Barclay fumbled trying to keep hold of the conch—the last thing he needed was to lose it to the rapids. But the current was so fast that before he had time to hear the whirl, they were already swept to one side of the fork.

“If this takes us to the Zapray territory or the poisonous reefs, I still won’t save you,” Tadg said, but Barclay didn’t care. He wouldn’t want to be rescued by Tadg anyway.

“Maybe we should go back,” Viola said nervously.

“No, I—” Barclay struggled to keep his head out of the water. “I—I hear it! It’s getting louder. We’re going the right way.”

“Can you tell if we’re close?” Tadg demanded. “My arms are cramping.”

“I don’t know.” Barclay’s own muscles were so tired that they trembled.

Then Barclay slammed into the side of a boulder, throwing him off balance. His arms gave out, and he was dragged beneath the surface. The seaweed rope around his stomach jerked Viola next, then Tadg, and soon all three of them were hurtling and spiraling down the river. They flailed, and Tadg—the strongest swimmer of the three of them—tried to pull them to the surface, but the weight of the others dragged him down. They spun and spun. It felt like falling downhill, except the hill never stopped.

“AHHHHHH!” Barclay shouted.

“Do something!” Viola screamed.

“I can’t!” Tadg called. He tried to control the current with his Lore, but it was too powerful.

Barclay had no idea how long it lasted. It could’ve been minutes; it could’ve been hours. But eventually the rapids twisted around a bend and began to slow. The three of them were so exhausted that they could only drift there limply like pieces of kelp.

“Are we dead?” Viola asked, panting.

“If I could move right now,” Tadg answered, “Barclay would be.”

Barclay ignored him and peered around, squinting in the dim light of the Firenekkies. The river ended at the base of what looked like an underwater mountain, circling it like a moat.

“I think… I think we’re here,” Barclay breathed.

Apparently Tadg could move, because he jolted and turned to where Barclay was looking. “That’s an island. It has to be,” Tadg said. He untied the seaweed rope around their waists and hoisted himself out of the river. “But what are those?”

He pointed toward the surface, where twisty pillars of water hung down like stalactites. Barclay tried to count them but couldn’t. There were too many.

“I think those are whirlpools,” Viola answered. “A lot of whirlpools.”

As Barclay heaved himself out of the river, a rock nestled in a bushel of seaweed caught his eye. A swirl was carved into it, just like the one he’d spotted on the trench. And a foot away was another, then another. Stone after stone of spiral carvings ran parallel to the riverbank.