by T.A. Barron
“No!” wailed Shangri. “We’ve got to do somethin’!”
“What?” asked Lorno, grabbing her by the arm. Shaking from the ghastly scene, he said, “Go out there and you’ll just get eaten yourself.”
“He’s right,” Graybeard chimed in. Tapping his coat, he added, “My knives would be worthless against that monster.”
“But we can’t jest . . . ,” said Shangri, choking back tears, “leave them all to die.” Under her breath, she added, “This beast has somethin’ to do with those mine pits, I’m certain.”
“The best thing we can do,” Graybeard said soothingly, “is to enter the forest now. Follow the compass. And find Atlanta.”
Shangri released a sorrowful sigh. “All right. Let’s get movin’.”
As the monster roared again, louder than ever, the companions darted into the forest. They vanished among the trees without a trace, as if they’d been swallowed completely.
CHAPTER 15
Searching
Thick greenery enveloped them. Fallen branches, coated with mosses and lichens, covered the ground. Sturdy vines draped down from the towering trees. Huge spiderwebs glistened in the shadows. All these obstacles, as well as the uneven turf, made walking treacherous.
Even so, they forged ahead. With Shangri and her compass in the lead, the trio crashed their way deeper into the forest. But the farther they went, tripping and struggling through all the growth, the thicker the forest became.
Making matters worse, they saw no signs of any trails for people. Only a narrow path to a fox’s den, a row of bright pebbles arranged by a bowerbird to attract a mate to his nest, and a line through moist moss left by a passing snake.
Shangri clambered over a toppled tree trunk, only to catch her apron on one of its broken branches. Angrily, she yanked the apron—tearing a big hole in it.
“Plagues in me puddin’!” she cursed. “This is goin’ to be harder than we thought.”
“Much harder,” agreed Graybeard, trying to pull his coat out of the clutches of a thorn bush.
As if in agreement, a great horned owl hooted soulfully from the branches of an ancient yew tree that arched overhead.
Lorno wiped a strand of spider’s web off his face. “How are we supposed to get help from Atlanta if we can’t even reach her?”
“An’ how,” demanded Shangri, “are we goin’ to stop that monster from the mines before it gulps down everythin’ on this island?”
Lorno put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll tell you how. By not giving up.”
Shangri looked at him doubtfully.
“If we give up,” the young bard said, “then we’re lost for sure. But if we keep going, even as tough as this is . . .”
“Then at least,” finished Shangri, “we have a chance.” She sucked in her breath and watched him, her eyes a tiny bit brighter. “I knew I married ye for some reason.”
Peering at her compass again, she watched the amber point the way deeper into the forest. “Let’s be goin’, then.”
“Whatever you say,” said Lorno with a squeeze of her shoulder.
They set off, followed by Graybeard, who had only just extracted his coat from the thorns. Grimly, he patted the cloth over his knives, feeling their hard metal blades underneath. Patience, he told himself. Your time will come.
After another few hours of struggles—including when Lorno slipped and plunged into a marshy pool, scattering frogs and dragonflies everywhere—they reached the edge of a small knoll. Seeing the sunlight dancing on the ferns and grasses at the top, Shangri led them up there. For the first time that whole morning, they could feel warm rays of sunshine on their faces, as well as a breath of fragrant wind.
Lifting her face to the sky, Shangri closed her eyes to soak in the new sensations. “I’m wishin’ we could find her right here,” she said wistfully.
“We won’t,” answered Lorno. “But we just might find her over there.”
She turned to see where he was pointing. Beyond the flowering bushes at the base of the knoll ran a flowing line of smooth grass that disappeared into the trees. A trail.
Catching her breath, Shangri checked the compass. It pointed in the same direction as the trail!
Swiftly, they hurried down the knoll. Setting foot on the trail, their moods lifted immediately. Despite her torn apron and the scratches on her arms, Shangri felt a renewed surge of strength.
As she and Lorno started down the grassy path, Graybeard watched them with the unblinking eyes of a predator. Lead on, he silently urged them. I have important work to do.
CHAPTER 16
Something to Say
Worries crowded Promi’s mind as he flew through the mists of the spirit realm on the way to Atlantis. Would Narkazan’s mistwraiths get there before him? Would Atlanta’s life already be in danger? Would they succeed in protecting the Starstone?
He banked a turn through a stream of golden clouds that flowed so fast it whipped up a wind that fluttered the cloth of his tunic and tousled his hair. Thinking about those worries, he rode the wind for as long as he could to gain speed. But nothing could help him fly fast enough.
Atlanta’s in trouble, he told himself. I’m sure of it.
The skin on his chest prickled with heat as it always did when he felt anxious. The mark of the soaring bird above his heart seemed to burn, even as his pounding heart made the bird’s wings vibrate under his tunic. Not since he’d faced a lone mistwraith in Narkazan’s lair had his skin felt as hot as it did right now. It was much worse than any anxious heat he’d felt in his years as a thief on the streets of the City, when his riskiest exploits were stealing a smackberry pie from under the nose of the Divine Monk and relieving the evil priest Grukarr of his belt buckle (as well as his pants).
Breaking out of the stream of golden clouds, he plunged into a forest of misty trees that were swiftly evolving into tall, perpendicular worlds. Passing close to one of those worlds, he glimpsed a city of needle-thin spires.
Slicing through that place, he entered a new zone of swirling mist and constant cyclones that often knocked travelers off course. But he’d passed through those maelstroms before on his way to Earth, so he knew the risks well. Besides, that was the fastest route to finding Atlanta.
Sharp winds slammed into him. Yet even with gusts tearing at his body and screeching in his ears, he kept his bearings. Fighting against the winds that hit him from all sides, he surged ahead.
Suddenly he broke free of the cyclones, entering the upper atmosphere of one world he knew especially well. The world of Atlantis . . . and the person he most wanted to see. The person he cared for more than any other.
This time, he vowed, I’ll tell her. Whatever happens, I’m going to finish that sentence!
Seconds later, he saw the misty outline of an island in the vast blue ocean. Approaching rapidly, he peered down at its craggy cliffs, mysterious vales, and lively rivers. There, in its center, he saw the swath of deep green that was the Great Forest. Atlanta’s home.
Feeling a rush of pride, he recalled that frightful moment when he’d made an utterly impossible plea to all the sources of magic in the world—and a terrible sacrifice to go with it—that had somehow created Atlantis. Not bad, he thought, for a rascally thief.
Surprised, he noticed a patch of bare ground at the northern edge of the forest. That’s strange, he thought. Haven’t seen that before.
Drawing nearer, he saw the pits that scarred that spot and glimpsed what looked like a yellow lake. What could that be? All around the site, some sort of machinery sat unused. And several buildings dotted the area, though he saw no signs of people.
All at once, he realized what this place was. The industrial site built by the Greeks from that ship he’d saved! The place he’d heard about from Atlanta in their dream visit and from Shangri in her prayer.
Promi clenched his jaw, fly
ing his fastest. The Greek sailors may have done that . . . but I caused it. He gnashed his teeth, wishing he hadn’t called to the great goddess of the sea, O Washowoe-myra, to save those sailors from drowning. Yet how could he have known what troubles they would bring to the most magical place on Earth?
Plunging toward the forest, he steered toward the spot where he guessed he’d find Atlanta. Whether or not she already knew of the grave danger to the Starstone, she might have gone to that spot just to enjoy its magic—magic that radiated more powerfully than anywhere else in the forest, since the Starstone itself was hidden there. After all, he’d found her there many times before.
Moss Island.
Swiftly, he approached the deep green patch of land surrounded by streams that splashed incessantly. In its center grew a towering willow tree, majestic and delicate at the same time, its tresses draping over the moss like a living curtain. And there, sitting cross-legged on one of the willow’s gnarled roots, was Atlanta.
Promi landed right in front of her, his bare feet sinking deep into the moss. Instantly, she jumped to her feet. The faery on her collar took flight, blue wings whirring, and settled on a willow branch, just as Atlanta darted over to Promi and embraced him.
But this was not, he sensed right away, one of her joyful, rollicking hugs. She buried her face into the nape of his neck, holding tight as someone drowning would hold onto anything that might float.
She lifted her face so they were nose to nose. “This isn’t,” she asked softly, “another dream visit, is it? Because . . . I’d really like to be with you just now. The real you.”
Promi watched the lovely curl of her lips as she spoke, feeling her warm breath on his cheeks. He could feel, as well, the strong pulsing of her heart against his chest. He took a deep breath of the forest air, so sweet with resins and rich with the aromas of plants and trees.
“It’s the real me.”
She smiled, but her smile vanished as swiftly as a jaguar slips into the evening shadows. “Oh, Promi. Terrible things are happening! Worse even than what those people are doing with their mines is what I just learned from Gryffion, eldest of the unicorns. There’s grave danger to—”
“The Starstone.” He peered into the deep pools of her blue-green eyes. “From those phantoms of the spirit realm, the mistwraiths who serve Narkazan. He wants the crystal back. And this time, he’ll stop at nothing to turn it into his ultimate weapon.”
Atlanta gasped. “So it’s true.”
“Too true, I’m afraid.” Instinctively, Promi glanced down at the magical dagger on his belt, noticing the icicle-like blade and the silver string that would wrap around his wrist whenever he threw it.
Following his glance, Atlanta remembered that he’d been given that dagger right here on Moss Island. It was a parting gift from the river god Bopaparrúplio, who had suddenly appeared out of the waters of the stream after the mist maidens’ entrancing dance. Yet . . . as magical as that blade was, Atlanta—like Promi—knew it would be useless against an attack by mistwraiths.
Turning back to Promi, she asked, “What are we going to do?”
He swallowed, then said, “I don’t know yet what we’re going to do about the Starstone. But Atlanta . . . there’s something else I have to do. Right now, before I lose my chance.”
Another swallow, then he added, “Or my courage.”
Loosening her embrace on him, she tilted her head. “Is it . . . something you’ve been wanting to say?”
“For a very long time.” Studying her face, he said, “Though speaking of time, you don’t seem that much older. To me, our dream visit was just a day ago. It hasn’t been months or years for you, I hope?”
She almost grinned. “Just a week.” Mischievously, she added, “But I’m still a few years older than you now. Which makes me much wiser.”
“That’s always been true,” he said with a smirk. “Even when we were the same age.”
Sitting above them on the willow branch, Quiggley nodded vigorously.
“So, Promi . . . what was it you wanted to say?”
“What I wanted to tell you in our dream. What I was just starting to say when you suddenly woke up.”
She linked her arms around his waist. “Well, you can tell me now. This is your chance. But before you do, there’s one little thing I want to say to you.”
Before he could object, she kissed him on the lips. A long, tender kiss that made his eyes open wide in surprise.
Above them, Quiggley rolled his eyes. He shook his head, as if to say, How do these people ever get anything done if it takes them so long to say what they want to say?
As the kiss ended, Promi whispered in a slightly hoarse voice, “That wasn’t a little thing.”
“Maybe not,” she answered brightly. “But it needed to be said. Now it’s your turn.”
Watching, Quiggley folded his arms. With one of his tiny red berry shoes, he tapped the branch impatiently.
“Well,” Promi began, “what I, um . . . wanted to say, is . . .”
“Yes?”
“Something I haven’t said before. Or really . . . haven’t wanted to say before.” He swam, for an imaginary moment, in those blue-green pools. “To anyone.”
“Yes?” she repeated.
“Anyone at all.”
Warmly, she said, “You can tell me, Promi.”
He gazed at her. At last, he said, “Atlanta. You need to know this.”
She waited expectantly.
He cleared his throat, then declared, “I really do—”
“Atlanta!” shouted another voice. “And Promi—you’re here!”
Promi’s mouth moved to say the final words of that sentence . . . but no sounds came. Both of them turned toward the new voice.
CHAPTER 17
The Visitors
Atlanta and Promi whirled around to see someone running toward them through the forest. Even through the willow tree’s curtain of leaves, they couldn’t mistake who it was.
Shangri. Red-faced, she looked both tired and frightened as she sped through some waist-high ferns. Her kerchief dangled from the tangles of her hair, while burrs and broken twigs clung to her torn baker’s apron. Scratches covered her arms. In her hand, she clutched Atlanta’s compass.
Right behind her came Lorno, looking several years older than the last time Promi had seen him on the day the shipload of Greeks had arrived. And not far behind him came someone neither Promi nor Atlanta had seen before, a tall fellow with a gray beard. While the beard and his tattered coat made him seem unremarkable, even harmless, something about his dark, intelligent eyes told a different story.
Shangri splashed across the stream, spraying the moss that grew so thickly on the island. Breathless, she ran over to her friends and practically fell into their arms.
“Shangri,” asked Atlanta, “what is it?”
“Catch your breath,” added Promi. “Then tell us.”
“No time . . . to catch me breath,” she panted, standing upright. “We heard it . . . the roar! Then it came . . . so fierce. Right out o’ the mines! Roarin’ . . . an’ chargin’ straight at them. Devourin’ all those poor people!”
“What?” demanded Atlanta. “What are you talking about?”
“The monster,” declared Lorno, stepping out of the stream. “We saw it attack! Those people . . . they never had a chance.”
“What monster?” asked Promi.
“What people?” pressed Atlanta.
Above them on the branch, Quiggley shuddered. Then the faery glided down to Atlanta, settling again on her collar.
“By the mines,” explained Shangri, trying to regain her composure. “A monster, like a giant toad! Attackin’ any person in its path.”
“Or anything,” added Lorno. “Remember what it did to that wagon?”
“I’ll never forget,” said th
e older man, wading across to the island. As soon as he reached the mossy bank, he stamped his boots to dry them off. Then, shoving aside some of the willow’s leafy branches, he peered at the others and lamented, “It was terrible. A slaughter.”
Atlanta shot Promi a worried glance. “Where,” she wondered aloud, “did this monster come from?”
“Narkazan?” guessed Promi.
“Maybe,” Shangri answered. “But I jest can’t shake the feelin’ that it came from the mines themselves. It’s like . . . all that greed made itself into a livin’ nightmare.”
Quiggley nodded his little head, releasing a wave of agreement so strong that everyone felt it.
Suddenly taking note of the faery, Shangri caught her breath. “Why, it’s you! The brave little fellow who saved us when we was fightin’ fer our lives.”
The barest hint of a blush colored Quiggley’s cheeks. He bowed in greeting.
Captivated, Shangri gave him a curtsy. Turning back to Atlanta, she blurted, “I was jest so worried an’ scared . . . I forgot to say how glad I am to see ye again.”
Atlanta reached out her hand and touched Shangri’s arm. “And I’m glad to see you. Now, who are your friends?”
“I know who this is,” said Promi with a nod at Lorno. “Though I’m not sure,” he added wryly, “I know his real name.”
“Nobody knows my real name yet,” said the young man. “Not even me. But you can still call me Lorno.”
Shangri smiled at him while she adjusted her kerchief. “Someday, he’ll be a famous bard whose name is known all ’round the world.”
Promi nodded, then asked Lorno, “So you’re still searching for your one great story?”
“Yes,” he answered bashfully. “I’m surprised you remember. It’s been five whole years since we last spoke with each other.”
“That was a day,” Promi said sadly, “I will long remember.”
Guessing his thoughts, Atlanta insisted, “What happened that day wasn’t your fault.”
