“You sound like you’re still a pie thief! Like you can just sneak into the mortal realm any old time you want—as if it’s somebody’s kitchen. And,” she added, her heart pounding, “I’m not just another dessert for you to steal.”
Taken aback, he objected, “I never said anything like that.”
“No? No? You said you love never getting caught and you don’t believe in barriers. Sounds like a pie thief to me! Then you just toss aside any worries about the veil.”
“Sure, but—”
“Listen,” she said coldly. “That veil is protecting my world! My forest. My home. And if you don’t understand that—how can I ever trust you?”
“Trust me?”
“Not to . . .” The words caught in her throat.
“I’m just trying to be free!” he shouted. “To make my own choices for a change!”
“Even if those choices put my whole world in danger?” She scowled at him. “Maybe you really like having us live apart, pulled by two separate worlds. That way you never get too close to anybody—and never have to change your ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“That you’re being selfish! Just like your father said. The veil matters more than any one person, Promi!”
Hearing her words, so close to Sammelvar’s, was more than he could take. “No,” he insisted. “You’re wrong!” He stepped backward, almost falling into the pool beneath the waterfall.
Just at that moment, Quiggley flew back to the meadow. It didn’t take his keen instincts as a faery to feel the anger and fear in the air. He sensed immediately that, even as this new day had begun . . . something else had ended.
CHAPTER 8
A Dream of Destiny
Somewhere in the sea east of Atlantis, a lone ship fought to stay afloat. Mighty waves crashed against the wooden hull, soaking the deck and everyone desperately clinging to the rails. Waves struck the ship with such force that towers of spray swallowed the entire mainsail, obscuring its design of a blue dolphin.
Several men and women, certain of death, lay prostrate before the carved image of the Greek god Poseidon that rose above the ship’s prow. Frantically, they prayed to that ruler of the sea, his brother Zeus, and any other deity who might be moved to spare their lives. One woman, her black hair so drenched by seawater it looked like a mass of writhing snakes, clung to the stern rail and sang chants to the goddess Athena. But her voice was drowned by the constant roar and crash of the waves.
Only one person on board remained steadfastly calm: Reocoles, the ship’s captain. Standing behind the captain’s wheel, his heavyset body planted on the deck, he looked as immovable as the mainsail’s mast. Even as the ship rocked dangerously from side to side, with seawater cascading off his brow, he stood firm, hands clasping the wheel’s wooden knobs. All the while, his eyes scanned the horizon.
Reocoles seemed so firmly rooted to the deck that it would have been hard to believe one of his legs was badly lame. Since birth, that leg had troubled him. But now, propped against the wheel, he seemed oblivious to any such weakness. Only the shape of the heavy iron brace under his wet leggings revealed the truth.
Besides, something far stronger than a brace supported him—his indomitable will. Despite the raging storm that threatened to tear his ship apart and drown everyone aboard, his eyes gleamed with the certainty that a great new discovery awaited him. And with that discovery, all the power he’d ever dreamed of wielding.
An island of vast riches, ready for him to claim.
Surrounded by sheer cliffs, this undiscovered island rose out of the sea with a mighty façade. Though he couldn’t see it through the violent waves, he felt sure it was there. For he’d seen it clearly in a dream the night before.
A dream he could still recall in vivid detail.
A dream that promised him his true destiny—all the power that life had, until now, denied him.
A dream that had been sent to him, he felt absolutely certain, from the gods on high.
“Sir!” shouted a bedraggled sailor, struggling to keep his balance. “I have important news!”
“Say it, then,” commanded Reocoles, without turning his head away from the horizon.
The sailor, whose name was Karpathos, tugged nervously on one end of his very long (and very wet) mustache. “I have checked all the charts, sir. And there is absolutely no island in the direction we are heading!”
“No island, you say?”
“That’s right,” shouted Karpathos over the endless roar of the sea. “No island at all!”
Reocoles turned just long enough to shoot the sailor a furious glance. “Of course it’s not on the charts, you imbecile! We haven’t discovered it yet.”
Karpathos blinked in confusion. Tugging worriedly on his soggy mustache, he protested, “But, Captain, sir—”
A cry interrupted him. It came from a young sailor who had volunteered to be lashed to the mast to see greater distances. Though the sailor’s voice was barely loud enough to be heard above the din, his words rang out like a harbor bell.
“An island! I see an island!”
Sure enough, an imposing island was starting to take shape through the spray. Its sheer cliffs jutted out of the ocean; from its center rose a mass of thickly forested hills. A beam of sunlight fell directly on that forest, making it shine like a crown of luminous green.
“Exactly as my dream foretold,” Reocoles muttered to himself. “The island whose riches I am destined to control.”
Suddenly, the ship lurched sideways—so forcefully that Reocoles lost his grip on the wheel. He tumbled backward, landing on top of Karpathos. Before they could untangle themselves, another great wave crashed over them, sending them skidding across the deck.
The wheel, meanwhile, spun ceaselessly. For a powerful current now gripped the ship, spinning the craft in ever-tightening circles. A ring of waves lifted all around, surging skyward, blocking out any view of the island.
It was then that the sailor lashed to the mast raised his voice again. He shouted just one word—a word feared by sailors across the ages:
“Whirlpool!”
CHAPTER 9
Jaladay’s Vision
Much had happened on Earth since Promi’s abrupt departure from his family. But for those he’d left behind on the dome-shaped cloud . . . only a few minutes had passed.
Sammelvar, Escholia, and Jaladay traded anguished glances. None of them spoke. What was there to say after those angry outbursts?
Kermi, still asleep at Jaladay’s feet, snored soundly. Other than that, and the rustle of the wind moving across the purple honeyscent flowers covering the cloud, there was no sound. Until, at last, Sammelvar raised his voice.
“I never thought,” he said as he gazed at his wife, “that when we regained this realm . . . we would also lose our son.”
Escholia’s eyes widened. “We haven’t lost him. He just needs to find himself. And then, I believe, he will find us.”
“I agree.” Jaladay adjusted the band that covered her eyes. “Right now, what I feel most in Promi is longing. It’s even stronger than his rage or pride or resentment.”
“What is he longing for?” asked Escholia.
Jaladay inhaled slowly. “He just wants to be free . . . and loved. Same as all of us.”
The elders traded glances, then Sammelvar said, “He deserves both. I only hope that he grows . . . bigger. True freedom means a lot more than just doing whatever you please. It means helping your world be the very best it can be.”
“He will,” declared Jaladay. “I’m sure of it.”
At that moment, Kermi woke up. Opening his big blue eyes, he stretched all four furry limbs, as well as his long tail. With a sleepy sigh, he gazed up at the others and asked, “Did I miss anything?”
“No,” answered Jaladay as she bent to pick up the blue kermuncl
e. Cradling him in one arm, she added, “Just a huge family fight.”
Kermi nodded knowingly. “So I take it Promi was here?”
Jaladay smiled sadly. “He was.”
“I wonder,” mused Sammelvar as he scanned the thousands of flowers surrounding them, “whether the creatures on all these little worlds have the same sorts of problems we have.”
“I’m sure they do,” replied Escholia. “And I’ll bet they seem equally daunting.”
Gazing at the luminous purple bridge connecting two flower worlds, Sammelvar said wistfully, “Someday I would like to walk upon that bridge and see where it leads.”
“Maybe,” offered Jaladay, “you will—”
She halted suddenly. Catching her breath, she froze, standing as rigid as a slab of vaporstone.
Her parents looked at each other worriedly. For they knew what this meant: Jaladay the Seer was having a vision.
Seconds passed. Jaladay didn’t move, nor even breathe. Then abruptly—she jolted, with such force she dropped Kermi. But the little fellow’s quick reflexes enabled him to catch hold of her robe. He scampered up to her shoulder and perched there.
Clearly shaken, Jaladay drew a deep breath. She pulled off her turquoise headband and stared at her parents with eyes as green as a forest at dawn. “It’s about Promi.”
“What about him?” asked Sammelvar.
Jaladay hesitated, then said, “He’s gone back to Earth. To see Atlanta.”
The elder spirit winced, knowing that yet another hole had been torn in the veil.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Jaladay added grimly.
“Is he in danger?” Escholia pressed.
“Yes,” she answered. “Not only him, but the new island of Atlantis.”
She swallowed. “And more than Atlantis! The whole mortal world is at risk—and in a way I don’t understand, so is ours.”
Sammelvar touched her forearm. “Tell us.”
“There isn’t much to tell. All I know is that soon a ship will come near Atlantis—too near. Having sailed from a land called Greece in the Aegean Sea, it will have a blue dolphin on its sail. But just when it comes within sight of Atlantis, the ship will be swallowed by a terrible whirlpool! Every last person on board will drown.”
“Tragic indeed,” said Sammelvar.
“But that’s not the worst outcome,” explained Jaladay. “That’s what is meant to happen. What will happen. Unless . . .”
“What?” asked both her parents.
“Unless Promi saves them. If he saves that ship—or any of those sailors—something horrible will happen.”
“I don’t understand,” said Sammelvar.
“How,” asked Escholia, “could saving those poor sailors be bad?”
“I don’t know.” Jaladay peered at them. “But unless Promi is warned, unless he is told not to help those people . . . a terrible chain of events will begin. It will lead to the end of Atlantis—and maybe more!”
Sammelvar shook his white locks. “So if we are going to warn Promi of your vision, we must send someone else through the veil to find him.”
Jaladay nodded.
“Then we can do nothing,” he declared. “I cannot condone you piercing the veil, Jaladay—not even for this.”
“But,” she protested, “it could lead to disaster!”
“Destroying the veil would be a far worse disaster! No, I will not allow this.” His gaze bored into her. “I forbid you to go.”
Trying to comfort her, Escholia reached over and brushed her cheek. “Besides, we all know how unreliable visions and prophecies can be. They seem to mean one thing . . . but often mean another.”
“I know, believe me.” Jaladay shook her head. “Remember that phrase the end of all magic from the Prophecy? And how many different meanings it could have had? But you must hear me! This vision is different. It seems crystal clear.”
“All the more reason,” said Sammelvar, “to doubt its clarity.”
Sadly, Jaladay hung her head. She stroked Kermi’s tail, which was dangling down from her shoulder.
At last, she raised her head and admitted, “Perhaps you are right.”
“So,” her father asked, “you promise not to go?”
Fixing her gaze on him, she said, “I promise.”
“Thank you, my dear. Let us hope that, even without your help, Promi will do what’s best.”
“Yes, let us hope.”
Sammelvar turned to his wife and said, “Time for us to go, I’m afraid.” Glancing one last time at the luminous purple bridge between the flowers, he added, “May we come back again to this place someday.”
Escholia nodded, then touched her daughter’s hand. “Will you be coming with us?”
“No. I’d like to stay here a while longer.” Jaladay gestured at the shimmering flower worlds that surrounded them. “Just to savor this place.”
“A wise choice,” said Sammelvar, his face careworn. “Let the wonders of this place soothe your heart, as they did mine—at least for a while.”
Holding hands, the elders shifted their positions, making sure not to disturb any of the miniature worlds. Then they leaped, flying skyward with only a faint ripple of wind. Seconds later, they vanished in the curling mist that flowed throughout the spirit realm.
Immediately, Kermi hopped down to Jaladay’s forearm. His blue eyes met her green ones and they gazed at each other for a long moment.
“So,” she asked, “will you do it?”
He scowled, scrunching his little face. “The things I do for you! Not to mention for your idiot brother.”
She almost grinned, knowing that was her ever-grumpy companion’s way of saying yes. After all . . . she had promised not to go. But she’d said nothing about Kermi.
Her expression turned serious again. “You will find him? And tell him everything you heard me say? Every detail is important.”
Rolling his big eyes, the kermuncle growled with annoyance. “Yes, yes. Imagine someone as clever as Sammelvar saying, ‘Let’s hope Promi will do what’s best!’ Ha! Since when has he ever done that?”
She tickled his ears affectionately. “Only when you or I were around to help.”
“Precisely.” Resigned to his fate, Kermi blew a thin stream of bubbles from the side of his mouth. “I just knew I shouldn’t have joined you today.”
“Even with so much at stake?”
“By agreeing to go talk with that buffoonerous manfool . . . it’s my sanity that’s at stake.”
CHAPTER 10
Radiant Wings
After Kermi departed, carrying the warning to Promi, the cloudfield felt different to Jaladay. More empty. And maybe . . . more isolated.
I’m always outside of big events, she mused, never in the middle of them.
Scanning her surroundings, Jaladay noticed one especially intricate flower world. From its center, towers made of purple glass rose from a miniature city. The towers gleamed like a cluster of amethyst crystals, but revealed nothing about the tiny creatures who had built them. Other than vague, shadowy movements she glimpsed within the buildings, she was cut off from the world and its people. What were their struggles? Their toughest choices? Their highest ideals?
“I’ll never know,” she said glumly to herself. “All I can do is watch from a distance.”
She sighed. The life of a Seer. She could see what others could not, but she couldn’t really join in the action. For if she did, her presence alone would disrupt any visions she might have to offer. Always one step removed—that was her lot.
A sound of beating wings made her look skyward. A family of turquoise-scaled dragons was flying right above her head! She watched them—one adult and two young ones, with golden eyes shaped like diamonds, jagged wings, and enormous claws.
Their flashing turquoise wings, sh
e realized, were the same color as her headband. She had removed it to look her parents directly in the eyes—a ploy that hadn’t worked—and she now held the headband in her hand.
Watching the dragons fly overhead, she locked gazes with the largest one. The dragon, a female, regarded Jaladay with the same curiosity as the young woman was feeling about this creature. For a timeless moment, they observed each other.
To the dragon, Jaladay sent a simple thought: Wish I were as big as you and could fly with such radiant wings.
The dragon’s wings slowed for a beat, gleaming in the misty light. In a rich, melodic voice, she spoke into Jaladay’s mind. And I wish, young woman, that I werrrrre as small as you arrrrre . . . so I could nestle among those flowerrrrr worrrrrlds without crrrrrushing them.
My name is Jaladay.
And mine, young flowerrrrr watcherrrrr, is Ulanoma.
Jaladay smiled. The dragon and her family soared into a mountainous cloud, disappearing from view.
Suddenly, from right behind her, Jaladay heard a new sound—an ominous crackling she recognized instantly. Her blood froze.
Mistwraiths! Two of them were rising directly out of the cloud, their shadowy forms crackling with black sparks.
She leaped to her feet and started to jump into the sky. Pushing hard with her legs, she told herself desperately, Fly now! Fly!
Too late! The mistwraiths released a cloak of black sparks that completely covered Jaladay. The more she struggled, the more the cloak tightened around her. In seconds, she could hardly breathe, let alone escape.
The mistwraiths crackled triumphantly as they floated over to their helpless prey. More black sparks sprayed from their shadowy folds. Each flower that happened to be struck by one of those sparks perished instantly in a blaze of black fire, leaving only a sizzling stem where there had once been an entire world. The luminous purple bridge between the two flowers that Sammelvar had so admired vanished in black flames.
Hovering over Jaladay, the mistwraiths shuddered with pleasure, their dark folds rippling. More black sparks flew, destroying dozens more flower worlds.