The Promise

by Peter Lerangis

  As I emerged into the flat lands, I tripped on a root and fell.

  With a snort, Eephus emerged from the forest behind me.

  He was not alone.

  My jaw dropped open. Trees were tilting left and right, crashing down hard on the soaked soil. From their midst came a creature like nothing I’d seen before. It seemed to be gaining mass from the soil, the roots and trunks and leaves themselves—a face, mouth, a ring of eyes that billowed and bulged into an amorphous mass of glowing green. It groaned as it grew, casting its cold, hungry eyes in all directions.

  What on earth was this thing of horror? What had we unleashed in our foolish quest for power? I did not want to know.

  Eephus screeched, half running on its spindly legs, half flying. I ran away, toward the safety of the kingdom. Above me I saw a great swooping bird.

  No. It was no griffin but Massarym, heading downward for me.

  I felt him grab my shoulder and I was lifted upward. In the dim moonlight I saw a sack around his shoulders. “Th-thank you!” I shouted.

  He did not reply. Instead he carried me up . . . up . . . until the tops of the trees were far beneath us. Now safely in the distance, I could see the green mountain creature making a swath of destruction through the jungle. Fireballs fell from the sky as if thrown by the gods themselves. As we swung over the harbor I could see the ships rocking placidly in their moorings.

  “I—I’m sorry,” Massarym said, and before I could ask him to explain, he let me go.

  I remember falling. I remember thinking I was going to die. I know I woke up floating in the sea and commandeering a ship with the first wave of Atlanteans who fled the destruction. And I remember seeing the fireball that fell like a planet, consuming Atlantis in flames before my eyes.

  I’ve been told ours was the only surviving ship, but I hope this is not true.

  Please forgive me, Diary, for not being able to write more. It is a vision quite too painful to remember.

  I still do not know how you ended up here, Diary, in the land of the Phoenicians, where I have taken refuge. Is it possible my mother or father survived with a few choice mementos? Will I find them? I wish you could tell me!

  Well.

  There is a knock at the door. I hear my name being called. Maybe this . . .

  By the gods, Diary, I know this voice.

  Could it be?

  Or is my brother just heavy on my mind now?

  Let me check. I will return in—

  [Editor’s note: This is where the text ends. A search is ongoing for any other remnants of the writing of Karai of Atlantis.]

  NOTES

  1 Not that we have ever had any foreign invaders, but it is fun to imagine. Tomorrow I promise to begin my nineteenth short story, “Brave Karai and the Cannibals of Cakkiliskobos.” Maybe I will think of a better title.

  2 Actually, it is entirely possible I thought of this. But I will defer to my elders and be glad NO ONE WILL EVER READ THIS BUT ME!

  3 Meaning Massarym.

  4 Meaning me.

  5 Yes, highly illegal and punishable—to all except the overindulged Massarym!

  6 Student.

  7 Every.

  8 I do not know if this is a fact, as we have not experienced war in Atlantis, but my studies of other cultures demonstrate the incendiary results of such mockery.

  9 Note to any spy, foul-smelling thief, or twin who at the moment is reading this diary—here is written proof that I can indeed be fair-minded and kind toward my otherwise odious brother.

  10 Admittedly along with hours and hours spent with wizards and alchemists sworn to secrecy.

  11 HA!! Yes, I am wicked, but only in private.

  12 Forgive me for re-creating the lecture here AGAIN, Diary. But this time, there is good reason. Trust me.

  13 Oh dear gods, Diary, is it possible he was switched at birth?

  14 Diary, YOU never lie. Reading back over the previous entries, I do see ample evidence of this! Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch . . . like a mangy dog! What did Atlanteans think of their future King Karai the Canine?

  15 Please forgive the mention of He Who Spoilt the Sanctity of Thy Pages.

  16 In case the Evil Massarym is sneaking a look at this, all I have to say is, stick your fat face in a rotten pomegranate.

  17 Because everywhere she is, Massarym the Massively Annoying pops out of nowhere, goofing around, trying to make her laugh. Which she does, just to humor him. It’s really nauseating.

  18 Uddu-uddu—meaning what do you call it, more or less. It’s a great word to know.

  19 Aside from his usual craziness.

  EXCERPT FROM SEVEN WONDERS BOOK 5: THE LEGEND OF THE RIFT

  READ A SNEAK PEEK OF BOOK FIVE

  CHAPTER ONE

  FIRST DAY OF THE END OF THE WORLD

  YOU KNOW YOU’VE reached rock bottom when you’re standing on a beach, looking to the horizon, and you don’t notice you’re ankle-deep in dead fish.

  If I’d been there ten minutes earlier, the water would be up to my shoulders. Now I was at the top of a wet, sloping plain. It was littered with rocks, ropes, bottles, crabs, fish, a massive but motionless shark, and the rotted hull of an old shipwreck.

  Our tropical island had shot upward like an express elevator. Ten minutes ago, King Uhla’ar of Atlantis had opened a rift in time, which according to legend would make the great continent rise again. But I wasn’t really thinking about legends right then. Because when he jumped into that rift, he took Aly Black with him. One minute there, the next minute boom! Down and gone. Back into time. Back to Atlantis.

  Losing Aly was like losing a part of myself.

  So on the first day of the end of the world, I, Jack McKinley, felt like someone had reached down my throat and torn out my heart.

  “Jack! Marco! Cass! Eloise!”

  Mom.

  I spun around at her voice. She was back on the sandy part of the beach, glancing over her shoulder. Behind us, a group of frightened Massa soldiers streamed out of the jungle. Marco Ramsay, Cass Williams, and his sister, Eloise, were standing at either side of me. And that was when I began to notice the fish. Because a really ugly one whipped my left ankle with its fin.

  “They look nasty,” Eloise said.

  “They speak highly of you,” Cass replied.

  Eloise looked at him, completely baffled. “Who, the Massa?”

  “No, the fish,” Cass said. “Aren’t you talking about the—”

  “I’m talking about those guys!” Eloise said, pointing to the frantic soldiers. “Do you hear Sister Nancy—I mean, Jack’s mom? She’s warning us to stay out of their way.”

  From deep in the trees, I could hear the shrill screech of a poison-spitting vizzeet—followed by the guttural cry of a soldier in great pain. The Massa headquarters was on the other side of the jungle, and their soldiers and scientists were running here to see what had happened.

  They’d felt the rumble, but they had no idea about the rift. And about the monsters who had escaped.

  “Aw, man, what a trap,” said Marco. “Those critters? They’re like, woo-hoo, Greek dinner, free delivery!”

  Some of the Massa were laying their bloodied pals on the sand. Others were running in confusion and panic down the muddy, fish-strewn beach toward us. Some were barfing in the reeds, nauseated by the violent motion of the earth. Mom was trying to calm them all down, tell them what had happened in the caldera. She wore a Massa-brown robelike uniform like something from a fashion catalog in 1643. The soldiers respected her, but they didn’t know she was (a) my mom and (b) a rebel spy. And Torquin, our beloved seven-foot bodyguard, was directly behind us, picking his nose, which he did when he was nervous.

  “We watched Aly go, Jack,” Cass said. “What are we going to do?”

  It was hard to think. There was another huge problem none of us wanted to talk about—Uhla’ar had taken the Loculus of Strength with him. If we didn’t find all seven of the magic Atlantean Loculi, our G7W gene would kill us
on schedule by our fourteenth birthdays. So if even one Loculus was missing, we were toast.

  The fish were distracting me now, and I pulled us all back onto more solid ground. As we did, the Massa bellowed to each other, mostly in Greek. They were pushing and jostling, positioning themselves to ogle the shipwreck. Fifty or so yards down the muddy slope the ship’s remains rose out of the muck like a dinosaur skeleton. It canted to one side, its mast tilted and cracked. Seaweed hung from its crossbeams like long-forgotten laundry, and the wooden hull was lumped with barnacles. Weirdly, after more than a century underwater, the ship’s name was still visible on the hull.

  The Enigma.

  “Dudes, call me crazy,” Marco said, pushing a couple of the soldiers out of our way, “but you think the answer might be out there, in the ship?”

  “You’re crazy,” Cass said.

  Marco’s size thirteen feet made slurping sounds in the mud as he stepped toward the ship. “Okay, stay with me now . . . That ship belonged to what’s his face, right? The guy who discovered the island in the eighteen hundreds. Marvin or Berman.”

  “Herman Wenders,” Cass said.

  “Right,” Marco said. “So I’m thinking, we go out there and explore the ruins. Wenders was supposed to be a genius, right? What if he left behind important stuff—you know, maps, notebooks, secrets? I mean, this is the guy that discovered the rift, right? Maybe he knows how to get in and out of it without all the bad consequences.”

  “We’ll be like pirates.” Eloise began striding toward the ship with an exaggerated limp. “Argggh! Yo-ho-ho, avast and ahoy! Batten the britches! Poop the decks!”

  From the look on Cass’s face, he wished his long-lost sister were still lost.

  Torquin’s gloomy expression melted, and he snorted bubbles through his freshly picked bulbous nose. That would be a disturbing sight under normal conditions, but it was worse now. These days he looked like the Hulk dipped into an acid bath. His face was still black with burn marks from a car explosion in Greece, and his once-red hair was just a few blackened clumps. “Ha. She said poop. Funny girl.”

  “I say we go back to the rift and offer the king a trade,” Cass murmured. “We take Aly, he takes Eloise.”

  Hearing that, Eloise picked up a dead eel and threw it at him. He giggled and ducked. Like typical sibs who’d been fighting all their lives. Which was strange because until recently Cass didn’t even know he had a sister. With their parents in jail and their lives scattered among foster families, it was like they needed to make up for lost time.

  “So I try to be serious,” Marco said with exasperation, “and this is what I get.”

  “They’re blowing off steam,” I said. “Trying to be normal.”

  I couldn’t blame them. If old Herman Wenders hadn’t come to this godforsaken island in the first place, maybe the Karai followers would never have organized the institute. And then no one would have discovered the Atlantean G7W gene that made a superpower out of your biggest talent, but killed you at fourteen. And I would be a normal thirteen-year-old kid in Indiana, worrying about math and sometimes being whomped by Barry Reese. True, I’d be about to drop dead, but at least I’d be blissfully ignorant about that. And I wouldn’t have wasted all these past weeks looking for seven Loculi to cure us—which we now knew we would never find. And Aly would still be here.

  But he had, and they did, and it was, and I’m not, and we did, and she isn’t. So in four months I would be an ex-Jack, the G7W Kid with No Talent.

  I wondered if I’d have a chance to say good-bye to my dad. Was he still in the airport in Greece, where we’d left him? Would I ever be able to contact him?

  “Earth to Jack?” Cass said.

  I looked around into the mass of confusion. “Okay, if we do nothing, we’re dead,” I said. “The Massa are up in a twist about the earthquake and the ship. That won’t last forever. They’re going to turn on us. Marco, visiting the ship is a cool idea. But I say we try to get Aly now.”

  “Us and what army?” Cass said, looking back toward the jungle.

  Marco puffed out his chest. “Who needs an army when you have Marco the Magnificent?”

  “Did you see that . . . thing that was stuck in the rift?” Cass said. “It was huge. And . . . and . . . green. And magnificenter than you!”

  “You mean the thing that I stabbed, thank you very much?” Marco said.

  “Yeah, but what about all those disgusting creatures who escaped? Listen. Just listen!” Cass turned toward the jungle, which echoed with the hooting and cackling of panicked animals. “You see what’s been happening to the Massa. There are vizzeets and griffins and vromaskis in there—hundreds of them!”

  Marco nodded thoughtfully. “Well, yeah, even human physical perfection has its limits.”

  “That’s the most modest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Cass said.

  “So we’ll use the Loculus of Invisibility and the Loculus of Flight. Just pass ’em by. They won’t even know we’re—” Marco cut himself off in midsentence. “Uh, one of you guys did take the backpack, didn’t you?”

  Cass shook his head. I shook my head. My heart was dropping like a freight elevator.

  “Nope,” Torquin added.

  “And the shards of the Loculus of Healing?” Marco continued.

  “Everything happened so fast—” I said.

  Marco put his palm over his face. “Man. I thought I was supposed to be the dumb one! Guess I’ll dust off three seats in the doofus corner.”

  “Five,” Torquin said, counting on his sausage-sized fingers. “I mean, four.”

  A deep rumbling noise cut the conversation short. For a moment I saw two Casses. The ground shook, as if a silent subway train were passing underneath. I bent my knees instinctively. I could hear a distant crawwwwwk—the Enigma creaking as it shifted with the earth’s movement.

  Cass held on to Marco. I held on to Torquin. My body lurched left, right, up, down, as if the world itself had slipped on its axis. Every other noise—seagulls, the distant crashing of the surf—stopped.

  Then, as quickly as the movement began, it ended.

  In the silence, I could hear Brother Dimitrios’s voice cry, “Earthquake!”

  “Duh,” Torquin said.

  Cass groaned. “Ohhhh, I feel motion sick. The world is about to end and I am going to die in a pile of my own puke.”

  “Swallow three raw eggs,” Torquin said. “Very good for nausea.”

  “This is just the beginning,” Cass moaned. “It’s like Aly said. If the rift opened, Atlantis would rise, and the continental plates would shift. Then, wham. Tidal waves, earthquakes. New York and LA go underwater. Massive fires sweep the land . . . dust clouds block the sun.”

  “Cass, we can’t panic,” I said.

  “Don’t be a denier, Jack!” Cass said. “This is exactly what happened in the time of the dinosaurs—and you know what became of them.”

  Marco wiped sweat from his brow. “I don’t think we have a choice. Jack’s right. Face down those critters! Into the rift!”

  Whenever Marco moved, he moved fast. In a microsecond he was dragging a protesting Cass back up the beach toward the jungle. I followed behind.

  A scream greeted us as we got to the tree line. It was loud and human, maybe twenty yards deep into the jungle. It rose to a horrific, pained bellow, then stopped abruptly. I squinted into the trees, dreading what I might see. But even in the brightness of the afternoon sun, the thick treetops cast shadows, making the jungle nearly pitch-dark.

  “Wh-wh-who do you think that is?” Cass asked.

  “Was, from the sound of it,” Marco said.

  “S-see what I mean?” Cass said, backing away. “Someone just died in there. We could be next. I am staying out here in the light. I’ll take goons in robes over human-eating beasts any day.”

  An acrid stench of rotten flesh wafted out of the jungle, and Cass gagged.

  “Whoa. Beans for lunch, Torquin?” Marco said, waving his arms.


  “No. A Twinkie,” Torquin replied.

  I was focusing on a dark shadow in the jungle behind Cass. “Guys . . .” I squeaked. “Look.”

  Marco’s eyes fixed on the black shape. His body tensed. “Cass,” he said softly. “Do. Not. Move.”

  Cass spun around. With a sound that was halfway between an animal roar and the grinding of metal, a hose-beaked vromaski emerged from the jungle shadows. It launched its boar-like body toward Cass. It flexed its claws and its nose tube folded backward, revealing three sets of razor teeth.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo by Joseph Lerangis

  PETER LERANGIS is the author of more than one hundred and sixty books, which have sold more than five million copies and been translated into thirty-three different languages, including The Colossus Rises, the first book in the New York Times bestselling Seven Wonders series, and three books in the 39 Clues series (The Sword Thief, The Viper’s Nest, and The Dead of Night). Peter is a Harvard graduate with a degree in biochemistry. After college he became a Broadway musical theater actor. He has run a marathon and gone rock climbing during an earthquake, but not on the same day. He lives in New York City with his wife, musician Tina deVaron, and their two sons, Nick and Joe. In his spare time, he likes to eat chocolate.

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  CREDITS

  Cover design by Joe Merkel

  COPYRIGHT

  SEVEN WONDERS JOURNALS: THE PROMISE. Text by Peter Lerangis, copyright © 2016 by HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.