The farther they rode, the banks on either side of the water grew deeper until they were nearly cliffs, twice the height of a man. For the most part, the ground dropped straight down to the stream, except for a few places where the animals had trod shallower paths down to drink.
At last, the sound of a distant rustle rose above the gentle murmur of the creek. Through the growth of trees ahead, he caught a glimpse of water—a great deal of it, as large as a lake. Relief eased the tension in his shoulders.
He did know what he was doing. Arsenault’s scant teaching had taken root.
When he reined in Gulliver at the edge of the trees surrounding the larger body of water, he finally saw the full extent of what lay before him. A lake, yes, though not as large as he’d first thought. On the opposite shore, the grass met the lapping waves in a muddy cluster of underbrush and reeds. A prime place to set traps for otter and muskrat.
In front of him, the bank dropped in a steep rocky cliff to finally meet the water’s surface far below. He should simply ride around to the shallow part of the lake, the place where the trapping would be best. Yet the lure of the cliffs drew his focus there. He could at least take a few minutes to study the landscape.
Dismounting, he stepped closer to the edge, grasping a thick sapling as he leaned over to better see the layers of stone that made up the bank. Where the creek fed into the river, it created a small waterfall, dropping about two armlengths to meet the surface of the lake. That accounted for the rustling sound.
He’d heard many a story about caves tucked behind falls, but this scant bit of liquid couldn’t hide much. The stone behind the falling water looked solid enough.
But to the left of the falls . . . What was that dark place in the rock? Merely an indentation shadowed by an overhang? It looked too deep for that.
Moving over so he could get a better view from a different angle, he peered at the spot. Now it looked even more like a cave. The opening was small, but probably large enough for him to crawl into.
Did he dare?
A rush of anticipation surged through him. Yes, if he could get to the spot, he wanted to see what lay within. Besides, with the snow coming, he would need shelter. Hopefully this nook would be deep enough to provide cover.
His gaze tracked a possible path along the cliff wall to reach the cave. There looked to be footholds he could manage. And they were deep enough that he could use them to climb back up.
Turning back to Gulliver, he dug through his pack to find one of the few candles he carried, along with his tinderbox to create a flame. The moon and his campfire usually gave enough light to see at night, but if the cave went very deep, he’d need something to illuminate the darkness.
Of course, it was probably only a shallow opening. Where the hole was positioned in the center of the cliff, only birds would have easy access. With his tinderbox and candle tucked in his waistband, he trekked along the bank to the place he’d identified to begin his descent.
Maybe he should have tied a rope around his middle and secured it to a tree before going down, but if he slipped from the cliff, he’d only hit water. He could swim as well as the next lad who’d grown up in the land of many lakes.
The rough ground scraped his belly as he dangled his feet over the ledge, feeling along the wall with his boots for the foothold he’d seen. There. From one perch to the next, he moved sideways and downward. When he descended far enough that there were no saplings left to hold, he clutched the edges of stone jutting from the cliff, his fingers aching. The leather soles of his shoes flexed enough that he could use his feet to help grip.
At last, he stretched the final distance to place his footon the floor of the cave. Before leaning much weight on it, he shifted his toes farther into the opening, searching for a rear wall. Nothing.
With one foot on the secure surface, he pulled the other into the cave opening, then worked his upper body down so he could kneel just inside the entrance. He finally took in a full breath as he reached for the candle and tinderbox. The murky darkness inside the cave gave no sign of how deep it went or what lay within.
After two tries with the flint and steel, he built enough spark in the tinder to light the candlewick. Snuffing out the tinder, he peered into the darkness as he extended the candle.
The light flickered off the cave sides, which were narrower than the span of his arms in either direction, but he still couldn’t see how deep the opening went. He crawled forward, holding the candle in front of him.
He’d only gone a few strides in when a distant rumble sounded. As the noise grew louder, it seemed to shake the air, vibrating in his chest and stirring alarm through every part of him.
An earthquake? The roar of a bear?
He dropped low, tucking against the wall on his left, preparing for whatever threat came. This time, his recklessness might have finally taken him too far.
2
Charlotte slipped inside to escape the bustle in the courtyard. Their Dinee friends had come for trading, as they usually did after the Laurent men returned from a trip to the fort. With the first winter snow looming, she’d been surprised to see that two women had accompanied the three men. She would have expected the women to stay home to finish any final preparations before winter kept them bound mostly to their homes.
Speaking of final preparations, she had much to do herself. Brielle had brought back a host of caribou meat from a hunting trip that still needed to be smoked, and that would be done easiest with an outside fire. They should have plenty of food for the next few months at least—a relief for sure.
She placed the bundles she’d traded for on the table and paused to survey the room. Andre had cleaned the chimney yesterday, and he’d left a sooty mess all around the hearth. She’d swept the ashes already, but grimy handprints still marred the mantle. A thin layer of black covered many of the decorations on the wood piece—proof the chimney’s cleaning had been long overdue.
Her gaze caught on the brass chalice reigning atop the mantle. It held an honored place in their home and among their entire village as the special heirloom passed down from Louis Curtois, the leader of the group that first founded Laurent. Each of the village chiefs through the years had held charge of the cup, and Papa had made a special metal mount to hold it in place on their mantel.
The intricate engraving of Jesus at the Last Supper possessed such detail that it was hard to believe the etching had been done by a man and not by the Lord himself. She’d always loved studying the portrayal of Jesus’s face. The mixture of love and sorrow made her chest ache, even back when she’d been a young girl.
She reached for the chalice, easing it out of the base. With the annual Discovery Day celebration in just over a fortnight, this treasure needed a thorough cleaning. It would be moved to a place of honor in the assembly room for the feast as the story was told and retold of the day their ancestors discovered the web of caves within this mountain.
