Jaladay’s Vision
Much had happened on Earth since Promi’s abrupt departure from his family. But for those he’d left behind on the dome-shaped cloud . . . only a few minutes had passed.
Sammelvar, Escholia, and Jaladay traded anguished glances. None of them spoke. What was there to say after those angry outbursts?
Kermi, still asleep at Jaladay’s feet, snored soundly. Other than that, and the rustle of the wind moving across the purple honeyscent flowers covering the cloud, there was no sound. Until, at last, Sammelvar raised his voice.
“I never thought,” he said as he gazed at his wife, “that when we regained this realm . . . we would also lose our son.”
Escholia’s eyes widened. “We haven’t lost him. He just needs to find himself. And then, I believe, he will find us.”
“I agree.” Jaladay adjusted the band that covered her eyes. “Right now, what I feel most in Promi is longing. It’s even stronger than his rage or pride or resentment.”
“What is he longing for?” asked Escholia.
Jaladay inhaled slowly. “He just wants to be free . . . and loved. Same as all of us.”
The elders traded glances, then Sammelvar said, “He deserves both. I only hope that he grows . . . bigger. True freedom means a lot more than just doing whatever you please. It means helping your world be the very best it can be.”
“He will,” declared Jaladay. “I’m sure of it.”
At that moment, Kermi woke up. Opening his big blue eyes, he stretched all four furry limbs, as well as his long tail. With a sleepy sigh, he gazed up at the others and asked, “Did I miss anything?”
“No,” answered Jaladay as she bent to pick up the blue kermuncle. Cradling him in one arm, she added, “Just a huge family fight.”
Kermi nodded knowingly. “So I take it Promi was here?”
Jaladay smiled sadly. “He was.”
“I wonder,” mused Sammelvar as he scanned the thousands of flowers surrounding them, “whether the creatures on all these little worlds have the same sorts of problems we have.”
“I’m sure they do,” replied Escholia. “And I’ll bet they seem equally daunting.”
Gazing at the luminous purple bridge connecting two flower worlds, Sammelvar said wistfully, “Someday I would like to walk upon that bridge and see where it leads.”
“Maybe,” offered Jaladay, “you will—”
She halted suddenly. Catching her breath, she froze, standing as rigid as a slab of vaporstone.
Her parents looked at each other worriedly. For they knew what this meant: Jaladay the Seer was having a vision.
Seconds passed. Jaladay didn’t move, nor even breathe. Then abruptly—she jolted, with such force she dropped Kermi. But the little fellow’s quick reflexes enabled him to catch hold of her robe. He scampered up to her shoulder and perched there.
Clearly shaken, Jaladay drew a deep breath. She pulled off her turquoise headband and stared at her parents with eyes as green as a forest at dawn. “It’s about Promi.”
“What about him?” asked Sammelvar.
Jaladay hesitated, then said, “He’s gone back to Earth. To see Atlanta.”
The elder spirit winced, knowing that yet another hole had been torn in the veil.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Jaladay added grimly.
“Is he in danger?” Escholia pressed.
“Yes,” she answered. “Not only him, but the new island of Atlantis.”
She swallowed. “And more than Atlantis! The whole mortal world is at risk—and in a way I don’t understand, so is ours.”
Sammelvar touched her forearm. “Tell us.”
“There isn’t much to tell. All I know is that soon a ship will come near Atlantis—too near. Having sailed from a land called Greece in the Aegean Sea, it will have a blue dolphin on its sail. But just when it comes within sight of Atlantis, the ship will be swallowed by a terrible whirlpool! Every last person on board will drown.”
“Tragic indeed,” said Sammelvar.
“But that’s not the worst outcome,” explained Jaladay. “That’s what is meant to happen. What will happen. Unless . . .”
“What?” asked both her parents.
“Unless Promi saves them. If he saves that ship—or any of those sailors—something horrible will happen.”
“I don’t understand,” said Sammelvar.
“How,” asked Escholia, “could saving those poor sailors be bad?”
“I don’t know.” Jaladay peered at them. “But unless Promi is warned, unless he is told not to help those people . . . a terrible chain of events will begin. It will lead to the end of Atlantis—and maybe more!”
Sammelvar shook his white locks. “So if we are going to warn Promi of your vision, we must send someone else through the veil to find him.”
Jaladay nodded.
“Then we can do nothing,” he declared. “I cannot condone you piercing the veil, Jaladay—not even for this.”
“But,” she protested, “it could lead to disaster!”
“Destroying the veil would be a far worse disaster! No, I will not allow this.” His gaze bored into her. “I forbid you to go.”
Trying to comfort her, Escholia reached over and brushed her cheek. “Besides, we all know how unreliable visions and prophecies can be. They seem to mean one thing . . . but often mean another.”
“I know, believe me.” Jaladay shook her head. “Remember that phrase the end of all magic from the Prophecy? And how many different meanings it could have had? But you must hear me! This vision is different. It seems crystal clear.”
“All the more reason,” said Sammelvar, “to doubt its clarity.”
Sadly, Jaladay hung her head. She stroked Kermi’s tail, which was dangling down from her shoulder.
At last, she raised her head and admitted, “Perhaps you are right.”
“So,” her father asked, “you promise not to go?”
Fixing her gaze on him, she said, “I promise.”
“Thank you, my dear. Let us hope that, even without your help, Promi will do what’s best.”
“Yes, let us hope.”
Sammelvar turned to his wife and said, “Time for us to go, I’m afraid.” Glancing one last time at the luminous purple bridge between the flowers, he added, “May we come back again to this place someday.”
Escholia nodded, then touched her daughter’s hand. “Will you be coming with us?”
“No. I’d like to stay here a while longer.” Jaladay gestured at the shimmering flower worlds that surrounded them. “Just to savor this place.”
“A wise choice,” said Sammelvar, his face careworn. “Let the wonders of this place soothe your heart, as they did mine—at least for a while.”
Holding hands, the elders shifted their positions, making sure not to disturb any of the miniature worlds. Then they leaped, flying skyward with only a faint ripple of wind. Seconds later, they vanished in the curling mist that flowed throughout the spirit realm.
Immediately, Kermi hopped down to Jaladay’s forearm. His blue eyes met her green ones and they gazed at each other for a long moment.
“So,” she asked, “will you do it?”
He scowled, scrunching his little face. “The things I do for you! Not to mention for your idiot brother.”
She almost grinned, knowing that was her ever-grumpy companion’s way of saying yes. After all . . . she had promised not to go. But she’d said nothing about Kermi.
Her expression turned serious again. “You will find him? And tell him everything you heard me say? Every detail is important.”
Rolling his big eyes, the kermuncle growled with annoyance. “Yes, yes. Imagine someone as clever as Sammelvar saying, ‘Let’s hope Promi will do what’s best!’ Ha! Since when has he ever done that?”
She tickled his ears affectionately. “Only when you or I were around to help.”
“Precisely.” Resigned to his fate, Kermi blew a thin stream of bubbles from the side of his mouth. “I just knew I shouldn’t have joined you today.”
“Even with so much at stake?”
“By agreeing to go talk with that buffoonerous manfool . . . it’s my sanity that’s at stake.”