Cyrus LongBones Box Set

rimmed the entire southern coast. As they walked down itsslope, 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 theisland’s face.
“Edward, look,” he whispered.
The wind-worn stairs snaked over the cliff side and out of sight. Whatif they had discovered the Sea Zombie’s denor the lair of some troll or demon? Cyrus wanted to run, leave this place and nevercome back. He weighed his options. Go home to his stepmother, or explore the strangepathway? 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,” Cyrussaid, his voice quivering.
He hugged his body to the wall as he descended the stairs. The cliff’sface was smooth like a massive egg. His heart raced, and his flesh grew cold and sweaty. He reached the end of thesteps. There lay a large plateau. The stone bluff acted as a threshold to twoyawning caverns.
“The caves are mirror images of one another,” Cyrus said, forcinghimself to peer into each.
Both entrances were oval, and their ceilings at least ten times tallerthan Cyrus. A draft of sea air gusted through bothas 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 leavehome, we have to know what this is.”
Carefully, they entered the cave on the left and walked into the depthsof the island.
“The walls are so smooth,” Cyrus whispered, gliding hisfingers along the yellowish stone, “They look almost hand finished.”
At the end of the tunnel, they found that they did not need a lantern. Bothcaves opened up into an even larger, brighter cavern. Cyrus craned his head outof the tunnel and Edward poked his head out of Cyrus’ hair.
Another pair of cave openings lit its interior. The passages to the eastand west were several times larger than the one the two friends had entered.The ocean sprayed outside of each as seagullsflew through them like threads through the eye of an oversized needle.
“Look at that,” Cyrus said, as he entered the chamber, “Somebody carvedpools in the ground.”
Near the back of the cave lay mirror image ponds. Dark purple barnaclesframed the pool’s edges, and their black waters reflected theirsurroundings like glass.
For a moment, in the western pond, Cyrus thought he saw blue lights movebelow 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 archeswere symmetrical with cracks running through the stone like that of a fracturedpot. Long, dark roots had forced their way through the rents. Water drippedfrom the tendrils like tears.
“I think this whole place was carved out by hand,” Cyrus said.
He turned and saw a round woodendoor 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 washe risking his life for this? He felt his black eye; remembered again the homehe would be returning to.
The door did not seem to be part of the cave’s original design. Cyrusforced himself to move closer and study the hatch’s details. An undisturbed, saltyfilm clung to the metal and wood, and sand filled the cracks between the doorand 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 theweather-beaten hatch. The hinges crumbled, andthe covering crashed to the ground like a broken shield. Cyrus’ heart jumped, and his skin prickled. Sunlight shone throughthe entranceway. Freshly churned dust danced and swirled in its beam. He maskedhis nose with his denim shirt and peered into the egg-shaped room, ready toflee at a moment’s notice. The air smelled of old potato sacks.
“Someone used to live here,” he whispered, noticing tattered fishnetsand 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 asif 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 tweezersand 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 beenmad,” Edward replied.
Against the wall, a large wooden bookcase brooded over several volumesof leather-bound books. To its left hunga steel rack that displayed vials of animal organs as well as several reptileskeletons.
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 pointeda long, needle-like leg to the back of the room. In a darkened corner sat aclothed skeleton with a book in one hand, and a quill pen in the other. Cyrus’limbs tingled, and butterflies filled hisribs.
“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 andboots. On what had once been its face rested a pair of wire-framed glasses. Aweb stretched from its skull to its hands, and a large, brown maus spider occupied a finger. It scurried offits 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 disusedattic.
After a moment’s hesitation, Edward asked, “What’s it say?”
Cyrus leaned as close as he dared and read the text, “‘Early winter, dayeleven thousand, three hundred and fifteen. The