CHAPTER NINE

The Invisible Circle

IV

Wilburn ran to the edge of the pavilion. The ocean… he’d never seen it before! Mom had seen it, though, when she was little, and she’d told him all about it, and… this definitely wasn’t the ocean. Wilburn’s disappointment was short lived. You gotta see this, he thought to Iddo, who lumbered over obligingly, the clop-clop of his hooves oddly staccato in the vast space, and together the two of them looked down… down… down…

The temple stood atop a mountain—or rather, in the top of a mountain, because the top of this particular mountain was a hollow basin—a caldera, Iddo called it. The pavilion’s floor was level with the rim of the basin, because the pavilion was in fact only the upper tip of an enormous hexagonal pyramid—a ziggurat, Iddo called it—whose foundation rested, presumably, on the basin’s floor, although you couldn’t actually see it, because the basin’s floor was covered by a lake. So what you saw was steps ascending from the water, except you barely saw the water; what you really saw was steps ascending out of steam. And when you did catch a glimpse of water through the swirling curtains of vapor, it wasn’t smooth or rippling or ribbed with waves the way a normal lake would’ve been; it was a seething, churning monster. The lake was boiling. And—peeeee-yew!—the rotten-egg stench was just awful. Although, Iddo said it wasn’t rotten eggs, it was brimstone which was another word for sulfur.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

A narrow trail snaked its way up the inner slope of the basin, cutting across bathtub rings that marked the previous high-water levels, then climbing several hundred feet up through what had, until recently it appeared, been fertile vegetation. The plants within the basin were now dark and wilted like overcooked spinach, those nearest the water little more than clumps of slime, while higher up the ferns and palms became at least distinguishable from one another, and the ones around the rim of the basin, where the trail folded over to go squiggling down the mountainside, might have even been alive—though, if they were, they clearly wouldn’t be much longer.

The vegetation on the outer slopes of the mountain was a very different tale indeed. It was like the photosynthetic equivalent of a bodybuilders convention—the plants were so healthy they seemed to be flexing leafy muscles. You could practically see the jungle growing. The jungle… yessiree. Wilburn knew a jungle when he saw one, even though he never had before. It was as good a first sight as the ocean would’ve been, he guessed. It was pretty darn impressive. There were no other mountains in the area, just this one, a solitary spire jutting from a flatland jungle that stretched farther than the eye could see—and the eye could see a balls long way from here, like… far. Nothing but jungle. Nothing but green. So much green, rolling on forever and ever and ever… rolling right over the curve of the horizon.

Know what I think? Wilburn thought.

Iddo did, because Wilburn hadn’t yet learned to withhold his inner monologue, but he gamely replied, What’s that, my boy?

Wilburn gestured down into the swirling steam. I think, he thought, this is volcano.