<h1 style="text-align: justify">Chapter 8 - The Beyonder</h1>


    ‘My daughter… we meet once more.’


    Her hoarse voice scraped its way through my ears as the rusalka floated nearer, reaching for my cheek with clawed fingers.


    ‘And now you are mine’, she smirked with cadaverous lips and rotting fangs.


    I floundered desperately away from the creature, letting out a horrified yell, at once stifled by the water. My throat clenched tight as I swallowed a mouthful of it, lungs thumping wildly with the cough that ripped through my chest. Talons plunged for my face as I fought to remain conscious and to regain control over my breathing. Bony fingers closed around my neck and threw me against the wall. The world went black.


    ‘You shall not get away from me yet, dear child’, she rasped in my ear, with a voice like a drowning man’s death rattle. Floating far away, I felt, faintly, her death cold lips touch mine. A foul, decaying stench filled my mouth. I coughed and sputtered and inhaled instinctively, relief and air filling my tortured lungs, and awoke.


    The rusalka’s putrid hair spread around her face, floating from wall to wall. She watched me with colourless eyes, sharp teeth ripping through the bloated flesh of her lips.


    ‘I won’t let you die, not now that we are reunited.’


    I struggled desperately to free myself, flailing and kicking in vain. The creature had me pinned against the wall, as helpless as a butterfly in a collector’s hand. She leaned in once more, the sight of her mottled skin sickening, and forced air through my clenched lips. Although nauseous, I felt my mind clearing as I breathed.


    ‘What do you want from me?’, I managed a whisper through her choke.


    ‘I’m taking you with me, my daughter.’


    Think. Think fast.


    Terror spread from her fingers in cold tentacles.


    No time for this. Think.


    You’ve met her before.


    Numbing chill slithered into my limbs.


    There’s no time for fear. Think.


    I gagged, my mind clouding once more.


    ‘Do you want to breathe again?’


    I nodded faintly. Think, think, think.


    Quickly.


    Memories of her flew back to me, the pain of the gashes in my arm burning like white fire.


    The sign of the Cross.


    ‘Not this time, my sweet daughter’, the rusalka smiled horribly as the thought had barely taken shape in my mind. A strand of sickly green hair shot forward and wrapped itself around my hand. She pressed herself against me, crushing me against the wall. Something rough and sharp dug into my flesh as I hit it, and I grimaced with the sudden pain.


    And then I knew what to do.


    I lay still where she held me, letting my head hang and my limbs go limp as if I’d fainted. The rusalka let out an annoyed sigh and relaxed her grip on my neck. Very carefully, I brought my feet up and against the wall.


    ‘Weaklings, all of them…’


    Releasing my arm, she tilted her head towards me for another breath.


    I inhaled as deeply as I could, filling up my lungs – then pushed with all my strength, slamming into her. Surprised, she careened backwards through the water, before steadying herself. Standing on her tail, she hissed at me, and her hair spread around once more. A little distance was all I needed, however. I dug into my pocket, closing my fingers around the whetstone.


    Simultaneously, the rusalka sprang forward, and I flung the stone at her. It fell heavily to the bottom of the water, and I smiled maliciously.


    The creature lunged for me, and I threw myself backwards, feet sliding on the treacherous clay.


    The whetstone touched the ground.


    ▁▁▁


    Everything happened in a handful of moments, back then. It is only now that I can sort through what my mind had registered but set aside as insignificant at the time, and piece together my thoughts and sensation as they must have occurred. The memories unfold in slow motion, reviving the dread. I tremble as I write.


    ▁▁▁


    Where the whetstone fell, a wave of pale mud rose, petrifying as I watched: an ivory coral growing, spreading, weaving and entwining around itself, fusing with the walls and shooting up towards the ceiling. The rusalka screeched, trying to push its emaciated body through the gap that narrowed quickly, but the granite branches kept spreading, crushing her against the stone and holding captive in their embrace.


    I leaned against the wall with a relieved sigh. Bubbles rose from my mouth and I remembered, horrified, that I had been breathing solely with the creature’s help. The whetstone that was meant to save me now imprisoned me in the deadend. The weight of the water suddenly crushed my chest. I gasped in terror, instincts fighting against reason. I was going to die.


    I clawed at the wall in despair, and the rusalka chuckled feebly at my efforts.


    ‘Your great… grandfather… would’ve known’, she wheezed.


    I had no strength to waste on an answer.


    Calm down. Calm down. Don’t breathe in.


    Hold on.


    One more second. And another.


    Maybe the entrance isn’t even here, my fear whispered.


    Maybe you’re about to die for nothing.


    I shut it off, fumbling blindly around the stone blocks, feeling inside the crevices.


    If it weren’t here, why would the rusalka have waited for me?


    It must be here.


    It must be.


    I closed my eyes and groped through the sticky clay, scrapping my hands on the shards of rock that littered it.


    My hand found something long and smooth, and closed around it.


    Still blinded by the floating mud, I tried to make out what it was, sliding my fingers along, forcing myself to hold my breath one more second, and then another.


    The shape was familiar. Chest throbbing with pain, I struggled to focus a little longer. As if in a dream, I saw the silhouette of the Stonemaster, outlined against the milky water, his hood still covering his face. Weakness took over; my eyes started to close. I slid slowly down along the wall, and my gaze got caught by his belt of white bark. Shoved in it, there was an axe.


    With my last strength, I forced my way back to consciousness, and exhaled to loosen the pressure in my lungs. Just a few seconds, while my desperate mind grasped for salvation. The axe. With trembling fingers, I found the blade, deeper in the mud. I hoisted it up with both hands, feeling the life pour out of me with the last bubbles which passed my lips.


    A flash, a memory, there and gone. My grandfather.


    A storm.


    Lightning slashing the sky.


    An axe, stuck into the threshold.


    Could that be…?


    No more time to think.


    Eyes clouding.


    I fell against the wall, and the axe dropped from my exhausted fingers, clanging on the stone.


    It opened.


    Water gushed in, carrying me with it.


    Darkness.


    The turbulent waves jostled me like a broken puppet, and finally threw me on solid ground. For a while, all I could do was cough the mud out of my lungs and breathe thirstily all the while. Air had never felt sweeter, and I relished the feeling of it filling my chest, even through the spasms of pain. Wet hair clang to my face, cold like the rusalka''s embrace. I shivered in my drenched clothes, pulling my knees up in a vain attempt to find some warmth, and looked around.


    The chamber made me feel very small.


    Under the distant ceiling, a feeble, golden light suggested more than revealed the towering pillars which rose into the darkness above. The walls of the room were lost in the shadows, as if they were made of the night itself. In the middle of the boundless gloom, I felt naked and vulnerable. Flashes flickered in front of my eyes. The marred face with empty eyes leaning towards me. Claws digging in my throat. The hair like decaying seaweed rising threateningly. The monstrosity launching herself at me.


    I screamed and raised my arms, cowering against the wall. I sought its protection, breath bursting and heart thumping. I still felt her bony fingers pressing down my throat, pouring death’s cold into my limbs. My chest tightened, ribs crushing into my lungs with each painfully short breath I drew.


    What’s happening to me? I thought, maddened with fear, struggling for air, and deafened by the thumping of blood in my ears, like drums of doom. Cold sweat slid down my back, merging with the chill of the stone. A violent shiver ran through my body, spread, and took over me. I felt myself keel over as if in someone else’s dream.


    What’s happening? Why does it hurt so much? Why can’t I breathe? Please, I prayed desperately, please let me breathe.


    The rusalka plunged at me from the gloom beyond.


    My blood flared up, burning through my numb muscles, pumped by my wildly beating heart. The fever washed over me and was gone in a blink, leaving me frozen and shaking.


    Oh Lord. Oh Lord.


    I can’t breathe.


    I can’t move.


    What’s happening to me?


    Why can’t I breathe?


    Calm down. Calm down. I’m not drowning. She isn’t here. Calm down.


    I can’t.


    My heart kept racing. Air refused to fill my straining lungs.


    I’m dying, I thought with unexpected clarity. I’m dying, and there’s nothing I can do.


    Dread crawled over me like frost over glass, until my entire skin felt like ice. My vision darkened, and the chamber started to spin. The enormous pillars danced under the moving roof.


    I’m going to die. I’ve messed up, and now it’s time to pay.


    ▁▁▁


    I’m shaking again now, remembering, and the keyboard becomes blurry. I steady myself on the couch and close my eyes, breathing deeply, and counting. I have to write it as it happened. I must not think it might hit me once more.


    I keep counting until my pulse slows down, and I can see clearly again. I continue.


    ▁▁▁


    As my mind clouded, my last thought was for Axel. I saw him standing thigh-deep in the clearing waters, looking for me. I pictured him diving, searching frantically. Crawling back on dry land, and staring with empty eyes.


    ‘I can’t lose you too’, he had said before I’d turned my back on him and followed the rusalka’s enticing call to take the plunge.


    I cannot die.


    I won’t allow him to be hurt once more.


    I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall, feeling its familiar roughness under my fingers. Followed the contours of every slab that made it, anchoring myself to its solidity. This is what is real.


    I won’t die. It will pass.


    I forced my thoughts away from the desperation that still gnawed at my guts, and back in the past, seeking the memories of the quietude I’d found not so long ago in the middle of the earth. I remembered the sound of each droplet falling in the water, and breathed in rhythm with it.


    It will pass.


    I’m not dying.


    I let the stone embrace me in its shelter. Turned my attention away from my throbbing chest and the nausea that clutched my stomach, and towards the immediate, concrete sensations of the stone beneath my fingers, and the edges pushing into my back, painful and real.


    This is what is real. The rest is in my mind.


    The knots in my body loosened, slowly, one after another. Breath after breath became deeper.


    It will pass.


    I listened to the drops falling, stroke the wall like the cheek of a lover. Opened my eyes again, and stared at the nearest pillar, taking in every detail, committing it to memory, banning any other thought.


    It is passing. Don’t think of it, and it will let me go.


    Gently, unhurriedly, the earth absorbed my fear and pain, leaving me empty and exhausted. In their stead, it poured peace.


    ‘You''ve found us’, said a voice in my ear, as a heavy hand laid on my shoulder. I jumped with a weak scream, and looked up.


    ‘We meet again’, said the twin gatekeepers, smiling. The fiery haired one unclasped his cloak and put it around me. I flinched at his touch and stared at him with hazy eyes, the image of the rusalka still blinking in and out of focus.


    ‘We’re sorry we didn’t help you. It was your trial, and you had to do it or fail on your own.’


    ‘Trial…?’, I whispered, too drained to think.


    ‘Of course. You fought the rusalka, and vanquished your fear. Now you may meet the kapnobatai for the final step.’


    Fatigue leadened my limbs and clouded my mind. His words slipped unnoticed. I wanted to curl up under the warm cloak and sleep until the end of time.


    ‘Allow me to help you up’, one of them offered, extending a hand. I reached out feebly, and he pulled me to my feet, passing my arm around his shoulders. The ache in my hurt knee awoke once more, and I almost crumpled to the ground. His brother moved to my side and took hold of my other arm; together, we half walked, half lumbered towards what seemed to be the source of the light – a warm, slightly pulsating, almost alive sun, nested in a cradle of rough stones between a circle of pillars. Its rim was encircled by a roughly carved spiral, coiling around an engraved text, worn out by time. Under the dancing light, the letters seemed to crawl, and the looping trim moved and slithered endlessly.


    A silhouette detached itself from it.


    It was an old man, wearing the white cape, the axe, and the bark sheath on his hip. The golden light seemed to weave an ever moving cloak around him, and a feeble breeze circled him like a cocoon.


    ‘Welcome to the Cave of Solomon, Rusanda. I am the Kapnobatai, the oldest of the Stonemasters and the Solomonars alike’, he said in a velvety, kind voice. ‘And in order to become one of us, you need to prove your worth one final time.’


    I nodded, fighting away the sleep that weighed my eyelids, and thought, vaguely, that something was expected of me in return; a word of greetings, or maybe a bow.


    ‘I’m… honoured’, I whispered, unable to come out with anything better.


    ‘You are tired’, he understood. ‘You deserve to rest before the trial.’


    ‘I… don’t have time… to sleep. Axel… is waiting for me…’


    The kapnobatai smiled benevolently.


    ‘Do not fret over it. Time here is old, and without rush. Like me’, he chuckled. ‘Nothing quickens within these ancient stones. Unlike out there, where everything is as impetuous as a mountain river. You may rest as long as you need to, young one.’


    Stepping down from his dais of blonde limestone, he came to me and put a withered hand on my forehead. His touch was cool and soothing, encouraging me to sleep. I was already drifting off while the twins lay me gently down, and then my eyes closed.


    I dreamt.


    I was standing on the shore of a dark, swiftly coursing river. A moonless night surrounded me – or was I still underground? It was impossible to tell in the gloom, which was barely softened by an ashen glow above the waves. A stifled, continuous whispering filled the air, and shadows seemed to amble on the other shore.


    ‘Come to me…’


    A whisper above the others, there, and gone.


    Upstream, darkness thickened and congealed in the vague shape of a boat, approaching slowly. At its prow, a hooded form beckoned me. I shrank back, remembering the night beneath the cemetery, and the stranger with the living shadow. The silhouette gestured again, impatiently, but I was rooted to the ground. With an audible sigh, the boat moved away across the river. Its sides came in sight as it turned; with a gasp, I saw the emaciated heads lining the rims, which spilled a sickly light upon the waters and the shore beyond.


    An inhuman howl filled the night, and chilled me to the bone. The grisly lanterns shone upon a monstrous shape. It seemed chained, and strained against its bounds, yowling incessantly. Was it in pain or rage, I couldn’t tell.


    ‘My daughter…’


    The sky blazed with white light. The river’s waters cleared, flowing lazily under a summer sun. I turned towards the call and saw a willow tree, its souple branches unmoving in the stifling air. In its shadow, sitting cross-legged, a red haired man waved at me.


    ‘Come, join me.’


    He unknotted an embroidered napkin and spread it at his feet. The smell of fresh, warm bread filled my nose, bringing memories of childhood mornings. I moved forward without thinking. The man tore a piece of bread, dipped it in salt, and offered it.


    ‘You have nothing to fear from me, you see’, he smiled, gesturing towards the grass. I took the bread and sat. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ‘You look like someone I know’, I thought out loud, tilting my head to examine him. ‘You look like…’


    His mouth quirked into a slight smile while I tried to figure out why he seemed so… familiar. I leaned it, studying his features. Almost the same, but not quite… I knew those eyes, that colour like green amber, speckled with gold. I knew the shape of the jaw, the curve of his smile, half hidden in the copper beard. My eyes widened. ‘Are you…?’


    He nodded. ‘Gheorghe. It warms my heart to see you again, great-granddaughter of mine.’


    ‘Where… are we?’


    He shrugged, and gestured vaguely at the landscape. ‘Somewhere in the Beyonder, I shall think. Your dream, or maybe the nether world. I heard you.’


    I stared at him, confused. ‘How… what… ?’


    ‘You need to cross once more, and seek the ones lost. Meet with your fate, and pay the price.’


    ‘I… don’t understand.’


    ‘It’s not the right time. You know the tales. You know the trials. And also’, Gheorghe concluded, standing up, ‘you know what toll is asked for.’ He patted the crumbs away from his linen shirt, slowly dissolving into the dry summer air.


    ‘Wait! Wai…’


    The light dimmed, and joyful laughter rang in a distance. I swept the fields of swaying wheat beyond the river, sprinkled with the bright blood of the poppies, and saw her. She ran, swirling and dancing. The dark haired man caught her, and they toppled together in the golden sea. I frowned. Were they not…? I tried to grasp the fleeting memory, but the dream was already unraveling, flowing away from me in the falling dusk. One last flame lit the sky, spreading like wings above the couple. A scream – ‘My love!’ – and then it rose, and flew away. The man, alone, knelt among the wheat, and wailed.


    The night embraced me, and I stirred. A glimpse – a beastly face, twisted in rage – a howl – the features changing, flickering. David’s.


    ‘Come to me’, a dying whisper.


    The somber waves, the pallid lights. Beyond them, dissolving in the shadows, a dark haired man.


    ‘Wait!’


    I ran towards him and into the river as he fell away into the gloom. The coiling currents jolted me this way and that; treacherous weed ensnared my legs. I struggled to free myself, but I was being pulled inevitably towards the bottom.


    The surging fear shocked me awake. I was sweating, tangled up in the cloak. I stared around in confusion, wondering if I’d slipped into another dream. Next to me, the twins had fallen asleep as well, huddling back to back under the remaining cloak. The gentle, pulsating light caressed their curls, bringing out the copper and gold in their hair. I watched the peaceful scene until I found myself smiling. The bizarre dream was already drawing away from me, leaving only an indefinite, unsettling feeling in its wake.


    ‘I see that you are awake.’ The old man knelt by my side, and gently touched the twins. They stirred with a soft murmur, then stretched like mirroring cats, yawning.


    ‘It is time’, he said.


    I freed myself from the heavy folds of the cape and rose, shivering in the cool, damp air of the underground.


    ‘How long did I sleep?’, I asked, rubbing my eyes.


    ‘It matters not, my child. Rest assured – your friend hasn’t been waiting for that long.’


    ‘You… know about him?’


    ‘Of course. His roots are most intriguing; something about him calls to me. Although he is not of our people, and thus cannot join you now, I would very much like to fathom his skills. However’, he raised a hand to prevent my questions, ‘we may talk about him after you pass the trial.’


    I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry, as I remembered the hanging stones my books had mentioned. How would I be able to make it through? And what was it expected of me? Should I show some sign of magic, conjure the liquid ice? Was I even able to?


    ‘Stop fidgeting’, the copper-haired twin smiled, taking away the cloak that I’d been crumpling in my hands. ‘You shouldn’t torment yourself with questions.’


    ‘Paul is right’, the other twin nodded. ‘We do not ask for prowess, nor a display of knowledge. We need to see who you are within.’


    It doesn’t make me any less worried, I thought, but didn’t say it.


    ‘What do I have to do?’


    ‘Wait here for a moment. We need to prepare the chamber’, Paul said, putting a hand on my shoulder. ‘I know you’ll make it. Don’t worry’, he added encouragingly before they disappeared between the pillars.


    Of course I shouldn’t worry, I muttered under my breath, wiping my hands on my damp jeans, and pacing around to pass the time.


    The living light blazed. A growl, deep in the heart of the darkness, echoed down through my ribcage. Ancient animal instincts awoke in alarm, freezing me on the spot. Wide eyed, I crouched unthinkingly, and scanned the surroundings for danger. Another growl, closing in from all sides as if the earth itself was roaring and tearing apart. The walls swayed; dust rained from the ceiling, fogging the air and dimming the light. I coughed and blinked, trying to see through it. Another rumble, even fiercer, swept me off my feet and sent me tumbling into the nearest wall. Crevasses ripped the floor, spreading like the web of a maddened spider. Gale burst and tore at my clothes and skin with glacial claws; I curled up against the stone, trying to shelter myself.


    ‘Rusanda?’, came a muffled call from nowhere in particular.


    ‘I’m here!’, I yelled.


    ‘Where are you, Ru?’


    Ru…?


    There weren’t many people who called me Ru. One was stuck on the other side, waiting for me, and the other…


    ‘David?’, I called back, incredulously.


    ‘Ru, where are you? You have to join us now!’


    I scrambled to my feet, holding to the wall to steady myself in the escalating earthquake, and squinted through the dust.


    ‘I can’t see you!’, I yelled, desperately.


    ‘Over here!’


    Another voice, familiar as well. A girl’s, rich and velvety.


    ‘Michelle? Is that you?’


    I took a couple of hesitating steps, trying to pinpoint where they were. Another wave came, sending a slab of rock thundering down from above.


    ‘Rusanda!’


    I sheltered my eyes with one arm and moved toward the voice. The floor seemed to be slipping away under my feet, and slanting upwards. I soldiered through the gale and fog, calling out from time to time. They were still out there, somewhere in front of me, their voices the only guidance I had, covered now and then by the roar of the earthquake. Chunks of limestone slammed into the ground and barrelled down the slope, forcing me to flatten myself against one wall or the other. The tunnel shrank a little more with each step, and cracks spread overhead, as if the walls were closing in, slowly grinding it down. I was forced to bend in half, then crouch, then crawl, pressed between the shaking floor and the shattering ceiling. The voices still called my name through the uproar, but they grew weaker and weaker. I doubled my efforts, dragging myself along with no regard to my knees and elbows, refusing to acknowledge the throbbing pain and the shivers that shook me more and more often.


    The shape of an outstretched hand became visible through the heavy dust, not more than a couple of meters away.


    ‘David!’


    With a loud crack, the stone tore open above me. I craned my neck, and looked straight into the depths of a rift plunging upwards through the earth. Its split edges threatened to send down an avalanche of boulders at the first shake.


    ‘Rusanda!’ Lilianne’s voice, trembling.


    I stared at the crevasse and the surrounding slabs, hanging by a thread above my head, not daring to breathe. Even the smallest of them would crush me to nothingness.


    ‘Rusanda! Help!’


    I moved an elbow forward, and heard the rocks grind against one another menacingly.


    ‘Rusanda!’


    It was David.


    The hand stretched desperately, trying to reach me. I gathered my knees under me, preparing to throw myself forward. There was barely enough space to worm my way through, and it had to be as swift as possible. I took a deep breath and shot through the hole.


    The earth came down.


    I floated in the womb of the darkness before the birth of the world, and absolute silence. The only sound was that of my blood thumping, and a never-ending shrill in my ears. I opened my eyes on the void. Or did I? I couldn’t tell, for nothing changed. Time passed, or didn’t.


    Strong hands pulled me, and propped me up. Jagged rock dug into my back; sparkles swirled madly on my eyelids.


    ‘Rusanda…’ A voice, appeasing and mild. ‘Come back, now.’


    I hung to it, and swam upwards through the thick waters of unconsciousness.


    ‘Where… are you…’, I muttered, fumbling for David’s hand. Had I made it to them?


    Warm fingers closed around mine, and I held them tight.


    ‘It is me, Codrin. Come back, wake up. Look at me.’ He tapped my cheek gently.


    My eyes hurt as if full of sand, and I struggled to open them. The blonde twin’s face took shape through the fog.


    ‘Where… where are my friends?’, I asked weakly, rubbing at my painful eyelids.


    He looked away, sadly. I pushed myself up, wide awake, and seeked his gaze.


    ‘Codrin. Where are my friends? Where are they?!’


    He tried to pull his hand away, but I was still clutching it, determined to have answers. They had been there, I’d heard them, almost touched David’s hand…


    Something shifted in me. I had been through enough. Vague answers, enigmas, and hallucinating hints were over – I had earned the right to know. Hell, I had even brushed with death, and the memories of it made my teeth clench. A new resolve was building inside me, underlaid with cold anger. It engulfed everything else – fears, hesitations, guilt – until I could feel nothing else but its glacial presence. A shiver ran along my arms, and my fingers began to freeze. I wanted to know. I leaned towards him, paying little heed to the ice slithering on my skin.


    ‘Tell me’, I hissed. Codrin let out a loud gasp, and snatched his hand away, cradling it with his other hand. It was red and crackled with frostbite. His brother came running from the shadows, and stopped between us, sheltering him.


    ‘Let him be, Rusanda.’


    The kapnobatai towered over me. Moments ago, I would have cowered under his severe gaze; however, that had changed. I stood up to face him.


    ‘I saw my friends’, I said. My voice dropped threateningly. ‘What did you do with them?’


    ‘We shall talk when you rein in your anger, and let go of your urge to hurt somebody’, he answered calmly.


    ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone’, I snapped, shaking my fist at him.


    ‘Don’t you, though? Look at what you did to his hand.’


    I glanced at Codrin, who was nursed by his brother, and my cheeks flared. My anger evaporated, and was replaced by my faithful familiar of the past days – guilt.


    ‘I’m sorry…’, I whispered, looking down. ‘I don’t know what took me…’


    This isn’t who I am, I wanted to say. But who else could have been, in my own mind, if not myself?


    ‘You have to learn how to master your abilities. I know they have just awoken, and that you’re scared, confused surely.’


    I nodded, and the old priest patted my shoulder compassionately.


    ‘Solomonars used to have seven years to achieve this, before passing the trials’, he continued, ‘whereas you…’


    ‘…Stumbled in, I suppose?’


    He smiled slightly, taking his hand away.


    ‘Quite so. We will have to make do with the way things are. And you must learn to control yourself quickly.’


    ‘Could you, first…’, I hesitated.


    ‘Yes, child?’


    ‘Could you tell me where are my friends? Please?’


    He put an arm around my shoulders and gently steered me away. ‘Come, let’s walk.’ We took a few steps away from the twins before the kapnobatai spoke again. ‘I’m afraid… What you think you saw and heard… weren’t your friends’, he explained gently. ‘The trial roots itself into your mind. Your fears and your wishes are what gives it shape. Whatever you fear the most, and wish the most, become your trial and your spur.’


    My heart sank, suddenly heavy. Tears filled my eyes.


    ‘I am sorry to bring such news. However, what you saw – your friends – is what will help you through your quest. That is your strength – remember it whenever you feel powerless.’


    ‘But how do I find them?’, I whispered.


    ‘I believe you saw the path while you slept. Follow it. I can tell you nothing else.’ The kapnobatai stopped with a hand on the wall. ‘This is where we part ways, for now.’


    I glanced at him in surprise. ‘Already? What about my… abilities?’


    He stroked his beard pensively before looking into my eyes, his face as unreadable as the stone he leaned on. ‘I do not wish to lie to you, child. I know you expect answers and guidance. However…’, he gestured towards my hands. ‘This… is not one of our skills. The Solomonars master the elements, indeed, but have never welded anything alike. We summon the winds and the rain, we ride the storm and travel the air. What you did to Codrin…’ I shook my head in shame, and my eyes filled with tears once more.


    ‘I did not want to do that.’


    ‘I know’, he said soothingly. ‘You were angry and scared for your friends. I wish I could give you counsel, but it does not come from us. You must look into your roots, maybe walk the dreampath once more.’


    He gently lifted my chin.


    ‘There is only  one thing I can do to help you. But it will come with pain.’


    Whatever it was, it would be better than nothing. Better than the half-spoken advice, and the disconcerting dreams. So I nodded, my throat tight. The kapnobatai took my hands.


    White heat seared my skin. I grimaced and bit my lip hard, trying not to scream while pain carved into my flesh. It rose in intensity until it was too agonizing to stand, then disappeared as swiftly as it started.


    I looked down.


    White motives curled and spiralled around my wrists like a tattooed bracelet.


    ‘The ram horns’, the kapnobatai smiled. ‘They will channel and bridle the ice until you learn to do it yourself. As well as any other skill you might discover until we meet again. And now’, he added, placing a hand on the wall, ‘your friend awaits. Tell him to seek his roots.’


    ‘Farewe…’, I started to say, but the stone rippled and opened.


    Water surrounded me. Caught by surprise, I swallowed a lungful and choked, before reason reined in my instincts. I had to swim out of there, quickly. Glancing around to get my bearings in the limpid waters, I recognized the gallery, and the wall that closed the dead-end. At my feet, a glint caught my eye; it was the axe. There was no trace of the whetstone, or the rusalka; it bewildered me, but I would have to mull it over later, when I’d have air in my lungs. I shoved the handle of the axe in my back pocket, then, my chest already bursting and spasming in an effort to breathe, I hurried along the ceiling towards the glimmering light.


    I surfaced and spluttered, gulping the air thirstily and coughing, bent in half.


    ‘Ru!’


    Axel hurried over, splashing me in his haste. ‘Are you alright?’, he asked, grabbing me in his arms and crushing me against his chest.


    ‘Who are you?’, I muttered dubiously, surprised by his gesture. ‘What did you do with Axel?’


    ‘I’m just so relieved to see you alive’, he whispered with a tremor in his voice that I’d never heard before. Warmth spread in my chest at his words. I hugged him back as tight as I could, his heart racing in my ear, and basked in the overwhelming happiness to be back, to feel safe again. We stayed like that for a long while, indifferent to the cold that seeped through my drenched clothes.


    ‘Let’s get you dry and warm’, Axel said, pulling away. ‘Aren’t you too exhausted to walk?’


    ‘No, I’m good’, I said bravely, ignoring the burning in my muscles. I took a step forward, and my knees betrayed me. His arm around me was the only thing that stopped me from falling into the water.


    ‘Alright, let’s do this together. Put your arm around my neck, take some weight off your feet.’


    ‘You’re too tall’, I protested weakly. ‘Could you… rather… could you carry me? If that’s not too much to ask?’


    Instead of answering, he bent down and swept me off my feet.


    ‘There’s a hand-axe in my back pocket, don’t cut yourself on it’, I warned him, and he raised an interrogative eyebrow. ‘I’ll explain later’, I sighed wearily, huddling closer to his chest for warmth. ‘How long have I been away?’


    Before answering, Axel settled me down on the slope of the backfill, covered me with an emergency blanket, and handed me a towel.


    ‘Only a few minutes, but you’re no trained diver, and that’s a long time for you to be in apnoea’, he said, crouching next to me. ‘As soon as the water cleared a little, I went in as far as I could to check if you were alright. When I didn’t see you, I supposed you’d succeeded, and tried to wait patiently.’


    ‘How did that work out for you?’, I laughed, drying my hair with the towel.


    ‘You know me’, he shrugged, then nodded towards the wall, somewhat apologetically. In the flickering light of his lamp, two clay figurines seemed to struggle for freedom in their crevice of stone. ‘I had to do something to pass the time, other than pacing through the water and stirring up the mood.’


    I put my head on his shoulder, smiling. ‘I’m so relieved to be back here, to have you waiting for me. You’re so comforting to be around.’


    ‘There, there’, he patted me awkwardly on the back, then leaned to grab the thermos bottle, and poured some steaming tea. ‘Get yourself warmed up, instead of being sentimental.’


    I accepted the mug thankfully, and sighed with pleasure as the first hot sip took off some of the chill. I would have to tell him what had happened, eventually, but the instinct to play ostrich was stronger than my will. I hesitated: ‘Axel, I… there are things you should know.’


    ‘Oh?’, he replied, busying himself with his backpack and avoiding my gaze, obviously still uncomfortable with the perspective of alternate worlds that evaded logic and reason.


    ‘It concerns you. And Lilianne.’


    His face clouded, and he tightened his grip on the straps.


    ‘I’m here. We’re in this together’, I said, laying a hand on his arm, and he tensed.


    ‘I know.’


    ‘Would you rather go? Talk about this at the apartment, after a shower and coffee?’


    ‘Yes. Maybe.’


    He finished packing, and I drained the last of my tea. A shiver shook me as I left the warm shelter of the blanket; I hurried to get dressed, glad I had kept enough reason to think of leaving some of my clothes behind despite the enticing call of the rusalka.


    ‘Do you want to take the plan and try to lead?’, he offered in a clumsy attempt to change the topic.


    ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to find my way out. I must admit I didn’t pay much attention – I just followed you.’


    ‘It looks like you might have to come down often enough, you need to learn your way around’, he chided me. ‘Be self-sufficient.’


    ‘But I’m not. It’s not my thing, you know that.’


    ‘You’ll have to learn. We don’t know what might happen. What if we get separated, and you have to fend for yourself? I can look after you for now, but… I might not… always be here. With you. This… situation… it’s beyond me. Preparing you is the only thing I can do.’


    Axel was right. However, the idea of being alone here, in the neverending darkness, of having to keep a cool head and manage everything on my own, was already making me panic. I hugged my knees, feeling oppressed by the stone around me.


    ‘You can do it, Ru. You have to.’


    The urgency in his voice annoyed me: I felt pushed towards something I viscerally refused to do. I took a deep breath before answering, asking myself if my reaction wasn’t simply my old, familiar fear of everything. The one thing I wanted to change about myself before anything else – and it had to start somewhere.


    ‘Okay’, I said reluctantly. ‘Let’s try it.’ I unfolded the map, and he showed me where we were, then where we had to arrive.


    ‘It is a simple route for you to start. All you have to do is check the name plaques’, he pointed at the inscriptions along the galleries on the plan, ‘and make sure they correspond.’


    I nodded. ‘Let’s go.’


    He hadn’t lied – it was almost a straight line. Soon enough, we reached the clear waters rippling under the continuous underground rain, and the familiar walls I had caressed while walking, with the traces of pickaxes and the ochre symbols of the quarrymen and the topographers. The long forgotten past still lived on the blonde surface of the limestone: bored workers had written their names in the curly handwriting of the 1800s, and drawn rudimentary portraits of women in charcoal pencils. Someone more educated – an engineer, maybe – had added quotes from Molière, while another, more of a joker, favoured an inscription proclaiming that four students of Ecole des Mines had got lost there. At least I hoped it was a joke; the opposite was a troubling perspective that I would’ve rather not thought about.


    After a while, the gallery began to show the marks of more recent circulation, in crude black spray paint, or bright primary colours that contrasted unpleasantly with the beauty of the stone. Here I am, already thinking like Axel, I realised as soon as the remark crossed my mind; however, I could understand his position, especially after having experienced the quiet magic of the stone myself. As the tags and the graffiti got more frequent, I recognised the way we had taken: we were approaching the stairs with their now useless metal gates, and the large shaft towards the surface. On the left-hand wall, high above my head, two plaques caught my eye, indicating “Towards the Seine” and “Towards the fortifications”.


    ‘What are those about?’, I asked, wanting to break the silence.


    ‘Well, “towards the Seine” is easy – we were headed North towards the Sorbonne, and the Seine is beyond it’, Axel said. ‘The fortifications are the ramparts of Thiers, built in the South of Paris before the 1870 war.’


    ‘Because it was too complicated to write “North” and “South”?’, I joked.


    ‘Because the gallery is not a straight line from one to the other. Besides, I suppose it was easier for the workers to visualise their position according to the city, which they knew better than the quarries.’


    Once I got him started, Axel followed up with stories about the Revolution and the fleurs de lys of the royalty chiseled off the street plaques, even below; the students’ brigades writing their names on the pillars during practice; and other dozen little anecdotes on details I hadn’t even noticed as I walked past them. Listening to him was reviving the past in my imagination, little flashes of everyday scenes of the lives of those who had spent most of their time in the darkness beneath the city.


    ‘We’re getting closer now’, he suddenly interrupted the flow of stories, and pointed at something on the map. ‘Here’s where we need to get.’


    ‘Uh… why does it say “The Pool”?’, I asked suspiciously, and he laughed.


    ‘You’ll see.’


    ‘Flooded galeries, with deeper water towards the South, rising to the waist or even to the neck’, I read. ‘Now that is reassuring…’


    ‘Don’t you worry about that, and thank me for the boots when we’re on the other side.’


    I sighed dramatically, and started checking the plaques of every tunnel on my right, until one of them read “Rue de la Bourbe”. Mud Street – a pleasant prospect indeed. However, despite its name, the floor was rock rather than clay, and the puddles limpid. There was nothing remarkable or even agreeable about it – the vaulted ceiling was made of concrete, which covered almost half of the height of the walls. Unlike the other galleries, it was sad and monotonous. When we finally reached its end, I noticed a low tunnel opening on the left.


    ‘Ladies first’, Axel chuckled. I glared at him, and went in, half crouching.


    I had to admit it looked beautiful. Farther away, the ceiling rose higher, and the millstone masonry mirrored in the clear water, creating a twin gallery below the surface. Our lamps sent dancing shards of light on the walls, and I could see every lump and crevice of every boulder that lay on the bottom. I pulled my boots up, then took every step hesitatingly, unwilling to disturb the crystalline beauty with the milky mud we stirred as we walked. The water level rose unnoticed, from calves to knees to thighs, pressing my boots against my legs, and slowing me down. I glanced at the lateral gallery, which seemed flooded even higher, and was fascinated by the beauty of it.


    ‘Right, and right again, then we’ll reach the exit’, Axel said, noticing I was reluctant to move further. I turned my gaze away with an effort and reached the dry ground regretfully. A few steps farther, I smelled a change – cement and dust, like a building site. An archway in the tunnel led to a long set of concrete stairs, in stark contrast with the soft paleness of the limestone. As we walked through the utility tunnel towards the exit, a new feeling, surprisingly heavy, weighted on my chest – as if I was leaving a lover. I was saddened to go back to the surface.


    An indistinct yellow light appeared ahead, and Axel stopped.


    ‘Here we are. I’ll open the hatch, can you follow with both our backpacks?’


    ‘Sure’, I answered, and regretted it as soon as I heaved his on my shoulder. I would have to be very careful while climbing the slippery metal rungs with the supplementary weight pulling me down.


    The smell of rain descended on me from outside.


    ‘Come up!’, he called, and I grasped the first rung, eyes fixed on the wall in front of me, not looking down as I slowly made my way upwards. On the last step, Axel freed me of both backpacks. I clambered out and stood shivering on the damp sidewalk. It was already getting dark. The familiar clang separated once more the above from the beyond. We were back to the real world.


    ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’, Axel said, staring away, his expression inscrutable. I followed his gaze and my heart sank as I understood.


    ‘Say hello from me’, I whispered. ‘Tell her I’m trying my best to fix everything.’ My voice trembled. I didn’t dare go with him. The thought of meeting his parents, having to look into their eyes, knowing it was my fault, was unbearable. As for David… I blinked the tears away, turning my head so he wouldn’t see me cry, and pulled my scarf hastily over my mouth to cover the sobs that threatened to burst. Axel put a hand on my shoulder, silently, giving a gentle squeeze, and left.


    Questions for the readers</a>