by T.A. Barron
Jaladay leaped off Shellina’s back and hugged her brother. Gazing at him—or, it seemed to Promi, through him—she said amidst her laughter and tears, “For my thick-headed brother, you can be very clever sometimes.”
“Thanks,” he replied. “Maybe I learned a few things from you.”
“Just a few,” she agreed. Then she hugged him again.
“And I must add,” said Kermi crustily, “you can blow a pretty fair bubble.”
Promi smiled, knowing that he’d just heard the nicest remark that Kermi would ever say to him.
Theosor’s muzzle nudged the young man. He gave his wild mane a vigorous shake, as if freeing himself completely from confinement. His voice rumbling like thunder, he declared, “You did well, brave cub. Your parents would be proud.”
Running his hand through the silvery mane, Promi nodded. “Thank you, my friend.”
Feeling a gentle tap on his shoulder, he turned to see Bonlo. A wide grin creased the monk’s face. “There is something you should know, good lad.”
“What’s that?”
The old fellow scratched his white head, then replied, “When I write the revised history of the spirit and mortal realms, I plan to feature prominently one young man who had a certain, well, greatness about him. That was clear, even in that miserable dungeon where we first met.”
“Be sure to say,” Promi told him, “that the young man would have been completely worthless without his mentors. Especially one old monk who always believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself.”
Bonlo’s grin widened even more.
Suddenly Theosor roared. “Promi! I just heard a message for you—an urgent message from the mortal realm.”
“What is it? Who sent it?”
The wind lion pawed at the air. “It came from your friend Shangri. She says you must come quickly! Atlanta . . .”
“Tell me!”
Theosor growled before he spoke again. “Atlanta is dying.”
CHAPTER 32
Time to Die
Faster than any wind that ever roared across the spirit realm, Theosor carried Promi back to Atlantis. For the young man, even feeling the bulge of the Starstone, safely in his pocket again, wasn’t enough to turn his thoughts back to the surprising defeat of Narkazan. Or the unanswered question of how Narkazan’s monster could destroy everyone on Earth. No, all Promi’s thoughts—and all his passions—were now focused on Atlanta.
Dying! he told himself, feeling the bite of that word like a whip striking his back. Shangri said she’s dying!
As they burst through the clouds above the mortal world and approached the island that he himself had created, Promi wondered where on Atlantis he should look for her. Time was clearly of the essence—every second mattered.
Suddenly, as they plunged nearer, he saw towering plumes of smoke rising from the City of Great Powers. And if he wasn’t mistaken, the largest and blackest plume of all originated at the Divine Monk’s temple.
“Take me there,” he called to Theosor, pointing at the billowing cloud above the temple.
“As you wish, brave cub,” the wind lion rumbled.
A few seconds later, Theosor touched down on a deserted street across from the ruins of the temple. Promi hopped off, his bare feet slapping the stones—then hurriedly turned to his old friend. They shared an instantaneous look—and while no words were spoken, the look itself said everything.
Promi turned away. Behind him, he heard a sudden gust of wind. On that wind came a familiar roar that lingered for a moment . . . and then vanished.
Facing the temple grounds, he immediately saw that the entry gates had been destroyed. Beyond, the Divine Monk’s residence was now nothing but a pile of burning rubble, as were most of the other buildings. Even the bell tower had collapsed; the bell itself lay broken and forever silent.
Where in this mess am I going to find her? he thought frantically.
Suddenly he knew what to do. Drawing on his abilities as a Listener, he concentrated on Atlanta. Her heartbeat. Her vitality and love of life that flowed through every vein and artery.
But he couldn’t hear her. Atlanta . . . where are you?
Reaching out with his hearing, he searched for the sound of her heart. He kneeled down in the street, pushing aside all the other sounds that swirled everywhere. With all his determination, he focused entirely on the one person, the one heart, he so desperately wanted to find.
Success! Promi stood up, hearing Atlanta’s heartbeat at last. Yet . . . it was very faint. She must be far away—in some distant part of the City. Or maybe not even in the City at all.
He turned, following the direction of the sound. All of a sudden, he realized his error. She wasn’t far away at all! Her heartbeat was so faint for a very different reason.
Promi sprinted down the street and turned into a small alley. Right in front of him lay Atlanta, bleeding steadily through the apron wrapped around her torso. Kneeling by her side were Shangri, Plato, and Morey, their faces almost as ashen as her own.
“Promi!” cried Shangri, her face stained with tears. “Ye got my prayer!”
He rushed over, kneeled beside Atlanta, and asked, “What happened?”
“Stabbed,” said Shangri bitterly. “In the back.”
Promi’s face contorted as he gently lifted Atlanta’s head. Listening to the inner workings of her injured body, he traced the damage to her muscles, bones, and organs. One lung had been punctured, and was swiftly filling with blood. The back of her heart had also been torn—so badly that the organ was failing fast. In less than a minute, he could tell, she would perish.
The life I care most about, he told himself in a panic. The person I love more than any other.
Somehow sensing his presence, Atlanta opened her eyes. Through the fog of her vision, she looked up at Promi, recognized him, and said weakly, “You . . . came back.”
He nodded, feeling his own heart slamming against his ribs. “But not,” he said despite his tightened throat, “to say good-bye.”
She drew a ragged breath. “Someday, maybe . . . I’ll see you . . . in the spirit realm.”
“No, Atlanta! Not every person’s spirit goes to the spirit realm. Some are much more needed right down here, so they stay on Earth. And some who go to the spirit realm take ages and ages to arrive—longer than I want to wait!”
He shook his head, then added, “Besides, when your time to die comes, it shouldn’t be like this! You have lots more living to do.”
Pulling her face close, he whispered, “And when that time finally does come . . . I want to be right there to die with you.”
As he said those words, an idea struck him. There was, perhaps, a way to save her!
Suddenly realizing what he was going to do, Atlanta’s eyes widened. “No, Promi. Don’t!”
Gathering what strength remained within her, she said, “Don’t use your immortal power . . . to save me. Use it to save this island! This world! That monster—Promi, it’s going to destroy Atlantis! And then . . . the rest of the world will get destroyed by its winged offspring.”
“Offspring!” Promi exclaimed, aghast. In a flash, he understood Narkazan’s boast of something that will swiftly destroy any mortal foes.
“But—” he protested. “It’s you I want to save! Before . . .”
Her gaze caressed him. “I know, I know. But please . . . if you truly care about me . . . then help our world. All of it! Or so many creatures will die—people, faeries . . . even . . .”
She swallowed. “Even the young unicorn. Her name . . . is Myala.”
Through the lump in his throat, Promi asked, “What if the only way to save the world is by destroying Atlantis? Our island, our home?”
“Then you should do it, Promi. Now!” she urged. “Before it’s too late and the offspring take flight!”
&nbs
p; He shook his head. “But what if that,” he whispered hoarsely, “also destroys you?”
“Do it . . . anyway.”
Turning to Shangri, Promi said, “There might be a way to stop that monster and its offspring. But it puts you—all of you—in great danger. You might not survive. Maybe none of you will survive.”
Shangri clapped her hands together. “Do it!”
“Yes,” agreed Plato. “If that’s what it takes.”
Morey, scowling, nodded.
Still cradling Atlanta’s head in his hands, Promi said, “I’m going to try.”
Her eyes brightened slightly.
“But listen,” he added sternly. “Don’t you dare go and die before I’m done.”
She gave a weak nod.
Promi closed his eyes. He focused all his awareness on one essential truth: For the mortal world to survive, Atlantis could not.
His jaw clenched. To stop that monster, to end all this evil . . . he would need to destroy the very island he’d created. And if anything good about Atlantis was going to have some chance to survive—then the rest of Atlantis would have to be destroyed.
He knew it was crazy to try such a thing. He knew it might not even work. But he also knew that it was his only hope of ending all the evil he’d brought here . . . and possibly saving the lives of those he loved.
Feeling increasingly hot under his tunic, he remembered the mark over his heart. And he realized that if his idea really did work, then the last line of the Prophecy would take on a whole new meaning. The end of all magic would ultimately mean the end of the most magical place on Earth.
A resounding roar shook the buildings all around them. Then it came again—closer and angrier than before.
“The monster!” cried Shangri, her whole body shaking. “He’s coming this way again!”
Promi concentrated hard, drawing on all his power, as well as all the power of the Starstone. He stretched his thoughts beyond the small alley where Atlanta lay dying, beyond the rampaging monster nearby, beyond the borders of the City. His thoughts soared past the sheer cliffs where ocean waves crashed, beyond the shallows where kelp stalks swayed rhythmically, beyond the currents that surged far beneath the surface of the sea.
All the way to the ocean’s deepest waters. The place where he might find the most ancient goddess of the sea—O Washowoe-myra.
Once again, great goddess, I call on you. Though I am so small and you are so vast . . . please hear my plea!
Silence ensued, broken only by the rhythmic surging of the sea.
Finally, out of the depths, a voice arose. A voice that rolled like the endless waves and carried wisdom deeper than any abyss.
“I hear your plea, Prometheus, swissssshhhhh. Your voice is magnified by the Starstone, swissssshhhhh, as well as by the deeds you have done in the spirit realm.”
At the distant edge of his hearing, Promi thought he heard the monster roar again. From even closer this time.
Great goddess, he said urgently, I am calling for your help. At once! To destroy this island—to drown it and the monster and its offspring—under one enormous wave. Your most powerful wave.
Currents stirred in the depths, carrying the reply.
“Swissssshhhhh. So you would have me destroy what was only just created? With all its wonders, all its marvels?”
Yes, great goddess. I would.
“Alas, swissssshhhhh, I cannot do that for anyone.”
But you must! Promi cried. I beg you, please. You must do this!
Another pause . . . as waves pulsed, breaking on some faraway shore. At long last, the goddess spoke again.
“I was starting to say, swissssshhhhh, that I cannot do what you ask for anyone—except you, Prometheus. You were this island’s creator. So only you, swissssshhhhh, can be its destroyer.”
Thank you, great goddess, thank you!
“Prepare, swissssshhhhh, for what comes next.”
Promi started to say one more thing—but a terrible roar nearby jolted him back to the alley with Atlanta and the others. He opened his eyes. And he saw, moving down the larger street beyond the alley, the shadow of an enormous beast . . . coming steadily closer.
“The monster!” cried Shangri.
Plato reached for her hand, hoping to calm her, though he looked no less terrified. Beside them, Morey’s burly form shuddered from head to toe.
Promi glanced down at Atlanta. He bit his lip, seeing that her eyes had closed. “Atlanta . . . ,” he moaned.
She opened her eyes, though only a little, as if her eyelids were just too heavy to lift. Yet she still had enough strength to ask, “The monster . . . is it—”
A sudden, violent tremor cut her off. From deep below them, at the very roots of the island, the sea floor ruptured. More tremors followed, each one more powerful than the last.
The monster itself came into view. Sniffing the air vigorously, it halted outside the alley, drooling yellow slime. It roared, shaking the cobblestones beneath its hulking mass. With all it had devoured, its body had swollen even larger than before.
Suddenly—it saw them. Lurching forward, it smashed the building on one side of the alley as it bore down on its prey.
Promi kept his gaze focused on Atlanta, just as she kept looking up at him. Shangri squeezed Plato’s hand. Morey held his breath.
The monster crashed toward them, knocking down mud-brick walls. With another roar, it opened its cavernous mouth, preparing to shoot its deadly tongue at its prey. The tongue rose out of the gurgling slime and then—
The most violent tremor yet rocked Atlantis. Buildings crumpled and streets burst apart. A huge crevasse opened right under the monster, swallowing it whole.
The monster’s roar continued. But it grew quieter and quieter . . . until, at last, it ceased.
“We’re safe!” cried Shangri. “The monster’s no more!”
Plato and Morey hugged Shangri then hugged each other. Together, they celebrated, dancing with Shangri, shouting with joy.
Yet Promi hardly heard them. Still focusing on Atlanta, he was busy preparing himself for one last feat. If, somehow, it worked, it might save the life of a single person—the one dearest to his heart. Precious few seconds remained.
Although it meant making a great sacrifice, he knew that it was the only hope of saving Atlanta. And what he would lose seemed small indeed compared to what would be gained if he succeeded.
He paused, sending a quick prayer to his devoted sister in the spirit realm. Forgive me, Jaladay, for what I’m about to do. Maybe someday . . . I will join you again.
“By the gods and goddesses,” he cried, raising his voice to the skies.
Immediately, his friends stopped their celebrations. They stiffened like statues, watching and waiting for what Promi would say next.
“From this moment onward,” he declared, “I renounce forever my immortal life! Willingly, I part with all its powers and delights. All I ask . . .”
He paused, trembling, as he held Atlanta’s head in his hands. “All I ask is that you spare the life of this one mortal. This one person. This . . .”
A tear ran down his cheek, and he looked down on Atlanta’s face. Her eyes closed, fluttered one last time, then fell completely still.
His voice the barest whisper, Promi said, “This woman I love.”
The teardrop fell from his cheek onto Atlanta’s chin. Yet she didn’t move again. Nor did the others in the alley. For all of them knew the bitter truth.
Atlanta had died.
CHAPTER 33
Tidal Wave
Another tremor rocked the City, opening up a huge crevasse that snaked right through the middle of the market square. Several buildings crashed down, while fires engulfed many of those still standing. The crevasse widened, swallowing vehicles, walls, and bodies.
Out at
the river gorge, the fabled Bridge to Nowhere wobbled precariously. All at once, it crumpled and splintered. The entire structure, prayer leaves and all, spilled down into the raging river below. The last few leaves, and the impassioned prayers they held, drifted slowly downward until they disappeared into the billowing mist.
On the island’s northern cliffs, seabirds suddenly took flight. Pelicans, sandpipers, cranes, flamingos, puffins, terns, seagulls, and more leaped into the air, leaving their nests behind. Even a newly hatched albatross, carried by its devoted mother, joined the throng.
The birds wheeled around the island’s north side, screeching and honking and crying. So many birds joined the flock that they blotted out the sun, casting a dark shadow over the coastline of Atlantis.
The enormous flock flew eastward, heading for the faraway continents of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Every last bird had decided to brave the perilous seas on that lengthy journey, a journey they might not survive. For they had seen what no other creatures on Atlantis had yet noticed—a sight that commanded, Flee now, if you can!
Rolling rapidly toward the island from the deepest waters of the north came a single, gigantic wave. Triggered by the eruptions on the sea floor, it swelled larger by the second, obscuring the horizon and much of the sky. Like a liquid mountain range, the tidal wave sped toward Atlantis.
Meanwhile, in the alley near the demolished temple, the companions remained silent. Lost in grief for Atlanta, Promi and the others had nothing at all to say. And no desire to move. Even if they had been aware of all the tumult on the island, and the growing dangers they faced, they wouldn’t have budged.
Cradling Atlanta’s head, Promi gently kissed her forehead. Already, her skin felt cold to the touch of his lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Unable to look at her dead body any longer, he turned away. Dejected, he peered at the cobblestones.
“Don’t be sorry,” said a familiar voice.
“Atlanta!” shouted Promi, hugging her head tightly. “You’re alive!”
