Slowly the king turned, pointing his broken dagger toward the blade at the center of the Heptakiklos. Two arched lines of white, like evil smiles, leaped upward from the edge of the blade. I could see now that the jagged edge of his dagger had not been designed that way. It matched exactly the pattern of the blade in the ground.
It wasn’t a dagger at all. It was the missing half of a sword that had long ago been split in two.
A flare of bright white engulfed the space between the blades. Uhla’ar lurched forward, nearly losing his balance. He cried out with pain but held tight to the hilt. The whiteness dissipated around him like an exploding snowball, and he stood in a blue glow.
The broken blade had pulled the dagger toward it. Now the two were fused into one long, sleek sword still stuck in the rift.
“ISCHIS . . .” Uhla’ar said.
Through the rift, the Song of the Heptakiklos poured out, transforming into a noise of screams and chitters and flapping wings.
I stepped toward him. “No!” I yelled. “Whatever you do, don’t pull that out!”
Uhla’ar gave the sword a powerful yank. With a sssshhhhiiiiick that echoed sharply, it came out clean.
KEEEAAAHHHH!
I knew the griffin’s call. I’d hoped never to hear it again. I could smell its fetid, garbage-dump odor as it swept overhead on a gust of hot wind. As I covered my head with my arms, I heard the panicked snuffling of a hose-beaked vromaski, speeding past me for the safety of the labyrinth path.
The ground shook, knocking me off my feet. A snake with the head of a fanged rat slithered past, and a winged spider with talons climbed onto my head and launched itself upward.
“Eeeewww! Ew! Ew! Ew!” Eloise cried.
Though the chaos of mist and flying beasts, I saw her flinging a dark, thin, furry creature to the ground. As it landed with a screech, it spit a glob of yellow liquid straight upward.
A vizzeet. We’d had way too much experience with those nasty things.
“Get away from that—it spits poison!” I shouted.
Cass was already pulling his sister to safety. But the vizzeet didn’t care about either of them. It leaped up, turned, and joined two others that were already climbing the caldera walls.
I lay flat on my stomach as flapping wings tapped the top of my head. Aly. Where was Aly?
Marco and Cass were huddled together in a cloud of dust kicked up by a fallen chunk of wall. Nirvana was trying to protect Fiddle’s body from the flying debris and crazed beasts. The other rebels were scattered about, seeking shelter. All alive.
Moving through the center of it all was King Uhla’ar. He swung his sword against the attack of a leathery, batlike creature with a human head. In midcackle it was split in two, its twitching halves flopping downward.
He was heading back to the rift. I fought back nausea as I moved through the slavering wild beasts. The rift was shaking now, the Song of the Heptakiklos drowned beneath an unearthly rumble. It was about to blow wide open. When that happened, the barrier between then and now, between Atlantis and modern times, would shatter. Time and space would fold in on themselves, and what would happen to the world then?
“You see what you did?” I shouted. “Plug it back up!”
As the king stood over the rift, something hurtled through the air toward him.
Aly.
The king stumbled. The sword went flying. “Grab it, Jack!” she said. “He wants to go in! Grab the sword and plug it up after he leaves!”
“What?” I said.
“He told me, ‘There’s no place like home’!” she shouted. “He’s trying to get back there, through the rift! That’s what he wants!”
As I ran toward the sword, Uhla’ar grabbed Aly’s arm. She lifted her leg and stomped down on his sandaled foot. Hard. The king let out a roar.
She tried to wriggle free, but he held tight. A blast of silver-blue light surrounded them both like a flame. He was dragging her with him toward the rift. Aly’s eyes were enormous, her mouth open in a scream. She was looking straight at me.
“NO-O-O-O-O!” I screamed.
An explosion knocked me backward, blinding me. As I staggered to my feet, my eyes adjusted. “Alyyyy!” I called out.
But she and Uhla’ar had both dropped out of sight.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
SOMETHING MUCH WORSE
MY KNEES BUCKLED. I fell to the ground. I didn’t even notice the swarm of hideous creatures. The ground shook once . . . twice, and it was hard to stay upright, even kneeling.
I crawled toward the Heptakiklos, my fingers wrapping themselves around worms and fur. The light from the rift was spewing upward, as if the sun itself were emerging. “ALYYYYY!” I screamed again.
“Brother Jack, what are you doing?”
Marco. I could feel his hand on my shoulder, pulling me upward. “She’s gone,” I said.
“Dude, we have to close the rift!” he said. “Where’s the sword?”
He didn’t know. He had no idea what had just happened.
“Got it!”
That was Cass. Now I could see him racing by. He had the sword in his hand, a confused, rodentlike creature hanging onto the tip.
He and Marco, together, held the sword over the rift. With a sickening crrrack, it ripped open another eight or so inches. Maybe a foot. A greenish-black beast began to rise from below. It was something I’d never seen before, its head a glob of shifting shapes—eyes morphing into mouths morphing into gelatinous black pools.
I ran toward them. “Don’t do it!”
“Don’t do what?” Marco said.
“Close the rift!” I reached for the sword, but Marco pushed me away. He plunged the sword into the beast’s pulsating crown. Its cry was a physical thing, shaking the ground beneath us. As I scrambled to my feet, the swirling mists began to gather. They were changing course, sucking back into the hole as if by a giant vacuum cleaner. The ground began to thrust upward, reversing its motion. The beast seemed to dissolve but the sword was holding fast.
With a snap, the rock closed around the blade like a fist.
“NO-O-O-O!” I cried out.
The Song was deafening again. The Heptakiklos was no longer oozing light but nearly blinding me with its brightness. Its faded, ancient edges seemed brand-new.
I grabbed the sword again, but Marco took my wrist. “What has gotten into you, Jack?” he pleaded.
“Aly’s gone!” I said. “He took her with him!”
Cass and Marco both went pale. Marco let go of my hand.
I didn’t care if the rift opened. I didn’t care what kind of beast came through. We could not leave her.
As I gripped the sword, the ground juddered beneath us. My hands slipped and my legs gave way.
We all hit the floor, Torquin landing with a dusty thump. “Earthquake?” he mumbled.
I felt hands grabbing my arms. The rebels had surrounded me. Nirvana’s face was bone white. “Jack, you can’t open that rift again,” she said. “This is not an earthquake.”
“Then what is it?” Marco said.
A pine tree, dislodged from the top of the volcano, came crashing down behind us.
“It’s something much worse!” Nirvana said. “Out of here—now—before the whole thing collapses!”
EPILOGUE
WHEN WE GOT to the shore, Mom was there. She stood shoulder to shoulder with Number One. Brother Dimitrios sat by the edge of the jungle along with his cronies, attended to by Massa health workers.
When Mom saw me, she came running. “We lost Aly . . .” I said.
I think she already knew. I felt her arm around my shoulder, but I was numb.
A thousand different scenarios raced through my brain. I could have pulled Aly away from Uhla’ar. I could have used the Loculus of Strength. Plugged up the rift before he got to it.
“It’s not your fault . . .” Mom said, as if she were reading my mind.
I looked around. I knew this looked odd. I wasn’t supposed to know Sist
er Nancy. Her putting her arm around me was risky. But no one seemed to be noticing. Their eyes were fixed toward the sea.
The once-narrow beach was now a vast expanse of sand, littered with ancient driftwood planks and black clumps of seaweed. It extended at least fifty yards to surf that was now far away. Its waves crashed violently against the shore, but at that distance it was barely audible. Beyond it, the black sea formed mountains that undulated, slowly rising and sinking. A small whale flopped helplessly, trying to return to the sea.
At the edge of the receding surf, battered by the waves, was the tilted frame of a barnacle-covered ship. Its masts had broken off and its hull had mostly given way to rot.
But the wood that remained was sturdy and thick, its bow slathered with seaweed. Except for one section, where the vegetation had been pulled away by the movement of the rising land.
As I stared at it, I felt my entire body sink.
It’s something much worse, Nirvana had said. Now I saw what she meant.
It had started.
The continent was rising.
BACK ADS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Joseph Lerangis
PETER LERANGIS is the author of more than one hundred and sixty books, which have sold more than five and a half million copies and been translated into thirty-three different languages. These include the first three books in the New York Times bestselling Seven Wonders series, The Colossus Rises, Lost in Babylon, and The Tomb of Shadows, and two books in the 39 Clues series. Peter is a Harvard graduate with a degree in biochemistry. He has run a marathon and gone rock climbing during an earthquake—though not on the same day. He lives in New York City with his wife, musician Tina deVaron, and their two sons, Nick and Joe. In his spare time, he likes to eat chocolate.
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CREDITS
Cover illustration © 2015 by Torstein Norstrand
Cover design by Joe Merkel
COPYRIGHT
SEVEN WONDERS BOOK 4: THE CURSE OF THE KING. Text by Peter Lerangis, copyright © 2014 by HarperCollins Publishers. Illustrations copyright © 2014 by Torstein Norstrand. Map art by Mike Reagan, copyright © 2014 by HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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ISBN 978-0-06-207049-4 (trade bdg.)
ISBN 978-0-06-237819-4 (int’l ed.)
EPub Edition © February 2015 ISBN 9780062070517
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FIRST EDITION
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Peter Lerangis, The Curse of the King
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