by T.A. Barron
“I feel the same way,” declared Shangri.
“Me too,” announced Plato.
Glancing over at the hulking beast in the courtyard, Morey sighed. “All right, then. I can see there’s no changin’ yer minds.” Shifting his gaze to Atlanta, he said, “Ye must be Shangri’s friend from the forest.”
“I am. And you must be her father.”
“That I am. Thank ye fer what ye’ve done to help her stay alive.” With another glance at the monster, he added, “So far.”
Morey sucked in his breath, then declared, “Given all this mess, there’s only one thing left fer me to do.”
“What, Papa?”
The baker locked gazes with his daughter. “Join ye! What else?”
Shangri wrapped her arms around the burly man. Then, pulling away, she quickly retied her kerchief and asked, “But exactly what are we goin’ to do?”
Morey shook his head, sending up a puff of flour. “That I don’t know. That beast looks so fierce it’d survive almost anythin’.”
“Almost!” cried Plato excitedly. “I have an idea. Follow me!”
Dodging the fleeing monks and priestesses, he led them over to the bell tower. With the gaping hole at its base, it seemed to be ready to fall down at any moment. Even as they stood there, a new crack opened under the copper dome.
Guessing Plato’s plan, Morey said, “Ye can’t be serious, lad. If we try to push this tower over on top o’ the beast, it’ll be us who gets buried under all that stone.”
“Which is why,” the young man replied, “we’re not going to do that.”
Puzzled, Morey scratched his head. “So what’s yer plan?”
Scanning the faces of the group, Plato declared, “We won’t topple this tower.” He pointed at the toadlike beast, now finishing his meal of the Divine Monk’s unlucky pair of servants. “But that thing will!”
Atlanta brightened. “Good thinking! Let’s do whatever it takes—”
“To get that beast’s attention,” finished Shangri.
“All right,” agreed Morey, still uncertain.
The baker bent down and grabbed a large stone from the tower’s broken base. Rearing back, he heaved it at the monster. But the stone merely bounced off the lumps on its back and rolled into the courtyard. The beast didn’t even seem to notice, continuing to gulp down the remains of the Divine Monk’s bathroom fixtures.
Frowning, the baker said, “Well then, let’s try doin’ it all together.”
“Good idea,” said Plato.
Immediately, the companions started searching for something each of them could throw. All except Zagatash. He quietly slunk behind the tower, well out of harm’s way. No reason to risk his throwing arm—or his life—on this harebrained scheme.
Besides, he thought gleefully, whether or not their plan works, this is exactly the moment I’ve been waiting for.
With the supreme confidence of a skilled assassin, he reached into his coat and drew out a knife. Twirling it in his hand, he watched the blade flash in the light. He kissed the blade gently—his ritual that always meant someone’s life was about to end.
CHAPTER 24
Collapse
By now, all the surviving monks and priestesses had escaped the temple grounds. No one remained save the companions—and the monster whose hunger for destruction seemed boundless.
Atlanta, completely unaware that Zagatash was at that very moment preparing to hurl his knife at her back, picked up the head of a smashed statue. Catching her breath, she realized that it had been a statue of Escholia, the goddess who so personified a life of grace.
Promi’s mother, she thought, cradling the marble head in her hands.
Addressing the goddess herself, she whispered, “I hope you are well, even in this terrible time in the spirit realm.” Peering into the eyes of the severed head, she added, “And I pray your son will survive whatever is to come.”
She checked on the others and saw that Shangri and Plato had also picked up hefty pieces of statues. Morey hefted another stone from the bell tower’s base, even bigger than the one he’d thrown before. Atlanta looked around for their gray-bearded companion, but he was nowhere in sight. Most likely, she concluded, he has fled again.
Hidden by the bell tower, Zagatash peeked around the corner and watched Atlanta. “Draw your last few breaths,” he muttered.
The monster, whose swollen girth filled at least a third of the courtyard, gulped down the last of the Divine Monk’s bathroom fixtures (as well as the leg of one of the servants that had been bitten off earlier). Rivers of yellow slime dripped from its jaws, as its tongue probed the ground for whatever was left to devour.
Suddenly—one of the swollen lumps on its back fell off. Landing with a squelch, it rolled to a stop. Then, out of the gelatinous membrane that surrounded it . . . something emerged. Something that resembled a gigantic slug—dismal yellow in color, with dark holes for eyes and a wide mouth.
Seeing this, Atlanta and her companions gasped in unison. Only Graybeard, who hadn’t seen what had happened, didn’t react. But for the others, the sight was a horrible shock.
Offspring, Atlanta told herself in disbelief. The monster’s offspring!
At that moment, the monster lumbered over and licked the newborn with its tongue, drooling yellow slime all over its small body. In response, the offspring squealed and waddled away. Spying the body of a dead priestess, it immediately started gnawing on the woman’s face and neck. Bones crunched and blood spurted, but the offspring went right on eating.
Atlanta, like the others, winced at this gruesome sight. Then she noticed one crucial difference between the big and small beasts: the pair of ragged, leathery appendages on the offspring’s back. Wings!
So it can fly, Atlanta realized. Anywhere on Earth.
Swallowing hard, she took in the importance of this discovery. Soon everywhere in the world, these monsters will be wreaking all the same havoc as here!
Studying the big monster’s back, she could tell, without doubt, that several more of the swollen lumps were nearly ready to fall off. Already, one of them was wriggling inside its membrane—eager to feed itself on mortal flesh.
“Let’s try to get them all with our plan!” she called to Shangri, Plato, and Morey. “It’s our best chance!”
Waving to the others to come closer, she urged, “Come, stand together. Right here in front of the tower.”
As the others gathered around her, she cast a glance upward. The tower looked so fragile that it almost seemed to sway on its crumbling foundation. Another crack split open near the top, dropping a chunk of mortar that fell to the courtyard, barely missing Morey’s shoulder.
“After we get the big one’s attention,” Atlanta said, “stay right where you are until the last possible second.”
The others nodded.
Spying the leg of a broken statue nearby, Atlanta thought of something else. Positioning herself in front of the others, she said, “If it uses that tongue, I’ll deal with it. Just stay here long enough to make it charge us.”
Plato gulped, staring at the toadlike behemoth. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Shangri, by his side, whispered, “I’m wishin’ we get out o’ this alive.”
“Ready to throw?” asked Atlanta.
Behind her Zagatash slipped out of hiding and positioned himself. Raising his knife, he quietly answered, “Yes, I most certainly am.”
“Now!” shouted Atlanta.
Together, she and her companions hurled their weighty objects. All of them struck the beast’s back. But as before, it didn’t even seem to notice.
Then Morey’s stone bounced across its back, struck its shoulder, and fell into one of its eyes of utter blackness. The beast suddenly roared in outrage. It whirled around, slamming its vast bulk into a temple fountain that instantly crumbled.
Seeing four mortals nearby, it shot out its tongue. Like a huge snake, the tongue reached across the courtyard at the young woman who stood closest.
Atlanta, though, was ready. Even as the monster spun around, she grabbed the leg of the statue off the ground. Moving with amazing speed, she lifted it like a bat—and swung.
Just as the tongue almost struck, the bat slammed into it, knocking it aside. The monster bellowed in pain—as well as rage. Furious at this unexpected challenge, it reared up on its stubby hind legs. Then it charged, hurtling toward its prey.
As the beast barreled toward them, Atlanta traded glances with her companions. All held steady . . . while the monster charged closer.
And closer.
And closer.
“Now!” cried Atlanta, leaping aside.
All the others did the same, throwing their bodies as far out of the beast’s path as they could. An instant later—
Slam! The monster plowed straight into the base of the temple tower.
Slightly dazed, the beast stood still for an instant, trying to ascertain what had just happened. Right then, the entire tower collapsed, burying the monster—as well as its offspring—under a mountainous mass of stone.
As the structure crashed down, the copper dome slammed onto the stones. The temple bell, whose resonant sound had called the faithful to prayers for centuries, rang one last time.
The bell’s reverberations filled the courtyard. As that sound died away, another one rose in its place: the companions’ jubilant cheers.
Only one person in the courtyard wasn’t cheering. Zagatash, who had realized at the last instant that he was standing too close when the tower collapsed, picked himself up from the pile of rubble where he’d leaped just in time to avoid injury. Though he’d survived just fine, he wasn’t thinking about that right now. All his attention had returned to his prey.
As he brushed the mortar dust off his coat, he spoke silently to Atlanta. Good work ridding us of that beast. Now . . . I have a present for you.
With satisfaction, he eyed his target. She was still within easy throwing range—and still utterly unaware of the danger. Just as Atlanta opened her arms to give Shangri a hug of congratulations, the assassin pulled a new knife from his coat, planted his feet, and threw.
“We did it!” shouted Shangri joyfully.
“Oh, Shang—” Atlanta started to say. Suddenly, her face froze with a look of pain. She fell forward into her friend’s arms.
“What?” wondered Shangri, alarmed. Then, seeing the knife buried in Atlanta’s back, she screamed.
CHAPTER 25
Shangri’s Prayer
Morey and Plato rushed over. “No!” they both shouted at once, their voices joining Shangri’s wails of anguish as she held the limp body of Atlanta.
All around them lay rubble from the destroyed temple. Broken beams, crushed statues, shattered glass, and smashed mortar lay everywhere. But all the companions could think about was something far more valuable that might also have been destroyed—the life of their friend.
Meanwhile, Zagatash chortled mirthfully as he slipped out of the temple grounds. “At last, another job done,” he congratulated himself, giving his coat a pat. “Now it’s time to collect that payment.”
Blood seeped rapidly from Atlanta’s wound, which was right behind her heart, staining her gown of woven vines. The vines’ purple color darkened by the second.
Gently, they set her down on the ground. Furrowing his brow, Morey said to the others, “Forgive me, but I’ve got to do this. Fer her sake.”
With great care, he withdrew the weapon from Atlanta’s back. Blood soaked the blade all the way up to the hilt. Growling angrily, Morey said, “This belonged to that stranger Graybeard! I should never have let him sweet-talk his way into yer group.”
Shangri bit her lip, staring down at Atlanta. The woodswoman’s normally ruddy complexion was fast turning pale. And blood continued to pour from her wound.
“It’s not yer fault, Papa. But what,” she asked, fighting back a sob, “can we do now?”
Morey tossed aside the knife in disgust, then pulled off his baker’s apron. Swiftly, he wrapped it around Atlanta’s torso like a big white bandage.
Just then they heard a deep, anguished groan from under the pile of rubble where the tower had collapsed. Trading frightened glances, they immediately grabbed Atlanta, lifted her off the ground, and dashed toward the temple gates.
The instant they passed out of the grounds, the mountain of rubble exploded. Stones rained down, smashing into the remaining buildings and shattering stained glass. The copper dome flew into the air like a huge metallic bird before it crashed into the remains of the Divine Monk’s residence. The old bell tumbled aside—but rather than ringing again, it cracked into two pieces, making a low moan that filled the courtyard.
The moment the companions ducked into a small alley, the monster smashed out of the temple gates. Shaking the debris off its hulking body, it roared with all the wrath that boiled inside it. The walls of the nearby buildings trembled with the violence of that roar.
Possessed by such rage, the monster didn’t even notice that its newborn offspring had also survived. Already, the small beast had returned to devouring what remained of the priestess who was its first meal. Nor did the monster notice that, as it tore through the temple gates, two more offspring fell off its back. Right away, they pulled themselves out of their membranes and started hunting for food.
Setting down Atlanta with great care, the group kneeled by her side, remaining perfectly quiet so the monster wouldn’t hear them. Yet Shangri and Plato both felt that their hearts were thumping so loud, they’d surely be discovered.
Morey, meanwhile, peered at the fallen young woman. Already, his apron was soaked through with blood. He bent low, listening for her breathing. Only the faintest whisper of a breath could be heard . . . and that was fading fast.
Angrily, the big monster sniffed the air. Then, spewing slime from its cavernous mouth, it roared again.
Suddenly it hesitated. Rotating its head toward the alley where the group was hiding, it sniffed again, catching a familiar smell.
The companions remained as still as stones, afraid to move the slightest little bit. Beads of sweat rolled down Morey’s brow.
All at once, the monster grunted and sprang down the cobblestone street, heading away from the companions. Raging, it slammed its massive bulk against one building, bringing down the whole façade. Another of its offspring fell off its back and landed on the street. The beast continued on its rampage, crushing abandoned wagons and pulverizing anything in its path.
As it happened, not far down that same street, Zagatash stood holding a knife to the throat of one very frightened man who stood backed up against the wall of a building. The assassin pressed his blade against the trembling man’s skin.
“The time has come to pay your debts, Reocoles! Now hand over my reward.”
“G-g-gladly,” said the master machinist. “But I don’t carry that much money with me. We’ll have to go back to my building to get it.”
Seeing Zagatash’s look of distrust, Reocoles continued, “Look here, I only left my building because someone on the Divine Monk’s staff ran over and told me that his Excellency was having trouble with his bathwater.”
“He’s having more trouble than that,” hissed Zagatash. “But no more talk. I want my payment! So take me to your building. And no tricks, now. Or your life is over.”
“No tricks!” Heaving with relief as the killer removed the blade, Reocoles promised, “You will get all the payment you deserve.”
Just then—the building under which they stood suddenly crashed down on top of them. Neither of them even had a chance to scream before they died, crushed completely under a mountain of rubble.
Lurching past, the monster roared so loudly that several chimneys
toppled from neighboring buildings and smashed down on the street. The raging beast’s fevered brain held only one thought, aside from continuing to eat—to find those people who had tricked it into toppling that bell tower. And to make sure they suffered greatly before they died.
Back in the alley where they were hiding, those very same people huddled over Atlanta’s body. Although the monster had moved away, Shangri, Plato, and Morey felt no joy in escaping. Her face twisted in pain, Shangri looked down at their fallen friend.
“We must help her,” she said hoarsely. “An’ quick.”
“Sure,” agreed Plato. “But how?”
Morey mopped his brow with his sleeve. Dejectedly, he said, “No one can help her now, I fear. No one . . . but the gods.”
Shangri suddenly stiffened. “I know who can help!” she cried. “If I can jest reach him in time.”
Without another second’s delay, she stood and dashed down the alley. Her feet slapped on the cobblestones as she raced ahead, veered into another street, and leaped over a broken window box that held a single, dying daffodil.
Running through the market square—completely empty, with unattended stalls of fruit, leather goods, musical instruments, and handmade jewelry—Shangri veered again down a darkened alley. Seconds later, she burst into the light. Puffing with exhaustion, she darted over to the rickety, unfinished bridge over the river gorge.
The Bridge to Nowhere.
From every post and line of rope, prayer leaves fluttered. Shangri ran onto the bridge, even though it creaked and swayed under her weight. On all sides, the leaves inscribed with blessings and prayers—messages to loved ones who had died, hopes for a better life, songs of praise to the spirit realm—trembled in the vaporous wind.
At the very end of the bridge, she stepped across a gaping hole and stood on the outermost plank. Far below her, at the bottom of the canyon, the mighty river surged on its way to the sea, pounding relentlessly. Clouds of mist spiraled all around her—mist that, she knew, held wind lions who carried people’s prayers to the spirit realm.
