Atlantis in Peril

by T.A. Barron

  Come on,” said Promi as he nudged her shoulder. “Let’s take a walk. Can’t think of how many weeks it’s been since I saw you—but it’s too many.”

  Atlanta nodded. “That’s true! Shall I lead?”

  “Of course. You know if I lead, we’ll get completely lost in no time.”

  “Also true.” Pointing at Promi’s feet, she smirked. “Remember when you gave up your boots and walked the first time in bare feet?”

  “Most painful thing I’ve ever done,” he answered. “Except maybe . . . when I had to put up with that crazy blue demon riding on my back.”

  “Kermi? Oh . . . he was so cute.”

  Promi scowled. “Cute as the plague.”

  “Let’s go,” declared Atlanta.

  With the faery perched on her shoulder, she darted to the island’s edge and leaped across the rushing waterway. Then, without breaking stride, she strode across a patch of lemongrass, between a pair of olive trees, and up a fern-covered slope. After glancing behind to make sure her companion was coming, she veered into a grove where passion fruits were just beginning to ripen.

  Promi joined her—but as usual, without Atlanta’s grace. Compared to her, he resembled a hippo trying to run with a gazelle. Yet he did try hard to stay by her side . . . except whenever they encountered a smelldrude.

  When that happened today, fortunately, Promi was lagging behind. When Atlanta emerged from a stand of birches, the smelldrude saw her and waddled over. Looking like an oversized otter with enormous eyes, she placed one of her webbed feet in Atlanta’s open hand. The smelldrude’s powerful scent glands produced an aroma as sweet as wild roses. But the instant Promi appeared, that aroma took on a hint of something more like curdled milk mixed with dead fish.

  Promi immediately turned around and retreated into the birches. Only after the smelldrude had waddled off—and Atlanta had waved to let him know all was clear—did he rejoin her.

  Through the Great Forest they roamed, occasionally stopping to drink from a spring that bubbled up from the ground, eat some juicy pears, or split a sweet cakefruit. After a few hours, they climbed a massive fir tree (whose branches held a whole clan of chattering squirrels), just to enjoy the view from the top. Later, they came across a steep hill covered in fluffy blue moss—which they immediately rolled down. Throughout the day, the woods resounded with their conversation, laughter, and, whenever Atlanta felt inspired, song.

  As late afternoon light touched the trees, painting branches with gold, they came to the western edge of the forest. Before them, at the bottom of a sloping meadow, sat three clear lakes. Like puzzle pieces, the lakes fit together perfectly, with narrow borders of rushes growing between them. Sunlight sparkled on the water.

  “Shall we go for a swim?” Promi started to pull off his tunic. “Before the sun goes down.”

  “Not there,” cautioned Atlanta. She put a hand on his arm. “Those are the Lakes of Dreams . . . and there is strange magic in that water.”

  “But they look so inviting.”

  “Look more closely.”

  Peering at the lakes, Promi noticed that there were no birds on the surface. Nor did any other animals wander the shores. Indeed, he saw no signs at all of animal life—not even a path to a favorite spot to drink.

  “I see,” he said. “There’s something, well, unfriendly about those lakes.”

  Twirling one of her curls thoughtfully, Atlanta gazed at the scene. “The rumor I’ve heard—ever since childhood—is that anyone who stands on the shore and looks into that water will see their most frightful dream.”

  She glanced at him, then went on. “And anyone who stays too long by that water . . . will be condemned to live that dream.”

  On her shoulder, the faery shuddered.

  Promi raised his eyebrows. “Well then, I guess we won’t be going for a swim after all.”

  For a long moment, they sat in silence at the top of the slope. Then, in unison, they turned, reading each other’s expressions.

  “You’re sure?” asked Promi.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Just a quick look. For the adventure. Let’s do it together! That won’t be so bad.”

  Quiggley flew in front of her face, wings whirring, waving his small arms in distress.

  “It’s all right, little friend. Just one look. How bad can that be?”

  The faery waved even more frantically.

  “Listen,” she explained. “My whole life I’ve been hearing about the Lakes of Dreams, and I’ve always heeded the warnings. But now I’m old enough to handle whatever the water shows me.”

  “And I’m here, too.” Promi slid his fingers into hers. “We’ll help each other.”

  Dejectedly, Quiggley shook his head, almost losing his cotton hat. Then he flew over to the nearest tree, an elm, and perched on its lowest branch. He tucked in his wings, as if to say, I’ll wait for you here.

  Holding hands, Atlanta and Promi walked down to the nearest of the lakes. As they stepped into the rushes, their bare feet made the stalks snap and hiss. Finally, at the water’s edge, they stopped.

  They traded uncertain glances, then released hands. As one, they kneeled—and looked into the still water.

  Atlanta saw a sudden blur of images. Her own face as a child, clouds of noxious fumes, menacing shadows, murky pools, twisted trees. The Passage of Death was near! She ran into the swamp, dodging quicksand pits and slithering snakes whose fangs gleamed darkly.

  Mama! Papa! she screamed, her small voice swallowed by the night. Don’t leave me all alone!

  Images of hunched creatures flashed by, with more eerie shadows. Swamp specters! Feeding on human misery—following her. Reaching for her hair, her neck, her arms . . .

  Dark vapors swirled. The scene suddenly changed to a sunlit meadow in the forest. Two people were lying together amidst the sweetstalk fern. Atlanta and Promi! She relaxed, reaching for him, even as he gently stroked her arm. Lovingly, they embraced, starting to kiss. Just an instant before their lips touched—

  He burst into laughter! Not with joy, but with wrath—a harsh, vengeful laugh. Roughly, he shoved her away.

  You! He stood, looking at her with revulsion. You are nobody. Nothing! I am leaving you forever.

  Wait, she cried. Wait, Promi. Don’t leave me all alone!

  • • •

  Kneeling by the lake, Atlanta reeled so violently that she fell over backward. Looking down at her was someone with long black hair. Promi!

  She shrieked and rolled away from him, still feeling her anger and pain at what he’d done. What he’d said.

  A dream, she told herself. It was just a dream. But if that was true, why was the pain so raw? Why was her whole body shaking?

  “Atlanta,” he said, watching her worriedly. “Are you all right?”

  Slowly, she sat up. “Sure,” she said weakly. “Just . . . a bit shaken.”

  He sat down beside her. “Want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  Gently, he placed his hand on her knee. But she recoiled from his touch, moving away.

  “No,” she repeated. Lowering her head between her knees, she moaned, “That . . . was . . . a bad idea.”

  Promi frowned solemnly. “I know.”

  After a moment, she raised her head. “Was your vision just as horrible?”

  He nodded.

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  “No.”

  She gazed at him, this young man who had saved the world, who had cast the wicked spirit Narkazan into a swirling maelstrom, who had created a whole new island—and who now looked so shaken and vulnerable. Drawing a deep breath, she slid over to his side. Their bodies leaned against each other. But they didn’t speak.

  In silence, they sat there. The sun dropped lower to the horizon, splashing pink and purple rays across the sky. Yet neither
of them noticed.

  Finally, Atlanta whispered a few words. “I’ll tell you something about mine . . . if you’ll do the same.”

  “Well . . . ,” he said hesitantly.

  She tapped his knee. “I think it might help. Both of us.”

  He sighed. “All right. Shall I go first?”

  “No,” she answered bravely. “I’ll start.”

  Chewing her lip, she paused, deciding what to say. “Mine was about . . . losing my parents. Searching for them, all by myself, in that terrible swamp. Calling for them . . .”

  She started to cry. As Promi wrapped his arm around her shoulder, she said through her sobs, “But they . . . never . . . came back.”

  As the sobs subsided, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “That’s what I saw.” Then she added, though it wasn’t true, “Nothing more.”

  “That was enough.”

  Looking away, she murmured, “Yes, enough.” Then she turned back to him. “And your vision?”

  “A bit more scattered,” he replied. “Funny thing is . . . most of it was feelings, not places or people.”

  “What sort of feelings?”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, when I was a child and I found out my parents wanted to send me away—all the way to the world of mortals—I was angry. And confused. And very hurt.”

  “Of course.”

  “So what if they thought they were protecting me? They totally ignored what I wanted! They wiped away my memories, stole everything I knew—my whole past. Then they disguised me as a mortal, sent me to Earth, and forced me to fend for myself on the streets.”

  Atlanta shuddered. Until now, she hadn’t really understood what Promi had survived.

  “All because of this,” he growled. He opened his tunic to show the strange black mark on his chest—right over his heart. Resembling a soaring bird, it was the sign of the Prophecy that had rocked both the mortal and spirit realms . . . and changed his life forever.

  “The truth is,” he lamented, “I’ve been used my whole life.”

  He paused, thinking about the fight he’d just had with his parents. Those childhood wounds were still so raw! Could he ever forgive Sammelvar and Escholia? Could he ever move beyond all that?

  Reliving that pain, as he’d looked into the water, had been brutal. If that had been all he’d seen, it would have been bad enough. He blew a long breath and thought, But that wasn’t the worst of it. No—not nearly.

  Promi chewed his lip. Should he tell Atlanta the rest?

  No, he decided. I can’t possibly do that. Can’t possibly tell her how we were almost together—before we were ripped apart. Time after time after time!

  Feeling her stroke his back soothingly, he told himself, And I certainly can’t tell her that the person to blame, the one who tore us apart, wasn’t some outsider. It was me!

  He shook his head. That was the most frightening part of the dream—the fear that he could never truly love anyone. Not his parents. Not his sister. Not even Atlanta.

  She took his arm. “It’s going to get dark soon. Should we find somewhere to spend the night?”

  “Sure,” he replied, still gripped by what he’d experienced.

  Together, they rose and walked up the slope to the forest’s edge. Neither said a word. And neither looked back at the darkening Lakes of Dreams.

  CHAPTER 7

  Two Separate Worlds

  Neither of them slept well. Though they’d found a lovely spot—a mossy meadow beside a tumbling waterfall, the starry sky arching overhead—Atlanta and Promi tossed and turned the whole night. Like endless cries for help, their experiences at the lakes kept echoing in their minds.

  Only Quiggley had no trouble sleeping. Curled inside a cupped oak leaf near Atlanta, he slept soundly for at least seven minutes—a full night’s rest for a faery. For the remainder of the evening, he explored the forest in moonlight, one of his favorite times to be with the woods and its creatures. By dawn, he was halfway across the forest, so he decided it was time to return to Atlanta.

  Meanwhile, morning light touched the companions’ mossy meadow. The waterfall grew brighter, until it looked like liquid sunshine pouring over the rocks. A nearby spider’s web transformed into golden threads. High in the branches of a mahogany tree, a nest of young bluebirds awoke and started chirping hungrily.

  For Atlanta and Promi, though, this wasn’t a time to enjoy their surroundings. Bleary from lack of sleep, they rose and gathered a bit of breakfast—some licorice roots, a few walnuts, and a kind of miniature melon often found near waterfalls.

  Sitting next to Atlanta on the moss, Promi sliced the melon with his dagger. He handed half to her. Together, they ate the succulent fruit as juice dribbled down their chins.

  “Mmm,” said Promi with a smack of his lips. “Good melon. Almost as sweet as the sugarmelons that grow in the spirit realm. Just last week I found some growing on the banks of a river of honey.”

  “Too bad you don’t have a sweet tooth,” Atlanta teased. “Otherwise you might actually enjoy those things.”

  He grinned. “You might enjoy them, too, if you’d let me take you there sometime.”

  Chewing her last bite of melon, she shook her head. “You know it’s against the law for mortals to visit the spirit realm.”

  “I suppose,” he said with a shrug. “But by the same token, immortals aren’t allowed to visit Earth. And that’s never kept me from coming to see you.”

  Her blue-green eyes looked at him worriedly. “How difficult is that journey? I mean, are you putting yourself at risk by coming here?”

  “No,” he said, pausing to wipe his sticky hands on the moss. “The only risk is getting caught. And my specialty is never getting caught.”

  “It’s really that easy?”

  “All I need to do is catch a good wind and fly here, now that I know how. I’ll never be as fast as a wind lion like Theosor, of course—but it’s still a fairly quick trip.”

  “I mean, it’s easy not to get caught?”

  “Child’s play. I’ve always been good at escaping pursuers! And there’s really no harm in it. My father keeps telling me that my travels here are tearing holes in the veil between the worlds. But I don’t buy it.”

  She leaned closer. “Why not? Sammelvar, the great spirit of wisdom, wouldn’t lie to you.”

  Bitterly, Promi asked, “Really? You’re saying I should trust the same man who has always treated me as just a pawn in his grand plans?”

  Atlanta peered at him, guessing he was still struggling with yesterday’s vision at the Lakes of Dreams. Or could there be something else going on, something he wasn’t telling her?

  Or maybe, she wondered, was there more to his vision than he’d revealed? Just as there was really more to her own?

  Trying to comfort him, she suggested, “Maybe your parents just want you around more. It must be nice for them to have you back.”

  “Are you kidding?” Promi scowled. “That’s the last thing they want! Especially after that fight.”

  “What fight?”

  “Just before I came here. My father berated me for going through the veil. Made a big fuss that my visits to Earth are tearing so many holes that the veil could collapse.”

  Atlanta stiffened. “Promi . . . what if he’s right?”

  “But he’s not! Not once, in all my travels, have I ever seen or felt the veil. And I’ve certainly never felt it tearing.”

  “But, Promi—”

  “Don’t you see what he’s doing? Trying to control me, as always! He thinks I’m selfish—but my parents are the selfish ones, still using me for their own purposes.”

  He paused, looking into her eyes that sparkled with green, expecting her sympathy. Instead, she said the last thing he expected.

  “Listen, Promi. Your father could be right about the veil. An
d if he is . . . this whole world is at risk.”

  “What? It’s a lot more likely he doesn’t want me to see you! He’s probably cooking up this whole thing just to keep us apart.”

  Atlanta shook her head. “Even if that’s true, the veil matters more. The possibility it’s in danger outweighs the desires of just two people.”

  Stunned by her response, Promi asked, “Even if those two people are us?”

  Atlanta frowned. “Yes.”

  He reached for her hand. “There’s something else you need to know.”

  He hesitated, trying to find the right words. “Time is, well . . . different in the spirit realm. It moves much more slowly than on Earth. Just a few minutes up there could be days or months—even years—down here. So by coming here often to be with you, and by spending lots of time on Atlantis, I’m . . .”

  “Keeping us close to the same age?” Touched, she gave him a soulful look.

  “Yes,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to get a whole lot older than me.”

  Atlanta drew a long, slow breath. “I see. But, Promi, you still can’t put our needs ahead of the world’s.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That you should trust your father on this.”

  “No!” Promi released her hand and stood. Angrily, he strode over to the waterfall. Then he spun around and declared, “He’s just trying to stop me from doing what I want. Like he’s always done. And what I want is to see you!”

  He paused, trying to calm his voice. “He’s just putting up barriers, don’t you see? And I’ve never, in my whole life, believed in barriers.”

  Something about the way he said that sounded wrong to Atlanta. Dangerously wrong. She walked over and confronted him.

  “I’m worried about the veil, even if you’re not! There are evil spirits, too, as you know—spirits who would do terrible things down here if they could. And, Promi . . . I’m also worried about you.”

  Angrily, he clenched his jaw. “What are you saying? That I’m evil? Or stupid?”

  “No!”

  “Or that you don’t want me to come visit?”

  “No, Promi!”

  “Then what kind of idiocy are you saying?”