He moved some more vines away from a wall, and there were the first carvings. He traced them with his fingers, trying to make out the shapes and symbols, but weather and time had made them vague.

“What do you think?” Nomi asked.

“I can't tell yet,” he said. “But your captain seemed certain.”

“My captain?”

Ramus glanced back and smiled at Nomi. She was half embarrassed, half angry.

Ramus headed around the rear of the ruin to the doorway Beko had mentioned. When he reached it, he moved back a few paces, trying to make out the whole façade of the temple before going inside. It was surprisingly well preserved, perhaps protected from the weather by the sheer walls of the ravine, which ended a dozen steps beyond the building. It was almost as though the ravine had been made for the temple, but he guessed it was the other way around. Whoever had built this place, however long ago, had meant it to fill this wound in the land.

“It's a weird place to build,” Nomi said.

Ramus shrugged. “We can't pretend to know the minds of whoever built it. Could be a thousand years old, or even older.”

“Shall we go inside?”

Ramus swept his hand toward the ruin. “After you.”

IT WAS DARKER inside, but other than that there should have been no difference. There was no roof, and once through the door it was clear that few walls still stood higher than his head. But still Ramus felt as though he was moving into another place. In the ravine there was nature and shade, the Raynon cactus awaiting its next victim and creepers using the tumbled walls as their home. Outside, time went on.

In here, time was frozen in place.

He could almost taste the final breaths of whoever had built this temple to the lost Gods.

The remaining walls were lined with carvings. Most of them were badly weathered, but a few were still quite clear. Ramus read some sigils, translating as best he could, and he nodded in silent confirmation.

“Sleeping Gods?” Nomi said.

“Yes. Your captain was right.”

“I wish you wouldn't call him that.”

“And that's why I shall continue.” Ramus pointed at the base of one wall, where a sloped pile of debris was home to a vibrant purple heather. “There were tiles on the wall once,” he said. “If we could spend a year here piecing those together, we'd know more about the people who built this place than anyone else.”

Nomi whistled softly. “That's a job for you on the way back, perhaps. Me, I choose travel over archaeology.”

“What is it you think we do on our voyages?” he asked. “We dig up the past by discovering the present.”

“Very profound, Ramus. You should write a book.”

He smiled at her, opening the leather pouch on the side of his backpack and bringing out the empty journal. “I'm going to start right here.”