Atlantis in Peril (11 page)

Unending Agony

Y
ou're no friend of mine,” growled Promi, struggling without success to break free from the vaporstone net.

“Or mine,” added Kermi—though his voice sounded muffled because his contortions to escape the net had stuffed a good portion of his tail into his mouth. And his struggles had only jammed the tail in deeper.

Grukarr's face, still as pallid as ever but with the silvery sheen of people in the spirit realm, flushed with anger. Yet his voice remained calm as he replied, “Whatever I say is so.”

Studying his prisoners, he stepped closer, his bootsteps echoing in the metal hold of the flying machine. Meanwhile, the hooded crew continued to monitor and adjust the gadgets, screens, and dials that covered the walls of the hold. Outside, visible through the round portals, the leathery wings beat relentlessly, making a harsh creaking sound that sometimes rose to a shriek.

Savoring the sight of his helpless prisoners, Grukarr chortled with satisfaction. “How lovely you are so surprised to see me! I did not enjoy dying, mind you. But that experience will never come again, now that I am an immortal spirit.”

He took another step closer so that he stood right in front of Promi. “I suppose,” he said while stroking his chin, “that I ought to
thank
you for killing my mortal self. Otherwise, none of this glorious new adventure would be possible.”

Without warning, he kicked Promi hard in the ribs. As the young man convulsed in pain under the net, the former priest smiled. “There. You have now been thanked.”

Grukarr glanced out the nearest portal in time to see the pair of wrathful mistwraiths departing. “Too bad for you, shadowy ones. This prize was never meant to be yours.”

Promi stiffened. Ignoring the throbbing of his ribs, he asked, “You mean this was all a trap?”

Grukarr whistled some more of the jaunty tune, taking his time before answering. Playful notes tumbled forth, reverberating in the ship's hold.

At last, Grukarr said, “The trap was perfectly executed, I might add. I guessed you would start your search for your sister—Jaladay, is that her name?—on the spot where she'd been captured. The fact that those mistwraiths were also in the area played right into my plans. And tracking them wasn't difficult. Alas . . . they are the only ones to be disappointed by the outcome.”

He stroked his chin again. “But I can assure you, their frustrations are greatly outweighed by the pleasure that my master will take in your demise.”

Grukarr's voice lowered. “You see . . . death doesn't come easily to an immortal. But it does come—oh yes, it most certainly does!”

He glared at Promi. “And my master has ways of ensuring that you experience both agony and death.”

He licked his lips, as if he was just about to eat a tasty treat. “First, though, I have some
presents
to give you—presents I've been saving for just this occasion.”

“I'm surprised Narkazan took you back again,” growled Promi. “After how badly you botched his plans for the Starstone and the invasion.”

“Some people never learn,” said Kermi in his muffled voice.

Grukarr scowled. “Narkazan knows that I am more ready than ever to serve him. And to torment
you
.

“Six! Eleven!” barked Grukarr. Two of the hooded men snapped to attention and faced him, while the rest of the crew continued with their tasks. “Ready the hatch—but don't open it until I command.”

Spinning around, he called to another pair of men. “Number five! And you—nine!” Like the others, the men jumped to attention. From under their hoods, they watched their captain with full concentration.

Grukarr waved at a vaporstone crate beside his chair. “Fetch the blades,” he ordered. “Attach them now.”

Under the net, the prisoners exchanged glances.
Whatever he's planning,
thought Promi,
we're not going to like it.

Kermi's eyes grew even bigger than usual as he saw the men pull from the crate a long line of rope fitted with daggerlike blades.
That's obvious, you idiot! So what are you going to do to get us out of here?

Promi's mind raced, searching for an answer. Yet none came to him. He wriggled, trying to grab his knife from its sheath, but the net held him too tight to budge. And there wasn't anything nearby—not a single stray tool or weapon—he might be able to use.

Meanwhile, the first pair of men twisted a large valve and raised several levers. The dark outline of a hatch appeared on the floor, ringed with tiny silver lights. In unison, the men marched over and stood on either side of the hatch.

But Promi and Kermi weren't watching. Their attention remained focused on the deadly blades. The men carefully stretched out the line on the floor so the blades, hundreds of them, lay flat, gleaming dangerously.

“Now,” ordered Grukarr, “apply the treatment. Don't forget your gloves, you vermin!”

Donning heavy gloves, the men lifted a small black bottle from the crate. Carefully, they carried the bottle over to the blades, opened it, and affixed a pointed top. Kneeling over the blades, they prepared to pour whatever potion the bottle held.

“Just one drop for each blade,” snarled Grukarr. Turning to the captives under the net, he added, “That is all it takes for endless misery.”

He glared at Promi. “When this potion touches your skin, it will boil and bubble. That's right—your skin will melt away! Not all at once, mind you. What fun would that be? No, all this will happen with agonizing slowness.”

Promi tried to show no emotion, determined to deny the priest any more satisfaction. But his heart was galloping. And the skin on his chest started to prickle with heat, something that happened only when he felt most afraid.

“But that,” continued Grukarr, “is truly
mild
compared to what will happen when it enters your bloodstream.” He grinned wickedly. “That is when you will wish you'd never been alive.”

Though he kept his face expressionless, Promi's chest grew hotter. The mark over his heart felt ready to burst into flames.

Grukarr turned to watch as the men applied one drop of the black potion to each blade. At the instant each drop fell, that blade would start to hiss and sizzle noisily. As the men finished, they delicately closed the bottle and returned it to the crate.

At a nod from their captain, the gloved men clasped each end of the line and started to drag it over to the prisoners in the net. Slowly, they wrapped the still-sizzling blades around the captives, making sure that many gleaming edges were very close to touching Promi and Kermi—who stayed utterly still, barely breathing.

It took several wraps to use the whole line. All the while, Grukarr watched intently, humming a merry folk song he'd learned as a youth. Finally the men finished, secured the ends, and backed away.

“Good,” declared Grukarr. “All we need now is a bit of motion. Just to stir things up.” He nodded to the men standing by the hatch.

Immediately, one of them pushed a button on the nearest console. A whirring sound erupted—followed by a sudden gush of air as the hatch opened. The men stepped back so they wouldn't be sucked outside.

“At last,” declared Grukarr, raising his voice to be heard above the din of air rushing outside the hatch. “The time has arrived.”

Facing the prisoners, he smirked. “I will enjoy what happens next. You, however, will not.”

Then, to the crew, he commanded, “Hook them up! And you, number seven—engage the winch.”

The men scurried about the hold. Several of them carried sturdy hooks attached to ropes that led to a massive winch on the ceiling. They connected the hooks to the net holding Promi and Kermi, being very careful not to touch the poisonous blades.

Meanwhile, man number seven flicked several switches and engaged the winch. A blue light started to flash. Satisfied, the man turned his hooded face toward his leader, awaiting the next command.

“Now,” Grukarr explained to his prisoners, “is the moment I have long desired. You will be dragged over to the hatch. If the process is a bit uncomfortable, I do humbly apologize.”

“Nothing about you is humble,” said Promi through gritted teeth. He wanted so badly to leap up and pummel this madman—but he couldn't move even a little bit without touching the blades.

Grukarr glared at him. “Soon you will know only one thing—unending agony! For I will throw you outside the ship, where you will slam and bounce against the hull for the rest of this night as we fly to Narkazan's lair. Blades will slice you, poison will devour you. And then, whatever remains of you and your furry pet, my master will give you his most special welcome.”

Kermi growled angrily—not just to hear about the painful torture to come, but to have been called someone's pet. The very idea!

Triumphant, Grukarr strode over to the hatch. Positioning himself right next to it so that he could see out the opening—and, he hoped, hear every scream of terror—he chortled. Then he turned his head toward the man at the winch controls, who was standing just behind him.

“Proceed,” Grukarr commanded.

Dark Waves

A
s Grukarr's command rang out, man number seven nodded eagerly. Though he was much shorter than his captain, he drew himself up to his full height to show how proud he felt about what he was going to do.

Standing by the open hatch, Grukarr smirked. He watched triumphantly as the man reached his hand toward the winch controls.

I have waited so long and suffered so much for this,
thought the former priest. His eyes darkened like a stormy sky.
Now it's their turn to suffer.

Grukarr turned around to view the prisoners, helpless under the net. No matter how many times he had envisioned this scene, the reality was going to be better. Much better.

Promi and Kermi glared at him. Though they couldn't do anything to prevent the horrible torture awaiting them, they could at least deny their enemy any show of fear. Yet both of them knew they'd soon plunge into the worst misery they'd ever known. Promi's whole chest prickled with heat.

Then man number seven, standing behind Grukarr, did something unexpected. He pulled back the hand that was reaching for the controls—and suddenly charged at Grukarr, hurling the full weight of his body into his leader's back! Both of them tumbled to the edge of the hatch.

“What—?” bellowed Grukarr. Purple with rage, he caught himself just before falling through the opening.

With one hand, he grabbed the throat of his assailant. The man's hood fell back, revealing a white-haired man with a kindly face—a face that Grukarr had never expected to see again.

Promi gasped, just as surprised as Grukarr. If not for the poisonous blades surrounding him, he would have leaned forward to make sure his eyes hadn't deceived him.

Bonlo!
He blinked, astonished by the sight of the old monk who had taught him so much in the terrible dungeon of Ekh Raku. And who had given his life to save Promi's.

“You!” shouted Grukarr, glaring at the elderly monk. “How dare you come here?”

The monk's eyes gleamed. Through his constricted throat, he said, “Did you really think an ogre like you could get to the spirit realm, but not me?”

“Why you mutinous, dastardly old fool!” Grukarr's free hand reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a dagger. “You deserve to—”

Bonlo kicked with all his might, landing his boot right in Grukarr's crotch. The big man howled and doubled over, dropping his dagger. Bonlo jumped on his foe, even as he shouted, “Now, men!”

Immediately, three or four of the hooded men pounced on the others, pulling them away from their controls. Two more men, meanwhile, donned heavy gloves and set to work freeing Promi and Kermi from the deadly blades wrapped around the net. But with no more crew flying the ship, the whole craft started to twist and spin—even as it veered down toward the roiling sea below. Vaporstone panels bent and buckled from the increased forces, while mechanical parts screamed.

“Hurry!” cried Promi as the men tried desperately to remove the blades.

Yet such intricate work couldn't be rushed. The men did their best to untangle the prisoners, but progress was slow—too slow. The ship was spinning out of control!

Then, to make matter's worse, one of Grukarr's loyal crew leaped at a man helping the prisoners. They fought brutally, slamming each other with blows. Kermi managed to stretch out his tail and smack that attacker in the eye—but the fight continued.

All the while, Grukarr and Bonlo wrestled on the floor, both groping for the dagger. Locked together, they rolled perilously close to the hatch. Grukarr was just about to grasp the weapon when the ship reeled, sending them both careening into a wall.

Finally clasping the dagger, Grukarr roared with rage. He leaped on Bonlo and waved the blade in his face. “Maybe I can't kill you, now that you're immortal. But I can certainly cut out your tongue, your eyes, and more! And if I can cause you enough pain . . . then perhaps you'll meet your true death.”

Outside, one of the mechanical wings suddenly broke off. The ship lurched, spinning faster and faster as it dived toward the ocean. Grukarr was thrown sideways, which gave Bonlo a chance to wriggle free. But the wrathful servant of Narkazan stumbled after him, brandishing the weapon.

One of Grukarr's men, thrown backward by a blow, slammed into the wall of levers and buttons that controlled the winch. He slumped to the floor, unconscious. But the impact had started the winch. Its gears grinded, then the winch started pulling the ropes attached to the prisoners' net.

Finally able to move one arm, Promi tried to extract himself without touching any of the blades that sizzled with poison. All at once, a sharp tug pulled on the net, nearly knocking his face into a mass of blades. The winch! Pulling the ropes!

All around the hold, people fought desperately. Grukarr, blind to anything but revenge, charged Bonlo. The ropes from the winch tightened, only seconds from dragging the net to the open hatch—with Promi and Kermi certain to be sliced. At the same time, the flying ship reeled and spun, plummeting toward the sea.

Just as the ropes fully tightened, Kermi broke free of the net. Like a bolt of blue lightning, he sprang over to the controls. Madly, he pounded every button in sight. The winch halted abruptly.

One of the buttons he'd pushed, though, turned out the lights. The furious battle continued—but in total darkness.

“Turn them back on!” shouted Promi. “I can't get out without some light!”

Kermi's ears swiveled in confusion. Which buttons should he push? With no time to decide, he hit them all.

The lights came back on. So did the winch. Relentlessly, it started to pull the ropes again.

Promi, meanwhile, could move enough now to reach his knife. He grabbed the hilt and started slicing through the vaporstone net. The blade flashed as it severed his bonds—but other blades, hissing with poison, also flashed all around him.

The remaining wing broke off. Now the ship plunged downward with even more speed, only heartbeats from crashing into the dark, brooding waters below.

“Got you!” crowed Grukarr. Seizing Bonlo by the shoulder, he locked gazes with his old teacher. “You've spoiled my plans for the last time!”

Grukarr thrust his dagger at the old monk's chest. At the same instant, someone plowed into Grukarr, sending him flying. Bonlo twisted to see the face of his rescuer. Promi!

Grukarr stumbled backward. He, too, saw Promi and released a vengeful roar. His eyes practically blazed with wrath. Then, without warning, he stepped right into the open hatch.

The roar morphed into a terrified scream as Grukarr plunged through the hatch. Promi watched him vanish, then crawled back over to Bonlo.

The old monk tried to rise—but groaned and fell back. His grateful expression suddenly turned grim. For he felt Grukarr's dagger embedded in his heart. Blood poured from the wound, soaking his robe.

Promi kneeled beside his old friend. Seeing Bonlo's wound, he cringed.

“Don't worry, lad,” said the old monk weakly. “It was worth everything to see that look on his face just now!”

“That was nothing compared to his look when you first plowed into him.” Promi tried to grin. “And when you kicked him where it hurts.”

Bonlo brightened a bit. “Every monk should have martial arts training, you know.” He winced at the pain in his chest. “Even if it hurts.”

Suddenly grim, Promi asked, “What happens to you now? If your spirit body perishes and can't be renewed?”

“Don't know, lad.” He coughed painfully. “I've never before died . . . after I already died!”

Bonlo coughed once more, this time spitting blood. “But you, good lad,” he said with difficulty, “you
must
survive.”

“I don't want to lose you again, Bonlo.”

The white-haired monk gazed up at him. “I knew when I first met you, lad . . . there was something special . . . about you. That you were destined for . . . great deeds.”

With a voice so weak Promi could barely hear, Bonlo added, “And lad . . . you still are.”

Even through his misty eyes, Promi couldn't miss the love in the elder's expression. He held Bonlo close, so that their faces touched.

“Er, manfool,” said Kermi, tapping Promi on the shoulder. “If you'd like to get off before we crash into that ocean, you'd better—”

Before he could finish, Promi scooped Bonlo into his arms and staggered over to the hatch. Kermi jumped onto the young man's shoulder just as he leaped.

A fraction of a second later, the ship smashed into the churning waves, exploding into thousands of pieces. Broken vaporstone panels, gadgets, wheels, glass, and bodies rained down on the sea. Everything from the ship disappeared into the depths.

Including Promi and his friends. No sign of them remained. Meanwhile, as if nothing had happened, the dark waves rolled on and on.