letters N-I-L running vertically alongside it, with the N at the bottom and the L at the top.
Now I knew what the shallow diamond carving at the entrance was missing. The N-I-L.
On the ledge beneath the diamond, a rock knife lay beside a mango.
A fresh mango.
I whirled around, taking in the darkness at my back. The cave tunnel was too tight a squeeze for me to have passed someone without knowing it.
Unless they took the other fork , I thought.
I waited, watching the tunnel exit, expectant. No one appeared. By my mental count, at least ten silent minutes passed. No people, no surprises.
I was definitely alone.
But I didn’t feel alone.
The air inside the cavern had a presence, a weight , a fluidity of time and people and energy and island mojo that I didn’t understand but deeply wanted to. Around me swirled silent ghosts and rituals and secrets I couldn’t see, but they were as tangible as the carvings on the cavern wall. The weight intensified, like answers hung in the air, pouring in with the falls, pouring into me , if I just listened.
I closed my eyes, straining to hear Talla’s voice cut through the rush of water.
Waiting.
Searching.
Wanting.
The falls poured in, unbroken.
I snapped open my eyes, breaking the mystique. How long had I stood there, listening for ghosts? Glancing around, I was relieved to find I was still alone.
Moving away from the pool, I studied the carvings, noting the similarity among the images, yet uniqueness, too, suggesting many hands at work. Only one carving looked relatively recent: a moon, its rough edges dripping with something milky white. I sniffed it and gagged.
Deadleaf juice, fresh enough to stink.
I turned away, gulping fresh air. The pool’s glassy surface rippled and a head broke the surface, emerging crown first like a baby. The rest of the head followed, and shoulders drenched in ink. When the owner’s eyes caught mine, his widened in shock. And then he promptly disappeared.
“Hey,” I shouted at the water. “Wait!”
I jumped in. Deep water wrapped me tight, pushing me back even as it pulled me down. In the sliver of light, I caught one crisp glimpse of the kid swimming away, bubbles trailing in his wake.
Got you , I thought.
I followed, swimming fast, knowing that if he could hold his breath, so could I. Light faded. So did the kid’s form, and the bubble trail was tough to track in the dim light. I kicked hard, knowing I was seconds away from having to quit and turn back. My lungs burned like I’d swallowed fire.
My hand hit rock. Lungs screaming, I frantically felt around with my hands. My right palm slipped through an opening. I felt the edges, gauging the width, and my fingers brushed the blaze: an arrow, pointing away from the cavern.
Using both hands, I pulled myself through the opening and burst out into rough water with a light-filled ceiling. I dolphin-kicked to the surface. I’d cut it dangerously close.
The boy was already stroking his way through the break. But my time on Nil had served me well. I closed the distance quickly, using the waves’ power to take me in.
He strode up the white sand, his intricate tattoos gleaming in the morning light.
“Hey!” I called. “Hold up!”
He spun, his eyes narrowing when he saw me. “You should not be here,” he said flatly.
“I didn’t ask to be,” I said, keeping my tone pleasant.
We stood silent, each sizing the other up. He looked my age, maybe older. He had a fierceness, a thinly contained edge. His heritage was tough to place, like mine. If I had to guess, I’d peg him as Pacific Islander, a bit like me, but here, now, he looked like a Nil native.
Which was something that did not exist.
Then again, neither did this place.
He pointed toward the cliff, the one harboring the secret cavern. “That place is sacred,” he said softly. “Do not go back. The Looking Glass pool is not for you.”
“The Looking Glass pool? What is that, like the Fortress of Solitude?”
“I do
Now I knew what the shallow diamond carving at the entrance was missing. The N-I-L.
On the ledge beneath the diamond, a rock knife lay beside a mango.
A fresh mango.
I whirled around, taking in the darkness at my back. The cave tunnel was too tight a squeeze for me to have passed someone without knowing it.
Unless they took the other fork , I thought.
I waited, watching the tunnel exit, expectant. No one appeared. By my mental count, at least ten silent minutes passed. No people, no surprises.
I was definitely alone.
But I didn’t feel alone.
The air inside the cavern had a presence, a weight , a fluidity of time and people and energy and island mojo that I didn’t understand but deeply wanted to. Around me swirled silent ghosts and rituals and secrets I couldn’t see, but they were as tangible as the carvings on the cavern wall. The weight intensified, like answers hung in the air, pouring in with the falls, pouring into me , if I just listened.
I closed my eyes, straining to hear Talla’s voice cut through the rush of water.
Waiting.
Searching.
Wanting.
The falls poured in, unbroken.
I snapped open my eyes, breaking the mystique. How long had I stood there, listening for ghosts? Glancing around, I was relieved to find I was still alone.
Moving away from the pool, I studied the carvings, noting the similarity among the images, yet uniqueness, too, suggesting many hands at work. Only one carving looked relatively recent: a moon, its rough edges dripping with something milky white. I sniffed it and gagged.
Deadleaf juice, fresh enough to stink.
I turned away, gulping fresh air. The pool’s glassy surface rippled and a head broke the surface, emerging crown first like a baby. The rest of the head followed, and shoulders drenched in ink. When the owner’s eyes caught mine, his widened in shock. And then he promptly disappeared.
“Hey,” I shouted at the water. “Wait!”
I jumped in. Deep water wrapped me tight, pushing me back even as it pulled me down. In the sliver of light, I caught one crisp glimpse of the kid swimming away, bubbles trailing in his wake.
Got you , I thought.
I followed, swimming fast, knowing that if he could hold his breath, so could I. Light faded. So did the kid’s form, and the bubble trail was tough to track in the dim light. I kicked hard, knowing I was seconds away from having to quit and turn back. My lungs burned like I’d swallowed fire.
My hand hit rock. Lungs screaming, I frantically felt around with my hands. My right palm slipped through an opening. I felt the edges, gauging the width, and my fingers brushed the blaze: an arrow, pointing away from the cavern.
Using both hands, I pulled myself through the opening and burst out into rough water with a light-filled ceiling. I dolphin-kicked to the surface. I’d cut it dangerously close.
The boy was already stroking his way through the break. But my time on Nil had served me well. I closed the distance quickly, using the waves’ power to take me in.
He strode up the white sand, his intricate tattoos gleaming in the morning light.
“Hey!” I called. “Hold up!”
He spun, his eyes narrowing when he saw me. “You should not be here,” he said flatly.
“I didn’t ask to be,” I said, keeping my tone pleasant.
We stood silent, each sizing the other up. He looked my age, maybe older. He had a fierceness, a thinly contained edge. His heritage was tough to place, like mine. If I had to guess, I’d peg him as Pacific Islander, a bit like me, but here, now, he looked like a Nil native.
Which was something that did not exist.
Then again, neither did this place.
He pointed toward the cliff, the one harboring the secret cavern. “That place is sacred,” he said softly. “Do not go back. The Looking Glass pool is not for you.”
“The Looking Glass pool? What is that, like the Fortress of Solitude?”
“I do
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