Atlantis Rising
Page 32
Promi rolled his eyes. “Wish I could stuff you into my boot again.”
With both paws, the kermuncle held his nose. “No, please!”
Atlanta and Jaladay both chuckled.
“When my skill as a Seer told me you’d been thrown into that horrible dungeon,” Jaladay confessed, “I couldn’t stand the separation any longer. So I decided to look in on you myself.” She shot a guilty glance at Kermi. “Yes, yes, I know. That was bending the rules a bit.”
The kermuncle shook his head. “More like crashing through the rules, ripping them to shreds, and burning the evidence.”
“In any case,” she said, turning back to Promi, “I arrived just when you bravely tried to help that poor old woman, to save her from the guard.”
Watching him, Atlanta’s expression turned to something like admiration.
“Now I see what happened!” Promi slapped his thigh. “That old woman really did die. I couldn’t save her. And when she did—”
“I entered her body,” finished his sister. “It was me you met there, though I had all her physical traits.”
He nodded. “Except for your eyes.”
She gazed at him affectionately. “Because spirits don’t belong in the mortal realm, I could only stay long enough to give you Listener magic.”
Promi caught his breath. “Now that I’m no longer mortal, all those sacrifices I made as a Listener—”
“Are ended,” she finished. “Which means, Promi, you can eat sweets again.”
“Whoo-hoo!” he shouted as the others laughed. “So . . . pastries? Pies? Anything?”
“Anything. As much as you want.”
“You’ll probably need some practice,” Atlanta teased him. “Just to get your eating skills back.”
“Right,” he agreed with a smack of his lips.
“Of course,” Jaladay went on, “the physical things you gave up you’ll have to replace.” She winked. “Starting with a journal.”
“And boots,” added Atlanta.
“Maybe not,” said Promi, wiggling his toes. “I’m getting used to going barefoot like you.”
With a grin, she replied, “What a long way you’ve come.”
“Not long enough,” groused Kermi, “to give him any sense.”
“That would be asking too much,” joshed Promi.
“Harrumph. I’ll say.”
Suddenly Promi realized something else—this time, about Kermi. Focusing his gaze on the acerbic little fellow, he said, “You’re an immortal too! Isn’t that right?”
“Took you long enough, manfool.”
“That’s how you recognized Shirozzz down in his cavern. And why you hid so often.” He squinted at the kermuncle. “So why, after we got to the spirit realm, didn’t you tell me?”
The blue eyes glittered. “Much more fun to keep you clueless and watch you struggle.”
By now, Promi’s mind was spinning from all these revelations. I’m an immortal. She’s my sister . . . as well as Jaladay. Who also keeps a journal. Kermi, too, comes from the spirit realm. And oh, by the way—my parents live on a cloud.
He looked at Jaladay. “This is a lot to absorb.”
“It is,” she agreed.
“But now,” he pressed, “there’s one more thing I’d like to understand. It’s been bothering me for some time.”
“And that is?”
“The meaning of those lines from the Prophecy. First . . . the end of all magic. And also . . . the ultimate end. What are they really about?”
“What do you think?” asked Jaladay.
He shook his head. “The meaning isn’t what I thought, anyway. The end of all magic isn’t about a person—Narkazan, Sammelvar, or anyone else. And it’s not about magic disappearing or being used for evil. No, whatever those words mean, it’s something bigger than all that.”
“You’re on the right track,” said Jaladay.
“You’re completely hopeless,” said Kermi.
“Think about the words,” she suggested. “The end . . . of all . . . magic.”
Promi closed his eyes, concentrating. In the quietest part of his mind, he Listened. The end . . . the end . . . the end. Words echoed in his thoughts; meanings shifted like the wispy clouds of the spirit realm.
He started, understanding at last. Opening his eyes, he said excitedly, “The end—that doesn’t mean the stop or the finish. No, no! It means the purpose. The purpose of all magic!”
Jaladay’s green eyes sparkled. “Yes, Promi. The highest purpose. The greatest use. The truest end.”
Leaning closer, she asked, “And what do you think is that highest purpose of magic?”
“Love.” He felt sure that was right. “The kind of love that’s bigger than any one person, the kind you give with all your mind and heart. Love of your friends, your home, your world.”
Beaming, she nodded. “So that is the highest purpose—the ultimate end—of magic. And Promi . . . that’s exactly what you gave!”
He blinked. “Really? All I did was—”
“You sacrificed your mortal life, the only life you knew, to save your world and the people you love.”
He glanced shyly at Atlanta. “Well . . . I suppose so.”
“And only by sacrificing so much—with the Starstone to magnify your power—could you summon all the magic you needed.” Jaladay studied him, seeing the unseen. “That is why, my brother, what you did is the end of all magic.”
CHAPTER 50
A Quiggleypottle
No way I would have guessed.
—From her journal
The mists swirling around the edge of the canyon began to clear. As the morning sun rose higher, all but the thickest vapors started to shred and melt away. Meanwhile, the onslaught of avalanches that accompanied the new island’s break from the mainland had ended, and the rapids returned to their normal levels. The Deg Boesi pounded through its gorge, but no longer with the crashing force of floodwaters.
Now that their surroundings were more visible, Promi looked in amazement at the collapsed walls of the City. He could see smoke rising from the central marketplace. Beyond that, he spied a fallen roof in the Divine Monk’s temple, along with a gap where the great bell tower had stood.
He swallowed. I did that?
Turning toward Jaladay, he saw that she was looking wistfully at the Bridge to Nowhere—which now, he knew well, was poorly named. It was, indeed, a bridge to an astonishingly rich and complex world. Staring into the mists that gathered along the broken beams and strings of fluttering prayer leaves, he knew that somewhere out there, beyond what he could see, Theosor was flying with magical wings.
Jaladay gazed at him. Softly, she said, “You did well, brother.”
“For a complete imbecile, that is,” added Kermi. He curled himself around Jaladay’s neck, his long tail hanging down to her elbow.
“Now, now,” she scolded. “He did everything we’d hoped, and more.”
“Harrumph. With my help, of course.”
Playfully, she tugged his tail. “Of course.”
Promi wasn’t listening. He’d already turned his attention to Atlanta. She was gazing up into the arching branches of the great blue cedar that grew by the canyon’s edge. It had, somehow, survived all the tremors. Amidst its dense web of branches, starlike clusters of blue needles oozed resin, spicing the air with a scent both sweet and tart.
It didn’t take a Listener to guess what she was thinking. Moving closer, he touched her arm. Gently, he said, “You miss the forest, don’t you?”
Without turning from the cedar, she nodded. “I’m so glad that place still lives.”
“Here,” he said, holding out the Starstone. Its facets radiated light, sending rays between his fingers. “Take this.”
Surprised, she peered at him. “For me?”
“For the forest.” He placed it in her hand. “But you, of all people, will know the best place to put it.”
Squeezing the luminous crystal, she said, “Moss Is
land. That’s the perfect place.” Then, a sparkle in her eyes, she asked, “Want to help me bring it there?”
“Was that an invitation?”
“No,” she replied. Leaning into him, she gave him a kiss on the lips. As she pulled away, she said, “But that was.”
Promi felt almost as if he were flying again, but with no wind lion beneath him. “Well, then . . . I accept.”
Atlanta smiled at him. “Good.”
Brushing some clumps of mud off her gown of woven vines, she said, “I still can’t believe what’s happened. No matter how often I think about it, I’m still amazed.”
Kermi shook his head. “Don’t be too amazed, young woman. After all . . . you do have a quiggleypottle.”
Atlanta, Promi, and Jaladay all stared at him, equally confused. “A what?” they asked in unison.
“Do I have to teach you people everything?”
“No,” answered Jaladay. “Just that. Come on, tell us. What is a quiggleypottle?”
The little fellow sighed. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes!” answered Promi, exasperated.
“Please,” begged Atlanta. “Tell us.”
Reluctantly, the kermuncle said, “Oh, all right.”
He arranged himself comfortably on Jaladay, swinging his tail over the matching design on her robe. “A quiggleypottle, Atlanta, is what you have right now on your shoulder.”
She caught her breath. “You mean—”
The faery whirred his wings, brushing the side of her neck ever so gently.
“That’s right,” said Kermi. “Faeries, as you should know, are almost never found alone. They love to stay together with their colonies in the glens. But on rare occasions . . .” He paused to watch her with his round eyes. “Nothing in the world—in any world, actually—is as lucky as a lone faery. Especially one who travels with you as a companion.” With a nod, he declared, “And that, my dear, is a quiggleypottle.”
Astonished, Atlanta reached up so the faery could hop onto her finger. Bringing him to her face, she gazed in awe at his luminous blue wings, now fully healed. And at his antennae, which stood straight and strong. Though his cotton hat was still askew and he was still missing one of his shoes, he had clearly returned to health.
Studying his minuscule face, she said, “Thank you, little friend. You kept me alive, I’m sure of that.”
The faery shrugged his shoulders shyly.
A delightful thought struck Atlanta. “I have a name for you! Something fitting. I’m going to name you Quiggley.”
The faery fluttered his wings in approval, and she felt a rush of affection.
Suddenly she frowned. “Now that you’re healed . . . I suppose you will want to rejoin your people?”
Sadly, he nodded.
She sighed, then said, “I’ll miss you, Quiggley! But I really loved our time together.”
He nodded again, more slowly this time.
“So, little friend, you’re free to go.”
The faery’s antennae quivered, and his wings glowed brighter. Then he leaped into the air and started to fly away.
Atlanta and the others watched him depart, his luminous blue wings melting into the mist by the bridge. Then, inexplicably, he turned around. He fluttered back to Atlanta and settled himself on the rim of her pocket.
Looking up at her, he vibrated his antennae vigorously.
“He says,” translated Jaladay, “that he wants to return to the Great Forest. But since his friends are now gone . . . he wonders if you would like to be his new best friend.”
Delighted, Atlanta grinned at her small companion. “I would love that, Quiggley.”
The faery’s wings shimmered with light. Then he hopped up to the collar of her purple gown and perched there.
Promi cleared his throat. “Er, Atlanta . . .”
“Yes?”
“When do we leave?”
“Right now,” she replied, her smile broadening. “That is . . . if you can keep up.”
CHAPTER 51
Things Won, Things Lost
That was when you discovered, Promi, that a heart, unlike a bowl, can be both empty and full at the same time.
—From her journal
Delighted about returning to the forest with Atlanta, Promi drew a deep breath. So much to do together, he thought gladly.
He turned to say good-bye to Jaladay—but seeing her, bit his lip. For her expression looked truly somber.
“Brother,” she said gently, “you no longer belong in this world.”
Her words crashed over his mind like a tidal wave, drowning his hopes. “But—but I . . .”
“Your home, like mine, is in the spirit realm.” She gazed at him and through him, her face full of compassion. “You know I’m speaking the truth.”
He bristled unhappily. “Well, maybe I do. But it’s not fair! It means I saved this world . . . only to lose it.”
“No,” said Jaladay. Wisps of mist wove through her hair like ribbons. “You really did save this world. But, Promi . . . you saved it for others, not for yourself.”
Still not willing to agree, he countered, “Can’t I just stay? You could make an exception to the rule that keeps immortals from living here.”
“Right,” chimed in Atlanta. “Like the river god.”
Jaladay shook her head. “The river god, like the other immortals in the forest, came long ago, before the great war. No more immortals can stay here.” She glanced at the mist rising from the canyon, then added, “Though it is a beautiful place.”
Glumly, Promi heaved a sigh. Facing Atlanta, he said, “I guess . . . she’s right. But I sure wish it wasn’t so.”
Atlanta peered at him, dejected. “Is there any other way?”
He didn’t answer. Nor did he move, except to twist one of his bare feet into the ground.
“Aw, come on,” said Kermi, thumping his tail against Jaladay’s shoulder. “Let’s just break the law. Why not? Leave him here! Then you and I can go back without him.”
She frowned at him. He frowned right back, baring his tiny teeth.
Atlanta, meanwhile, moved closer to Promi. She touched his hand. “Do you think maybe,” she asked quietly, “you could still come here to visit sometimes?”
He looked at her, this young woman who had become someone special in his life. And who might, just possibly, have become something more.
“Absolutely,” he replied, blinking the mist from his eyes. “Whatever the law says, I need to come back to this realm.” He nearly grinned. “Just to have a taste, now and then, of lemon pie.”
Atlanta nodded as a tear slid down her cheek. “You can meet some, well, special people over lemon pie.”
“That I know,” he replied. “Before I go, though . . .” He paused, searching for the right words. “Would you do me a small, um, favor?”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Allow me to choose the name of this new island.”
“What?” Disappointed, she asked, “Is that all you can think of at a time like this? A name for the island?”
He looked down at his feet. “It’s . . . important.”
She shrugged, causing the faery on her collar to flutter his wings. “If you say so.”
Promi gazed into her eyes and declared, “I hereby name this place for you. From now until the end of time, this magical isle will be known as . . . Atlantis.”
Jaladay nodded in approval. “A good name.”
“Harrumph,” griped Kermi. “It will never last.”
For her part, Atlanta blushed. She squeezed Promi’s hand and whispered, “You really are special, you know. And Promi . . . I bless your eternal qualities.”
He lingered for another few seconds, watching her. Then he turned away.
Viewing the rickety bridge that hung over the gorge, he watched the mist, noticing how it spiraled so gracefully, how it caressed each and every prayer leaf. He cocked his head, waiting for something. At last, he heard a familiar sound—the
distant roar of a lion.
Then, to his delight, he heard something else, a haunting melody that he’d thought he would never hear again. It sounded fresher than ever, as if someone was singing it just for him.
“Come,” he said to Jaladay. “Let’s go.”
She grinned. “There are some people who are waiting to greet you.”
Brightening a little, he added, “And there’s also a river of honey somewhere out there I’d like to visit.”
“Let’s go, then. As fast as the wind.”
As he viewed the bridge, Promi saw shafts of morning light pierce the rising mist. And he knew that, for the very first time, day had dawned on the newest island in the sea.
Table of Contents
Also by T. A. Barron:
Title Page
Copyright
Map of Ellgandia
First of All . . . A Confession
1: A Distant Melody
2: Flight from Danger
3: Definitely Not Virtuous
4: Spicy Sausage
5: The Target
6: Punishment
7: A Fine Day’s Work
8: Eternal Qualities
9: True Religion
10: Shadows
11: Starstone and Prophecy
12: A Blessing
13: Listen One, Listen All
14: To Hear the Unheard
15: The Bridge to Nowhere
16: Thievery
17: No Escape
18: Sacrifice
19: The Way
20: A Whistle in the Woods
21: Secrets
22: Feast of the Forest
23: A Story Whispered by the Wind
24: A Most Unlikely Vision
25: The Wounded Heart
26: The Messenger
27: Swamp Specters
28: The Passage of Death
29: Secret Work
30: Shirozzz
31: An Earful
32: Sweets
33: Confidence
34: Prayer Leaves
35: Crossing
36: The Leap
37: Riding the Wind
38: The Cloud Palace
39: The Glow
40: Her Last Living Effort
41: Better Company