by T.A. Barron
Looking straight into her blue-green eyes, he said quietly, “Atlanta. This visit isn’t a dream.”
Seeing her look of puzzlement, he explained, “Sure, we’re in your dream. But this is really me. I’m visiting you from the spirit realm. In a way that won’t tear the veil.”
Slowly, she nodded. “I feel it. I really do!” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “So . . . you forgive me for being such an idiot last time you were here?”
“Only if you forgive me! And I was the bigger idiot.”
Toying with one of her curls, she said, “No disagreement there.”
Taking both her hands, he said, “You were right, Atlanta. About putting the needs of others ahead of my own. About protecting our worlds. Basically . . . about everything.”
“Well,” she said mischievously, “I guess an apology five years later is better than none at all.”
He winced at the reminder of how much time had passed in the mortal realm. “It’s really been that long?”
She looked suddenly sad. “And, Promi . . . some horrible things have been happening. Caused by people, new people.”
“I know,” he said guiltily. “I brought them.”
“What?” Atlanta pulled her hands away from his and scowled. “How could you?”
“Not on purpose,” he protested. “Their ship was about to go down in a whirlpool! I just wanted to save all those innocent lives. So I, well . . . asked for some help. From the ocean goddess.”
Softening, she gave a nod. “I see. But, Promi, I wish you hadn’t helped them! Those people have been doing so much damage. It’s terrible.”
Frowning, he said, “Something tells me they’ve had some encouragement from the spirit realm.”
“You don’t mean—”
“Yes. Narkazan is back. He’s preparing for another war of conquest. We just dealt him a blow . . . but he’ll be back, angrier than ever, very soon.”
• • •
While Atlanta was deep asleep, immersed in her dream, all was not well with her home. Etheria, alert for trouble like any reasonably sentient house, felt a disturbing new presence. Yes—from the spirit realm!
In some way Etheria couldn’t fully understand, that spirit had violated the space of Atlanta’s home—and had even intruded on her peaceful dreams. Well, Etheria wasn’t about to sit idly by while that happened! There was only one solution to this outrage: to wake up Atlanta.
Doors slammed. All the shutters opened wide, then crashed closed. The floor under Atlanta’s bed started shaking.
Still, Atlanta stayed sleeping. But if Etheria had her way, that wouldn’t last long.
• • •
Glancing over at the water birds by the lake, Atlanta said, “Let’s walk.”
“Good idea. It’s been too long.”
Together, they started strolling on the mossy path. Beautiful as their surroundings were, neither of them were in much of a mood to notice. A dark cloud seemed to have settled over them.
“I’m so worried,” said Atlanta as she stepped over a turtle on the path. “About everything. The forest. My world. Your world.”
She stopped, peering at Promi. “And also . . . about you.”
He swallowed. “And I’m worried about you.”
“You know,” she said, running her hand down the length of his arm, “that even if we can’t . . . um, find a way to be together—”
“Don’t say that. There still might be a way.”
She nodded, but her expression was not hopeful. “Whatever happens . . . I just want you to know that I bless your eternal qualities.”
Hearing her say her favorite blessing, he almost smiled.
“And, Atlanta,” he began, then cleared his throat.
• • •
Increasingly upset, Etheria slammed her doors with even more force. Shutters crashed, while floorboards creaked and groaned.
Then she started to shake violently. From top to bottom, the whole house rocked as if struck by an earthquake.
• • •
After clearing his throat, Promi took both her hands in his own. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you. Something . . . important.”
Her eyes widened. “What is it?”
• • •
Frantic with concern, Etheria started shaking more violently than she’d ever done before. The whole house rocked side to side, sending Atlanta’s bed sliding into the wall.
• • •
“It’s, well,” fumbled Promi. “It’s . . . important.”
Warmly, Atlanta watched him. “Go on.”
He drew a deep breath. “You know, the way my life started out, I was—well, alone much of the time. So . . . there wasn’t anybody around who I could trust. Or . . . come to love.”
She blinked the mist from her eyes.
“Well, this thing I want to say to you—it’s, um, something I haven’t really said before. Haven’t wanted to say before.”
She gave him an encouraging nod.
He gazed at her for several seconds. Then, at last, he said, “Atlanta . . . I really do—”
• • •
Atlanta woke up—torn away from her dream, as well as the young man who visited her there.
CHAPTER 42
Utter Darkness
At Reocoles’s mining operation, a strange quiet had descended. For the first time in years, the giant rock-scraping machines sat in silence. No black smoke belched from them; no grinding metal jaws tore away at the land. And no workers had yet returned, so nobody coughed or retched from the fumes rising out of the toxic waste pool.
Since no trees remained standing, the wind couldn’t blow through branches to rustle any leaves. Nor did any songbirds share their lilting melodies. Dragonflies and bees didn’t whir and buzz. Frogs didn’t croak at twilight.
The only sound to permeate the silence came from the toxic pool. Not from anything on its shore, marked only by the carcass of the bear cub—but from the liquid of the pool itself. Bubbling and churning like a deadly brew, the yellowish liquid roiled incessantly as its chemicals mixed, repelled, and recombined. As fumes rose from the surface, so did the sulfuric stench.
During those days before any new workers could be found and the operations resumed, no eyes came near enough to view the mining operation. So no one saw what happened one day in the dim light of dusk.
High above the toxic pool, a dark cloud appeared. It wasn’t caused by the rising fumes, and it wasn’t produced by the atmosphere. Rather, this cloud had traveled all the way from the spirit realm.
Crackling with negative energy, the cloud of mistwraiths swelled until its shadow covered the whole waste pool. Mistwraiths, dozens of them, swarmed in the center of the cloud. Their dark, rippling tentacles reached outward, groping like limbs of night.
All at once, from the innermost center of the cloud, a bolt of black lightning exploded. It flashed darkly, sizzling, as it shot toward the toxic pool. At its leading edge, it carried the condensed lump of utter darkness fashioned by the vengeance and greed of Narkazan.
The black lightning struck, hurling Narkazan’s weapon into the depths. As the lump splashed down, ripples raced across the surface. The mistwraiths crackled louder than ever, as if they couldn’t contain their satisfaction.
Then, with surprising swiftness, the mistwraiths vanished. As their cloud disappeared, so did their ominous shadow.
The pool, meanwhile, fell still. No more liquid boiled and bubbled. No more chemicals churned. Even the fumes stopped rising from its surface.
Suddenly . . . something stirred. Deep inside the pool, a new creature struggled to be born, to take shape, to satisfy its overwhelming desires. And when it started to emerge, reaching part of its body made of utter darkness above the surface, it released a cry of unrelenting rage.
Tha
t cry shattered the air, echoing ominously.
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