to add it up, put it together. I’m going to unlock Nil’s secrets if it kills me.
It almost did, the wind whispered.
Macy’s eyes flicked over my shoulder.
“Looking for someone?” I glanced behind me, only seeing Zane.
“Kiera,” Macy said. “We’re going to walk. She arrived the day you left with Thad,” she added.
“Any other rookies?”
“Just Alexei. His English is pretty rough but he’s doing okay. He’s from Georgia. Not Charley’s Georgia, but the Russian one.”
“Georgia’s actually a former Soviet Republic,” I said absently.
“Well hello, Mr. Geography!”
I shrugged. “My dad covered a story there in 2008 when Georgia and Russia were on the brink of war.”
Mental footage of Dad flanked by armored tanks and troops in flak jackets flooded my head, followed by images of bombed-out streets, children bloodied, soldiers blindfolded. For weeks I’d woken up screaming, terrified that my dad wouldn’t come back. But he had.
Are my parents having nightmares about me? They had to be going through hell right now. One more tally mark in the cruel column of Nil.
Foe , I thought. Because Nil sure as hell isn’t our friend.
Maybe it’s neither, the waves whispered.
Maybe the arrow would point me to the answer.
I squeezed Macy’s shoulder. “Have a good walk, Mace. Be safe.”
The island sun rose quickly, shooting light the color of Nil’s lions through the trees. The Cove was a ghost town, like I’d hoped. No need to make small talk or dodge company. Fast strokes, a strong inhale, a clean dive, and I was there—behind the falls, cloaked in liquid cover.
The opening hadn’t changed.
I offered up a prayer for safety and eased into the cave.
The tunnel absorbed dawn’s light as if starved for it. I counted my steps as I went, running the tips of my fingers across the tunnel walls. Rough, cool, moist. Familiar. The tunnel narrowed. My fingertips brushed the arrow; I didn’t stop.
Fifteen steps later, I hit another arrow .
An island blaze, I thought with satisfaction.
Last year my dad and I had hiked part of the Camino de Santiago, starting outside Le Puy-en-Velay. Before we’d set a single foot on the trail, my dad had showed me photos of the red-and-white balises lining the route. Follow the blazes, he’d said. They mark our way .
Why point the way to a dead end?
You don’t, I thought. Not here. Here death was easy to find. You sure as hell didn’t need any help.
I followed the arrow.
Ten steps later, the tunnel widened. Now I could only touch one wall at a time. I slowed, tipping back and forth like a seesaw, checking both sides for carvings and openings, for anything man-made or important. Twice I doubled back and rechecked the walls until the tunnel forked.
Using two hands, I ran my fingers in larger and larger circles over both sides in turn, unsure which way to go.
No arrows. It felt like a test.
I went left.
Twelve steps later, my fingertips brushed a third arrow and I smiled. You passed, Rives.
The tunnel curved left, then right. The darkness lifted. No arrows to guide my way; now I had light.
I exited the cave tunnel and stepped into another world, a stunning Nil secret. An underground cavern, lined in black rock, with a three-meter-wide opening near the top where sunlight and water poured in equal parts, falling gently into a wide pool.
To my left, the rock dropped steeply into the water; to my right, a two-meter-wide ledge ran the length of the cavern. Above the ledge, carvings coated the wall like island graffiti. Moons in all phases, stars shaping constellations, suns shooting out rays, and rows of waves and interlocking diamonds were everywhere, along with scattered fish, cats, and simple stick figures. Near the top the number sequence 3-2-1-4 ran like a title. One large diamond stood out from the rest: hanging mid-wall, dead center, it held a sun carving with an eye in its gut. Beside it, a vertical arrow shot toward the cave ceiling, with the
It almost did, the wind whispered.
Macy’s eyes flicked over my shoulder.
“Looking for someone?” I glanced behind me, only seeing Zane.
“Kiera,” Macy said. “We’re going to walk. She arrived the day you left with Thad,” she added.
“Any other rookies?”
“Just Alexei. His English is pretty rough but he’s doing okay. He’s from Georgia. Not Charley’s Georgia, but the Russian one.”
“Georgia’s actually a former Soviet Republic,” I said absently.
“Well hello, Mr. Geography!”
I shrugged. “My dad covered a story there in 2008 when Georgia and Russia were on the brink of war.”
Mental footage of Dad flanked by armored tanks and troops in flak jackets flooded my head, followed by images of bombed-out streets, children bloodied, soldiers blindfolded. For weeks I’d woken up screaming, terrified that my dad wouldn’t come back. But he had.
Are my parents having nightmares about me? They had to be going through hell right now. One more tally mark in the cruel column of Nil.
Foe , I thought. Because Nil sure as hell isn’t our friend.
Maybe it’s neither, the waves whispered.
Maybe the arrow would point me to the answer.
I squeezed Macy’s shoulder. “Have a good walk, Mace. Be safe.”
The island sun rose quickly, shooting light the color of Nil’s lions through the trees. The Cove was a ghost town, like I’d hoped. No need to make small talk or dodge company. Fast strokes, a strong inhale, a clean dive, and I was there—behind the falls, cloaked in liquid cover.
The opening hadn’t changed.
I offered up a prayer for safety and eased into the cave.
The tunnel absorbed dawn’s light as if starved for it. I counted my steps as I went, running the tips of my fingers across the tunnel walls. Rough, cool, moist. Familiar. The tunnel narrowed. My fingertips brushed the arrow; I didn’t stop.
Fifteen steps later, I hit another arrow .
An island blaze, I thought with satisfaction.
Last year my dad and I had hiked part of the Camino de Santiago, starting outside Le Puy-en-Velay. Before we’d set a single foot on the trail, my dad had showed me photos of the red-and-white balises lining the route. Follow the blazes, he’d said. They mark our way .
Why point the way to a dead end?
You don’t, I thought. Not here. Here death was easy to find. You sure as hell didn’t need any help.
I followed the arrow.
Ten steps later, the tunnel widened. Now I could only touch one wall at a time. I slowed, tipping back and forth like a seesaw, checking both sides for carvings and openings, for anything man-made or important. Twice I doubled back and rechecked the walls until the tunnel forked.
Using two hands, I ran my fingers in larger and larger circles over both sides in turn, unsure which way to go.
No arrows. It felt like a test.
I went left.
Twelve steps later, my fingertips brushed a third arrow and I smiled. You passed, Rives.
The tunnel curved left, then right. The darkness lifted. No arrows to guide my way; now I had light.
I exited the cave tunnel and stepped into another world, a stunning Nil secret. An underground cavern, lined in black rock, with a three-meter-wide opening near the top where sunlight and water poured in equal parts, falling gently into a wide pool.
To my left, the rock dropped steeply into the water; to my right, a two-meter-wide ledge ran the length of the cavern. Above the ledge, carvings coated the wall like island graffiti. Moons in all phases, stars shaping constellations, suns shooting out rays, and rows of waves and interlocking diamonds were everywhere, along with scattered fish, cats, and simple stick figures. Near the top the number sequence 3-2-1-4 ran like a title. One large diamond stood out from the rest: hanging mid-wall, dead center, it held a sun carving with an eye in its gut. Beside it, a vertical arrow shot toward the cave ceiling, with the
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