“That’s it,” her mother breathed. Her hand went to her chest in a gesture of relief. “That’s the entrance to the cave. Oh, my clever girl, you found it.”
Noa swallowed. “I don’t see a chest.”
“It’s close, honey. You only need to swim a few feet, pop your head into the cave, and you’ll see it. I’ll stay here and hold the door open for you.”
Noa nodded slowly. She couldn’t afford to be afraid—this was too important. “You’re sure it’s just beyond the door?”
“Positive,” her mother said. “It won’t take five seconds for you to fetch it. Trust me, sweetie. I wouldn’t think of suggesting this unless I was certain.”
Noa felt her uncertainty wash away. “I know, Mom.”
She removed her cloak and boots, and also her socks—she had a strong suspicion that she would want dry socks when she got back. She paused at the edge of the shadow door. The last thing that she wanted was to plunge into that icy darkness. She looked back at her mother, and could have sworn she saw, through the blur of her features, the hint of an encouraging smile.
Noa dove.
It was like striking stone. The force of the cold shocked Noa to her bones, and it was all she could do not to gasp in surprise. She treaded water, so startled she couldn’t think of anything but the cold, let alone the directions her mother had given her. Finally, she realized that her eyes were closed, and she opened them.
Darkness all around. Looming before her was a huge shape that tapered down and down to a rounded peak.
It was the island.
Whelm had probably been a small volcano at one point. Its caldera looked like a mountain with a scoop taken out of it, and it was small, as islands went, perhaps half the size of Astrae. For a second, Noa simply stared at the impossible sight: an island growing into the water rather than out of it. She felt a little sorry for Whelm, as she had felt sorry for Evert—it seemed like a waste of a perfectly good island. Then she remembered her mission. She glanced over her shoulder, and was relieved to see the door back to Death floating in mid-water. Noa decided that if she thought too much about that, or about Whelm, her head would explode.
There was a cave in the flank of the island only a few yards away. She swam toward it, trying not to focus on the fact that she could barely feel her arms anymore. Noa felt her way inside the cave with her hands, which slipped on the slimy, weedy stone. She could barely see anything in the cave, though she felt the sea anemones nestled into the floor—or, depending on how you looked at it, the ceiling.
She turned to the right, feeling as she went, and was relieved beyond words when her left hand struck a sharp wooden edge.
Noa pulled on the chest, but it didn’t move. She felt a moment of panic—was the chest too heavy for her to lift? Then she realized that a layer of barnacles had crawled up the wall of the cave and glued the chest to the rock.
Noa swam backward so that her feet were pointed at the chest. She kicked with all her might.
Nothing.
She kicked again. Still nothing. Her lungs were beginning to ache. Normally, Noa could hold her breath for several minutes, but the chill of the water had weakened her. She kicked again, a desperate kick, and finally the chest came free. Noa grabbed it and swam out of the cave so fast, she banged her head against the rock.
She swam back to the shadow door, which seemed to grow farther and farther away. She focused all her might on gripping the heavy chest. If she dropped it, it would fall to the ocean floor, which was lost in the deep-sea gloom. She looked up and realized that she couldn’t make out the surface, either. The water pressed down on her. She heard—and felt—the eerie, wavering cry of a blue whale ripple through the sea. Noa began to panic. The whalesong only drove home how far she was from everything and everyone she knew. She didn’t belong in this world.
For a moment, it seemed as if the shadow door flickered, and Noa almost screamed. She couldn’t be trapped here. She couldn’t. She kicked frantically, and surged through the opening, shoving the chest ahead of her. She landed in a sprawl on the sand, coughing and sputtering.
“You did it!”
Noa’s mother was less distinct than ever. “Are you all right, sweetie?”
“I—” Noa coughed up more seawater. She was trembling so hard it felt like her bones would shake apart. With difficulty, for her hands could barely close on it, she wrenched off her sodden tunic, revealing her thin undershirt, then wrapped her dry cloak around herself. She immediately felt better. She shoved her feet back into her socks.
Noa forced herself to crawl over to the chest. The bronze fittings were rusted through, and there were barnacles still clinging to the side. It had clearly been submerged for a long time. It was hard to imagine anything, let alone a book, surviving inside it.
The chest was locked. Noa tried hitting the lock with a rock, but it wouldn’t break. She found a larger rock, so heavy she could hardly lift it, and dropped it onto the wooden lid. She had to lift it and drop it half a dozen times, until her arms ached and sweat trickled down her neck, and then finally the lid cracked in two.
She peeled the wood back. There, nestled in a silk wrapping, was a large book with a plain leather cover. It was perfectly dry and showed no signs of damage, apart from a musty smell. It looked almost identical to the book Julian had found on Evert. But unlike that book, Noa didn’t feel strange when she looked at it.
