Atlantis Rising (10 page)

No Escape

When you taste something hot, you’re bound to get burned.

—From Promi’s journal, with a sketch of someone’s angry face

W
ell, well,” said Grukarr, grinning maliciously as he straightened his turban. “What a delightful surprise.”

He chortled, stroking the talons of the fierce bird on his shoulder. It had taken his men only a moment to tie up the prisoners and set them side by side against the wall of the alley. Now he stood over them, exuding triumph.

“The net, my dear Atlanta, was intended just for you. Since you so kindly placed yourself where my Huntwing could easily spot you, the rest was easy.”

“A terrible, horrible mistake,” she fumed, trying to wriggle free from the ropes that bound her hands and feet.

Promi sighed. “Happens to the best of us.” He glanced at the telltale bulge in his boot, knowing exactly what Kermi was thinking:
Or the stupidest of us.

“What I didn’t expect, though,” Grukarr continued, “was to catch you, too, pie stealer.”

He strode up to Promi’s side and kicked him hard in the abdomen. The young man groaned with pain, unable to breathe for several seconds. But he quickly regained his composure. Determined not to give the priest any more satisfaction, he merely glared at his captor.

Grukarr returned the glare. “How you managed to escape from Ekh Raku, I can’t imagine. But it doesn’t matter at all now. For I’m going to kill you right here in this alley, slowly and exquisitely, while I watch you writhe in pain.”

His gaze swung back to Atlanta. “First, however, I have some unfinished business with this lovely young woman of the forest. She is going to help me.”

Atlanta shot him a look that could have cracked a boulder into pieces. “Never!”

Grukarr toyed with his necklace of golden beads. “Not even if it’s the only way to save your beloved forest?”

She caught her breath. “What does the forest have to do with this?”

“Everything, my dear.” The priest whistled merrily. “You see, there are changes—big changes—about to happen. While I cannot reveal them to you, I can tell you this much: They are all part of my grand plan. They will bring great power to some people, especially the new ruler of this realm . . . and great misery to others.”

He reached out his hand to stroke Atlanta’s flowing curls, but she leaned away. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled.

Pulling back his hand, he smirked. “Soon enough, my dear, you will cooperate fully. Oh, yes! I need you to help me find the most magical places in the forest—places where I can get what I need as quickly as possible.” His voice took on a more threatening tone. “You have already cost me several days, you see. Days I have spent searching for you instead of doing . . . what I need to do.”

He ruffled Huntwing’s tail feathers. “But we still have enough time, and some to spare. Now that I have you, at last, I will get what I need.” His voice lowered menacingly. “I always do.”

“You are a monster! I told you I’d never help you.”

“Oh, but you will, Atlanta. You will. Otherwise, everything you care about will be lost forever.” Chortling softly, he added, “And if you still resist . . . I will introduce you to my good friend over here.”

Grukarr waved at the dark shadows under the wall behind him. Promi and Atlanta both peered at the spot. At first, neither of them saw anything unusual. Then, simultaneously, they noticed one place that seemed darker than all the rest, a shadow within the shadows.

All of a sudden, that shadow moved! It floated eerily away from the wall, a living blot of darkness. Quivering constantly, the dark being crackled with black sparks as it slid to Grukarr’s side. Though only as high as the priest’s waist, it seemed immensely dangerous.

Promi and Atlanta gasped, staring at the shadow being. Grukarr’s men stood like statues, frozen with fear. Even Huntwing moved as far away as possible on his master’s shoulder and shifted uneasily.

With a nod toward the crackling shadow by his leg, Grukarr said pleasantly, “You have never encountered a creature of this kind? Such a pity. Meet my friend, a mistwraith from the spirit realm.”

Down in Promi’s boot, Kermi shuddered. At the same time, the young man could feel the skin of his chest start to prickle.

“From the spirit realm?” he asked Grukarr. “I thought nobody could—”

Footsteps interrupted him. Turning into the alley came six temple guards, heavily armed, marching in perfect unison. Right behind them strode an elderly woman whose spry movements belied her age—High Priestess Araggna, scowling as usual. Around her forearm, coiled tightly, rode her snake.

Grukarr stiffened, clearly surprised, while Huntwing clacked his beak viciously. The mistwraith instantly moved back to the shadows to avoid being seen by Araggna. Some of Grukarr’s men also slunk away, hoping the High Priestess wouldn’t recognize them. But a few others clenched their fists and muttered angry curses at the woman who had sentenced them to such cruel punishments.

Promi and Atlanta, meanwhile, could only watch the scene unfold. Both took this opportunity to struggle with their bonds, trying to loosen them; both failed completely. Atlanta wondered who this vile-looking woman could be—clearly someone of great power, judging from Grukarr’s reaction. Promi, for his part, wondered whether Araggna would recognize him. After all, her vision had been obscured by thick clouds of incense at their last meeting in the Divine Monk’s dining room.

The High Priestess’s guards fanned out, surrounding Grukarr. Araggna strode up to him and said imperiously, “My spies told me you were here, wasting time as usual.”

Grukarr’s eyes blazed with fury, but he held his tongue. He glanced at the armed guards surrounding him, composed himself, then replied respectfully, “Always at your service, High Priestess.”

“Bah! You don’t know what service means! Just as you don’t understand true loyalty . . . or, for that matter, intelligence.”

She snickered, a raspy, guttural sound. “Which is why you were stripped of the right to have any temple guards—and have to rely on untrained riffraff instead.”

Several of Grukarr’s men grumbled angrily. But a few sharp looks from the temple guards, whose hands lay on their sword hilts, was all it took to silence them.

Araggna’s gaze fell on the two young prisoners. “What do we have here? A pair of beggars, from the looks of them. More recruits for your riffraff guards?”

“No,” declared her deputy proudly. “I have caught, at last, the thief who stole the Divine Monk’s pie from the temple.”

Araggna started, surprised. “But you told me yesterday that you’d done that.”

“Well . . .” began Grukarr, clearly flustered.

“So you bungled that attempt! Either he escaped from you, or you arrested the wrong person.” She scowled more deeply than ever. “Let me see if you got the right thief this time.” She stepped toward Promi.

Meanwhile, Atlanta leaned over to Promi and whispered, “From the temple? That couldn’t have been easy.”

He glanced over at the remains of the lemon pie, trampled in their capture, and shrugged. “At least that pie I got to eat.”

Araggna came to a stop beside Promi, glaring down at him. On her arm, the snake lifted its head and hissed angrily. The priestess nodded and declared, “Why, yes, I do believe you are the one.”

The old priestess whirled around to face Grukarr. As she did so, Promi noticed for the second time the hint of something glowing beneath her robe. A mysterious light gleamed under the cloth. This time, he couldn’t say it was just an illusion. So what was it?

“Well, you imbecile,” snarled the High Priestess. “At long last, it seems, you have done something right.”

Grukarr trembled with rage. His cheeks turned almost purple. Even so, well aware of the armed guards who would instantly cut him down if Araggna ordered, he contained his anger.

Araggna watched him, amused at his frustration. “And who is the other one?” She waved dismissively at Atlanta. “Another thief?”

“No,” grumbled Grukarr. “She is someone who could be useful to me . . . in, well, another way.”

The priestess spat on the cobblestones. “You are truly a disgrace.” She sighed. “Today, however, I shall overlook your many failings. For you have somehow managed to capture the thief from the temple.”

With a scathing last look at Grukarr, she turned back to Promi. Bound tightly, he looked harmless, as well as filthy and half starved—the sort of prisoner who might have inspired mercy from a captor. But not Araggna.

“You are convicted of high crimes and the violation of sacred places,” she rasped. “So I condemn you to die, here and now.”

The boa constrictor slithered higher on her arm, hissing all the while.

Crossing her bony arms, Araggna added, “Contrary to my normal practice of not sullying myself with punishments, I plan to stay here and witness your execution. Just to enjoy it.”

She snapped her fingers at a burly guard who carried a double-bladed ax. “Get over here and kill the beggar.” She nodded at Grukarr. “Before my clumsy deputy can botch this again.”

Promi, meanwhile, wrestled with the ropes. But he couldn’t budge! Escape seemed utterly impossible. None of his old tricks could help him now. Even if he’d had a knife, he couldn’t have thrown it.

Glumly, he traded glances with Atlanta. Her face showed just what he felt—despair.

Roughly, the guard kicked Promi over on his side so that the young man’s head lay on the cobblestones. Then the guard grasped his heavy ax with both hands and started to raise it.

How can I possibly get out of here?
Promi’s mind raced.
I’ve got no movement. No knife. No anything! Except maybe . . .

Magic.
He clenched his jaw.
But I don’t know how to use it!

His thoughts whirled. Desperately, he recalled what Jaladay had told him in the dungeon. And how he’d done his best to use his Listener magic—but failed completely. What had he done wrong?

The ax lifted higher.

Jaladay said I must make a sacrifice. But how?

And higher.

Suddenly he remembered how she had described the magic itself. It could bring great power . . . but also great pain.
The loss,
she had warned,
of something you love.

And higher.

Something I love,
he told himself. Was that some sort of clue?

The guard grunted. His ax was fully raised, ready to fall.

Something I love,
repeated Promi desperately. That was it! The other things he’d tried to sacrifice—his earring, his strange mark—he didn’t really care for. So he needed to give up something precious. Valuable. Something he truly loved.

“Kill him,” the priestess commanded.

Promi closed his eyes, focusing all his thoughts on what he was going to sacrifice.

The ax began to fall.

“Listen one,” he whispered, “listen all.”

The sound of rushing wind swept through the alley. Yet no one felt even the slightest breeze.

The guard’s ax struck hard—but hit only the cobblestones. Sparks flew from the blade.

“No!” shouted Araggna and Grukarr in unison.

Promi and Atlanta had vanished completely, leaving only the knotted ropes that had bound them.

Sacrifice

Must say, I was impressed by what you did on your very first try! I hate to admit it, but you actually knew what you were doing.

—From her journal

Never in my life have I felt so stupid. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

—From Promi’s journal

A
n instant later, Promi and Atlanta found themselves sitting in a forest grove carpeted with sweetstalk fern. They gazed at each other in astonishment.

I
t worked!
thought Promi triumphantly. Then, an instant later, he realized,
Now I have to deal with that sacrifice.

Atlanta pinched herself to make sure this was real. “Are we . . . alive?”

“Seems that way,” replied Promi.
Thanks to magic,
he told himself, still not believing it.
Magic that I actually just used.

“We’re free!” she shouted. “Free!” She turned and gave Promi an exuberant hug—then suddenly feeling awkward, pulled away. She shook her head, bewildered. “But how?”

“Well,” said Promi hesitantly, “I suppose . . . I did it.”

“You? You really saved us?”

He nodded, still amazed. “Just a little magic I, well, picked up somewhere.”

“Thank you!” she cried, instinctively hugging him again. Then, just as quickly, she drew back, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

Meanwhile, the sound of a breeze swelled swiftly, filling the forest, though no actual wind stirred the trees. Not so much as a single leaf quivered on the surrounding acacias, elms, and oaks. Then, just as swiftly, the sound ended, replaced by the ebullient singing of a meadowlark, its notes spiraling downward like a waterfall of song.

Atlanta cocked her head, listening to the meadowlark’s melody. Then she leaned over to smell the nearest stalk of fern. Pressing her nose deep into its amber fronds, she drew a long breath. As she exhaled, she shook her head, making her curls bounce against her neck. “It
is
real,” she said, her voice full of wonder. “Not a dream.”

“Harrumph,” grumbled a small voice from the rim of Promi’s boot. “I wish it
were
just a dream. Then I could wake up.”

Atlanta froze. “What’s that? That voice?”

“Nothing,” answered Promi. “Just a little menace who insists on riding in my boot. Like a wart on my toe. You really don’t want to meet him, I promise.”

“What?” She slid over to his side, pushed away the ferns, and stared in astonishment at the small, furry fellow with big blue eyes and even bigger ears who was peering up at her. “This beautiful creature? Why, I’ve never seen anything so adorable!”

The kermuncle’s whiskers quivered in delight. Promi, meanwhile, shook his head in disgust.

Kermi blinked flirtatiously at Atlanta, then glanced at Promi. “You should stay with this one, manfool. She’s clearly a lot smarter than you.”

“Oh, you really are amazing,” cooed Atlanta. Gently, she stroked the blue fur on top of his head. “You are not only beautiful, you also have the power of speech.”

“Actually,” muttered Promi, “it’s the poison of sarcasm.”

“Jealousy,” said the little fellow with a sigh. “Just ignore him. He’s always like this. I have no idea why.”

She swiveled in the ferns and placed a hand on Promi’s arm. “Those two people, the priest and priestess . . .” She scowled. “They’re
monsters.
”

“Monsters,” he replied, “would be better company.”

“Yes. And as bad as she is, I’ve seen enough of him to think he’s even worse.”

“So have I,” said Promi, remembering poor Bonlo’s tale of betrayal. “And she is so old, at least she’ll probably die soon. But I fear we’ve only seen the beginning of evil from Grukarr.”

Suddenly, all around the meadow, trees quaked violently. They shook their branches and dropped leaves like tears that spun slowly to the ground.

“Don’t say his name again,” warned Atlanta. “He marched into this forest a few days ago and left behind only misery. His name, among these magical trees, is the ultimate curse.”

Promi nodded. “So we really are here? Your home, the Great Forest?” More quietly, he added, “That’s where I hoped we’d go . . . but I couldn’t be sure we’d get here.”

She drew a slow, deeply pleasurable breath, taking in a world of aromas. Not far away, she could smell the moss growing on a mahogany trunk, the moist fur of a mother fox hurrying back to her den, the needles of an enormous cedar, and the luscious skin of a ripening pear.

“Yes,” she said, exhaling slowly, “we’re really here.” All at once, her reverie ended. “Wait! Exactly how did you do that? With no trees around, my own magic was useless. But that didn’t stop you!”

Before he could reply, she blurted out, “And how can you have magic, anyway? Your eyes are brown, as brown as walnut wood—not green at all.”

Promi ran his hand over an amber stalk, trying to decide which question to answer first. And how to make those answers even slightly believable. “Look, I’m not really sure. This magic was . . . well,
given
to me. By someone I met—in a dungeon. Can’t explain why she gave it to me, of all people. Probably by mistake. All I can say is . . . that’s the first time I’ve ever used it.”

“The first time?” Atlanta straightened her back in surprise. “That’s powerful magic for anyone. Especially a beginner.” She scanned the deep forest around them. “Believe me, I know a little about magic.”

“Yes, well . . .” He shook himself, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

“All right, you moron,” said Kermi, tapping a paw on the edge of the boot. “Tell her what you
do
know about the magic.”

Promi scowled. “As I said, not much. Except that it’s called Listener magic.”

She eyed him skeptically. “
You?
A Listener? Like the ones in the legends?”

He nodded shyly.

“A Listener who’s hard of hearing, if you ask me,” muttered Kermi. “Nearly stone-deaf, in fact.”

Atlanta stared doubtfully at this young man she’d first thought was just a pie thief. “Listeners, if they still exist, are supposed to have vast power—the highest form of natural magic. So if what you say is true, why are you reduced to stealing from a bakery? Couldn’t you get food in a million other ways?”

“That’s how I’ve
always
gotten food. Ever since I can remember.” He swallowed, recalling the taste of freshly nabbed cinnamon rolls. His empty stomach twisted. Longingly, he thought,
Even just one bite of that lemon pie . . .

“Why haven’t you used your magic in all those years?”

He rubbed his belly, still thinking about the lemon pie. “The magic? I just got it last night.”

“Last night? And you can already transport people anywhere you choose?”

He blushed. “Don’t know how the magic works. Just like I don’t know how the magic in these boots works.” He lifted the one that didn’t hold Kermi. “They fit my feet perfectly, grow with me, and even expand to take a passenger.” With a frown, he added, “Even if the passenger is—”

“A true genius,” finished Kermi. “Someone who deserves better.” He blew a wobbly blue bubble that floated up toward the sky. Then, his voice wistful, he said, “I wish I were back at my favorite shore right now. Just Jaladay and me, watching the clouds. I would be dreaming of new—”

“Insults,” said Promi, now his turn to interrupt. “That’s your favorite thing to do, right?”

Kermi scowled. “Only with certain company. By the way, manfool, you haven’t told Atlanta the whole truth. You
do
know something else about Listener magic, don’t you? Something you haven’t mentioned.”

“Because I haven’t
wanted
to mention it, you wicked little beast!”

Atlanta leaned over the kermuncle and said sweetly, “Don’t let him upset you, little one.” She tousled the fur on top of his head. Then, facing Promi, she scolded, “You shouldn’t talk to him like that! Such a darling little creature, it’s a wonder he still wants to ride with you.”

Kermi released a soft whimper—which was a bit hard to hear over Promi’s growl of rage.

After stroking the tiny blue head a while longer, Atlanta turned back to Promi. “I still can’t believe all this. But you did bring us here somehow. Couldn’t you just tell me what else you know about the magic?”

He folded his arms. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“
Please?
” She looked at him imploringly.

“Oh, all right.” He felt thoroughly dejected. “Every time I use the magic, I need to . . . well, give something up. Make some sort of sacrifice.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Really? And the greater the magic you need, the bigger the sacrifice?”

“Something like that.”

She touched his shoulder. “What did you give up to save us, Promi? Tell me.”

He crossed his arms more tightly. “Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know, but . . .” She smiled fleetingly—a subtle, tentative smile, but lovely nonetheless, like the first ray of moonlight to touch the forest floor. “I’d really like to know.”

He chewed his lip for a moment, then replied, “I gave up eating. Not just sweets like lemon pies or cinnamon buns, but
everything.
”

She gasped. “For how long?”

He growled again. “A long time.”

“How long?”

“I told you,
a long time.
”

“Tell me, won’t you? How long?”

He grimaced. “For the rest of this day! All the way to sundown. That doesn’t sound so bad to you, maybe. But to me . . . I’m so hungry, it’s going to feel like a month!”

A wave of sympathy washed over her. “Oh, my. That really is awful!” She leaned closer. “I’m that hungry, too. Which is why, I think, you gave me that pie.”

“A whole lot of good that did,” he grumbled.

“My, my,” exclaimed Kermi, “that really was a big sacrifice you made.”

Promi perked up, surprised to hear what sounded like genuine compassion from his tormentor.

“Why,” Kermi continued, “you might actually weaken so much you’ll die. Or worse yet—you might just complain a whole lot until you get your next meal and then go on living.”

If a glare could ignite a fire, the one Promi gave the kermuncle would have started a major blaze. “Wish I could have sacrificed
you
! But that wouldn’t have worked, since it had to be something I care about.”

“Oh, manfool, you cut me to the quick.” Kermi’s whiskers quivered as if from distress, which made Atlanta reach over again to stroke his head. He blinked at her in thanks, then went on. “Just to show you I have no hard feelings, I’ll let you share in this.”

Reaching down deeper in the boot, he pulled out the remains of a half-eaten cinnamon bun. “See? You’re not the only one who can steal a pastry now and then. Especially when the bakery shelves are low enough I can grab it right from your boot.”

Promi’s eyes widened at the sight of such a delectable treat—then shut tight. Even more than hunger for the pastry, he felt sheer frustration that he couldn’t eat it.

Seeing his look of agony, the kermuncle smirked. “Go on now, manfool. Eat it.” He tossed the chewed bun to Promi.

The young man caught it, his eyes smoldering. “I told you I can’t . . . eat . . . anything.” He threw the bun back at Kermi.

“Oh, right. How silly of me to forget! Such a pity.” He pouted his tiny cheeks. “But Atlanta, my dear, you’re welcome to eat it. Even if he can’t.”

She brightened. “Thank you, little . . .”

“Kermi.”

“Thank you so much, Kermi. What a generous being you are! But now that we are here in my forest home, I have plenty to eat.”

“Unlike him.” He waved a paw at Promi. “How terribly, terribly sad,” he said, grinning broadly.

Promi’s gaze bored into him. “Just you wait, you little menace. I’ll find some way to chew on
your
buns.”

“Harrumph,” replied the kermuncle in a horrified tone. “How rude.”

“Enough.” Promi stood up in the ferns. He offered a hand to Atlanta, but she bounced to her feet without any help. Happy to be back in the forest, she pranced like an energetic faun.

By contrast, Promi swayed, feeling weak from hunger. “Wish I could eat even just a bite of something,” he lamented. “But I have a feeling that if I broke my vow and ate before supper . . . something very bad would happen.”

Atlanta nodded. “You’d lose the magic, that’s certain. Maybe more.”

“Besides,” said Kermi from the rim of the boot, “I’d never let you hear the end of it.” He licked the cinnamon glazing off his paws, smacking his lips with pleasure. “Such a pity you can’t eat for all that time.”

Promi ground his teeth. “What I
can
do is walk. Straight back to the City, so I can feed myself a decent supper. Or breakfast, if it takes me that long to get there.”

“What?” Atlanta stared at him in surprise. “There’s wonderful food right here! Why don’t you stay in the forest for a while?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I prefer living where I know how to get food.”

“Steal food, you mean,” groused Kermi.

“Sure. It’s not a bad way to live, really. All I have to do is watch out for G—”

Though he caught himself before saying the priest’s name, tree branches nearby clacked and shook angrily.

At the same time, Atlanta shuddered. “So wicked, that man! I wish I knew exactly what he plans to do with the forest.”

“He said he wanted your help to find its most magical places. To get whatever he needs.”

“But what is that? And why does he need it?”

“No idea,” said Promi. “All we know is that he needs it soon, for some reason. And that it’s part of his
grand plan
—something that will empower whoever will be the next ruler of Ellegandia.”

“Not just Ellegandia,” corrected Atlanta. “He said, ‘the new ruler of this realm.’ And I got the distinct feeling he meant, by that, the whole mortal realm.”

Promi’s eyes widened. “You might be right. But how could that ever happen? The rest of the mortal world is separate from Ellegandia. We’re sealed off by ocean cliffs and mountains all around.”