“Proceed,” Grukarr commanded.
CHAPTER 23
Dark Waves
As Grukarr’s command rang out, man number seven nodded eagerly. Though he was much shorter than his captain, he drew himself up to his full height to show how proud he felt about what he was going to do.
Standing by the open hatch, Grukarr smirked. He watched triumphantly as the man reached his hand toward the winch controls.
I have waited so long and suffered so much for this, thought the former priest. His eyes darkened like a stormy sky. Now it’s their turn to suffer.
Grukarr turned around to view the prisoners, helpless under the net. No matter how many times he had envisioned this scene, the reality was going to be better. Much better.
Promi and Kermi glared at him. Though they couldn’t do anything to prevent the horrible torture awaiting them, they could at least deny their enemy any show of fear. Yet both of them knew they’d soon plunge into the worst misery they’d ever known. Promi’s whole chest prickled with heat.
Then man number seven, standing behind Grukarr, did something unexpected. He pulled back the hand that was reaching for the controls—and suddenly charged at Grukarr, hurling the full weight of his body into his leader’s back! Both of them tumbled to the edge of the hatch.
“What—?” bellowed Grukarr. Purple with rage, he caught himself just before falling through the opening.
With one hand, he grabbed the throat of his assailant. The man’s hood fell back, revealing a white-haired man with a kindly face—a face that Grukarr had never expected to see again.
Promi gasped, just as surprised as Grukarr. If not for the poisonous blades surrounding him, he would have leaned forward to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him.
Bonlo! He blinked, astonished by the sight of the old monk who had taught him so much in the terrible dungeon of Ekh Raku. And who had given his life to save Promi’s.
“You!” shouted Grukarr, glaring at the elderly monk. “How dare you come here?”
The monk’s eyes gleamed. Through his constricted throat, he said, “Did you really think an ogre like you could get to the spirit realm, but not me?”
“Why you mutinous, dastardly old fool!” Grukarr’s free hand reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a dagger. “You deserve to—”
Bonlo kicked with all his might, landing his boot right in Grukarr’s crotch. The big man howled and doubled over, dropping his dagger. Bonlo jumped on his foe, even as he shouted, “Now, men!”
Immediately, three or four of the hooded men pounced on the others, pulling them away from their controls. Two more men, meanwhile, donned heavy gloves and set to work freeing Promi and Kermi from the deadly blades wrapped around the net. But with no more crew flying the ship, the whole craft started to twist and spin—even as it veered down toward the roiling sea below. Vaporstone panels bent and buckled from the increased forces, while mechanical parts screamed.
“Hurry!” cried Promi as the men tried desperately to remove the blades.
Yet such intricate work couldn’t be rushed. The men did their best to untangle the prisoners, but progress was slow—too slow. The ship was spinning out of control!
Then, to make matter’s worse, one of Grukarr’s loyal crew leaped at a man helping the prisoners. They fought brutally, slamming each other with blows. Kermi managed to stretch out his tail and smack that attacker in the eye—but the fight continued.
All the while, Grukarr and Bonlo wrestled on the floor, both groping for the dagger. Locked together, they rolled perilously close to the hatch. Grukarr was just about to grasp the weapon when the ship reeled, sending them both careening into a wall.
Finally clasping the dagger, Grukarr roared with rage. He leaped on Bonlo and waved the blade in his face. “Maybe I can’t kill you, now that you’re immortal. But I can certainly cut out your tongue, your eyes, and more! And if I can cause you enough pain . . . then perhaps you’ll meet your true death.”
Outside, one of the mechanical wings suddenly broke off. The ship lurched, spinning faster and faster as it dived toward the ocean. Grukarr was thrown sideways, which gave Bonlo a chance to wriggle free. But the wrathful servant of Narkazan stumbled after him, brandishing the weapon.
One of Grukarr’s men, thrown backward by a blow, slammed into the wall of levers and buttons that controlled the winch. He slumped to the floor, unconscious. But the impact had started the winch. Its gears grinded, then the winch started pulling the ropes attached to the prisoners’ net.
Finally able to move one arm, Promi tried to extract himself without touching any of the blades that sizzled with poison. All at once, a sharp tug pulled on the net, nearly knocking his face into a mass of blades. The winch! Pulling the ropes!
All around the hold, people fought desperately. Grukarr, blind to anything but revenge, charged Bonlo. The ropes from the winch tightened, only seconds from dragging the net to the open hatch—with Promi and Kermi certain to be sliced. At the same time, the flying ship reeled and spun, plummeting toward the sea.
Just as the ropes fully tightened, Kermi broke free of the net. Like a bolt of blue lightning, he sprang over to the controls. Madly, he pounded every button in sight. The winch halted abruptly.
One of the buttons he’d pushed, though, turned out the lights. The furious battle continued—but in total darkness.
“Turn them back on!” shouted Promi. “I can’t get out without some light!”
Kermi’s ears swiveled in confusion. Which buttons should he push? With no time to decide, he hit them all.
The lights came back on. So did the winch. Relentlessly, it started to pull the ropes again.
Promi, meanwhile, could move enough now to reach his knife. He grabbed the hilt and started slicing through the vaporstone net. The blade flashed as it severed his bonds—but other blades, hissing with poison, also flashed all around him.
The remaining wing broke off. Now the ship plunged downward with even more speed, only heartbeats from crashing into the dark, brooding waters below.
“Got you!” crowed Grukarr. Seizing Bonlo by the shoulder, he locked gazes with his old teacher. “You’ve spoiled my plans for the last time!”
Grukarr thrust his dagger at the old monk’s chest. At the same instant, someone plowed into Grukarr, sending him flying. Bonlo twisted to see the face of his rescuer. Promi!
Grukarr stumbled backward. He, too, saw Promi and released a vengeful roar. His eyes practically blazed with wrath. Then, without warning, he stepped right into the open hatch.
The roar morphed into a terrified scream as Grukarr plunged through the hatch. Promi watched him vanish, then crawled back over to Bonlo.
The old monk tried to rise—but groaned and fell back. His grateful expression suddenly turned grim. For he felt Grukarr’s dagger embedded in his heart. Blood poured from the wound, soaking his robe.
Promi kneeled beside his old friend. Seeing Bonlo’s wound, he cringed.
“Don’t worry, lad,” said the old monk weakly. “It was worth everything to see that look on his face just now!”
“That was nothing compared to his look when you first plowed into him.” Promi tried to grin. “And when you kicked him where it hurts.”
Bonlo brightened a bit. “Every monk should have martial arts training, you know.” He winced at the pain in his chest. “Even if it hurts.”
Suddenly grim, Promi asked, “What happens to you now? If your spirit body perishes and can’t be renewed?”
“Don’t know, lad.” He coughed painfully. “I’ve never before died . . . after I already died!”
Bonlo coughed once more, this time spitting blood. “But you, good lad,” he said with difficulty, “you must survive.”
“I don’t want to lose you again, Bonlo.”
The white-haired monk gazed up at him. “I knew when I first me
t you, lad . . . there was something special . . . about you. That you were destined for . . . great deeds.”
With a voice so weak Promi could barely hear, Bonlo added, “And lad . . . you still are.”
Even through his misty eyes, Promi couldn’t miss the love in the elder’s expression. He held Bonlo close, so that their faces touched.
“Er, manfool,” said Kermi, tapping Promi on the shoulder. “If you’d like to get off before we crash into that ocean, you’d better—”
Before he could finish, Promi scooped Bonlo into his arms and staggered over to the hatch. Kermi jumped onto the young man’s shoulder just as he leaped.
A fraction of a second later, the ship smashed into the churning waves, exploding into thousands of pieces. Broken vaporstone panels, gadgets, wheels, glass, and bodies rained down on the sea. Everything from the ship disappeared into the depths.
Including Promi and his friends. No sign of them remained. Meanwhile, as if nothing had happened, the dark waves rolled on and on.
CHAPTER 24
Darkness
In the deep darkness of her prison cell, Jaladay tried to keep exercising her mind. To keep it from being deadened by the oppressive blindness that weighed on her so heavily. That wasn’t easy, given the sudden waves of panic she kept feeling, waves so powerful they wiped out any other thoughts and soaked her robe with sweat.
Narkazan may have robbed me of my sight, she reminded herself often. But I can still use whatever senses I have left.
Touch, for one. She could feel the cold, smooth vaporstone floors and walls of her cell. She’d even found subtle indentations, swirls, and notches in the stone. She tried to memorize them, assembling them into patterns. Not because that information could ever be useful—but because the activity might keep her from losing her mind completely.
Every once in a while, she caught the scent of something new—such as a crumb left on the floor from a meal that had been slid through the slot in the door. But those meals of tasteless, chalklike cake and water didn’t have much scent. They served only one purpose: to keep her alive until the warlord was finished with her.
No, the main thing she could smell was her own urine and excrement in the corner. She hated that smell so much, it made her want to retch. But she couldn’t do anything about it.
Hearing was her only other remaining sense. Yet she didn’t have much chance to use it. On rare occasions, she heard Narkazan ranting in the room outside her cell. But none of his rants told her anything remotely useful.
Beyond that . . . all she could hear were the echoes of her own thoughts. And too often, her own panic.
How many days had she been imprisoned? She’d lost count. At least ten, she guessed. Though the days and nights—impossible to separate in this endless darkness—had begun to blend into one another.
Over and over, she asked herself the same questions. How much longer could she survive? Would anybody ever find her? Was there any way to warn her parents of Narkazan’s plans for conquest of both the spirit and mortal realms?
And two more questions, as well. She was thinking of them right now while she sat in total darkness, twirling a strand of hair with her fingers. Did Kermi deliver her warning about the Greek ship to her brother? And would Promi have the wisdom to heed it?
Somberly, she gazed into the darkness of the cell—all the more impenetrable because she couldn’t use her second sight. I’m blind, totally blind!
By itself, blindness was challenging enough. Even worse, though, was what it did to her mind. My world is so much smaller, tighter. Closing all around me.
Using her sleeve, she wiped some beads of sweat off her brow. Would she ever see, truly see, again? Ever touch the face of someone she loved? Ever—
The sound of a bolt being slid interrupted her thoughts. Then a line of light appeared in the opposite wall. The door!
She crawled eagerly toward the door. Her heart leaped to see the line of light joined by perpendicular lines. It’s opening! she rejoiced.
Just as she reached the wall—the door slammed shut. The heavy bolt slid again. All the light disappeared.
“No!” cried Jaladay.
On her knees by the door, she beat on it with her fists. She kept pounding, even though her hands hurt and she could hear, through the narrow food slot, Narkazan and his henchmen laughing on the other side.
Finally, she slumped against the door—trapped, helpless, and alone. She hung her head and sobbed.
More days of quiet misery followed. Except for the moments when the tray of food came or went, there was no interruption. No answers to her questions. And no hope.
Then, one day, without warning, the door opened again. And this time, it wasn’t a tease: the door swung wide, filling the cell with light.
Jaladay shouted in surprise. She rose and stumbled toward it, hoping to get through before it closed again. The pain in her eyes from such a sudden burst of light, the ache in her stiff limbs and neck—none of that mattered. She was getting out!
She stepped into Narkazan’s chamber, blinking in the light. Right in front of her sat Narkazan in his vaporthread chair. He was flanked by mistwraiths, three on each side. As before, the windows revealed nothing but dense, icicle-shaped clouds.
The warlord leaned forward and jutted his narrow chin. His fiery red eyes studied her intently, as his fingers drummed one of his tusks.
“How nice to see you again, my jewel,” he snarled. “Though you look terrible. And smell worse.”
He gave her a thin predator’s smile. “Are your accommodations to your liking?”
Jaladay replied with a murderous look.
“Good. I am glad.” Straightening in his chair, he pointed to a pile of scrolls on the metal chest beside his cot. “Do you know what those are, my treasure?”
Without needing to use her second sight, she guessed, “Maps? Battle plans?”
“Very good.” Narkazan stroked his tusk. “I am nearly ready to commence my war of glory. All my preparations are coming together nicely. In a few more days, the conquest will begin!”
As if applauding, the mistwraiths crackled in unison. Their dark folds rippled with pleasure, casting black sparks onto the floor.
“Yes, yes,” their master told them. “I know you are eager.”
His voice dropped lower. “I, too, am eager! This will be my ultimate victory, my long-awaited triumph.”
Tapping his narrow chin, Narkazan mused, “That reminds me. Perhaps the time has come for me to send another dream to my ally in the mortal realm. Just to encourage him.”
At that, Jaladay raised an eyebrow. A mortal ally? Who could that be? And how does he fit into Narkazan’s plan?
She continued to gaze at her captor. Not because she wanted to look at him, but because she wanted him to keep on talking, to take as long as possible with this meeting. She was savoring every second of seeing again. Of breathing clean air. Of experiencing even this small dose of freedom.
As Narkazan continued to boast about his coming conquests, she thought desperately about what she could do to warn her parents, Kermi, Promi—anybody who could possibly try to stop this madness. But what? It was too late to save herself, she felt sure of that. Yet maybe there was some way to contact someone—maybe even to derail Narkazan’s plans.
How, though? This hideaway must be somewhere obscure, far too hidden to be discovered by anyone loyal to Sammelvar and Escholia. And from such a great distance, she couldn’t reach anyone she knew by sending a telepathic message.
Wait. She bit her lip. There might be one way! The message might not be understood. Or even intact. And it wouldn’t go to any of the people she most wanted to reach, people she knew would try to help. Instead, if this plan somehow worked, her message would go to—
Narkazan pounded his fist on the arm of his chair, disrupting her thoughts. Immersed in his ranting
, he fortunately hadn’t noticed that his prisoner had been doing anything but listening. Now, however, he’d come to his point.
“Make your choice, Jaladay! This is your last chance. Will you help me by sharing your gift of second sight?”
He leaned forward again, probing her green eyes. “Remember this, my jewel. I am offering you this one last chance to assist me. There will be no more!”
He cackled quietly. “I almost hope you will refuse, so I can proceed immediately with my plans to torture your mother, your father, and most especially your meddling brother.”
He scowled, making the scars on his face darken. “But that desire is merely a personal preference. I will set it aside forever if you will help me win the war.”
The mistwraiths crackled with impatience. Narkazan demanded, “Now, what is your choice?”
Jaladay drew a deep breath, and replied, “Never. I will never help you!”
Even as Narkazan roared in anger and the mistwraiths swept toward her, sparks flying, Jaladay tried to send her message. But the mistwraiths cloaked her more quickly than expected. Marshaling all her strength, she formed her thought—
But she didn’t have enough time. Before she could finish, darkness descended.
CHAPTER 25
The Machines District
During the time Promi had been in the spirit realm, much had happened. He’d flown with Theosor, met with his parents, witnessed the mist fire, visited the cloudfield where Jaladay disappeared, tried to escape the mistwraiths, been captured by Grukarr and then—thanks to Bonlo—gained at least a chance to survive before plunging into a remote spirit realm sea.
Yet during that same time, much more had happened on the isle of Atlantis. For time moved faster in the mortal world—occasionally much faster. In this case, by the time Promi splashed into that sea with Bonlo in his arms, a full five years had passed on Atlantis.
In those five years since the ship of Greek explorers had landed, some things hadn’t changed. The City’s market square continued to bustle with throngs of tradespeople, entertainers, makers of crafts, willing buyers, and all kinds of animals. The Divine Monk continued to celebrate religious festivals and feasts (especially the feasts). In his pastry shop, Morey continued to bake delicious treats just because he loved to do so, Shangri helped him for the same reason, and the lad from the ship still lived in the room upstairs.