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“Hurry up man,” Jorry says from where he stands in the water. “I think my feet are going numb.” He makes his way on and then holds onto a protruding branch while James comes forward.

Stepping carefully, he makes his way onto the raft and takes his place in the center. Once he’s seated firmly on the logs, he nods to Jorry and Uther who release the raft and hurry out of the water.

Taking his pole, Jiron begins pushing them away from shore. “How far should we go?” he asks after they’ve moved out a dozen yards or so.

“Middle, if we can,” he replies.

“Don’t think my pole is going to be able to reach the bottom much longer,” he tells him. The depth of the water has steadily increased, especially once they’ve moved fifty feet from shore. Suddenly, the pole sinks almost to the surface of the water before Jiron brings it to a stop. Pulling it up, he lays it across the raft.

Picking up one of the pieces of bark they’ll use for paddles, he hands it to James and says, “Looks like we use these from here.”

James takes the ‘paddle’ and moves to the side opposite Jiron and begins paddling. At first they start to spin as either he or Jiron paddles harder than the other, but then they get a good rhythm down and start moving in a more straight line toward the middle of the lake.

As he paddles, he glances back occasionally to those still on the shore and the mountain behind them. They remain there, staring at their progress across the lake. The sun riding high in the sky keeps the chill at bay. At times water splashes onto him from when he dips his paddle in the water and he realizes just how cold this water is, freezing may be an understatement. They paddle until the raft reaches roughly the center of the lake and then they stop.

“Now what?” asks Jiron.

“I haven’t a clue,” he says. “For all we know that line may simply be there to throw people off. Nothing ever said that every line of a prophecy has to mean something.”

“Can you give it to me one more time?” asks Jiron.

“Sure,” he replies.

When the Fire shines Bright,

And the Star walks the Land.

Time for the Lost,

Will soon be at Hand.

At the foot of the King,

Bathe in his Cup.

Pull his Beard,

To make him sit Up.

Seven to Nine,

Six to Four.

Spit in the Wind,

And open the Door.

“Hmmm,” muses Jiron as he contemplates the words. “The second verse refers to the king in every line. Seems important.” He then turns his attention to the mountain which dominates the entire area. Kiliticus rises immensely behind their comrades on the shore.

“Does a mountain have a beard?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.

“I don’t think so,” replies James. “Is there an outcropping of rock perhaps that appears like a beard?”

They both stare at the mountain and scrutinize its surface. There are many outcroppings and overhangs, but nothing which even remotely resembles a beard. “I think we may be going about this the wrong way,” Jiron says.

“What do you mean?” asks James.

“This isn’t accomplishing anything,” he says. “Think we should return to shore and see if we can come at this another way?”

The only other way which James can think of is to take the line literally and get into the water. He’s simply not willing to do that unless there’s no other alternative. “We haven’t been out here very long,” he says. “Give it a couple more hours and if we’re still without a clue, we’ll go back.”

“Very well,” he says. Making himself as comfortable as possible, Jiron waits. At first the view from the center of the lake is enough to keep him distracted, but after awhile he begins nodding off. Not too concerned, he’s sure James will wake him should anything happen.

If he didn’t have the possible future of going into the water, James would find this a lot more relaxing. Out here in the middle of the lake is very peaceful. The mountains surrounding them give the area a charm he hasn’t found for a long time. Snowcapped mountains covered in trees with the blue sky above them, absolutely beautiful.

Over on the shore the others have given up watching him and begun