The Emerald Atlas

by John Stephens

  In the corner of her vision, Kate saw that Dr. Pym’s eyes were half closed and his lips moving.

  “Long ago,” the Countess whispered, “at a time when the Books had not been seen for a thousand years, it was foretold that three children would one day find the Books and bring them together. Yes, three children! One for each volume! You see, my dear, you and Michael and little Emma are the key.” She touched a soft hand to Kate’s cheek. “I’m afraid your journey is far from over.”

  Kate didn’t have to glance at Dr. Pym for confirmation. She knew, on some deep, instinctual level, that the Countess was telling the truth. It explained so much. Like how she’d been able to open the vault under the Dead City. A dwarf-made door locked with enchantments and yet she, a normal human girl, had been able to open it easily? How was that possible unless the person who’d sealed the door—that is, Dr. Pym—knew she was coming? And how would he have known she was coming unless there’d been a prophecy? A prophecy also explained why they’d been sent away from their parents. Someone looking for the Books—perhaps even the Countess’s master—must’ve figured out who she and Michael and Emma were! Kate could imagine the danger, the terror her parents must’ve felt. Of course they let Dr. Pym take their children. Kate could almost hear the wizard promising, “I’ll hide them. They’ll be safe.” It suddenly all made sense.

  “But enough of this,” the Countess said. “It’s time to kill this silly old wizard—”

  She turned and raised her hand.

  Just then, an icy wind blew through the cabin. It rattled the china and set the chandelier swinging. It seemed to Kate to cut her to her very bones.

  “What’re you doing?” The Countess advanced on Dr. Pym. “Stop it! I command you!”

  “My dear, it isn’t me.” And as he spoke, the lights flickered again and went out. For a moment, everything was still. Silent. Then, in the darkness, Kate heard the far-off sound of a violin. The song it played was beautiful, ancient, chilling, and it was growing louder.

  “He is coming,” the wizard said. “The Dire Magnus is coming.”

  Emma would not look up. Gabriel had given her a job, and that was all that mattered. Everything else, the shrieks, the grunts, the thuds of blows, of bodies hitting wood, she shut out, along with the knowledge of how much Gabriel had already fought that day and how tired he must be. Gabriel had given her a job, and she would not fail.

  The stairs had been built directly into the side of the gorge, and she ran down them, flight after flight, till she was even with the six green orbs that formed a glowing dotted line along the front wall of the dam. There were tiers of narrow catwalks built into the wooden face, and Emma leapt onto one and raced across, feeling the emptiness all around her, the mountain of water pressing to get in, trying desperately to ignore the sounds of the battle that was raging above. She stopped in the dead center of the dam.

  Up close, she saw that the mines were composed of two parts. There was a glass egg the size of a grapefruit, in which the green-yellow gas swirled and flowered ominously, and this was nestled in a circular metal base, which was itself stuck to the wall of the dam by a grayish putty. Emma stared at the first mine, wondering what she was supposed to do. Couldn’t Gabriel have given her a hint? How was she supposed to know how to defuse a mine? No one had ever taught her that in school. Her classes had all been about useless things like math or geography. As she stood there, it seemed to her that the gas was changing colors, taking on a dark, orangish hue. That, she decided, was probably not good. She briefly contemplated just smashing the egg, but considering that whatever this thing was, it was supposed to explode, she thought that might not be the greatest plan. It occurred to her that Michael would know what to do. He’d probably read all about defusing mines and could make you a diagram in his stupid little notebook. She wasted a few moments being angry as she imagined Michael parading around with another medal given to him by that annoying dwarf king, till finally, no other ideas presenting themselves, she reached out and placed her hands on the egg.

  It was warm to the touch, and she could feel the thinness of the glass. Too much pressure and it would certainly crack. Closing her eyes, Emma gave a gentle tug. The egg didn’t budge. She pulled harder. The egg remained firmly attached to the metal base and the base to the wall. Emma took a deep breath and prepared to pull with all her strength. Before she could, something happened. Searching for a better grip, her left hand dropped an inch, and the egg moved.

  Carefully, Emma turned the entire egg counterclockwise. There was a dull scraping as glass rubbed against metal, but soon Emma saw that there were grooves etched into the lower part of the egg, and she turned it more quickly. Moments later, she was holding the egg in her hands. Free of the metal base, the glass began to cool, and the vapor lost its threatening hue, shifting from orange to yellow to green and, finally, becoming clear and disappearing entirely.

  The metal part’s heating it up, Emma thought.

  She looked at the other mines, which were now throbbing orange-red. Gabriel had said that when they turned completely red, they would explode. Time was running out. She set the glass egg on the catwalk and sprinted to the next mine.

  Meanwhile, high above her, Gabriel was in the fight of his life. After sending Emma away, he had leapt onto one of the six-inch-wide beams that arced between the walls of the dam and, with both hands, swung his falchion into the side of the creature. It was a blow that would have cleaved a man in two. But the blade glanced off the creature’s hide, and a moment later, Gabriel was flying backward, struck with dizzying force. He ricocheted off a beam, fell ten feet, careened off another beam, and finally caught himself on a third. Looking up, Gabriel saw the creature had not followed its attack. It stayed perched above, grinning down at him. Gabriel understood: it was saying it could kill him whenever it liked. Gabriel knew then that this would be the last battle of his life. So be it, he thought. He only needed to survive long enough for Emma to defuse the mines.

  The creature flew at him, and Gabriel tried to roll away, but its talons ripped deep gashes in his side. The monster turned and came back with terrifying swiftness, sweeping him off the beam and into the air. Gabriel hammered at its back and head with the butt of his falchion, then felt himself raised high overheard. He scrambled for a hold, but the beast flung him down. His body crashed through beams as if they were matchsticks, and he thought he would plummet all the way to the bottom, till with a bone-cracking thud, he hit a beam and stopped. He pulled himself up. He could feel his broken ribs scraping against each other. His falchion was gone. Looking down, he saw Emma. She had defused three of the mines. Just a little longer.

  There was the sound of wingbeats, and he moved just as the creature flew past, its claws tearing through the wooden beam. As it pivoted in the air below him, Gabriel leapt, landing full on the creature’s back. They dropped fifteen feet before the beast adjusted to the weight. It shrieked and tried to claw at him, but Gabriel pulled his knife and began sawing into the soft tissue of the wings. For the first time, the creature’s cry became one of pain. It flew crazily through the web of girders, frantic to dislodge the man on its back. Gabriel’s head slammed into a beam, and he fought to remain conscious as he continued ripping through the muscle of the wing. Unbalanced, the creature swerved, and Gabriel struck his head again; this time, everything went black.

  On the catwalk, Emma was just getting to the last mine when she heard something crashing down through the beams and had to look up. She saw a dark shape plummeting toward her. A moment later, a body smashed onto the catwalk.

  “Gabriel!”

  He was covered in blood, his left arm was bent at a strange angle, and there was a large bruise on his forehead. But he was alive. She could see his chest rise and fall.

  She heard a shriek and looked up to see the creature coming toward them, leaping from girder to girder.

  “Gabriel! You gotta wake up! Gabriel!”

  The giant man did not stir.

  Spotting a
nother catwalk twenty feet below theirs, Emma set her shoulder against Gabriel’s side and pushed. It was as if he were made of stone. But she kept pushing, straining, trying not to listen to the sounds of the creature getting closer. Ever so slowly, Gabriel began to move. He rolled off the edge and landed with a crash twenty feet below.

  A thud shook the catwalk, and Emma spun about to see the monster standing there, jaws open in a grotesque grin, its wounded wing dangling from a strip of sinew and muscle. She knew she should be terrified; it was really the only natural response. But instead of fear, she felt a pure, blazing anger.

  “Look at you! You know how stupid you look?! You shouldn’t a’ messed with Gabriel! You’re lucky he didn’t kill you! What’re you gonna do with that wing now, huh?”

  As if in response, the creature reached back, ripped off the wounded wing, and hurled it into the void. Then, without pausing, it seized its healthy wing, twisted it around and around, and, with an awful ripping and shrieking, tore it free as well. Holding the bloody wing in one taloned fist, the beast took a step toward Emma and screamed.

  Emma’s mouth fell open in horror, and now, finally, the fear came. This creature was going to kill them. She commanded herself to be brave or, at least, to pretend. Gabriel deserved that much.

  “You’re … you’re …”

  But try as she might, no more words would come. The creature took another step, close enough that Emma could feel the warmth of its breath on her face.

  Don’t cry, she ordered herself, don’t you dare cry.

  Then she saw the mine, just to the creature’s left, turn blood-red, and without thinking, Emma leapt off the catwalk. The fall felt like forever. When she landed beside Gabriel, pain shot through her ankle, but her scream was drowned out as the mine exploded.

  The gunwales of the boat rode just a few inches above the water. Michael had crammed aboard as many children as he dared, mostly the younger ones, though he’d also brought three boys his own age to help work the oars. He’d left at least thirty children on the Countess’s ship, promising he’d be back. There had been no sign of Dr. Pym or Kate, and Michael had been tempted to send the boat on without him and search for his sister.

  But he couldn’t leave the children.

  Now, as the overloaded boat pulled across the dark lake, he thought back to when the Screecher had opened the cell doors and fifty terrified children streamed into the hall. For a few moments, they teetered on the edge of riot as Michael struggled to make himself heard over the din.

  “Please, you have to be quiet, please.…”

  Had it not been for the Screecher, he might’ve lost control completely. But the creature shouted for silence, and the children, shocked to hear actual words coming out of its mouth, complied instantly.

  “Good,” Michael said, “now—”

  “You!”

  He was spun around to face Stephen McClattery.

  “What’re you doing here?! And how’s that thing talking all a’ sudden?”

  For a moment, Michael just stared. Only recently, this same boy had tried to hang him. Michael could almost feel the cord around his neck.

  “Well?!”

  Shaking off the memory, Michael explained as quickly as he could how he and Dr. Pym had come to rescue them, how Dr. Pym was a wizard and had put a spell on the Screecher, how Kate was being held by the Countess, how they had to get the children off the boat as fast as possible.…

  “You have to believe me. We don’t have time to—”

  “Right,” Stephen McClattery said, “let’s get moving, then.”

  The red-haired boy herded the silent, still-terrified mob of children up onto the deck and, once there, helped Michael cull the twenty youngest. Stephen McClattery and the Screecher then worked together to pass the children down the ladder and across to Michael in the boat. Michael kept hoping he would see Kate and Dr. Pym appear at the railing, Kate safe and smiling, Dr. Pym announcing that the Countess was defeated and all was well, but soon the boat was full and it was time to go and his sister was still nowhere to be seen. Stephen said he’d stay behind and keep the others organized till Michael returned for the next boatload.

  “I know you’ll come back. I shoulda believed you before. You and your sisters are all right.”

  “There’s something else,” Michael said. “Your dad’s on his way.”

  Stephen McClattery was perched on the ladder, one foot resting on the bow of Michael’s boat. His mouth opened, then closed.

  “Me and my sisters met him in the Dead City,” Michael went on. “We told him you’re alive. He’s on his way here with the other men.”

  A long moment passed. Their boat rocked gently on the water.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael said finally, “I’ve gotta go.”

  The boy swallowed and nodded, but still said nothing. Even so, the look in his eyes was one that Michael would never forget. Stephen McClattery pushed them off, and as the boat drifted away, Michael saw the boy draw a hand across his face, then turn and climb up the ladder.

  Annie, the girl the Countess had dangled off the dam that first day, was in the boat beside Michael.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “We’ll get everyone.”

  She’d nodded up at him from the bottom of the boat, her hands clutched around her doll.

  It took a few minutes to coordinate the rowing. At first, the oars slapped at the water randomly, the boat making little or no progress, once even going in a full circle. But Michael got the rowers into a rhythm, calling out, “Row … row … row,” and soon they were pulling steadily across the lake.

  Then, halfway to shore, when Michael’s back was aching and he was wondering what earthly reason Dr. Pym could’ve had for not keeping their boat bewitched, there was an enormous PHOOM, and a giant plume of water shot into the air near the dam. He grabbed at Annie, yelling for everyone to hold on; a moment later, the shock wave nearly swamped them.

  Then Michael was seizing the oars, shouting, “Row! Row! Row!”

  “He is coming, he will be here.… How did this happen?! What am I to do?!”

  “I should think you might have prepared for this eventuality before you betrayed your master.”

  “Silence!”

  The lamps were back on, but the violin was growing louder by the second. The Countess paced the cabin, the book clutched to her chest. Seeing her scared made Kate even more afraid. How terrible must this Dire Magnus be if the Countess, who had an army of undead soldiers at her command, who upset as she was still managed to keep Kate frozen and Dr. Pym pinned to the wall, trembled at the mere thought of him?

  “It just seems to me,” Dr. Pym said mildly, “that you might have put more thought into all this.”

  “I said silence, you fool!” The Countess was a cornered beast, dangerous and terrified.

  “Well, I don’t really see how I’m the fool. I didn’t betray a being ten times more powerful than myself and expect simply to get away with it.”

  The Countess whirled on him. “It was you, wasn’t it? You told him! Sent him some sort of message!”

  A knife gleamed in the Countess’s hand where none had been before. Kate strained to move, but it was no use. The music was growing ever louder, its pitch climbing as the tempo spun faster and faster. The Countess advanced on Dr. Pym.

  “If I’m to die,” she hissed, “it will not be alone.”

  Kate wanted to scream at Dr. Pym to do something, say some spell, spit on her if he had to.

  Then, quite abruptly, the music stopped.

  So did the Countess, knife poised above the wizard, her face a mask of rage and fear.

  “My dear,” Dr. Pym said, “I’m afraid your time has come.”

  And like that, the Countess crumpled to the floor.

  Kate felt the grip on her relax; she almost collapsed herself, so great and immediate was the sense of liberation. Dr. Pym was free as well, but he signaled Kate to stay where she was. He was staring at the motionless body of the Countess
. The Atlas lay beside her on the floor. What was he waiting for? This was their chance. They had to grab the book and run. Escape before—

  The body on the floor moved.

  Slowly, the Countess got to her feet. But something was different. Her blond hair had turned a deep shade of green, and her eyes glittered as if set with diamonds. If anything, she was even more beautiful and magical than before. For one brief moment, the shining eyes rested on Kate, then she turned to Dr. Pym and smiled.

  “Stanislaus, it has been far too long.”

  And Kate understood: she was not looking at the Countess.

  “So my sweet Countess was going to betray me and keep the Atlas for herself. My, my, when did loyalty become such a rare commodity?”

  The creature stretched out the Countess’s arms as if admiring how long and slender they were. It was a strange sight, watching someone appraise their own body.

  “Perhaps the fault,” Dr. Pym said, “lies not in the follower, but in the leader’s inability to inspire.”

  The green-haired being laughed; it took Kate by surprise, for it was a real laugh, easy, mirthful, nothing like the bright, empty laughter of the Countess.

  “Touché, Stanislaus! You are no doubt right! As always, my old friend! And this young woman, I wager, is unfailingly loyal to you.”

  Kate stiffened as she (he?) approached. Up close, Kate saw that the green of her hair was not the emerald of an open field but the deep green-black of a jungle, the color seeming to move and shift as if alive, and there was a hunger in those glittering eyes that terrified Kate. Once again, she heard the violin. Faint at first, it was calling to her, inviting her to dance; it told her the day was ending, the world was on fire; it told her to dance while there was time to dance; it told her of burning cities, of people running in fear, of darkness, destruction, chaos, and ruin; come, the music called, join the dance, join the dance. It reached deep, deep inside her, and to her horror, Kate felt part of her respond; she wanted to spin away, to live if only for a moment, before it all ended, no cares, no thoughts, and then she was staring at a skeleton with glittering eyes, and she yanked back as if she’d been teetering on the edge of a cliff. The music stopped.