Atlantis Rising (25 page)

A Silver Wind

Death is your constant companion, Promi, as close to you as a rider to his steed.

—From her journal

S
oaring like a silver wind, Theosor raced away from the cloud palace. He pawed the air constantly, even as his invisible wings vibrated in the mist. Seated on his shoulders, Promi clutched the wind lion’s billowing mane.

“Harrumph,” said the blue kermuncle clinging to the young man’s shoulder. “That was the sloppiest escape I’ve ever seen.”

“It worked,” answered Promi. “By the way . . . thanks for your help back there.”

Kermi shrugged his little shoulders. “It was either that or die. I just chose the least nasty option.”

Digging his fingers into the lionsteed’s mane, Promi grinned.

“At least,” Kermi went on, “we won’t have any more excitement today. All we need to do is escape from this realm without getting caught.”

The wind lion shook his great head. “That won’t be easy, kermuncle.”

“But you’re flying so fast,” protested Kermi. “How could Narkazan ever—”

His sentence ended as Theosor swerved abruptly to avoid a barrage of black-tipped arrows. One came so close that its fletching brushed against Promi’s ear; another one sliced through the torn flap of his tunic.

“Er, Theosor?” Kermi hunched lower, pressing his whiskered face against Promi’s shoulder. “You might have a point there.”

Casting his gaze to the rear, Promi saw a massive horde of angry immortals in hot pursuit. Hundreds of them! Flying fast—and gaining steadily.

Mistwraiths flew like shadowy comets, crackling with sparks, leaving trails of blackness behind them. With them came a shrieking throng of liquid beasts whose bodies flowed through the air, and whose watery mouths bubbled with dagger-sharp teeth. Yet those teeth seemed gentle compared to those of the huge dragons whose red wings flashed with every stroke. And even more terrifying were the insectlike beasts who had no teeth at all—just multiple eyes and curling, blood-soaked tongues that stretched toward the wind lion.

Among the pursuers came a monster that resembled a winged dinosaur with three separate heads. Worse yet, every few seconds, the heads would dissolve and form again into new ones. Some heads had jaws strong enough to crush boulders, and some had eyes that flashed with black lightning. The only thing the heads had in common was the same deafening roar—and they roared constantly.

Right beside the many-headed dinosaur came a whole troop of amber giants, the same sort of burly, four-armed warriors who had attacked Promi in Narkazan’s chamber. Flying faster than Promi would have thought possible, their leathery wings buzzing, they resembled a swarm of enormous bees. And their amber-colored bodies, bulging with muscles, bore weapons of all kinds: gleaming swords, silver-bladed axes, bundles of sharp spears, and bows and arrows slung over their immense shoulders.

At the front of the horde flew scores of warriors in human form. They were the archers who had shot the deadly arrows—and they were now about to release another volley. Exactly how they flew was a mystery of the spirit realm, for they had no wings to carry them aloft. And yet, like Theosor, they could fly with astounding speed.

Though some of the archers were tall and others stout, all had the same mist-colored skin as Narkazan. And they all wore creamy satin robes like their master. Their uniform also included, it seemed, an identical expression, which Promi could recognize even at a distance—intense fury.

Flying at the head of the immortals was the commander himself. If the army was a spear, he was its point. Narkazan’s face, thin and sharp as a blade, now bore deep gouges around his eyes from Kermi’s assault. And those eyes, as red as his tusks, smoldered like fire coals.

“Shoot!” he ordered, waving angrily at the archers. “And this time, hit the target!”

A huge volley of arrows whizzed through the air, straight at Theosor and his passengers. At that instant, the lion veered sharply and plunged into a windy tunnel of swirling vapors. The howling gusts scattered the arrows, offering a temporary shield from the attack.

Even above the winds, Promi could hear Narkazan’s shouts of rage. No shield could hold back his wrath.

Theosor shot out of the swirling tunnel, then flew into a wall of dark, stormy vapors. Bolts of lightning erupted all around, illuminating the darkness, accompanied by deafening booms of thunder. The noise and flashes were constant, as were the buffeting winds, yet somehow he held true to his course. All Promi could do was hold tight to the lion’s mane . . . and hope they wouldn’t be struck by lightning.

One major blast struck so close that it knocked the wind lion sideways. Promi cried out as he started to slide off. One of his hands lost hold of the wind lion’s mane, and the other was slipping fast. Roaring with the strain, Theosor fought to right himself—and did so just in time to stop Promi from falling.

Relieved, Promi hugged the wind lion’s neck, smelling the sweat that glistened on the fur. He could feel the powerful muscles tense as they surged forward. “Are you all right, Theosor?”

“No, cub, I am not! And I won’t be until we escape.”

Promi glanced behind. In the next flash of lightning, he saw dozens of dark shapes through the vapors. Even closer than before! Narkazan’s horde was still gaining on them. Now the many-headed dinosaur’s roar was so loud it rattled Promi’s bones.

They burst out of the stormy vapors into a wide open cloudscape that stretched endlessly before them. Fluffy mounds, too many to count, radiated all the colors of rainbows. These brightly-hued clouds reminded Promi of an enormous field of wildflowers . . . but he knew that each of them was really a world unto itself, with many more worlds hidden within. Looking closely, he glimpsed a colorful array of towers on one, a mass of mottled caverns on another, and what might have been a misty form of fire burning on yet another.

“Get them!” shouted Narkazan to his troops. He wasn’t far from his prey now, and his eyes flashed vengefully. “They must not escape!”

Theosor swerved suddenly, plunging straight down into a cloud, a deep blue one that seemed to toss and sway like waves. Instantly, a blue ocean poured over them. Promi coughed and swallowed water, unable to breathe. From somewhere behind, he heard the dinosaur’s roar change to a choking, gagging sound.

The wind lion continued to force his way ahead, paddling with his huge paws through this liquid world. While it was almost impossible to see, they heard strange sounds, magnified greatly, echoing all around them. Promi heard Narkazan growling angrily right behind them.

At last, they exploded out of the water—and into a realm of enormous, shifting strings of mist. Rising higher than anyone could see, the vaporous strings twisted and vibrated with majestic slowness. As soon as he’d stopped coughing and could breathe again, Promi realized that the great strings were making rich, deep sounds. Like a gargantuan harp, they produced the most wondrous music he’d ever heard.

No time to savor that music, though. A new volley of arrows whizzed past them—not as many as before, but far too close. Swinging his head around, Promi saw that they had fewer than a hundred pursuers now. Though the army didn’t include the dinosaur with the shifting heads or most of the amber giants, the warriors who had stayed with them—including most of the liquid beasts—loomed closer than ever.

Narkazan caught his gaze. “I shall kill you, mortal! You and that blue demon, as well as your lion.” Waving his clenched fist, he screamed, “The Starstone is mine!”

“Never!” Promi called back, glancing down at his pocket.

Abruptly, Theosor veered upward, climbing parallel to the misty harp strings. Narkazan and his forces did the same, pressing closer. Then, without warning, the wind lion flipped over backward. He spun a complete circle in the air, so fast that Promi had just shouted that he was falling off when he landed securely again. Only then did he realize that, in the middle of the flip, Theosor had flown directly
into
one of the vaporous strings.

The world around them stretched and contracted, twisting and expanding without end. Everything changed continuously. It was as if they had dived into a constantly bending mirror. Misty shapes emerged and then vanished, stretched to infinite size and then shrank down to nothingness.

No one could follow us here,
thought Promi.

They burst out of that surreal realm—and he realized right away he was wrong. Behind them came Narkazan and at least sixty of his warriors. More than half were mistwraiths, crackling with rage. The rest included archers, red-winged dragons, liquid beasts, amber giants, and one insectlike being with hundreds of bright yellow eyes that were all trained on Promi.

Theosor pivoted and plunged into a mass of mist where huge bubbles rose and fell and swirled on all sides. Each bubble, Promi realized with a jolt, held an entirely different world—some brightly lit, others shrouded by darkness, and others metamorphosing from one luminous color to the next.

But Narkazan came as well. Now he flew so close that only a few lengths separated them. His vicious tusks gleamed ominously. Then he raised his arm to give a new command.

Instantly, Theosor dived into one of the darkest bubble worlds. Night surrounded them, a darkness so deep that Promi suddenly wondered whether they had lost not only light but also the ability to see. In that utter blackness, his deepest doubts swelled. Would they survive? Escape Narkazan? Return the Starstone to Earth?

No,
he told himself grimly.
We can’t possibly get away! There are too many of them. And they’re much faster and stronger than we are.

Even Theosor seemed to feel the oppressive weight of the darkness. His wings’ vibrations slowed; his worries grew. He knew well they had entered a voidlike realm that extinguished not only light but also hope, a place where doubts and terrors thrived. Yet he couldn’t fight off the growing fear that all his efforts counted for nothing. The wind lion’s sturdy neck began to droop lower.

Just then the crystal in Promi’s pocket began to glow. Small as it was, it held enormous power to magnify the magic around it—whether from an entire forest or a single wind lion. Slowly, the light swelled. Like a fire coal that brightens steadily until, at last, it bursts into flame, the Starstone became incandescent.

With that magical light, the companions’ moods brightened. Promi straightened himself, feeling a surge of hope. Kermi’s tail squeezed him with renewed strength. And Theosor released a mighty roar.

They flew out of the darkness into a new realm, one where everything moved in reverse. Backward they zipped through twisting corridors of mist. Alas, flying just in front of them—behind them, really—came Narkazan and a dozen warriors.

Theosor careened sharply into a deep crevasse. Immediately, they entered a realm of such thick mist it seemed almost solid. Any movement—even breathing—was agonizingly difficult. Promi strained to tilt his head, but lacked the strength. With a heroic effort, Theosor turned toward a pulsing circle of light. Muscles straining, he carried them into it—and they could move again.

Light flashed, illuminating a boundless cloudscape. Then the light went out, casting everything into darkness, until it flashed again. This on-off pattern repeated constantly, making every movement seem to jump. Moreover, to Promi’s surprise, he had no memory of what had happened between flashes. He guessed that in this realm, time was endlessly fragmented, flowing in disconnected bursts. One instant they were in a fixed position at a certain place, and the next instant all that had changed, with no connection between the two isolated scenes.

When Promi looked back, however, he saw that Narkazan had followed. Only a few mistwraiths now accompanied him, but with every new pulse, the warlord of the spirit realm came closer. Just then, Narkazan reached out to grab Theosor’s tail. Promi realized that, with the very next pulse, he would catch them.

In that instant before the next flash of light, the wind lion swerved. They plunged into a shimmering patch of mist. Theosor’s move came so abruptly that it caught Narkazan off guard. He, too, veered to follow, but a small gap had opened between them.

“Good work!” cried Promi.

Theosor’s head shook. “Not good enough. He’s going to catch us, unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless I do something drastic.”

Promi cocked his head, wondering what could be more drastic than what they had already endured. “Do whatever it takes.”

The wind lion soared deeper into the mist. He angled sharply right and then left, plunged into new crevasses, and vaulted over luminous archways.

Yet still Narkazan pursued. Though he now flew alone, he drew closer every second.

Theosor flew into vaporous canyons and through nearly invisible holes.

Still Narkazan pursued.

Then the wind lion found the strength somehow to surge with a new burst of speed, moving as fast as silver lightning.

Still Narkazan pursued. Now he was just an arm’s length behind, close enough that Promi could hear his snarls.

Theosor veered sharply, diving through the darkest crack in a swirling cloud. Winds gusted over them, making it difficult to fly straight. He turned his head briefly, glancing back at Promi with a great brown eye.

Desperately, Theosor said, “We near the Maelstrom! Those who fall into it never return. Are you willing?”

With no hesitation, Promi replied, “Take us!”

The wind lion roared.

Deeper into the swirling storm they plunged. Narkazan reached toward them—almost touching the lion’s tail. “Mine!” he shouted. “You are mine!”

Violent winds howled and screamed as the storm intensified. All the while, darkness deepened around them. Promi glanced over his shoulder to see the warlord’s outstretched fingers brush against the tip of Theosor’s tail.

The wind lion turned and leaped across a chasm of streaming clouds. Before them, a black hole opened. Darker than even the dark of the void, the hole gaped like a bottomless pit—ever swirling, endlessly deep.
The Maelstrom.