Eleven

By the time Simangee and Targesh had arrived, carrying weapons, Adalon understood what he'd found.

'More ruins,' he said, pointing at what he'd thought were mussel-encrusted rocks. Long and low, broken in many places, he could now see it was the remains of a large building half-swallowed by the sand and the sea.

When he looked along the beach Adalon could make out more. Rocky outcrops, scattered slabs of stone poking out of the undergrowth, even pilings marching out into the waves. 'This must have been a village.'

Simangee narrowed her eyes. 'So many stone buildings in a village? A city, rather.'

Targesh grimaced, as if he'd tasted something bad. 'A'ak.'

Adalon nodded. He kicked at the nearest rock, dislodging shells. Engraved on the slick wetness was the unmistakeable A'ak script.

'We're finding A'ak everywhere,' Simangee murmured.

'They've left their work behind,' Adalon said and he paused, remembering the map room in the Lost Castle. He stared out to sea. 'Simangee, I think we need to consult one of your maps.'

Back at the camp, Simangee spread out the chart, weighing down the corners with stones. 'This is the way we came,' she pointed. 'We encountered A'ak ruins here, here and here. See the blue marks?'

'There's one right here where we are,' Adalon said.

Targesh leaned over. He ran a claw along the thin blue line that connected the shore with the Fiery Isles. 'What's this?'

Adalon frowned in thought, then swept an arm around the curve of the bay. 'Imagine this place as an A'ak city. That jumble of rock there could have once been a pavilion. That one a pier. Over there where the dunes have buried them, could have once been homes or workshops.'

Targesh eyed the bay uneasily. 'An outpost?'

'Perhaps. Maybe more than that.'

'Much could be hidden here,' Simangee said softly. 'We could uncover the mystery of the A'ak writing here.'

Adalon patted his friend on the shoulder. 'Another time, perhaps. We need to get to the Fiery Isles.' He tapped the map. 'And I think that the A'ak had a way of getting there.'

'What are you thinking?'

He pointed. 'That outcrop, the big one with all the seabirds. If it's part of the A'ak ruins, I think we should investigate it.'

Simangee held up a hand. 'Tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow?'

'We've had a long journey. If we're going to poke around in A'ak leftovers, let's get a good night's sleep first.'

'Targesh?'

'Eat. Sleep. Get an early start.'

Adalon stared at the waves crashing on the rocky spit. He itched to see what it held. 'Very well.'

***

The next morning, after a sparse and unsatisfying breakfast, the three friends approached the ridge armoured and armed. The seabirds wheeled above them, challenging their right of way. Waves sent up plumes of spray that were whipped away by the wind.

They stood on a sea-slick slab of rock and looked up. It took Adalon some imagination, but he thought he could make out the angles of the building it had once been. The crumbled ruins loomed over them like battlements – a timeworn reminder of a lost age.

'There,' Simangee said, pointing. 'We can get up there.' She led the way, picking through mussel shells and seaweed thrown up by the waves. Adalon paused, scanning the hulking rocks. He glanced at Targesh's ruined profile.

'Are you well, old friend?'

Targesh shrugged and touched the stump of his broken horn. 'Well enough.'

'Brave words, my friend. But it's not a scratch you've suffered. I'll be watching out for you.'

Targesh gave a half-smile. 'That'll make a change. I'm usually looking out for you.'

'That's better! Now, let's see what we can find.' Adalon bounded up the rocks in search of Simangee.

They found her at the top of the ridge, on a broad flat area the shape of a rough arrowhead. Pools of water had gathered on the broken stone. A tumble of rocks was heaped up at the pointy end closest to the sea. Simangee was standing there, fists on her hips, peering into a large, dark hole.

When they joined her they saw that the hole sloped toward the open sea. 'What's down there?' Adalon wondered.

Targesh squatted and sniffed. 'It's dry, not wet.'

Simangee tilted her crest from side to side. 'It's magic, strong and constant. I can't say any more than that.'

Adalon stared over the sea toward the far-off Fiery Isles. Yes, he thought. It makes sense. 'It's a tunnel,' he declared. 'The A'ak used it to get to and from the Fiery Isles.'

'Why wouldn't they just sail across?' Simangee asked.

'Reefs,' Targesh said. He pointed at the sea. 'Doesn't look safe.'

Adalon shrugged. 'None of the stories I've heard speak of the A'ak as great sailors. Maybe they're like Horned Ones – afraid of water.'

'I'm not afraid of water,' Targesh said. 'Cautious, is all. And don't say Horned Ones are like the A'ak.'

Adalon laughed. 'I won't. Now, let's see what's down there.'

'It's too dark to see much,' Targesh rumbled.

Simangee patted the leather pouch at her waist. 'I have light potions.'

'Forward then.'

Adalon stepped over the knee-high rubble and onto the down-slope. For a few paces, sunlight kept him company. He turned and saw his friends outlined against the blue sky. 'Time for your light potion,' he called to Simangee.

'I don't think we need it,' she said, pointing. 'Look ahead.'

Adalon swivelled. The darkness had vanished. Soft, violet light came from the walls of the tunnel. He turned a full circle, staring at what it revealed.

The tunnel was broad enough for two wagons to pass each other and so high that Adalon doubted if he could reach it with a jump. The rock walls were smooth as mirrors and betrayed no sign of toolwork at all.

'I think we've found our way to the Fiery Isles,' he said.