Chapter 11

Noordhoek Beach cottage.

Fiona came racing up the short passage, her breath coming in hurried gasps, the bottom half of her blouse still flapping wildly. It looked as if she’d dressed in a rush, buttoning only the essentials before bolting out of her room.

“Avast, me Heartie! Steady as she goes,” I said, lifting a hand to calm her down. “Left and right hands down a bit and button up. I see skin I’m not supposed to see.”

“Oh!” she squeaked, her face flushing a shade of red that set fire to the freckles dusted across her cheeks. She hurriedly reached down and fastened the last three buttons, smoothing out the fabric as she did so.

“At least the top ones were buttoned,” she giggled, casting a shy glance at me through the loose strands of her golden hair. The way she did it, peering up from beneath those wisps of blonde, made her look almost teenage youthful, despite her age.

I’m still astounded that twenty-seven-year-old professors can giggle.

“Catch your breath and come look at this,” I said, placing Drake’s letter and the map of Oread Halls cave on the small dining table.

Fiona inhaled deeply, composing herself, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her excitement. “Don’t frighten me! Come out with it ... what have you found?”

“Drake wrote in his letter about entrusting the Star to ‘the eternal light that shines in the heart of the cave.’ Look at this,” I said, tracing the passage with my finger so she could read it herself.

She leaned in, scanning the words, her lips moving as she absorbed them. “Yes ... but that can be metaphorical in context.”

“Then how do you explain this?” I countered, shifting my hand to the center of the Oread Halls cave map where the words ‘Skylight Chamber’ and ‘Skylight Entrance’ were inscribed in bold lettering.

Fiona’s mouth fell open. Her fingers shot forward, snatching the map as if she didn’t trust her own eyes. She tilted it, studying every line, every marking, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and dawning comprehension.

“What does this mean, Roy? This Skylight thingamajig?”

“It’s a natural opening in the cavern’s roof. Sunlight streams through it, illuminating a specific spot on the cave floor. A literal ‘light that shines in the heart of the cave.’”

Her freckled face twisted in incredulity. “You mean to say it was here before our very own eyes the whole time, and we didn’t connect the dots?”

“Yes. It seems so.”

She smacked the map onto the table and turned to me with an expression of sheer exhilaration. “Roy Reasor, you’re a genius!” She jumped up on me and kissed me on the cheek. I had to hold her as her feet was off the floor.

Getting down from me, she blushed, and I just let it go.

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “I only put one and one together and got two. It’s not to say the Star is in that cave. But based on Drake’s description and this map, it’s the best lead we’ve got.”

Fiona’s hands clenched into excited fists. “Can we go look at the cave?”

“It’s not that simple,” I said. “There are three ways into the cave. One is from the western side, but that means sliding and crawling through a narrow passage. This time of year, it’s muddy and wet. Sediment could have blocked the entrance.”

“And the other ways?”

“Either through Devil’s Pit or the Skylight Entrance. Both require abseiling gear.”

“Which one is the best?”

“The Skylight Entrance.”

“Can we go?” Her voice pitched with excitement, and for a moment, the twenty-seven-year-old professor turned into a twelve-year-old freckled-faced excited girl on the verge of an adventure.

I studied her for a second. “Have you ever abseiled before?”

“Noooo...” she admitted, drawing out the word sheepishly.

“Then let’s get breakfast out of the way first.”

“I’m so excited, I don’t think I can eat!” she declared.

“Yes, but before we rush off, you need to calculate the shift of the Earth’s axis over four hundred years. The sunlight might not hit the same spot on the cave floor as it did when Drake was there in 1580.”

Fiona’s excitement momentarily dimmed. “Yes...” she sighed. “That is true...” Her eyes took on a distant look, and I could swear I heard the gears turning in her head.

I seized the opportunity. “And you need to figure out how to get your equipment down there. Especially the ground-penetrating radar.” I grinned at her.

That earned me a slap on the shoulder. “Ouch!”

“Let’s go get breakfast,” she huffed, turning towards her room. “Let me get my bag.” But even as she walked away, I could tell her mind was still racing. She had that thousand-mile stare, the look of someone deep in thought, processing calculations far beyond my comprehension.

Then, just as suddenly as she had turned away, she stopped in the passage. She looked down at her hands, fingers twitching as if they were tracing invisible equations in the air. Slowly, she pivoted to face me, and a glint of triumph shone in her eyes.

“It’s not the shifting of the Earth’s axis that’s the primary factor,” she said, her voice gaining a new edge of certainty. “The African tectonic plate — also known as the Nubian plate — is moving. Drifting roughly northeast at a speed of 32.51 kilometres per 100 million years, which translates to 2.15 centimetres per year.”

I blinked.

“If this is a uniform value, and assuming a true mathematical constant, that means the African continent has shifted 9.5 meters northeast in the 444 years since 1580. Theoretically, that would mean the light spot in the cavern has moved by approximately 9.5 meters northeast.”

She smirked.

I stood rooted to the spot, mouth agape. “She did that calculation in her head!?”

“That’s one good reason for us to get that ground-penetrating radar down there,” Fiona tossed over her shoulder before disappearing into her bedroom.

I let out a breath and shook my head, still reeling. The professor had spoken.

I had no doubt that when she emerged, she’d be armed with calculations, maps, and an unshakable determination to get us into that cave. And somehow, I knew, breakfast or not, there’d be no stopping her now.

Breakfast lay shattered in our wake. I had insisted that Fiona eat a good, hearty meal — something rich in energy and protein — because today was going to test her endurance.

The change of plan was necessary. If she was going to abseil into the Skylight Entrance of the Oread Halls cave, she needed proper training. And there was no better place than Abseil Adventures at Table Mountain. Not only did they provide top-tier training, but they also had the best equipment available, tailored to fit her and suited for both descent and ascent. I made a list of the gear we’d need, ensuring that both of us would be properly outfitted.

Fiona was nervous. That much was clear. I caught her chewing on her nails more than once and had to reach over to take her hands out of her mouth.

“Don’t bite your nails! It’s not good for you.”

“I worry!” she admitted, her voice carrying a slight tremor. “I haven’t even bungee-jumped before...”

“This is different. And what happened to the fearless tomboy hiding inside you?”

“MIA...” she replied with a weak smile.

“Do you want the star or not?”

She hesitated. “Do I have to climb down a rope into total darkness?”

“You’ll have a headlamp.”

“And if the rope breaks?”

“The rope won’t break. You’ll see.”

“But what if—”

“I told you what ‘what if’ is. Now stop fretting. Everything will be fine, and you might even enjoy it.”

By this time, we had arrived at the lower cable way station. The massive cables stretched up the mountain, disappearing into the blue sky above. We purchased our tickets and climbed into the rotating cable car that would take us to the summit.

Fiona’s eyes darted around nervously as we began our ascent. Below us, the city of Cape Town sprawled out, bathed in the golden morning light. The ocean shimmered in the distance, stretching to the horizon in an endless expanse of blue. As the car gently swayed, she gripped the railing tighter.

“This mountain is high from so close,” she murmured, eyes wide as she took in the looming cliffs above.

“The upper station is 1,087 metres above sea level,” I informed her. “But don’t worry, we’re not going to abseil all of that. Maybe only about 100 metres or so. Besides, going into Oread Halls you only need to go down about six or seven metres.”

She nodded, but her voice was quieter this time. “Okay...”

Despite the nervous tone, I saw something else in her expression — a spark of determination. The fire in her eyes was still there, flickering just beneath the surface. And as the cable car glided upward, she stood a little closer to me than usual. Hmm...

Fiona learns to abseil down Table Mountain. Well, let’s hear her side.

I should have known Roy wasn’t going to let me slide into this adventure without some preparation.

“Fiona, if you’re going to get into Oread Halls Cave, you need to abseil,” he’d said with that infuriatingly calm logic of his. “And more importantly, you need to climb back out again.”

Which is why I now found myself at the top of a sheer rock face on Table Mountain, my stomach knotted into something resembling a double fisherman’s bend.

The instructor, a wiry South African with a weathered face and a sun-bleached hat, handed me a harness. “Right, Fiona,” he said with a grin, clearly enjoying my nervous energy. “Let’s get you kitted up.”

I slipped my legs into the loops of the climbing harness, tightening the straps snug around my waist and thighs. It felt strange — like wearing a corset made for an entirely different purpose. He clipped a locking carabiner onto the belay loop, then handed me a chalky white helmet that I fastened securely under my chin. The thick ropes, dynamic and strong enough to hold a car, ran through a belay device called an ATC, which was attached to my harness with another carabiner.

“You’ll be using a figure-eight knot,” he explained, demonstrating how to tie the thick rope to my harness. “It’s simple, strong, and easy to check.” I watched intently as he looped the rope, threading it back through to form the unmistakable shape. I repeated the motion under his watchful eye, my fingers fumbling slightly as I cinched the knot tight.

Gloves. Those were next — thick leather to protect my hands from rope burn. My heart was hammering like a snare drum in my chest as I stepped closer to the edge, my feet scuffing against the gritty rock. Below, the city sprawled out in miniature, the Atlantic glinting in the distance.

“Okay, Fiona, lean back,” the instructor said.

“Excuse me?” I squeaked.

“You need to trust the harness. Trust the rope.”

Trust the rope. Right. As if that was the most natural thing in the world. I took a deep breath, gripping the rope with both hands, my dominant hand behind me as instructed. My heels edged backward until they hung over the drop, and my body tilted into nothingness. My instincts screamed at me to claw my way back to solid ground, but the instructor’s firm voice kept me steady.

“Good. Feet shoulder-width apart. Keep your knees soft.”

I felt the harness take my weight, the tension in the rope holding me aloft. The rock face stretched out below, dotted with handholds and ledges.

“Now, walk down,” he encouraged.

I bent my knees, carefully stepping down and feeding the rope through my gloved hand. The first movement was the hardest — breaking that mental barrier between solid ground and free air. But as I descended, I found a rhythm. Step, release. Step, release. My breath came in sharp bursts at first, but gradually, I exhaled more smoothly, focusing on my footing rather than the dizzying drop beneath me.

About halfway down, I felt a rush — fear giving way to exhilaration. The freedom of it! The rope, once a source of terror, became my lifeline, my control. I paused, dangling momentarily in the open air, looking out at the view. Cape Town stretched beyond the mountains, shimmering in the midday sun. Above the puffy misty clouds drifted past on the breeze and the Atlantic looked glass flat in the distance, and deep blue. Roy said the bluer the Atlantic, the colder it is. Brrrr.

“Doing good, Fee!” Roy’s voice drifted up from below. I scowled at him — not that he could see it from this angle — but I couldn’t deny the grin spreading across my face. “I’ll show you Roy Reasor!” I thought. “I’m not as fragile as you think!” The tomboy in me came alive.

Reaching the bottom felt like a victory. My boots touched the rocky ground, and I let out a breathless laugh.

“How was that?” the instructor asked, unhooking me from the rope.

“Terrifying,” I admitted. “And absolutely amazing at the same time.”

“Good. Now you climb back up top.”

My grin faded.

I had completely forgotten about the climbing part.

Climbing back up was a different beast entirely. My harness was now attached to an ascender system — mechanical devices that slides up the rope but locks when weight is applied. With one hand on the rock face and the other gripping the ascender, I hauled myself up inch by inch, using my legs as much as my arms. My muscles burned, my breath grew ragged, and more than once I had to stop, pressing my forehead against the cool stone to gather my strength.

By the time I reached the top, my arms felt like jelly, and my legs wobbled as I scrambled over the edge.

Roy was waiting, arms crossed, smirking. He was up and down this rock face like it was the most natural thing in the world. Yes, he has done it more times than he could count.

“So, still excited to do this in the middle of nowhere, over an unknown depth?” he asked.

I bent over, hands on my knees, catching my breath. Then I looked up at him, grinning despite myself.

“Absolutely.”

Roy came over and extended his hand to me helping me up. Then he hugged me, holding me close and stroking my hair. “I’m proud of you Fee,” he whispered in my ear. “Very, very proud.”

I melted.

Back to Roy.

Fiona did pretty well on her first solo abseil, all things considered. She made it down in one piece, which is always a bonus, and even managed to climb back up to the ledge without needing an emergency helicopter rescue. That she was relatively fit worked in her favour, but fitness only goes so far when your muscles are suddenly being introduced to the joys of dangling from a rope and defying gravity.

Abseiling is a deceptive beast. At first, it looks like a fun, controlled drop, but if you’re not used to it, it has a way of draining your energy with ruthless efficiency. Your arms feel like overcooked spaghetti, your thighs scream in protest, and muscles you never knew existed file formal complaints with the Department of Human Suffering.

By the time she reached the top again, Fiona looked like she had just fought a war against a rock face — and lost. She flopped onto the ground, panting, limbs splayed out like a crime scene chalk outline.

“I’m never moving again,” she groaned.

“You did great,” I said, crouching beside her. “First time is always the hardest. And the second time. And the third. But after that, it’s only slightly unbearable.”

She tried to swat at me but barely managed a lazy hand wave. “I hate you.”

“That’s just the exhaustion talking,” I said, offering her a hand up. She took it, groaning like an old door hinge as I hauled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you something to drink before your body completely stages a revolt.”

The Abseiling Adventure crew had prepared a so-called ‘energy cocktail,’ a concoction of fruit juice, protein powder, and something suspiciously neon. Fiona chugged it like a woman clinging to life itself.

Then, because I’m a terrible person, I took her back for a few more rounds. Shorter descents, shorter climbs — this time focusing on technique. Her initial grumbles about ‘cruelty’ and ‘torture’ eventually faded as she got the hang of it, even starting to enjoy herself. But by early afternoon, her body had officially declared bankruptcy.