Atlantis Lost

  Shangri batted him happily on the shoulder. “Give her some room to breathe, Promi! Ye jest saved her, so best not to smother her!”

  As she, Plato, and Morey all burst out laughing, Promi sat back and studied the blue-green eyes gazing up at him. They told him all he needed to know, for they shone with the vitality of someone he knew well. Someone he really thought he’d lost.

  Slowly, Atlanta sat up. Pulling off the apron, she winced at all the blood that stained it. Then, lifting her arms and twisting at the waist, she peered at Promi, astonished.

  “The wound,” she said incredulously. “It’s gone! I can’t feel anything wrong.”

  Shangri smiled and indicated Promi. “A gift fer you from yer friend there.”

  Atlanta reached for Promi’s hands. Together, they stood. Scrutinizing him closely, she asked a heartfelt question.

  “What,” she demanded, “did you sacrifice to save me?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” he said in a carefree tone.

  “What?”

  “Just . . . my immortality.”

  Stunned, she caught her breath. “Your what?”

  “Immortality.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Easy come, easy go.”

  Atlanta threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. “You are the most crazy, idiotic, foolish person I’ve ever met.”

  Looking him right in the eyes, she added, “And you’re also the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.”

  “So,” asked Promi, “that means you’ll keep me around?”

  “Well,” she answered with a grin, “since you can’t go back now to the spirit realm, I guess I’m stuck with you.”

  “That’s good. Because, Atlanta . . .” His expression turned serious. “My place is right here with you. Whatever happens.”

  She cocked her head quizzically. “And why is that?”

  “Because I want to!”

  “And why,” she repeated, “is that?”

  “Because . . . I, well, I . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I really love you!” he exclaimed.

  Atlanta nodded, smiling. “Ah . . . now I understand.” She shot a wink at Shangri, then added, “Sometimes I can be a bit slow.”

  “Not likely,” he replied with a smirk. “But sometimes you’ll slow down enough that I can catch up with you.”

  “Fair enough. Now what—”

  “Look there!” shouted Morey. He pointed with concern at the sky, where thousands upon thousands of birds were massing in one enormous flock.

  Atlanta stiffened. “Birds wouldn’t do that—unless . . .”

  Grabbing Promi by the arm, she ran with him down the alley, followed closely by the others. Stepping carefully around the crevasse that had swallowed the monster, they stood in the middle of the wide street. Then, all at once, they saw something that froze their hearts.

  Through a gap in the ruins of some collapsed buildings, they saw a massive wall of water, rising higher as it sped across the sea toward them. Only a few moments remained before it would strike the island.

  A tidal wave.

  A certain end to everyone and everything on Atlantis.

  “A terrible day and night of destruction,” said Atlanta, recalling the grim prophecy.

  She turned to face Promi. “At least we’ll die together.” Squeezing his hand, she added, “I just wish we’d had more time.”

  Glumly, she touched the collar of her robe, the favorite perch of a certain faery. “And I also wish I could have said good-bye to Quiggley.”

  “Wait,” urged Promi. “There still might be a way to escape! If only we had a boat of some kind . . .”

  “Nobody in this city has a boat,” Plato commented, running a hand through his scraggly hair. “There’s no port, and with all the cliffs, no place to get in or out of the water. Unless, of course, you have some help from the gods, as my ship did.”

  Shangri gave Promi a knowing look.

  “Wait!” exclaimed Morey. “Ye jest gave me an idea—maybe the idea we need.”

  The baker cast a worried glance at the oncoming wave, which now rose so far above the horizon that it looked like an immense blue island—albeit an island bearing down on them rapidly. “Come on! I’ll show ye!”

  CHAPTER 34

  One Great Story

  Morey led them through twisting streets and alleys to the other side of the City. Everywhere, they passed sheer devastation—toppled buildings, deep crevasses, and piles of smoldering rubble. Very few people remained, which was understandable after all the tremors and the monster’s violent chaos—and those people were either grieving inconsolably or wandering the streets in shock.

  Taking care to avoid all the yawning crevasses, raging fires, and crumbling structures, the baker took them to the City’s old outer wall. Though it had been built many centuries earlier, most of its stones and archways remained intact. Promi glanced beyond the wall at the grassy knoll crowned by an old cedar tree, the very place where he’d sat to eat the smackberry pie he’d stolen from right under the nose of the Divine Monk and the temple entourage.

  So much has happened since then, he told himself. With a glance at Atlanta, he added, And she is the best part.

  “Where are ye leadin’ us, Papa?” Shangri called to the baker as he took them through an archway and onto a grassy path. “We don’t have much time before that wave comes smashin’ down!”

  “I know, sugarcake,” he replied, using his sleeve to mop the perspiration off his brow. “We’re gettin’ close now.”

  “But where are we headin’?” she pressed.

  Panting from exertion, the burly man explained as he took them down the path, “Back in me early days, before ye came along, I used to deliver me own pastries. An’ in those days, I’d take whatever business I could get.”

  Hooking her arm in his, she said affectionately, “Before yer pastries became famously the best eatin’ around.”

  “No,” he replied with a wink. “Before the most winnin’ delivery girl ever started to help me.”

  “I believe that version,” said Plato, who was right behind them.

  “So do I,” said both Atlanta and Promi in unison.

  Shangri, blushing almost the color of her hair, urged her father, “Get on with yer answer, now. Where in the name o’ sweetness are ye takin’ us?”

  Morey veered off the grassy path to an old, rutted gulley that might long ago have been some sort of trail. Yet it looked as if nobody had gone this way for many years. Trying not to stumble as he hurried, the baker continued to explain.

  “One o’ me first customers was an old fellow who lived down here, all by himself, at the very bottom. Named Rosso. Rarely came into town, since he’d made himself a comfy nest down under the cliffs.”

  The trail dropped steeply, winding down through loose rocks and overhangs. As they swung out toward the sea, the group had a wide view of the immense ocean—and the gargantuan tidal wave speeding toward Atlantis.

  “This better work,” said Promi worriedly. “Why do you want us to see Rosso’s nest?”

  “Because, lad,” said Morey. He smacked his lips, as if he’d just tasted a well-baked pastry. “That nest o’ his was a boat.”

  Shangri brightened, hopping over a washed-out section of the trail. “How big, Papa?”

  “I don’t recall. But ye’ll soon see fer yerself.”

  Picking their way down the slope, they passed an abandoned row of birds’ nests on a ledge. Now they were almost down to a small cove where water lapped rhythmically on the rocks. In the distance, the enormous wave gained both size and speed. For the first time, they heard the faint but swelling roar of its approach.

  Morey led them around a bend by a huge boulder. Abruptly, he froze. The others bumped into his back, then looked beyond the boulder to see what had halted him.


  There lay Rosso’s boat. But it was clearly—

  “Too small!” exclaimed Plato. “It can’t possibly hold us.”

  Morey walked over and hefted the small boat, which had been protected from the full force of storms by the surrounding rocks. “Looks solid enough,” he said. Spying a weathered pair of oars beside it, he nodded. “Them, too.”

  Facing the group, he announced, “This boat might not be big enough fer all o’ us. But it is big enough fer some o’ us.”

  He swallowed, then gazed straight at Shangri. “Which be why . . . I’m goin’ to stay here.”

  “Papa, no!” She stepped over to him. “Yer brave to offer that, Papa . . . but ye jest can’t!”

  He reached up and touched her cheek, brushing it with one finger. “It’s the right thing to do, sugarcake. An’ if yer lovin’ ma were here . . . she’d agree.”

  “Papa . . .” No more words came to Shangri, just tears.

  Plato frowned. “Morey,” he asked, “are you really sure about this?”

  The baker forced a small laugh. “I am, lad. Why, with all me weight, that boat would sink straightaway!”

  Lovingly, he gazed at his daughter. “Besides . . . I’ve got some cinnamon buns back in the oven. An’ I’ll be needin’ to look after ’em.”

  “Papa,” she said softly, taking his plump hand in her own. With a glance at Plato, who nodded, she placed her father’s hand on her belly. “Ye deserve to know . . . I’ve got my own bun in the oven.”

  Morey’s eyes grew misty, and he hugged her tight. “I’m so very glad fer ye both.”

  Plato moved to where he could face Promi and Atlanta, as well as Shangri and her father. “I found something just now.”

  “What?” they all asked.

  “I have found,” he declared, straightening his back, “my one great story.”

  “Ye did?” asked Shangri.

  “Yes. The story of this island! The story of Atlantis.”

  Pointing at the boat, he continued, “If we survive our journey, I will tell that story with all the power I have. And I’ll tell it with such passion, such clarity, that it will spread all around the world.”

  “People will always remember the name Plato,” said Shangri proudly.

  “More important than that,” the young bard replied, “they will always remember the name Atlantis.”

  Promi nodded, pleased. “People everywhere will hear your tale. They will never forget all the beauty, wonder, and greatness—as well as all the greed and sorrow—that belonged to Atlantis.”

  “And they also won’t forget,” added Atlanta, “that for a brief and beautiful time . . . it was the most magical place on Earth.”

  “And also,” Promi said with a grin at Shangri, “the place with the most delicious cinnamon buns.”

  She started to smile—but a shadow suddenly fell over the cove and all of them. Looking out to sea, they realized with a jolt that the great wave had grown so tall it was now shading them. It swelled every second as they watched, growing in size as well as power.

  “We don’t have long left,” said Shangri anxiously.

  “And,” Plato observed, “we have another problem.” Pointing at the little rowboat, he said gravely, “It’s not even big enough for the four of us. That thing will hold two people, maybe three at the most.”

  Everyone, looking at the boat, nodded sadly.

  “But not,” added Morey, “a third one as big as meself.” Turning to Atlanta and Promi, he declared, “One of ye should leave in the boat. While ye still can.”

  The young couple faced each other. Clearing his throat, Promi started to speak—when Atlanta cut him off.

  “I’m not going without you,” she declared firmly.

  “And I’m not going without you,” he replied just as firmly.

  For several seconds, they stood looking at each other. Meanwhile, the shadow on the cove darkened. A growing roar swelled off the coast.

  Finally, Promi nodded. “Well then,” he said, “it’s settled.”

  “Right,” agreed Atlanta.

  “What’s settled?” demanded Shangri. “Which one of ye will come with us?”

  “Neither of us,” Promi answered. Standing beside Atlanta, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “We’re both staying.”

  “Are ye sure? I’m jest certain we could take a third passenger.”

  “Totally sure,” said Atlanta, watching Shangri with clear eyes. “You must go, my friend. You’ll be taking our love with you.”

  “And also this,” declared Promi. Striding over to Shangri, he reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out the Starstone.

  She gasped, gazing at the crystal that seemed so alive it almost pulsed like a beating heart. “The Starstone? But that’s—”

  “The most magical object in the world,” finished Promi. He glanced overhead at the darkening sky above. “In any world, actually.”

  Placing it in Shangri’s hand, he reminded her, “Much of the magic of Atlantis came from the powers of this crystal, which magnified all nature’s beauty around it.”

  Atlanta stepped forward and said to Shangri, “Maybe you will find a new way to use its power. To keep alive the magic of Atlantis.”

  “And to bring that magic,” Shangri added, “to a whole new place.”

  “Yes,” agreed Promi. “And here is one more thing that could be useful.” From his pocket, he pulled the old recipe book that Shangri had given him, then handed it to Plato. “Use it as your journal, if you need a place to write. Or, if you prefer, just use it for the recipes! Some good desserts in there, I can promise.”

  “You would know,” said Atlanta.

  “Now wait, young folk,” boomed Morey. “If yer gonna survive in some faraway land . . . ye’ll be needin’ more than magic an’ recipes to live on.”

  He reached down to the belt that circled his prominent waist. Removing the buckle, he held it up so that its sapphires shone as blue as a summer sky. He tossed it to his daughter, who quickly put the jeweled buckle, as well as the Starstone, in her most secure pocket.

  Approvingly, Promi said to the baker, “Nice belt buckle there. Where did you ever get it?”

  Morey almost grinned. “Oh, I once sold someone a very pricey cinnamon bun.”

  “It was worth it,” the young man replied.

  Behind them, the roar of water grew much louder. They turned to see the mountainous wave, now blocking much of the sky, speeding toward Atlantis. Great white crests curled at its upper edge, while below the water’s color deepened to darker than midnight.

  The group traded frightened glances. Only seconds remained before the wave would strike!

  “Quick!” shouted Promi. “Get the boat into the water!”

  Hurriedly, they carried the rowboat to the water’s edge. Shangri gave each of them a last hug, saving the longest one for her father. Then she and Plato climbed into the little craft.

  Positioning the oars, the young bard started to row them out to sea. He pulled as hard as he could—for he, like everyone else, knew that the boat and its passengers might never survive the powerful wave.

  CHAPTER 35

  The Last Passenger

  Wait!” Atlanta suddenly shouted. Her cry rang out, audible even over the din of the oncoming tidal wave.

  Hearing her, Plato pulled up the oars in their small boat. Both he and Shangri peered at their friend, wondering why she’d shouted.

  Atlanta, meanwhile, spun around to face the rocky cliff rising above them. For she’d felt a sudden rush of feeling—which told her unmistakably to stop the boat. And that feeling had come from a source she knew well and trusted completely.

  “Quiggley!” Flying down over the cliff came the tiny faery with luminous blue wings. Zipping across the cove, he landed on her collar. His antennae quivered and she felt a
rush of gratitude.

  “I’m glad to see you, too,” Atlanta said, yelling to be heard over the wave. “But we have only seconds left! Why did you want me to stop the boat?”

  The faery pointed back toward the cliff. Bounding down the rocky trail came two graceful creatures whose prominent horns glowed with subtle radiance.

  “Gryffion,” called Atlanta to the elder unicorn. “And Myala!”

  The young unicorn bounded over to Atlanta’s side. Stopping abruptly, she tapped Atlanta’s hand with the tip of her horn. Immediately, she planted her silver hooves and then leaped all the way across the shallows to the boat. She landed gracefully right beside Shangri.

  Wide-eyed, Shangri could only say, “I thought we had room fer someone else. But I never thought it’d be a unicorn!”

  “Not just any unicorn,” declared Gryffion as he clomped to the water’s edge. “She is the future.”

  The wave drew closer, towering high over the island. It sucked the shallows toward it, pulling the rowboat swiftly away from shore. But the wave seemed just about to smash down on top of the little craft, destroying it and its passengers along with everything else on Atlantis.

  Instantly, a glowing halo emerged from the young unicorn’s horn. It swiftly expanded into a luminous sphere that surrounded the whole boat. Strengthened by the power of the Starstone, Myala’s magic enveloped the vessel and those it held.

  Atlanta slid her hand into Promi’s. “Will they survive?” she asked.

  “With so much magic of Atlantis on board,” he answered, “they have a good chance.”

  Side by side, they watched the glowing sphere grow smaller, a tiny point of light in the vast darkness of the surrounding sea. Yet perhaps because of that darkness, the light glowed all the brighter.

  Looking deep into Atlanta’s eyes, Promi said, “And whatever happens next . . . we will be together.”

  Atlanta nodded. Then she felt something in her other hand—the hand touched by the unicorn’s horn. Eagerly, she opened it. And she saw, resting on her palm, a lovely flower that had silver petals, a lavender center, and the rich aroma of the forest.