Atlantis in Peril (9 page)

Invisible Wings

A
fter parting with the others, Promi continued to walk down the street. Thinking about the day's remarkable events, he didn't pay any attention to where he was walking, merely padding along the cobblestones. He even forgot about the sullen little passenger who was riding on his shoulder, pretending to snooze.

Abruptly, he halted. For he was standing, he suddenly realized, in the very same alley where he'd first met Atlanta months before. He stared at the spot where he'd found her, looking as bedraggled as any beggar after being chased out of the Great Forest by Grukarr. What was it about her that had prompted him to talk with her—and, much more amazing, to offer her his newly stolen lemon pie?

Her eyes,
he recalled. A rich shade of blue-green, they reminded Promi of a springtime forest and an impossibly deep lake, brought together by some alluring magic he couldn't describe.

He bit his lip.
I miss her. Curse the stars and moon above, I do!

A wave of regret flowed over him, as overwhelming as any real wave sent by the sea goddess.
How could I have ruined everything?

He kicked a pebble down the cobblestones, walking aimlessly, feeling more glum with each step. Even if she did say those awful things . . . she did have one good reason.

She could be right.
He heaved a sigh.
Well, now I know exactly what I need to do! I'm going to march back out to that forest and tell her I'm sorry.

It may not do any good, he knew. But he felt real determination to try.
I'll go first thing in the morning,
he vowed.
And nothing will get in my way.

“Do my senses deceive me?” said Kermi from his shoulder perch. “Or is something troubling my dear manfool?”

Promi winced. The last thing he wanted to do was talk with Kermi about all this. But he couldn't very well deny everything and pretend to be just fine. Deciding to tell the truth but keep it short, he grumbled, “I was an idiot to Atlanta.”

The kermuncle's tail thumped against his back, as if applauding. “You? An idiot? Why, that is the single most intelligent thing I've ever heard you say.”

Shaking his head, Promi demanded, “Why did you ever come down here, anyway? Can't you do something better with your time? Aren't there enough people you can torment up in the spirit realm?”

Kermi's eyes narrowed to blue slits. “Since you asked . . . I came only because Jaladay begged me. So I could give you a warning.”

“What sort of warning?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing too important,” said Kermi in a bland tone of voice. “Just a little advice to you about how to avoid destroying Atlantis, the mortal world, and the entire spirit realm, as well.”

Promi stiffened. “What advice?”

Enjoying the moment, Kermi yawned and sent a few bubbles floating lazily up to the sky. “Maybe I'll tell you tomorrow.”

“Tell me now!”

“All right, but you don't need to get so rude about it.” He cleared his little throat. “Jaladay had a vision of a Greek ship approaching Atlantis—a ship loaded with passengers and a blue dolphin on its sail.”

“All right. So what was her advice?”

“She insisted, manfool, that you absolutely must
not
save that ship! That if you did . . . a great catastrophe would follow. A catastrophe big enough to destroy everything.”

Stunned, Promi tried to digest this. “But . . . you never told me before it happened.”

“You never gave me a chance, manfool!”

“And you—” started Promi. But he halted abruptly, having just heard a sound that always stopped him short. A sound he knew well. A sound that, the first time he'd heard it, transformed his life forever.

The distant roar of a lion.

Theosor,
he knew instantly. But why was the wind lion here?

Only then did Promi realize that, in his distracted wandering through the streets, he'd come very close to the Bridge to Nowhere. The structure, stretching partway across the canyon, disappeared into billowing clouds of mist. It looked, as always, so flimsy that it could barely support the weight of all the prayer leaves that covered its planks like a flock of silver-winged butterflies.

Yet he knew well this bridge was anything but flimsy. It spanned two worlds, one mortal and the other immortal. For those brave enough to walk upon it—or, as Promi had done that first time, to leap off it—this bridge reached amazingly far.

Drawn to the sound of the wind lion's roar, Promi stepped closer to the bridge. Kermi, who had also heard Theosor's call, stayed perfectly still. Clouds rose from the rapids in the gorge, swirling and churning, making Promi's hair and Kermi's fur sparkle with mist.

Just as Promi placed one foot on the first warped plank of the bridge, the wind lion's magnificent form appeared out of the clouds. Theosor's silver-hued mane rippled like water, as his huge paws strode closer. Somewhere near the lion's massive shoulders, invisible wings vibrated in the mist. But his most striking attribute was his eyes—huge brown eyes that could see from one world into the next.

“Theosor!” exclaimed Promi, peering into those eyes. “It's good to see you again.”

Then, speaking to the wind lion by thought, he added,
I hope you're not angry at me for flying between the worlds without you.

“No, young cub,” Theosor replied in his deep, rumbling voice that rolled like thunder. “I am not angry, though you cannot fly as fast as I can.”

“That I know! Only you could have outraced Narkazan and his entire army.”

Theosor nodded, rippling his great mane. “Nor can you fly through the veil without tearing it, for only wind lions possess the magic to do that.”

At the mention of the veil, Promi frowned. He started to ask the wind lion about Sammelvar's claims, but before he could, Theosor spoke again.

“No time for that now, young cub. I have been sent here to find you—and bring you to your parents at once.”

Promi's frown deepened markedly. He rubbed his foot into the plank. “Last time I saw them . . . it wasn't exactly a happy reunion.”

“No matter,” boomed the wind lion. “Your sister Jaladay is missing.”

The young man jolted, and Kermi released a screech. “Missing?” they both asked at once.

Theosor nodded. “She may be in grave danger.”

Immediately, Promi leaped off the bridge and landed squarely on the lionsteed's back. A
whooooshhh
of invisible wings—and they vanished into the clouds.

Mist Fire

T
he instant he leaped, Promi felt time slow down. The sound of prayer leaves flapping slowed to a steady drumbeat, each beat sending a cherished prayer to the spirit realm. Even the rush of cold, wet air on his face seemed to happen in slow motion. As did the sensation of landing on Theosor's sturdy back.

Already,
Promi thought,
time is moving faster for everyone on Atlantis than for me.

Suddenly, everything returned to what seemed like a normal pace, telling him that he'd adjusted to spirit time. For a moment, he just opened his senses to the experience of flying, once again on his old friend. He felt the flexing of Theosor's powerful shoulders, saw the vibration in the mist from invisible wings, smelled the moisture on the lion's fur, and heard his own heart pounding with excitement. And he also felt the squeeze of Kermi's tail wrapped securely around his neck.

Promi grabbed hold of the wind lion's mane as they plunged deeper into the clouds. Theosor bounded vigorously, turning this way and that, following a path only he could see into the billowing mist. All the while, the lionsteed's silver fur glistened like moonlight on a flowing stream.

As always, the spirit realm changed continuously. Mountains of mist rose higher and higher before they melted away into lush valleys or rolling plains. Oceans of clouds suddenly opened into canyons so deep they had no bottom, before a new mountain rose right out of the abyss. An endless procession of vistas melted into each other, ever evolving.

At the same time, Promi glimpsed an infinite array of places within places, scenes within scenes. Sometimes he'd see a brilliant rainbow forming in the heart of a peak; other times he'd find hints of forests or deserts within oceans. And for every place he could identify, many more remained a mystery.

The wind lion veered one way and then another, leaping over an emerging cloudscape here and plunging straight through one there. Some places felt like windy tunnels, with hordes of misty creatures racing past. Others, by contrast, seemed utterly still—until a flock of cloud-winged birds bubbled out of its surface and rose into the sky, or a single gigantic head appeared and swallowed the place entirely.

“Young cub,” rumbled Theosor, “I am worried about Jaladay. And about what this could mean.”

“So am I,” answered Promi.

“Me too.” The kermuncle's small body shuddered. “I should never have left her side for that fool's errand.”

Theosor vaulted upward, landing on a vertically flowing river of mist that carried them swiftly higher. Seconds later, he leaped off the rising river and plunged into a cloudscape where everything glowed different shades of green. A deep green ocean swelled with tides, as a blue-green mountain twirled above the water. Veering again, the wind lion loped across a vast, stormy scene where lightning and thunder exploded on all sides.

Between blasts, Theosor said, “You once told me, young cub, that
impossible
challenges were your specialty.”

“Still are,” declared Promi.

The wind lion turned his head just enough to fix his gaze on the young man. “Good. Because my inner sense tells me that this involves much more than your sister . . . and could be your greatest challenge yet.”

Promi clenched his fingers more tightly in the lion's mane.

Just then, Theosor dived into a lightless tunnel. Like a drum, it echoed with the thunder claps they'd left behind, until at last they had traveled so far the storms faded entirely away. In a sudden burst of light, they flew out of the tunnel and into a place of blue sky and wispy shreds of mist.

Straight ahead, in the middle of a revolving ring of mist, stood Sammelvar and Escholia. Both of them turned toward the approaching visitors. Sadness and worry showed on both their faces.

Entering the ring of mist, Theosor landed on a tuft so airy it was almost invisible. Gracefully, he padded over to the elder spirits. As Theosor came to a stop, Promi jumped off. With the wind lion by his side and the kermuncle on his shoulder, he faced his parents.

“Something gravely serious has happened,” said Sammelvar.

“Jaladay is missing?” asked Promi. “For how long?”

“Since we last saw her on the purple cloudfield of Orquesta,” said Escholia, her voice trembling. “Right after you left us.”

Promi tensed. “No sign of her at all?”

“Nothing,” answered Sammelvar. “Save this.” He held up Jaladay's turquoise headband. “It was left on the cloudfield.”

Promi reeled at the sight of the cloth that he'd only seen on his sister's face or in her hand. Kermi growled angrily.

“There is more,” continued Sammelvar. “On the spot where she'd been sitting, we found the unmistakable evidence of
mistwraiths
.”

Escholia nodded grimly. “Their black sparks do so much damage. Especially to such a delicate place.”

“Mistwraiths!” Promi blew some stray hairs off his face. “I thought they all went into hiding after Narkazan disappeared.”

“So did I,” rumbled Theosor. “How dare they show themselves?”

Gazing at the wind lion, Sammelvar said, “That is indeed the right question. I can only surmise that something significant has happened—something that gives those dreadful beings the protection they need to abandon their hiding places.”

“Not—” began Promi.

“Yes.” The spirit of wisdom grimaced as he spoke. “Narkazan, I fear, has returned.”

“No!” shouted Promi. “That's not possible!”

“But it is,” declared Theosor, nudging the young man with his enormous head. “Just because no one has ever escaped the Maelstrom before doesn't mean it isn't possible. And if anyone burns with vengeance enough to do it, that would be Narkazan.”

A gust of wind buffeted the ring of mist, scattering some lacey shreds. But nobody moved. All eyes remained fixed on Sammelvar. He drew a long breath and then spoke again.

“We have no way yet to know if my suspicions are true. But if indeed they are, then Jaladay is truly at risk.” Glancing at his wife, he added, “He will try to make her turn her powers against us—and when she refuses . . .”

Silence fell over them. For everyone knew that Jaladay would never cooperate with the immortal warlord.

“Do you think,” asked Promi at last, “he will kill her?”

“Yes,” replied his mother, her eyes shadowed with worry. “Any spirit—even one as strong and brave as Jaladay—can die from pain that's just too intense or prolonged.”

“Like drowning,” rumbled Theosor. “Or being skinned alive.”

Sammelvar clenched his fists. “Both of which Narkazan has used in his tortures. And I am certain he's found other methods, as well.”

He drew a deep breath and faced his son. “On top of that, we have another problem. The veil is close to failing entirely. We—”

“
If
that's really true,” interrupted Promi. He locked gazes with his father. “Why worry about something no one can prove, when we need to focus on saving Jaladay?”

Sammelvar answered frostily, “I know that you would rather not believe it's true, Promi. That way you can visit Atlantis anytime you like.”

“But—” Promi objected, his rage rising.

“I have not finished,” declared Sammelvar firmly. “What I was starting to say is something that you of all people should consider.”

Heed him, young cub,
Theosor said silently to Promi.
This is a time to listen, not speak.

Grinding his teeth, Promi remained quiet.

“We must remember,” Sammelvar went on, “that if Narkazan discovers the weakness of the veil, he will use that to his advantage. Right now, I'm afraid, it would take only a small band of his warriors to destroy whatever remains. Then there will be no way to stop him from invading the world of mortals, whose magic and resources he has long coveted.”

Trying to keep his voice calm, Promi asked, “But how do you know the veil is so weak?
What makes you so sure?
”

Sammelvar and Escholia traded glances, understanding that Promi's question was only partly about the veil.

Reluctantly, Sammelvar admitted, “You are right that there's no way to be sure, because the magic of the veil repels all the normal ways of perceiving it.”

“So,” said Promi with more than a touch of smugness, “you really
are
just guessing.”

“I suppose that's true, my son. But over the years, I've developed a keen understanding of the veil—a feeling for it, you could say.”

“But you still have no proof! And you want us to stake so much of our plans—and our lives—on some undefined
feeling
?”

Theosor growled quietly at this rudeness. But Promi didn't seem to notice. His resentment was just too strong.

“Yes,” answered Sammelvar. “That's right.” He took a step toward the young man. “I am asking you, just this once, to trust me.”

Promi studied his father for a moment before speaking. “Well,” he answered, “I
can't
.”

Once more, Theosor growled.

“Don't you see why?” asked Promi. “Now that I'm old enough to think for myself, I just don't buy this.”

To Promi's surprise, his father nodded in agreement. “Yes, I do see. It seems . . . I must prove this to you.”

“If you can.”

Escholia looked at her husband with growing concern.

“When I told you we couldn't be sure,” Sammelvar declared, “I said that was true in ‘all the normal ways.' There
is
one other way. But it comes with a great risk.”

Escholia sucked in her breath. “Not . . .”

“Yes,” said her husband with a grim nod. “We could use
mist fire
.”

Peering at Promi, he pledged, “I will do this for you. But as I said, there will be a cost. Calling up mist fire to show us the veil will leave a faint residue—an afterglow—for at least a few days' time. If, by some chance, Narkazan sees what the mist fire reveals . . . he will know our great weakness.”

“But,” protested Escholia, “is this wise?”

“No,” replied Sammelvar. “But it's necessary.” He gazed at her, then added, “If only to regain the trust of my own son.”

“You shouldn't,” she insisted.

“I must.” The elder then turned back to Promi and asked, “Knowing what I have told you, do you still want me to proceed?”

Theosor's deep brown eyes watched his friend.
Think carefully, young cub.

But Promi was still too full of anger to do that. All he could think about was how sick and tired he was of being told what to do with his life.

“Yes,” he declared. “Proceed.”

“So be it.” Sammelvar reached up and twirled a small shred of mist around his finger. Focusing on the mist, he spoke an ancient chant:

Flame now, mist fire—

Burn bright and rise higher.

Show me secrets I must know,

Hidden where I cannot go.

Stretching out his hand, he commanded, “Show me the Veil of Peace that divides the mortal and immortal worlds.”

Instantly, the wisp of mist flared into a blazing red flame that reached from Sammelvar's hand up to nearly twice his height. As the elder spirit removed his hand, the flame hung in the air. At the same time, it flattened and took the shape of a trembling piece of red cloth.

Promi, along with the others, gasped. For the cloth had been torn almost to shreds. Some sections were connected by just a single thin thread. Overall, it looked so weak it could simply disintegrate from a gust of wind.

Swiftly, the vision began to fade. Like the embers of a dying fire, it quivered and glowed for a few final seconds. Then it disappeared completely.

Theosor turned his head, scanning the surrounding clouds. “I can see a subtle red glow in the most distant mist. And it was not there before.”

“The afterglow,” said Sammelvar grimly. “Let us hope our enemies don't notice it before it, too, fades.”

Promi swallowed. Looking straight at his father, he said, “I'm . . . sorry.”

“So am I, my son. I wish that it hadn't been so.”

“As do I,” added Escholia.

“But it
is
so,” Promi declared. “And I'm going to do the only thing I can to lessen our troubles.”

“What,” asked Sammelvar, “is that?”

“I will find Jaladay! Whatever it takes, I will find her.”

“Wait,” pleaded Escholia. “If there are mistwraiths—”

“Then I will face them.” Promi straightened his back. “And Narkazan, too, if I must.”

Sammelvar reached for his son's arm. “You don't need to do this, you know.”

“I know.”

“Please, Promi,” said Escholia. “We don't want to lose
both
of you to Narkazan.”

Theosor shook his mane and rumbled, “I would like to go with Promi.”

“Me, too,” piped up Kermi, thumping his tail on Promi's back.

Sammelvar frowned. “I cannot let you go, good Theosor. Now that we have revealed the true state of the veil, I need you and your most trusted wind lions to patrol the entire perimeter of the afterglow—and to capture any allies of Narkazan you may find. You must stop them from reporting back to him.”

Theosor gave a nod. “As you wish.” Then his huge eyes moved toward Promi. “I am sorry not to join you, young cub.”

“That makes two of us,” Promi replied.

“Three of us,” added Kermi.

Sammelvar peered at his son. “Since I cannot, alas, give you the help of a wind lion . . . I can at least give you some advice. About mistwraiths.”

“What advice?”

“Mistwraiths,” said the elder spirit, “are rightly feared in every corner of the realm. They are malicious, brutal, cunning, and merciless. They are Narkazan's most dangerous creations, raised from birth to terrorize and destroy anything alive. They devour the life, as well as the magic of other creatures. And they are totally loyal to their master because they fear his wrath.”