“I’ll be careful,” Corinne promised. She gave Jason a hug. “You be careful too.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Jason said.

CHAPTER 27

SECRETS FROM THE PAST

By the time Jason and Aram reached the waterfall, the crescent moon peeked down into the chasm, rendering their seaweed temporarily unnecessary. The silver ribbon of water plummeted from a ledge half the height of the gorge, churning in a misty basin at the bottom.

“The water is dropping a long distance,” Aram said, gazing upward. “The volume may not look impressive, but it is hitting with enough force to pin a man to the riverbed and keep him there until long after he drowns.”

“I’ll watch for barrels of air,” Jason said.

Aram smirked. “I would approach from the side. If you end up pressed to the ground, claw your way under the falls.” He tied a length of seaweed around Jason’s wrist.

“I guess I should leave my sword,” Jason said. He handed it to Aram. “I’ll bring the shield.”

“I’ll stand guard until you return,” Aram promised.

Jason was wet and shivering from hiking up the river. He stared at the falls, psyching himself up for the swim. He considered those who had lost their lives to get him here. Heg and the other drinlings. Drake. Jasher, temporarily. Farfalee, maybe forever. Nia. He had to push away the memories. If he dwelled on them now, he would be unable to go forward. “The secret behind those falls had better be useful,” he muttered.

“Amen,” Aram agreed.

Jason plunged into the cold pool. He approached the falls from the right, staying close to the wall of the cliff. The closer he came to the base of the waterfall, the more he felt currents tugging at him.

After waving at Aram, Jason held his breath and dove down, grateful for the radiance of the seaweed around his wrist, although at first all he saw was a shimmering screen of illuminated bubbles. The force of the falling water helped him sink quickly. He kicked and stroked hard, trying to get behind the falls. The turbulence actually helped him, drawing him downward and inward.

Sure enough, at the bottom of the basin, below and behind the falls, he found a large gap in the wall. Swimming inside, he passed along a short tunnel before surfacing in a placid pool inside a cavern. Jason breaststroked to where he could walk, then waded out of the water, shivering in the cool air.

Before him Jason saw a bronze door, incongruous against the natural stone of the cavern wall. He stared at it with relief. At least something was hidden behind the waterfall. People had died to get him here. Many other people were counting on him.

He wondered what Rachel was doing at the moment. Had Galloran raised his army? Were they on the move against Felrook? Living on the run, Jason and his companions hadn’t had the opportunity to get much news. Rachel could be anywhere. He hoped her team was having an easier time than his group had endured. Maybe whatever the door concealed would keep her from suffering too much. After crossing to it, Jason found the door unlocked, and entered.

“Hello?” he called, feeling like an intruder. The word echoed down a long corridor. Beyond the doorway the walls were stone blocks, the floor slate tiles. “Anybody here?”

Leaving the door ajar, Jason crept forward. Eventually the hall turned. Ahead he could see a quivering red radiance. “Hello?”

Again the only answer was his voice returning from the emptiness. At the end of the corridor, Jason reached a circular room with a domed ceiling. Four bronze torches lit the space, held in sconces a few feet out of reach, the flames red as blood. He could not see or smell any smoke. The deep redness of the flames seemed unnatural.

Perfectly round holes of three distinct sizes riddled the wall opposite the entrance to the room. A tiny, neat picture was painted above each hole. Three bronze bins in front of the perforated wall contained spherical white stones, each decorated with a small picture. The stones in one bin were the size of marbles, the next held spheres the size of golf balls, and the last contained stones more comparable to baseballs. The stone spheres seemed to match the three sizes of holes in the wall.

Apart from the holes, engravings textured the wall: runes and glyphs and symbols that Jason had no chance of comprehending. To his surprise, among the foreign shapes and squiggles, he found one concise message in English, the familiar letters etched neatly.

Do not proceed uninvited. Leave behind all weapons. Deliver a single ball to a single hole. Choose wrong and perish.

Jason scrutinized the rest of the wall to make sure he had missed no other legible messages. After finding nothing recognizable, he returned to the section of the wall peppered with holes. There appeared to be equal quantities of small, medium, and large perforations—hundreds in total.

He began studying the little paintings above the holes. The details were so minute that the brush must have been no larger than a whisker. The images seemed totally random: Animals, plants, buildings, symbols, articles of clothing, tools, faces, food, flags, and a variety of other objects were depicted.

How could he know which ball to put in which hole? It had to be a complex lock, like the door at the Repository of Learning. Did the little paintings on the balls match the images on the holes? Could it be that straightforward?

Jason scooped out two handfuls of medium-sized balls and began sifting through them, looking for an image that matched an image on the wall. The little icons on the balls seemed just as diverse as the images on the wall, but he was having trouble finding anything that matched.

He decided to focus on one ball. He chose one decorated with the tusked head of a golden elephant. He liked the image because it was so distinct. Walking along the wall with the ball, he looked for a matching image above a hole. His eyes darted from hole to hole, glancing at everything but with emphasis on the medium ones. His eyes stopped on an image above one of the large holes.

He did not pause because the image was an elephant.

He halted because the image was the face of his father.

Unable to make sense of what he was seeing, Jason stared in stunned befuddlement. He drew close, squinting. The picture was not quite as perfect as a photograph, but it seemed as unmistakable. The resemblance was uncanny, like a really good caricature. But how could that picture be here? His father had never been to Lyrian. And this place was supposed to be really old.

Could there have been a man in Lyrian who looked like his father? Could the artist have imagined a face that happened to look a lot like his father? Could it just be a coincidence?

Darian was supposed to be a seer. The oracle had made it sound like Jason was destined to come here. This couldn’t be coincidence. The face was too spot on. This hole mattered.