulder. “We can keep on delaying or we can get going. Your choice.”

With a sigh, Promi said, “You really don't have to come, you know.”

“Of course I do, you bumblebrained idiot! Why . . . you could get
destroyed
.”

Promi raised an eyebrow, surprised to hear such an unusual expression of concern for his well-being. Touched by the kermuncle's kindness, he started to say thanks—when Kermi finished his comment.

“And what fun would that be, if I'm not around to see it?”

Promi clenched his jaw.

“Besides,” Kermi continued with a rap of his tail on the young man's back, “the whole point of this exercise is to rescue Jaladay without getting her killed. And I sincerely doubt you can do that without my help.”

“Let's go, then.”

As Kermi settled into position, wrapping his tail around Promi's neck, Promi felt strangely comforted. In a way he didn't want to admit, he actually felt grateful to have some company on this mission. Even the company of a little blue demon he'd often wanted to strangle.

With a last glance at his parents and Theosor, Promi leaped. Up into the swirling mist he soared, knowing only his goal—but utterly unsure how to accomplish it. Where could Jaladay be? And how could they find her?

“Where is our first stop, manfool?” asked Kermi in his ear.

“Well, um, I . . .”

“Good. I'm so relieved. For a moment there I was worried you might actually have a plan! And then I might have fallen off in shock.”

Ignoring him, Promi announced, “We'll go to that cloudfield where she was last seen. To see if we can learn anything about those mistwraiths.”

“Fine, fine,” grumbled his passenger.

“One thing I can tell you for certain,” said Promi. “Despite what my father said, there is
no way
I'm ever going to touch one of those shadowy monsters on purpose. And I'm definitely not going to give it any love!”

“For once, manfool, I must agree with you.”

Considering his thorny relationship with his father, Promi thought,
He may have been right about the veil. But how can I possibly trust him when he gives me such crazy, suicidal advice?

“That problem,” said Kermi, who had heard his thoughts, “could be tougher than rescuing your sister.”

Through the billowing clouds they soared. Even though the dim light at this time of day cast many of the clouds in shadow, Promi saw glimpses of life—whole civilizations, even—within their darkening vapors. As always, the spirit realm's mysterious ways intrigued him. How many worlds existed here among the clouds? What endless varieties of shapes and sizes did they take?

Plus one more question that haunted him as they flew through the darkening mist: would all those worlds survive whatever was to come?

Promi's thoughts turned to Atlanta. Would her precious forest be one of the places that didn't survive? He knew from his encounters with Narkazan and his henchman Grukarr that seizing the sources of magic in the Great Forest would be a top priority. Fortunately, Grukarr had died in the earthquake that created Atlantis . . . but it seemed Narkazan was still around. And if so, he'd be more dangerous than ever—as well as more determined to conquer the Earth and plunder its treasures.

It was wrong,
he told himself sadly,
to tear more holes in the veil. But it wasn't wrong at all to visit Atlanta.
He saw, in his mind, her face. She was really extraordinary, despite her flaws. Not to mention smart, adventurous, and beautiful.

Frowning, he thought,
Whatever chance we still had is gone now.
Despite his vow earlier that day, he wouldn't be going back to find her and apologize.

Atlanta, he knew, had faith in him—at least she did, before he destroyed it. And even if he couldn't ever regain it . . . that faith had been a gift.

As Promi soared through the cloudscape, he realized,
Nobody has ever had that kind of faith in me before. Except maybe Shangri. And Bonlo.

He smiled sadly, remembering the brave old monk with the white hair who had saved his life in the dungeon of Ekh Raku. At the cost of his own life, Bonlo had protected Promi. And the monk also taught him some valuable history of the mortal and immortal realms—as well as the Prophecy. Although Promi had been a captive audience—in more ways than one—Bonlo had filled their time in the dungeon with tales of wonder, tragedy, glory, great losses, and even greater hopes.

Bonlo. You gave me so much . . . even at the end.

Even as he banked a turn through the clouds, heading toward the spot where Jaladay had disappeared, Promi thought about Bonlo's most unexpected gift.
That belief in me. He kept telling me that I was better than I seemed, that I was destined for great deeds—even though he had no evidence at all.

Sure, Promi knew that he had, in fact, done a few things right. But he'd also done several things massively wrong. Like tearing holes in the veil as if nothing mattered but his own desires . . . which had also wrecked his chances with Atlanta. All considered, he still didn't deserve that faith from the old monk. Yet he knew that, if Bonlo were still around, it would still be there.

Why, Bonlo had even believed, long ago, in Grukarr! Before Grukarr became a monstrous, power-mad priest who served Narkazan, he'd been a confused, damaged orphan boy. Bonlo took him under his wing, sheltering and mentoring Grukarr for many years, hoping to bring out the best in him. But that best, if it ever existed, had been buried much too deep to find.

Promi sighed.
I just hope that someday, somehow, Bonlo's faith in me will turn out to be justified.

Spotting a dome-shaped cloud in the distance, Promi glided toward it. Even in the growing darkness, the cloud glowed with a purple hue from all the flowers. And he could smell their delicious aroma, as sweet as honey itself, from a good distance.

Yet Promi knew that this cloud's most amazing quality wasn't its rich color or sweet scent. It was the cloud's array of miniature worlds, each one distinct from the rest—an entire field of worlds.

Promi landed, taking care not to crush any of the honeyscent flowers. Instantly, Kermi jumped down and bounded over to the spot where he'd last been with Jaladay. Following the kermuncle over to the spot, Promi reached his hand in his pocket to touch his journal. Writing journal entries was a favorite pastime for both him and his sister, something they'd done together as small children and still enjoyed.

He stopped. Right before him, in the midst of the cloudfield, sat a blackened spot that stank of incinerated worlds and the creatures who had lived there. A few of the destroyed flowers still smoldered, sizzling as their remaining stalks and petals burned slowly down to nothing. But most of what remained was just emptiness—devoid of life or landscapes.

Kermi, standing in the middle of the scorched spot, growled angrily. “Mistwraiths,” he said, “no doubt about it.”

“How could they do this?”

“Very easily,” Kermi answered. “Mistwraiths live to devour magic and destroy life. They thrive on fear. And they—”

A sudden burst of crackling made them both whirl around. Right behind them, a pair of dark shadows was rising out of the cloudfield—shadows that vibrated with black sparks.

Mistwraiths!

The Chase

I
n a flash, Kermi leaped onto Promi's shoulder, and the young man jumped into the air. Just as they left the cloudfield, black sparks, sizzling and crackling, sprayed the spot where they'd been standing.

Both mistwraiths shrieked angrily and leaped after them. Hurtling through the swirling mist, they rippled with rage, leaving two black swaths behind. Like a pair of dark comets, they pursued their intended prey.

Promi soared through the clouds, feeling Kermi's tail wrapped around his neck. He weaved and swerved, zipping through mountainous clouds and under darkening rainbows. Yet nothing he did gained any distance from the mistwraiths. In fact, they seemed to be drawing closer.

“Er, manfool,” whispered Kermi into his ear. “This would be a good time to show some speed if you've got any.”

“I'm trying!”

“Then try harder. Or else we'll end up like those flower worlds back there.”

Promi swerved sharply and plunged into a cloud tunnel of howling winds. The winds jostled them furiously, making Promi's long black hair fly in all directions. Kermi's whiskers flapped against his face, while his round ears fluttered against his head.

They shot out of the windy tunnel. Right behind them came the mistwraiths, crackling with sparks. Behind them, twin trails of blackness blotted out the waning light.

Promi careened into an especially dark cloud. All around them, vapors pressed as thickly as seawater. Both Promi and Kermi held their breaths.

The companions streaked past thousands of glowing bubbles that were floating through this watery realm. Each bubble held a luminous world of its own, full of colorful places and bizarre creatures. Despite floating in the same waters, though, each bubble was destined to remain always separate, always apart.

Bursting out of the dark cloud, they flew into a wide expanse of brightly colored, cube-shaped crystals. Even as night fell across the spirit realm, shrouding all its worlds in darkness, these crystals radiated yellows, greens, purples, and reds. Wherever they came together, new colors appeared, tinting everything around them.

From each crystal came a strange sound, like a note from an airy flute, but more rich and resonant than any flute Promi had ever heard. Weaving together across the cloudscape, those sounds made a wildly unpredictable symphony—sometimes loud and cacophonous, sometimes quiet and melodic, always surprising.

One day,
thought Promi,
I'd like to come back and explore this place.

“First you'll have to survive
this
day,” Kermi reminded him.

Glancing behind, Promi saw the mistwraiths were still there—and gaining. Putting on a new burst of speed, he vaulted upward into a spiraling storm cloud. Lightning flashed all around, while thunder boomed.

Zzzzappp!
A searing blast of lightning sliced past, barely missing them. Then another zapped even nearer—so close Promi felt it singe the hair on his head.

He veered to the side, bursting out of the storm. Now they were flying over a dark blue sea of clouds, a region where liquid worlds washed over one another constantly. From the waves below, a pair of golden eyes shaped like diamonds poked above the surface and watched them pass. Then the eyes rose higher, revealing a huge head covered with turquoise scales.

But neither Promi nor Kermi noticed. All their attention was on the sound of crackling sparks that was pressing closer by the second. Desperately, Promi tried to fly faster—but the mistwraiths continued to close the gap. Now they were right behind!

A black spark glanced off Promi's left foot, searing his skin. He knew only seconds remained before their shadowy pursuers incinerated them completely. So he did the only thing he could think of—he flipped over backward, spinning a circle in the air.

“Manfool!” shouted Kermi, almost losing his grip.

The maneuver gained them a little distance from the mistwraiths. But only a little. As fast as Promi was flying, the deadly beings pressed closer.

And closer.

And closer.

The mistwraiths, rippling with rage, were now just a hair's breadth from Promi's feet. He could almost kick them—but to do that would cost him dearly in flesh and bone.

The mistwraiths swelled, already savoring the taste of conquest. Their shadowy folds rippled, spraying more sparks. Then, in unison, their heads opened into cavernous black mouths.

The mouths opened wider. They salivated streams of darkness, for these mistwraiths were most eager to devour their prey. At the very instant the mouths started to close on Promi and Kermi—

A huge creature flew at them from the side. Looking like a giant squid with leathery black wings, the creature opened its own enormous mouth—and swallowed Promi and Kermi whole.

The two of them tumbled down the creature's throat. They rolled along the ribbed gullet and finally came to a stop in a dark, cavernous belly. A harsh creaking sound echoed all around them—the creature's breathing, perhaps? Dazed and bruised, they knew only that they were, miraculously, still alive.

Outside, the enraged mistwraiths shrieked crazily. They hurled themselves against the creature, assaulting it with black sparks. But there was nothing they could do now, for this creature's thick hide seemed impervious to their sparks, as well as their power.

“That was rough,” said Promi, rubbing his sore head. “But I'd rather be in here than out there.”

“That depends,” grumbled Kermi, “on exactly where
here
is.”

“Wise words,” declared a voice that reverberated ominously.

The companions both started—not just because someone was in there with them, but for another reason, as well. Both of them, especially Promi, had the uncomfortable feeling that they had heard that voice before.

Just then a thick net fell over them. Made of fibrous vaporstone, it held them securely. And the more they flailed and struggled, the tighter it wrapped around them.

“Lights,” commanded the voice.

All at once the creature's entire belly flooded with light. Astonished, Promi and Kermi realized that they were not in a living creature at all, but in some sort of machine—a flying ship made of vaporstone panels that gleamed with a gray metallic sheen. All around the ship's hold were arrayed lights, switches, meters, levers, dials, and screens flashing endless streams of numbers and symbols. Round portals revealed the world outside, as well as the leathery wings whose constant beats made the creaking sound.

A flying ship,
thought Promi, thoroughly amazed.
I wonder if any more of these exist in the spirit realm.

Operating all the gadgetry, about a dozen men scurried around the hold. All of them wore heavy brown robes with deep hoods that hid their faces. They worked busily and efficiently, pausing only to inspect a screen or adjust a dial.

Only one of the robed men wasn't actively tending to the machinery. Taller than the others, he stood in the center of the room next to a chair clearly designed for the ship's captain. He strode toward the entangled captives, chortling from under his hood.

Placing his hands on his hips, he declared, “Well, well, won't my master be pleased to see you.”

Promi's mind raced. Where had he heard that voice before?

“Before I take you to him, though,” the captain continued, “I have some plans for you. Plans that I will find quite amusing—while you, alas, will find them excruciatingly painful.”

He chortled again. Then, from under his hood, he whistled the first few notes of a jaunty tune.

The blood froze in Promi's veins. “No,” he said, horrified. “It's not possible!”

“You are mistaken,” declared the captain. Throwing back his hood, he proclaimed, “It is I, your old friend Grukarr.”