three of us could only hang in the water and stare in wonder.
“Hobey,” said Spader dumbly. “This is a dream, right?”
“If it is,” said Uncle Press with the same dumb feeling, “we’re all having it.”
The bottom fell off into black. We were on the edge of a trench that rivaled the Grand Canyon. As clear as the water was, we couldn’t see the bottom or the far side of this trench — its expanse was breathtaking. But what we saw before us made the immense size of the trench seem inconsequential. For what we were seeing was a magical water ballet.
The water below the edge was full ofhundredsof the same green fish like the one we were just following. But now that we were closer, we saw that they weren’t fish at all. They were people. At least I thought they were people. They were certainly people-shaped, but they were covered in a green skin that made them look like they were also part fish. Though they had arms and legs, these looked as much like webbed fins as they did regular old human appendages. Their faces were also covered by the same green skin. I know that sounds gross, but it wasn’t.
It was an incredibly graceful sight. They were all twisting and swimming and diving and generally looking as if they were having a great time. It was like watching an amazing aquarium with scores of twirling fish dancing in the water.
Several lights shone up on them from somewhere below. These beams swept back and forth as the fish- people swam in and out of their light. I was totally mesmerized. I felt as if I could watch them forever. It was just plain beautiful.
But then three of these fish-people left the larger group and swam over toward us.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “Time to get scared.”
“Don’t move,” commanded Uncle Press.
I didn’t, but instantly switched from rapture into near-panic mode. What did these fishies want with us?
Each of the fish-people swam gently up to one of us and motioned for us to follow. Whoa, these things really could think. Maybe they were more “people” than “fish” after all.
“What do we do?” I asked nervously.
“I say we follow,” said Uncle Press, already swimming forward.
Gulp. I didn’t have time to argue. Spader and I followed. I had no idea what these creatures wanted. Did they expect us to join in their dance? Would it be some kind of insult if we didn’t?
I then saw that we weren’t joining the main group. These guides were actually leading us deeper into the trench. I had a moment of panic, but Uncle Press said in a calm voice, “It’s okay. Just go slow.”
Then, below us, something caught my eye. It was the wall of the trench. I first heard a small rumble, and then I saw a crack of light beginning to appear out of the rock face.
“What is that?” asked Spader, his voice cracking with tension. Good. I wasn’t the only one who was chicken.
The crack of light grew larger and larger and we soon saw that it was actually some kind of rock door that was opening up. Then, as if on cue, all of the dancing fish-people gathered together like, well, like a school of fish, and all swam togetherintothe light! They dove as a group, sped down, and disappeared into the rock wall.
Our three guides were still with us. They motioned for us to follow, and then they, too, dove down toward the light.
The three of us stayed where we were. Even Uncle Press seemed a little reluctant.
“What do you think?” I asked.
Uncle Press looked down at the three guides who had stopped again and were gently motioning for us to follow. He then looked up to us and said, “I think the Lost City of Faar… isn’t lost anymore.”
CLORAL
If I had only one sentence to describe what it was like to be a Traveler, it would be this: “Just when you think you’ve seen it all… you haven’t.”
As if fluming from one bizarre territory to another wasn’t enough, within each of these territories I kept finding new and different places that had my head swimming — no Cloral analogy intended. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. It would be the same thing for a first-time Traveler coming to Second Earth. To go from a city like Chicago to the rainforests of South America to a tundra village in Siberia would be just as rattling. Still, what we found under the ocean of Cloral went way beyond my imagination.
As strange and exciting as it was for me, it must have been a hundred times more bizarre for Spader. To him the Lost City of Faar was a fable. Could you imagine walking through the forest and finding a hut where seven dwarves lived with a beautiful princess? Or stumbling upon Noah’s Ark? Or finding the Garden of Eden? Every culture has its myths and legends. I can’t imagine what it would be like to discover that one of them was true. But that is exactly what Spader experienced when we swam through the rocky entrance to the Lost City of Faar.
I wasn’t totally convinced it was a good idea to follow these fish-people into the opening in the wall of rock. So far they hadn’t done anything but frolick, like playful sea lions. But still, they could have been luring us to our deaths. Did these strange creatures feed on excited divers who followed them without a question, convinced they were about to discover the truth behind a myth, only to be served up like reverse-sushi? As always, my mind went to the worst possible outcome.
What changed my thinking was something I saw just below the opening. It was partially hidden by a tangle of seaweed, but there was no missing it because it was about five feet across. It was an ancient carving. Some of the detail had been eroded away by time, but there was no mistaking the strange, interlocking letters. Spader saw it too and smiled at me. It was the symbol his father had left for him. It was the symbol of Faar. We were in the right place.
With a glance and a nod to each other to show we were all prepared to go to the next step, the three of us swam together, shoulder to shoulder, into the light that blasted from the large opening.
We found ourselves in an underwater tunnel that was big enough to drive a car through, if you happened to have a car that could drive underwater. We passed by the big lights that were shining out into the open sea. Once past them, my eyes adjusted to the dark and I saw that the tunnel led far back into the rock. Every few feet were small marker-lights that showed the way. That was a relief because I wasn’t so sure I would have had the guts to swim into a pitch-dark tunnel. I then heard a loud, scraping sound that made me quickly look back. The rock door was shutting behind us. A loudcrunchtold us the door was locked into place and we were closed in. Gulp. We had to go forward whether we liked it or not.
“Everybody cool?” asked Uncle Press.
“I guess,” was my shaky answer.
Spader just floated there with wide eyes.
“Spader, you okay?” Uncle Press asked.
“Just a little nervous,” he answered.
Good. I’m glad he said it first. Truth be told, nervous didn’t quite cover it for me. My heart was thumping so hard I was surprised the others didn’t hear it. Then something touched my shoulder.
“Ahhh!” I screamed, and spun around.
It was one of the fish-people. Man, those guys were quiet. Like snakes. That’s why I hate snakes — too quiet. Did I tell you that?
The fish-guy motioned for us to follow and swam into the tunnel. The three of us had no choice but to follow. We swam close together. It felt safer that way. The tunnel was pretty long and not all that interesting. It gave my mind time to wander and I started to think about what this lost city was going to be like. I wondered if it was completely underwater. That would be weird, like living in one of those fish tanks that people decorated with little castles and sunken ships.
So far the fish-people hadn’t tried to communicate with us other than with hand signals. I wondered if that meant they couldn’t speak. I hoped that a Traveler’s ability to understand all languages included sign language.
These questions, and a whole bunch more I hadn’t thought of yet, would soon be answered, for I saw that
