Tapping one of his tusks thoughtfully, he promised himself, The next time I enter this place, it will be as the greatest, most-powerful warrior-king of all time.
He strode across the courtyard, holding his head high. When he reached the massive doors to the Great Hall, he threw them open. They slammed against the inner walls with a loud crash, sending reverberations around the dome overhead.
Narkazan stood there, alone, listening to the dome’s vibrations. He remembered vividly how crowded this hall had been in the days before he’d been overthrown by that menace Promi. Back then it had teemed with hundreds of warriors, training and arming themselves all through the day and night. Now, however, the hall was an empty shell, devoid of any activity.
Drawing a full breath, he bellowed, “I have returned!”
His voice echoed around the dome, fading with each passing second. After a moment, the hall fell again into complete silence.
Then . . . he heard a sound. A faint crackling, from somewhere behind the walls, grew steadily louder. Suddenly, dozens of mistwraiths emerged from the cracks in the vaporstone walls and floor. Like a gathering storm, the shadowy beings appeared in the center of the Great Hall, crackling vengefully as they sprayed black sparks.
At the same time, other immortal warriors arrived. Some, like the fierce red-winged dragon and the band of flying insects with enormous tongues, came by the air. Others came by the floor, emerging from secret passageways and hidden rooms, crawling and slithering and marching in unison. Many of them bore weaponry, including a troop of archers with powerful bows and arrows that glistened darkly. And even more of them carried their weapons on their bodies—deadly claws, blade-sharp teeth, and clubbed tails.
As he watched the assembling army, Narkazan showed no hint of emotion. He just scowled at the scene, his fiery eyes observing everything. At last, the final warrior arrived—a liquid beast that bubbled up through a crack in the floor, shrieking angrily.
Narkazan raised a bony hand. All the warriors instantly fell silent.
For several seconds, their commander studied them quietly. Then he spoke, his raspy voice filling the hall.
“Our long-awaited time has arrived,” he declared. “Are you ready to fight?”
A deafening roar of cheers, hisses, snarls, and shrieks erupted. Narkazan listened, still betraying no emotion. Again he raised his hand, and again the soldiers fell silent.
“Good,” their leader declared. “All of you are the leaders of your groups. By now, you know your instructions. And you also know the three basic rules of my army: No mercy. No mistakes. No rest until we have triumphed completely over all our foes.”
Another loud roar burst from the soldiers, rattling the dome. A slab of vaporstone broke off from the ceiling and crashed to the floor, exploding into shards.
Narkazan gave a sharp nod. Instantly, the warriors formed themselves into precise units. The insects with twisting tongues hovered close together, the archers formed crisp lines, and the liquid beast shrank down into a mound of bubbling froth.
Surveying his soldiers, the warlord rasped, “First, we shall attack at the place our enemies least expect. Ready the flashbolt cannon!”
A giant warrior with amber skin and four burly arms nodded obediently. “As you command, master,” he boomed.
“The rest of you,” Narkazan continued, “go straight to your attack positions. Let no one see you travel there. Then wait in secret until the battle comes to you—which, I promise, it will.”
Tails slammed the floor, beaks snapped shut, and many hands saluted.
“Above all,” the warlord declared, “remember that you have been granted the honor of serving in what will always be called the great War of Glory.”
At last, Narkazan’s face showed a hint of emotion, as his upper lip curled into something like a malicious grin. “For glory will surely be mine.”
CHAPTER 13
The Crystal Dove
The crystal dove, one of the rarest creatures on the isle of Atlantis, glided over the northern reaches of the Great Forest. Sailing high above the glades where spirals of mist rose along with the songs and chatter of countless birds and other creatures, she spread her crystalline wings to the widest. An updraft above a waterfall carried her still higher, as the sun rose above the horizon to greet the day.
The dove’s wings, made of living glass, were completely transparent—except for their constant explosions of brilliant colors. For every single feather on those wings acted as an airborne prism whose facets radiated sparks and ribbons of greens, purples, yellows, blues, and reds that shifted and merged endlessly. No creature in this forest was more shocking, more beautiful, or more unforgettable than the crystal dove.
Gliding northward, she suddenly flapped her glass wings in surprise. Below her, the forest abruptly ended! Instead of the woodland home she knew so well, a new landscape had been brutally carved—a landscape that bore no resemblance to its origins.
Gone were the trees, rivers, and animal dens that had long filled the area. In their place sprawled Reocoles’s industrial site, a vast complex of open pit mines, ditches, piles of tailings, buildings, and machines that looked like giant jaws on wheels. Though the machines sat quiet for now, it wasn’t hard to imagine them coming to life with a deafening roar, pouring black smoke as they gouged at the land.
In fact, at that very moment, a large group of people was leaving the City of Great Powers to walk to the mines. While the complex had been shut down for several days since the “troubles,” as Reocoles called the brief rebellion, this morning marked the resumption of work. Motivated by the unusually large amounts of money Reocoles was offering (and the lack of other work in the City), many men and women signed on. More than a hundred laborers and at least twenty uniformed soldiers marched across one of the bridges over the roaring river. Leading them, riding in a coal-fired wagon, was Reocoles’s foreman—a thin man whose distinguishing qualities were his long, curly mustache and his unending sneer.
Tugging at one end of his mustache, Karpathos called to the group behind him, “Hurry now, you vermin! That extra pay I offered you won’t be around if you take all day to get there.”
Although some people heeded the command and walked faster, most of the group continued to shuffle slowly across the bridge. Maybe they couldn’t hear Karpathos’s cry because of the din of the river. But they moved more like prisoners under duress than people starting a new job.
Lagging behind the group, far enough away that they weren’t likely to be noticed, came three more people. Shangri led the way. With a grim expression and her red hair secured by a kerchief, she occasionally glanced at the copper ring that now adorned her finger. Right behind her walked Lorno, a frown on his face and a bulge in his tunic from all the pastries that Morey had stuffed into his pocket. (Morey himself had wanted to join them, but Shangri pleaded with him to stay at the bakery so that Reocoles wouldn’t suspect anything.) Last of all sauntered Graybeard, his collection of knives jiggling inside his ragged old coat. Of the three, he was the only one who seemed to be enjoying the journey.
Shangri and her companions hadn’t planned to leave at the same time as the work crew. In fact, they had simply left at dawn to head into the forest, guided by the magical compass from Atlanta. But when they reached the bridge, they realized that Reocoles, too, had big plans for that day. By then, the people going to the mines had already started over the bridge. Shangri knew that it would take more time to circle around to a different bridge than to wait for the laborers to cross.
Never someone with much patience, she fumed to herself, The sun will be overhead by the time we’re across this bleedin’ bridge!
Lorno, sensing her distress, stepped up to her and took her hand. Though he said no words, the touch of his hand helped Shangri feel calmer. Yet she knew, as he did, that this would be a long and dangerous day.
Meanwhile, at the mini
ng complex, the crystal dove circled, trying to make sense of the scene below. Then something even stranger than all the desolation caught her attention. At the center of the site sat a large pool unlike any lake she’d ever seen. Rather than shining clear blue, with reflections of the pink and peach rays of the sunrise, this lake was dark yellow. No reflections at all showed on its surface; no plants of any kind grew on its shores.
With a brilliant flash of colors from her glass wings, the bird swooped lower. Seeing no tree branches nearby to perch on, she settled on the roof of one of the abandoned machines. Curious to understand this strange sight, she moved to the edge nearest to the pool.
Leaning closer to the yellow liquid, she instantly noticed the smell. Rancid, like something very rotten, the smell struck her like a foul wind. She fluttered her prismatic wings, backing away.
Yet her curiosity proved stronger than her revulsion. Cautiously, she moved back to the edge. Steeling herself to the smell, she peered down at the liquid.
Bubbles! She clacked her crystalline beak in surprise to see bubbles rising from the center of the pool. Like a slowly boiling broth, the liquid churned as the bubbles rose steadily to the surface.
Instinct told the dove that those bubbles weren’t rising solely from whatever ingredients were mixing in the pool. No, something else lay in those depths, hidden from sight. Something alive.
Something breathing.
Stirring.
Waiting.
The dove couldn’t have known that this pool held a beast spawned by the hatred of Narkazan. A beast that had struggled mightily to be born . . . and to satisfy its growing hunger. Several times, in the dark of night, it had reached part of its body above the surface—only to fall back into the putrid pool, still too weak to emerge.
Even so, the crystal dove realized that only something evil could be lurking down there. Panicked, she knew she must go!
She beat her glass wings, flashing rainbows as she lifted into the air. Feeling the safety of the sky, she flapped again, releasing a new burst of radiance. Like a living prism, she made the air shimmer with dazzling colors.
At that very instant, a long black tongue shot out of the pool. Before the dove could rise any higher, the tongue wrapped around her entire body. Squeezing in a death grip, the tongue shattered her feathers and bones and drew her down into the churning depths.
The pool fell still again. After a few seconds, even the ripples on the surface disappeared. No sign of the crystal dove—or the tongue that had ended her life—remained. As before, bubbles drifted lazily to the surface.
Suddenly, a gargantuan shape exploded from the pool. Yellow liquid rained down on the mining complex as the monster clambered ashore, dragging its immense body onto the rocks. Its skin shone the same putrid yellow color as the toxic pool, except for small dark lumps across its back that could have been festering sores. Awkward in this new environment, it rolled as much as it lurched on its stubby legs. Raising its bulbous head to the sky, it released a roar so loud that it shook the trees all around.
Lurching forward, the toadlike monster paused to gulp the air, eagerly swallowing something far more pleasant than the liquid of the pool. After several more gulps, it sniffed the air with its cavernous nostrils.
All at once it froze. Smelling a hint of what it most desired, what it hoped would satisfy its burning hunger, the monster spun around to face a certain direction. The direction of the City.
Its eyes—wells of utter darkness, deeper than any chasm and emptier than any void—peered into the distance. As if they could see beyond the mines, beyond the dirt road, beyond the gates to the settlement itself, they stared hungrily. For this beast needed food, enormous quantities of food, both to feed its mortal body . . . and also for another purpose known only to itself and Narkazan.
With a sudden lurch, the monster from the toxic pool set out to find the City. The people and buildings there. And the food it required.
Behind on the ground, it left a trail of putrid slime . . . as well as a few shards of shattered glass.
CHAPTER 14
Swallows
The monster’s wrathful roar echoed across the denuded hills that lay between the industrial site and the City. Having recently crossed the bridge over the river, all the people in the work crew heard it—and all of them halted in their tracks. Anxiously, they looked at their neighbors. What could that bellowing cry be? What kind of beast could have made it?
Only Karpathos didn’t stop. Chugging ahead on his coal-fired cart, he merely twisted both ends of his mustache. Foolish vermin, he cursed to himself. Now they’ll use that noise, whatever it was, as an excuse to go even slower.
Before the monster’s roar erupted, Shangri and her two companions had also crossed the bridge. But rather than follow the dirt road that led to the mines, they veered toward the deep forest. Just before they stepped into the trees, Shangri glanced again at her ring—then over at Lorno. He’d been watching her, and gave her an encouraging smile. Feeling a bit more confident, she took the magical compass out of her pocket.
“Open now,” she commanded, resting her arm against her torso to hold it steady. Immediately, the crumpled leaf unfurled, flattening on the palm of her hand. Lorno and Graybeard looked on, watching intently.
“Show me the way,” Shangri urged. Obediently, the piece of amber spun around and pointed due south—toward the heart of the Great Forest. That way, they would find Atlanta.
Just then the monster’s roar shook the very ground where they stood. Although they were still close enough to the laborers and soldiers on the road that they could hear voices, they knew that the roar hadn’t come from those people. What, then, had made such a terrible cry?
“I have the same ugly feelin’,” said Shangri with a shudder, “that I had jest before seein’ the mines. Somethin’ bad is about to happen, fer certain.”
Graybeard gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Worry not, young one. That’s probably nothing more than a natural sound from the forest.”
Though his melodic voice had its usual soothing quality, this time Shangri’s intuition was stronger. She shook her head so hard that tufts of red hair sprang out from under her kerchief. Looking straight at the thin man’s face, she declared, “Whatever that sound be, it weren’t natural.”
“I agree,” declared Lorno. “It sounded more like a beast of some kind. A very angry beast.”
“Nonsense,” said Graybeard soothingly. “In any case, we shouldn’t let anything distract ourselves from our mission—to find that young woman of the woods! Atlanta, I believe you called her.”
Shangri looked at him uncertainly. Despite his reassuring voice . . . something about his words didn’t seem quite right. “That’s her name, yes. But findin’ her isn’t our mission. Findin’ her is jest the first step o’ what’s really our mission—stoppin’ Reocoles from destroyin’ this whole forest.”
“Sure, sure, I agree,” said Graybeard hurriedly. “That’s really what I meant.”
Shangri nodded, setting aside her doubts. Something about the man’s voice made her, well, want to agree with him. Whatever he said.
“So,” said Graybeard in a jaunty tone, “shall we enter the forest? The sooner we find Atlanta, the sooner we can get on with our plans.”
“All right,” she said, carefully returning the compass to her pocket. Facing Lorno, she asked, “Are ye ready?”
“Absolutely,” he declared. “Nothing can delay us now, short of—”
Another terrible roar rocked them, scaring a flock of swallows out of the trees at the forest edge. The birds rose skyward, chattering noisily. At the same time, over among the laborers, several people screamed in fright.
Shangri caught Lorno’s eye. Both of them knew that this time, the roar had come from somewhere closer. Much closer.
Suddenly, at the far end of the road leading to the mines, a h
uge, hulking form appeared. Dark yellow, with only bottomless wells for eyes, it leaped toward the laborers like a monstrous toad. From its gigantic, tooth-studded mouth drooled rivers of yellow slime. And as it approached, that mouth opened wider.
“Holy Hephaestus!” shrieked Karpathos, turning his vehicle so sharply that it careened into a ditch, hurling him onto the ground.
Just as the foreman crawled away from the wreckage and started to stand, a great black appendage slammed down onto the wagon. The monster’s tongue! Boards splintered, wheels crumpled, and lumps of coal flew into the air.
Astonished, Karpathos stared as the tongue wrapped itself around the iron casing of the vehicle’s motor. With unearthly power, the tongue squeezed, crunching the metal down into a smaller heap. Then, lightning quick, the tongue withdrew—carrying the metal right into the monster’s mouth.
Laborers and soldiers scattered. Screaming with terror, they ran away from the road or back toward the City, anywhere to get away from this horrid beast. Cries of panic and desperation filled the air.
None of those people ran fast enough, though, to escape the tongue. Like a cracking whip, the tongue slashed through the air, grabbing men and women for this long-awaited feast. One man, caught by the leg, dug his bloody fingers into the dirt as he was dragged into the beast’s gaping mouth. A rumbling gulp—and his wailing cries suddenly ended.
With every swallow, the monster grew a bit bigger. Still drooling slime, it lurched and waddled down the road, picking off as many people as possible. Every time it nabbed a victim, that person’s heartrending screams ended with the same sickening gulp.
Shangri and her companions, standing far off the road by the forest edge, watched with horror. The massacre continued, swallow after swallow, as did the wailing screams. And there was nothing they could do but witness it all.