Zara now started to walk forward. Her hand danced around the silver cone at the top of her staff, and occasionally her high-pitched cry could be heard above the howling. The waves now grew to the size of mountains, looming cliffs of water a hundred feet in height . . . then two hundred.

The sorcerers continued forward. The wind flattened Zara’s dress against her body and pulled at her long hair. The group descended, losing height, soon hundreds of paces from shore. When they were a mile out, on both sides of a cleared sea bottom, blue walls rose up as the magi held the sea at bay. Fish leaped from the slick walls of water to plop onto the sand that had been covered by ocean a moment ago. Crabs skittered. Seaweed hugged the hulk of a fishing boat that sank long ago.

Palemon thanked the gods for the gift of the sorceress. No one else had her skill, or her ambition. Who else would be bold enough to attempt something like this?

With each step Zara and her brethren took, the walls of water on either side of them grew, until they were so tall that Palemon could no longer judge their height. Blood was roaring in his ears; he was flushed with excitement, and he had yet to see the ancient city.

The magi were now far from shore. When they were a quarter of the distance to Widow’s Peak, two sorcerers, one on either side, stopped to hold the wall of ocean while the others continued.

There was now a pathway along the downward slope of the sea bed. Zara continued and eventually another pair of magi stopped and put their backs to each other as they faced the tall waves.

Unable to sit any longer, Palemon rose from his chair and stood with his fists bunched at his sides. In the distance, he could see the small figure of Zara walking down the ocean bed. On the narrow pathway, near one of the standing sorcerers, a sleek shark as big as Palemon himself writhed on the ground, mouth gaping as the thin slits of its gills sucked at the air. A school of baitfish shot out of the liquid wall, in the open air for a moment before plunging into the wall opposite. Three magi on either side of the path now held the sea at bay. Past Widow’s Peak, a waterfall tumbled and foamed like the pale eruption of a volcano.

Zara was no longer walking; she was climbing a gentle slope. Ahead of her, water continued to recede from the terrain. Leaving behind the last pair of magi, she raised her staff and a blinding white light rolled out in a concussive wave.

Finally the sea parted to reveal the lost city of Aleuthea.