Atlantis Rising

by T.A. Barron

  “Sure,” replied the voice. “But he’s about as absorbent as an old boot! Even that senseless guard lying over there could think faster than this young—”

  “Hush, Kermi.” She glanced up at the nearest torch, its flame dancing in her eyes. “Give him a chance.”

  Following her gaze, Promi finally saw who had spoken—a small, monkeylike creature hanging upside down by his surprisingly long tail, which he’d wrapped around the base of the torch. Deep blue, with patches of silver, the creature’s fur seemed to vibrate in the wavering light. His large blue eyes looked much too big for his head—but even bigger were his round, furry ears, which swiveled constantly.

  Smirking, the furry blue fellow gazed down at Promi. Then he did something completely unexpected: he blew a large, blue-tinted bubble, which floated up to the ceiling and popped when it struck a beam.

  Turning to the woman, the creature grumbled, “Why should I give him a chance? He had one already—and completely botched it.”

  Promi’s face flushed with anger. “Now, hold on! Because of me—”

  “We all nearly died,” said Kermi flatly. “But to be fair, when you were staggering around, you did at least manage to avoid falling on top of the old monk.”

  At the mention of Bonlo, Promi suddenly had an idea. He grabbed the woman’s arm. “Can you save him too? If anyone deserves to live, he does.”

  Sadly, she shook her head. “Alas, I cannot heal the dead. Only the living.”

  “Too bad,” said Kermi dryly. He blew a new pair of blue-tinted bubbles. “If you ask me, you saved the wrong one.”

  Leaping to his feet, Promi started to take a swipe at the sassy creature. Just before he swung his arm, the woman jumped up and grabbed his tunic sleeve. “Stop it,” she commanded. “Both of you!”

  She glared at the little beast dangling from the torch. “I mean it, now. Introduce yourself.”

  “I never introduce myself to strangers.” Kermi shut his big blue eyes. “Besides, he’s gone now.”

  Promi turned to the woman. “Who are you two? And how did you heal me?” He pointed at her arm and neck, no longer streaked with blood. “As well as yourself?” He studied her suspiciously. “And how come you look so much younger?”

  “Oh,” she said casually. “Must be my new hairstyle.” She pretended to stroke her flowing locks. “It has that effect on people.”

  “And another thing. How did you—”

  “Later,” she declared, cutting him off. Flicking her hand toward the torch, she said, “That is my companion, a rare blue kermuncle. They are known for their sassy wit, their ability to blow bubbles, and their—”

  “High intelligence,” finished the creature proudly. He turned his gaze toward Promi and added, “Unlike some people.”

  The woman barely kept herself from laughing. She rubbed the side of her now-bald head and added. “But kermuncles are not known for their polite conversation.”

  Kermi snorted. “How about this? I absolutely love your new look! So . . . bald.”

  “Enough,” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. “Or I’ll be forced to send you back to . . .” She caught herself. “To where you came from.”

  “Really?” he asked hopefully, his blue eyes wider than ever. “You’d let me go back?”

  “No,” she answered firmly. “I shouldn’t have said that. You can’t go back until—”

  “I keep my promise,” he said glumly. “I know, I know. But I never should have made it! He’s so much stupider than—”

  “You promised, Kermi! Don’t forget that. Do I need to remind you what happens to kermuncles if they break a promise?”

  The furry creature sighed. “I’d shrivel up and die! Which means that I could never go back home. Honestly, I can’t understand why we kermuncles are made that way. Amidst such perfection, a true design flaw!” He glared at Promi, whose expression looked more confused than ever. “And what do I get for making that promise in a moment of weakness? The great joy of associating with someone who makes an acorn look smart.”

  Though he bristled at the kermuncle’s insults, Promi kept his gaze focused on the woman. “You still haven’t told me who you are. Or how you healed me. By the way, my name is Promi.”

  She bowed her head. “I am Jaladay.” Cautiously, she glanced around the dungeon, then added, “And . . . I am the last of the Listeners.”

  “Listeners? I thought they all died ages ago.”

  Frowning, she replied, “Almost true. We lost vast numbers of our faith in the War of Horrors. Then more died in the centuries that followed, killed by ignorant folk who feared them, calling them witches and goblins.”

  Promi pointed at the unconscious guard. “Folk like him.”

  “Yes,” said Jaladay grimly. “But a few of us, very few, survived.”

  She nudged the guard’s boot with her bare foot. “When that fellow found her—er, I mean me—he was certain I was a witch. Just as he’d been taught by those hateful and intolerant religious leaders he serves.”

  Promi glanced over at the body of his friend Bonlo. Not all of them are hateful and intolerant, he thought. Some of them are truly good and loving.

  Unsure whether or not to believe Jaladay, he said, “Look, I’ve heard a few tales about the Listeners. How they could whip up a storm anytime they wanted. How they could read people’s minds, predict the future, and more. You’re telling me all that stuff is true?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s hard to swallow.”

  Her gaze bored into him. “Harder than being magically healed of wounds that should have killed you?”

  Instinctively, he patted his ribs. “No.”

  “Well, then,” she said sternly, “don’t forget how little you really know.”

  He chewed his lip. “I’m reminded of that every day.”

  “Good,” declared Jaladay. “Then you’re already walking on the path to wisdom.”

  Kermi chuckled, swaying from the torch. “Get ready for a very long walk.”

  Jaladay scowled at the kermuncle, then turned back to Promi. “Not all the legends you’ve heard are true, by the way. Only the greatest master Listeners could call up a storm—or do anything to influence the elements of nature. That takes the highest levels of magical power. And no one with that sort of power has walked in this world for many centuries.”

  She stepped closer, practically pressing her nose against his. “Though nobody except a master could call up a storm, any Listener of reasonable skill could predict the coming of a storm. Or, for that matter, read the secrets of someone’s mind. That’s how most of the legends got started.”

  She sighed. “And that’s also how the fear of Listeners got started. Why villagers started to persecute my people—and why the Divine Monks, who felt threatened by this older faith, did everything they could to extinguish our ancient flame.”

  Promi swallowed. “How about healing someone’s body? Is that something all Listeners could do?”

  “Not all, but some. Although . . . something that difficult is a bit more, shall we say, costly.”

  “Well, however you did it, I’m grateful to you for saving my life. But . . . I still have trouble believing all that Listener stuff. Why, even the crazy things I write in my journal aren’t as wild as what you’re saying.”

  Unexpectedly, Jaladay smiled. For an instant, she seemed to have lost some more years, as if she were really no older than Promi herself. “You keep a journal?”

  “Sometimes.” He tapped the tunic pocket that held his book full of scribbles in the margins. “Now and then. Just to remember things.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, just . . . memories. Like a good meal, which hasn’t happened in a while. Or dreams—especially the peaceful ones, though they come less often than scary ones. Or sometimes, good ideas for stories.”

  “You know,” she said, “that shows intelligence and imagination.”

  From the torch above them c
ame a rude snort.

  Jaladay ignored it and said earnestly, “Imagination is precious. Why, it was that very quality in humans that inspired immortals to give them Listener magic.”

  Promi started. “This power of yours came from the spirit realm?”

  “Long ago, yes. It was a gift from some spirits who enjoyed visiting the mortal realms—before the War of Horrors led to a strict ban against any immortals coming to Earth.”

  She looked suddenly older. “But the truth is, this power isn’t so much a gift as a burden. A responsibility.”

  Placing her hand on his shoulder, she explained, “That’s why Listeners have sometimes given away their power—and why, Promi, I would like to give my power to you.”

  “Me?” He stared at her, astonished.

  “That’s right. And I want to do this now. You see, even though I’ve, well, revived enough to heal you . . . my time to live is almost gone.”

  “But,” he objected, “how do you know that?”

  “The same way I knew about your wounds. Or, for that matter, about the mark over your heart. By Listener magic.” She sighed. “And since I am the last one of my kind, when I die . . . the magic will die with me. Disappear forever from the world. Unless I give it to someone else.”

  “Why me, though? Why would you give such powerful magic to me?”

  “Harrumph,” said Kermi. “Could be you’re the only living person down here at this moment! Other than the guard, of course . . . but he doesn’t look too interested. So don’t think you’re anything special.”

  Hearing that word again, Promi thought of Bonlo—and the old fellow’s persistent belief in him. Promi looked over at the corpse, knowing just what he’d say if the monk were alive: I still think you were wrong, my friend.

  Jaladay’s expression hardened. “You have a choice. This magic could allow you to tap into the Great Powers, to draw strength from the spirits of both worlds, to do amazing feats. Yet this same magic could also bring you great pain. The loss of something you love. Or worse. For every use of this magic comes with a cost—sometimes a truly terrible cost.”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “Now you must decide, Promi. Do you want it or not?”

  Torchlight flickered across his face as he considered her words. Power. Pain. Magic. And, last of all, cost.

  Not just any cost. A truly terrible cost.

  And yet . . . power like that would be useful. Very useful. For starters, he could use it to get food—and to make sure he never, ever felt hungry again.

  That notion was especially appealing. Why, if he could predict a thunderstorm, then he shouldn’t have any problem predicting when a truly tasty pie was about to emerge from someone’s oven. Or how to escape unharmed, no matter how brazen the thievery. Ah, the things I could do!

  Again, his gaze strayed to the old monk. Bonlo’s face looked quite peaceful, full of kindness and trust. The very same qualities he’d shown to Promi.

  And who knows, old fellow? Maybe I might find some way to use this new power that could actually justify your faith in me.

  Resolved, Promi nodded. “Show me this magic.”

  The kermuncle, dangling from his perch, shuddered. “You are definitely going to regret this, Jaladay! Even worse, I have a feeling that I’m going to regret this.”

  “Hush, now.” She glanced cautiously over her shoulder, then placed her hands over Promi’s ears. As she peered at him with total concentration, her fingers vibrated ever so slightly. Finally, she lowered her hands.

  “The magic is yours,” she announced.

  “Really?” He shook himself. “I don’t feel any different.”

  “You will in time. The more you use the magic, the more you will be aware of it.”

  “But—”

  “Above all,” she declared, interrupting him, “you must understand this: Listener magic does not take anything away from the world. Nor does it force anything new upon the world. Rather, it simply listens to the underlying truth of the world.”

  The young man shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to understand.”

  “Told you he’s hopeless,” groused Kermi.

  “Let me put it this way,” said Jaladay, cupping her hand to her ear as if she were trying to hear some faraway sound. “This magic allows you to hear not with your ears—but with your heart. With every particle of magic that lives in you—and also in the world around you.”

  “Is that why,” he asked, “before you healed me, you said Listen one, listen all?”

  “Right,” she said approvingly. “Listener magic gives you the power to call upon the sources of magic, wherever they exist. To open yourself to the power of the spirits—whether they live in our world right here or in the spirit realm on high. To discover the deepest truths. To hear the unheard.”

  “To hear the unheard,” repeated Promi. “You mean . . . like the real path of a storm. Or the real motives of a person.”

  “Or,” she added, “the original condition of bones and muscles and organs . . . so that they can return to health.”

  Now it was Promi’s face that suddenly looked grim. “What was that you said about a cost?”

  “It’s simple,” she said with a sigh. “Every time you use this power to hear the deepest vibrations of the world . . . you must make a sacrifice.”

  “Like what?”

  “For something easy, like reading someone’s thoughts or seeing a hidden object like a sword behind a curtain, your sacrifice could be small. But for something more difficult, like healing someone’s broken body, the price would be higher.”

  He eyed her with gratitude. “Like giving up all your hair.”

  Tenderly, she rubbed her bare scalp. “Yes, I suppose that’s right. But as I said, it was always so troublesome. I’m glad to be rid of it.”

  “Liar,” said Kermi, peering down at her.

  She sighed. “The point is, your sacrifice must be in proportion to what you are seeking. The more important the goal, the greater the cost.”

  In a voice tinged with compassion, she warned, “Just remember, if you ever choose to do something very large—then your sacrifice will also need to be very large.” Quietly, she added, “There are other things about how to use this power that you will have to discover for yourself. But soon enough, you will learn.”

  “Harrumph,” said the little creature hanging from the torch. “That assumes he can learn.” He blew a wobbly blue bubble that floated slowly upward. “Within his lifetime.”

  “Oh, he can learn,” insisted Jaladay. With genuine fondness, she ran a finger across Promi’s cheek. “Much depends on it.”

  She looked at him so piercingly that Promi shifted with unease. It felt as if she could see right through him, to secrets he didn’t even know he held within himself. “You have no time to spare. Do you hear me? No time. For when the sun rises on the high summer holiday of Ho Byneri, just two weeks from now—”

  “Ho Byneri?” he interrupted. Glancing down at the old monk, he recalled Bonlo’s words. “When the veil between the worlds grows thin?”

  “Perilously thin. That is when the Prophecy will—”

  Suddenly they heard footsteps clumping down a nearby corridor. Another guard! Coming closer with every step.

  Promi started. “We’ve got to escape!” he whispered urgently.

  But Jaladay shook her head. “There is no escape. Unless . . . you use your new power.”

  His eyes widened. “B-but . . . I don’t know how.”

  “Then learn how,” she commanded. “Use it now!”

  The footsteps grew louder, echoing in the dungeon. “Jobo,” called the approaching guard. “Where are you?”

  With a quick glance at the unconscious guard beside them, Promi thought fast. What had she told him to do? Make a sacrifice. Then say those words.

  Quickly, he chose to give up his gold earring, acquired so recently from the temple guard. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the earring, thinking about
its golden sheen and its weight on his earlobe.

  With great determination, he whispered, “Listen one, listen all.”

  Nothing happened.

  He opened his eyes, puzzled. Hearing the footsteps steadily approaching, he looked pleadingly at Jaladay. “Help me!”

  She merely crossed her arms and said nothing.

  Mind racing, Promi wondered what he’d done wrong. Maybe I need to get rid of the earring, to prove this is really a sacrifice.

  He pulled it off and threw it away. The earring clinked and rolled down the torchlit corridor.

  “Jobo,” called the other guard. “Talk to me, you big oaf! Where are you?”

  Again Promi whispered, “Listen one, listen all.”

  Still nothing happened.

  Frantically, he thought, Try something bigger! That’s the answer.

  He pulled open his tunic, revealing the mysterious scar. In the flickering torchlight, the bird’s black wings seemed to beat, as if flying. As soon as she saw this, Jaladay caught her breath.

  “I’ll sacrifice this scar,” said Promi. “I’d be just as happy without it, anyway.”

  Jaladay didn’t respond. She just continued to stare at the strangely beating wings on his chest.

  Hurriedly, he said the Listener’s chant.

  Seconds passed. The guard’s footsteps grew ever louder. He was close now—just around the corner.

  Nothing! No magic at all.

  Growling with frustration, Promi said to Jaladay, “What do I do? You’ve got to tell me!”

  She shook her head. “That I cannot do. What remains for you to learn, you must find out yourself.”

  “But the guard—”

  Abruptly, the footsteps stopped. Looking straight at them from the other end of the corridor was the guard just as brawny as his companion slumped on the floor.

  “Jobo!” he cried, enraged. Drawing his broadsword, he raced headlong toward Promi and the others.

  “Now,” said Kermi dryly, “would be a good time to learn how the magic works.”

  “I can’t!” Promi shouted, staring fearfully at the oncoming guard.

  Jaladay sighed. “All right, then. I’ve saved just enough magic to do this. So now . . . I will make my final sacrifice.”