Atlantis in Peril

by T.A. Barron

  He stopped. Right before him, in the midst of the cloudfield, sat a blackened spot that stank of incinerated worlds and the creatures who had lived there. A few of the destroyed flowers still smoldered, sizzling as their remaining stalks and petals burned slowly down to nothing. But most of what remained was just emptiness—devoid of life or landscapes.

  Kermi, standing in the middle of the scorched spot, growled angrily. “Mistwraiths,” he said, “no doubt about it.”

  “How could they do this?”

  “Very easily,” Kermi answered. “Mistwraiths live to devour magic and destroy life. They thrive on fear. And they—”

  A sudden burst of crackling made them both whirl around. Right behind them, a pair of dark shadows was rising out of the cloudfield—shadows that vibrated with black sparks.

  Mistwraiths!

  CHAPTER 21

  The Chase

  In a flash, Kermi leaped onto Promi’s shoulder, and the young man jumped into the air. Just as they left the cloudfield, black sparks, sizzling and crackling, sprayed the spot where they’d been standing.

  Both mistwraiths shrieked angrily and leaped after them. Hurtling through the swirling mist, they rippled with rage, leaving two black swaths behind. Like a pair of dark comets, they pursued their intended prey.

  Promi soared through the clouds, feeling Kermi’s tail wrapped around his neck. He weaved and swerved, zipping through mountainous clouds and under darkening rainbows. Yet nothing he did gained any distance from the mistwraiths. In fact, they seemed to be drawing closer.

  “Er, manfool,” whispered Kermi into his ear. “This would be a good time to show some speed if you’ve got any.”

  “I’m trying!”

  “Then try harder. Or else we’ll end up like those flower worlds back there.”

  Promi swerved sharply and plunged into a cloud tunnel of howling winds. The winds jostled them furiously, making Promi’s long black hair fly in all directions. Kermi’s whiskers flapped against his face, while his round ears fluttered against his head.

  They shot out of the windy tunnel. Right behind them came the mistwraiths, crackling with sparks. Behind them, twin trails of blackness blotted out the waning light.

  Promi careened into an especially dark cloud. All around them, vapors pressed as thickly as seawater. Both Promi and Kermi held their breaths.

  The companions streaked past thousands of glowing bubbles that were floating through this watery realm. Each bubble held a luminous world of its own, full of colorful places and bizarre creatures. Despite floating in the same waters, though, each bubble was destined to remain always separate, always apart.

  Bursting out of the dark cloud, they flew into a wide expanse of brightly colored, cube-shaped crystals. Even as night fell across the spirit realm, shrouding all its worlds in darkness, these crystals radiated yellows, greens, purples, and reds. Wherever they came together, new colors appeared, tinting everything around them.

  From each crystal came a strange sound, like a note from an airy flute, but more rich and resonant than any flute Promi had ever heard. Weaving together across the cloudscape, those sounds made a wildly unpredictable symphony—sometimes loud and cacophonous, sometimes quiet and melodic, always surprising.

  One day, thought Promi, I’d like to come back and explore this place.

  “First you’ll have to survive this day,” Kermi reminded him.

  Glancing behind, Promi saw the mistwraiths were still there—and gaining. Putting on a new burst of speed, he vaulted upward into a spiraling storm cloud. Lightning flashed all around, while thunder boomed.

  Zzzzappp! A searing blast of lightning sliced past, barely missing them. Then another zapped even nearer—so close Promi felt it singe the hair on his head.

  He veered to the side, bursting out of the storm. Now they were flying over a dark blue sea of clouds, a region where liquid worlds washed over one another constantly. From the waves below, a pair of golden eyes shaped like diamonds poked above the surface and watched them pass. Then the eyes rose higher, revealing a huge head covered with turquoise scales.

  But neither Promi nor Kermi noticed. All their attention was on the sound of crackling sparks that was pressing closer by the second. Desperately, Promi tried to fly faster—but the mistwraiths continued to close the gap. Now they were right behind!

  A black spark glanced off Promi’s left foot, searing his skin. He knew only seconds remained before their shadowy pursuers incinerated them completely. So he did the only thing he could think of—he flipped over backward, spinning a circle in the air.

  “Manfool!” shouted Kermi, almost losing his grip.

  The maneuver gained them a little distance from the mistwraiths. But only a little. As fast as Promi was flying, the deadly beings pressed closer.

  And closer.

  And closer.

  The mistwraiths, rippling with rage, were now just a hair’s breadth from Promi’s feet. He could almost kick them—but to do that would cost him dearly in flesh and bone.

  The mistwraiths swelled, already savoring the taste of conquest. Their shadowy folds rippled, spraying more sparks. Then, in unison, their heads opened into cavernous black mouths.

  The mouths opened wider. They salivated streams of darkness, for these mistwraiths were most eager to devour their prey. At the very instant the mouths started to close on Promi and Kermi—

  A huge creature flew at them from the side. Looking like a giant squid with leathery black wings, the creature opened its own enormous mouth—and swallowed Promi and Kermi whole.

  The two of them tumbled down the creature’s throat. They rolled along the ribbed gullet and finally came to a stop in a dark, cavernous belly. A harsh creaking sound echoed all around them—the creature’s breathing, perhaps? Dazed and bruised, they knew only that they were, miraculously, still alive.

  Outside, the enraged mistwraiths shrieked crazily. They hurled themselves against the creature, assaulting it with black sparks. But there was nothing they could do now, for this creature’s thick hide seemed impervious to their sparks, as well as their power.

  “That was rough,” said Promi, rubbing his sore head. “But I’d rather be in here than out there.”

  “That depends,” grumbled Kermi, “on exactly where here is.”

  “Wise words,” declared a voice that reverberated ominously.

  The companions both started—not just because someone was in there with them, but for another reason, as well. Both of them, especially Promi, had the uncomfortable feeling that they had heard that voice before.

  Just then a thick net fell over them. Made of fibrous vaporstone, it held them securely. And the more they flailed and struggled, the tighter it wrapped around them.

  “Lights,” commanded the voice.

  All at once the creature’s entire belly flooded with light. Astonished, Promi and Kermi realized that they were not in a living creature at all, but in some sort of machine—a flying ship made of vaporstone panels that gleamed with a gray metallic sheen. All around the ship’s hold were arrayed lights, switches, meters, levers, dials, and screens flashing endless streams of numbers and symbols. Round portals revealed the world outside, as well as the leathery wings whose constant beats made the creaking sound.

  A flying ship, thought Promi, thoroughly amazed. I wonder if any more of these exist in the spirit realm.

  Operating all the gadgetry, about a dozen men scurried around the hold. All of them wore heavy brown robes with deep hoods that hid their faces. They worked busily and efficiently, pausing only to inspect a screen or adjust a dial.

  Only one of the robed men wasn’t actively tending to the machinery. Taller than the others, he stood in the center of the room next to a chair clearly designed for the ship’s captain. He strode toward the entangled captives, chortling from under his hood.

  Placing his h
ands on his hips, he declared, “Well, well, won’t my master be pleased to see you.”

  Promi’s mind raced. Where had he heard that voice before?

  “Before I take you to him, though,” the captain continued, “I have some plans for you. Plans that I will find quite amusing—while you, alas, will find them excruciatingly painful.”

  He chortled again. Then, from under his hood, he whistled the first few notes of a jaunty tune.

  The blood froze in Promi’s veins. “No,” he said, horrified. “It’s not possible!”

  “You are mistaken,” declared the captain. Throwing back his hood, he proclaimed, “It is I, your old friend Grukarr.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Unending Agony

  You’re no friend of mine,” growled Promi, struggling without success to break free from the vaporstone net.

  “Or mine,” added Kermi—though his voice sounded muffled because his contortions to escape the net had stuffed a good portion of his tail into his mouth. And his struggles had only jammed the tail in deeper.

  Grukarr’s face, still as pallid as ever but with the silvery sheen of people in the spirit realm, flushed with anger. Yet his voice remained calm as he replied, “Whatever I say is so.”

  Studying his prisoners, he stepped closer, his bootsteps echoing in the metal hold of the flying machine. Meanwhile, the hooded crew continued to monitor and adjust the gadgets, screens, and dials that covered the walls of the hold. Outside, visible through the round portals, the leathery wings beat relentlessly, making a harsh creaking sound that sometimes rose to a shriek.

  Savoring the sight of his helpless prisoners, Grukarr chortled with satisfaction. “How lovely you are so surprised to see me! I did not enjoy dying, mind you. But that experience will never come again, now that I am an immortal spirit.”

  He took another step closer so that he stood right in front of Promi. “I suppose,” he said while stroking his chin, “that I ought to thank you for killing my mortal self. Otherwise, none of this glorious new adventure would be possible.”

  Without warning, he kicked Promi hard in the ribs. As the young man convulsed in pain under the net, the former priest smiled. “There. You have now been thanked.”

  Grukarr glanced out the nearest portal in time to see the pair of wrathful mistwraiths departing. “Too bad for you, shadowy ones. This prize was never meant to be yours.”

  Promi stiffened. Ignoring the throbbing of his ribs, he asked, “You mean this was all a trap?”

  Grukarr whistled some more of the jaunty tune, taking his time before answering. Playful notes tumbled forth, reverberating in the ship’s hold.

  At last, Grukarr said, “The trap was perfectly executed, I might add. I guessed you would start your search for your sister—Jaladay, is that her name?—on the spot where she’d been captured. The fact that those mistwraiths were also in the area played right into my plans. And tracking them wasn’t difficult. Alas . . . they are the only ones to be disappointed by the outcome.”

  He stroked his chin again. “But I can assure you, their frustrations are greatly outweighed by the pleasure that my master will take in your demise.”

  Grukarr’s voice lowered. “You see . . . death doesn’t come easily to an immortal. But it does come—oh yes, it most certainly does!”

  He glared at Promi. “And my master has ways of ensuring that you experience both agony and death.”

  He licked his lips, as if he was just about to eat a tasty treat. “First, though, I have some presents to give you—presents I’ve been saving for just this occasion.”

  “I’m surprised Narkazan took you back again,” growled Promi. “After how badly you botched his plans for the Starstone and the invasion.”

  “Some people never learn,” said Kermi in his muffled voice.

  Grukarr scowled. “Narkazan knows that I am more ready than ever to serve him. And to torment you.

  “Six! Eleven!” barked Grukarr. Two of the hooded men snapped to attention and faced him, while the rest of the crew continued with their tasks. “Ready the hatch—but don’t open it until I command.”

  Spinning around, he called to another pair of men. “Number five! And you—nine!” Like the others, the men jumped to attention. From under their hoods, they watched their captain with full concentration.

  Grukarr waved at a vaporstone crate beside his chair. “Fetch the blades,” he ordered. “Attach them now.”

  Under the net, the prisoners exchanged glances. Whatever he’s planning, thought Promi, we’re not going to like it.

  Kermi’s eyes grew even bigger than usual as he saw the men pull from the crate a long line of rope fitted with daggerlike blades. That’s obvious, you idiot! So what are you going to do to get us out of here?

  Promi’s mind raced, searching for an answer. Yet none came to him. He wriggled, trying to grab his knife from its sheath, but the net held him too tight to budge. And there wasn’t anything nearby—not a single stray tool or weapon—he might be able to use.

  Meanwhile, the first pair of men twisted a large valve and raised several levers. The dark outline of a hatch appeared on the floor, ringed with tiny silver lights. In unison, the men marched over and stood on either side of the hatch.

  But Promi and Kermi weren’t watching. Their attention remained focused on the deadly blades. The men carefully stretched out the line on the floor so the blades, hundreds of them, lay flat, gleaming dangerously.

  “Now,” ordered Grukarr, “apply the treatment. Don’t forget your gloves, you vermin!”

  Donning heavy gloves, the men lifted a small black bottle from the crate. Carefully, they carried the bottle over to the blades, opened it, and affixed a pointed top. Kneeling over the blades, they prepared to pour whatever potion the bottle held.

  “Just one drop for each blade,” snarled Grukarr. Turning to the captives under the net, he added, “That is all it takes for endless misery.”

  He glared at Promi. “When this potion touches your skin, it will boil and bubble. That’s right—your skin will melt away! Not all at once, mind you. What fun would that be? No, all this will happen with agonizing slowness.”

  Promi tried to show no emotion, determined to deny the priest any more satisfaction. But his heart was galloping. And the skin on his chest started to prickle with heat, something that happened only when he felt most afraid.

  “But that,” continued Grukarr, “is truly mild compared to what will happen when it enters your bloodstream.” He grinned wickedly. “That is when you will wish you’d never been alive.”

  Though he kept his face expressionless, Promi’s chest grew hotter. The mark over his heart felt ready to burst into flames.

  Grukarr turned to watch as the men applied one drop of the black potion to each blade. At the instant each drop fell, that blade would start to hiss and sizzle noisily. As the men finished, they delicately closed the bottle and returned it to the crate.

  At a nod from their captain, the gloved men clasped each end of the line and started to drag it over to the prisoners in the net. Slowly, they wrapped the still-sizzling blades around the captives, making sure that many gleaming edges were very close to touching Promi and Kermi—who stayed utterly still, barely breathing.

  It took several wraps to use the whole line. All the while, Grukarr watched intently, humming a merry folk song he’d learned as a youth. Finally the men finished, secured the ends, and backed away.

  “Good,” declared Grukarr. “All we need now is a bit of motion. Just to stir things up.” He nodded to the men standing by the hatch.

  Immediately, one of them pushed a button on the nearest console. A whirring sound erupted—followed by a sudden gush of air as the hatch opened. The men stepped back so they wouldn’t be sucked outside.

  “At last,” declared Grukarr, raising his voice to be heard above the din of air rushing outside
the hatch. “The time has arrived.”

  Facing the prisoners, he smirked. “I will enjoy what happens next. You, however, will not.”

  Then, to the crew, he commanded, “Hook them up! And you, number seven—engage the winch.”

  The men scurried about the hold. Several of them carried sturdy hooks attached to ropes that led to a massive winch on the ceiling. They connected the hooks to the net holding Promi and Kermi, being very careful not to touch the poisonous blades.

  Meanwhile, man number seven flicked several switches and engaged the winch. A blue light started to flash. Satisfied, the man turned his hooded face toward his leader, awaiting the next command.

  “Now,” Grukarr explained to his prisoners, “is the moment I have long desired. You will be dragged over to the hatch. If the process is a bit uncomfortable, I do humbly apologize.”

  “Nothing about you is humble,” said Promi through gritted teeth. He wanted so badly to leap up and pummel this madman—but he couldn’t move even a little bit without touching the blades.

  Grukarr glared at him. “Soon you will know only one thing—unending agony! For I will throw you outside the ship, where you will slam and bounce against the hull for the rest of this night as we fly to Narkazan’s lair. Blades will slice you, poison will devour you. And then, whatever remains of you and your furry pet, my master will give you his most special welcome.”

  Kermi growled angrily—not just to hear about the painful torture to come, but to have been called someone’s pet. The very idea!

  Triumphant, Grukarr strode over to the hatch. Positioning himself right next to it so that he could see out the opening—and, he hoped, hear every scream of terror—he chortled. Then he turned his head toward the man at the winch controls, who was standing just behind him.