Disaster
Promi spun around to see what Shangri was so frantic about. The sight froze his heart—a ship, fully loaded with people, was foundering off shore!
Suddenly, the ship lurched sideways. Terrified cries erupted from its passengers. The doomed craft started to spin around and around in ever-tightening circles. A whirlpool.
Already tilting precariously, the ship began to flood as waves crashed over it. One of its three masts buckled and broke off. The mast smashed onto the deck, ripping right through the mainsail that showed a design of a blue dolphin.
While all Promi’s instincts told him he must help, he couldn’t do anything but watch. What could possibly stop a whirlpool? Besides, even if the ship somehow wasn’t swallowed by the sea, there wasn’t any place it could land. The entire coastline of Atlantis rose straight up from the sea; not a single beach or cove broke the line of impassable cliffs.
“What can we do?” shrieked Shangri, watching in horror.
“Nothin’, lass.” Her father hugged her tight to his apron. “That ship is doomed.”
“Guess I didn’t need to come all this way, after all,” grumbled Kermi. He bounded over to the edge of the drop-off. No way Promi could save those people, he told himself, even if he was foolish enough to try. And even he isn’t that foolish!
Meanwhile, Promi shuddered as the spiraling waves surged higher and higher around the ship. Some people dived overboard to escape the whirlpool, but it caught them anyway and dragged them downward. All the while, a bottomless hole opened in the sea—steadily swallowing the boat and everyone on it.
“’Tis a curse,” the baker whispered in horror. “As if that ill-fated ship should never be allowed to land.”
Kermi glanced at the baker. Truer than you know, mortal.
“How terrible!” wailed Shangri. She started to cry, holding tight to her father. “What I’d give fer a way to stop it.”
“There be no way, dear lass. No way at all.”
Promi continued to watch. Unlike the others, though, he hadn’t yet abandoned hope. His mind raced, searching for some way—any way—the ship could be saved. But only seconds remained.
Desperately, Promi closed his eyes to avoid distractions and turned his inner ear toward the sea. Then he listened—not to the shouts of the drowning people, nor the roar and crash of the waves, nor even the groans of the ship’s crumbling beams.
No, he listened for something much more distant and difficult to hear. Far below the spiraling waves, deeper than he’d ever thought possible, he listened for a voice.
The voice of the sea itself.
Speak to me, he called with his thoughts. Speak to me, great ocean!
No reply came. All Promi heard was the endless sweep and swoosh of currents, the constant tremble of millions of fins, and the distant echo of whale songs.
Speak to me, please! I am only one small person and you are so vast . . . but I am that person who caused this island to be born.
Still no reply.
Speak, I beg you!
At last, out of the darkest depths came a voice. Echoing from a bottomless abyss, it sounded as fluid as water yet as solid as ice, rising and retreating like the tides.
“I know who you are, Prometheus. Swissssshhhhh. And do you, swissssshhhhh, know who I am?”
The young man caught his breath, just as surprised to hear the voice as he was to hear his own name. His full name, no less—which no one had called him since childhood.
You are, he answered, listening with all his senses, O Washowoe-myra, most ancient goddess of the sea.
“True, swissssshhhhh. And why do you call me on this day when I have so many swells and stirrings to share with the world?”
At the edge of his awareness, Promi heard the shrieks of people drowning. He replied, To save that ship! You must help, O Washowoe-myra.
Currents surged in the depths, bearing her answer: “I cannot.”
But if you don’t, all those people will drown!
“I cannot, Prometheus. Swissssshhhhh, hhhissshhh. Much as I might want to . . . I cannot.”
Please, you must!
“Even if those people are fated to die? Even if their survival might cause, swissssshhhhh, far greater damage than you can imagine?”
Yes, pleaded Promi. No one should die that way. Do save them, if you can!
A long pause ensued before the goddess of the sea spoke again. This time, her voice sounded more distant, moving away like a bird on an ocean breeze. “If I tried to save them, swissssshhhhh, then I could not save you.”
But . . . , protested Promi. He stopped, sensing she could no longer hear him. Thoroughly dejected, he knew that he’d failed.
He opened his eyes. To his dismay, he saw the last shreds of the ship’s sail disappearing into the whirlpool. Only a few of the people could still be seen, thrashing wildly to escape. Grimly, he turned away—then noticed something else.
Shangri was staring at him. Despite the tear stains on her face, she scrutinized him with sharp clarity. “I know you was doin’ somethin’ there, Promi. With yer eyes closed and all. But what?”
He sighed. “Nothing that matters. Whatever I tried . . . I failed.”
Kermi, who had been listening, breathed his own sigh. But his was one of relief.
Suddenly, Morey gasped. “What in the name of everlastin’ life is that?”
In the distance, a new wave was rising. No ordinary wave, it grew swiftly, lifting high above the surface like a hill, then a mountain, then a whole range of mountains. Powerful, gigantic, and as broad as it was tall, the wave rose skyward.
Stunned, the group on the cliff watched the mountainous wave swell. Then, all at once, they realized it was moving. Straight toward Atlantis!
With gathering speed, the great wave raced toward them. It towered above the waves, casting the whole island into shadow.
“Run!” cried Promi. He grabbed Shangri’s arm and pulled.
“Wait!” she shouted, refusing to budge. “It’s changin’ shape!”
Promi and the others halted. Sure enough, the wave was condensing, drawing itself together into a new shape—one they immediately recognized.
A great, watery whale’s tail.
While they watched in awe, the enormous whale’s tail arched gracefully, shedding rivers of water onto the surface of the sea. Then, dipping downward, it swept into the very place where the ship had vanished. With an unstoppable surge of power, the whale’s tail scooped out the ship and all its people and hurled them on top of the cliff.
Water cascaded down on Promi and the others, more than any rainstorm they’d ever experienced. Though it didn’t last long, it drenched them all completely.
Just as the downpour abruptly ceased, something heavy fell from the sky. A body! It landed right on top of Morey and knocked him flat.
“Oof!” cried the plump baker, struggling to sit up. Beside him, a boy around twelve years old moaned and also tried to sit up. Rubbing his head, the boy blinked at Morey in disbelief.
“But . . .” said the boy, mightily confused, “I thought . . . I drowned.”
“Ye did drown,” said Morey, no less amazed. “Then ye rained down out o’ the sky, right on top o’ me.”
The boy’s forehead creased in concern. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, lad.” The baker released a rumbling laugh and patted his belly. “Got me plenty o’ paddin’ right here. Enough fer both o’ us.”
Pushing the wet blond hair off his face, the boy smiled.
“Look!” cried Promi. He pointed down the hill. Strewn across the drenched slope lay pieces of the wrecked ship, along with seventy or eighty people. Not everyone, it appeared, had survived. But most of them were starting to move, even if they were coughing up seawater or had suffered broken limbs and bruised heads. That so many of the ship’s passengers remained alive was nothing short of miraculous.
Quietly, Promi whispered, “Thank you, O Washowoe-myra.”
Shangri clucked her tongue at him. She gave her soggy braids a shake, then said sternly, “Whatever ye do, don’t ever tell me again yer not someone special.”
He gazed at her. “All right. But Shangri . . . let’s keep this whole thing our little secret, all right?”
She pursed her lips, considering his request. Finally, she said, “All right, it’s our secret. But only if ye’ll tell me everythin’! I want the truth, now—yer whole thumpin’ story.”
Knowing he was beaten, Promi gave a nod. “Fine, Shangri. I know I can trust you.”
“That ye can. I’m good with secrets.”
Promi glanced anxiously over at Morey and the boy. “Come over here, then. Where we’ll be out of earshot.”
Together they walked a bit down the hill where no one—including Kermi, who was moping on the cliff’s edge—could hear.
Shangri squeezed the water from her braids, all the while scrutinizing Promi. “All right, now,” she commanded. “Spill yer story. Startin’ with this here island! Ye really did have somethin’ to do with how it got created, didn’t ye?”
Promi paused to watch a silver-winged gull soar past the cliffs. “A little something,” he confessed.
“Maybe more than jest a little?” she asked brightly.
He grinned. “You don’t miss anything, do you?”
Shangri blushed, which momentarily hid her freckles. “Papa says I could find a missin’ speck of flour from a whole sack.”
With that, Promi began to talk. He told Shangri the truth about the creation of Atlantis—including his rescue of the Starstone, the final battles with Narkazan and Grukarr, the surprising truth of the Prophecy, and his ultimate sacrifice. As wide as her eyes grew at that tale, they grew even wider when he described the sugary streams, honey cascades, and sweetfruit trees of the spirit realm.
Then he told her about the Bridge to Nowhere, revealing how blessings and prayers are transported to the spirit realm. When he described Theosor the wind lion, she begged him to tell her that part again. And when he did, she closed her eyes and tried her hardest to imagine sinking her fingers into the lion’s fur, feeling his warm breath on her hand, and riding on the back of such a majestic creature.
He explained how he discovered his real identity, and that he was in fact immortal—though he didn’t mention his lingering anger and troubles with his parents. He shared the origin of his magical dagger. The story of Kermi. The secret of Ekh Raku dungeon. The truth of the great whale’s tail of water that had rescued the doomed ship.
Finally, he told her about Atlanta. Calling her “a true nature spirit” and “the most deep, most honest, and also most frustrating person I’ve ever known,” he described her life in the Great Forest. Her beauty, both inner and outer. Her playful love of adventure. Her gift of magic.
Shangri listened carefully, then said, “Ye really do love her, don’t ye?”
“I do,” he answered, his voice just a whisper. “She’s the only person who has ever—could ever—make me feel this way.” He blew a long breath. “But I don’t know if we can ever be together. Or if she even wants to, now that . . .”
“Now that what?” she pressed.
“Now that I’ve ruined everything.” He told Shangri about the different ways time works in the spirit and mortal realms. About his last visit with Atlanta, a visit that started so promisingly and ended in disaster. Last of all . . . he told Shangri about his deepest fear, revealed at the Lakes of Dreams, that he could never really love anyone.
Shangri’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “But ye really want to, I can tell!”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Promi shrugged his shoulders. “Like I said to you before, I really only know how little I know.”
She frowned and started to say something—when her father and the boy approached.
“Well, well,” boomed Morey. “Looks like yer discussin’ the fate o’ the world over here!”
“No,” said Promi, trying to sound lighthearted. “We’re just talking about our favorite pastries. Right, Shangri?”
“Right,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “An’ a few other little somethin’s.”
“Good,” replied the baker. “Well, I’ve been havin’ a nice chat meself with this young lad who fell out o’ the sky.”
At that, the boy stepped forward. With an awkward bow, he said, “I am Lorno.” Though he spoke with a strange accent, it was clear that his language was quite similar to that used by Atlanteans. “I came,” he added, “from the port city of Athens in Greece.”
“Good to meet you, Lorno. I’m Promi.”
“And I’m Shangri.” She nodded at Morey. “His daughter.”
Lorno glanced at the baker. “Ummm . . . I’ve already, er, met your father.”
The burly fellow grinned. “And he made, ye could say, a strong impression! Right on me head.”
“Are ye hurt, Papa?”
“No, my sugarcake. I’m jest fine.”
Shangri gestured at the many survivors from the ship. “So are they! Can ye believe it?”
“No,” said the baker. “’Tis a miracle.”
“Yes,” agreed Lorno. “A miracle.”
“I agree,” said Shangri with a sly wink at Promi. “A miracle.”
Kermi, who had padded over from the cliff just in time to hear this exchange, shook himself, spraying water everywhere. It’s no miracle, he told himself grumpily. It’s a whopping disaster.