Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie

THE SECRET STAIRS

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Cyrus and Edward reached Myrkur Island. Cyrus dragged the boat up the beach and into the cover of the woods. The scent of dried kelp clung to the shore like a fog.

“We made it,” Cyrus said, exhaling a shaky breath.”

“What now?” Edward asked, brushing sand from his fur.

“We scout the island,” Cyrus replied, “We’ll make our way to the southern shore. If all seems safe, we stick to the plan; head back to Virkelot, steal supplies and leave for good in the morning.”

They hid the craft under several branches and fern leaves and began to explore the forest. The trees and undergrowth looked very similar to Hekswood, and if Cyrus had not known better, he would have sworn that they were still on Virkelot.

“Look,” Edward hissed.

He crawled along Cyrus’ shoulder and pointed a shaky leg at a nearby footpath.

“How is that possible?” Cyrus asked, “No one’s supposed to live here.”

The path led into the woods and was overgrown with vines and poisonous creepers.

“You hear that?” Edward asked.

Crack!

The sound came from the trees. Cyrus froze. Barely audible under the wash of the tide, he heard twigs snap and pop underfoot, and branches scratch against skin… Or was it fur? Then it was gone.

“A wild pig maybe,” he said, trying to fight back the fear, “I think whatever made this path is long gone. It hasn’t been used in years.”

Edward’s hair stood on end, and his eyes were wide and searching. Cyrus found a stick and began to bushwhack their way along the neglected trail. Scavenger birds squawked from tangled trees and rats scurried through ragged shrubs.

“It’s weird,” Edward said, “the animals here don’t seem to be as frightened of me.”

“The animals are no more afraid of you here than anywhere else,” Cyrus replied.

But that was a lie. There was a strange absence of rodents and seagulls near Edward’s tree, and the one time that Cyrus had tried to sneak his best friend home, the forest creatures howled and fled as if a storm approached.

Cyrus saw movement through the woods to his right. At first, he thought it was his shadow, for the dark shape too seemed tall and slender. His pulse quickened. A deer maybe? It was too small. He began to track the figure out of the corner of his eye. Its motions were slow and graceful, like a cat through grass.

“Watch out!” Edward screamed, digging his legs into Cyrus’ arm.

Cyrus turned and found himself at the edge of a chasm.

“Holy Sea Zombie!” he gasped, teetering on the verge.

The rent was about four feet wide. It cut across the path, delving deep into the forest on either side. His legs felt numb. Stumbling, he stepped back from the pit, loosening a patch of gravel from the edge. The pebbles rained into the chasm. Several breaths passed before…

Sploosh!

“Edward, you okay?” Cyrus asked, his breath labored.

“It sounds like another underground lake,” Edward said, panting, “like under Virkelot. The cavern’s roof must be starting to cave in.”

Cyrus looked about for the thing that had distracted his attention. The shadow seemed to have disappeared.

“You’ve got to keep your eyes on the trail,” Edward said.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

The two continued deeper into the woods. The smell of mud and forest cabbage blanketed the earth.

By late afternoon they arrived at the southern tip of Myrkur Island. There, the forest receded into the island’s white, stone foundation; then rolled off into a steep cliff. The bluff rimmed the entire southern coast. As they walked down its slope, they saw a vast underwater sandbar that surrounded the land.

“I’ve never seen the ocean look so clear,” Edward said.

Cyrus peered down the slope. His stomach twisted. Someone or something had cut a stairway into the island’s face.

“Edward, look,” he whispered.

The wind-worn stairs snaked over the cliff side and out of sight. What if they had discovered the Sea Zombie’s den or the lair of some troll or demon? Cyrus wanted to run, leave this place and never come back. He weighed his options. Go home to his stepmother, or explore the strange pathway? Summoning all his courage, he began to make his way down.

“What are you doing?” Edward asked, skittering around his neck.

“If we’re going to live here, we have to see where it leads,” Cyrus said, his voice quivering.

He hugged his body to the wall as he descended the stairs. The cliff’s face was smooth like a massive egg. His heart raced, and his flesh grew cold and sweaty. He reached the end of the steps. There lay a large plateau. The stone bluff acted as a threshold to two yawning caverns.

“The caves are mirror images of one another,” Cyrus said, forcing himself to peer into each.

Both entrances were oval, and their ceilings at least ten times taller than Cyrus. A draft of sea air gusted through both as if the very island exhaled breath.

“Come on, this is far enough,” Edward said, “Let’s turn back.”

“I don’t like this either,” Cyrus said, “but if we’re going to leave home, we have to know what this is.”

Carefully, they entered the cave on the left and walked into the depths of the island.

“The walls are so smooth,” Cyrus whispered, gliding his fingers along the yellowish stone, “They look almost hand finished.”

At the end of the tunnel, they found that they did not need a lantern. Both caves opened up into an even larger, brighter cavern. Cyrus craned his head out of the tunnel and Edward poked his head out of Cyrus’ hair.

Another pair of cave openings lit its interior. The passages to the east and west were several times larger than the one the two friends had entered. The ocean sprayed outside of each as seagulls flew through them like threads through the eye of an oversized needle.

“Look at that,” Cyrus said, as he entered the chamber, “Somebody carved pools in the ground.”

Near the back of the cave lay mirror image ponds. Dark purple barnacles framed the pool’s edges, and their black waters reflected their surroundings like glass.

For a moment, in the western pond, Cyrus thought he saw blue lights move below the surface.

“Edward, did you see that?”

“What?”

Cyrus looked again. The lights had vanished.

“Nothing- I guess…”

He turned his gaze from the pools to the vaulted ceilings. The arches were symmetrical with cracks running through the stone like that of a fractured pot. Long, dark roots had forced their way through the rents. Water dripped from the tendrils like tears.

“I think this whole place was carved out by hand,” Cyrus said.

He turned and saw a round wooden door set into the cavern wall.

“Angels help us,” Edward said, spindling down from his friend’s ear.

Cyrus stood frozen. What sort of creature waited beyond that door? Why was he risking his life for this? He felt his black eye; remembered again the home he would be returning to.

The door did not seem to be part of the cave’s original design. Cyrus forced himself to move closer and study the hatch’s details. An undisturbed, salty film clung to the metal and wood, and sand filled the cracks between the door and the wall. With a shaky hand, he reached for the handle.

“What are you doing?” Edward gasped.

“The hinges are all rusted through. This door hasn’t been opened in ages.”

The metal latch felt grimy with salt. Carefully, Cyrus began to open the weather-beaten hatch. The hinges crumbled, and the covering crashed to the ground like a broken shield. Cyrus’ heart jumped, and his skin prickled. Sunlight shone through the entranceway. Freshly churned dust danced and swirled in its beam. He masked his nose with his denim shirt and peered into the egg-shaped room, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. The air smelled of old potato sacks.

“Someone used to live here,” he whispered, noticing tattered fishnets and oil paintings hanging from the curved walls.

The depictions were of dark woods and seas. In the center of the room, on a large wooden table, several teardrop-shaped glasses sat on metal stands. Dust and cobwebs clung to the objects as if they would collapse without their aid.

Every muscle in Cyrus’ body tensed as he passed through the threshold.

“What is all this?” he asked, peering about.

Edward said nothing.

Cyrus stepped towards the table and inspected a pair of rusted tweezers and a long skinny knife that was more handle than blade.

“Don’t touch anything,” Edward hissed.

Cyrus studied a dried turtle skeleton that lay on the table.

“Someone used twigs and moss to model a forest, fence, and village on the top of its shell.”

“Whoever lived here must have been mad,” Edward replied.

Against the wall, a large wooden bookcase brooded over several volumes of leather-bound books. To its left hung a steel rack that displayed vials of animal organs as well as several reptile skeletons.

Cyrus felt movement from the entryway. He spun. The door stood empty.

“Cyrus…”

He looked to where Edward sat frozen on his shoulder. The spider pointed a long, needle-like leg to the back of the room. In a darkened corner sat a clothed skeleton with a book in one hand, and a quill pen in the other. Cyrus’ limbs tingled, and butterflies filled his ribs.

“It’s a man,” he whispered.

He forced himself to move closer.

“Cyrus, no.”

The skeleton wore a pair of blue overalls and a sealskin jacket and boots. On what had once been its face rested a pair of wire-framed glasses. A web stretched from its skull to its hands, and a large, brown maus spider occupied a finger. It scurried off its perch and into the skeleton’s eye socket.

“I think the old guy died writing something,” Cyrus said.

He crept over to the dead man’s bedside. The air smelled like a disused attic.

After a moment’s hesitation, Edward asked, “What’s it say?”

Cyrus leaned as close as he dared and read the text, “‘Early winter, day eleven thousand, three hundred and fifteen. The blue-eyed phantom watches me from the water. Too tired for further study, need rest…’ from there it just trails off.”

“Blue-eyed phantom?” Edward asked, his fur bristling, “Cyrus, we need to go!”

“Just a sec.”

Cyrus pulled the book out of the skeleton’s grasp. Its hand crumbled to dust.

“Sorry.”

He brushed the book off and stuffed it under his arm. Then he sprang across the room and gathered up the strange turtle skeleton with the model village on its back.

He and Edward rushed out of the dead man’s dwelling. As they crossed the entryway, they found fresh, webbed footprints leading from the nearest pool. Cyrus froze, cringing as if about to be struck. The blue-eyed phantom…

“Run,” Edward hissed.

Cyrus shook the terror from his limbs and scrambled out of the caverns. He hurried back through the forest with Edward looking over their shoulders and set sail under the dying sun.

Myrkur was not safe. That was clear. But Virkelot seemed little better. What was Cyrus going to do? The book! He had to read the book.