CHAPTER 11
Endless Magic with You Goes
Several hours later, having walked through the western reaches of the Great Forest, Atlanta caught the distinct aroma of lemongrass. Even through the thick mesh of branches ahead, she saw a new openness beyond. Before long she stepped out of the trees and faced the wide, rolling fields of the Indragrass Meadows.
Stooping to pluck a sprig of lemongrass, she handed it to the faery perched on her collar. “Here you go, little friend.”
He sent her a wave of gratitude, then started happily chewing on the sprig.
“Now,” she announced, “we have to find Gryffion.” Quiggley gave a vigorous nod, almost dislodging his tiny cotton hat.
Gryffion, eldest and wisest of the unicorns, had spoken with Atlanta whenever she traveled to the Meadows. He’d even come once to call on her a few years ago, arriving unexpectedly at her home. The old unicorn had knocked politely on the door with his prominent horn so that Etheria would allow him to enter. It was on that visit that he’d shared some deeply disturbing news.
A new unicorn had just been born, the first new arrival in over a thousand years. Normally, that would have been cause for great celebration. But in reading the placenta for signs of the future, the unicorns had found a startling prophecy—that the isle of Atlantis would soon be lost forever.
Recalling Gryffion’s words, Atlanta furrowed her brow. The unicorn had even spoken the same phrase that Haldor the centaur had used in his most gloomy prophecy—a terrible day and night of destruction.
From his perch on her collar, Quiggley fluttered his wings, gently brushing the skin of her neck. She felt a wave of compassion . . . along with an undercurrent of distress.
“Thanks,” she said to the faery. Then she added her favorite words to say to a friend: “I bless your eternal qualities.”
The hint of a smile appeared on his tiny face.
Topping a grassy hill, Atlanta faced the island’s western shores. Thick fog from the sea completely shrouded the landscape ahead, hiding it from view. But she knew that beyond the fog lay the strange place called Mystery Bay. Home to creatures as varied as shape-shifting crocodiles, who might appear as harmless insects before suddenly attacking, and mighty dragons who decorated their caves with precious jewels, as well as their most cherished books, Mystery Bay held both dangers and allures.
Someday, Atlanta promised herself, I’ll go exploring there.
A whir of wings by her neck reminded her of her passenger, and she added, But not without you, little friend.
The faery’s antennae vibrated, sending her a rush of satisfaction.
The wind shifted, coming from the west, scattering some of the sea fog. Just then, a new sound reached the companions—a deep, powerful roar. Atlanta stiffened. Could that be an approaching dragon? She glanced around, desperately searching for someplace to hide. But the wide, treeless meadows offered no cover at all.
The roar continued, never pausing, pouring out of the fog as a sustained din. All at once, Atlanta laughed, shaking her head at her own foolishness. For she’d finally realized what the source of the roar really was.
“A waterfall!” she exclaimed. On her collar, Quiggley nodded.
Sure enough, sufficient fog had now parted to reveal a crashing cascade that flowed over a steep wall of polished rock. Curls of mist rose from the falls, mixing with the shredding fog; water sparkled in the growing light. All the while, the relentless roar of water continued, booming across the meadowlands.
Deciding to take a closer look, Atlanta strode toward the cascade. On her bare feet, she felt the growing wetness of the grass, soaked from the waterfall’s spray and rising mist. With every breath, she tasted increased moisture in the air. Before long, a drop of water ran down the full length of her nose.
Suddenly she stopped. Staring at the waterfall, she stood frozen in surprise. The water wasn’t falling at all! Rather, it was rising—flowing upward over the polished rock.
“Well,” she said in astonishment. “This isn’t a waterfall . . . but a waterrise.” Continuing to peer at the upward-flowing river, she added, “Yet another mystery of Mystery Bay.”
“Of which there are many,” declared a deep baritone voice behind her.
Atlanta whirled around to see Gryffion, elegant as ever, standing in the grass. The unicorn’s horn shimmered with a subtle radiance of its own, while his silver coat gleamed with water droplets. Even his mane, white with centuries of age, seemed to shine.
“To what,” he asked politely, “do I owe this pleasure? It’s been some time since we unicorns were visited by you and your quiggleypottle.”
Atlanta bowed her head in respect. On her gown’s collar, Quiggley clapped his antennae together.
“We need your advice,” she explained. “People from the City—”
“I know all about that,” interrupted Gryffion. Angrily, he stamped a silver hoof on the grass. “Word travels fast on this island. So I’ve heard much about the terrible deeds of some . . . and the heroic deeds of others. Including the two of you.”
“Then you also know,” she pressed, “that they are likely to come back. With more soldiers and bigger machines. I’m worried that this time, even with the help of the faeries and other forest creatures, we won’t be able to stop them.”
The elder unicorn shook his white mane. “Come with me, dear one. There is something you should see.”
Gryffion turned and started to trot across the grass. His head bobbed with the cadence of his hooves, while the glow from his horn sent rays of light through the misty air. Running alongside him, Atlanta couldn’t help but notice how lightly he stepped, like a breeze moving over a cloud.
As they came to a dark outcrop of rock, Gryffion slowed and then stopped. Without a word, he pointed his horn toward the other side of the outcrop. She stepped in that direction, wondering what he wanted her to see.
Behind the rock, a small stream coursed through meadow greenery. The water bubbled and swirled through its channel, constantly splashing the purple and red stones scattered along its path. And there, on the far bank, a playful young creature cavorted in the grass.
Atlanta caught her breath. The young unicorn.
Well aware that young unicorns stayed hidden for several decades until their magic had fully developed, Atlanta knew how unusual it was to see this particular animal. Enchanted, she watched intently. The unicorn’s silver hooves flashed in the light as she pranced along the stream. Then she paused and bent her horn lower until it touched the ground. The horn’s tip flashed. At that instant, a bright gold flower burst out of the soil, its petals shining like miniature suns.
Atlanta turned to the elder unicorn by her side and whispered, “She is a miracle.”
“Indeed she is,” Gryffion agreed. “Her name is Myala. In the unicorn Oldspeak, it means the future.”
For another moment, they watched the young unicorn. Playfully, she created more colorful flowers—blues and greens, purples and browns, yellows and reds. Soon it looked as if someone had crushed a rainbow and sprinkled all the radiant pieces along the stream.
“Myala’s name truly fits,” said Gryffion. “For she is the future in every sense. Not only will she outlive all the rest of us, but whether or not she finds a mate, she will someday bring a new unicorn into the world.”
Atlanta raised an eyebrow. “You mean . . . ?”
“Yes, that’s right. A female unicorn has the power to reproduce by herself. So if—magic forbid—she were the only unicorn left in the world, she could still give birth.”
From deep in his throat came a rich chuckle. “Because of that, my devoted mate never misses a chance to remind me that despite all my magic, she has more.”
“Rightly so,” said Atlanta with a grin.
She turned back to the young unicorn. Myala sensed this, somehow, and faced Atlanta. For a timeles
s moment, their gazes met—Atlanta’s eyes of blue-green and Myala’s of rich lavender.
You are beautiful, Myala, thought Atlanta.
So are you, the magical creature replied with a thought of her own.
After a few seconds more, Myala returned to making new flowers by the water.
Atlanta thought about the young unicorn’s name. Was it a burden for her to have the weight of the future on her graceful shoulders?
Abruptly, Atlanta’s expression darkened. Still watching the young unicorn, she said glumly, “Myala’s magic can only survive if she survives.”
Gryffion cocked his head, clearly asking her to continue.
Atlanta sighed. “If the forest is destroyed, then everything on this island is threatened. Nowhere is safe.” Vehemently, she added, “We have to protect Atlantis from those greedy people!”
The old unicorn’s voice dropped even lower than usual. “They are not the only threat.”
She eyed him quizzically. “Meaning?”
“I sense, somehow, that Atlantis faces new dangers from the spirit realm. We may once again be attacked by those shadow-beings, the mistwraiths—and others.”
“No!” exclaimed Atlanta, loud enough that the young unicorn instantly froze, ready to flee. But Gryffion quickly sent her a thought that calmed her. She went back to exploring the stream, though she didn’t create any more flowers.
“I’m afraid so, Atlanta. For the past few days, which could be just hours in the spirit realm, I’ve sensed growing troubles there.”
“That means,” she said under her breath, “Promi is also in danger.”
“Everyone is in danger.”
An immense weight suddenly seemed to press down on Atlanta’s body and mind, making it harder to breathe. Along with the weight came an overwhelming feeling worse than fright or concern, a feeling she hadn’t known since her parents had vanished when she was just a small child.
Powerless, she thought. I’m totally powerless. I can’t help the forest. Or Promi. Or myself.
The weight grew heavier. Not even the rush of compassion from Quiggley made her feel any better.
Something touched her forearm. The tip of Gryffion’s horn pressed gently against her. At the same time, the horn began to glow brighter, strengthening in radiance.
Slowly, very slowly, that very radiance seeped into Atlanta. The weight pushing down on her eased a little, then eased some more. At last, she drew a deep breath.
She shook herself, feeling her old strength again. Gratefully, she eyed Gryffion.
“Do you remember,” the unicorn asked softly, “what advice I gave you that time we visited in the forest? When you felt the darkness deepening all around?”
The young woman nodded. “You said . . . be a candle.”
“That’s right, dear one. Bring whatever light you can into the darkness.”
Atlanta straightened herself. “I will try.”
He studied her with compassion. “That’s all we mortals can do.”
Then, with a shake of his mane, he said, “Now I have a gift for you. Nothing physical, mind you, since physical things have only limited power. Why, even the Starstone’s greatness comes not from the crystal but from the magic it holds.”
“What is it?”
The unicorn’s eyes gleamed. “A blessing. The oldest and most cherished blessing of the unicorns, one that is spoken only in times of great peril.”
Gryffion lifted his luminous horn skyward. Seeing this, the young unicorn turned toward him, ears aquiver. Then, in his richly toned voice, he spoke:
Endless magic with you goes
Bearing light where darkness grows.
Higher even than the star
Lighting planets from afar;
Deeper even than the sea
Where the whalesongs rise and fall
Heeding ancient oceans’ call—
Reaches magic, pure and free.
Endless magic with you goes
Bringing triumph over foes.
Wider even than the world
Bearing marvels brightly pearled;
Slimmer even than the moon
Slice of light beyond the clouds
Rising clear above the shrouds—
Stretches magic, timeless boon.
Endless magic with you goes
Seeking rest beyond all woes.
Nearer even than the soul
Giving meaning to the goal;
Farther even than the years
Counted long before your birth
Times of sorrow, mystery, mirth—
Touches magic, have no fears.
All this magic goes with you
Guiding onward ever true.
Breathe compassion, sing of hope
Freely may you leap and lope.
Give you gratitude and peace,
Strength to climb the mountain steep,
Courage when you laugh or weep—
Magic’s blessings never cease.
After a moment of silence, Atlanta quietly repeated, “Magic’s blessings never cease.”
“Yes,” answered the old unicorn. Lifting a forehoof from the grass, he reached toward her. She took the silver hoof in her hand, holding it tight.
Together, they said, “I bless your eternal qualities.”
CHAPTER 12
A Dark Passage
Narkazan flew alone, his rail-thin body weaving in and out of the clouds. Traveling solo, he knew well, could be dangerous if the allies of Sammelvar and Escholia ever caught him. But the greater danger was being seen by one of their spies, so flying alone was preferable because it would draw less attention.
Darting behind a tufted blue cloud, the warlord spirit grumbled to himself, “The time will come when I won’t need to hide from anyone. Certainly not that scoundrel Sammelvar or his army of wind lions!”
Spotting a family of winged serpents, whose scales radiated the green of emeralds and the blue of sapphires, he veered inside the cloud. For he knew that they, like so many others in the spirit realm, remained loyal to Sammelvar and Escholia. Cold, wet air flowed over him, drenching his creamy satin robe. Whenever his battered earring clinked against one of his tusks, a shower of droplets sprayed his face.
Finally, sensing the serpents had passed, he shot out of the cloud. Angrily, he shook himself to dry off. With a wrathful growl he continued toward his destination.
“I have waited much time to return,” he snarled. “Too much time.”
Narkazan dropped into a dark tunnel amidst the clouds, a narrow passage that he knew well. Though many shadows filled the tunnel—some of them darkened portals to other worlds, some of them travelers who preferred to stay hidden—he didn’t need any light to find his way. This route would bring him right to the place where he’d long wanted to return.
“That is where I’ll make my new battle plans,” he growled. The tunnel’s winds howled around him, swallowing his words. “And that is where, one day soon, I shall rule everything in the spirit and mortal realms.”
Snaking through the dark passage, he tapped one of his tusks thoughtfully. “No one will expect me to go back there.” He chortled, adding, “Just as no one will expect me to attack in the way I will.”
Noticing a mass of dark beings flying toward him, Narkazan suddenly wondered if they could be some of his own mistwraiths. He swung to one side to watch as they came closer—then realized that they were not his shadowy troops. Instead, this was a flock of nightwings, airy black beasts who loved to soar freely in the darkness.
As the birds flew past, their wispy feathers making a deep whooooosh with every wingbeat, he thought about the command he’d given to his mistwraiths. “They’d better find Promi, that miserable scum of the Prophecy!” He scowled. “I have some important matters to discuss with
him.”
Clenching both fists, he flew faster. “And they’d also better find my precious Starstone. The sooner the better! We have much work to do, that crystal and I.”
He chortled again. “Just as the mortal monster of that pool has much work to do. Pleasant, enjoyable work.”
Veering into a side tunnel, Narkazan pushed through a heavy wall of mist. Suddenly, he burst into the light. There, right before him, was his destination.
“Arcna Ruel,” he said with pride. Quickly, to avoid being seen by any foes, he hid behind a billowing cloud that continually belched dark vapors from its top like a volcano made of mist. Safely hidden, Narkazan hovered, admiring the sight of his imposing cloud castle.
Darker than a thundercloud and far more terrible, Arcna Ruel had been built long ago by his servants. Made from supercondensed vaporstone, it was strong enough to withstand any attack, yet light enough to float freely. Six gigantic turrets towered over the battlements, surrounding an enormous dome that housed the Great Hall, a regal space whose inner walls gleamed pure white. This castle had once housed the Starstone—and, if the warlord had his way, would soon again.
Pausing, Narkazan peered closely at the castle before going any nearer. It seemed more still than death, an utterly abandoned structure far from the populous parts of the realm. No signs anywhere of enemy spies. Finally ready to enter, he left the billowing cloud and flew toward Arcna Ruel.
As he flew closer, he made some mental notes about how to fortify the structure militarily. Starting with the fact that currently no warriors patrolled the encircling wall.
That will soon change, he silently vowed. As will everything else in this realm.
His fists clenched so hard they turned deathly white. For it is time, at last, to begin my War of Glory.
Landing in an interior courtyard, Narkazan paused again to check his surroundings. All seemed in order; he sensed no signs of any intruders—or any life at all. Only himself, the once-great leader who would rise again, crushing all his enemies and conquering everything in the spirit and mortal realms.