Atlantis Rising

  Promi.

  The flapping, the chanting, seemed to hold him. Support him. Lift him.

  The instant he jumped, when his feet pushed off the broken plank at the end of the bridge, his senses switched off. He couldn’t feel anything—not the rush of cold air against his face, not the wet vapors from the river far below. He didn’t know if Kermi had stayed on his shoulder—or if, much more likely, the furry blue creature had scampered away just in time to stay alive.

  The only sense that continued to work was his hearing. And all Promi could hear was the sound of that leaf, echoing, and the unending chant of its prayer.

  Time froze, it seemed, while the chant rolled on. Then, rising above the other sounds, he heard something different—a familiar voice. It was Atlanta, telling the story from Moss Island, what she had called a story whispered by the wind. And he realized that, in the tale of that boy’s great loss, there was also, perhaps, something gained.

  Suddenly, Promi was falling! Through mist, wet and cold, he tumbled—plunging down, down, down. As he fell, the mist thickened until it was less like a cloud than a kind of billowing, shifting landscape.

  All the sounds of flapping and chanting faded away. The only thing he heard, for a brief instant before it, too, ended, was a distant whooshing like the sound of great wings.

  Then he landed, more gently than he could have ever expected. But he didn’t land in the river that crashed below the bridge, nor on any sort of ground where he could stand. Indeed, he wasn’t standing at all. He was sitting—astride a great creature that glowed like liquid silver.

  A wind lion.

  “Alive!” shouted Promi, astonished. “I’m alive!”

  He stared at the magnificent creature whose full, silver-hued mane billowed before him. “And sitting on a lion!” Not a tiny one, either, he added to himself. A huge, powerful lion much bigger than me.

  Slowly, the lion turned his head and regarded Promi with one of his great brown eyes. Though nothing was said, Promi got the distinct feeling the lion was telling him, But of course, you fool! Don’t believe everything you hear in those legends.

  Without warning, the lion reared back on his powerful hind legs. Promi grabbed hold of the mane to keep from falling off. The lion’s huge forepaws swept through the mist, then all at once—the lionsteed bounded off, carrying Promi deeper into this new, vaporous realm.

  They plunged into the cloudscape, Promi’s heart pounding with excitement. Wherever we’re going, he thought, it’s fast! The lion’s mane blew with the same moist breeze that also slapped Promi’s face. And yet . . . this creature was not really running.

  No, he was flying. Promi couldn’t see any wings, no matter how hard he tried. But they certainly were vaulting through the mist as if they were airborne. And the rush of air, the constant whooshhhhh of motion—all this felt like flight.

  He did detect, on both sides, a constant vibration in the mist. Invisible wings? he wondered. Or a kind of magical wind?

  As the lion veered to one side, Promi leaned the other way to balance—a bit too far. He started to slide off! With a gasp of fright, he squeezed forcefully with his thighs, though the lion’s furry sides were slippery with mist. Somehow, he managed to right himself just before he tumbled off. But now he clung even tighter to the shaggy mane.

  “So,” sneered a voice into his ear, “you’re as good at riding as you are at walking.”

  “You!” He glanced at his shoulder to see the unmistakable wide blue eyes of the kermuncle. Kermi was staring at him, a sassy look on that little face. “I thought you had enough sense to stay back there on the bridge.”

  “Harrumph. So did I.” Reaching up with his long tail, he punched Promi’s earlobe. “But life with you is so entertaining, I just couldn’t miss it.”

  Promi took a hand off the mane long enough to rub his tender earlobe. “Why didn’t you stay with Atlanta? She actually enjoyed your company.”

  Kermi’s small shoulders sagged. “Believe me, I considered that. But I made that promise to Jaladay.” He shook his head, making his long whiskers wobble. “Which I’ve only regretted a few thousand times.”

  The mention of Jaladay made Promi fall silent. He recalled her deep green eyes, as bright as the dawn. Who was she, really? Why did she feel so sure she could trust him with Listener magic? Why had she been so glad to know that he kept a journal? And why did she have to die so soon, before he really got to know her?

  All those questions rolled through his mind. Plus some more: Would she be surprised to know that, thanks to her gift of magic, he’d escaped death several times? That he’d found an unlikely friend in the Great Forest? Or, still more amazing, that he was right now riding on the back of a real wind lion, plunging into the mist, hoping to find the Starstone that could save his world?

  He sighed. There was something even more astounding that had happened to him. Something no one, not even Jaladay, could have possibly guessed. No matter how much he longed to do it, he would never eat another sweet pastry.

  The lionsteed released a low, rumbling laugh. Then, invisible wings shimmering like starlight, the creature spoke.

  “You, young Promi, have much to learn.”

  “You know my name!” He was so startled that he let go of the mane and nearly fell off the lion’s back. But as soon as he’d grabbed hold again, he felt comforted, as well as grateful, that this glorious being had recognized him.

  “I do know your name,” the lion declared in a voice that was as richly toned as it was wise. “And much else, besides. I can hear your thoughts, just as I can feel your fears . . . and your hopes.”

  Promi sat up straight. “You know all that? Well, then, great lion . . . will you take me all the way to the Starstone?”

  The lion cocked his head. “My name is Theosor. And I have come to carry you as far as you need to go.”

  Promi swallowed, uncertain. “Even . . .”

  “Yes,” answered the wind lion. “Even to the innermost depths of the spirit realm.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Riding the Wind

  Sometimes, when you don’t know where you are going, it is enough to know why you are going.

  —From her journal

  Deeper into the mist they plunged. Though he still held tight to the wind lion’s mane, Promi found himself feeling more and more comfortable astride Theosor. He leaned forward, gazing past the powerful shoulders that glistened like moonlight on water, past the vibrations of invisible wings, and into the billowing mist.

  Watching the ever-shifting clouds, Promi started to catch sight of shapes he could recognize. Mountains of mist rose steeply, towering above them, before swirling vapors swallowed them completely. Valleys, softly undulating, stretched farther than he could see one instant—and then, the next instant, disappeared. A silver sea came into view, and he could hear the distant roar of its wispy waves. Then the sea transformed into a canyon, opening wider than he’d ever imagined. Seconds later, the canyon bulged and billowed, forming itself into a mountain.

  Amazing, thought Promi, awestruck. I never thought any place like this existed.

  “Welcome to the spirit realm.” Theosor’s ringing voice sounded more cautious than welcoming. “Here you will find as many dangers as wonders.”

  Beneath the strange mark on his chest, Promi’s heartbeat quickened. “What sort of dangers?”

  “Dangers that wait only for you, young cub.”

  Kermi gave a rude snort. “Just try to stay on the wind lion’s back, manfool.” He lay on Promi’s shoulder, wrapping his tail around the young man’s neck. “And do let me know if you decide to jump.”

  “I’ll do that, bubblebrain.”

  Right in his ear, Promi heard the pop of several bubbles.

  “Hmmm,” the young man puzzled aloud, “do I hear thunder in the distance? Or just an annoying little bug?”

  This time he heard a small but unmistakable growl.

  Promi watched the ever-shifting landscapes around them. Releasing
the lion’s mane briefly, he placed a hand on the creature’s immense shoulders. “Can you tell me what you know about the Starstone? Where is it now?”

  Theosor didn’t answer, continuing to soar through the shifting mist. Around them, mountains rose and fell, seas appeared and then vanished, one vista melted into the next. Suddenly Promi noticed that, within each place that formed, there were glimpses of . . . what?

  More places! He could see hints of mountains within oceans, canyons inside peaks, misty cities within wide valleys. And within those inner places, still more places lay hidden.

  The spirit realm doesn’t just change over time, he realized. It changes within itself, all the time.

  Layer upon layer. Change after change. Mysteries within mysteries. So this is the realm of immortals. Always evolving, always the same.

  The wind lion veered one way and then the next, sailed over one billowing mass of vapors and then under another, following a path that only he could detect. At last, he spoke again, his deep, rumbling voice rolling like windblown clouds.

  “The Starstone, young cub, is now in the hands of Narkazan. And it is guarded most heavily.”

  “Narkazan? You’re sure?” Promi sighed. “I was hoping that maybe he didn’t have it yet.”

  Theosor growled angrily, a sound like swelling thunder. “He has it, yes. And he yearns to use it to conquer this realm as well as Earth—and all the other mortal realms, as well.”

  “There are more?”

  “Many more,” answered the wind lion, banking a turn. “But your world is the necessary first step to conquering the others.”

  “So . . . ,” asked Promi, “has he corrupted the Starstone yet? Turned it into his ultimate weapon?”

  The great lion flared his nostrils. “That, young cub, I do not know.”

  Promi frowned, sinking his hands deeper into the lion’s mane.

  The lionsteed turned, then suddenly leaped at a burgeoning hill of mist. But he didn’t jump over it, as he had so many others. Instead, he plunged straight through it.

  Swirling vapors surrounded them, pressing closer than before. Promi thought he saw a wispy forest of clouds. Then a sparkling tower that refracted light vibrantly, as if it were made of solid rainbows. Then a sea of faces: women and men, elders and children, birds and beasts of all kinds—including a turquoise-scaled dragon with bright, intelligent eyes.

  For an instant, the dragon’s gaze met Promi’s. All at once, the young man felt a strong burst of emotions—fear for the spirit realm, grief for those who had been lost to Narkazan, and, at the end, a desperate plea for help.

  The misty landscape suddenly changed into a new scene. Promi gasped, for it was a scene he had often dreamed of seeing: a river of golden honey, flowing slowly down a valley under verdant hills. As they soared above the valley, they passed over enormous falls of honey that tumbled into the river, sending up clouds of crystallized vapor that made the air as sweet as powdered sugar.

  Yet . . . instead of feeling joyous, Promi felt a sharp jab of sorrow. For this was both a dream come true and a sacrifice made agonizingly clear. While he could taste and smell the sweetness in the air, he knew he could never drink from that river of honey—let alone dive right into it, as he would have gladly done just a short while ago. Or else, he felt sure, the Listener magic would desert him forever, and he’d never be able to use it to help his world . . . or Atlanta.

  He grimaced. I remember too much about sweets. The crunch of cinnamon crust, the sweetness of honeycomb, the tang of fresh strawberries—all so sensuous and tempting. But he couldn’t experience them ever again.

  “In this realm,” Theosor explained, eyeing a golden patch of sweetfern on the riverbank, “people dearly love to eat sugary things. Fortunately, there are many sweets to choose from. Why, in the higher provinces, fruit pies and nectar confections even grow on trees! There is even a meadow where—”

  “No more!” cried Promi, cutting the wind lion short. “I gave up eating sweets. Forever.”

  Theosor shook his head, waving his shaggy mane. “How sad for you, young cub! From now on, I will do my best to avoid such places. But that will not be easy here in the spirit realm.”

  Feeling the lionsteed’s compassion, Promi nodded. “Thanks. Even if—”

  Flash! A sudden bolt of light shot out from a nearby cloud. The wind lion dived sharply to avoid being hit. Promi almost fell off, while Kermi shrieked and squeezed the young man’s neck in a stranglehold.

  The searing blast sailed just over their heads, barely missing them. It exploded on a second cloud, smashing with enormous force. Vapors scattered everywhere as the cloud sizzled from the impact.

  Promi, able to breathe again after Kermi’s grip loosened, held tight to the lion’s mane. He gaped at the sizzling cloud. “What was that?”

  Just then another blast of light erupted from the second cloud. It shot through the sky, slamming into the first cloud with a thunderous boom that echoed across the realm.

  “Flashbolts,” replied Theosor with a sweep of his massive paw. “They are a potent weapon in this war with Narkazan.”

  Veering, he flew under the battling clouds. As they passed beneath, Promi could hear angry shouts and cries of pain through the vapors. Another flashbolt erupted, sizzling across the sky.

  “Theosor, I thought immortals couldn’t be killed. So what good are those flashbolts?”

  The wind lion rumbled grimly, “Immortals cannot be killed. But they can be stunned by such power—or made to suffer dearly.”

  Promi listened to the fading cries as they passed under the clouds.

  “Of course,” added the lionsteed, “any mortal struck by a flashbolt would instantly burn to nothingness. Not even ashes would remain.”

  Promi gulped. “How nice.”

  “Just try to stay clear of them,” urged Kermi. “At least while I’m riding on you.”

  Just before they left the battle behind, Promi glimpsed the remains of a building poised on one cloud’s edge. A fortress of some kind? Still smoking from the flashbolt, its silvery beams wobbled, then collapsed in a towering burst of vapors. More agonized shouts came from the scene.

  Leaning forward, Promi asked the wind lion, “Who is winning this war? Can Narkazan be stopped?”

  “We are trying, young cub. The rebellion is still alive, though our numbers are small. It helps that our leaders, Sammelvar and Escholia, have more virtue than a hundred Narkazans.” Theosor shook his mighty head. “Alas, virtue alone cannot win a war. Our greatest strength is simply why we are fighting. Not just for power, as he is. No, we are fighting for something much more precious: freedom. For our world as well as yours.”

  The wind lion roared with passion. The sound reverberated among the clouds like an unending roll of thunder.

  Finally, Promi spoke. “But you cannot defeat him if he corrupts the Starstone.”

  “That is true, young cub. If Narkazan does that to the Starstone, using his darkest powers—and if he can fill it with potent magic from your world—then all will be lost.”

  “So tell me,” asked Promi as he watched the vibration of the invisible wings. “Where is Narkazan keeping the Starstone?”

  Immediately, the wind lion veered to the left and soared through a shimmering wall of mist. New light shined on them, tinted with radiant blue. They were flying over a stormy sea of clouds, full of shadowy shapes that Promi couldn’t even begin to describe. Then, without warning, they plunged straight down into the frothing blue waves.

  Bitter cold pressed into Promi’s skin, seeping into his bones. He shivered uncontrollably, even as he dug his hands deeper into the lion’s mane. Theosor’s breath made frosty clouds in the blue vapors; icicles formed on his whiskers.

  Spray shot everywhere as they exploded out of the sea of clouds. Warm mist blanketed them, and the icicles melted instantly. Promi, no longer shivering, gazed around them at the swirling mists of the spirit realm, mists that reached farther than he could guess in all directions.
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  He shook his head, incredulous at the wonders of this place. Then, in a flash, his mood darkened. Will I ever leave here alive?

  “That depends,” rumbled the wind lion, who had heard his thoughts.

  “On what?” asked Promi, still surprised by Theosor’s telepathic ability.

  “On whether you can capture the Starstone in time. If so, you just might survive.”

  “Where is it?”

  The lion’s deep voice lowered even further. “In Narkazan’s cloud palace, Arcna Ruel. It is guarded not only by the warlord himself, but by his army of deathless warriors. Stealing it will not be easy. Some would say it’s impossible.”

  Promi’s expression hardened. “My specialty.”

  “Good, young cub. Because either you succeed or you die. There is no other option.” The wind lion spun to the right, his wings whooshing. “Do you have a plan?”

  “Harrumph,” snorted Kermi. “That’s like asking him if he has a brain. The answer is obvious.”

  “Well,” Promi began, “I guess I’ll just . . .” He ground his teeth. “All right, then. So I don’t have a plan.”

  Without slowing his flight, Theosor turned his head to look back with a great round eye. Sensing the lionsteed’s doubts, Promi reached a hand forward, so far that he could feel the creature’s warm breath on his fingers.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” he confessed. “But I do know one thing. I must try.”

  Theosor peered at him a while longer, then blew a long breath on the young man’s hand. “So be it, brave cub. But you must be careful.”

  Straightening his neck again, the wind lion explained, “Narkazan has been planning this for ages, ever since the advent of the Prophecy.”

  Promi glanced down at his chest, knowing that under his tunic lay the mysterious mark of the soaring bird. And here he was, right now, soaring through the endlessly evolving world of the spirits. Part of the Prophecy was surely true—the grave danger to his world, the end of all magic. But what about the other part, the part about him? Could that really be true, as well?