<h1 style="text-align: justify">Chapter 4 - De Profundis ad Altum</h1>


    Darkness rose and wrapped around me. I staggered and fell backwards, hitting the wall, and the shock knocked the breath out of me. Sliding down to the ground, I watched through hazy eyes as Axel rushed over to our friends, shouting their names and shaking them, one after another.


    ‘Lilianne? Lili! Can you hear me?’ He kneeled by his sister’s side and held her tight, swaying gently back and forth, while caressing a blonde lock that slid from under her blue beanie.


    ‘Lili, Lili’, he kept whispering, mouth buried in her hair.


    David, I thought, my limbs too weak, too heavy to move. Petrifying cold crept from the stone beneath me, and turned me into an immobile, powerless witness. David, my thoughts pleaded, fighting to move through sheer will, to no avail.


    Slowly, Axel stopped rocking his sister; with a final whisper in her ear, something I didn’t understand, he lay her down cautiously and moved to Michelle. Placing his ear on her chest, he checked her breath and pulse, then called her name, softly tapping her cheek. No answer, not even a twitch; her head fell back on her shoulder as soon as his hand moved away. Axel shot me a pained look before moving to David.


    I have to move, I thought, paralysed by the cold, held tightly down on the ground, as if I were one with the pale stone.


    David.


    I stared at my unresponsive limbs, willing them off the floor.


    David!


    White fire sparked in my chest as I grew furious at my stubborn body, at my weakness and my fear. I will not be held down by it. I will not!


    My fingers burnt cold as if frostbitten, ice spreading up my arms and scorching my veins.


    David!


    I broke free of the stone’s bindings, leapt on my feet and rushed by his side, pushing Axel away.


    ‘David, come back to me, come back…’, I cried, holding him, trying to warm him up, but he didn’t move, didn’t blink. I looked up at Axel through tears, and his eyes were full of misery. He slumped down next to me, staring blankly in front of him. We sat in silence, grief and guilt swelling and engulfing us.


    ‘We should call for help’, he managed a coarse whisper.


    I stared at him, my mind empty of everything but pain. ‘What? Why…? What for?’


    ‘What do you mean, what for?’, Axel stared back at me, bewildered. ‘They need to get to a hospital!’


    ‘They…’ I turned my eyes back down on David, whose head I was still cradling in my lap. ‘They’re…’, I hesitated, incredulously. ‘They’re alive?’


    Relief bubbled in my chest, choking me with the urge to cry and laugh and shout injoy at the same time. I slumped back against the curbstone, eyes wide, one hand over my mouth. Barely able to believe, hope, that it was true, I lowered my gaze on him and, gently settling his head on the floor, I rested my cheek on his chest. After a few long moments, almost imperceptibly, a faint breath tickled my face. I had to fight back the urge to jump and run around the chamber, yelling with joy; instead, I sat back down and took him in my arms again, grinning quietly.


    Axel locked eyes with me and allowed the flicker of a smile to brighten his face before clouding again.


    ‘Let us not forget their condition is critical. They appear to be in some sort of coma, and we have no clue as to how much time they spent unconscious, or the circumstances they have been in.’ His tone was grave, his eyes somber, and my joy dimmed. Kneeling by his sister''s side, Axel slid her gently on her back and, taking hold of her left shoulder and knee, he levered Lilianne into the recovery position, arranging her right arm to support her head. I helped him do the same with David and Michelle, then he stood up.


    ‘I have to go find a spot with phone reception, and I need you to remain here with them. Are you able to do that?’


    ‘Of course’, my answer surged before my primitive brain could think about being alone in the darkness, and I was rewarded with a slight nod of approval.


    ‘Cover them and yourself with these blankets’, Axel added, rummaging in his backpack and producing three tightly folded silver sheets. ‘You should all be nice and warm underneath, and it will keep them stable. At least I hope so…’


    I had been so relieved to know they were alive that the direness of their condition hadn’t even crossed my mind. Lips tight, I took my place next to David, and covered us with the survival blankets. Axel lit several candles, placing them around us for a little more warmth, took a moment to tuck his sister in, and with a last look at us, disappeared in the darkness.


    The flickering light danced on the stone walls, bringing the shadows to life. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, memories of my fearful childhood coming back to me: the long nights spent hidden under the sheets, barely breathing, almost feeling some malevolent presence creeping around the room. Memories of not daring to let my hand dangle over the edge of the bed, under which hungry, dark creatures lurked, while My imagination brought to life every terrifying story and image I had heard or seen, in excruciating detail.


    As I watched, the graceful dance of the penumbrae on the stone seemed to change into a threatening slither, akin to our attacker''s crawling and coiling shadow. The candles flickered in rhythm with my shortened breath, struggling to keep back the night that prowled around us. I felt small and oh so very vulnerable. My eyes widened, my ears strained, every muscle tense in anticipation of fighting or fleeing, I pushed my back into the curbstone until it felt like I became one with it. My senses were pushed to the limit, and I thought I could hear every drop that fell, every hiss of the candles, every step echoing far away or above. As the chill of the earth embraced me slowly, came to me the subtle cracks of the rocks shifting under their own weight in a centuries-long movement; the muted dance of the dust in the galleries; the faint sigh of the air, endlessly roaming the immense labyrinth…


    An abrupt clangour wrenched me from my state of reverie; I jumped to my feet, adrenaline rushing through me like an explosion. Looking around me in alarm, I strained to see beyond the circle of candlelight, every sense screaming danger. Another clank thundered along the walls, and I raised my hands in defence – and gasped, blinded by the sudden shards of brightness that sank into my eyes. Turning my head away, I waited to recover my vision, and opened my eyes slowly again. I thought I was still blinded as I looked at my arms, lights twirling on my retinae, but as much as I kept blinking, the vision refused to go away. My hands were once more covered in shimmering, liquid ice, sliding smoothly down to the elbows. I turned them this way and that, baffled. Was I, irrevocably, losing my mind? Or was there something in this chamber, in its air, a microscopic mushroom, some mold, maybe, that caused me to hallucinate?


    I let myself slink back down on the floor, staring numbly at the moving, glittering ice that reflected the candlelight. The hooded figure of the Stonemaster came to my mind; had he been a hallucination as well? Or was there more than reason could embrace, some other explanation of our friends’ disappearance, of the stranger’s hostile shadow, …of the signs I had seen in the coffee grounds? Was it possible that… ?


    No, it couldn’t be. Saint Andrew’s Nights, the strigoi and the bodiless werewolves roaming the earth, the Solomonars and their storm dragons were all but folks’ tales, some imaginative way to make sense of the unknown. Weren’t they?


    Reluctantly, while my reason fought every step of the way, I considered the possibilities. If, against any logic and common sense, Saint Andrew’s Night was indeed what my ancestors claimed it to be… The explanation started to take shape, the puzzle pieces falling into place at increasing speed. The night the gate opened – the well of bones that shouldn’t have been open – linking the nether world and the real world – from under the cemetery, no less –the warning of the danger lurking free – a strange figure able to paralyse Axel and I without touching us, and disappear with three unconscious bodies… It all made sense, if only… If only I could accept the initial postulate: the magic world, or a magic world, existed, and was accessible.


    I held my spinning head, and the chill touch of the ice eased the spreading pain that encircled my brow. Assuming that, somehow, it was possible, how could I ever explain it to Axel? And by the way, why had I been the only one to see the rusalka, the twins, the Stonemaster? He’d been one step away from me when I’d got in this chamber. What I had seen had seemed shaped after my childhood memories and the knowledge I had of my country''s folklore: one more argument in favour of a hallucination that only affected me.


    Confusion clouded my mind. If I were losing it, how would I know? Would I think so logically if I did? Wouldn’t delirium make sense to me? I stared at my glimmering arms, frantically searching for a way to know if what I was seeing was real. Panic started creeping on me along with the realisation that I couldn’t, and I gathered my knees to my chest, rolling up in a ball against the cold stone. Go away. Go away. Leave me alone, I prayed desperately, pushing the nagging thoughts away. I refuse. I won’t. What? I did not know.


    The ice was freezing my arms to the bone, and I rubbed them in a vain attempt to warm myself up. A burning flash of pain ran up my right forearm, and I gasped. I pulled up the sleeve, and something ripped. A curse escaped my lip at the sting of it. I turned on my headlamp for a better look, and saw several, parallel dark gashes. A little blood trickled from where the tissue had stuck to the skin. The ice slithered towards the wounds, as if they were drinking it. I blinked in confusion, then remembered.


    Pupils slitting.


    Mouth opening wide.


    The predatory grin.


    Fingers stretching into talons, sinking into my flesh as the rusalka dragged me into the water.


    I shivered with dread at the memory, shrinking even more against the stone wall. Had it really happened, then? The bleeding wounds seemed to prove it had. If they are real, my inner voice commented icily. The pain, at least, was real; my arm throbbed as the cuts absorbed the ice.


    “Find the School, and prove us your will”, the Stonemaster had said. But how could I? Where would I even start?


    I felt too tired to think anymore. Pulling the blanket around me again, I settled into a more comfortable position. On my left and right, David’s and Michelle’s shapes reminded me that it was I who had, with light-hearted disregard for my ancestors’ forewarnings, brought this upon us. Guilt and shame crushed me, and all I could do was hope that the paramedics would be able to help; and pray, desperately, that my friends would be alright.


    Faint voices echoed from afar, and splashing steps approached decisively. I realised the clamour that had me jump out of the blankets must have been a manhole cover being opened; and that, while I''d been lost in thought, the noise had continued in the background, most likely the paramedics'' equipment clanging against the metal rungs of the nearest shaft. One of the voices sounded like Axel’s; straining my hearing, I thought I could distinguish two more, one male, one female. Relief filled me with its comforting warmth, and I pulled David closer to me as I waited.


    The deep shadows hiding the tunnel’s mouth were torn to shreds by the paramedics’ powerful flashlights. Axel, having led them, rushed to his sister’s side and checked her vitals.


    ‘Is everything okay? Nothing new since I left?’, he asked me, trying to keep hope out of his voice. ‘Did she move, open her eyes?’


    I shook my head, lowering my gaze, and caressed David’s hand. ‘Nothing’s changed… but at least it’s not worse’, I added quickly, trying to give him the little comfort I could.


    ‘We’ll take it from here’, the woman said, kneeling with her colleague. ‘The others are on the way with the rest of the equipment.’


    ‘They need to unweld another shaft for the stretchers’, Axel explained to me. ‘The rungs would hamper the extraction, and no shaft like that is open nearby’.


    ‘Tell me what happened’, the male paramedic said while examining Michelle. He checked her pulse and, as he frowned and leaned in to listen to her breathing, we remained silent, waiting. The woman shone a flashlight in Michelle’s eyes, then rummaged through their largest bag, producing an oxygen tube and a breathing mask.


    ‘Go on, we’re listening’, her colleague said, placing the mask on the girl’s face.


    Axel and I looked at each other, hesitating.


    ‘We were here on the night of 30th of November to the 1st of December’, he started, ‘when an earthquake began. We were making our way to the exit when someone threw a smoke bomb by the Carrefour des Morts, and attacked us when we got there.’


    ‘Attacked? How?’, the woman inquired. The small lamp she''d been shining in Lilianne''s eyes pointed at me like an accusatory finger.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ‘Uh, physically’, I stuttered. ‘I suppose he hit us as we were coming out from the Carrefour, he was between us and our friends.’


    ‘You were separated?’


    ‘Rusanda and I…’, Axel started, before the medic interrupted, looking confused.


    ‘Who?’


    ‘I’m Rusanda’, I explained, and she nodded at him to go on.


    ‘So, she and I had gone scouting ahead to make sure the way was safe, given that the smoke was too thick. My sister Lilianne, her friend Michelle, and David remained behind to wait for us. And when we returned, this… person….’ - I noticed the hesitation - ‘must have kicked me before I saw him, because all I remember was laying on the ground, unable to move. I could only watch as he attacked our friends.’


    ‘How about you?’ Her question was directed to me.


    ‘I, uh…’ I was ashamed to say I’d been paralysed by fear, and she must have sensed it, because her expression softened.


    ‘It can happen to anyone, you know, just freezing there. It’s not your fault.’


    Oh, but it was… If only I could tell her everything.


    Noticing my difficulty to talk about what had happened, she left me alone with a sympathetic nod. ‘Your friends are unconscious, as you’ve noticed, but otherwise their vitals are not worrying at first sight, and you did a good job here before you called us. We have to ask you a few more questions, though, to help us when they get to the hospital.’


    ‘Everything you need’, Axel replied, some relief in his voice. He squatted down by his sister’s side and started caressing her hair, talking without looking up. ‘They disappeared that night, and I’ve been searching for them since. A team of friends helped while I wasn’t here, but with no success until tonight, so I cannot tell you what happened to them until now, nor where they have been. We found them here, lying unconscious.’


    ‘How were they when you last saw them?’


    ‘That… person’ - that hesitation again - ‘hit them, and they seemed to have lost consciousness. Then another earth shake came, and when the air cleared again, there was only Rusanda and I.’


    ‘Hmm.’ The two paramedics glanced at each other, just like the cataphiles had done. ‘You’ll need to talk to the police when we get out. They’re waiting for you.’


    Axel shrugged. ‘Whatever is needed. He has to pay for…’ He clenched his teeth, and his fists rolled up. After a deep breath, Axel looked up at the paramedics. ‘He will pay for what he’s done to my sister. To my friends.’


    ‘They''ll take you to the precinct’, the man reminded him. ‘And they won’t be easy on you, either. You shouldn’t have been here, nor should you have brought others.’


    ‘I know’, Axel whispered, fidgeting with Lilianne’s hair again. ‘I know… I am the first one to blame, and I will take my responsibilities. But if the police don’t find him… I will.’


    ‘There, there, son’, the paramedic said gently, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t be so harsh on yourself. If it were up to me, I’d rather congratulate you for the way you handled this than to scold you. If you cooperate, the police might not be that hard on you after all.’


    Axel shrugged the man’s hand away.


    ‘I should have protected them better… I should have…’


    The rest of his sentence was lost in a high pitched, metallic shriek. I startled, covering my ears, and looked around in annoyance. The paramedics were packing their first-aid bags.


    ‘Our colleagues are here’, the woman said, tilting her head in the direction of the continuous shrill. ‘That’s the grinder cutting the welds on the manhole. Your friends will be out of here in no time.’


    I took Axel’s hand and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. The ear-piercing wail of the saw on metal turned into a hum, then stopped, and a clatter announced the cover was open. Indistinct shouts and commands arrived through the gallery, mixed with the rhythmic clangs and noises of the material being set up and the stretchers hitting the walls of the narrow shaft on their way down.


    ‘I’ll go greet them’, Axel announced, and disappeared into the darkness.


    I stood, too, and stretched my limbs, chasing away the numbness that had slipped from the stone into my flesh, and took a few steps out into the corridor, trying to see the rescue team. The massive central chamber of the Carrefour des Morts blocked the view, though, so I was just turning on my heels when something moved in my peripheral vision. Surprised, I moved my head a little too quickly, and only caught a glimpse of the skeleton graffiti before everything spun and went dark.


    Sounds, whispering in the night; distant moans, like wind trapped in the ruins. The shadows moved like tattered curtains, veiling and revealing pieces of scenes. A sombre hall, a dark figure slumped unmoving on a chair. Whispers and sighs. Laughter, like light pouring from a summer sky. Bright petals on dark grass, their flesh delicately tattooed with transparent veins. Thunder. A tall man, swirling with his wife held tight in his arms. Ashen shapes twisting, interlacing, flowing, uncountable, their bodies made one endless river. The man''s face rushed in front of my eyes; I yelped, staggered. Burning eyes, deep under black eyebrows, thin, aquiline nose, emaciated cheeks swallowed in an unkept beard; but as he came at me, I realised the fire in his eyes was not rage, but… I knew that look. I had seen it recently. It was a look of desperation; it was pain, and loss. A flash: chestnut locks, eyes speckled with gold, dimples and red, moist lips; and then nothing.


    Plunged in a sickening haze, I felt the world move around me: a jolting ascension, flashing with evanescent images. David, I thought faintly, and there he was, lying unmoving and chained on the stone floor. Darkness. A slithering shadow, spreading on the walls, three bodies at its feet, arms opened in offering before the sombre man with desperate eyes. Darkness. The chestnut curls, the red lips, open in a scream, golden eyes wide with fear. Darkness. Parlays, came a word, the voice coarse and hissing. David''s face, monstrous, snarling like a beast, chains strained. Darkness. Come back to me. Not my voice.


    I slept, diving into the depths of unconsciousness, hiding as far as I could, curled around myself, refusing to emerge. Rest, leave me to rest. I closed my eyes tight, fighting against the flashing blue lights that tried to pierce through my lids. Clamour surrounded me: voices, everywhere, barking orders, shouting names; engines purring loudly; doors banging; stretchers, hooks, and chains clanging; heavy boots thundering. Like a hunted animal, I shrank deeper into myself, trying to find a shelter from the harsh lights and the frenzied tumult. I need rest.


    Justled and shaken, I was finally roused by the howling of the siren above me, and the neon light seared my eyes. I grunted, raising an arm in protection, and a hand laid on me immediately.


    ‘It’s okay, you’re in the ambulance’, a soothing voice said. ‘How are you feeling?’


    Still covering my face, I looked up carefully, waiting for my vision to adjust. ‘Why… what happened?’


    ‘You fainted, we had to bring you up in a harness’, answered the muscular young woman in the dark blue uniform of the volunteer paramedics. ‘I don’t know what’s down there in that chamber, but it’s got to you, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the same thing that had your friends unconscious. It might be gas, or some mould, and long exposure to it might have done this to them. We’ll know more when we get to the hospital.’


    There it was. A rational, comforting explanation. Relieved, I wiped my forehead with my sleeve – and winced. That explanation is far from sufficient, the cuts on my arm reminded me, the pain once again revived.


    ‘Are you hurt?’, she asked immediately.


    ‘I… I think I cut my arm at some point, I fell a few times’, I lied.


    She tucked a lock of dark hair beneath her ear. ‘Alright, let’s take a look at that. And while I’m at it, let’s see how you’re doing, now that you’re awake. Can you tell me your name and age?’, she asked, grabbing a kit and taking out disinfectant and bandages.


    ‘Rusanda, twenty-seven.’


    ‘What day is it?’


    ‘I don’t know, what hour is it?’


    The paramedic laughed. ‘A little after four a.m.’


    ‘Then it should be the 4th of December.’


    ‘Correct.’ She scribbled on her notepad.


    ‘Any medical history I should be aware of? Surgery, antecedents in your family? You’re taking any medication?’


    ‘Nothing I can think of. We’re all robust peasants’, I tried for a joke, ‘and I don’t take anything at the moment.’


    ‘Allergies?’


    ‘None that I’m aware of.’


    ‘Good’, the paramedic smiled, and applied the disinfectant on my wounds. I yelped, more out of surprise than pain.


    ‘Can you tell me more about how you felt while you were down there?’


    I searched my memory. ‘Well, I was pretty tired, to start with. Haven’t slept properly since we left our friends in the catacombs – since they disappeared there, to be more precise.’ My voice shook, and I took a few long breaths, trying to steady it.


    ‘Take your time’, she advised, gently, not taking her eyes off the bandages she was applying.


    ‘I… I think I had the first hallucination before arriving at the Carrefour des Morts. I was thinking about that night and… everything just started to spin, I had to lean against the wall. Then it happened again in the chamber where we found them. It was longer, that time.’


    The paramedic nodded, encouraging me to go on while taking notes again.


    ‘After Axel left to call you, I stayed with them. It was alright, but… it felt like I could hear everything, even the tiniest of noises. Maybe it was because of the silence, I don’t know, I might have dozed off and dreamt. Then again, when I was in the gallery, I thought I saw something, maybe turned my head too quickly, but everything started spinning again, and then I woke up here with you.’


    ‘Uh-huh’, she muttered, still writing. ‘I have to say it kind of worries me. If your friends were there long enough, it might have started like this, and ended in a coma.’


    They weren’t there at first, I wanted to say, but refrained. If they hadn’t been there, who brought them? And how? The only access to the chamber was the gallery with the skeleton graffiti. I rubbed at my eyes, confused.


    ‘What’s wrong?’


    ‘Nothing, I’m just having a headache’, I sighed. ‘I’m really tired.’


    ‘We’re almost there. The doctors will take care of you.’


    On cue, the ambulance slowed down to a stop, and I made a move to stand.


    ‘Easy, there’, the woman warned me, putting a hand on my shoulder.


    ‘I’m okay. I want to see them.’


    ‘Just take it slowly, if you don’t want to faint again.’


    I nodded, standing up carefully. The world whirled a little, then stabilized. She opened the door for me, and I got out in the crisp air, a little unsteadily. Around us, three more ambulances were bustling with activity: dark blue uniforms hurried to and fro, some unloading the stretchers, others securing the breathing masks in place or holding the IV bags. I wanted to rush to them, but the sidewalk moved under my feet like quicksand, and I would have fallen if a strong hand hadn’t caught me in time.


    ‘Alright, you’re going to sit nicely down’, the young paramedic said firmly. ‘No negotiating this time.’ She took a wheelchair from the back of the ambulance and unfolded it.


    ‘Sit.’


    Unable to argue, I did, and she pushed me through the doors into the emergency room, settling me against the wall while she went to talk to the nurses at the reception desk.


    ‘Wait right here until someone comes for you’, she told me when she came back. ‘You’re not in a critical condition, so your friends will be seen to first.’


    ‘Thank you’, I answered weakly. The room, where a dozen people slouched, looking evenly sallow under the neon lights, felt haunted by a general air of fatigue and gloom, in sharp contrast with its bright colours and freshly renovated look. The agitation one would expect to encounter was probably contained behind the white swinging doors, for nothing else happened here but waiting for Godot. The atmosphere slowly got to me. It was dulling my nerves, not exactly like sense deprivation, but almost; although there were things to be seen and heard, nothing actually seemed to happen. Lulled by the low murmur, I slid slowly into a dreamless sleep.


    A gentle shake roused me with a start. I had curled up sideways in the wheelchair, and my neck and lower back protested as I moved.


    ‘It’s your turn, miss’, the nurse told me, helping me up, and pointing at the young intern waiting for me by the doors. I nodded and stretched, still a little confused, and followed him to a cramped, harshly lit office. I answered his questions mechanically; they were the same the dark haired paramedic had asked. He checked my blood pressure, retinae response, listened to my lungs, wrote down on his pad, impassive and distant, and finally undid my bandages and examined the cuts.


    ‘Hmm, hmm’, the intern muttered, turning my arm this way and that. ‘No bleeding. I don’t think you need stitches on these’, he added dismissively. ‘Some Steri Strips will do the trick.’ I had no clue as to what those were, but I felt questions wouldn’t be welcome. So I watched him apply a few thin, sticky strips on each cut, gritting my teeth as he pulled the sides of each wound together with little delicacy.


    ‘Good as new’, the intern mumbled again, not bothering to look at me, and sent me on my way with a prescription for painkillers and a few days of medical leave. I thanked him and left; closing the door to his office, I had one last glimpse of him, sitting at his desk and staring into empty space.


    Trying to shrug off the odd impression the doctor had left on me, I returned to the reception to ask the whereabouts of David, Lilianne and Michelle.


    ‘Visiting hours haven’t started yet’, the nurse said in a blank voice, without looking away from the screen.


    ‘I know, but when they do, where do I find them?’


    ‘You’ll have to ask at the main desk, the hospital’s.’


    I sighed and gave up, heading for the exit. Might as well ask Google, I thought.


    The crisp air invigorated me a little as I stepped out of the tiringly colourful waiting room. Ashen dawn light was creeping above the overly modern buildings, adding a layer of gloominess to their already depressing metal girders and dirty beige fa?ades. Checking the time on my phone, I found a text from Axel:


    ‘At the police station, call you when available.’


    This laconic, simply-worded message didn’t sound like him; he must’ve had very little time to write.


    ‘I just came out of the ER’, I texted back, ‘I’m at…’.


    Wait. Where was I, indeed? I headed out of the small courtyard and looked around. “H?pital Cochin”, announced the equally awful walls of grey metal and rusty brick. I sent the message and, worried once more, walked the deserted streets, looking for warmth and fresh coffee, which I desperately needed before it was time to visit. I dreaded, just as much as I longed for, the moment when I’d see David again; guilt was still gnawing at me through the fog of fatigue. If I wanted to soldier through the rest of the day, I needed coffee.


    Questions for the readers</a>