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his friend’s body upright, lifting his face above the water. His head lolled to one side, his cheeks ghostly white. Billy grabbed his forearms and spun him around, screaming. “Walter!” Sparks of fire spat out with his words. “Say something! Anything!”
    No response.
    Billy shivered so hard, the water around him rippled. He pulled Walter into a bear hug, holding his head near his ear. A gentle stream of air from Walter’s half-open mouth grazed his lobe. “Thank God!” Billy said.
    Towing Walter’s inert body on the surface of the rising water, Billy sloshed to Hambone’s ledge and heaved his friend onto the flat protrusion, then rolled him next to the dog. With a quick lunge, he hoisted himself up, ducking to keep his head, and Excalibur’s hilt, from hitting the ceiling of the rocky cleft. He squatted, his eyes darting to take in the scene. With water inching up the walls, the entire cave would be full in no time. The entrance seemed impenetrable, unyielding. Tiny wrinkles of energy undulated across the field as the wall of water pressed against it, but the barrier held fast.
    The water rose over Billy’s ledge and streamed around his boots and Walter’s limp body. Billy grabbed up Fama Regis and laid it across his thighs. Hambone whined and licked Billy’s face. “Cool it,” he said, pushing the dog away. “I’m trying to think.” As he squatted, Shiloh’s pendant dangled over the book’s gray cover, its pulsing rubellite casting scarlet beacon signals over the ornate black letters.
    Billy gazed at the title absent-mindedly and murmured the words. “ Fama Regis .” He opened the book to the first page, a thick yellowed parchment with two words emblazoned at the top that looked vaguely like “ Fama Regis ,” perhaps archaic English runes that had perished from use before the pages were bound. Underneath the title, a fabulous sketch spread across the page, a warrior holding a sword high over his head while hundreds of enemies swarmed in all directions, swords and bows in full attack positions. Light flashed from the sword, streaming around the warrior’s body and creating a dome all around.
    With water now lapping at his ankles, Billy pulled the book close to his eyes and stared at the ancient drawing. Dozens of arrows lay at the base of the dome, some twisted or broken, as if mangled when they struck the sword’s glowing field. He laid his hand on the page. A photo-umbrella!
    He slapped the book shut and yanked out Excalibur. After scooting close to Walter and Hambone, he summoned the beam and waved it, as if trying to paint the entrance to their alcove with Excalibur’s radiance. Within seconds the beam appeared to solidify into a luminescent wall, and the rising tide began crawling up the outside of the barrier of light.
    Billy blew out a long breath. “Safe. At least for now.” He moved the blade slowly back and forth, biting his lip until it hurt. Would it hold when the water had nowhere else to go? Was there any other way to use Excalibur to get out of this mess?
    Keeping one hand on the sword’s hilt, he laid the book on his lap and flipped it open again to the drawing, his eyes darting across the page. Under the drawing, a smudged caption drew a line of tiny, unintelligible runes that flashed black and red under the glow of Billy’s strobing pendant.
    Walter labored through convulsive breaths as he lay next to Hambone. The aging hound whined again, his sad red eyes staring into Billy’s.
    Billy groaned. “Give me a break! I’m working on it!” As the water crept toward the ceiling, he turned the page, finding dozens of lines of careful script, most of the letters containing a straight, vertical line with oddly angled appendages. Billy tilted his head upward. “Dad!” he called, his voice drowning in the tumult, “you know how to translate this stuff. Where are you when I need you?”
    As the sword’s light cast a ghostly radiance across the parchment, the rubellite’s