Atlantis Rising (18 page)

Shirozzz

Fire can cook those pastries you love, Promi. Or fire can burn you badly.

—From her journal

A
fter a long silence, Promi asked, “So what do we do next?”

Kermi dropped down to a lower branch on the twisted tree and hung by his tail. “I have a good idea.”

“What?” asked both Atlanta and Promi.

“Eat.” The kermuncle’s blue eyes opened to their widest. “I am
sooooo
hungry.”

“So am I,” said Promi. “But I’m afraid eating will have to wait. We have a lot to do and very little time! Besides, there isn’t much to eat in this forsaken place.”

“Have it your way,” sulked Kermi. He climbed up to the highest branch of the tree.

“More than ever,” said Atlanta, “I’m convinced we need to go to Grukarr’s lair—that cone-shaped mound below the Passage. If we could see what’s really happening there, we’d know the key to all his plans.”

Looking doubtful, Promi replied, “But there’s a small matter of that huge army camped nearby. And at least a dozen mistwraiths floating around. Somebody would have to be completely crazy to go there!”

“That describes us,” grumbled Kermi. “No doubt about it.”

Atlanta placed her hands on her hips. “Now, wait a minute. The army won’t see us because they’re up on that plateau above the lair. And anyway, they’re not our biggest problem—the forest’s pancharm will take care of stopping them. The thing we really need to worry about is that evil priest and what he’s trying to do with the Starstone.”

Promi scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe we should reconsider the idea of going back to the City to take back the Starstone.” Warming to the idea, he added, “I know a pretty good thief who could snatch it from Grukarr! Before he and Narkazan can do any damage.”

She peered at him skeptically. “Are you just wanting to get back to the City?”

“No! Well . . . yes, eventually.” He shook his head vigorously. “But that’s not why I suggested it.”

“All right, I believe you.” She gave him a friendly nudge. “But I had to check.” Then, her tone more serious, she said, “Anyway, I don’t like that idea. First of all, we’ve come too far in this swamp to turn back now. And second, if I come with you to find Grukarr, he might somehow capture me—which we know he wants to do so he can get more forest magic. Maybe that is even the trap he talked about.”

“No,” answered Promi. “I doubt—”

“People!” shouted Kermi from the highest branch. “I see something that may solve our biggest problem!”

“What?” asked Promi.

“Follow me.” Kermi bounded down the twisted tree, dropped to the ground, and scampered away. Trading uncertain glances, the others followed him.

He led them around one smoking mud pit, past another where several snakes hissed at them, over a thin patch of bog grass, and finally to a mass of thorn bushes. Atlanta and Promi hesitated, seeing the perilous, finger-length thorns, but Kermi plunged right in and vanished into the bushes.

Promi pursed his lips. “Are you game, Atlanta?”

“I am if you are.”

Together, they pushed into the bushes, doing their best to avoid the nastiest thorns. Even so, sharp points scraped, poked, and tore at their clothes, as well as their skin.

To protect her little friend, Atlanta cupped her hand over her pocket, creating a shield so the faery wouldn’t be stabbed. She felt the familiar rush of gratitude . . . along with a hint of warning. What about? She couldn’t tell.

All at once, they broke through the barrier of bushes—and into the last kind of place they ever expected to find in this swamp. Bushes ringed them all around, protecting something truly unique.

“A garden!” said Atlanta, amazed.

“An oasis!” exclaimed Promi.

“A meal,” corrected Kermi, who was devouring a bunch of purple grapes. He lay on his back beside a leafy head of lettuce, holding the grapes over himself with his tail. While lowering the succulent fruit into his mouth, he said, “Told you I solved our biggest problem! Finding food.”

Tomatoes, radishes, zucchini, beans, chili peppers, carrots, and other vegetables covered the ground, while grape vines hung from a row of short poles. On one side of the garden, a patch of curly brown mushrooms sprouted, smelling as rich as any that grew in the forest. On another side, stalks of corn, oats, and sugar cane reached skyward. Like the dwarf cacao tree that grew nearby, laden with pods holding cocoa beans, none of those stalks grew any taller than the surrounding thorn bushes.

Filling out the garden were all sorts of herbs and spices—dill, cinnamon, mint, ginger, garlic, and more. Every available space, it seemed, was being used. And around the edges, someone had carefully planted an unbroken line of sweetmint.

Spying a basil plant, Atlanta picked a leaf and slid it into her pocket. “Enjoy this, little friend.” She peeked inside the pocket, delighted to see the faery already nibbling avidly on the leaf.

Stooping to pick a luscious tomato, she told Promi, “You can put aside your sweetmint for now. What’s growing here is enough to protect us from the fumes.”

He needed no more encouragement. Stuffing a crescent fruit into his mouth, he savored its sweet, chocolate-like flavor. After swallowing the last of it, he asked, “Who planted all this?”

“A fine chef,” proposed Kermi, sniffing a chunk of gingerroot before popping it into his mouth. “Or several fine chefs.”

“Whoever they are,” said Atlanta, enjoying a juicy bite of tomato, “I bless their eternal qualities.”

“Look here,” called Promi. He strode over to a circle of dirt where nothing had been planted. “This is the only spot in this whole garden that’s empty.”

Coming over to join him at the circle’s edge, Atlanta wondered, “Why, though?”

Kermi bounded over and climbed onto the young man’s shoulder. “Such a waste of space, when they could be growing some tasty melons right here.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” declared Promi.

Hoping to find a clue, he and Atlanta stepped onto the dirt. The instant their feet touched the spot, it opened like a trapdoor.

“
Aaaaahhh!
” screamed all three of them as they plunged downward.

Rolling and bouncing, they dropped underground, finally slamming into a floor of packed dirt and twisted roots. Chunks of mud and broken branches rained down on top of them. Promi untangled his twisted limbs, then rubbed his tender feet. Gazing around the cavern, he noticed that the air reeked of something like smoke.

He looked over at Atlanta, who had landed on her shoulders and was slowly rolling over. “Are you all right?”

“Nothing broken,” she replied, rubbing her neck. As soon as she sat up, she opened her pocket to check on the faery. “And he looks fine. No worse than he did, anyway.”

“How about me?” grumbled the kermuncle, who lay sprawled across some roots. “Doesn’t anyone care how I’m doing?”

“Sure we do,” said Promi dryly. “Wouldn’t want you to lose your happy disposition, would we?”

Just then, he noticed something odd. “Look,” he said, pointing up at the dim shafts of light from the trapdoor they’d fallen through. “Hardly any light is reaching us from up there. Yet down here, it’s bright as day.”

“You’re right.” Bewildered, Atlanta studied her surroundings. “How can that be?” She crawled across the dirt floor toward a deep niche in one wall. “The light, I think, is coming from over here.”

Just as she was about to look inside the niche, a glowing ball of fire shot out from it. She screamed and rolled away, barely avoiding the flaming missile. The whole cavern filled with bright orange light.

The fireball struck a wall, igniting an exposed root, then bounced down to the earthen floor. There it sat, burning intensely, directly opposite Atlanta, Promi, and Kermi. It seemed to be some sort of fire creature, shaped like a flaming hand with seven fingers. And it appeared to be studying them closely, deciding which of them to roast to death first.

The companions all huddled together, facing the fire creature. With their backs against a wall of dirt, they didn’t have any room to maneuver if it should leap at them. All they could do was watch the brightly flaming hand.

Promi glanced over at Atlanta and saw that a few of her brown curls, just above her left ear, had been singed. Without saying anything, he put his arm around her shoulder. She didn’t object.

As it considered the intruders who had fallen into its cavern, the fire creature sputtered and crackled like a burning branch. The incandescent fingers, all seven of them, waved in the air, sending ripples of orange light across the cavern walls. Finally, the flaming hand leaned toward them, as if reaching out its fingers to touch them—or incinerate them.

Atlanta and Promi backed up as far as they could, pressing themselves against the wall. Strangely, though, the blue kermuncle didn’t move. Even when the fiery fingers reached almost close enough to singe his whiskers, he remained still.

Then Kermi did something even more strange. He spoke to the flaming hand.

“Hello, Shirozzz.”

The fiery fingers shot straight up, stretching three times as high as before, crackling noisily.

“Don’t worry, Shirozzz,” the kermuncle said in a calm voice. “We won’t spoil things for you.” He waved his tail at Atlanta and Promi. “She is someone you can trust. And he . . . well, he’s not smart enough to worry about.” Lowering his voice, Kermi added, “As for me, you can trust me to keep your secret . . . if you will keep mine.”

Atlanta leaned forward and asked, “What—I mean, who—is this, Kermi? How do you know him? And what’s all this about secrets?”

The flaming hand stretched taller, towering above them. Its orange form burned almost as intensely as a star, too bright to look at directly. The cavern grew stiflingly hot.

Kermi’s big ears swiveled as he thought about the best way to answer. After a few seconds, he turned to Atlanta. “As to my secret, I’m not telling anyone. Even you. That’s because it’s, well . . . secret.”

She sighed. “And Shirozzz?”

“He is, you see, an
outcast.
”

The flames crackled so loudly they seemed about to explode. The cavern grew even hotter.

Keeping his voice calm, Kermi continued. “Shirozzz is, as you might have noticed, a firebeing. And there was a time when he used his impressive powers to cook. He was famous for his amazing meals—all, er, handmade.”

He glanced at Promi, who was wiping sweat off his brow. “You would have liked those meals, manfool. Not the quality, since not everything was sweet, but the sheer quantity. So much food that even you couldn’t eat it all.”

Turning back to Atlanta, he continued, “Shirozzz became, it’s fair to say, the greatest chef of his people. Crowds of admirers followed him everywhere, celebrating his culinary feats and hoping to learn some of his recipes.”

Seeming to relax, Shirozzz flamed less intensely. The cavern grew noticeably cooler.

“This fellow was not satisfied, though. The ingredients he found in his, well, home country—they just weren’t as varied as he liked. He started to search farther and farther afield, until, at last, he discovered the wonderful foods and spices of Ellegandia.”

The fiery hand trembled vigorously. The companions couldn’t tell, though, whether that came from good memories or bad.

Kermi’s whiskers stiffened. “The trouble was . . . creatures of his kind were not allowed to come here. Too much danger—from fires and other things. But Shirozzz ignored the ban. He persisted in visiting again and again to find the ingredients he most wanted. Especially, if I recall correctly, a certain variety of mushrooms.”

“Curly brown ones, I’ll wager,” said Atlanta. “Forest dwellers call them
monkey tails.
And I saw them growing up above.”

Shirozzz crackled loudly.

“All this continued for many years,” Kermi went on. “Until finally . . .”

The firebeing slumped over, curling his flaming fingers on top of himself. The light and heat diminished, until he seemed only a small remnant of the being they’d first encountered. Atlanta, compassionate as she was toward all creatures, felt tempted to hug him . . . but resisted, guessing that putting her arms around those flames probably wasn’t a good idea.

“Finally,” finished the kermuncle, his tone quite somber, “Shirozzz was banished forever. He was cast out from his homeland and told never to return.” He gazed thoughtfully at the firebeing, blowing a bubble that reflected the orange flames. “You see . . . Shirozzz comes from the spirit realm.” He nodded, popping the bubble. “He’s an immortal.”

An Earful

Just what, I wonder, did you hear? And, Promi . . . did you also hear its deeper meaning?

—From her journal

A
n immortal!” cried both Promi and Atlanta. Their voices echoed for several seconds in the underground cavern before finally fading away.

Both of them stared at the crumpled firebeing. Though he continued to burn, Shirozzz now looked more like a humble campfire than a towering hand of flame. Let alone a once-great chef with countless admirers.

“Even worse than being banished from the spirit realm,” Kermi explained, “this poor fellow was exiled to the most inhospitable place of all—the Unkhmeini Swamp.”

Shirozzz shrank down to a low, flickering flame.

“Although,” Kermi noted with a hint of admiration, “it appears he has managed to sneak beyond the swamp’s borders a few times to gather some tasty things for his garden. Including those mushrooms he loves so much.”

The flame sputtered guiltily.

Atlanta glanced at the kermuncle and asked, “How do you know him? When did you meet before?”

The furry little fellow stroked his whiskers modestly. “Oh . . . we had a few adventures together. In search of some special cooking ingredients.”

At that, the firebeing straightened up and brightened slightly. Now he looked again like a flaming hand, though considerably smaller than just a moment earlier.

“Relax, old friend,” said Kermi with a rare note of compassion. “We won’t reveal your hiding place to anyone. No one will ever come looking for you—not foolish folks who’d fear and despise you, and not greedy folks who’d want to use your power. You are safe.”

“That’s right,” agreed Atlanta. “Safe.”

The flaming hand reached a bit higher and waved gratefully. The orange light strengthened.

“Unless you don’t cooperate,” declared Promi, his tone harsh.

Shirozzz burst into a frenzy of flame, and sparks shot from his fingers. The cavern blazed with firelight.

“What are you saying?” demanded Atlanta. She stared at Promi, her eyes burning with their own kind of flame.

“Manfool!” spat Kermi. “You are even more stupid than I thought. As well as rude.”

“Maybe so,” answered the young man calmly. “But Shirozzz and I have something to discuss. Something important.”

“Something idiotic, you mean. Harrumph.”

Leaning forward, Promi peered straight at the firebeing. “In your time with the immortals, did you ever hear anything about the Prophecy? The one that talks about the Starstone and what’s going to happen on Ho Byneri?”

Instantly, the firebeing shot up to its full height. The flaming fingers angrily raked the cavern walls.

“Hmmm,” said Promi. “I thought so.”

Atlanta’s expression melted into amazement. Like Kermi, she gazed in surprise at Promi.

“And,” he went on, “do you know the meaning of its opening line,
The end of all magic
?”

Shirozzz exploded like a miniature starburst, so bright the companions had to close their eyes. Heat filled the cavern—but not for long, since after a few seconds, the firebeing returned to his former size. He trembled with either great ferocity or great fear.

“As I suspected.” Promi wiped some sweat off his brow. “Tell us what you know, then.”

Orange sparks flew from the firebeing’s fingertips, sizzling as they hit the cavern walls.

“Tell us,” commanded Promi.

Shirozzz resisted, shaking vehemently from side to side.

“Tell us.”

The firebeing merely kept shaking.

“If you tell us what you know . . . then we will not reveal your secret hiding place.” Then, his expression stern, he added, “And if you don’t—you will
never
be safe again.”

The fiery hand waved uncertainly, then condensed down to a flaming fist. All at once, it sprang at Promi’s face, so fast the young man had no chance to dodge. Just before they collided, though, Shirozzz veered to the side—and flew straight into his ear!

Promi shouted as the fireball plunged deep inside his skull. Atlanta shrieked. Half a second later, the firebeing flew out of Promi’s other ear, having passed right through his brain.

Shirozzz landed back on the ground where he had been before. His flaming fingers groped at the air, burning bright, as if nothing had changed. Promi, however, looked very different indeed. Eyes wide, he wobbled weakly, then fell back against the cavern wall.

Atlanta grabbed his arm and shook him. “Oh, Promi! Are you all right?”

Slowly, he blinked, trying to see through the orange flames that still danced before him. “Well . . . yes.” He blinked again, gathering his wits. “Though I don’t know how.”

“That’s easy to explain,” said Kermi gruffly. “There’s nothing at all between your ears to get burned.”

Promi spun his head toward the kermuncle. The fires in his mind were receding, so he could see at least the outline of the furry blue creature. “That might be true, you little demon. But at least now . . .” He shot an urgent glance at Atlanta. “I know what we need to do.”

Eagerly, she asked, “You do?”

He nodded, then focused on Shirozzz. “Your secret is safe.”

The immortal blazed a little brighter, his fiery fingers dancing.

“What did you learn?” asked Atlanta. “And how did you guess that he’d know?”

Promi leaned back against the dirt wall. “As to your second question, maybe I just, well . . . Listened.”

Atlanta grinned slightly. Meanwhile, Kermi’s small face showed an expression that neither of them had seen before, an expression that came surprisingly close to approval. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the firelight.

“And as to your first question,” said Promi, “I learned more than I asked for.”

Kermi waved his paw at the firebeing. “That was dangerous, Shirozzz! You could have killed him.”

The flames withered slightly.

“Alas, though,” Kermi went on, “you didn’t succeed.” He blew three or four bubbles that floated up toward the trapdoor. Turning to Promi, he asked, “So what can you tell us?”

The young man swallowed, recalling the firebeing’s visions, each of them edged in sizzling flames. Then he declared, “The Prophecy goes like this.” And he recited:

The end of all magic:

A day light and dark.

First light Ho Byneri,

The Starstone’s bright spark.

New power can poison,

Great forces can rend

Worlds highmost and low:

The ultimate end.

As the words echoed among the cavern walls, Atlanta asked, “So what does it all mean?”

“Even the good friend who taught me those two stanzas, a monk named Bonlo, couldn’t say for sure.” Promi smiled sadly, for merely saying Bonlo’s name had rekindled his affection for the old fellow, just as blowing on hot coals will revive a flame.

“But,” continued Promi, “you can bet the Prophecy is talking about Narkazan’s plan to turn the Starstone into a terrible weapon.
The end of all magic
—that could be the death of magic in our world.”

Her voice strained, Atlanta said, “And the death of so many mortal creatures, too.”

“Don’t forget about the immortal realm,” said Kermi glumly. “
Worlds highmost and low
means both worlds are at risk.”

The firebeing’s fingers stretched higher, as if he wanted to reach through the cavern’s ceiling and up into the sky, all the way to his former home in the spirit realm.

“That must be what the Prophecy calls
the ultimate end,
” said Atlanta somberly.

Shirozzz shrank back down, his flaming fingers crumpled on the dirt floor.

“That’s not all,” announced Promi. “Shirozzz just told me something new. Something important.”

“What?” demanded Atlanta.

He drew a deep breath. “There is more to the Prophecy! A third stanza that Bonlo, and I suspect many others, never heard before.”

Slowly, he said the words:

One alters the balance

Between light and dark:

The person who carries

The soaring bird’s mark.

Atlanta gasped. “The mark on your chest! I knew it meant something.”

“Exactly what,” cautioned Kermi, “remains to be seen.”

Without thinking, Promi rubbed the place on his chest. For an instant, he recalled that horrible dream from the island, where he’d seen his own wounded heart. It had been right there beside him, bleeding, and he couldn’t reach it. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t heal it.

Atlanta’s tender voice snapped him back to reality. “Do you really think,” she asked softly, “you might be the one who could change the balance?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. But maybe . . . I should find out.”

“What are you going to do?”

“You mean,” he corrected, “what are
we
going to do?” His gaze locked into hers. “I’m going to find Grukarr and steal the Starstone.”

Slowly, she nodded. “And I’m going to trek the rest of the way to his lair and find out what’s really happening there. I just can’t shake the feeling it’s crucial to stopping him—and saving the forest.”

Promi frowned. “I was afraid you’d say that. After all we’ve been through, it won’t be easy to be—”

“Separated.” She took his hand. “I know.”

He drew a deep breath. “Let’s meet in, say, five days. At Moss Island. That should give us time to do what we need to do and still have a day or two to spare before Ho Byneri.”

“All right, then. Moss Island.” She chewed her lip, surprised at how awkward she felt. “I . . . hope you’ll be careful.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

“Remember, now,” she warned him, “as hard as your sacrifices have been so far, those might just be your easiest ones. Especially with the stakes so high. I’ve heard the old stories about Listeners who gave up—well, everything they had in tough times. Their hope, their sight, or even their minds.”

“His mind you don’t have to worry about,” cracked Kermi. “Not much there to lose.”

“So be smart about whatever you sacrifice next,” pressed Atlanta. With a warm grin, she added, “I want to recognize you when all this is over.”

Gently, Promi touched her cheek. “And I want to recognize you.”

Gathering his courage, he said, “And also, Atlanta . . .” He paused, fumbling for words. “I want to, um . . . well, need to, um . . .”

She nodded reassuringly. “I know.”

He sighed. “Right now, what we both need most of all . . . is good luck.”

“Harrumph.” The kermuncle frowned at both of them. “You’ll need a lot more than that! What you
really
want is a quiggleypottle.”

“A quiggleypottle?” repeated Promi, not sure he’d heard right.

“What’s that?” asked Atlanta.

Kermi shook his head, making his whiskers wobble. “Young people today know so little.”

“What is this . . . quiggley, um, whatever?” she demanded.

“I am sorry, but I can’t help you. If you don’t know what a quiggleypottle is, you’ll have to find out on your own.”

She scowled at him. “Fine, then. Right now we have more important things to think about. Such as saving the universe. Which won’t be easy.”

“Especially,” added Promi, “with no quiggleypottle.”