And now I know where the word “cavernous” comes from. This inner chamber is as big as a ballroom. Smiling faces part for us as we make our way through the crowd. I don’t like that Reed is holding my hand, don’t like how it looks, but I decide not to struggle at this moment. Not when I’ve just been cheered.
Dozens and dozens of industrial-grade flashlights sit along the walls, sending columns of light to the uneven crevices of the ceiling. Lime formations cascade down the walls like huge curtains, only more beautiful than the plain red tarps below. A path has been roughly hewn that leads to the middle of the ginormous ballroom. In this new “room” are intricately carved wooden benches scattered around in a pattern that reminds me of the pews of a cathedral. The way they form a circle around the middle of the cave reminds me of the amphitheater at a summer camp Chloe and I once attended.
What draws my attention the most are the paintings on the walls between the intermittent deluges of limestone. Galen said that in the Cave of Memories back home, they keep paintings and murals and sculptures from the past. I wonder if this is Neptune’s version of the Cave of Memories. The depictions seem to tell a story, possibly the one I’m about to hear.
To my left is a painting with a giant Syrena on it, wielding a humongloid trident in his hand. From the colossal waves in front of him and the mark of a trident on his stomach, my bet is that this is the General Triton sending destruction to Tartessos.
On my right is what looks like what all the history books depict as the first Thanksgiving. People—that is, a mix of humans, Syrena, and Half-Breeds—dressed in Pilgrim-like clothing are sharing a meal at a long picnic table outside. Children run around, chasing a happy-looking dog. The background of the painting shows wooden houses and buildings being constructed, and beyond that, the vast forest. I imagine this as the beginning of Neptune.
The middle wall illustrates a town of ancient times. Stone buildings, windows without glass, cobblestone pathways. The people—again, a mix of breeds—fill the small square in the center and children play in a fountain that has a Syrena statue on it. It’s obvious that this is a marketplace of some sort; people can be seen trading things like necklaces and bracelets for things like loaves of bread and pigeons in small carrying cages. It’s a peaceful scene—all the faces are painted with contented smiles.
I’m drawn back to the present when Reed puts a hand on my shoulder. I smile robotically, just in case I missed an introduction or something, but there is no one new nearby. It must be cool in here; everyone’s breath ghosts in front of their face as they greet us. He leads me to the center of the circle of benches. I notice that everyone is quickly taking their seats.
I don’t want to be in the center. It reminds me of the last time I was in the center of a crowd—the tribunal held to investigate all the Royals for fraud. Not a happy time.
Reder steps up to us. “Reed, what took you so long? We’ve been waiting. How did Toby get so far ahead of you two?” Reder smiles at me. I’d forgotten how friendly he is. “Toby told me about Galen,” he says. “We’ll do everything we can to help. If he wants to be found, we’ll find him.”
Why does everyone keep saying that?
“Thank you,” I choke out, prying my hand from Reed’s. Reder pretends not to notice the violence with which I do this. “Reed said we could form a private search party tomorrow. To aid the sheriff.”
Reder’s eyes dart to his son, then he purses his lips. “Absolutely. I’ll make an announcement after the Retelling tonight.”
“Retelling?” I ask.
Reder throws his head back and laughs as if I’ve told a joke. It catches the attention of several people already seated around us. Well, several more people who may or may not have already been paying attention to us. “I keep forgetting you’re not from around here, Emma,” he says. “That you’re new to all of this. But, of course, you are. That’s why we’re holding a Huddle in the first place. And maybe after tonight, you won’t feel so new.” He nods to a front-row bench behind him. “I saved you the best seat in the house.”
Reed says nothing, just drags me away by my wrist this time—which I guess is easier to keep hold of—hauling me toward the bench left open for us. “How did you guys build all of this?” I whisper as we sit. My attention is again drawn to the painted cave wall directly in front of us, where Triton sends the waves to shore. The small symbol on his stomach stands out to me. And of course, it reminds me of Galen. “Is that how you knew Galen was a Triton Royal?”
Reed shrugs. “Everyone knows about the mark. Our Archives keep their memories just as well as yours do. They wouldn’t forget the mark of a Triton Royal. In fact, it was an Archive who painted that. Archives painted everything in here, since we don’t have access to the Cave of Memories. Everything here has a special meaning.”
Even this mini Cave of Memories is too much for me to take in all at once. I hope Reed and I can come back and explore this place. It would take a full day to get through the paintings alone.
He grins. “Impressed? You’ll be more impressed to know we did this all the old-fashioned way.”
I shake my head. He rolls his eyes. I contemplate pinching the “fool” out of him as they say in these parts. “These benches we’re sitting on?” he says. “They’re over a hundred years old. See that guy over there? He helped build this place. And that lady? The one talking to Dad? She’s the one who found it when she was just a fingerling. Lucia is her name. She got lost in here, and when they found her, they found all this.” He makes a sweeping motion toward the ceiling of the cave.