Spirits of Ash and Foam by Greg Weisman Read Free Book Online Page B

key. This is perfect! She had been worried that while she was down in the Cache, a hundred other local kids could have shown up and found the sandstone slab open to the world. She reached up and yanked in her backpack. Then she placed the zemi in its interior slot and twisted. She ducked her head as the block glowed again and slid closed with an echoing thunk, leaving her in semidarkness and making her nervous about what would result if someone happened to be in the way of that slab when it thunked. It brought on her icky-face and a shiver and a conscious effort to push the thought away before descending farther.
    In her head, Rain heard a bassoon with violin accents as she followed the indirect light down the circular stairway. She passed the extinguished torch on the wall and issued a command: “Light!” Nothing happened. “Torch!” Nothing. She tried to remember the exact words she had used to bring it to flaming life the night before, but she couldn’t quite recall, and ultimately it didn’t matter. There was enough illumination leaking up from below. Maybe that’s why the torch won’t light. It isn’t truly needed. Or maybe, like ’Bastian, it doesn’t work before the sun goes down …
    She emerged into the Cache, a wide terrace cut into the cliffside and open to the elements directly in front of her. Shadowed by its stone ceiling thirty feet above, which provided a floor to the N.T.Z., the air in the Cache was easily twenty degrees cooler. While there had been no breeze atop the cliff, down here a gentle zephyr of salt-scented sea air washed over Rain’s skin, causing her to breathe a satisfied sigh of relief. She slid her backpack off her shoulder and gently lowered it to the floor.
    To her right, along one side of the rectangular cave, were nine stone thrones, carved out of the wall itself. She ignored these and crossed to her left instead. Here was the long stone shelf, and behind it the wall that still bore the charred message that had officially launched her on her quest:
    BIENVENIDO, BUSCADORA, A LA CACHÉ.
    BIEN HECHO. HAS ENCONTRADO EL PRIMER ZEMI.
    COMO TÚ, ES EL BUSCADOR Y EL CURADOR.
    COMO TÚ, TAMBIÉN ES EL PRIMERO DE NUEVE.
    TENEMOS POCO TIEMPO Y SÓLO UNA OPORTUNIDAD PARA CURAR LA HERIDA.
    ENCUENTRA LOS NUEVE. PARA TI Y PARA ELLOS SON LAS LLAVES QUE ABRIRÁN EL VERDADERO ACERTIJO DE LAS FANTASMAS.
    Once more, Rain made her best approximate mental translation from the Spanish. “Welcome, Searcher, to the Cache. Well done. You have found the first zemi. Like you, it is the Searcher and the Healer. Like you, it is also the first of nine. We have little time and only one chance to heal the wound. Find the nine. For you and they are the keys to unlocking the true mystery of the Ghosts.”
    Rain found herself smiling. I’m the Searcher. I’m the Healer. I’m the key to unlocking this mystery! It was pretty great. She turned toward the nonexistent fourth wall and came very, very close to shouting that to the world. After all, shouldn’t they know? Shouldn’t the whole world know this quest was hers?
    Still, a part of her was quite aware she’d never be believed, and what little she could prove could easily be taken away from her. The zemi. The Cache. These could be classified as archaeological finds and put in the hands of the very people who would laugh derisively at her ghost story—even with Charlie as a witness. And if they took the zemi, they’d be taking ’Bastian away from her too. She could not allow that. So except for an unintelligible grumble, she kept her mouth shut.
    She ran her hand along the stone shelf, studying each of the nine indentations carved to house the nine zemis —or they would house them, once she’d found the other eight. The first indentation was yet another circular keyhole for her snake charm. The second was a small cylindrical hole. The third was a thick equilateral