The Promise by Peter Lerangis
CONTENTS
Note to Reader
Seven Wonders Journals: The Promise
Notes
Excerpt from Seven Wonders Book 5: The Legend of the Rift
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About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
NOTE TO READER
From the diary of Prince Karai of Atlantis, translated into contemporary English from the original Atlantean by Nicholas and Peter Lerangis. Note: the dates of the week may not correspond to actual dates in the Atlantean calendar but are our best approximations. Footnotes are Karai’s own.
Wednesday, midmorning, in Mother’s study
HE DID IT again.
Diary, if he were an enemy invader,1 I would pluck out his eyes and march him through the streets naked on the back of a hose-beaked vromaski. But being that Massarym is my brother and my twin, all I can do is tolerate him. And complain to you.
I had a plan. It was going to be extraordinary. Groundbreaking! You know what I speak of, Diary. For all these years, I have promised to live up to my potential. I have written here, over and over, how I would stop writing all the time and instead do things. I would stop being so tongue-tied in front of people. Today I was going to show off the fruits of my months of research, my incredible new abilities. Atlantis would begin to know and respect its future king.
But—surprise of surprises—Massarym jumped in and ruined everything. No one will remember what I did today. And here I sit in Mother’s dreary study, filled with strange liquids in old jars, stacks of books and parchments, equations written on the walls and all surfaces, and the half-collapsed skeleton of a dwarf griffin.
I was so looking forward to this opportunity. For the next week, our family is hosting King Sh’anar of the nation of Akkadia, along with his entire royal family and a delegation of viziers, ministers, and servants. Foreign visitors—here in Atlantis! For the first time in all my seventeen years! According to Mother and Father, we must impress the Akkadians as we enter this exciting new age—the age of Karai. At long last we will be ending our decades of isolationism, creating new diplomatic relations, sharing the fruits of our joyous prosperity. For too long we have kept to ourselves while other nations suffered, and this can only build resentment. Strong relations with the Akkadians would connect us to the Greeks, the Phoenicians, the Egyptians, the Hittites. We will become a valuable trade partner and ally to all mainland nations—a leader across the world! “Greatness cannot exist if nobody knows who you are,” Mother has always insisted.2
I agree. And I have been working to revolutionize the special abilities of our family and Atlanteans in general. My hours in the laboratories with Grand Wizard Malarchos have—
No time for that. Mother will arrive soon. Where was I? Oh, yes. We all stood taking in the grandeur of the Parade Grounds, our newly constructed stadium. Tiered marble stands rose around us. The grass, carefully trimmed by an army of servants, stretched in all directions like a bright green tapestry. It rustled in the breeze under a blazing sun. Small clouds flitted across a crisp blue sky. As Mother explained the purposes of the Parade Grounds to King Sh’anar, translations were made by the plump Akkadian vizier, Xanthos. The vizier is a short, fat man with a pouchful of nuts and figs at his belt that seemed never to go empty.
This was my chance. A perfect time to screw up my courage and debut my greatness. To demonstrate what I, Karai, the next in line to the Atlantean throne, could do. By dint of my own hard work.
My moment.
I scratched the back of my head and took a deep breath. But before I could open my mouth, my brother took off into the sky like a cannonball. As far as any of the visitors could understand, he actually held a cannonball in his arms. He held something in his arms, that was certain. Something with extraordinary magic.
The Akkadian delegation gasped.
Mother smiled. Father looked dumbfounded.
I was astonished myself. My mouth opened and closed like a South Atlantean bottom-feeding fneepfish. Massarym whooped, a high-pitched “heee-oooo” that made him sound like a farm girl riding a sphinx for the first time. This action was so unusual, so against the laws of nature, I thought it might induce fainting or a mass fleeing. But King Sh’anar, dressed in rich blue robes that hung lightly on his shoulders, gave a deep, rumbling laugh. His wife, the queen, clapped her hands, as did Xanthos. The entire delegation followed suit.
Ever the gaudy showman, Massarym soared away, then turned back toward us as if cresting a steep hill. Without warning, he plummeted steeply toward me, a wild grin on his face.
“No! M-M-Mass— By the—” I spluttered, diving out of the way, tumbling to the ground.
My brother is reckless, headstrong, and possibly one of the biggest fools I’ve ever met. He also loves attention, and my mother loves to encourage him. Unfortunately, when your mother is the queen of the oldest, most prosperous nation in the world and you3 know you’re her favorite, well, you get to do things like discover some unearthly magic and use it to soar into the air in front of foreign delegations.
And humiliate your brother.4
“Karai! Come get meeeee!” Massarym shouted, executing a clumsy loop-the-loop with his thumb pressed to his nose and his fingers waggling in the air.
The juvenile gesture isn’t what grabbed my attention. It was the glinting sphere he clutched with his other arm. As he flitted one way and the next, it caught the sun and flashed blindingly, and then completely darkened, then brightened again. The surface shimmered like water reflecting against a bathhouse wall.
All right, Diary, I can tell you are waiting for my confession. Yes, my brother’s defiance of the laws of nature was breathtaking. Yes, any human being would have been, by rights, consumed with awe! But, yes, too, it is true that I was not so flabbergasted by these unearthly antics that I could resist sneaking several long looks at the Akkadian princess.
Arishti-Aya.
Such a name, Diary! It is sweetness and song itself. As for her beauty and wit, she could melt the heart of the foulest vizzeet. She was not laughing or clapping her hands like a child, as were the rest of her disappointingly dull retinue. She was simply smiling and watching politely. I felt a tiny surge of satisfaction that she wasn’t so completely taken with Massarym’s astounding display. Maybe I’d be the one to impress her with . . . my plan!
Yes! I had almost forgotten my original plan. In comparison to what Massarym had just done, it did seem a bit underwhelming. Still, when Arishti-Aya looked at me, I knew I needed to at least try.
Yes, you read that right. She actually turned and glanced my way.
O Diary, my fingers numb as I write of Arishti-Aya. Her hair lifted lightly in the morning breeze, revealing high, regal cheekbones. Her eyes crinkled at the edges when she smiled, and her dress was a shimmer of gossamer orange that seemed to wrap all around her without a single seam. I flinched as she looked at me, embarrassed at being caught staring. I began scratching the back of my head like crazy.
But as I averted my eyes, I saw that Massarym was gone—and in that moment the entire Akkadian delegation had pivoted to stare at . . . me!
Was I so transparent in my affections? I began to stammer an apology—of course, what else do I do but st-st-stammer?—but a roar of laughter interrupted me before I finished!
Were they laughing at me? No, Diary, it was worse. They were laughing at an imitation of me—being conducted by Massarym behind my back! He hovered a fist’s breadth off the ground, making fluttery gestures with his hands and batting his eyelashes. Of course—from the air, he would have been the only person to have noticed me staring at Arishti-Aya.
He was sitting on the shimmering orb, clutching it between his knees. As I turned to him in blind
Sorry. I meant to write, in front of foreign delegations. Yes.
“It’s not polite to stare, Brother,” Massarym said with a grin.
“Th-th-this . . . this . . .” O Diary, why do words fail to reach my lips when they are clearly in my brain? Why is it I articulate here, on parchment, perfectly well—but when I become exercised and angry, my tongue takes on the consistency of a rotten Atlantean goobifruit? “. . . is not a stare. It is a glare.”
“Ah, yes, the precise writer with precise words,” Massarym said. “Let me edit myself: it is not polite to ogle a princess. Let alone drool!”
“I was not—”
I held my anger. I would not let him bait me. I knew the Akkadian royal family didn’t speak Atlantean (thank the gods). Still, at some point, verbal squabbling in any tongue becomes unseemly. So, calmly, politely, I forced a smile. I wore an expression on my face that said Please forgive my brother’s immaturity.
But Massarym was not finished! Oh, not by the length of a Atlantean archer’s mightiest shot.
“Allow me to show you proper princely technique,” Massarym shouted, as he zoomed to the top of a magnificent fig tree. “First, using your magical ball of flight, you pick the most delicious, ripest figs and maybe grab a few flowers5 on the way back . . .” He disappeared briefly into the Royal Garden to a chorus of gasps, then dived back to earth with both fruits and flowers in hand—directly in front of the princess.
Arishti-Aya exclaimed something in breathless Akkadian that I was very happy not to understand, as it had the tone and melody of a helpless swoon.
“Then,” Massarym said, bowing low to Arishti-Aya as he presented his gifts, “you give them to the adoring princess, in exchange for her heart and soul.”
I could feel my cheeks redden and my heartbeat quicken. As I understand it, to the non-twinned masses this sort of embarrassment would be devastating. But to me? You know better, Diary. Our lives have been a daily battle of wits, Massarym’s and mine. The bond between twins is a tangled knot, and my brain was attacking it with a million fingers. I would not yield to this juvenile mockery.
It was time for my plan. FINALLY.
I took a deep breath. And then I spoke. Plainly. Fluidly. In Akkadian.
“Ahu-i basu addanis . . .” I blurted out. My brother is very . . . The words were at the tip of my tongue. The word for reckless floated to the top of my consciousness. “Kaqaddanu,” I finished.
Ha! What an element of surprise, speaking in a tongue no Atlantean knew! How shocking and impressive! Now this, I thought, was vindication. Perhaps not the bedazzlement of flight, but bedazzlement of the mind!
The complete lack of response was not encouraging.
“A-a-annu?” I said. Yes?
Diary, I sense you are laughing at me, too. For expecting people to be breathless over my great skill. I grant you, this ability is not quite as flashy as flying around like a circus buffoon, yes. But these words have come to me through listening, not lessons. Through letting Akkadian words soak into my brain like seeds into rich loam, where they are fertilized by sound and context until they grow into understanding. Vocabulary. Conversation. Is this not amazing?
Ah, still you scoff—but lo! The princess did no such thing. This young woman threw her head back with a musical laugh that showed wit, grace, intellect, and refinement.
The king, as kings are wont to do, expressed his great surprise with raised eyebrows. He then turned to his translator, and naturally I listened. I caught a few new words—talmidu6, xiaddanis7—neither of which I knew before. The meanings unlocked themselves and took up lodging in my brain. It was as if a tiny librarian there were cataloguing them, shelving them, alphabetizing, building sections, and keeping watch over the whole lot.
“Talmidu, achi ni.” Student, not me, I tried. Which I thought would stand for I am not a student.
The princess laughed and corrected me. “Talmidu ni-ai,” she said, in a light and melodious voice, as if grammar lessons were the most enchanting form of Akkadian entertainment.
“Ah, ni-ai,” I said.
Now the Akkadians began speaking to me all at once—the king, the queen, the vizier, and several courtiers, all quite taken with my display of linguistic ability. I was a bit overwhelmed at first, but I was also absorbing meanings and sentence structure. And I was answering. Intelligently. It felt glorious. What I had done—all these bleary-eyed nights and ancient texts with ancient wizards—had permanently changed me!
My glory increased as I spotted Massarym out of the corner of my eye, now earthbound and positively smoking with jealousy.
“Well, then!” Father said. “I see you have been studying the language in preparation for the royal meeting, my son. Quite befitting a future king and diplomat.”
Mother gave him a look I did not understand, then pursed her lips and smiled thinly at the Akkadians. “But perhaps,” she said, “not the most exciting exercise for a stadium full of our devoted subjects, who cannot hear this conversation. I believe we test their patience.”
I bowed my head respectfully. “Then shall we release the people and continue the royal tour?” I said in Akkadian. Seeing the frustration on Mother’s face, I switched to Atlantean. “We haven’t even s-s-s-seen things . . . the libraries . . . yet! And—and I c-c-can show . . . southern coastline is b-b—”
“I don’t think so.” Mother cut me off before I could say beautiful, taking hold of my arm with that scary kind of firm calm that mothers have when they are clearly angry about something.
I should have known Massarym would not give up when ordinary, kind, considerate human beings would. Stepping in front of us with a grin that was pure deviltry, he exclaimed, “Talmidu wackamidu!”
Mocking the language of our guests with nonsense words! Wars have been fought for less than this!8 Naturally Massarym had planned another stunt, which would distract from this inflammatory act. So what did he do before our eyes? What would be even more impressive than flying or learning a new tongue?
He vanished—not a trace.
King Sh’anar, I thought, would have a seizure. His queen had to be held upright. I could hear a gasp sweep across the entire stadium, followed a breathless moment later by riotous applause.
I could not bring myself to look upon Arishti-Aya.
“Well! I am truly impressed!” King Sh’anar announced in Akkadian, which was duly conveyed in Atlantean by Xanthos the amply fed vizier.
“Thank you,” Mother said, then turned swiftly to Father. “Uhla’ar, see that our guests receive the full tour, as I attend to scientific necessities.”
“Yes, Qalani, my queen.” As Father obediently commandeered the Atlantean delegation away, Mother grabbed me by the arm. “You and I need to talk,” she said through clenched teeth. “Wait in my study. I’ll be there shortly.”
Which is why I sit here now, in abject misery, waiting to know what exactly I have done wrong. In my long, tedious wait, I think I shall amuse myself with a mental review of Akkadian vocabulary.
Life, dear Diary, is not fair.
Wednesday, late afternoon
SO, DIARY, MY good, quiet, secret-keeping friend, let me tell you how it went from the last time I wrote.
Mother burst through the door, scattering the Akkadian words to the distant corners of my mind. She sat in the carved wooden chair at the end of the massive table that dominates her study.
I stood.
“Sit,” she commanded.
I sat.
“What was that, Karai?” She stared me right in the eyes. I can’t meet her gaze when she does that; it makes me feel as if I’m lying—even though I have no idea what I’m doing wrong.
“What w-w-was what?” I replied in a voice appallingly close to a whimper.
??
I had been planning on telling her the truth—that I hadn’t studied Akkadian, at least not formally. That this ability was achieved by changing the makeup of my own brain. That I had made a scientific discovery based on her work. But her words cut me to the quick.
“RIDICULOUS D-D-DISPLAY?” I burst out. “And what of M-M-Massarym—of his flying into . . . into the sky like a c-c-clown in a cheap magic show, of his stealing f-f-figs and flowers for the Akkadian p-p-p-p-p—”
“Princess?” Mother said with a knowing glance.
“D-d-disappearing into thin air?” I barged on. “Oh, yes, all of that certainly does not make us look f-f-foolish, does it? But I . . . Karai . . . speaking Ak-k-kkadian is ridiculous?”
“Massarym had my permission to do what he did,” Mother said. “It was our way of unveiling the great wondrous power that has been the earth’s gift to our continent. You—you took us by surprise, Karai. It’s an ugly position to be in. Did you think it through? Did you want us to speak to the Akkadians through you every time we had something to say? Did you want to be the translator, with your rudimentary knowledge, so that we would communicate with grunts and gestures and nervous laughter—this to a country for whom we seek to be guides and mentors? As we reach across the oceans, we must be careful. We cannot look like fools, Karai, and we cannot look like a family divided—which certainly showed in your behavior toward your brother!”
I laughed. “Oh, I see, Massarym had p-p-permission to fly! And it was perfectly fine for him to make a f-f-fool of me with cruel im . . . imi . . . imitations! What next . . . allow per . . . permission to turn himself into a vromaski and pass g-g-gas in front of the Akkadian royal family? What great wondrous p-p-power that would demonstrate!”