“In the Spring, the Thunderlark is found only on the Isle of Dunsey, where it goes to lay eggs,” Cyril told them. “But during the colder seasons, it flies south. No one is certain where it ends up—the nine islands of the archipelago are the only islands in the Sea—but explorers have been interested in mapping their flight patterns for generations. They fly in swirl shapes instead of Vs—”

“Swirls?” Barclay said. Then he cleared his throat, realizing he’d interrupted a teacher. “I just mean… like the symbol I saw carved into the trench?”

Cyril frowned. “I doubt it. Thunderlarks fly in swirls due to the magnetic pulls of their Lore—”

“You saw a swirl carved into a trench?” Tadg demanded.

“Yeah. Do you know what that means?” Barclay asked.

“It’s the symbol for the Isle of Roane. My father was obsessed with finding it. That’s what his maps were full of—the ones I was looking for at our house. He charted as much of the Sea as he could searching for it, but he never—”

“The Isle of Roane?” Yasha asked, the others returning behind him. “I thought that was just a myth.”

“It is just a myth,” Cyril said haughtily. “And it should hardly be taking time away from our real studies.”

Barclay hesitated. “But I really saw the symbol on the trench. Cecily saw it too. Didn’t you, Cecily?”

Cecily was busy peering into the box, which Barclay saw was indeed full of butter. She dipped her finger in it, tasted it, and scrunched her nose. “Tastes like mud.”

“That was some family’s butter you stole,” Tadg said.

Cyril raised his eyebrows at her. “I thought we talked about the stealing.”

Barclay had never seen Cecily look guilty for her thieving, but for the first time, her expression went shameful. Pouting, she said, “I’ll go back and bury it where I found it.”

“Now that you stuck your fingers in it,” Tadg muttered.

“But wait,” Barclay cut in. “You saw the symbol too, right, Cecily?”

She nodded. “There was a swirl carved into the trench by a knife or something. It definitely wasn’t natural.”

Yasha turned to Cyril. “What does this mean, then?”

“If you all must know.” Cyril jutted his chin up high, as though to emphasize that he was above this silly discussion. “The Isle of Roane is a mythical island that the people of the Sea once believed existed. It’s rumored that if you find the Isle, it will lead you to where Lochmordra lives.”

“Then shouldn’t we all be looking for it?” Barclay asked. “That way we’ll find Lochmordra.”

“It’s not real,” Cyril snapped. “It’s just a fable. If Guardians spent their time chasing after every myth in the Wilderlands, they’d waste their whole lives doing it. Not every rumor and story is true.”

“My father believed it was real,” Tadg pointed out.