by T.A. Barron
Promi locked gazes with Atlanta. “Don’t do it,” she said hoarsely. “Whatever he asks, don’t!”
Grukarr’s eyes flashed. “Silence, forest girl! Or I will kill you this instant.”
Huntwing clacked his beak and glared at Promi.
“Now,” ordered Grukarr, “answer me truthfully. Where is the Starstone? I’m sure that’s what you were seeking in the spirit realm—and why Narkazan called back the mistwraiths.”
Desperate to keep him from killing Atlanta, but unwilling to tell him the truth, Promi said, “The Starstone was lost. In the Maelstrom. It’s gone forever.”
Grukarr’s eyes narrowed. “You lie.” He pressed his blade harder against Atlanta’s skin. “One last time,” he growled. “Tell me where it is.”
“Well . . .” Promi’s mind raced. What could he possibly do? He could still hear Sammelvar’s warning to keep the Starstone out of evil hands—and no one was more evil than this priest. Yet if he didn’t cooperate, Atlanta would die.
“Tell me!”
Promi drew a deep breath, still unsure what to say. Atlanta watched him sorrowfully. He could tell she was silently saying good-bye.
Just then, another ray of light touched his tunic. Within his pocket, the Starstone glowed bright.
Spotting the telltale glow, Grukarr nodded. “Excellent! Your penchant for thievery has proven useful, at last.”
For her part, Atlanta groaned, overwhelmed with horror that Grukarr was going to get the precious crystal after all.
“Now,” said the priest, “before you hand it over to me, throw your dagger into the gorge. I’ve seen your throwing skills too many times to forget!” He tilted his head toward the steep cliff beside the bridge. “And do it quickly!”
Frowning, Promi pulled his shimmering blade out of the sheath. With a whip of his arm, he tossed it over the edge. The blade vanished into the vapors and clattered on the rocks. He turned away from it, hoping that, in the sparse light breaking through the mist, the priest couldn’t see the slender string that still connected the knife to his wrist.
Grukarr didn’t notice the string. But Huntwing did. The bird screeched and flew over to the spot where the string reached over the cliff. A sharp bite with his beak—and he severed it. The blade continued its plunge, falling into the gorge. Satisfied, the bird returned to his master’s shoulder.
“Blast you, boy!” fumed Grukarr, his face almost purple with rage. “No more tricks, I warn you!” He shook Atlanta’s shoulder. “Do you have any idea what I have endured? What I have sacrificed?”
Promi’s glare darkened. I could tell you something about sacrifice, you monster.
“Give it to me,” commanded the priest. “Now!”
Looking pained, Promi cleared his throat. But just as he finished, in a whisper so quiet it was almost imperceptible, he said, “One more time, Kermi.”
The thump of a tail against his shoulder blade told him the message had been received. Kermi, who was clinging to his back, crawled a bit higher.
Slowly, Promi reached into his pocket and pulled out the Starstone. Its glow expanded instantly, illuminating the swirling mist and the bridge beyond.
Grukarr’s eyes widened with greed. The Starstone would soon be his! And no one—not even Narkazan—would ever take it away.
Unable to resist, he took his hand off Atlanta’s shoulder to reach for the magical crystal. Huntwing rustled his wings in anticipation.
Atlanta, with every bit of strength she had left, elbowed Grukarr in the ribs. The blow made him stumble and drop his dagger. As he cursed wrathfully, she collapsed, utterly spent.
At the same instant, Kermi leaped out of hiding—straight into Huntwing. He smashed into the blood falcon and grabbed hold of the bird’s back. Unable to fly, Huntwing shrieked wildly and fell to the ground.
Promi, simultaneously, hurled himself at Grukarr. The priest toppled over, losing his turban. But in that tackle, Promi dropped the Starstone. Terrified he might lose the crystal over the cliff, Promi reached to grab it. Before he could, though, Grukarr knocked him aside. The pair rolled on the ground, slugging and kicking.
Meanwhile, the Starstone rolled to the very edge of the cliff and balanced there. The slightest breeze would be enough to knock it into the raging rapids below.
As Promi wrestled with Grukarr, the fight between Kermi and Huntwing grew more vicious by the second. Their screeches and snarls filled the air. Feathers flew, as did clumps of blue fur. The blood falcon’s beak snapped viciously as he tried to bite his assailant, while his talons raked at anything within reach. Kermi, meanwhile, tightened his tail around the bird’s neck.
The two creatures tumbled over each other, a furious tangle of fighting. Perilously close to the canyon’s edge, they teetered on top of the cliff. But Huntwing’s strength proved superior, and he finally loosened Kermi’s grip enough to prepare to bite through the kermuncle’s tail. Just as the bird’s beak was poised to snap closed, though, Kermi kicked the ground so hard they both tumbled into the gorge.
Swallowed by the vapors rising from the river, Kermi and the blood falcon disappeared.
Grukarr and Promi fought on. With surprising strength, the priest blocked many of Promi’s blows and hit back brutally. The young man landed several punches, but his foe showed no sign of relenting.
Finally, Promi landed a kick that sent Grukarr sprawling backward. The priest fell with a thud—then saw, within reach, the Starstone. Eagerly, he grabbed for it, but his groping hand knocked it off its precarious perch.
Grukarr and Promi both froze. They watched, helpless, as the magical crystal teetered for an instant, then plunged over the cliff edge.
A flash of blue wings shot from Atlanta’s gown and flew to the spot, disappearing into the gorge. Then, seconds later, the faery rose up again, wings whirring. Balanced in his arms, he held the crystal!
Struggling to hold so much weight, the faery evaded Grukarr’s desperate swipes and flew toward Promi. With a final surge, he dropped the Starstone at the young man’s feet and landed nearby.
Promi grabbed the crystal, then spun around and picked up Grukarr’s dagger. Panting heavily, bleeding from his lip, he pointed the blade at the priest and said, “Surrender now—or I’ll throw this right in your eye.”
Grukarr groaned, knowing he was beaten. “All right,” he said, painfully rising to his feet.
Although his white robe was streaked with dirt and blood and his turban lay crushed on the ground, he glared at Promi with all the arrogance of an emperor. “Think you have beaten me, do you? Just because you have the Starstone and that knife?”
“Yes,” answered Promi, hefting the glowing crystal in his hand. “Your time as ruler of this country has ended before it ever began.”
Weakly, Atlanta raised her head. She traded glances with Promi and managed a slight grin before her head fell back to the turf. The faery, having regained his strength, flew to her and landed on her wrist.
“Wrong,” declared Grukarr. He stood with regal bearing and snarled, “You may have defeated me in this battle today, vagabond. But it is I who will win the war!”
“How?”
“By my superior cunning!” the priest boasted. “My forces have already been unleashed—forces that will soon destroy your so-called Great Forest. The blight will spread, killing everything. And as the forest declines, so will its magic. And its ability to stop any invasion!” Grukarr beamed. “All I need to do is wait until the right moment, then command my army to smash anyone who dares to oppose my rule.”
Promi froze. He’d never realized the fatal flaw in the pancharm and the resulting danger to Ellegandia.
Atlanta released a moan of anguish. And Promi knew that her pain came from more than her illness. It came, as well, from the truth of what Grukarr said.
Growing more confident with every breath, the priest intoned, “I shall yet rule over you, vagabond! And when I am emperor of this land and many others, there will be nowhere you could possibly hide the
Starstone that I will not find it.”
He thumped his chest. “I will rule all. Anyone who stands in my way will be completely crushed. Nothing you can do will change that!”
That statement plunged deep into Promi’s heart as if it were a different kind of dagger. Grukarr was right! The forest would die, the invasion would come, and the Starstone would fall into evil hands. Everything Promi and Atlanta cared about, everything they had fought for, would be forever lost.
“Oh, yes,” added Grukarr maliciously, “I should mention one more thing.” He chortled, savoring this moment. “Your friend over there, lying on the ground, will soon be dead. For she doesn’t have just any illness. She has the blight.”
The instant he heard those words, Promi knew they were true. All his skill as a Listener told him so. Aghast, he glanced over at Atlanta. Never in his life had he felt so completely powerless.
Enjoying the sudden look of despair on his adversary’s face, Grukarr’s eyes glittered. “Poetic, isn’t it? She will die from the very same plague that will also kill her beloved forest. So she will share the fate of all those trees and creatures she tried to save.” The priest nodded. “And she will die very soon—in just a few more seconds, I am certain.”
Promi felt ready to burst. In a flash, he knew there was only one thing left to do. And only one sacrifice big enough to have even the slightest chance to do it.
CHAPTER 47
The Last Sacrifice
Whatever we give, we gain. Even if what we gain can be enjoyed only by someone else.
—From her journal
Keeping the dagger pointed at Grukarr, Promi moved to join his fallen friend. He kneeled by Atlanta’s side. Though he gazed at her intently, he still glanced frequently at the priest.
Atlanta’s breathing, more shallow than ever, sounded like dead leaves rustling in a storm. Her eyes remained closed, her skin as pale as birch bark.
Promi winced. She is going to die, he thought desperately. Unless . . .
Meanwhile, the faery remained on her wrist, his antennae drooping sadly. Although his wings had fully recovered and now shone radiant blue, he looked even more dejected than when he’d first found Atlanta and Promi in the forest.
Watching with keen interest, Grukarr smirked. Just what they deserve, he thought vengefully. Just what anyone who dares to get in my way deserves.
Slowly, the priest backed away, edging toward the nearest mud-brick wall across from the dilapidated bridge. Picking a moment when Promi had turned all his attention to Atlanta, Grukarr slipped into a dark alley. He stole into the City, whistling cheerfully.
Although he glimpsed Grukarr’s escape and could hear the priest’s whistling through the mist, Promi hardly cared. All that mattered now was Atlanta—the young woman who had become someone very special. Who had helped him learn to care for more than his own survival. Who was now about to die.
Looking down at her, he thought, There is only one way to save you, Atlanta. And only one sacrifice I can make that might be enough.
He swallowed. Please forgive me. But . . . I love you that much.
As if, on some level, she understood what he was going to do, Atlanta moaned painfully.
The faery, too, seemed to understand. He turned toward Promi and shook his head—so hard that his tiny cotton hat, already askew, almost fell off.
I must try, little fellow. Promi clenched his jaw, knowing this was his only chance to save her. And maybe also to stop the blight and end Grukarr’s invasion. It might not work . . . but I have to try.
Squeezing the Starstone in his hand, he closed his eyes. Then, for the last time, he spoke the chant of a Listener.
“Listen . . .”
Atlanta’s whole body shuddered, and she moaned again.
“One . . .”
Promi turned his thoughts toward the enchanted forest that was Atlanta’s home, so rich with life and magical creatures of every kind. And to the marvelous land of Ellegandia, unlike any other place on Earth, a land of wonder and promise and mystery.
“Listen . . .”
Holding tight to the crystal, he stretched his senses to the farthest reaches of the realm. He heard the truest voices of creatures who ran and climbed and hopped and flew. He heard the deepest stirring of the sea, and the songs of whales bigger than islands who peacefully nursed their young. And he heard the endless sweep of the wind, touching trees and stones and brooks all around the world.
With every fiber of his being, Promi called to those sources of magic, summoning their strength to himself. Within his hand, the Starstone glowed brighter and brighter, magnifying all that power.
He concentrated on his deepest desire—to save Atlanta and the world they loved. The value of all that could be saved thrilled him, but at the same time, the knowledge of what he was about to lose broke his heart.
Quietly, he said the final word of the chant.
“All.”
The sound of a fierce gust of wind raced across the canyon. It carried the voices of creatures from everywhere, creatures who had heard his call and answered. Together, they joined in a single, sustained roar of magic.
None of the surrounding mist moved, as would have happened with a normal wind. Instead, the mist started to sparkle, shimmering like millions upon millions of rainbows. A brilliant flash of light suddenly burst from the Starstone.
Promi collapsed to the ground. All the magical light faded away . . . along with his life.
CHAPTER 48
The Last True Home
Where do miracles reside? In the places where they appear . . . or in the minds where they are conceived?
—From her journal
Far away from the unfinished bridge at the canyon, in a grove deep in the Great Forest, a withered elm tree quivered. One by one, its shriveled leaves began to tremble. Slowly, they filled with green color that flowed through their veins and across their surfaces, all the way to their outermost edges. The tree straightened, drawing sunlight from above and nutrients from below. For the first time since the blight had struck, it stood healthy and strong.
All around the forest, trees revived. In the dense groves around Moss Island, the ancient stands near the Lakes of Dreams, and the glades below Highmage Hill, trees of all kinds shook off any remnants of disease. And as their strength and color returned, so did the many creatures who had lived in their branches and trunks and roots. Like the trees, those creatures swiftly regained their health.
Even at the forest’s easternmost edge, right at the border of the swamp, trees stood straight and tall again. All across the swamp itself, the shells of snails suddenly lost their lavender glow. And at Grukarr’s lair, the thick plume of smoke disappeared, along with all the cauldrons where poison had been brewed.
The blight was over.
At the half-finished bridge, Atlanta drew a sharp breath. Feeling stronger, she sat up, astonished by her miraculous recovery. She felt the joyful whirring of the faery’s wings on her wrist, but when she turned to look at him, something else caught her attention.
Promi. He lay on the ground beside her, utterly still. The Starstone, glittering subtly, rested in his open hand.
She shrieked and shook him hard. No breath. No sound. No life.
Realizing what he must have done, and what he had sacrificed to save her, she stared at him blankly. She felt numb in a different way from the blight—unable to cry or speak. All she could do was stare at his lifeless body.
Suddenly the ground beneath her shook. Though it was a single tremor that ended immediately, it rattled the gorge, sending rocks tumbling over the edge into the rapids below. In the City, just beyond the nearest wall, a tile broke off someone’s roof and clattered on the cobblestones.
The faery, startled, flew up to Atlanta’s shoulder and landed on her collar. Gently, he leaned against the skin of her neck. Comforted by his closeness, she reached up and stroked the edge of his wing. Yet she kept her gaze on Promi’s motionless form.
Another tremor sho
ok the ground. Stronger than before, this one cracked several mud-brick walls. Somewhere nearby, a roof collapsed and people screamed for help.
Atlanta looked over her shoulder at the dilapidated bridge. She wouldn’t have been surprised if that tremor had been enough to make the whole bridge collapse and tumble into the gorge. But amazingly, the frail-looking structure wasn’t even swaying. It stood there, completely undisturbed—as if it was somehow supported by invisible beams anchored in another realm.
Then came another tremor, even stronger. And another after that. Walls toppled, villagers shrieked as their homes crashed down, and the old blue cedar by the bridge rocked with the shaking ground.
But the bridge itself still didn’t sway.
In the City, the marketplace erupted in chaos. Carts overturned, animals broke free and stampeded, and people scattered in all directions. Posts holding lines of prayer leaves collapsed, entangling people trying to flee.
“Earthquake!” many shouted.
“The world is ending!”
“Save us, Great Powers!”
Within the Divine Monk’s temple, walls crumbled, columns fell, and windows shattered. Roofs collapsed, showering monks and priestesses with broken tiles. Three monks debating on a balcony tumbled to the street, continuing their argument as they fell.
The great bell tower Promi had climbed to escape the temple guard suddenly buckled. It swayed precariously, then fell into a courtyard, smashing gates and arches and an immense prayer drum. The copper dome splintered, and the huge bell crashed to the ground with a deafening bonnnggg.
Meanwhile, the Divine Monk, who had been kneeling on his favorite leopard-skin carpet to offer thanks for his breakfast, fell flat on his face. His attending monks screamed in panic and tossed incense everywhere, hoping to dispel the evil forces. But they succeeded only in covering the Divine Monk with powder. So much stuck to his face, which was perspiring even more than usual, that it looked like a lumpy gray mask. Furious, he took a breath to curse the monks—but inhaled the powder and started sneezing uncontrollably.