by T.A. Barron
Instinctively, Promi glanced upward. Between the roofs of mud-brick homes, he saw nothing but empty sky, touched by the first golden rays of dawn.
All clear. He strode down the street, looking for just the right spot to have his long-awaited meal. The pie, still steaming, felt warm in his hands.
He turned into an alley, completely empty except for a beggar slumped against the wall. Striding past, he noticed it was a young woman around his age. Oddly dressed, she wore a soiled purple gown made from some sort of plant. The robe, streaked with dirt and clumps of something sticky like tree sap, testified to an arduous journey. So did the young woman’s bare feet, toughened by a great deal of walking.
Her brown curls looked as tangled as a thornbush. And her expression, deeply sad, couldn’t be missed. Nor could her look of hunger when she caught a whiff of Promi’s pie and lifted her head.
She watched him walk past, full of longing—but too proud or exhausted to call out. Yet what Promi noticed most was not her hungry, disheveled appearance, but something else.
Her eyes. A rich shade of blue-green, they seemed to combine the blue waters of a sunlit lake and the green leaves of a sapling in spring.
The eyes gazed at Promi. He started to think again about where to eat his sumptuous meal. Then, so suddenly it surprised even himself, he turned on his heels and went back to the young woman.
Without really knowing why, he gave her the lemon pie. He simply slid it onto her lap as if it belonged to her.
She blinked up at him in astonishment. “For . . . me?”
“For you,” he said brusquely, already feeling his hunger pangs returning.
He turned to go, forcing himself to think about where to find another bakery—and not about what a stupid thing he’d just done. But she grabbed the sleeve of his tunic. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s too kind of you.”
“I know,” he said grumpily, pulling away. “I only did it to keep you from dying of hunger right here on the street.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“That’s right,” he declared. “Dead bodies always get in my way when I’m moving fast.”
She watched him, clearly not believing a word.
“And don’t expect this to happen again,” he warned, “because it won’t. Just eat that pie and go back to wherever you came from.”
“I will,” she said gratefully. “This will give me the strength I need to go back to the Great Forest.”
He hesitated. “You live there? I didn’t know any people actually did.”
“My whole life. Until . . .” The sadness returned to her face. “Recently.”
“Well,” he said, “good luck. Try not to go around dying on the street anymore.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll try. And . . . what’s your name?”
“Promi.”
“Well, Promi, I am Atlanta.” She smiled for the first time, a beautiful smile that illuminated her face. “And I bless your eternal qualities.”
Still feeling grumpy, he said, “Just bless that lemon pie and be on your way.”
“Would you like some for yourself?”
“No,” he lied. “Not really hungry. And besides . . . I never share food with anyone.”
“Right,” she answered. “Just like you never give away your food to anyone.”
“Good-bye.” He spun around, ready to go—just as a heavy net fell on top of them.
Men pounced on the net, holding down the prisoners, all the while cursing loudly. A blood falcon screeched from somewhere nearby. Finally came another sound, one Promi remembered all too well—the sound of someone’s merry whistling.
CHAPTER 17
No Escape
When you taste something hot, you’re bound to get burned.
—From Promi’s journal, with a sketch of someone’s angry face
Well, well,” said Grukarr, grinning maliciously as he straightened his turban. “What a delightful surprise.”
He chortled, stroking the talons of the fierce bird on his shoulder. It had taken his men only a moment to tie up the prisoners and set them side by side against the wall of the alley. Now he stood over them, exuding triumph.
“The net, my dear Atlanta, was intended just for you. Since you so kindly placed yourself where my Huntwing could easily spot you, the rest was easy.”
“A terrible, horrible mistake,” she fumed, trying to wriggle free from the ropes that bound her hands and feet.
Promi sighed. “Happens to the best of us.” He glanced at the telltale bulge in his boot, knowing exactly what Kermi was thinking: Or the stupidest of us.
“What I didn’t expect, though,” Grukarr continued, “was to catch you, too, pie stealer.”
He strode up to Promi’s side and kicked him hard in the abdomen. The young man groaned with pain, unable to breathe for several seconds. But he quickly regained his composure. Determined not to give the priest any more satisfaction, he merely glared at his captor.
Grukarr returned the glare. “How you managed to escape from Ekh Raku, I can’t imagine. But it doesn’t matter at all now. For I’m going to kill you right here in this alley, slowly and exquisitely, while I watch you writhe in pain.”
His gaze swung back to Atlanta. “First, however, I have some unfinished business with this lovely young woman of the forest. She is going to help me.”
Atlanta shot him a look that could have cracked a boulder into pieces. “Never!”
Grukarr toyed with his necklace of golden beads. “Not even if it’s the only way to save your beloved forest?”
She caught her breath. “What does the forest have to do with this?”
“Everything, my dear.” The priest whistled merrily. “You see, there are changes—big changes—about to happen. While I cannot reveal them to you, I can tell you this much: They are all part of my grand plan. They will bring great power to some people, especially the new ruler of this realm . . . and great misery to others.”
He reached out his hand to stroke Atlanta’s flowing curls, but she leaned away. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled.
Pulling back his hand, he smirked. “Soon enough, my dear, you will cooperate fully. Oh, yes! I need you to help me find the most magical places in the forest—places where I can get what I need as quickly as possible.” His voice took on a more threatening tone. “You have already cost me several days, you see. Days I have spent searching for you instead of doing . . . what I need to do.”
He ruffled Huntwing’s tail feathers. “But we still have enough time, and some to spare. Now that I have you, at last, I will get what I need.” His voice lowered menacingly. “I always do.”
“You are a monster! I told you I’d never help you.”
“Oh, but you will, Atlanta. You will. Otherwise, everything you care about will be lost forever.” Chortling softly, he added, “And if you still resist . . . I will introduce you to my good friend over here.”
Grukarr waved at the dark shadows under the wall behind him. Promi and Atlanta both peered at the spot. At first, neither of them saw anything unusual. Then, simultaneously, they noticed one place that seemed darker than all the rest, a shadow within the shadows.
All of a sudden, that shadow moved! It floated eerily away from the wall, a living blot of darkness. Quivering constantly, the dark being crackled with black sparks as it slid to Grukarr’s side. Though only as high as the priest’s waist, it seemed immensely dangerous.
Promi and Atlanta gasped, staring at the shadow being. Grukarr’s men stood like statues, frozen with fear. Even Huntwing moved as far away as possible on his master’s shoulder and shifted uneasily.
With a nod toward the crackling shadow by his leg, Grukarr said pleasantly, “You have never encountered a creature of this kind? Such a pity. Meet my friend, a mistwraith from the spirit realm.”
Down in Promi’s boot, Kermi shuddered. At the same time, the young man could feel the skin of his chest start to prickle.
“From the spirit realm?” he asked
Grukarr. “I thought nobody could—”
Footsteps interrupted him. Turning into the alley came six temple guards, heavily armed, marching in perfect unison. Right behind them strode an elderly woman whose spry movements belied her age—High Priestess Araggna, scowling as usual. Around her forearm, coiled tightly, rode her snake.
Grukarr stiffened, clearly surprised, while Huntwing clacked his beak viciously. The mistwraith instantly moved back to the shadows to avoid being seen by Araggna. Some of Grukarr’s men also slunk away, hoping the High Priestess wouldn’t recognize them. But a few others clenched their fists and muttered angry curses at the woman who had sentenced them to such cruel punishments.
Promi and Atlanta, meanwhile, could only watch the scene unfold. Both took this opportunity to struggle with their bonds, trying to loosen them; both failed completely. Atlanta wondered who this vile-looking woman could be—clearly someone of great power, judging from Grukarr’s reaction. Promi, for his part, wondered whether Araggna would recognize him. After all, her vision had been obscured by thick clouds of incense at their last meeting in the Divine Monk’s dining room.
The High Priestess’s guards fanned out, surrounding Grukarr. Araggna strode up to him and said imperiously, “My spies told me you were here, wasting time as usual.”
Grukarr’s eyes blazed with fury, but he held his tongue. He glanced at the armed guards surrounding him, composed himself, then replied respectfully, “Always at your service, High Priestess.”
“Bah! You don’t know what service means! Just as you don’t understand true loyalty . . . or, for that matter, intelligence.”
She snickered, a raspy, guttural sound. “Which is why you were stripped of the right to have any temple guards—and have to rely on untrained riffraff instead.”
Several of Grukarr’s men grumbled angrily. But a few sharp looks from the temple guards, whose hands lay on their sword hilts, was all it took to silence them.
Araggna’s gaze fell on the two young prisoners. “What do we have here? A pair of beggars, from the looks of them. More recruits for your riffraff guards?”
“No,” declared her deputy proudly. “I have caught, at last, the thief who stole the Divine Monk’s pie from the temple.”
Araggna started, surprised. “But you told me yesterday that you’d done that.”
“Well . . .” began Grukarr, clearly flustered.
“So you bungled that attempt! Either he escaped from you, or you arrested the wrong person.” She scowled more deeply than ever. “Let me see if you got the right thief this time.” She stepped toward Promi.
Meanwhile, Atlanta leaned over to Promi and whispered, “From the temple? That couldn’t have been easy.”
He glanced over at the remains of the lemon pie, trampled in their capture, and shrugged. “At least that pie I got to eat.”
Araggna came to a stop beside Promi, glaring down at him. On her arm, the snake lifted its head and hissed angrily. The priestess nodded and declared, “Why, yes, I do believe you are the one.”
The old priestess whirled around to face Grukarr. As she did so, Promi noticed for the second time the hint of something glowing beneath her robe. A mysterious light gleamed under the cloth. This time, he couldn’t say it was just an illusion. So what was it?
“Well, you imbecile,” snarled the High Priestess. “At long last, it seems, you have done something right.”
Grukarr trembled with rage. His cheeks turned almost purple. Even so, well aware of the armed guards who would instantly cut him down if Araggna ordered, he contained his anger.
Araggna watched him, amused at his frustration. “And who is the other one?” She waved dismissively at Atlanta. “Another thief?”
“No,” grumbled Grukarr. “She is someone who could be useful to me . . . in, well, another way.”
The priestess spat on the cobblestones. “You are truly a disgrace.” She sighed. “Today, however, I shall overlook your many failings. For you have somehow managed to capture the thief from the temple.”
With a scathing last look at Grukarr, she turned back to Promi. Bound tightly, he looked harmless, as well as filthy and half starved—the sort of prisoner who might have inspired mercy from a captor. But not Araggna.
“You are convicted of high crimes and the violation of sacred places,” she rasped. “So I condemn you to die, here and now.”
The boa constrictor slithered higher on her arm, hissing all the while.
Crossing her bony arms, Araggna added, “Contrary to my normal practice of not sullying myself with punishments, I plan to stay here and witness your execution. Just to enjoy it.”
She snapped her fingers at a burly guard who carried a double-bladed ax. “Get over here and kill the beggar.” She nodded at Grukarr. “Before my clumsy deputy can botch this again.”
Promi, meanwhile, wrestled with the ropes. But he couldn’t budge! Escape seemed utterly impossible. None of his old tricks could help him now. Even if he’d had a knife, he couldn’t have thrown it.
Glumly, he traded glances with Atlanta. Her face showed just what he felt—despair.
Roughly, the guard kicked Promi over on his side so that the young man’s head lay on the cobblestones. Then the guard grasped his heavy ax with both hands and started to raise it.
How can I possibly get out of here? Promi’s mind raced. I’ve got no movement. No knife. No anything! Except maybe . . .
Magic. He clenched his jaw. But I don’t know how to use it!
His thoughts whirled. Desperately, he recalled what Jaladay had told him in the dungeon. And how he’d done his best to use his Listener magic—but failed completely. What had he done wrong?
The ax lifted higher.
Jaladay said I must make a sacrifice. But how?
And higher.
Suddenly he remembered how she had described the magic itself. It could bring great power . . . but also great pain. The loss, she had warned, of something you love.
And higher.
Something I love, he told himself. Was that some sort of clue?
The guard grunted. His ax was fully raised, ready to fall.
Something I love, repeated Promi desperately. That was it! The other things he’d tried to sacrifice—his earring, his strange mark—he didn’t really care for. So he needed to give up something precious. Valuable. Something he truly loved.
“Kill him,” the priestess commanded.
Promi closed his eyes, focusing all his thoughts on what he was going to sacrifice.
The ax began to fall.
“Listen one,” he whispered, “listen all.”
The sound of rushing wind swept through the alley. Yet no one felt even the slightest breeze.
The guard’s ax struck hard—but hit only the cobblestones. Sparks flew from the blade.
“No!” shouted Araggna and Grukarr in unison.
Promi and Atlanta had vanished completely, leaving only the knotted ropes that had bound them.
CHAPTER 18
Sacrifice
Must say, I was impressed by what you did on your very first try! I hate to admit it, but you actually knew what you were doing.
—From her journal
Never in my life have I felt so stupid. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
—From Promi’s journal
An instant later, Promi and Atlanta found themselves sitting in a forest grove carpeted with sweetstalk fern. They gazed at each other in astonishment.
It worked! thought Promi triumphantly. Then, an instant later, he realized, Now I have to deal with that sacrifice.
Atlanta pinched herself to make sure this was real. “Are we . . . alive?”
“Seems that way,” replied Promi. Thanks to magic, he told himself, still not believing it. Magic that I actually just used.
“We’re free!” she shouted. “Free!” She turned and gave Promi an exuberant hug—then suddenly feeling awkward, pulled away. She shook her head, bewildered. “But how?”
�
�Well,” said Promi hesitantly, “I suppose . . . I did it.”
“You? You really saved us?”
He nodded, still amazed. “Just a little magic I, well, picked up somewhere.”
“Thank you!” she cried, instinctively hugging him again. Then, just as quickly, she drew back, her cheeks red with embarrassment.
Meanwhile, the sound of a breeze swelled swiftly, filling the forest, though no actual wind stirred the trees. Not so much as a single leaf quivered on the surrounding acacias, elms, and oaks. Then, just as swiftly, the sound ended, replaced by the ebullient singing of a meadowlark, its notes spiraling downward like a waterfall of song.
Atlanta cocked her head, listening to the meadowlark’s melody. Then she leaned over to smell the nearest stalk of fern. Pressing her nose deep into its amber fronds, she drew a long breath. As she exhaled, she shook her head, making her curls bounce against her neck. “It is real,” she said, her voice full of wonder. “Not a dream.”
“Harrumph,” grumbled a small voice from the rim of Promi’s boot. “I wish it were just a dream. Then I could wake up.”
Atlanta froze. “What’s that? That voice?”
“Nothing,” answered Promi. “Just a little menace who insists on riding in my boot. Like a wart on my toe. You really don’t want to meet him, I promise.”
“What?” She slid over to his side, pushed away the ferns, and stared in astonishment at the small, furry fellow with big blue eyes and even bigger ears who was peering up at her. “This beautiful creature? Why, I’ve never seen anything so adorable!”
The kermuncle’s whiskers quivered in delight. Promi, meanwhile, shook his head in disgust.
Kermi blinked flirtatiously at Atlanta, then glanced at Promi. “You should stay with this one, manfool. She’s clearly a lot smarter than you.”
“Oh, you really are amazing,” cooed Atlanta. Gently, she stroked the blue fur on top of his head. “You are not only beautiful, you also have the power of speech.”
“Actually,” muttered Promi, “it’s the poison of sarcasm.”
