Atlantis in Peril (16 page)

Devastation

A
s fast as she could, Atlanta sprinted through the forest. She followed the flock of faeries, trying her best to keep up with them. On her shoulder rode Quiggley, his antennae trembling anxiously.

Unlike the faeries' flock—which moved like a shimmering cloud through the trees, hundreds of pairs of wings humming—Atlanta couldn't just float through the woods. She leaped over streams, hurdled fallen trunks and limbs, and detoured around boulders and marshy pools. Ever mindful of her forest neighbors, she did her best not to disturb animal dens, nests on low branches, or intricate spiderwebs. But moving at such speed she crashed through many such obstacles and once stepped in a snake hole, twisting her ankle. Though her ankle began to throb, she kept on running.

Finally, the cloud of faeries reached their ancestral home, the Faery Glens. This network of mist-shrouded pools and bubbling cascades among towering, majestic trees exuded magic—both from the place itself and the faeries who had long lived there. To those with understanding, this was one of the most sacred places in the forest.

Atlanta had always loved visiting these pools, sitting quietly for hours to watch the faeries frolic and explore and tend their young. Their glowing wings zipped through the swirling mist, soared through waterfalls, and turned spins in the air. Faeries made magical flowers sprout from the surface of streams, crafted sculptures out of mud or honeycomb, danced on rapids, and dined on the nectar of wild roses, irises, and tulips. All the while, they sang ethereal harmonies that echoed around the glens.

Today, however, the faeries didn't sing or dance or do playful acrobatics. They merely slowed their flight upon entering the glens, then dived into hiding places under leaves or behind waterfalls. Whatever had frightened them so much was apparently so terrifying that they couldn't bear to lead Atlanta all the way there. By the time the faeries brought her halfway through the area, most of them had vanished from sight; when she reached the northernmost pools, all the faeries had hidden themselves away.

Except one. Quiggley continued to ride on her shoulder. Since he'd learned from the flock what had terrified them so badly, he knew where to go. And though he couldn't communicate to Atlanta in faery language (which was much too densely packed with meaning for her to comprehend), he could send her waves of encouragement to keep moving in certain directions.

Even so, Atlanta could tell that he was growing increasingly upset. He fluttered his wings nervously, sometimes even leaping into the air for a few seconds before forcing himself to return to his perch. His antennae quaked fearfully. And the shoes he'd made from hollowed-out berries clacked together nervously.

Suddenly, they reached a splashing stream whose banks looked severely trampled. By people! Fresh tracks from heavy boots marred the waterway, crushing patches of wild mint and strawberries, as well as destroying the den of a family of river otters.

Several trees had been toppled, felled for no apparent reason. One especially tall redwood had crashed down so hard that it had knocked down a dozen more trees. In addition, many branches had been intentionally broken off or marked with red flags, as if the whole area was being surveyed.

Why?
asked Atlanta.
Why would someone ever do this?

With Quiggley trembling on her shoulder, she pressed onward. The number of boot prints increased, as well as the amount of toppled trees. Then she saw, leaning on a boulder, a collection of axes, saws, and shovels. Beyond that stood an old willow whose dangling tresses hung like a leafy curtain.

Atlanta pushed through the curtain—and gasped. Quiggley squealed in horror.

Before them stretched a scene of unimaginable devastation. Vast open-pit mines exposed the rocks beneath, as if the very skin of the land had been ripped away and cast aside. Huge, lumbering vehicles drove inside the pits, scraping away more, while their engines shrieked and belched black smoke. Ditches and dams plowed across the landscape; only a few shrubs remained. Meanwhile, scores of men and women worked with shovels and wheelbarrows, hauling rocks, digging more ditches, and carting away unwanted soil and whatever plants had grown there.

Yet that wasn't the worst of what Atlanta and Quiggley saw. A toxic, yellow pool sat right in front of them, bubbling like a poisonous broth. From it rose fumes that stank of rot and death.

On one side of the pool sat enormous piles of rocks and mine tailings. Teams of workers poured buckets of liquid on the piles—liquid that sizzled like acid and washed more chemicals into the basin. Meanwhile, a stream of yellow liquid poured into the pool from a building whose chimneys belched thick black smoke.

Workers scurried everywhere. Some, with shovels, labored feverishly to expand the pool's size. Others hauled heavy loads on wheelbarrows between buildings. Still others, wearing uniforms of brown tunics and sea blue arm bands, bullied the workers constantly.

At least three of the workers staggered around, coughing and retching. Clearly sick from the toxic fumes, they looked too weak even to pick up their shovels. But uniformed supervisors continued to bark commands at them. When one of them collapsed on the mud, a supervisor kicked him until he rose to his feet again.

Suddenly they saw a new group of people moving toward the pool. Three supervisors were dragging someone, a red-haired girl, to the very edge! Despite all her struggles and shouts, she couldn't stop them. Nor could she keep them from tying heavy rocks to her limbs.

A wave of horror flowed through Atlanta.
They're going to drown her in the pool!

Urgently, she looked around for some way to help.
I've got to do something! But what?

On her shoulder, Quiggley shook uncontrollably. The entire scene struck his faery sensibilities with such violence that he reeled, almost losing his balance. His cotton hat slid off and fell to the ground.

Then, to Atlanta's surprise, the faery sent her a burst of regret—telling her how sorry he felt for what he was about to do. Still shaking, Quiggley flew off. He plunged back into the safety of the forest, leaving her entirely alone.

Turning back to the girl in peril at the toxic pool, Atlanta dashed into the fray. Ignoring her aching ankle, she ran full speed—and crashed right into two of the men, knocking them over backward. One of them fell so near the pool that he took a deep breath of the fumes and started coughing uncontrollably, while the other hit his head on a rock and lay motionless.

The third man raised his whip and struck at Atlanta. Instantly, she jumped aside. The whip barely missed her and slashed the mud instead. But she landed on her sore ankle and fell to the ground.

The supervisor roared angrily and raised his whip again. Atlanta knew that this time she couldn't escape, so she bravely locked gazes with her attacker.

Just then Shangri, who had managed to free herself from the rocks tied to her limbs, threw herself headlong into the supervisor. The force sent him sprawling. His whip flew into the pool, where it sizzled and then sank.

Atlanta sprang to her feet. Grabbing Shangri's arm, she pointed at the observation tower that overlooked the pool. Understanding, Shangri ran for it while Atlanta hobbled behind. Quickly, both of them jumped onto the rickety ladder that ran up one side and climbed to the top.

As soon as she reached the platform, Atlanta had an idea. A bold, desperate idea.

Looking over the toxic pool and all the workers at the mining complex, as well as the scarred lands beyond, she focused her thoughts. And then she shouted.

“Stop this, all of you! Can't you see what you're doing? You are killing the land—and also yourselves!”

Most of the nearest workers froze, as did their astonished supervisors. Several men and women dropped their shovels or set down their wheelbarrows. For a brief moment, all heads turned to the pair of young women on the tower—especially the one whose words rang out across the complex.

“This land was healthy and beautiful,” Atlanta cried. “Now look at it! And look at yourselves—yes, do. Nobody can survive working here! You must stop!”

More workers dropped their tools. A few nodded their heads, while others looked nervously at their supervisors. One of the mining machines halted as the driver tried to understand what was happening. Then another voice rang out.

“Get back to your work, all of you!” ordered Karpathos. Tugging angrily at one end of his mustache, he glared at both of these intruders—the brazen young woman who had dared to slow his workers' productivity, and Shangri, who had somehow escaped the punishment he'd commanded. From the platform's railing, Shangri glared right back at him.

Raising his voice again, the foreman shouted, “Back to work, I say! Any laggards will be whipped and lose all their pay!”

Several of the workers grumbled, but picked up their tools. Supervisors stepped in, shoving and cursing anyone who dared to hesitate. One worker talked back and got slammed in the shoulder by a supervisor wielding a shovel.

Meanwhile, Karpathos commanded two of his uniformed men, “Get those girls down from there! They will be punished for what they've done today!”

Karpathos's men rushed the tower. Swiftly, they scaled the ladder.

Knowing her time was short, Atlanta called again to the workers. “Listen to me, please! This is wrong, all wrong. You must stop!”

“Back to your jobs!” bellowed Karpathos, purple with rage.

“You don't need to do what he says!” she urged.

Shangri chimed in: “All you need to do is stop!”

Atlanta shot her a grateful glance, even as Karpathos's men reached the top of the tower. “Remember,” she shouted to the workers, “there are more of you than—”

A strong hand grabbed Atlanta by the arm and dragged her backward. At the same time, the other supervisor lunged at Shangri. She dodged him adeptly—and he tumbled over the railing. Immediately, Shangri pounced on the man who was trying to pin down Atlanta, and the three of them rolled to the edge of the platform.

Meanwhile, two more of Karpathos's men started scaling the tower. In just a few seconds, they would reach the top.

Looking over the edge, both young women had the same idea. With a wordless glance, they kicked free from the attacker and shoved him backward on the platform. Then, before he could recover, they rolled over the side and started climbing down the wooden structure of the tower. Near the ground, they jumped off.

Caught! Burly supervisors grabbed them both, wrenched their arms behind their backs, and hauled them over to Karpathos.

The foreman glared at them, his whole body twitching angrily. “Vermin! Both of you will drown in the pool for this! But first . . . I want you to feel some added pain.”

He snapped his fingers. “A whip!”

Immediately, a supervisor handed him a whip. Karpathos directed his men, “Hold them tight.”

Even as Atlanta and Shangri struggled to free themselves, the men twisted their arms harder. Atlanta groaned, feeling like her shoulders were about to break.

Glaring at Shangri, Karpathos said, “You first, wench. It's you who started all this trouble. Now you'll pay for it!”

Shangri stood tall and declared, “You're the one who will pay.”

Seething, Karpathos raised the whip. Pausing just long enough to aim precisely at her face, he started to bring it down.

Suddenly someone shouted—loud enough to make him stop.

“Wait!” cried a big fellow who had been working to dig a ditch. “I know her, that red-haired girl! She's been bringin' pastries to my family fer years.”

“An' look,” shouted a woman who carried a shovel. “She's no older than my own daughter!” Throwing down her shovel, she yelled at the foreman, “Put down yer whip!”

Another worker shouted in support. More nodded their heads in agreement. Someone else bellowed, “The other one was right, too—what she said about this cursed job. It's killin' us!”

Shangri and Atlanta traded hopeful glances.

“Arrest them!” Karpathos shouted to his supervisors. “After I've punished these two intruders, I'll show everyone what happens to workers who dare to disobey!”

Two supervisors rushed at the woman who had thrown down her shovel, but the big fellow at the ditch ran over to help her. Together, they held their own. More workers ran over to join the scuffle, as did more uniformed men. A frenzied brawl broke out.

People punched and tackled one another, rolling in the mud. Some swung shovels or buckets, while others hurled rocks. One worker, struck in the head with a shovel, tumbled backward and fell into the toxic pool.

Though the workers greatly outnumbered the supervisors, many of them still held back, afraid to jeopardize their jobs. On top of that, the uniformed men were less tired from long days of labor, so they could muster more strength to fight. After a few minutes, the brief rebellion started to fade out. It seemed more and more certain that the men in uniforms would prevail.

At the same time, Karpathos glowered at the two young women who had started it all. He cursed them roundly, but they showed no fear. Though their bodies ached and they still couldn't budge, they just peered straight at their captor.

Wrathfully, Karpathos raised his whip. “No need to wait until the fighting's all settled,” he told Shangri. “It's time to give your face those slashes I promised.”

He lifted the whip higher. Just as he started to strike—

A vast swarm of faeries poured out of the forest. Led by Quiggley, they plunged into battle, diving at the men and pummeling their eyes and ears with tiny fists. As the horde of angry faeries descended, men scattered, dropped their tools, and ran. Even the workers driving the mining machines leaped out and ran for their lives.

Karpathos shrieked in fright and dropped his whip. Abandoned by his aides, he dived into a ditch and tried to shield himself from the onslaught under an overturned wheelbarrow. Yet dozens of faeries found gaps and kept bombarding him.