“Jealousy,” said the little fellow with a sigh. “Just ignore him. He’s always like this. I have no idea why.”
She swiveled in the ferns and placed a hand on Promi’s arm. “Those two people, the priest and priestess . . .” She scowled. “They’re monsters.”
“Monsters,” he replied, “would be better company.”
“Yes. And as bad as she is, I’ve seen enough of him to think he’s even worse.”
“So have I,” said Promi, remembering poor Bonlo’s tale of betrayal. “And she is so old, at least she’ll probably die soon. But I fear we’ve only seen the beginning of evil from Grukarr.”
Suddenly, all around the meadow, trees quaked violently. They shook their branches and dropped leaves like tears that spun slowly to the ground.
“Don’t say his name again,” warned Atlanta. “He marched into this forest a few days ago and left behind only misery. His name, among these magical trees, is the ultimate curse.”
Promi nodded. “So we really are here? Your home, the Great Forest?” More quietly, he added, “That’s where I hoped we’d go . . . but I couldn’t be sure we’d get here.”
She drew a slow, deeply pleasurable breath, taking in a world of aromas. Not far away, she could smell the moss growing on a mahogany trunk, the moist fur of a mother fox hurrying back to her den, the needles of an enormous cedar, and the luscious skin of a ripening pear.
“Yes,” she said, exhaling slowly, “we’re really here.” All at once, her reverie ended. “Wait! Exactly how did you do that? With no trees around, my own magic was useless. But that didn’t stop you!”
Before he could reply, she blurted out, “And how can you have magic, anyway? Your eyes are brown, as brown as walnut wood—not green at all.”
Promi ran his hand over an amber stalk, trying to decide which question to answer first. And how to make those answers even slightly believable. “Look, I’m not really sure. This magic was . . . well, given to me. By someone I met—in a dungeon. Can’t explain why she gave it to me, of all people. Probably by mistake. All I can say is . . . that’s the first time I’ve ever used it.”
“The first time?” Atlanta straightened her back in surprise. “That’s powerful magic for anyone. Especially a beginner.” She scanned the deep forest around them. “Believe me, I know a little about magic.”
“Yes, well . . .” He shook himself, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.
“All right, you moron,” said Kermi, tapping a paw on the edge of the boot. “Tell her what you do know about the magic.”
Promi scowled. “As I said, not much. Except that it’s called Listener magic.”
She eyed him skeptically. “You? A Listener? Like the ones in the legends?”
He nodded shyly.
“A Listener who’s hard of hearing, if you ask me,” muttered Kermi. “Nearly stone-deaf, in fact.”
Atlanta stared doubtfully at this young man she’d first thought was just a pie thief. “Listeners, if they still exist, are supposed to have vast power—the highest form of natural magic. So if what you say is true, why are you reduced to stealing from a bakery? Couldn’t you get food in a million other ways?”
“That’s how I’ve always gotten food. Ever since I can remember.” He swallowed, recalling the taste of freshly nabbed cinnamon rolls. His empty stomach twisted. Longingly, he thought, Even just one bite of that lemon pie . . .
“Why haven’t you used your magic in all those years?”
He rubbed his belly, still thinking about the lemon pie. “The magic? I just got it last night.”
“Last night? And you can already transport people anywhere you choose?”
He blushed. “Don’t know how the magic works. Just like I don’t know how the magic in these boots works.” He lifted the one that didn’t hold Kermi. “They fit my feet perfectly, grow with me, and even expand to take a passenger.” With a frown, he added, “Even if the passenger is—”
“A true genius,” finished Kermi. “Someone who deserves better.” He blew a wobbly blue bubble that floated up toward the sky. Then, his voice wistful, he said, “I wish I were back at my favorite shore right now. Just Jaladay and me, watching the clouds. I would be dreaming of new—”
“Insults,” said Promi, now his turn to interrupt. “That’s your favorite thing to do, right?”
Kermi scowled. “Only with certain company. By the way, manfool, you haven’t told Atlanta the whole truth. You do know something else about Listener magic, don’t you? Something you haven’t mentioned.”
“Because I haven’t wanted to mention it, you wicked little beast!”
Atlanta leaned over the kermuncle and said sweetly, “Don’t let him upset you, little one.” She tousled the fur on top of his head. Then, facing Promi, she scolded, “You shouldn’t talk to him like that! Such a darling little creature, it’s a wonder he still wants to ride with you.”
Kermi released a soft whimper—which was a bit hard to hear over Promi’s growl of rage.
After stroking the tiny blue head a while longer, Atlanta turned back to Promi. “I still can’t believe all this. But you did bring us here somehow. Couldn’t you just tell me what else you know about the magic?”
He folded his arms. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Please?” She looked at him imploringly.
“Oh, all right.” He felt thoroughly dejected. “Every time I use the magic, I need to . . . well, give something up. Make some sort of sacrifice.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Really? And the greater the magic you need, the bigger the sacrifice?”
“Something like that.”
She touched his shoulder. “What did you give up to save us, Promi? Tell me.”
He crossed his arms more tightly. “Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know, but . . .” She smiled fleetingly—a subtle, tentative smile, but lovely nonetheless, like the first ray of moonlight to touch the forest floor. “I’d really like to know.”
He chewed his lip for a moment, then replied, “I gave up eating. Not just sweets like lemon pies or cinnamon buns, but everything.”
She gasped. “For how long?”
He growled again. “A long time.”
“How long?”
“I told you, a long time.”
“Tell me, won’t you? How long?”
He grimaced. “For the rest of this day! All the way to sundown. That doesn’t sound so bad to you, maybe. But to me . . . I’m so hungry, it’s going to feel like a month!”
A wave of sympathy washed over her. “Oh, my. That really is awful!” She leaned closer. “I’m that hungry, too. Which is why, I think, you gave me that pie.”
“A whole lot of good that did,” he grumbled.
“My, my,” exclaimed Kermi, “that really was a big sacrifice you made.”
Promi perked up, surprised to hear what sounded like genuine compassion from his tormentor.
“Why,” Kermi continued, “you might actually weaken so much you’ll die. Or worse yet—you might just complain a whole lot until you get your next meal and then go on living.”
If a glare could ignite a fire, the one Promi gave the kermuncle would have started a major blaze. “Wish I could have sacrificed you! But that wouldn’t have worked, since it had to be something I care about.”
“Oh, manfool, you cut me to the quick.” Kermi’s whiskers quivered as if from distress, which made Atlanta reach over again to stroke his head. He blinked at her in thanks, then went on. “Just to show you I have no hard feelings, I’ll let you share in this.”
Reaching down deeper in the boot, he pulled out the remains of a half-eaten cinnamon bun. “See? You’re not the only one who can steal a pastry now and then. Especially when the bakery shelves are low enough I can grab it right from your boot.”
Promi’s eyes widened at the sight of such a delectable treat—then shut tight. Even more than hunger for the pastry,
he felt sheer frustration that he couldn’t eat it.
Seeing his look of agony, the kermuncle smirked. “Go on now, manfool. Eat it.” He tossed the chewed bun to Promi.
The young man caught it, his eyes smoldering. “I told you I can’t . . . eat . . . anything.” He threw the bun back at Kermi.
“Oh, right. How silly of me to forget! Such a pity.” He pouted his tiny cheeks. “But Atlanta, my dear, you’re welcome to eat it. Even if he can’t.”
She brightened. “Thank you, little . . .”
“Kermi.”
“Thank you so much, Kermi. What a generous being you are! But now that we are here in my forest home, I have plenty to eat.”
“Unlike him.” He waved a paw at Promi. “How terribly, terribly sad,” he said, grinning broadly.
Promi’s gaze bored into him. “Just you wait, you little menace. I’ll find some way to chew on your buns.”
“Harrumph,” replied the kermuncle in a horrified tone. “How rude.”
“Enough.” Promi stood up in the ferns. He offered a hand to Atlanta, but she bounced to her feet without any help. Happy to be back in the forest, she pranced like an energetic faun.
By contrast, Promi swayed, feeling weak from hunger. “Wish I could eat even just a bite of something,” he lamented. “But I have a feeling that if I broke my vow and ate before supper . . . something very bad would happen.”
Atlanta nodded. “You’d lose the magic, that’s certain. Maybe more.”
“Besides,” said Kermi from the rim of the boot, “I’d never let you hear the end of it.” He licked the cinnamon glazing off his paws, smacking his lips with pleasure. “Such a pity you can’t eat for all that time.”
Promi ground his teeth. “What I can do is walk. Straight back to the City, so I can feed myself a decent supper. Or breakfast, if it takes me that long to get there.”
“What?” Atlanta stared at him in surprise. “There’s wonderful food right here! Why don’t you stay in the forest for a while?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks. I prefer living where I know how to get food.”
“Steal food, you mean,” groused Kermi.
“Sure. It’s not a bad way to live, really. All I have to do is watch out for G—”
Though he caught himself before saying the priest’s name, tree branches nearby clacked and shook angrily.
At the same time, Atlanta shuddered. “So wicked, that man! I wish I knew exactly what he plans to do with the forest.”
“He said he wanted your help to find its most magical places. To get whatever he needs.”
“But what is that? And why does he need it?”
“No idea,” said Promi. “All we know is that he needs it soon, for some reason. And that it’s part of his grand plan—something that will empower whoever will be the next ruler of Ellegandia.”
“Not just Ellegandia,” corrected Atlanta. “He said, ‘the new ruler of this realm.’ And I got the distinct feeling he meant, by that, the whole mortal realm.”
Promi’s eyes widened. “You might be right. But how could that ever happen? The rest of the mortal world is separate from Ellegandia. We’re sealed off by ocean cliffs and mountains all around.”
“Who knows? One thing’s certain, though.” She stared worriedly at the trees surrounding them. “The person he called the next ruler—that means him.”
Promi shifted uneasily, feeling renewed heat on his chest. “And how did he get that—that thing from the spirit realm?”
“A mistwraith,” said Kermi ominously. His whiskers trembled, as if he knew more. But even if that was true, he wasn’t about to elaborate.
“I thought there was a strict law against any spirits coming to the mortal world,” said Promi. Recalling what Bonlo had taught him, he added, “Though we are getting close to Ho Byneri, when the veil grows thin, so maybe it’s easier to break that law now.”
Atlanta extended her arms wide. “There are plenty of spirits here already. Throughout this forest.” Then, gazing at him, she asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay and maybe meet some of them?”
“I’m sure.” He rubbed his belly. “Supper’s waiting for me back in the City. Now, just tell me which way to walk, and I’ll be going.”
“But if you stay here, Promi . . . you could help.”
“With what?”
“With stopping that evil priest! He’s coming back, I’m sure—searching for me and whatever he needs for his plan.” Her expression hardened, as water turns to ice. “And I am going to fight him.”
CHAPTER 19
The Way
I really ought to know by now. One bite of a bad cookie spells trouble. The bite may be small, but the bellyache huge.
—From Promi’s journal (scrawled in the recipe book chapter titled “Dangerous Cookies: Bake Them Right or Not at All”)
Fight him?” asked Promi, surprised. “I thought you’d do whatever it takes to avoid him! Are you crazy?”
“Maybe,” Atlanta replied. “But I know that if I don’t find some way to stop that madman, this whole forest—this whole world of magic and beauty—will suffer.”
She spun in slow circles, her arms extended as she gazed up at all the trees ringing the meadow. As she twirled, branches quivered and stretched toward her, the greeting of trees leafy and needled, ancient and young. One particular tree, a graceful birch, stretched so far that it was nearly horizontal, until at last it brushed the tip of her finger with its uppermost leaf.
Atlanta stopped, her finger still touching the birch leaf. “This is more than my home. This is my family.”
“Still crazy!” he declared. “How could you even start to fight him?”
Her blue-green eyes flashed with determination. “I’ve got to try.”
“But you’re just one person! Up against him and all his thugs. Not to mention that mistwraith.”
Stooping, Atlanta picked up an acorn from among the ferns at her feet. She twirled it slowly in her fingers, then said, “See how small this is? There’s simply no way to tell from its size what it could become. What magic it could hold.”
She dropped the acorn. “So I must try.”
He studied her for a long moment, then shook his head. “Then you’ll try alone.”
“But Promi—”
He looked down at the ferns by his feet, unwilling to meet her gaze. “I’m just a thief, Atlanta. A loner. Someone who survives by stealing pies and throwing a knife.”
“Even after what we heard about Grukarr’s plans?”
“Look,” he declared, “I don’t like him any more than you do. But at least I’m smart enough to stay out of his way! No, this battle for the forest is between you and him. It’s not my fight. Can you understand that?”
Icily, she glared at him. “No, I can’t.”
For an instant, Promi was tempted to tell her about the other battles he’d heard about recently, battles that were also not for him. Or for anyone remotely sane. Like the ones Bonlo had described, involving a new war in the spirit realm, a frightful prophecy, and a dangerous thinning of the veil between the worlds. Maybe that would convince her that some battles were just meant to be avoided—because they were too big, too dangerous, or just too unlikely to be real.
No, he thought with a sigh, she’ll never be convinced. Not when she still believes she can save her beloved forest.
Atlanta looked at him pleadingly. Gesturing at the trees, she said, “This is your forest, too. Even if you don’t live here.”
“My home is the City.”
“Sure, but where do you think the lemons for that pie you stole came from? And all the fresh vegetables, fruits, and nuts you see in the marketplace? The fuel you burn? The water you drink?”
She glanced up at the sky, shining blue between the branches. “Don’t you see, Promi? All the magic in this country ties together. From the highest summit of Ell Shangro to the lowest beach of the western shore—the magic of every place is connected.” Scanning the grove arou
nd them, she said quietly, “And this forest is the most magical place of all.”
A squirrel with very large eyes and a shaggy tail, seated on the branch of a nearby acacia, chattered loudly in agreement.
Suddenly, Atlanta flinched. Her gaze fixed on a young fruit tree that looked strangely withered. Its frail trunk bent from the weight of its shriveled, pale orange fruit. Even to Promi’s inexperienced eye, this tree seemed sickly. Now, one unhealthy tree wouldn’t seem so unusual in most forests—but in this richly verdant place, it felt like a violation.
Atlanta rushed over to the sapling. Gently, as if taking the hand of a friend, she clasped its lowest bough. She shook her head, aghast. Then she whispered, “No! Not here.”
She whirled around to face Promi. “You’ve got to join me! Now it’s not just that horrible priest endangering this forest. It’s the blight. And it’s spreading fast! Last week, it was only in a few groves on the eastern reaches. And now it’s here, deep in the interior.”
He frowned, shifting uneasily. “Sorry. But as I said . . . this isn’t my fight.”
“You are really that selfish?”
“I just want to stay alive, that’s all! And so, if you won’t tell me which way to go, I’ll just have to figure that out myself.”
“Lovely,” commented Kermi. “We’re about to get lost forever.”
The shaggy-tailed squirrel made a different sound this time, much more like a chuckle.
Even as Promi turned to go, Atlanta grabbed his sleeve. “Wait. What if . . . I offer you a gift before you go?”
He pulled free. “There’s no gift from you I’d want.”
“Not even supper?” Her eyes twinkled. “The most sumptuous supper you’ve ever had in your life?”
He froze, tempted. “In my life?”
She nodded.
“Will there be any dessert?”
“More than you can eat.”
“That I doubt.” He swallowed an imaginary bite of something wondrously sweet. “Will you also give me directions to the City?”
“Yes,” she promised. “First thing in the morning.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Don’t think for a second this is going to make me change my mind.”