It has been Chaitra's lifelong dream to spend her summer on a Mediterranean cruise with her family. That dream turns into a nightmare when Chaitra washes up in 1800s China after a tsunami floods the ship.
And so begins a series of crazy, unexpected...
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"With all due respect, are you sure this is the way?" My arms tighten around the Makara's thick crocodile neck. My muscles burn with the effort of hanging onto him, but I grit my teeth through the pain.
For Queen Meda. For Atlantis.
It's impossible for the little eyes on the side of the Makara's head to fixate on me, but I don't need to see them to know he's offended. It's obvious from his brusqueness.
Who's the millennia-old protector of the oceans, you or me, Chaitra? His words rumble through my mind.
I make the mistake of sighing, earning a mouthful of saltwater as the Makara propels us onward with his fish tail. "You are."
I was born in these waters. I know them better than you know your cell phone number.
"Hey!"
Before I can complete my indignant retort, the Makara continues. The djinn you seek resides in the Black Mountains. There is only one way in that'll escape his notice: a saltwater lake leading to the heart of his lair.
A mountain range rises in front of us, its outline as black as its name against the tangerine sky. The view would be breathtaking if I had the breath to spare, but I don't. There isn't a moment to waste.
The Makara cleaves through the water in the direction of the rocky peaks.
I squint around me for some indication of where in the world we are, but there's nothing. If we're in djinn territory, I'm guessing we're in or near the Middle East.
The Makara carries me through the ocean and along the rivulet of water inching over the land. We reach the mountain opening that welcomes the stream.
Without warning, the Makara submerges us both.
I cling to him as the saltwater floods my nostrils. I squeeze my eyes shut, holding him as tightly as I can. I want to release his cold, leathery skin, but I know the endless depths of the dark ocean would be too keen to engulf me. The light has disappeared long behind us.
On instinct, I hold my breath. Then I remember that the Atlanteans gave me the gift of unlimited underwater breathing in return for my help.
They're all prisoners. I'm their only hope of defeating the morgens.
No pressure.
Heat stings my face as the Makara and I break the surface on the other side. Through my saltwater-soaked eyelashes, I make out a fire flickering at the centre of the cave we have arrived in. Beside it, a dark shadow sings songs I don't understand in a voice deeper than any I've ever heard.
The Makara takes me to the water's edge so I can clamber out. I could kiss the ground. I've never been so grateful to be on solid land, where I'm free from the sea's bloody war where vicious morgens eat out Atlanteans' hearts, and nothing is certain.
The shadow's voice booms through the cavern. "Who dares to disturb my supper?"
He rises and floats to me, abandoning his wooden plate on which a crust of bread and a chunk of steaming meat sit. The figure has no legs, only a tapering wisp projecting from a tarnished silver lamp nestled among the rocks.
As he approaches me, I want to shrink away, but my memory of the Atlanteans begging me keeps me strong. I stand my ground even though every nerve of mine trembles at the dark power emanating from his being.
"You..." The Djinn narrows his eyes at the Makara. "I told you never to come here again."
Well, Chaitra had need of you, so here I am. Trust me, I never wanted to return here either. The Makara snaps his crocodile jaws in agitation.
As intriguing as their past seems to be, there's no time to explore it.
I kneel before the spirit. "Oh powerful djinn, the Atlanteans need your help."
"I have a name." He snorts out a cloud of dark dust. "It's Aadam. And I've long gone out of the business of helping people." He turns away.
"Please—" I grab at him even though his form looks too insubstantial for me to catch hold of. "Queen Meda requested I seek you—"
"Meda?" He stops with his back to me. "It has been years..." He turns, his seed-shaped eyes blazing in the black smoke of his face. "Is Atlantis still southwest of the Madeira Islands?"
Yes, the Makara answers for me.
The djinn takes hold of me. I start. His hand is more solid than it looks, as solid as I am. Before I can bid farewell to the Makara who brought me to this lair, the cavern vanishes.
Aadam and I find ourselves at the inky bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, where the morgens, armed with spears and bared fangs, swarm Atlantis.
The djinn forms a whirlpool with his huge hand. It grows, an underwater black hole swallowing everything within its reach, the seaweed, the sand, even chunks of the last remaining buildings in Atlantis. Only three morgens succumb to the inescapable pull before the others recognise the threat.
They hiss and snarl but keep their distance from the djinn. He turns the whirlpool on them like a vacuum cleaner.
A cry sounds from the top of the highest tower. On the roof, a morgen holds Queen Meda in front of him. Her eyes are wide with fear. The rest of her is paralysed. A silver dagger gleams at her throat. Her golden hair ripples with the tide.
"Meda." The djinn freezes. "No." His whirlpool vanishes with his concentration.
The morgens seize the opportunity his distraction presents and ambush him.
With a cry, Aadam disappears, possibly into the same void where he sent so many morgens, possibly back to his lair, possibly to some dark, distant realm where no mortal would ever venture.
The morgens turn their bloodthirsty eyes on me. I float at the heart of the clan, alone and unarmed.
