Chapter 1

 

Cory felt the sand sift down the back of his tee shirt, and sputtered through mud-caked lips. He was hot and sweaty. He didn’t like being hot and sweaty. He was in a dark hole, and he liked that even less. The hole was supposed to be a tunnel. It still felt more like a hole. He lay on his stomach with his feet stuck out the open end behind him. All of his body, except his feet, lay enclosed in the heat and dark of the tunnel he’d excavated. His two pedal appendages were the only part of him free. He sputtered again as he chopped at the red sand in front of him. The sand had been there, undisturbed, for hundreds of years. It had packed down, as sand will, and filtered in, packed again, and hardened in place. Over time it had grown almost as hard as the sandstone cliffs and the shard that had shed it. Now he was trying to dig a hole through that packed sand and gravel. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was sure he was doing something insane.

The small camp shovel he used was nearly useless for anything else. Even for most camp chores. However, it proved to be just the thing for the hole he was digging. The sand broke up and crumbled a little at a time. He exerted a great deal of effort to chop it up and move it. The sand, more gravel than sand, often broke into chunks rather than crumbling to its base element. He shoved the product of his effort along his body, and back toward the opening where his feet were. He could feel a pair of phantom hands taking it from around his legs, moving it out of his way.

Cory realized, suddenly, that the sand was backing up. It was piled around his legs. The hands outside the tunnel were not keeping up. It was hard to move, and harder to breathe. The sand was in his shirt, in his pants and shoes. It was caked to his face, down his neck, and in his hair. It was dark and stifling in the tunnel. Even in the dark he could see the red color of the rock and sand in front of him. He shifted his legs to try to get more room to move.

It was called “slick rock country”.  The rock was not true rock, and it wasn’t slick, he thought wryly.

He sputtered again, and pushed more sand along the tunnel beside him.  He was hot and tired, and it was time for a break.  And it was Thomas’ turn to dig.

“I’ve had enough,” he muttered, trying to breathe deeply, and not succeeding.

The tunnel pressed too closely around him.  He started to inch backward and, for the first time that day, felt a spark of panic.  The sand had packed in around his hips and thighs. Thomas had not kept up.  The sand had become an effective cork.  He realized that he couldn’t move.  He was having trouble breathing.  He tried again to inch backward out of the tunnel, and again failed.

“Hey!” he shouted.  “Hey!  Help me out!”

He knew the mountain muffled his voice.  He became very aware of the mountain of sandstone on his left, and the massive boulder above him.  Only someone very close could hear him at all.  He kicked his legs, and felt familiar hands grab his ankles and pull.  At first he didn’t move.  There was a moment when he thought he might be trapped, that he might suffocate inside the tunnel.  His breath was quicker, shallower, and almost frantic.  The feeling of panic grew more acute.  He thought a quick prayer. His breathing was too rapid to allow him to speak.  Almost as if answering his unvoiced prayer, the sand gave way, and he slid out of the sandy prison.  Light burst around him as he was pulled back on his belly.  The sand fell off him in waves.  His tee shirt slid up and the sand scraped his belly and chest and instantly caked to his sweaty skin.  He didn’t care.  He was glad to be free.  He thrashed free with his arms and shoulders.  The helping hands released his legs.

He rose up on his elbows, and brushed at his face.  The sand had invaded his shirt and was packed against his skin.  Again, he didn’t care.  The breeze, which had earlier felt like a furnace blast, seemed cool and welcome.  He breathed deeply several times.

He sputtered, wiping at his face, and took another deep breath.

“Wow!” he sputtered.  “It’s…hot…in there.”

He looked over his shoulder into the face of his partner, his best friend.  For one instant their eyes met.  He could see he wasn’t the only one who’d felt the fear.

“Are you okay?”  The other boy asked, concern edging his voice.

“I am now,” he said softer, brushing at his hair. “We’ve gotta be nearly through by now.  We’ve been digging, and we just gotta be.  How much further do you figure?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” the other boy asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Cory replied. “I’m all right. Really. Don’t worry. I just got a little stuck, maybe a little scared for a minute. I’m okay now. Thanks for pulling me out.”

Thomas, the other boy, nodded and said, “That’s okay. You scared me.”

“I scared me,” Cory said sardonically.

He brushed more dirt out of his hair.

“I figured ten feet,” Thomas said absently, watching Cory carefully, “assuming the candle is hollow under the other side like it was on this side. You’re right. We have to be almost through.”

Thomas was referring to the massive sandstone pillar that stood in front of them. It loomed like a predator on the ledge, and had for hundreds of years. The Native American tribes in the area called it the crow. From up canyon, in the right light, and with some imagination, it did look like a carrion bird waiting for the scraps from another animal’s meal, waiting to swoop down into the canyon and feed, its wings folded tight against its sides. There was an Indian word, but Thomas didn’t know it.

The early settlers, seeing it from down canyon, thought it looked like a candle hanging on the wall. It needed only a flame at its wick to light the whole canyon below.

The canyon itself was an ancient watercourse. The sandstone had been cut out, sliced by a massive amount of water, a great flood, leaving vertical red cliffs on both sides, and a rolling, sand-filled space between. The cliffs were particularly high just where the canyon opened up in a natural amphitheater. They fractured and split at intervals, sometimes because of water. Other natural forces, far more violent, had shaken the land and left their mark as well. Here, in a cataclysmic event before recorded time, the cliff on the east side of the canyon split, and the top layer slipped back ten feet, leaving a shelf, a ledge, across its face. Thousands of years of erosion had narrowed the ledge, but most of the way it was still several feet wide. The split was not perfectly horizontal, but it was continuous. It began deep in the sand, sliced up the face at an angle, and then soared out the top of the cliff a half-mile further down the canyon. It formed a natural ramp, and it was the ramp that had attracted the boys. Except for the candle it was a natural path to the top of the cliffs. The candle blocked the ledge a third of the way up. It had stood sentinel for centuries guarding the way to the top.

Centuries earlier the shard broke from the cliff above and fell. A hole remained in the face a hundred feet above roughly the shape of the shard. Years of erosion had softened both the hole and the shard, but it was certain the shard had once resided above. The sandstone rock, a thousand tons of it, fell over a hundred feet in less than three seconds. It hit the ledge and, against all odds, and, seemingly, against the laws of physics, stuck fast, and remained cemented to the ledge ever after. It should have fallen all the way to the canyon floor and exploded in a heap of rubble, probably taking a section of the ledge with it. But it didn’t.

Cory looked up at the formation, and breathed deeply. The rock was an impressive, and imposing, obstacle. Until just the moment before he had not felt the weight of the rock. Now he wondered if their venture was wise.

Teens are prone to move forward when their imagination is sparked. Wisdom is a momentary thing, coming in flashes and often ignored, and danger is seldom an issue to contend with. It creeps in on cats paws after an action, and then they take a moment to think. Sometimes it works its way to the surface before they hurt themselves, at least often enough for the majority to survive adolescence. It has been said that a teenage boy without bandages and splints is not truly living. The boys on the ledge were no wiser than most teens their age. However, there was that brief glimmer of thought as Cory looked up at the monolith.

He crawled backward till his shoulders cleared the overhanging formation, and then rolled over. Turning over was a mistake. The sand sifted from his hair into his eyes.

"Good golly!" he spat, brushing the sand off his face, and feeling the grit under his eyelids. "Listen, Thomas. This better be worth it. My mom’s gonna kill me when she sees these clothes."

“Doctor,” Thomas said whimsically, “it hurts when I do this.”

“Then don’t do that,” Cory finished wryly. “Okay. I do most of my own laundry, too. I’ll just make sure she doesn’t see these. I don’t want her to see these. If she kills me, Thomas, I’ll come by your house and kill you.”

“I’ve got a mother, too,” Thomas returned. “If she sees my clothes you may not have to make the trip.”

Thomas smiled. He was as dirty as Cory was. They’d been digging between the boulder and the cliff face for almost two hours. Their canteens were empty, and Thomas knew Cory’s patience was about exhausted for one day. He took a deep breath.

“Let’s come back next Saturday,” he suggested.

Cory brightened for only a moment. Then he saw the lost puppy dog look on Thomas’ face. Thomas was famous for it. He used it whenever he needed to get his way. His eyes turned down, his face grew long, and, on occasion, tears welled up in the lower part of his eyelids. It was a game he played, and all their friends knew it. Even so, it was almost always effective. Knowing about it and having been a victim many times didn’t make Cory immune.

"I saw the lake," Thomas attested, a catch in his voice. "We flew right over it! That water spilling out of the gap has to be coming from somewhere."

“That water spilling out of the gap is just a wet spot on the side of the cliff,” Cory said without much conviction. “Especially this year. It could be an underground spring just back inside the cut. In fact, that’s probably all it is.”

“Yes,” Thomas returned, brushing at his shoulder, and slipping up to get his knees underneath him. “But, it never dries up. Not even after four drought years in a row. Look at the grove. I mean, it’s an oasis in the desert! You’re right. It could be a spring. That’s what everyone’s assumed till now. But it isn’t. I saw the lake.”

They were talking about the damp face of the sandstone cliffs. The water dribbled down the sandstone and disappeared in a small catch basin at the bottom. The sand absorbed it all, and it was gone. A skimpy coating of moss and clinging plants grew where the water kept the face of the cliff damp. A few trees, mostly cottonwoods, grew at the base of the cliff around the catch basin. They were always green and well watered late into the fall, right up to the time their leaves turned. It was called “The Grove” by the first pioneers who settled the town, though there were hardly enough trees to make it a true grove. The grove was a gathering place for church services back then, before they finished the church in town. Afterward it saw only sporadic use. It saw occasional picnics and an odd party once in a while. Beyond that, the grove attracted little attention.

Cory was glad. The canyon had been their private territory for as long as either of them could remember. They seldom met anyone when they were exploring. They’d hiked the canyon before they got bicycles. When they got bikes they had ridden up as far as the forks, where the canyon split. Later, when Thomas got the Jeep, they drove all the way up to the mines, as far as the road went. The road got so bad further up only a four-wheel drive vehicle could make it. The Jeep was four-wheel drive, if only just barely.

Cory looked over the edge and tried to swallow in a dry throat. He wasn’t afraid of heights, but this was a little different. It was 60 feet straight down. The face of the cliff was flat. There was nothing to break a fall except the ground far below. He didn’t have to lean out much to see the wet section of the cliff. It was only a dozen or so yards on the other side of the boulder. The cut in the cliff where the water came out was hidden from him, but he knew it was there. It was a significant blemish in the cliff face, easily visible from below.

The cleft was half way up the face of the cliff. Over thousands of years the water must have worked the deep cut in the stone, at last settling and slowing when it reached the level of the ledge. Cory knew it didn't take much to carve away the soft sandstone. He looked into the tunnel Thomas and he had carved and wished it took a little less effort.

No one in town ever thought of it as a mystery. A little water oozing out of a crack in a cliff face was not unusual in the southern half of the state. Consequently, nobody had ever expressed any more interest in the water source than in the cliff face itself. No one had ever wanted to find out where it came from. But, almost as if it were put there as a temptation for the boys, the ledge climbed from the floor of the canyon, crossed the cut where the water flowed, and eventually reached the top of the cliffs. It was a virtual freeway for them. Though they’d climbed the ledge many times, the candle had always stopped them. It simply blocked the path without apology. They never put their minds to finding a way to defeat it because until recently it was simply the end of the path. There had never been anything on the other side they wanted badly enough until now. There were too many other things to explore in their canyon. They had been content to let the ledge alone, for the most part. But the seed was planted, and the mystery of the water source was ever present in their minds, deep down, waiting any excuse to burst out.

Thomas went out in the Highway Patrol helicopter with his father from time to time. The chopper was used mostly for traffic observation on the freeway 50 miles to the west. The Highway Patrol was always willing to lend the machine, and its pilot, when there was an emergency in any of the surrounding towns. A lost Scout troop fit that category precisely. They were almost a full day overdue, and parents and church officials in Salt Lake worried about their safety. Sheriff Brady, Thomas’ father, placed a call, and organized the search effort from his office in town. He called Thomas to help, as he had a number of times in the past. At sixteen Thomas was old enough to be a good spotter, and his father used him as backup, each taking a side of the chopper to watch the ground sweep past below.

Every boy in town was jealous of Thomas’ opportunities. Cory smiled to himself, realizing he was, too, especially this specific time.

Thomas came back with the story of the lake in a hidden canyon above the cliffs. No one ever went up there. No one else had ever seen a lake up there. However, the ground was sandstone, with many folds and crevices. Deep holes pocked the rock where water had once run freely from the mountains to the north. The land was too rough for a road, had too many deep cuts even for four wheelers, and was too barren to be of use for anything else. So it was largely ignored. Occasionally hikers got lost up on the plateau, further north toward the mountains, but that was rare. When it did happen, Thomas was called by his father to help. With Thomas in the helicopter, his father’s deputies were free to coordinate any search efforts from the town.

Thomas was more excited about the lake than he was about finding the Scout troop. The Scouts simply miscalculated the time it would take them to go up one of the slick rock canyons and back down the next one. A thunderstorm during the night washed away part of their gear. They were tired, wet, cold and hungry, but for the most part they were in good shape when Thomas spotted them on the slick rock up on the plateau.

“Scout troop off your right wing, Lieutenant,” he said into the microphone. “Looks like the four wheelers can get to them if they go up Escalation Waterfold.”

“I’ll let them know,” the pilot said, circling to get a better view. “Yup. There they are. You’re pretty good at this, young Brady. Thanks.”

“He’s been up a few times,” the Sheriff said, smiling at his son.

Thomas was already thinking about the lake. He was the only one who saw it. It was in the bottom of a cleft canyon. He saw it for no more than the blink of an eye. That was enough. He knew the pilot wouldn’t go back for another look. Every minute airborne ate taxpayer’s dollars. The pilot would take his father and him straight line back to town, drop them in the school yard, the best place in town to land a helicopter, and then fly back to the airport near St. George. Thomas didn’t need the pilot to back track. He knew he had seen the water. Its very presence sparked his imagination and curiosity. A natural lake in the desert was an oddity and a wonder, if not an outright miracle. He knew he would have to explore that wonder, and he knew Cory would help. He wanted the two of them to be the first to find it.

"It's there, Cory. I saw it," he said emphatically. "It's lots bigger than the swimming pool. It’s more than just a pond. And it's dark and clear blue! That means it’s deep. We gotta go see it. It'd be a great place to swim in the summer! It’s in the fold above the grove. I know it’s there. All we have to do is get past the candle. It’s just inside the cut where the water dribbles out. You’ll see."

Thomas liked the mystery of a lake in the middle of desert country, but he knew Cory would fall prey to a private swimming hole. Cory liked to swim, but in the summer the town pool was always crowded with kids from all the towns around.

School still ate up the weekdays, so they spent the intervening Saturdays trying to find their way to the lake. They studied the steep ledge in the face of the cliff the first time they'd driven up the old mining road in the canyon. They’d climbed the ledge many times through the years. It would be tailor-made for their excursion except for the stone shard. They walked up the ledge, as they had a hundred times before. They never thought of going beyond the boulder until now, now that there was something above it. The candle blocked access to the source of the spring, and, beyond, the top of the cliff. Now they explored the boulder, trying to figure out a way around it, and were disappointed. They couldn’t get around it, and there was no way to climb over it. It rested stolidly on the ledge as if to say, “This is as far as you go.” Both boys listened to the imperative, and accepted it as fact. They abandoned the ledge and, over a period of several Saturdays, explored the plateau above the cleft. They hoped to find a way down to the lake from above.

The edges of the hidden canyon overhung, and sloped off at an ever-increasing angle like the break of a huge fossilized ocean wave. That wasn’t unusual in the area, either, but it frustrated their attempts to see the water in the bottom of the crevasse. They couldn’t even confirm its existence through direct observation. They found where the stream entered the crevasse almost two miles north of the canyon. The drop was steep, and again, overhung by the higher cliffs. The cleft it entered was narrow, dark and convoluted. There was no evidence of a pond or lake anywhere below. And there was no way down through the tortured passage.

They tried to find their way to the top of the ledge from above, as well, but the path to that part of the cliff was cut by deep folds and pits with steep and undercut sides. They couldn’t get closer than a quarter mile away from where the ledge topped the cliff face. They could almost see the path down from their vantage, but couldn’t get to it.

Three weeks passed, then four, and their curiosity increased in intensity until it drifted from compulsion to passion to obsession. The many frustrations they found only piqued their desire to get there. Finally they returned to their first avenue, the ledge across the face of the cliff.

This time the boulder wasn’t nearly as imposing as they had originally thought. Thomas knelt down at the base and began to claw at the sand between the boulder and the cliff. The gravelly sand was packed and hard, but seemed to promise a path they’d not thought of before. In a few minutes he dug out enough to convince them both that they could cut a tunnel under the thing and get beyond it. They could dig out the space next to the cliff where a sixteen year-old boy might just squeeze through. The sand filled the space completely, and was hardened by years of weather, but they knew, with the exuberance of sixteen-year-olds, they could clear it. They went home that night elated, and ready to return the following Saturday.

The week in school almost seemed interminable, but the boys bore it. Most of the week was spent with finals in all their classes, so thoughts of the boulder on the ledge were largely overlaid with other concerns.

They were excited as they climbed the ledge with their camp shovels only a few hours earlier, in the cool morning air. Now, all Cory could feel was the hot, muddy sweat running down his back. He stretched his arms and let his t-shirt absorb the trickling sweat.

"I'll dig a while," Thomas offered, crawling over Cory's legs.

Cory grabbed the back of his shirt, and helped him over, then glanced furtively over the edge. The sixty feet to the canyon floor seemed further now than it did earlier.

"You're going to fall if you're not careful," he warned, but Thomas was already squirming into the tunnel, and the statement was lost.

A few moments later sand began to form humps around the younger boy. Cory started to shove the sand away from the opening, letting it flow over the edge of the ledge. Dust rose from the side of the cliff. The soft, warm breeze blew the dust in a gentle arc toward the center of the canyon.

It hadn't been his idea, he thought, to spend his Saturdays trying to find some lake in the hills. He had better things to do. He could be swimming at the pool in town, or going to the matinee at the show house. The show house was air conditioned! He could be fishing! He thought a moment, and smiled. He realized he was, in fact, exactly where he wanted to be. He was with Thomas, the person he most wanted to be with. What they were doing together had never really mattered much, as long as they were together.

He couldn’t remember what it had been like before they met. He perceived a time when there was a kind of emptiness. Not altogether. There were other kids in the town his age, but he never felt really close to any of them.

Then, one day, in second grade, he looked up. The school principal, Mrs. Schuster, was standing in front of the class and introducing a boy.

“He’s just moved here from Los Angeles. I know you’ll all make him feel welcome. By the way, his father is the new sheriff, so don’t drive too fast through town.”

She laughed at her little joke, but Cory stared at the new boy. When their eyes met a realization washed over him. He knew this new boy. Somehow, somewhere, they’d met before.

“…Sheriff Thomas Brady,” Mrs. Schuster said softly. “And this is Thomas Brady, too. That’s ‘also’, not ‘two’. Thomas Brady, Junior.”

She held up two fingers, and smiled at her own joke again. The kids in the class laughed politely with her.

“Where shall we place him, Mrs. Nichols?” Mrs. Schuster asked.

Mrs. Nichols looked around the class, but Cory, familiar with the seating chart, jumped up, and said, “Here’s an empty desk. Right here.”

“I guess right there will do fine,” Mrs. Nichols said, smiling kindly at Cory.

She ushered Thomas Brady back to the seat, then returned to the front of the room to talk with Mrs. Schuster. Cory leaned across the aisle.

“I’m Cory,” he said, holding out a hand. “You’re Tom?”

“Thomas,” the new boy had corrected.

“Not ‘Tom’ or ‘Tommy’?” Cory asked, smiling.

“Only if you’re ‘Core’,” Thomas replied, a smug smile on his face.

And it had been that way ever since. He was always Thomas, never Tom.

“I don’t suppose this school has a computer,” Thomas asked, looking around the room at the old walls.

“Of course,” Cory said. “The secretary uses it to keep track of things. Her name’s Mrs. Bracken. She has kids here, too.”

Thomas looked up at the skylights overhead, and sighed. Cory found out what had frustrated him so much that first day years later. But they’d been closer than brothers from that moment on.

"I'm through!"

Cory turned quickly on his knees, and scooted back as Thomas wriggled out of the hole.

Thomas rolled over, his blond hair matted with the red sand, his face dirty, streaked with sweat and mud, his clothes raising clouds of dust with each motion.

"I'm through," he spat again, and laughed.

Cory stared at his friend, and laughed with him. He laughed as much at the sight of Thomas covered with red sand as with relief that the job was finished. In a few moments the biggest hurdle they faced would be behind them.

Thomas became silent, seemed to study Cory, and then laughed again.

"I hope I don’t look as bad as you," he said.

“You do,” Cory confirmed.

“Shoot!” Thomas snapped. “Our moms will kill us.”

"They won't have to," Cory returned sardonically. "We're gonna drown in this stuff!"

"I'm through!" Thomas repeated. "All we gotta do is dig the opening a little wider! Come on. You did most of the work. You ought to be the first through."

Cory stopped laughing, and grew serious. For the first time he thought about something neither of them had dared think during the morning.

"What if there's nothing there?" he asked quietly. "I mean, what if we did all this for nothing? What if the cut where the water comes out only goes in a few feet? What if there’s no place else to go once we get past this rock?"

Thomas sat still a moment, the smile washed from his face by Cory’s comment.

"If there’s nothing there,” he said slowly, his face brightening, “then we’ll have had a great adventure! How many kids in town could say they’ve done what we’ve done?”

“As I recall, you and I have occasionally done what no other kids in town have done,” Cory responded wryly. “Usually we ended up at your father’s office facing both our fathers.  Trying to explain things to them is something we’re used to. Right?”

“Of course,” Thomas chuckled a little, staring down at his knees. “You remember that time…”

“Not now,” Cory said softly. “Let’s finish this.”

He took the shovel from Thomas, and edged toward the hole.

“Brighten up, Cory,” Thomas laughed. “At the very least, we’ve opened a path to the top of the cliff. Maybe we could sell tickets! Cory, we’ve done it! We’re through. We can get a drink of water out of the spring! What more could you possibly want?"

“A shower,” Cory said practically. “We did this for the lake. That’s what I want.”

“The lake is there,” Thomas assured him, working around and changing places with him.

Cory smiled and wriggled into the hole. He was reassured by Thomas’ quiet confidence. He believed the lake would be there. He wanted to believe it.

This time the tunnel was different. There was a light at the end! It wasn't much, but it only took a few jabs with the shovel, and he was able to push the dirt ahead of him. A few more jabs and he crawled through. He pushed the shovel ahead of him, along with some more of the sand. He cleared the boulder and struggled carefully to his feet.

There was a moment of exhilaration and a touch of pride as he stood on the upside of the boulder. They were through! They were, perhaps, the only people in history who had been on this ledge, at this precise spot! He stared around at the canyon below, and felt his chest swell.

Thomas crawled out a moment later, and they stood together, looking down at the road, not much more than a two-tread track in the bottom of the canyon. The view was almost the same, but incredibly different. They didn't talk for a few minutes. There was a sense of adventure, of wonder now. They felt a reverence for the moment, a sense of accomplishment.  Suddenly, and for the briefest of moments, neither Cory nor Thomas cared whether the lake was really there or not. Just being on the ledge above the boulder was enough.

It was Thomas who broke the silence.

“Yes!” he said, raising his voice slightly. “Yes!”

“Oh, yah!” Cory returned, raising both hands above his head.

"It's not even noon," Thomas said softly.

"It seems later," Cory returned.

They were both hot and tired.

"Well, I'm thirsty," Thomas said. "Somewhere over there is some water!"

Cory looked along the edge to where the cleft cut the face of the cliff, and nodded. There was a very shallow pool just where the water reached the edge of the cliff. Thomas couldn't pass him on the narrow ledge. Cory had to go to the water first. His moment of triumph was over, and he walked to the cleft.

The ledge was almost level here, above the rock, even dropping down a little before resuming its flight to the top of the cliffs. The pool was just a puddle. The wet sandstone made it appear deeper and wider than it was. Cory stopped as he passed the open mouth of the cleft. A cool breeze blew gently out of the deep cut in the cliff. He could hear water. Running water. Lots of water.

"Listen," he whispered, turning toward Thomas.

The other boy stopped, a broad smile breaking over his muddy face. In the midst of the mud was a bright, clean set of white teeth.

"I told you," Thomas accused, his enthusiasm almost bubbling over.

Cory smiled back, and said, "It's in there, somewhere."

Here, where the ledge opened into the hollow of the cleft, they could stand side by side and stare into the deep shadows of the crack. It was more cave than cleft, typical of many other streams in the southern part of the state. The walls were straight up, in a sense, but twisted and turned as if stirred by an ethereal cook, then allowed to set. They were four to five feet apart, narrowing at intervals where the batter was thicker. The stream was just a flat ribbon of water on the floor of the cleft for ten feet back into the gloom, and then it disappeared around a caramel turn in the stone. The unmistakable sound of running water, louder than the dribbling trickle they stared at, wafted from the cleft. The stream that crept out of the cleft was wall-to-wall, but barely deep enough to wet the soles of their shoes. There was something better inside. They looked at each other, smiled, and entered the cool shadows of the streambed.

"It can't be far," Thomas said. "The lake seemed to be just behind the cliff face."

He stopped, almost running into Cory.

Cory stood, staring at the waterfall falling from twenty feet above. It sprayed down and landed in a four-foot catch basin then all but disappeared. The dribble at the mouth of the crevasse was only a sniveling spill from what was a grander, real stream.

Cory reached out, and caught a handful of water. He rubbed it gently on his face. Then he took both hands full, splashed them on his face. He drank from his cupped hands, and let the cool, sweet water spill down his neck. He looked over at Thomas.

Thomas was on his knees, drinking hungrily from the catch basin. He looked up at Cory, and laughed. He splashed water up at him.

Cory responded, and in less than a second both boys were in the basin, splashing and dunking, and laughing and screaming. Almost as soon as it started, it was over. They sat on the edge of the pool, their feet still in the water, soaked, cleaned by the running water, and watched the mud from their clothes clear quickly, washed away by the stream that disappeared somewhere into the mountain.

"There's an echo," Cory said softly, wondering at the secret place they'd found. "Listen.  You can hear yourself think."

Thomas nodded, and said, "This is great."

"It's ours, and only ours," Cory returned. "We don't have to share this with anyone else. We can come here whenever we want! All summer! This was worth all that work!"

He lay back against the rocks around the pool, totally relaxed. Thomas said something, and Cory almost decided to ignore the remark and just enjoy the cool water. He was close to sleep. Then he shook his head.

"What?" he asked.

"There's more," Thomas said again, this time with more force.

"What do you mean?"

"I saw a lake from the air," Thomas said. "I didn't even see this waterfall. This was a surprise to me, too. Hey, where does all this water go?"

"Underground, I guess," Cory said absently. "You sure it was a lake?"

"This water has to come from someplace," Thomas said.

"It goes no place," Cory said. "Maybe it comes from no place. Besides, we saw the upper end of the stream a couple of weeks ago."

He stood and looked up the waterfall. True to form, it was straight up, and overhung at the top. He looked for a way up. There didn’t seem to be one. Then he saw the holes in the wall.

Next to the falling water, almost hidden by it, a series of holes pocked the wall in two neat rows running all the way to the top. They alternated left and right.

“Someone’s been here before,” Thomas said, pointing to the holes.

“I know,” Cory answered, reaching into the ones in front of him. “But not for a while. These were made a long time ago.”

Thomas looked up, and breathed deeply.

“The lake is up there," he said, motioning with his eyes.

“I sure hope so,” Cory said, slipping his toe into the lowest hole, and gripping two more with his hands. “But, if it’s not, this alone was worth all the work. Anything else we find is pure gravy!”

Thomas’s hand rested on his shoulder, holding him back.

“The lake’s there,” he said firmly. “I saw it. Besides, someone thought there was something important enough up there to build a ladder to get to it.”

“Well, we thought the lake was important enough to dig a tunnel,” Cory said. “Let’s go find it.”

“What if we’re not supposed to be here?” Thomas asked suddenly.

“No one’s been here for a thousand years,” Cory returned. “Not since long before the candle fell on the ledge. Besides, this was your idea. Come on.”

Cory shook Thomas’s hand off, and began to climb. The hand and toeholds were spaced carefully, with the holes angling slightly into the sandstone. Climbing was the easiest thing he’d done all day.

He felt the mist from the falling water running down his back. He stopped part way up and held on for a few moments, enjoying the cool water. A few steps later he reached the top of the ladder, and the top of the fall was within grasp. He reached over the edge, pulled himself up and into the slick bed of the stream above the fall. There were more handholds carved in the slick sandstone to help him over the edge. These, however, were worn almost smooth and only provided minimal help.

The water was swift and deep, rushing headlong over the edge into the dark below. He stood between the rocks to stare down into the chamber. Thomas was already halfway up.

"It gets better," he called out to the other boy.

Thomas looked up, and smiled. Cory reached down and pulled him over the edge. They stood and turned at the same time.

The walls were close for about ten more feet, then they opened, and beyond was a larger canyon, with sunlight pouring down into thick cattails! There was water there!

The bed of the stream was still smooth sandstone rock, but the sides became sandy near the cattails. As they stepped out into the sun they found the lake Thomas had seen.

The walls of this canyon were overhung, undercut by the force of a million times more water than flowed down the cut now, streaked with centuries of erosion and stained by the minerals that flowed with the desert seepage. A half mile away the canyon closed off again, but in between it was several hundred feet wide where it was undercut, maybe half that at the top of the cleft where the walls closed over. The lake was long, deep and clear blue, just as Thomas had described it. Cattails filled the overflow, but sandy beaches and sandstone ledges surrounded the rest of the lake. Here and there small trees overhung the water, or grew in small clumps near the cliff edges. High above, in the blue sky, a lone eagle cut the air currents looking for a meal. 

Cory breathed deeply, and laughed out loud. There was a moment of silence before his echo returned.

"My echo!" He shouted.

"My echo!" His own voice returned.

He laughed again. Thomas laughed with him, and their echoes laughed back at them.  The silence returned.  Cory started to slosh through the water toward the lake. Thomas followed.

 

"I don't know about you," he said as they splashed along, "but I could really use a swim."

The echo splashed back at them as they dove into the water of the lake at nearly the same time.

 

Chapter 2

 

The sun was hot. The warm rock drained the energy from Cory. He grew sleepy, and closed his eyes, letting himself sink comfortably against the stone. He rolled his head enough to see Thomas, stretched out on a nearby rock, and already sleeping.

The lake water rinsed most of the sand and mud out of their clothes, so they laid them out over the rocks to dry. Then they went back into the water again, wearing only their boxers. The cool water refreshed them, but it couldn't completely overcome the fatigue they both felt. They climbed back up onto the rocks and lay out like lizards basking in the sun.

Cory could not tell how long they lay there. It might have been just a few minutes, or an hour. He knew he slept some. He was suddenly awake and alert. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and a chill ran through him. He knew there shouldn't have been anyone else there, in the canyon, but he had the distinct feeling he was being watched.

He brushed the hair away from his forehead, and sat up on one elbow. Thomas was face down on the rock a few yards away, and still asleep. His face was turned half toward him, his lips moving gently as he breathed.

They trailed water from the lake to the rocks when they climbed out. The rocks were dry now. Their clothes, still laid out a few feet away, looked dry as well. It had been at least that long. His watch was next to his pants. He couldn’t see the face. Both their wallets lay open, the contents scattered on the sandstone drying. It all seemed to be as it should have been.

Cory lay down, and closed his eyes again. There was a shock, almost like lightening, that gripped his belly, and he sat upright. He looked around.

A boy climbed into view twenty feet away, from behind the rocks at the water's edge.

Cory coughed, and reached for his clothes, and was surprised to find them out of easy reach. He sat still, and just watched.

The boy suddenly looked up from the water, saw him, and smiled. He was, maybe, eight years old. He wore a pair of shorts held in place by a simple tie string that hung down in front. The shorts were pure white, and appeared to be damp. From the waist up he wore nothing, and his legs and feet were bare. His hair was black, and plastered to his forehead. The boy must have been swimming, just as he and Thomas had, Cory realized. The boy smiled, and his teeth, in his deeply tanned face, were brilliant white.

“Hi,” he said brightly.

Cory nodded, and said, “Hi.”

He looked at his clothes again, and decided to get them. There would certainly be others around, and he didn't particularly want to be caught in just his underwear. He stood, and walked over to his clothes. His shorts were dry.

The boy climbed over the rock and toward him.

"Who are you?" he asked simply, watching with interest as Cory picked up his jeans.

Cory was surprised to find the rest of his clothes thoroughly dry, too.

"I'm Cory," he said quietly. "That's Thomas. Who are you?"

"Amium," the boy said, smiling. "Do you swim here a lot?"

"No," Cory returned. "We just found this lake. How did you get here?"

"I came here with my father," Amium said, waving vaguely up canyon with his arm. “He’s over there.”

Cory felt a surge of consternation, and asked, "How did you get here?"

"Our vehicle," Amium said simply. "What are those?"

"My shoes," Cory said, shaking the shoes out. 

Even his shoes had dried. Loose sand shook out of them and drifted to the rocks. 

"Those are pretty strange shoes,” the boy said candidly. “We wear sandals, mostly.” He raised each of his bare feet and put them down. It didn’t seem to bother him that he didn’t have sandals on at that particular moment. "Oh, and my brother and sister are here, too."

"What?"

"My brother and sister," the boy said. "Shoes? What kind of animal did you get that from?"

"That's vinyl," Cory said, brushing the soles off. "Your brothers and sisters?"

"Just one brother," Amium returned, slightly amused. "Just one sister. I have other brothers and sisters, but they're back home. My older sisters are married. So are my older brothers. My youngest sister stayed home with Mother. What's vinyl? An animal? Does it live around here?"

"Thomas, wake up," Cory said, shoving Thomas' shoulder.

"Huh?" Thomas said, pushing up to his knees. "What's the matter?"

"Better get dressed, pal. We're going to have company."

Thomas looked up, suddenly alert. He looked at the younger boy, then up to Cory, and understood. He got up and grabbed his clothes.

"Who's that?" he asked, and pulled on his pants.

"This is Amos—"

"Amium."

"Yes. What he says. He has a brother and a sister running around here somewhere."

"Oh, golly," Thomas said, his face coloring. "Do you think…?"

“I don’t know,” Cory said. “Where are your brother and sister?”

"Oh," Amium replied brightly, "you probably can't meet them. We didn’t expect to find anyone here, and we’re not supposed to interact. That means talk with anyone. Father will be upset to find out about you."

The boys stared at him, incredulous. The little one turned and stared into the deep waters of the lake. He breathed deeply, and sighed.

"What are you talking about?" Cory asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Amium said quickly, brightening. "Just some rules Father said we had to obey if we came here. I won’t tell him about you. I want him to bring me back again, and he might not if he knows you’re here. Anyway, where does the animal you call ‘vinyl’ live? Can we go find one?"

"He's off his rocker," Thomas said, pulling on his shirt.

"He's missing a marble or two," Cory agreed. "Amos—"

"Amium!" the boy stressed emphatically.

"Okay, Amium," Cory said. "Where did you say your vehicle was?"

"Over there," Amium waved again. He cocked his head to one side and said, "You don't listen very well, do you?"

Cory shook his head, smiled, and said, "My mother tells me that all the time. Come on; let's take you back to your family."

Amium smiled, and said, "My mother says the same thing.” He giggled a musical cascade that filled the air around them. “I can find my way. It's around there, and under the trees. I know where it is."

Thomas finished tying his shoes and stood up.

"All the same, Amium," Cory said, stressing the boy's name again, "I think we'd better walk with you. Besides, I want to see how you got a vehicle down into this canyon. We’ve been searching for a way in for weeks."

"It wasn’t that hard. We come here sometimes to check on things. Father is the caretaker, you know. And, I don’t want to go back just yet," Amium said, all in one breath. "I want to play by the lake a while."

"You can come back," Cory coaxed. “You’re not supposed to be swimming alone, anyway. That’s not smart, and your father wouldn’t approve. Come on. Let’s go meet your father."

"This should be interesting," Thomas agreed.

"Yah,” Cory nodded, then coaxing. “Amium. Show us where your father is."

"It's over this way," Amium said, turning reluctantly, and walking down along the edge of the water. "I don't have to go back yet. And I know about not swimming alone. I’m not stupid, you know. My brother and sister were with me when we were swimming. Where are you from, Cory?"

"We're from the town," Cory said. "What about you? What are you doing up here?"

"Father had an errand. I told you he was the caretaker. We came along to help. Mother said it would be good for us to spend time with him. They talked about it for a while, and Mother said it would do Father good, too. Is your mother like that? Mine sure is. We live in a city. It’s big, and there aren’t places like this there. This is great! I don't know about your town. Is it a big town?"

"Not really," Thomas answered. "Are we going the right way?"

"Yes, we are," Amium said, suddenly forceful. "I don't know if he’ll even want to meet you. I told you, we weren’t supposed to interact."

"Okay," Cory said patiently. "But you’ve already interacted. So, now you have to tell your father about it. You wouldn’t want to tell him a lie, would you? We’ll just let your father know it wasn’t your fault. That’s okay isn’t it? You just keep walking. We'll follow you."

Amium shrugged, and continued to walk down toward the lake. Cory followed and Thomas fell in step behind them.

“You’re just like my big brothers,” Amium said sullenly. “They order me around a lot, too. They have to do what Father says, but they can order me around. I have to do what everyone says, and I don’t get to order anyone around. That’s not fair. Besides, this was supposed to be a fun trip.”

“You can still have some fun,” Cory said. “Besides, how often do you get to meet new friends?”

His face brightened, and he said, “That’s right! Cory and Thomas! Thomas and Cory! I have two new friends!”

They went down the rocks, and followed along the shore. Cory sensed they were going in the direction the boy had waved. There was not much land between the lake and the cliff face. It shouldn’t be easy to miss someone else in the canyon. Yet, they had. A cool breeze was beginning to blow off the water now, and they were rested after their naps. Neither of the older boys spoke. They followed the younger one, who seemed to have no lack of things to talk about.

"My father was in the military a long time ago," he said. "That was when he was young. I wasn’t born yet. He's old now. He says he's too old for all that military nonsense. Anyway, his eyes have gone a little bad, and he can't see the targets well any more. You guys listening to me?"

"We sure are, Amium," Cory said, grinning. "Your father fought in the war, then?"

"Oh, no," Amium said enthusiastically. "We haven’t had a war in a long time. But, we all have to serve for two years. It’s the code. My brothers and I will all get to serve. It’s part of our education. There was a big war a long time ago. Father says he hopes there’ll never be a war again. He says that’s why we serve in the military: To keep from having another war."

"Oh?" Thomas asked, a grin crossing his face.

"Sure," the boy returned, still walking. "No one will start any trouble with us as long as we’re strong. Anyway, that’s what Father says. Are you going to serve in the military?”

“I hope not,” Cory said softly.

“We will if we have to,” Thomas added, seeing the boy glance back.

Amium seemed more satisfied with Thomas’s answer, and said, “Good. Anyway, that’s why we’re here. They gave Father an errand, and so he came.”

“The military?” Cory asked.

“No. The council,” Amium returned, picking his way along the rocks.

"Survivalists," Thomas whispered to Cory. "I've heard about these people. They look for places like this to live, and wait for the end of the world. They have a lot of guns and stores of food, and just wait for trespassers and blow them away. I think we'd better go the other way."

"We're bringing 'em back the kid," Cory returned. "Besides, we don't mean any harm, and we're just a couple of kids ourselves."

"All the same," Thomas said, letting his voice trail off.

“Even if that’s so,” Cory suggested, “they can’t settle in here, no matter how much they want to. This is national forest land.”

“You tell ‘em,” Thomas returned sardonically.

"What's the easiest way out of here?" Cory asked Amium suddenly.

"In our vehicle," Amium called back. "How did you guys get in here?"

“We came up the waterfall,” Thomas answered.

Amium stopped, and turned toward them.

“The waterfall?”  He asked, incredulous. “I wouldn’t have tried that. Father says that’s the way the people used to come in and out of here. But that was a long time ago. He says the ladder is old and worn out and dangerous. He told me to stay out of the spillway, too.”

“We’ll let your father educate us,” Cory said simply.

“Maybe he’ll give you a ride home!” Amium exclaimed, and turned back toward them.  "He might, you know. Would you like a ride home? We’ve got the speeder. It’s not slow like the family transport. You’d like it."

"We live in the town just below," Cory explained. "Besides, Thomas’ Jeep is parked at the bottom of the ramp. We can get home okay. I’ll just be happy to find an easier way in here."

“A Jeep?” Amium asked simply. “Jeep. Jeep. Jeep.”

He seemed to be trying the word out, to see how it fit in his mouth.

“It isn’t much,” Thomas began.

“You got that right,” Cory smiled, “but it’s better than what I have, which is nothing. Anyway, we have to drive it back home. Thanks, anyway.”

"Jeep. Jeep. Jeep. That's okay, because I don’t think Father wants to go to the town," Amium said. “You’d have to have a vehicle like the speeder to come in here our way.”

"Right," the older boys chorused, smiling.

"He didn’t make up all the rules, you know,” the boy said. “The council made up some of them. They’re the ones who said it was important for us not to interact. I suppose I won’t get to come the next time. But, I do have some new friends, so it’s worth it. Don’t you think so? Maybe you can come and visit us sometime, and I can show you our city. You’d like it."

"I think we’d like to," Cory said vaguely. “Maybe, sometime.”

"Great. Then it’s settled. I’ll tell Father. Our vehicle is just around here. Come on."

Cory looked at Thomas, who just looked back. The boy, meantime, crawled over a shoulder of rock, and dropped into the cleft on the other side. He turned back and stood, arms folded, waiting for his new friends.

"Well," he said loudly. "Are you coming or not? This was your idea, you know. I wanted to stay by the lake."

A deep, male voice wafted from the cleft.

“Amium. Come here.”

Amium looked into the cleft, then back at his new friends.

“I think I’m in trouble,” he said softly, a pained look on his face.

"You go on," Cory suggested. "Your father’s calling. We'll catch up."

"You won’t find the vehicle without me," Amium said impatiently.

"We'll be right there!" Cory assured him. "Go on!"

"Okay, but you won’t find the vehicle without me," Amium repeated petulantly, turning and marching into the cleft between the rolls of rock. "It’s sealed. In fact, you won’t get to meet my father, either. He’s angry, I think. I’m coming, father!"

"His father’s angry, and he's pretty strange," Thomas said to Cory. "He doesn’t make a lot of sense."

"I know," Cory returned. "Look around. There’s no road out of here. The walls overhang everywhere. You and I looked. There’s not a vehicle around that could get down here.”

"A helicopter could get in," Thomas said, "but I think it’d have a hard time finding a place to land. Besides, he acts a little, well, touched. I don't think he knows what he's talking about."

"Look who's talking about being touched," Cory said. "You're the kid who's named 'Thomas', not 'Tom' or 'Tommy' or anything else. He’s just a kid. Of course he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Besides, it won't hurt us to see who else is up here. Your Dad, at least, will be interested in knowing."

He started over the roll of rock, and Thomas followed. The cleft was sand filled, level, and easy walking. The sand dragged at their shoes as they stepped to the middle of the cleft. The walls rose on each side. They walked in the narrow defile cut into the sandstone, bordered on one side by the canyon wall and the other by huge boulders laid there before history began. They rounded a tight corner, expecting to see the small boy, and stood facing a blank wall of rock, rising to meet the overhanging sandstone above. There was no way out, and there was no small boy. There was no sign of a vehicle.

Cory looked at Thomas. Thomas just shrugged. They turned around slowly, studying the narrow chamber, trying to see any other way out besides the way they had come in. There was none. Cory cleared his throat.

“This is interesting,” he said softly. Then he called out, "Amium!"

Moments passed, and he heard his voice echoing in the narrow canyon behind them. There was no answer.

"Amium!" The two boys called out together.

Again the echo, and again silence followed. No answer from the boy.

"Look," Thomas said, pointing down to the sand they walked on. 

Cory looked down.

"I can't be absolutely sure," Thomas said, "but I think the only prints here are yours and mine."

"That's impossible," Cory scoffed, and started back out of the cleft. “Besides, we heard his father’s voice. I heard his voice. Didn’t you?”

Thomas shook his head, and said, “There’s that, isn’t there?”

As he walked, he studied the footprints. Though uncertain in the sand, he began to believe what Thomas had argued. There seemed to be no footprints of a small boy, or anyone else besides them. They reached the entrance, and still could not detect any evidence the boy had been there.

"Keep looking," Cory said, searching the ground for any footprints.

He wanted to see which way the boy had gone. As before, he found only their prints. Down near the water he could pick out his shoe prints, and those of Thomas's shoes, and, finally, the footprints of a barefoot boy in the mud at the water’s edge.

“Look,” he said, pointing at the footprints. “At least we know it wasn’t our imagination. The little kid wasn’t a hallucination.”

“Two people can’t have the same hallucination,” Thomas affirmed. “The sand in there just slides around too much to leave distinct prints. His prints are there, we just can’t see them. That means his dad is real, too.”

“Then, where did he go?” Cory asked.

Thomas looked around slowly, and then said, “I don’t know.”

"Amium!" Cory called out one last time, and heard his voice die in the canyon.

He turned to look at Thomas, who only shrugged. They walked slowly out of the cleft, and looked up and down the shoreline of the lake. There was no place to hide a vehicle in the canyon, and the boy had disappeared. They stared at each other. 

After several moments of silence, Cory said softly, "I think it's time to go home now."

"I think you're right," Thomas agreed.

Without any more comment, they both started for the downstream side of the canyon, and the only way out they knew. It was getting late, and they could puzzle over the mystery of the boy later.

They took a few moments on the ledge to widen the tunnel under the rock.  The work went quickly. They crawled through and walked down to Thomas’s jeep. It was no more than a casual stroll to the vehicle now the work under the candle was done.

The jeep was an ugly thing Thomas had earned working for Carlos Simons early in the spring. Most of the kids in town called him “Old Man Simons”. He was Mexican-American, and claimed to have fought in World War II. Later in life he settled in St. George, then in the town, with his wife and three sons. They started a mink farm when mink coats were huge in New York fashion. The farm never made more than enough to provide for the family. Later, one son died in Viet Nam defending freedom. Another was lost in the World Trade Center attack on 9/11 trading stocks and trying to tap into the American dream. An irate criminal in downtown Salt Lake City shot the last, a police officer, when he tried to serve a warrant for unpaid traffic tickets. Carlos Simons’ wife died shortly after, her life drained out by the deaths of her family. Simons let his mink farm go. He got rid of the stock his son had sold him, and went into his house and didn’t come out for almost a year. Then, one morning, he called Thomas’ father and asked if Thomas was available for hire. Thomas’ father said he was. Thomas spent a month helping the old man dismantle the mink sheds and load cages into a hired van. In exchange he gave Thomas the last thing remaining of his sons. The Jeep. It had belonged to his last son, the police officer. They’d used it to hunt together every spring. Mr. Simons said he had no use for it anymore, and gave it to him as payment in full for the work he’d done.

Thomas spent weeks getting it road-worthy, and even painted it yellow to cover most of the rust. It was the amateur paint job that made it the most recognized vehicle in the town.

Two months later, just as spring was arriving, Carlos Simons was found dead in his bed. His life had been drained out, too. He only had a few things to do before he left to be with his family. Those done, there was nothing else to keep him on earth. The doctor said his heart just stopped.

Both boys were uncharacteristically quiet as they strolled down to Thomas' Jeep. Neither of them thought about the lake behind them. Both were thinking about the boy, and his mysterious disappearance.

The time spent on the tunnel had not been time wasted. They knew, without speaking, that they would use it again. They would be back. The hidden lake with its mysterious little stranger belonged to them now. They both thought about the boy, and wondered if they would see him again.