He cameback? Cyrus thought, hemust have been crazy.
Day 9724,
The crossing was dark, but the water calm. Heard whatI believed to be the blue-eyed phantom occasionally surface and take breath from out in the fog. Two-thirds of the way across heard the toll of a bell from out to sea. After that sensed the phantom no more. Was itas afraid of the sound as I?
Once on Virkelot, first point of interest was the shoreline.Using my lantern, measured and sketched large tiles along coast. Again, heard bell toll, and saw what looked like a large ship off eastern shore of MyrkurIsland. Was my fear getting the better of me? Lost sight of apparition behind fog.
Entered Hekswood Forest andclimbed over the Dead Fence. Many changes have taken place in the village. Allaround, deep trenches have been cut into the earth, embedded with pipes andhoses. In addition, several wells have been drilled and fitted with water pumps and wellcovers. Every person in Virkelot must be working onwhat signs call, ‘The Hoblkalf Water Works Project.’
Spent the rest of the night trekking across the island,recording various lengths, widths, andelevations, before making my way back to the fence.
Back on Myrkur, have doubleand triple checked my maps, notes, andcalculations and keep coming back to thesame startling conclusion. It is almost too remarkable a discovery to believe.
Virkelotand Myrkur Island are the skeletal remains of a longdead, giant, turtle-like creature. Virkelotis its fossilized body and Myrkur its skull. Thecaves here on Myrkur are its nasal cavities and eyesockets.
I am currently living in a section of the right eyethat was most likely the attachment point for a ligament or tendon. Have alsostudied several fossil samples and by my calculations, these two islands haveroughly five hundred to one thousand years left before they become dust and are scattered to the sea.
Below the entry was a map of the two islands, along with a legenddescribing each part of the skeleton’s remains. The artwork was finely detailed and jumped from the page as if thecreature was real. Cyrus’ mind began to spin.
“This can’t be,” he gasped.
But of course, it was true. Cyrus thought of the tiles along the beach.He grasped the small turtle skeleton below his bed and inspected its back. Virkelot’s shoreline tiles were merely larger versions ofthe scales on the skeleton’s shell. He thought of the underground lake. Virkelot was hollow, like the empty turtleshell, and he recalled all those strange caves on MyrkurIsland. He studied the skeleton’s skull. He realized, back on Myrkur, he had walked through the skull’s nostril and hadarrived at its right eye socket. So thatexplained the caverns’ strange symmetrical shapes.
He wanted to show Niels, show anybody. People had to know. But if hedid, there would be questions. And the answers to those questions could lead tohis imprisonment or death. What was he to do? The only thing he could do. Firstthing in the morning he would go seeEdward. Maybe his best friend would have the answers.
Just then, a large tremor shook the earth. The candlelight extinguished,and a picture frame swayed.
“These two islands have roughly five hundred to one thousand years leftbefore they become dust and are scatteredto the sea,” Cyrus read, with a shaky voice.
He lay in his bed wide-eyed for what seemed hours, hugging theleather-bound book to his chest. Then, in the early morning light, the journalslipped from his hands, and he foundsleep. Turbulent, troublesome sleep.
Chapter 7
THE PIT
THE NEXT MORNING Cyrus woketo a rumbling in his bones. The pictures on his bedroom walls shook, and the ceiling lamp swayed. He shifted in hisbed. He found the turtle skeleton lying next to him and the journal resting onhis chest. He looked around, eyes wide. The bedroom door was shut. No one had seen. He exhaled a shakybreath, stowed the skeleton under his bed and hid the journal beneath hismattress. Then he jumped out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen.
“Niels, what’s going on?” he asked.
“Mom’s using the drill. She’s finishing the third well,” Niels said,trying to keep plates from jiggling off the wall.
“Angels, she’s going to kill us all,” Cyrus said.
He ran out the kitchen, still in his pajamas.
“What, Cyrus. No, wait.”
The sun was shining, and the airwas cool. He followed a chugging water hose to the southern half of the farm.There, he found his stepmother sitting on top of a steam-powered drill, a deepscowl of concentration carved into her face. Cyrus felt his cut and bruisedside and hesitated. Then he reminded himself of the journal.
“Mom, you have to stop. It’s too dangerous,” he shouted over the noise.
The machine was eight feet high and shaped like a steely, riveted icecream cone. The smell of steam, boiling metal and rock dust wafted from itstoil.
“Go help your brother. I’ll deal with you later,” she shouted over thedrill’s racket.
The hose fed the bottom half of the contraption, and with carnivorous,corkscrewing threads, it twisted and tore itself into the earth.
“No, it’s not safe. This whole place could cave in.”
The top half of the machine shook and jangled as it sputtered and spurted jets of water and vapor into the air.
“You’re only making things worse for yourself,” she growled.
Cyrus searched his mind for some way to make Llysalisten, make her understand the danger she was in; they were in. But it wastoo late. Cracks started to web out from beneath the four-legged contraption, and all Cyrus could do was scramble away infear.
“Mom!” he pointed to the newly formed rents in the earth.
“If I have to tell you one more time,” she spat over her shoulder.
Like the sound of a hundred trees snapping, the ground shunted, then started to give way.
“What in Kingdom?” she screamed.
“Jump,” Cyrus yelled.
Llysa leaped from the doomed machinery. Her dress snagged on the pedalshifter. The ground around the drill dropped three feet. Llysa screamed as she kicked and pulled at herdress. The material began to tear and come free. The foundation gave way, and the drill slipped
