《Nether Gods》


 Chapter 1 - Saint Andrews Night

    <h1 style="text-align: justify">Prologue</h1>


    My ears were ringing with a head-splitting, incessant shrill.


    ¡®Rusanda?...¡¯


    The voice was muffled. Something tugged at my hands, and pulled them away.


    ¡®Rusanda!¡¯


    I blinked in confusion, and a blurred face swam into sight. A hand gripped my shoulder and shook me gently.


    ¡®Hey! Ru, come on. Come back to me! It¡¯s over now.¡¯


    Yes, it was. It was over.


    I slowly realised that I had been rocking back and forth, sitting on the edge of the hole with my legs dangling above the darkness. Fear shot down my spine, and I scrambled backwards.


    Axel¡¯s arms closed around me.


    ¡®It is over now¡¯, his soothing voice repeated. I collapsed against him, sobbing into his shirt. My nostrils were filled with the smell of earth.


    ¡®Shhh¡­ shhh¡­¡¯


    Was he crying too? Or was I shaking too much, and those were my own tears? I pressed against him like a terrified animal, desperate for comfort. Axel held me tight, and slowly, very slowly, I felt his warmth flow into my own body. I hugged him back, and leaned my forehead against his. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don¡¯t think. Just breathe. Calm down. Breathe. Wait it out.


    After a while, my heartbeat wound down. With a weary sigh, I looked up at him.


    ¡®They''re¡­¡¯


    My throat tightened again.


    ¡®¡­ I don''t know, Ru.¡¯


    His skin was ice under my fingers. We leaned against each other in silence.


    We stumbled through the desert cemetery in the grey light of the dawn. The first subway of the day took us home; I fell asleep on his shoulder, lulled by the rhythmic jostling. Images flashed in my dreams. Shadows, spreading and writhing. Lights flickering. The stone ceiling cracking; dust clouding the tunnel.


    A cry of pain.


    I woke up with a start, and Axel pulled me to him, patting my hair.


    ¡®It¡¯s over, Ru¡­¡¯


    He was staring into the void, his eyes reddened.


    Axel had left as soon as we arrived at my flat. I dropped the dirty backpack, threw my muddy clothes on the floor, and hid in the shower. I let the water wash and comfort me for a long while. When I finally stopped shaking, when some warmth insinuated at last into my frozen limbs, I sat down with a blanket, a hot coffee, and the laptop, trying to make sense of last night. Axel has already gone back down there.


    My name is Rusanda, and my friends have disappeared.


    I think it is my fault.


    It started yesterday.


    <h1 style="text-align: justify">Chapter 1 ¨C Saint Andrew¡¯s Night</h1>


    The doorbell made me jump, and the overflowing ibrik in my hand spilled thick coffee all over the kitchen counter. I cursed under my breath and lunged for the sponge, trailing my shirt through the puddle. David burst into laughter.


    ¡®Let me handle this, Ru¡¯, he said, taking the ibrik from my hands. My cheeks flushed at his touch, and I looked away to hide it. ¡®Don¡¯t keep Axel waiting. Pretty sure he¡¯s sniffing your coffee from behind the door.¡¯


    ¡®He can sniff it on me too¡¯, I muttered, frowning at my stained clothes.


    ¡®Don¡¯t worry, no need to change. We¡¯re all aware of your addiction by now.¡¯


    He wasn¡¯t wrong, but I would have rather drank it than have it all over me. With a sigh, I headed to the door. Axel, in his usual Saturday attire ¨C military vest over a hoodie, loose trousers, and Rangers ¨C was leaning against the door frame as if drawn in by the smell of the fresh coffee.


    ¡®I suppose David is already here¡¯, he whispered in my ear as he bent towards me for the customary peck on the cheek. I blushed even more: it was obvious even for Axel. I changed the topic quickly:


    ¡®You look all tidy. Did the protest go that well?¡¯


    ¡®There wasn¡¯t one today¡¯, he said, plopping down on the couch, tossing his beanie aside and tousling his blonde hair.


    ¡®Oh? I thought the Yellow Vests did that every Saturday¡¯, David called over from the kitchenette, still busy wiping the counter.


    ¡®Well, the police prefecture did not authorise it this time. There will be other occasions, we are not going to give up. I heard that the RATP and SNCF unions are planning for a major strike soon, too.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯ll be fun¡¯, I grumbled, remembering the chaos in the subway the last time there was a strike.


    ¡®You know what I think about that¡¯, Axel said quietly, and I knew better than to engage in another debate.


    ¡®We¡¯ll agree to disagree once more¡¯, I sighed. ¡®Coffee?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, please.¡¯


    David put the ibrik down on the coffee table and looked around. ¡®Where are the cups again?¡¯


    ¡®On the shelf next to the mythology books, behind the pasta.¡¯ I replied a little absently.


    ¡®Obviously, how didn¡¯t I think of it¡¯, he teased. ¡®I have no idea how you manage to keep track of your stuff.¡¯


    ¡®There is order in chaos¡¯, I shrugged. ¡®It¡¯s my chaos.¡¯


    He laughed, and lingered in front of the bookshelf, cups in hand.


    ¡®Obiceiuri funerare de protectie¡¯, he read a random spine, painstakingly and in an outrageous accent.


    ¡®Funerary customs of protection¡¯, I translated. ¡®And you slaughtered every word of it.¡¯


    David rolled his eyes jokingly. ¡®Romanian doesn¡¯t come easy to others, you know.¡¯


    ¡®Is there any particular reason for you to read that book?¡¯, Axel asked me, pouring the coffee into the cups. The intoxicating aroma filled my tiny apartment, and David, now sprawled on the rescued bean-bag, sniffed the air and grinned.


    ¡®Besides dropping some more random bits of folklore in our lap when we aren¡¯t looking, you mean?¡¯, he asked.


    ¡®Actually¡¯, I interrupted, ready to defend my love for mythology, ¡®I have two reasons. One, knowledge in itself. One never knows too much. And second, tonight is Saint Andrew¡¯s night.¡¯


    ¡®And that¡¯s¡­ bad? Good? Important?¡¯


    ¡®Not good, actually. I suppose you¡¯re both aware of Samhain and its equivalents, like Halloween?¡¯ They nodded, so I continued: ¡®Like many other countries, my ancestors celebrated this kind of moment too ¨C the night when the seasons change, when winter takes over, and with it, the darkness. On Saint Andrew¡¯s Night, the borders between our world and the one beyond weaken, the doors open, and the horrifying side of folklore comes a-knocking.¡¯


    ¡®Does anyone still believe in such things? Do you?¡¯, Axel asked, leaning towards me, his icy-blue eyes lit with interest.


    ¡®The tradition still lives in some parts of the country ¨C people gather together for a wake, and protect the entries with garlic, which is supposed to keep the evil away. But what¡¯s left nowadays, mostly, are the charms to find love, or discover who one¡¯s meant to marry. As for myself¡­¡¯, I shrugged, ¡®I mostly do it for the tradition¡¯s sake. Like the Christmas tree and the Easter eggs.¡¯


    ¡®But what¡¯s Saint Andrew got to do with it? Can¡¯t say I know much about anything Christian¡¯, David said apologetically.


    ¡®That¡¯s just the Church slapping other meanings on pagan holidays, like they do. Somehow, Saint Andrew ended up being patron of the wolves, who obey him, and also a protector against the evil spirits.¡¯


    ¡®Hmmm.¡¯ David took a sip, pondering for a while, then looked intently at me over his cup. ¡®Love charms, huh.¡¯


    Fire rose in my cheeks, and my heartbeat went wild.


    When we''d met in college, his lazy smile and dark eyes, half hidden by long lashes, had wiped me off my feet like a tidal wave. Ever since, we''d been caught in a dance of side glances, ambiguous smiles, and half spoken invitations that said nothing clear, and left everything to interpretation. Under his burning gaze, I wondered if the charms of my pagan ancestors could bring us to finally cross the line.


    Axel¡¯s gaze went from David to me, and, after an awkward silence, he tried to change the subject and clear the palpable tension in the air.


    ¡®How about tasseomancy? I think you once said your grandmother taught you to read the grounds.¡¯


    I rubbed the back of my neck, somehow uneasy.


    ¡®I, uh¡­ I never managed to see anything more than mud, to be honest. But I thought you didn¡¯t care much about anything supernatural¡¯, I added, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡®I can¡¯t say I do, no. Or rather, to be more precise, it¡¯s beyond pure reason and logic, and I can¡¯t believe in something that cannot be analyzed. However¡¯, he smiled warmly at me, ¡®I¡¯m interested in everything my friends care about. Even if it¡¯s, as you said, simply for the sake of knowledge.¡¯


    I smiled back. ¡®I appreciate that.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m thinking¡­¡¯, David interrupted. ¡®If it¡¯s a magical night for divination and all, what if it¡¯s the right moment to try reading the grounds? What if it works this time?¡¯


    ¡®I can¡¯t say the charms and whatnots worked the other times I¡¯ve tried to see who¡¯s meant for me. Why would it work now?¡¯


    ¡®I think you should try again¡¯, he insisted, his smile like a riddle. ¡®And I think I know the best place to set the scene for it.¡¯


    ¡®No. No, you don¡¯t¡¯, Axel cut short, his voice firm, and frowned at David.


    ¡®What? Why not?¡¯


    ¡®What are you two talking about? I¡¯m confused here.¡¯


    ¡®Nothing¡¯, said Axel, waving the matter away with a sweeping gesture.


    ¡®But we can¡­¡¯


    ¡®I said no.¡¯


    ¡®If you¡¯d just let me finish my sentence!¡¯, David said, a rough edge to his tone, his dark eyes narrowing with annoyance.


    Axel shrugged and laid back on the couch, crossing his arms, but I could tell by the set of his jaw that he was tense. ¡®The floor is yours.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m just saying¡­ we could go to the Catacombs. The official Ossuary¡¯, he added quickly, seeing Axel¡¯s mouth thinning dangerously. ¡®A good place for a night like this, don¡¯t you think?¡¯


    ¡®Uh huh¡¯, he muttered, relaxing somewhat. ¡®Except that it¡¯s already late and, most likely, we won¡¯t make it there in time for the last entry. And there will be no way out once it closes for the night.¡¯


    ¡®What do you think, Ru?¡¯, David grinned at me lopsidedly, invitingly. ¡®It¡¯d be quite the thrill, wouldn¡¯t it?¡¯


    I hesitated. It would be, indeed, and that was precisely the problem.


    ¡®Well, uh¡­ I can¡¯t say I¡¯m a big fan of thrills¡¯, I admitted, trying to laugh it off, while the image of rows and rows of bones and skulls grinning at me from the darkness unfurled vividly in my mind. I shivered. On the other hand, I mused, David would be there¡­ The idea of being with him in the shelter of the shadows made me giddy, but no matter what I imagined, the bare teeth and poking femurs imposed themselves over it.


    ¡®I, for one, am not thrilled by the perspective of being found there hiding¡¯, Axel said. ¡®If the visitors count is not right at the exit, they¡¯ll come looking for us, and the Ossuary has become too small to hold many hiding places. Besides, I would rather not add to my record. Not for something so trivial as a belated Halloween party.¡¯


    ¡®Wait, wait. You have a record?¡¯, I exclaimed incredulously. ¡®What for?¡¯


    He stared at me for a few long moments. ¡®Some things.¡¯


    Apparently I had stepped into another of the secret gardens he jealously kept out of sight of other people, and I felt uneasy for having intruded.


    ¡®But why can¡¯t we just go to¡­¡¯ David started.


    Axel tried to silence him with a dark look, but David held his gaze stubbornly, not backing down.


    ¡®I¡¯m sure we can trust Ru. Aren¡¯t you?¡¯


    ¡®What, in hell¡¯s name, are you talking about?¡¯, I cut in. ¡®I feel left aside here. And what¡¯s with the trust issue?¡¯


    Axel stood up and went to the window, staring up at the clouds, his arms crossed.


    ¡®My trust in you is not the issue¡¯, he finally said, after a long silence. ¡®It¡¯s¡­ my privacy. You know how important it is to me.¡¯


    ¡®Of course I know, we used to share a flat, remember?¡¯


    ¡®That we did.¡¯ He turned just enough so I could see him smile at the memory of those few months.


    ¡®Look, Ru¡¯, he added, coming back to the couch and taking my hands. ¡®There is a place, somewhere I¡¯ve been going for several years now. I care very much about it, and it has become my second home. I¡¯d even say my first home ¨C more than our apartment.¡¯


    ¡®I can confirm that¡¯, David laughed.


    ¡®It took me a long while to tell even David about it. He had to pester me for months about my whereabouts when I wasn¡¯t coming home for days. I don¡¯t like sharing this place with other people, even though I¡¯m not the only one to be there regularly¡¯, he concluded, apologetically.


    ¡®There¡¯s a lot I don¡¯t know about you, apparently. First, the record, and now, this¡­ mysterious hideout.¡¯


    ¡®That is why I think David is right. It is time to share it with you, too. After all, you two are my closest friends.¡¯


    I nodded at him to go on.


    Axel stood up and started pacing. ¡®The Catacombs, or rather, the Ossuary that everyone can visit, is only a small part of a much larger network¡¯, he began. ¡®Paris was built with stone dug out right from underneath it. Not at first, of course ¨C but as it spread, it engulfed the neighbouring villages, and kept growing above the abyss. Everything you see¡¯, he gestured towards the view outside, ¡®used to mirror a void underground. As above, so below, like the alchemists said.¡¯


    ¡®Wait ¨C¡¯, I interrupted, joining him by the window, which overlooked the imposing Val-de-Grace, its stone walls golden under the sunset light. ¡®You mean, there was a hole that size right there?¡¯


    ¡®There still is¡¯, Axel replied, amused, ¡®although half filled now. Actually, building Val-de-Grace was one of the things that brought the state of quarries to the attention of the king. The architect spent two years and the entire budget on consolidations only.¡¯


    ¡®Wow¡¯, I whispered, still contemplating the size of the ancient convent, and struggling to imagine what its underground had looked like. ¡®You got me curious, do go on.¡¯


    ¡®The history of the quarries is too long to dwell on it right now. What is relevant for the moment is that, when they started to crumble, an Inspection Office was created by Louis XVI, which mapped, consolidated, then backfilled most of them. However, there are still hundreds of kilometers of galleries spreading under the Left Bank, which are now commonly called the catacombs.¡¯


    He paused, gazing out the window, lost in thought or in memories. I let him ponder, and went back to the couch to pour the last of the coffee.


    ¡®A few years ago, I jumped over a fence to escape pursuit¡¯, Axel started again. ¡®The details of who and where are of little importance; but I met a group of people who got me curious. I followed them, and saw them disappear in a hole. I went back a few days later, and discovered the catacombs.¡¯


    ¡®He¡¯s been hooked ever since¡¯, David added, smiling.


    ¡®Indeed, I have. I¡¯ve seen nothing quite like it ¨C and my parents¡¯ deployments have dragged us across half the world. But no place I know is as captivating from so many different angles. History, geology, remnants of ancient Paris, crayon drawings made by quarrymen three hundred years ago, the evolution of the underground across the ages¡­ Not to mention the array of skills and knowledge the catacombs require, should one want to unravel all these layers ¨C or even focus on only one. Unfortunately¡¯, he sighed deeply, ¡®the only thing the Quarry Office does today for this ignored heritage are concrete injections, cheap and simple. So much is lost that way: galleries, marks of the German occupation, natural formations after the quarries have been abandoned. And when it¡¯s not the IGC, it¡¯s¡­ the people. Those who know about them, who come frequently underground, and degrade them by their presence.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re a cataphile yourself¡¯, David observed, in a quiet voice.


    ¡®I am nothing like them¡¯, Axel growled through clenched teeth. ¡®I do everything in my power to protect the quarries. If only others would do, too.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s why you didn¡¯t want to tell us about it?¡¯, I asked in an attempt to divert his attention from what looked like a sensitive topic.


    ¡®Too many cataphiles bring tourists down with them, and it¡¯s just as catastrophic as it is for, say, Venice or Barcelona. Except that there aren¡¯t garbage collectors underground, and no authority cares about maintaining the quarries.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m here to help now¡¯, David said, then turned to me. ¡®He started training me to be a proper cataphile. I admit there¡¯s so much to do, it¡¯s discouraging sometimes. But the beauty of the place¡­ it¡¯s hard to put into words. The feeling that you¡¯re disconnected from everything happening at the surface, the silence and the darkness¡­ There¡¯s nothing like it.¡¯


    His eyes lit up as he spoke, and I felt drawn to the place as much as I was drawn to him. My curiosity was stirred, and his words held such intensity that an urge to go, to discover the quarries with them, overcame my reticence. I wouldn¡¯t be alone, anyway; not alone in the darkness. Stretching before and behind us in every direction. Neverending. Quiet between the indifferent walls.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡®Are you okay? You¡¯re pale all of a sudden¡¯, David worried, leaning immediately towards me. Axel crossed the room with a single stride and kneeled on the floor by my side.


    ¡®What¡¯s wrong, Ru?¡¯


    I rubbed my temples, pushing away the fear that had been my nightly companion for as long as I could remember. It was deeply rooted now, my first memory being its seed. Had it been something that had really happened, or a nightmare, I couldn¡¯t say any more. Still, as ancient as it was, I could still recall vividly how it had felt when darkness had wrapped its tentacles tight around me. How, every night of my childhood, I would bundle myself up to the nose in the blanket, terrified of the malevolent presences I imagined lurking around my bed. How, even today, I sometimes still woke up with a jolt, shaking and sweaty, certain that something prowled in the room. That fear was still lying in wait, and sprang on me in ill-lit staircases, or on the steps to the basement, paralysing me unannounced.


    ¡®Hey, Ru, talk to us¡¯, Axel urged me. I blinked, emerging from the tide that had submerged me, and shivered.


    ¡®I¡­ no, you¡¯ll laugh. It¡¯s silly.¡¯


    ¡®I would never. And neither would David.¡¯


    The latter nodded quietly, moving to the couch for a comforting hug. I nestled in his arms, breathing in the smell of his hair, his closeness gradually pulling my thoughts away from the nightmares.


    ¡®I¡¯m afraid of the dark¡¯, I whispered shamefully, looking down. ¡®I feel like a stupid little girl.¡¯


    ¡®But you aren¡¯t¡¯, Axel said soothingly. ¡®Being afraid of something does not make you weak. You shouldn¡¯t feel embarrassed.¡¯


    ¡®But I am.¡¯


    Axel sighed. ¡®Maybe you need to face it squarely, then. Come with us to the catacombs. What is the worst that could possibly happen?¡¯


    ¡®Besides freezing on the spot, and forcing you to carry me back to the exit?¡¯, I snapped, the anger and frustration at my weakness getting the better of me.


    Axel¡¯s expression made me regret my words as soon as they were spoken. He didn¡¯t reply.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry I lashed out at you¡¯, I whispered. ¡®I¡¯m just¡­ I hate myself for being like this.¡¯


    ¡®Then stop being like this¡¯, he said bluntly, leaning away from me and crossing his arms. He looked hurt.


    ¡®Axel¡­ I¡¯m trying. I¡¯ve been trying. I can¡¯t. It¡¯s stronger than me.¡¯


    ¡®No, it isn¡¯t. If you truly want to change, you have to fight it. Face it.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re being too harsh on her¡¯, David interfered. ¡®If someone¡¯s afraid of heights, pushing them off a plane with a parachute won¡¯t make the fear go away. They¡¯d probably just have a heart attack.¡¯


    ¡®Over-protecting someone won¡¯t make them stronger, either. Avoiding or running from an issue won¡¯t make it go away.¡¯


    Once more, I felt childish, and pulled away from David¡¯s arms, although reluctantly. Maybe it was time for me to grow up, to do something about the bogeyman.


    ¡®Maybe you¡¯re right. Maybe he¡¯s right. I don¡¯t know. I could try. But I know I will end up paralysed at some point, I¡¯m warning you.¡¯


    ¡®I am sure you won¡¯t¡¯, Axel declared. ¡®There¡¯s nothing there of which to be afraid. We will be there, too.¡¯


    ¡®Alright then¡¯, I gave in. ¡®We¡¯ll go to the catacombs.¡¯


    David grinned, pulling me tight against him for a second.


    ¡®There you go, Ru! We¡¯ll do this together, and you¡¯ll be poking around every dark corner by yourself in no time.¡¯


    I smiled tightly, not looking at him.


    ¡®Yeah, I¡¯m sure I will¡¯, I muttered, pulling on my sleeves.


    ¡®In that case, David and I can go get our backpacks, while you handle the food and water. How does that sound?¡¯


    ¡®Sure¡¯, I nodded.


    ¡®I think you¡¯d be braver if you let your hair be itself¡¯, David whispered while Axel was putting on his Rangers. I frowned.


    ¡®What¡¯s wrong with my hair?¡¯, I asked, pulling down a brown curl and squinting at it critically.


    ¡®Come on, don¡¯t you get it? Brave? Red hair?¡¯, he sighed, rolling his eyes.


    ¡®Right. Haha¡¯, I muttered, rolling the strand around my finger.


    ¡®Why do you dye it, anyway? The freckles betray you already.¡¯


    ¡®Are you coming, David?¡¯, Axel saved me from answering. I didn¡¯t want to talk about it.


    ¡®Yeah, I¡¯ll be right up!¡¯, he called out. ¡®I¡¯d love to see the real you some day¡¯, he added, giving me his usual puzzling smile, then headed to the door.


    ¡®See you in an hour¡¯, Axel nodded at me, and I waved absentmindedly as they left, still pulling on my curl.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    I realise with a start I¡¯ve stopped writing, and that I¡¯m only gazing at the screen with blurred eyes. Axel hasn¡¯t come back yet, and I don¡¯t know when ¨C or if ¨C he does. The sky is getting grey, and I¡¯m shivering. With cold? Exhaustion? Shock? Maybe all of them. I am ready to collapse, but I have to write everything down while it¡¯s fresh. Come back to it when I¡¯m rested, go through the details, see where things have derailed. Maybe it will make more sense in the morning. Maybe not.


    For now, I must dive again into the memories, still so fresh, still too painful¡­


    ¨x¨x¨x


    I was struggling up the stairs, my arms heavy with grocery bags, when my phone rang. I quickened my step, grumbling, and cursing Haussmann for his brilliant idea of placing the servants¡¯ rooms on the last floor. Not only was my apartment minuscule ¨C why would have maids needed living space, anyway? ¨C, but the sixth floor had its own, separate set of stairs, narrow and winding. The elevator was for the richer people on the floors below, and so were the large marble stairs. I focused on cursing the baron¡¯s family in the best Romanian tradition, in order to ignore the burn in my muscles. When I finally unlocked my door, I dropped the bags on the floor, and sat down heavily. Whoever had turned the chambres de bonne into flats joined Haussmann on my list of favourite people.


    With a weary sigh, I reached for my phone, and found a missed call and a text from Axel. They were on the way ¨C I should get my own things ready. I rolled over to the other end of the couch, and groped on the floor for my backpack. After emptying it unceremoniously but efficiently by turning it upside down, I stuffed it with sandwiches, water, and the thermos bottle with coffee, thanking myself for having prepared it before going shopping.


    ¡°Food, water, and coffee ready. What else?¡±, I texted, then hoisted myself up and stumbled to the cupboard which, for lack of a better word, I called my bedroom. Unsure what to expect from the catacombs, I chose clothes I wouldn¡¯t mind ruining ¨C some old jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and, after some hesitation, my leather jacket. The all-terrain Dr Martens boots would do, I hoped.


    My phone beeped. ¡°Gloves and a lamp, if you have one. Otherwise we have a spare. Meet you downstairs?¡± I heaved my backpack and, with a last look around the apartment, I left.


    Emerging from the narrow, creaking wooden staircase and the dark, damp corridor into the crowded street, I had to shield my eyes from the sudden light. As the sun had become a rare sight on the grey Parisian sky, each ray that pierced through the thick clouds was celebrated. David and Axel were waiting for me. As soon as we reached rue Saint Jacques, we had to elbow through the steady flow of pedestrians, navigating between those who walked and those who were sprawled on the terraces set out on every available strip of pavement. High-spirited students from the nearby Sorbonne University blocked the way here and there, smoking and chatting excitedly, oblivious to those who needed to step down onto the road in order to pass. Everyone was too eager to catch a spot in the sun to pay any attention to the obstacles in their way ¡ª be they people, bikes or scooters parked across the pavement. No one seemed to care about the sharp wind that started to rise with the arrival of the evening; on the contrary, the street seemed to glow with a buoyant energy arising from the crowd.


    It was with some difficulty that we got to the end of the street and into the larger, airier boulevard du Port-Royal, where I had to stop and catch my breath. Axel laughed, not in the least bothered by the crowd he had crossed like an icebreaker through the first frozen waters of autumn.


    ¡®We shall be there soon enough¡¯, he assured me as we dove through the bystanders and strollers again. The bright sunset hit the glass-clad Tour de Montparnasse and reflected on the white Haussmannian walls, throwing gleaming shards of blood when it hit the windows. Nearly blinded, I kept my eyes half-closed and often bumped into people, until David pulled me close to him, sheltering me with his body. Warmth rose in me, chasing away the chill that had slowly slithered its way into my blood, and further flushed my cheeks already reddened by the wind.


    ¡®I¡¯ve been thinking about our discussion¡¯, Axel said, ¡®and I¡¯ve realised, with a little help from David, that I might have been a tad too territorial about the catacombs. Although I am definitely not going to show them to everyone, I invited my sister and a friend of hers for tonight.¡¯


    ¡®Oh. Okay¡¯, I muttered, uneasy at the thought of strangers.


    ¡®I also thought you would feel better, more at ease, in a larger group. I mean, I know you usually wouldn¡¯t, but this time it might activate the prehistoric instinct of huddling together to face danger.¡¯


    I pondered on it for a moment, trying to push away the aversion I felt towards socializing, and to think logically.


    ¡®You might be right. Worst case scenario, being with people I don¡¯t know will distract me from being scared of the monsters in the dark¡¯, I said after a while, and they laughed.


    Axel led us through the narrow streets along the Montparnasse cemetery, turning left and right several times until we arrived at an underground parking lot. As we stopped, two girls came towards us. One of them, every bit the typical Parisian ¨C from her naturally mussed blonde hair to her ripped jeans stuck in flowery Wellington boots ¨C went straight for Axel¡¯s throat.


    ¡®Took you long enough¡¯, she snarled. ¡®I¡¯m freezing.¡¯


    Should¡¯ve picked clothes without holes in them, I thought to myself, my dislike for her immediate.


    ¡®Good evening, Lilianne¡¯, Axel smiled, pulling her to his chest with one arm. She struggled briefly, flailing around to no avail, and gave in.


    ¡®And so you meet my sister¡¯, came the explanation, while still keeping her face buried in his coat. ¡®Feeling warmer down there now?¡¯ The coat mumbled angrily. Laughing, the second girl tried to help by pulling at Axel¡¯s arm with just as much success until, magnanimously, he let go of his sulking sibling.


    ¡®I¡¯m Michelle¡¯, the girl said, adjusting her bonnet over the thick curls and offering us a wide, warm smile, complete with tooth gap and dimples, which contrasted beautifully against her dark skin. ¡®In charge of any medical attention that hopefully no one will need tonight.¡¯


    ¡®I might need some advice on caring for my curls, for starters¡¯, I replied, liking her. ¡®I¡¯m quite jealous of your hair.¡¯


    She laughed and wrapped her arm around mine. Axel took the lead once more, with Lilianne following blindly, her eyes glued to her phone, and we fell in line behind them. As we went down to the lowest level of the parking lot, I found out she had come from Cameroon to study medicine, visited the catacombs twice, and had heard that David had a black kitten looking for a new home. He winked at me exaggeratedly, and I was just saying I wasn¡¯t sure I¡¯d be a responsible kitty parent, when Axel pushed a service door open and stopped in a bland, grey corridor, by a metal grid set in the floor.


    ¡®This is the entrance, everyone¡¯, he announced, then bent down and lifted it with a grunt.


    Lilianne turned on the lamp on her phone and looked down; nothing but darkness as far as light could reach, and rusty metal rungs set into the wall. Instinctively, I took a step back, dizzied.


    ¡®We¡¯ll go down one at a time, and no one else gets on the stairs before the person in front of them has arrived and said ¡°Go¡±,¡¯ Axel continued. ¡®This way, should someone miss a step and fall, they won¡¯t take the others down, too.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s a cheery thought¡¯, muttered Lilianne, still typing on her phone.


    ¡®One day, I found three or four guys moaning at the bottom of the steps¡¯, Axel replied, his voice serious. ¡®They had all been on the rungs when the first one slipped, and took the others down with him. None of them would¡¯ve been able to walk, let alone get help for the others. I am not joking about this.¡¯ He eyed each of us, slowly, making sure we understood.


    ¡®Good. David, you go first. I¡¯ll stay behind and close the grid.¡¯


    David opened his backpack and offered me a headlamp before putting on his own. Watching his light being swallowed by the night under our feet made me queasy.


    Michelle zipped her jacket closed and patted me on the back, smiling. ¡®It will be alright, you¡¯ll see.¡¯


    ¡®Go!¡¯, came the shout from below. She pulled a pair of rubber fingered gloves on and went down confidently. Lilianne followed, and I was left with Axel.


    ¡®Are you alright?¡¯, he asked, seeming worried.


    ¡®I don¡¯t particularly enjoy being this far from the ground¡¯, I muttered, trying to gauge the depth of the shaft.


    ¡®Would you rather go home?¡¯


    ¡®No¡¯, I replied immediately, my pride piqued. After all, I¡¯d done this before, in a way ¡ª all those summers spent at my grandmother¡¯s, climbing up and down any tree I could find, should come in handy. I tightened the straps of my backpack, and hesitantly sought the first rung with my foot, refusing Axel¡¯s hand.


    Leaving the safety of the ground brought a wave of panic, and I felt my fingers go numb on the rungs. I clung on to them with all I had, trying not to look at the voracious shadows waiting below me. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths before I managed to unclench my fingers and start climbing down. The shaft seemed to plunge forever, the rungs aligning one after the other... and another, and another. My arms were tense with the fear of the fall, and Axel¡¯s cautionary tale nagged at my vivid imagination. Contradictory feelings pulled at me; survival instincts screamed to hold on tight, while reason argued that fatigue could wear out my muscles, and make me lose grip. I panicked at that thought, and began to tremble on the steps; this, in turn, made me panic even more. An urge to cry seized my chest, but stopping was impossible. Control was slipping away from me as dread rose, slowly engulfing my limbs; detailed visions of myself sprawled at the bottom of the shaft played in front of my eyes, larger than life. ¡®I cannot make another move¡¯, I thought with absolute certitude. ¡®My fingers will give in, and it will be the end¡¯.


    I leaned warily against the ladder, ready to let the urge to cry take over; but suddenly there were arms around me, and I felt David¡¯s familiar scent as he plucked me from the last rungs.


    ¡®Go!¡¯, he called out, then held me without a word until I stopped shaking.


    The clang of the metal grid announced that Axel was on his way down, too. The girls had turned on their lamps. Over David¡¯s shoulder, I looked around at the small chamber, its walls of naked limestone bricks, the bench, and the spiral stairs in a corner.


    ''One of the quarrymen''s changing rooms¡¯, came Axel¡¯s voice from behind us as he jumped from the last steps. ¡®Ready? Down we go!¡¯


    The stairs wound down to a narrow corridor, its walls covered in yellow and ochre stones, held together with concrete. It didn¡¯t look as old as I¡¯d expected, and I voiced my disappointment.


    ¡®These are RATP consolidations for the subway¡¯, Axel explained. ¡®They are more recent ¨C around the 1900s. They used millstone instead of limestone, given that the quarrying here had been stopped for over a century. But worry not, the sight will improve when we get farther from this area.¡¯


    ¡®The cemetery is much better¡¯, David reassured me, ¡®especially on the second level¡¯.


    ¡®Because there are several levels?¡¯, I exclaimed, stopping. I had walked these streets so many times, unaware of the scale of the void beneath my feet, and the thought made me dizzy in hindsight.


    ¡®Some quarries had two, three, or even four¡¯, he said, ¡®but today the lower ones have been filled up. A second level is actually a rare sight. I suppose they didn¡¯t bother here, ¡®cause there are no buildings above. And that¡¯s why it¡¯s colder here than in other places¡¯, he smiled, wrapping an arm around me. ¡®There¡¯s nothing above to keep the heat.¡¯


    Still hanging on to the image of the mirroring abyss, his words brought to mind the immense mass of stone and earth that towered above our heads. My chest clenched as if I was already buried alive and struggling to breathe; the night that stretched neverendingly at arm¡¯s length made our small shelter of light seem even frailer. The mottled tunnel seemed to close down on us, and I had to lean against a wall until its chillness allowed me to regain my composure. Fortunately, everyone was listening to an explanation from Axel, and didn¡¯t see my moment of weakness.


    As we squeezed together through the narrow tunnel, a slight draught slithered between us, probing my face with its cold fingers. Silence wrapped tightly around us, muffling our steps, and the clinking from our backpacks started to feel like an intrusion. I realised I had been tiptoeing, hunching instinctively in order to make myself unnoticed. Even the darkness seemed to part reluctantly before our lights, and creep close on our heels.


    Axel¡¯s voice pulled me to reality with a start.


    ¡®It is time for a little hazing for the newcomers¡¯, he called from ahead.


    We turned right and left into a new, whiter tunnel, seemingly dug directly into the limestone. The air smelled damp and old, a mixture of dust, clay, and something else, something I couldn¡¯t quite put my finger on. I stopped to take in the sight, gazing at the cracked ceiling, as if the rocks were giving in under the pressure of the earth above our heads. It was breathtaking ¨C and my body took that literally, as if the crushing weight was suddenly on my chest. I laid a hand on the wall, my head spinning, and tried to get some air into my lungs. The galleries haven¡¯t collapsed in centuries, I tried to tell myself, there is no reason they would do now. The smooth, cold stone under my fingers was reassuringly solid, and finally I looked up, ready to continue. In the distance, Axel¡¯s light reflected on the walls in dancing, bright shards.


    ¡®Ru, come forth, you have the honours¡¯, he called.


    ¡®I don¡¯t like that sparkle in your eyes¡¯, I said, walking up to him, suspicious of what was expecting me. He smiled mischievously, and stepped aside. A stretch of astonishingly limpid water appeared, flooding the tunnel as far as my lamp could reach. Through its glassy stillness, I could see every pebble and boulder at the bottom, coated in an even blanket of white clay.


    ¡®I thought you should be the first to pass, before we stir up the mud. I, personally, love the sight of this clear water ¨C and it is rarely like this. It needs at least four hours for the clay to settle back after someone goes through.¡¯


    ¡®How thoughtful of you¡¯, I said with a sigh, already mourning my boots. However, he was right about the beauty of it: the landscape looked pure and untouched, as if we were the first ones in a long time to set foot here. Silence settled in slowly, only disturbed by the rare fall of a drop from the ceiling. I looked back at the others. Michelle and Lilianne were staring, seemingly captivated, while Axel and David grinned like pleased landlords giving a tour. I hesitated; stepping into the water felt like soiling its clarity. There was no way of avoiding it, though, and I took an unwilling first step forward.


    A yelp escaped my lips when the icy water flooded my shoe, and I almost stumbled in surprise as the bottom proved to be deeper than I thought. My foot sank into the clay, which filled my sock and seeped unpleasantly between my toes. Bubbles rose and popped to the surface, accompanied by laughter from behind me. I shot them a dark look, and took another step into the whirling mud with a sharp breath as the cold crawled up my skin. I fought my other foot free, supporting myself on the walls, and it came out with a comical slurp.


    ¡®Boldly going where no Dr Martens have gone before¡¯, David teased me, and I promised myself I¡¯d have my revenge some day.


    Splashes announced the others had joined me, and I ploughed on through the water, hoping I wouldn¡¯t leave my boots in the mud before I got to the other side. They weighed at least twice as they usually did, caked in clay as they were, and filled with water and sand. I looked around for a dry spot to sit and take them off, but the floor was as welcoming as a marsh. The guys¡¯ high rubber boots and Lilianne¡¯s wellingtons crossed effortlessly, although Axel had to bend in half under the low ceiling, and I felt a pang of sympathy at the sound of Michelle¡¯s steps squelching through.


    She joined me with a sigh, and a sorrowful glance at her shoes. ¡®Well, rest in peace, I guess. Should¡¯ve chosen more wisely¡­¡¯


    ¡®I still have some hope for my boots¡¯, I said, trying my best to rinse them.


    ¡®Are you coming, girls?¡¯, Axel called from the other end of the gallery. I hadn¡¯t even noticed they¡¯d gone so far, and I suddenly became aware of the darkness prowling at close range. Although my lamp could reach the end of the tunnel, the shadows creeped closer on the opposite side, always behind me, ready to snap at my heels. I shivered, and walked up to the others as quickly as I could without seeming frightened, taking shelter in the nest of their lights. Fortunately, David and Axel were absorbed in a discussion about something on the wall, and did not notice my haste.


    ¡®What are you boys talking about?¡¯, Michelle inquired, joining us leisurely.


    ¡®This inscription here¡¯, David said, tilting his head towards it.


    I took a step closer and stared at a weathered scribble, of which I could only decipher ¡°2e Qe avril 18..¡±, followed by more scribbles and an arrow pointing down.


    ¡®The arrow could be signalling a bell-hole that has been consolidated from the surface¡¯, Axel pondered out loud, then inspected the rough stone of the ceiling. ¡®Although there is no masonry to show for it, so¡­ I have to admit I''m confused.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, something you don''t know¡¯, David joked mischievously.


    ¡®What if¡­ hmmm¡¯, Michelle trailed, leaning in for a closer look.


    ¡®What is it? Can you make sense out of it?¡¯


    ¡®Well, I''m far from being an expert on these things like you two, but¡­ Wouldn¡¯t this say ¡°deuxi¨¨me quinzaine d¡¯avril¡±, maybe?¡¯


    ¡®Second fortnight of April¡¯, Axel considered. ¡®That might just be right. In this case, the arrow would indicate what part of the wall was done at that period. I will check that as soon as I get home. Thank you.¡¯


    Michelle glowed. ¡®Glad to be of assistance.¡¯


    ¡®I hate to interrupt your historical symposium, dear brother¡¯, Lilianne piped in, with a sarcastic emphasis on the last words, ¡®but can we get a move on? It''s getting cold, and¡¯, her voice softened as she glanced shyly at the other girl, ¡®I''m sure Michelle''s not very comfortable in her wet shoes.¡¯


    Axel stared at each of them in turn, as if assessing the situation, then turned on his heels and took the lead once more, without a word, his face clouding. Even though my dislike for his sister grew each time she spoke, I had to admit I was grateful to get moving again, as my feet were getting numb with the cold that spread its roots through my flesh and down to the bones. I could tell Axel was bothered by something, however; was it Lilianne''s lack of interest for the place he loved most, or was it something else? I mulled over the question, realizing he had also seemed uneasy whenever David and I were having a moment, and scolded myself for not having noticed over the years of our friendship.


    Lost in my thoughts, I almost bumped into Axel when he stopped abruptly.


    ¡®I think you were right, Michelle¡¯, he said, pointing at the wall.


    The inscription, neater than the one before, read ¡°1re Qe avril¡±. Hesitantly, I reached towards a letter with the tip of my finger. For the first time in my life, history became alive, concrete. What lay before my eyes was not the unimaginable scale of human history, but a small moment, a piece of a worker¡¯s life, someone whose name wasn¡¯t remembered any more, and who had left only a handful of fragile letters on their anonymous work. This morsel of time drew me in inexplicably; I wanted to touch it, to feel its presence, but it seemed as frail as the powdery wing of a butterfly. I was startled when Axel gently pulled my hand away.


    ¡®It¡¯s better that you don¡¯t¡¯, he whispered, but his smile showed he was touched by my interest.


    ¡®There¡¯s a femur over here!¡¯, Michelle called out from ahead. ¡®What¡¯s it doing here?¡¯


    ¡®Maybe one of the tenants took a walk to stretch their legs¡¯, David joked, but Lilianne shot him a dark glance, cowering behind her friend.


    ¡®That isn¡¯t even remotely funny¡¯, she muttered.


    ¡®There is nothing to be afraid of. These bones have been here for two hundred years, when the cemeteries were emptied into the quarries¡¯, Axel explained reasonably, taking up his role as a guide once more. As we reached the end of the gallery and spilled into a crossroads, a slight breeze slithered across my face, and he pointed up. A round shaft, its masonry stained with dark brown and slimy green, opened above our heads. Our lights were swallowed in its shadows, unable to reach the top.


    ¡®When the graveyards intra muros started to overflow, around 1780, and disease roamed every year, a solution had to be found. Guillaumot was put in charge, once more ¨C and in ¡®85, the bodies of every cemetery in Paris have been dug out and transferred to the quarries through shafts like this one. Sometimes, the bones have been arranged in ossuaries ¨C¡¯


    ¡®Like the one we can visit? At Denfert-Rochereau?¡¯, Lilianne interrupted. She was really starting to get on my nerves, and I wondered if she and Axel were really siblings.


    ¡®That one came later, when another inspector decided to offer the families a place to pay their respects. Before it, they just put bones in a chamber and sealed it up. You will see what I mean later tonight¡¯, he concluded mysteriously.


    Michelle laughed and elbowed him playfully.


    ¡®If you¡¯re trying to creep me out, you¡¯ll need more than just a bone. I¡¯ve seen too many of those in class to be impressed.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ll take your word for it. I have a few stories to tell, if you are willing to test that.¡¯


    ¡®Give me your worst¡¯, she laughed.


    ¡®As soon as we sit down for coffee, then. This way¡¯, he added, and went down a set of spiral stairs I hadn¡¯t even noticed, its stone steps worn with the passage of countless years and feet. Darkness swallowed the light of his lamp as he turned right into the bowels of the earth.


    Questions for the readers</a>

 Chapter 2 - The Gate

    <h2 style="text-align: justify">Chapter 2 ¨C The Gate</h2>


    The second level was everything the upper one was not. Whereas the former had been tamed by men, its walls cut straight or covered in pale masonry, nature had had the upper hand in the galleries below. The stone seemed to have been, and to remain to this day, untamed and untamable. The tunnel squirmed between the ragged rock walls, looking more like a crevice than a way dug by human hands. We had to pass sideways more often than not, rough corners of limestone grazing our cheeks and marking our clothes in white dust. I was slowly becoming excited by this exploration in the entrails of the earth, like travellers through an unmapped, wild realm.


    The tight bowel broadened unexpectedly, a spacious chamber opening on our left. On its closest wall, a candle holder of wrought iron invited the weary cataphile to turn off the harsh white light of the lamp and rest in the comforting glow of candles. We spread gratefully on the stone bench that ran along the walls, putting our feet up on the makeshift table in the middle with a contented sigh. Axel produced candles from the depths of his backpack, and I noticed, only then, the battered chandelier that hung from the ceiling above the table.


    ¡®Whoa, that looks pretty!¡¯, Lilianne exclaimed when the candles were lit, and started snapping pictures as soon as Axel sat out of the frame. Although I supposed, annoyed, that the photos were meant for the social media, I had to admit she was right. The warm, subdued light softened the darkness beyond, and rounded the edges of the rough stones under a veil of mellow shadows. We sat silently for a moment, enjoying the break in our cocoon of stone. A lulling quietude surrounded us; no sounds reached us, besides the gentle crackling of the candles. I had never known such peace, and I realised I no longer felt oppressed by the mass of earth and the weight of the city above our heads. Closing my eyes, I basked in this newfound sensation of safety, the wall comfortingly solid against my back, its chillness soothing the disquiet that had nagged at me since I had set foot on the first rung.


    At the edge of my perception, a tremor vibrated deeply in the stone, resonating in my ribcage. I sat up at once, startled from my tranquility, and listened. Across the table, the girls stared at me, tensed by my sudden reaction.


    Through the silence that followed, a low rumbling sound growled in the distance and rushed towards us, reverberating through the earth as it came.


    The chandelier shook wildly, throwing panicked lights on the walls. Under their violent dance, the chamber itself seemed to shake and crumble. The thunder rolled over us, deafeningly, covering my instinctive yelp, and was gone as quickly as it came. Dust fell gently from the ceiling as we stared wide-eyed at each other. Even Axel looked startled, but after a brief moment, a grin spread slowly on his face.


    ¡®The subway¡¯, he managed to say, laughter bubbling up in his voice. ¡®You should''ve seen your faces!¡¯


    It took us a few moments to understand before relief washed over us. A new explosion of laughter spread through the chamber and the gallery, powered by the adrenaline rush. After a long while, breathless, we managed to regain some control over ourselves and calm down. Still grinning, our mood light and cheery, we took out the sandwiches and drinks, balancing bottles and cups on the uneven table, preparing our stay.


    Lilianne huddled closer to Michelle, offering to share her food, something human cracking up her Barbie fa?ade in the way she looked at her friend. David caught me staring, and his ambiguous smile made my cheeks flare. I busied myself with the thermos bottle and the small coffee cups that were needed for divination, feeling I was burning under his gaze. His arm slid around me.


    ¡®Tell me, what¡¯s my fortune tonight?¡¯, he whispered in my ear, making me shiver. I swallowed hard and plucked up the courage to whisper, my voice hoarse:


    ¡®An encounter at dusk with a handsome stranger.¡¯ I felt silly as I spoke the words ¨C a banal sentence in the repertoire of every fortune-teller, but even this platitude was a bold move for me. I took a breath to steady my fluttering heart, then, trying to hide my unease, I asked brightly: ¡®Is everyone ready to find out what your fortune is?¡¯. They nodded, and I passed the cups around.¡®Take a sip, then turn it three times in front of your heart, and think of what you want to know.¡¯


    We drank ceremoniously, and David was the first one to offer his cup, leaning close to me. I focused on the vague memories of my grandmother trying to teach me to read the grounds. Bottom half represents the past, right¡­


    ¡®I see¡­ I see¡­¡¯ In truth, I could barely discern the shapes in the cup, with his breath tickling my neck and setting my blood on fire. ¡®Now, what¡¯s this line... right here, see? Where it meets this other one? It means your path will soon cross the one of your betrothed and¡­¡¯


    You mustn¡¯t read the signs separately, my grandmother had said, but rather listen to what your gut tells you when looking at the whole landscape of lines.


    I moved the cup a little farther from my eyes so I could see the whole picture, and my gut shouted its message. Ice crawled through my blood and up my spine.


    ¡®What?¡¯, David pressed me, trying to sound nonchalant, with little success.


    I stared into the cup as my hands got colder and colder.


    The lines in the coffee grounds curled like monstrous talons, reaching out to me. My vision blurred, wiping out the image.


    It couldn¡¯t be.


    I had never really seen anything. It had always looked like mud. The lines merged, and I blinked, feeling dizzy. There was no claw. With a relieved sigh, I opened my mouth to speak, and I saw something else. The knife.


    My marrow froze, sending ice along my nerves. My hands shook. And¡­


    ¡®Is this a flag?¡¯, I stammered, my voice faltering.


    David squinted in the cup, over my shoulder. I tried to wave away the unbearable sense of emergency that took over me. ¡®You, umm, will start a long journey¡­¡¯.


    Tonight, my instinct insisted. Look, that shape is almost like a coffin.


    Don''t be stupid. It looks like a smudge. You¡¯re imagining things.


    ¡®...and, uh, meet people¡­¡¯


    The flag. Warn him. Something vile is coming.


    ¡®Be careful¡¯, I finished with some difficulty, my throat dry.


    ¡®Right¡¯. He leaned back, sounding disappointed. The cup was trembling in my hands.


    ¡®Here, take mine¡¯, Lilianne offered. She closed her eyes for a moment, her lips moving as if in prayer, then held her cup out to me. She leaned back against the wall, curling a long strand of blonde hair around her finger, her eyes darting incessantly towards Michelle. I prayed, too, for nothing else but the ordinary long travels and encounters to show in the grounds, before I lowered my eyes.


    It only took a glimpse to see the signs again. The flag, the knife, the claw.


    The cup fell and shattered on the ground, as I rushed and snatched Michelle¡¯s, then sat back down heavily, the hard stone thumping into my back.


    ¡®What is it?¡¯Axel asked, with worry tainting his voice. I looked up from the grounds, my eyes blurry, hearing his voice as if from afar through the deafening whistle in my ears. David leaned and cupped my face in his hands. I blinked, unable to see him clearly.


    ¡®Ru?...¡¯


    Without a word, I held out my hand, and Axel placed his cup into it. David crouched on the ground in front of me, and his hands cradled mine to stop them from shaking.


    ¡®What did you see, Ru? What¡¯s wrong?¡¯


    I couldn¡¯t read my cup, of course. I lowered my gaze. Danger and journey and loss were all there; however, it felt different. The top of the cup told me about destinations reached, and hope, and light.


    I looked up, staring at each of them as they leaned worriedly towards me, their eyes trying to pierce through my wall of silence and see the reason for it. Michelle watched me attentively, like a doctor analyzing uncommon symptoms. Even Lilianne seemed disturbed by the general mood, and kept glancing back at forth between her brother and me, her doll eyes wide.


    I tried to speak, to say a reassuring lie about low blood sugar, but I couldn¡¯t get my lips to move. Above and around them, the shadows flickered and squirmed, stretching out like tentacles, probing along the walls. I froze; my chest tightened, catching my breath in a knot of ice and pain. My heart started pumping wildly, like fists beating on the walls of a cell, and I gasped for air.


    ¡®She¡¯s weird¡¯, I thought I heard Lilianne whisper.


    Michelle replied, ¡®She¡¯s having an anxiety attack. Move away, boys.¡¯ She kneeled in the tight space between the table and the bench, and took my hand. ¡®Rusanda, I need you to sit here with me, and I''ll take you in my arms. It will help, I promise. Do you agree?¡¯


    Fighting for breath, fear engulfing me like the darkness of the underground that lurked closer and closer, I felt I was losing all control. The walls were spinning, the shadows crept and slithered, reaching out like claws from behind the feeble light of the candles. I nodded weakly.


    ¡®Axel, help her down, please,¡¯ Michelle said in the same calm voice.


    He lifted me carefully, and I curled up against him, seeking comfort in his familiar scent, protesting when he put me down on the floor. I tried to remain upright, but couldn¡¯t muster the strength, and buckled. Michelle¡¯s arms were around me immediately, and she settled me against her chest, holding me tight.


    ¡®We need to steady your breathing¡¯, she said steadily, ¡®and it will go away. This won¡¯t last long, okay? You need to breathe with me.¡¯


    I felt her inhale deeply behind me, then exhaled slowly.


    ¡®Try to settle your breathing in rhythm with mine. You¡¯ll be alright in a few.¡¯


    She kept holding me against her, speaking soothingly between breaths, and I tried to force my body to slow down. My heart still thrashed and thumped against my ribs, and my chest clenched in panic.


    ¡®Find something to focus on. A candle, a rock, anything. Now look at it. Don¡¯t look at anything else. Look at it. Breathe in.¡¯


    She inhaled, and I followed, staring at the pebbles between my feet.


    ¡®Breathe out. Breathe in¡­¡¯


    Gradually, reluctantly, my lungs opened to air, my pulse slowed down, my body tuning itself to hers, instinctively.


    ¡®In¡­ out¡¯, she kept whispering.


    There was the trace of a fossil in one of the largest pebbles, which the light showed and hid as it flickered. I kept my eyes fixed on it, waiting for that split second when I could see it clearly; focused on its conical shape and the spirals that ran along it, set in stone.


    Then there were no more ominous shadows; no more darkness. Only the candlelight, and, now and then, a glimpse of a shellfish, long gone.


    ¡®There you go¡¯, Michelle said, loosening her hold. Her voice startled me awake, and I realized she was right: the panic was gone, and I could breathe normally. I stood up hesitantly. David jumped to his feet, ready to support me should my knees buckle, and helped me sit back on the bench.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry for being such trouble¡¯, I muttered, rubbing my temples.


    ¡®Don¡¯t apologize. It can happen to everyone¡¯, Michelle said, patting my shoulder.


    ¡®I was lucky you were here. Thank you.¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t mention it. After all, it¡¯s part of my job.¡¯


    She smiled warmly, lighting up the chamber, then went back to her place. An awed Lilianne fawned over her, whispering compliments, and Michelle looked down, seeming discreetly pleased.


    ¡®Let¡¯s get some food into you¡¯, Axel took the reins once again, shoving a sandwich in my hands, now that there was something practical he could do.


    We ate, making small talk, and avoiding the subject of the divination. David and Axel went on about the catacombs, sharing pieces of information with the girls: how to read a consolidation plaque, how to tell apart an investigation gallery from a mining one, what was the difference between arm pillars and upturned ones. I leant against David, listening distractedly and focusing on my sandwich in an attempt to keep away the thoughts of the omens I¡¯d seen.


    ¡®Are you feeling better?¡¯, Axel asked when we were done. ¡®I meant to show you some ossuaries, will you be okay?¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, yeah, sure. Don¡¯t worry, I''ll be fine¡¯, I lied, not wanting to ruin everyone¡¯s fun once more.


    ¡®Alright then.¡¯ He slapped his knees and stood. ¡®Let¡¯s pack everything up and get going.¡¯


    We squeezed back through the tunnel, rubbing against the limestone which embraced us from both sides. When it finally broadened, Axel started to show us examples of what he¡¯d been saying back in the chandelier chamber. I let my fingers run along the right-hand wall while he talked, caressing the marks of the pickaxes, and feeling the different textures of the layers: the smooth, dusty limestone, the velvety argyle, the rough, gritty bed of marl and gravel. The strata of beige, ivory, ochre, and pale yellow accompanied us, waving up and down like the heartbeat line of the earth. Here and there, the colours were separated by a layer of fossils encased in white stone, a reminiscence of the ancient times when the ocean covered Paris.


    ¡®Are you sure it¡¯s this way?¡¯, David asked skeptically as we passed an intersection. ¡®I¡¯m pretty sure the stairs are on the left, and we¡¯re going to a cul-de-sac.¡¯


    ¡®We shall see¡¯, Axel replied evasively, and I knew he was preparing to surprise David with some secret related to their cataphile life.


    The air became progressively chillier, and the slight wind rose again, caressing my cheeks with glacial fingers. In front of me, Lilianne shivered. I zipped up my jacket, and tightened the scarf around my throat.


    ¡®Why is it so cold here?¡¯, I asked, rubbing my hands together for warmth.


    ¡®Well, for one, your feet are still wet¡¯, David teased.


    ¡®Probably the cemetery¡¯s shafts¡¯, Axel completed briefly. ¡®By the way, I opened one of the hatches nearby for later.¡¯


    David¡¯s eyebrows went up. ¡®Whoa! Which one?¡¯, he asked, quickening his step to fall in line with Axel. They walked close together, their heads bent on the map, and chatted eagerly in low voices.


    ¡®Ah, boys when they¡¯re excited¡¯, Michelle laughed.


    ¡®To be honest, I¡¯ve rarely seen my brother like that. Usually it¡¯s like he¡¯s made of stone¡¯, Liliane mused.


    ¡®Really? He seems pretty enthusiastic to me¡¯, her friend wondered.


    You don¡¯t know much about him, then, I thought, rolling my eyes out of Lilianne¡¯s sight. But then, I couldn¡¯t say I knew my sisters very well, either. Plunging into memories, I hid in the shelter of my own mind, better off by myself than as part of the conversation. Especially as it meant talking to Lilianne, whom I perceived as someone I didn¡¯t particularly want in my entourage.


    As David had predicted, we arrived in a cul-de-sac, and he grinned triumphantly. It was a short-lived grin, however: Axel moved aside a few boulders with surprising ease, and a hole appeared in the wall.


    ¡®After you, ladies¡¯, he said, with an inviting gesture. Without hesitation, Michelle took off her backpack, pushed it in, then wriggled through. As usual, Lilianne followed close on her heels.


    ¡®How did you even move these so effortlessly?¡¯, I asked Axel, awed but confused.


    ¡®Try for yourself¡¯, he said with a wink.


    ¡®Are you kidding? I don¡¯t have your strength.¡¯


    ¡®Come on, Ru, humour me.¡¯


    I raised a suspicious eyebrow. ¡®Okay¡­¡¯


    I bent over, bracing myself to lift the heavy-looking boulder, and almost fell on my back with a surprised yelp.


    ¡®Painted polystyrene¡¯, Axel laughed.


    David punched him lightly. ¡®Ha, of course it is. You do want to keep your secrets from everyone else.''


    ¡®Alright, Ru, your turn.¡¯


    I squinted skeptically in the narrow tunnel; sharp rock edges seemed to guard it jealously. My light briefly revealed the soles of Lilianne¡¯s wellingtons, which squirmed quickly out of sight.


    ¡®Uh, you never mentioned crawling in ratholes.¡¯


    ¡®We call it a cathole, actually, if that is any help.¡¯


    ¡®Is it supposed to make it cuter, or?¡­¡¯


    He shrugged.


    ¡®Look, I¡¯ll go first, you¡¯ll see it¡¯s just fine¡¯, David said. ¡®It¡¯s just a hole, there¡¯s nothing to be afraid of, except maybe some bruises and scratches.¡¯


    ¡®And also getting stuck, having another panic attack in there, etcetera¡¯, I added. ¡®I¡¯m not comfortable with this idea. And I¡¯m pretty sure I''m not strong enough to crawl.¡¯


    David pushed his backpack inside, passed his head through the opening, and before disappearing, he said over his shoulder, ¡®Just follow me, Ru.¡¯


    I wanted to. I wished I were braver, that my first instinct weren¡¯t to flee. I wanted to be someone else, and imagined him with another girl, one who¡¯d climb in every shaft and crawl through every hole. A fearless girl who he would prefer. I bit my lip, already trembling and ready to cry because of something I had imagined. I hated being like this.


    ¡®Come on, Ru, get in¡¯, Axel insisted, leaning against the wall, and crossing his arms to contain his impatience.


    ¡®I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m afraid.¡¯


    ¡®You said you wanted to face it. Fight it. There you are¡¯, he said, tilting his head towards the bowel of rock. ¡®Now it¡¯s the time. And I promise you, there is no danger whatsoever.¡¯


    ¡®But¡­ isn¡¯t there another way around?¡¯, I pleaded, already feeling my knees become weak.


    ¡®It would be a half an hour detour, or more. They are waiting for us. In you go. And do not tell me you are claustrophobic, because I know you are not.¡¯


    I let out a deep sigh in an attempt to ease the pressure that had started to crush my chest again. He was right. It was time I stopped being afraid of everything.


    Following the others¡¯ example, I crouched and passed my head through, keeping an eye out for any treacherous rock edges. It didn¡¯t prevent my right shoulder from scraping against the entrance, though. The pain startled me, and my knee hit the stone. I cursed through clenched teeth. So that¡¯s how it¡¯s going to be.


    I flattened myself the best I could and started crawling slowly. One painful metre after another, I pushed my backpack before me, then pulled myself forward, all the while trying to keep my weight off my hurting knee. The cathole wound and weaved through the stone, angling upwards. My bag kept slipping back towards me; as my arms grew more and more tired, cramps pulling at the muscles in my back and shoulders, it became increasingly difficult to continue pushing it forward.


    The crevice went on and on, climbing endlessly. I crawled on sore elbows and knees, feeling the tiniest pebble dig into my skin, scraping the walls that enclosed me tight, hitting myself more and more often on the edges of the unwelcoming stone. Time seemed to flow like a thick treacle; it was slowed down, just like myself, by the earth that imprisoned us both.


    I went on, my mind emptying more with each movement, turning inwards and focusing solely on the sensations: the burning in my muscles, my forearms skinned with each new movement, the pain that shot through my knee each time it bent. The silence, so heavy that my ears rang. One elbow, then the other, forever.


    Suddenly, my backpack fell outside, and the others¡¯ lights shone in my eyes. A frozen gale hit me in the face. I grimaced, squinting through teary eyes, and wiggled out of the accursed hole. Tiredness spread like lead through my limbs, and I was tempted to remain sprawled on the floor. I might have, if it hadn¡¯t been for the wind that lashed my cheeks.


    A little farther, sitting on a mound of soft-looking, pale earth, Michelle and Lilianne huddled close for warmth.


    ¡®This is unusual¡¯, David muttered, pulling me to him and rubbing my back. ¡®Sometimes it can get a little breezy, but never like this. Why do you think that is?¡¯, he addressed Axel, as soon as his head emerged.


    The latter grunted, shifting his shoulders to get through the opening which was, unsurprisingly, too narrow for his frame. ¡®I dug this damned cathole, you would think I would have thought of making it larger.¡¯


    Axel finally managed to pull himself out, patted his clothes free of dust, and looked around perplexed.


    ¡®I can confirm this is definitely not normal. A shaft must be open somewhere, but they are all supposed to be welded shut. And the one I opened for tonight is not visible, unless you know where to look for it.¡¯


    His brow creased as he scrutinized the gallery as far as his lamp could reach.


    ¡®Maybe it¡¯s the gate of Saint Andrew¡¯s night¡¯, David tried for a joke. A lightning of ice travelled down my spine when I heard him. The claw, the coffin, and the flag. A warning.


    No. No. Don¡¯t be stupid. It¡¯s a story, a superstitious folks¡¯ tale. It¡¯s the twenty-first century, for hell¡¯s sake. Get a grip.


    David shrugged. ¡®Let¡¯s get moving, maybe we¡¯ll see what it is on the way.¡¯


    Axel only nodded, still frowning. The confident attitude of a landlord had vanished; instead, he walked almost obliquely, his shoulders tense, glancing warily around him like an animal on the prowl. The concern he was trying to hide made us all uneasy: we tiptoed behind him, walking close together to have a meagre shelter from the wind.


    ¡®What¡¯s this?¡¯, Lilianne yelped ahead.


    ¡®Bones, little sister¡¯, Axel replied reassuringly, and stopped. ¡®Two-centuries-old bones.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s horrible.¡¯ Her voice trembled with disgust.


    ¡®Is this where I was supposed to be creeped out?¡¯, Michelle asked, amused. ¡®Because I¡¯m not.¡¯


    Axel pointed at a low cavity in the stone, opening on our right. ¡®Have a look at the bottom, up in the shaft.¡¯


    I sheltered myself from the gale while Michelle crawled on all floors on the uneven, jagged floor. I took a closer look at the cavity, and stepped back involuntarily. The ground was covered in bones, most of them broken, their serrated edges threatening. A thick, almost compact layer of coppery dirt filled every interstice; I assumed, with a queasy shiver, that its origins lay in the older skeletons, ground down to dust by time.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡®What¡¯s in the shaft?¡¯, I whispered to David, still staring at the decaying remains that filled half of the cavity.


    ¡®More bones. It was one of those used to discharge the bodies. There was a chain that ran along the well, that they shook when the bones got stuck. But it didn¡¯t work in this one: it¡¯s still half filled with them. That¡¯s why it¡¯s called the Well of Bones.¡¯


    ¡®Um¡­¡¯, Michelle called from underneath the shaft.


    I crouched and shone my light on the slope of broken femurs, her shape barely visible. She was lying on her side, craning her neck to see upwards.


    ¡®Say what again?¡¯


    Axel bent down to see under the low ceiling, and she beckoned him over. ¡®I don¡¯t think this is what I was supposed to see¡­¡¯


    ¡®What do you mean?¡¯


    ¡®Just come and take a look by yourself¡¯, Michelle said impatiently.


    He grunted at the prospect of crawling again, but he did, and sprawled by her side.


    ¡®Well? What¡¯s wrong?¡¯, Lilianne inquired. She kneeled hesitantly, and peered from behind the corner. ¡®Are you okay?¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, it¡¯s not us. It¡¯s¡­ this.¡¯


    ¡®And ¡°this¡± is¡­?¡¯, I asked, growing irritated with their vague answers, which my imagination turned into reasons to worry. I swatted away the nagging thoughts of the darkness behind me, the old bones, the omens. It¡¯s Saint Andrew¡¯s night, they insisted. When the gates open, and evil roams.


    No. Enough.


    I should¡¯ve listened. I wish I had.


    Instead, I crawled towards them on all fours, trying to touch the floor as little as possible. My sore hands and knees protested each time they touched the hard, sharp bones. The repetitive pain kept my mind off the more unpleasant thoughts, however; for example, the fact that we were in the middle of a mass grave, under a cemetery, at night. I finally reached Axel and Michelle, who were still staring up, transfixed, and twisted uncomfortably to see in the well. The empty well, except for the deep shadows that lurked far away, towards the surface. The wind engulfed in it, rushing down with the force of a blizzard.


    ¡®It is¡­ open¡¯, Axel whispered incredulously.


    And then the rumble came again.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    I have to stop writing as adrenaline surges through me again at the memory, leaving me shaky. Axel is still asleep, and warm sunlight is playing in his blond hair. I¡¯ve typed the night away, and haven¡¯t seen the morning arrive.


    I look at the lump of muddy clothes that have been laying in front of the door since we came back. I can''t bring myself to go near them yet, and see...


    No.


    I turn my back on the door and start writing again. I dive back into the darkness, back with them, to swim in the flickering lights, the overwhelming noise...


    ¨x¨x¨x


    We were thrown from wall to wall, bumping painfully into each other. The mass of bones shifted like an angry sea underneath us, poking and stabbing with each wave. Dust rained from the pale ceiling, so thick we couldn¡¯t breathe, and the wind carried it away and spread it in the tunnel, its deafening rush muffling the screams.


    ¡®Out! Get to the tunnel!¡¯, Axel yelled repeatedly, trying to make himself heard through the noise.


    Turning back was far from easy; the cloud of dust blocked the view, and nothing appeared to be where it should. The earth jostled us among the bones. Had I hit a wall? The ceiling? There was no way to tell. A rock or an elbow crushed into my stomach, and I gagged on the overwhelming nausea that took over me.


    ¡®This way!¡¯


    I followed Axel¡¯s voice through the blinding storm, paying no more heed to the blows I took with each shake. I felt a sleeve rip at some point; bones stabbed me mercilessly at every movement. It didn¡¯t matter; my only thought was to get out.


    When my head stopped bumping and scrapping against the ceiling, I knew we had reached the tunnel. Standing on the moving ground was near impossible; I remained on my knees, and all I could do was to fumble through the heavy fog, hoping to find a wall, or a friend. I touched something warm and soft, and a small hand clasped mine. I crawled to find Lilianne, curled up on herself against the stone.


    ¡®Where¡¯s David?¡¯, I shouted through the uproar of the earthquake, huddling close to her.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know!¡¯, she yelled back, her voice high-pitched with fear. ¡®Where¡¯s Michelle? Where¡¯s my brother?¡¯


    ¡®Somewhere behind me, I think.¡¯


    A new tremor threw us one against another. My head hit the wall, and white light seared my eyes with the shock. A grunt of pain came from her.


    ¡®Are¡­ are you okay?¡¯


    ¡®I think I am¡¯, I managed to whisper, rubbing my head. ¡®You?¡¯


    ¡®My knee hurts¡¯, her voice quivered, on the edge of tears. ¡®What¡¯s happening?¡¯


    ¡®An earthquake, most likely.¡¯


    Where were the others? I scanned the surroundings, trying to see through the thick, flowing dust, but we were alone in the storm.


    My heart started thumping, panic rising. Not now, I told myself firmly, trying to regain control. I remembered Michelle¡¯s technique, and started breathing deeply, closing my eyes, focusing on the feel of Lilianne¡¯s hand clasped tight around mine. She seemed to be even more afraid than I was, and it reminded me what it was like to be an older sibling. The protectiveness I felt towards her, then, made me understand Axel. He wasn¡¯t there; it was my role to step up, and do something. Cold determination replaced the panic, and reason took the reins.


    ¡®I¡¯ll go back and look for them¡¯, I said, hugging her before leaving.


    ¡®No, don¡¯t go!¡¯, she pleaded, wrapping her arms around me. ¡®Don¡¯t leave me alone! Please!¡¯


    ¡®Just stay right here¡¯, I said gently. ¡®I¡¯ll follow the wall so I can find you when I come back with them.¡¯


    If I find them.


    She shook her head violently, her wide eyes red with tears.


    ¡®Lili¡¯, I insisted, using the same diminutive as Axel with the hope that it would make her view me in the same protective role. As far as I was concerned, she had become a little sister the moment I felt she needed me more than I needed her. With a pang of sadness, I thought of my non-existent relationship with my own siblings, for which I had longed my whole life. ¡®Lili, we need to be together, all of us, to get out of here. This place isn¡¯t that big ¨C only the gallery and the cavity with the well. I won¡¯t be long.¡¯


    ¡®Then they can find us, can¡¯t they?¡¯


    ¡®What if one of them is hurt?¡¯, I said, as kindly as I could, so she wouldn¡¯t panic even more. ¡®Look, things seem to calm down a little, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll be back in no time. And everything will be better when we have Axel with us.¡¯


    Lilianne nodded quietly, hugging her knees.


    I crawled back under the low hanging stone ceiling, searching through the dust that thinned by the now decreasing wind.


    ¡®Axel? Michelle?¡¯, I called out.


    ¡®Over here!¡¯, came his voice, echoing strangely. I followed it, and found myself under the shaft. Axel was sitting with his back on the wall, holding a pale Michelle against him.


    ¡®She hit her head against the stone¡¯, he said worriedly. ¡®I could barely keep her from fainting until now.¡¯


    Her head rolled on his shoulder with a weak moan. Axel patted her cheek.¡®Michelle, stay with me. Don¡¯t close your eyes.¡¯ Then, to me: ¡®We have to get out of here immediately, and take her to a hospital. Where is David?¡¯


    I shrugged, my throat tight. ¡®I only found Lilianne, and she doesn¡¯t know either.¡¯


    Axel clenched his teeth, biting back a curse.¡®Help me get her out, first of all, and then we shall see.¡¯


    I nodded, and kneeled by her side, passing her arm around my neck, while Axel did the same.


    ¡®This will be fun¡¯, I muttered, trying to move on my knees and one hand, supporting her with the other. She did her best to crawl along and not be a dead weight. We made slow progress; at least, with the respite the earth offered, we were able to see clearer. Lilianne must have been keeping watch, because she noticed us first, and rushed towards us. However, the instant her right knee touched the floor of broken bones, she cried out and jerked her leg back.


    ¡®Lili?! What happened?!¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t know, it just hurts a lot¡¯, she whimpered, sitting and holding her knee.


    We dragged Michelle to the wall, took off her backpack, and propped her up. The chilly draught invigorated her a little, and she managed to open her eyes. Axel looked around for his backpack; it had been thrown in the dead-end of the gallery. He rummaged through it, and produced a bottle of water.


    ¡®Make her drink¡¯, he instructed his sister, throwing her the bottle. She supported her friend¡¯s head with her left hand, and poured the water gently.


    ¡®Keep an eye on them, Ru¡¯, he whispered to me, ¡®I am going to look for David. And try to remain calm. I am counting on you.¡¯


    ¡®Don''t worry, I¡¯ve got a grip on my nerves for now.¡¯ I hugged him briefly, and added: ¡®Good luck.¡¯


    He nodded, and disappeared down the tunnel.


    I turned to the girls. Michelle seemed to come back to her senses, but her cheeks were still ashen.


    ¡®How are you feeling?¡¯


    ¡®A little dizzy¡¯, she muttered, patting her head, and grimaced in pain. ¡®I¡¯m lucky to have my bonnet, and this thick hair¡¯, she joked weakly, ¡®or else I¡¯d be in worse shape.¡¯


    Looking down, she noticed Lilianne¡¯s bloodied jeans, and tried to sit up. ¡®Hey, let me have a look at that.¡¯


    ¡®No way¡¯, I intervened, ¡®you¡¯re doing no better than her. I¡¯ll handle it.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m a soon-to-be doctor¡¯, she tried to protest, but winced and had to lean back against the wall. ¡®Alright, you win. There¡¯s a first aid kit in my bag. Clean the wound with the serum first. You can move your leg, right?¡¯, she asked Lilianne.


    ¡®It hurts like hell, but yes.¡¯


    ¡®Good. It means your knee isn¡¯t broken.¡¯


    I washed the cut, now thankful that her jeans had been torn beforehand. I had to admit it was practical. The right side of her knee was swollen, but the wound remained superficial.


    ¡®Let me palpate that, see if everything¡¯s in place¡¯, Michelle insisted.


    Lilianne moved a little closer, putting her leg in her friend¡¯s lap, and bit her lip at her touch.


    ¡®I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s sprained¡¯, came the diagnosis. ¡®It looks like a mild one, though¡¯, she added reassuringly. ¡®Give me the kit.¡¯


    She took off her dirty rubber gloves and carefully put on a pair of surgical ones, before tearing the wrapper off a piece of gauze and placing it gently on the wound.


    ¡®Bandage, please¡¯, she asked, without looking up. I found a roll and handed it to her. Michelle wrapped it several times around the knee in a complex, criss-crossed pattern.


    ¡®Is it too tight? Can you bend your leg?¡¯


    ¡®No, it¡¯s good¡¯, Lilianne answered, then tried to move. ¡®I can, but it feels like I¡¯m stabbed when I do.¡¯


    Michelle nodded sympathetically. ¡®I have nothing more than aspirin, but it can ease the pain for a while.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, please.¡¯


    I packed everything away, then sat, waiting. Silence was sneaking slowly on us, once again at home, and settled down all around. White spirals of dust swirled tentatively at lamp¡¯s length, and a dry, irritating smell, something between smoke and burnt sugar, caught my throat. I inhaled it unwillingly, and coughed.


    ¡®This isn¡¯t dust¡¯, I managed to croak after a while. Progressively, the air thickened, and soon enough we were all doubled up coughing.


    ¡®I wish we could get out of here and never come back¡¯, I heard Lilianne¡¯s hoarse voice near me, muffled by the dense smoke. I couldn¡¯t even see her; I shuffled closer, following the wall, until the silhouettes of the two girls appeared like Chinese shadows through the screen of fog.


    A whistle came from the distance, as startling as a bird¡¯s alarm call. Lilianne¡¯s head jerked up, and a grin spread on her face. Placing two fingers between her lips, she responded with another whistle, a long, repeated tremolo, then bent her head to listen. The answer came, yet another different trill, bouncing off the walls; and she leaned back once more with a sigh of relief.


    ¡®Axel is coming, and he¡¯s found David.¡¯


    The pressure in my chest vanished. We¡¯d soon be outside, in open space, the space I knew and which held no vague and cryptic threats. Outside, where the air was clear and the night held at bay. Hearing the familiar voices approach, albeit slowly, put a grin on my face ¨C until I was able to perceive the angry tones they held, like menacing growls barely contained.


    ¡®I am going to end the bastard, wherever he is.¡¯


    Axel.


    A muffled response came from David, talking rapidly, almost pleading.


    ¡®We¡¯re here!¡¯, Lilianne called out, and the voices cut off abruptly. Axel materialised through the smoke, and sat down heavily next to his sister, his face clouded like a winter storm, his jaw set.


    ¡®What happened? What''s wrong?¡¯


    ¡®Some idiot lit a smoke bomb down the tunnel¡¯, David sighed, plopping down by my side and leaning against the wall tiredly. ¡®I saw his shape and followed him, but he disappeared at the Carrefour des Morts.¡¯


    The ominous name made me shiver again. Was there no end to it?


    I was eager to get out, find the shelter of my flat, and sleep myself into forgetfulness. Eager to wake up to a new day, and never hear about divination, danger, and dead bones again. I craved my boring, normal life, which right now seemed to belong to a distant past and an even more distant future.


    ¡®...in a damned earthquake¡¯, Axel swore, startling me back to reality. I stared at him in surprise; I¡¯d never heard him curse, not even after some of the worst protests, when he¡¯d come back bruised and smelling of teargas. With his head bent over Lilianne¡¯s swollen knee, he examined the bandage while Michelle filled him in on what had happened since he¡¯d left. Axel¡¯s expression darkened even more.


    ¡®As if an earthquake wasn¡¯t enough, now you¡¯ll have to walk with a sprain through a damned fumigen! What pick-headed, thoughtless twat would do something like this?¡¯, he exploded. ¡®Putting people in danger?! I can¡¯t¡­ Aargh!¡¯


    For a moment, I was afraid he was going to punch the wall in rage. Lilianne put a hand on his cheek and forced him to look into her eyes, then rested her forehead on his. Axel clenched his jaw, resisting. Caressing his face soothingly, she started whispering something in a foreign language ¨C their mother tongue, I assumed. Word after word, slowly, Axel¡¯s shoulders dropped, his fists opened, as if Lilianne unwound the tense muscles one by one.


    ¡®Take us out, brother¡¯, she murmured, and he nodded tiredly.


    ¡®It will be a ten minutes walk from here ¨C that is, if you two feel able to climb the shaft. Otherwise¡­¡¯


    David looked at him inquisitively, frowning in thought. ¡®The only exit I see that''s not through a shaft is¡­¡¯


    ¡®Yes, I know¡¯, Axel cut him off. ¡®But we do not have that many options.¡¯


    Michelle and Lilianne exchanged glances. ¡®I¡¯m sure that if I go slowly, I can keep the weight off my knee. Don¡¯t worry about me¡¯, his sister said placatingly.


    ¡®Me too. And I trust you to make sure I get up there safely¡¯, Michelle added with an encouraging smile. ¡®But I¡¯ll go straight to the hospital when we¡¯re out.¡¯


    We stumbled through the smoke, probing the hidden ground with the foot before every step we took. Axel supported his sister, while David and I kept an eye on Michelle. Our progress was slow; we were lucky the gallery led straight to the Carrefour, and I placed all my hopes on Axel¡¯s knowledge to find his way after that. Our lamps could barely outline the vague shapes of the siblings. Our footsteps barely made any noise. The atmosphere was surreal, like dream-walking through clouds. Even time seemed to have left us, as we dragged on and on between the white walls.


    The smoke cleared abruptly. I stared at an incurved wall, stained with pale clay and dark spots of moisture. The tunnel circled around it, scattered with slabs of stone, troubled puddles, and the abandoned remains of beer bottles and sandwich wrappers. A weathered skeleton graffiti guarded the nearest wall.


    ¡®This is it. The Carrefour des Morts¡¯, Axel said wearily. Lilianne let go of his arm and leaned against the stone to give her right leg some rest. ¡®I have a mind to go ahead and check before the rest of you come, in case some other surprise is waiting for us.¡¯


    ¡®Or someone, isn¡¯t it? Don¡¯t frown at me, I know that expression of yours¡¯, David said. ¡®I don¡¯t think you should go alone.¡¯


    ¡®Look at the water¡¯, Axel snapped. ¡®He has come through here, and you know it. So what do you suggest? To come with me and leave the girls alone here, maybe? Would that be a better idea?¡¯


    ¡®I really think I should get to a hospital soon. So we could save some time if we all come, and stay a few meters behind you, just in case¡¯, Michelle offered in a tired whisper, rubbing her temples with her eyes closed. ¡®David can stay with us.¡¯


    ¡®Alright, fine¡¯, Axel gave in, but there was tension in his voice. He moved forward, staying close to the outer wall of the gallery, his body angled to keep his back protected and his sight clear. We walked carefully in his steps, instinctively making as little noise as possible. I tried to keep an eye both on the treacherous ground and the tunnel itself, and realised I was more tense than a coiled spring.


    Axel stopped, raising a finger to his lips, and beckoned David over.


    ¡®There should be a gallery here¡¯, he whispered. ¡®Do you have the plan at hand?¡¯


    David fished it out of a pocket, and their heads bent over it. I tiptoed behind them, and inspected the wall ¨C old limestone, slimy from the moisture, spattered with worn-out graffiti half-covered with mud. It went on uninterrupted, curving away into the darkness as far as I could see. Maybe the gallery Axel was looking for was simply farther away? But then, wasn''t he supposed to know this labyrinth better than most? Maybe something was wrong. An insistent chill tickled the nape of my neck. I rubbed my knotted stomach uncomfortably, trying to keep the disquieting thoughts at bay.


    Turning away from Axel, David took my arm and led me back to the others.


    ¡®It¡¯s best if we go back a few steps and wait for Axel to check this place out. Something''s off¡¯, he explained, and herded us firmly back to the gallery we had come from.


    ¡®I¡¯ll stay with you¡¯, he added, before anyone could protest. ¡®You two should rest a little, and I¡¯m the only one besides Axel to know the way out of here. So we stick together and let him do his thing.¡¯


    ¡®But, David¡­¡¯, I began.


    ¡®You¡¯re safe here with me¡¯, he interrupted.


    ¡®Yes, but is Axel safe on his own?¡¯


    He hesitated for a heartbeat before saying no.


    ¡®I¡¯m going back to him, then.¡¯


    ¡®Rusanda! You¡¯re no¡­¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m no heavy weight, I know, and maybe I¡¯m not a fighter either. But I have two Docs full of mud and I¡¯ll be damned if I let another friend get hurt.¡¯


    He grabbed my arm.


    ¡®David, let me g¡­¡¯


    ...and covered my mouth with his. Lightning struck me and ran through my spine, leaving me unsteady.


    Everything vanished. No more time, no more space, only electricity. My hands found his face and explored blindly, as if to learn it by heart. There was no one else, nothing else. Just him, his warmth, the shelter of his body, eyes locked with his, diving into their crepuscular depths. He was the first to pull away, and I whimpered in protest.


    He knew that it wouldn¡¯t make me stay, however. ¡®Come back to me¡¯, he whispered.


    ¡®Nothing will stop me¡¯, I declared firmly, filled with renewed force. David nodded and, for once, his smile carried a clear message.


    I caught up with Axel and called him softly, hoping the sound of my voice would not attract the attention of anyone else. He stopped and waited for me to catch up.


    ¡®There is something amiss¡¯, he whispered, without taking his eyes off the gallery. ¡®The Carrefour is a roundabout, with six tunnels leaving from here and two that have been walled up. Now, look around and tell me what you see.¡¯


    We walked together slowly, circling the massive centre, scrutinizing the outer wall. The stone went on, evenly worn out and tainted with clay, without a single opening. Not even a crevice, or the slightest crack, blemished its fa?ade.


    ¡®Uh¡­ Nothing?¡¯


    Axel nodded, his shoulders tense. ¡®As much as I''d like to understand what is happening here, I think we should go back to the others and get out. We will make the detour through the cathole, and leave through the same access we came in¡¯, he said, glancing around warily.


    Just when I was about to nod, I noticed something, and gasped.


    ¡®Axel, this graffiti... it was to the right of the gallery where we left them.¡¯ I looked in all directions wildly, searching for the tunnel, dread rising in my chest; but there was nothing but the same wall, going round and round.


    Axel cursed. Without a word, we set off quickly. I paid no mind to the boulders we tripped on or the water that slipped into my shoes. I didn''t care about the gravel in my socks, or the mud that rolled around my feet like tugging tentacles. Nothing could slow me down. We circled the Carrefour again and came face to face with the painted skeleton.


    ¡®Shit.¡¯


    We broke into a run, round and round again, stumbling and slipping, steadying ourselves on the slimy walls at the last moment without stopping. A dark figure rose in front of us abruptly. I braked, and my foot hit a boulder, sending me sprawling into the mud with a sharp cry of surprise.


    I scrambled on my back and hoisted myself up on my elbows.


    A fresh gap ruptured the inner wall, spilling broken stone and decaying bones on the floor.


    The silhouette was standing in front of the breach, facing David, Lilianne, and Michelle. It was tall enough to hunch under the ceiling; its shadow filled the corridor and spread, slithering, across the walls.


    A tidal wave of primal fear rushed through my veins, and my limbs went numb.


    Axel advanced unsteadily through the mud and stood in front of me. He clenched his fists. ¡®Hey!¡¯


    The figure barely turned, and waved a dismissive hand. The gale gathered around it, swirling madly, and cannoned into Axel. He slammed against the wall, and slid motionlessly to the ground.


    A scream rose in my throat, but was quickly stifled as ice crept suddenly from the stone and into my flesh. Frozen tentacles probed around my neck, and tightened. I gagged, strangled, unable to move, yell, or breathe. All I could do was roll my eyes wildly, struggling to see my friends.


    The shadows squirmed along the ceiling, reaching down like talons towards David, who tried to shelter the girls with his body. I battled against the unseen bindings, every thought vanished except survival. My chest spasmed for air.


    Through blurring eyes, I saw the darkness around the stranger rise like a cobra¡¯s cowl.


    David moved to block the hit, but wasn¡¯t fast enough. The figure hit him in the stomach, and he buckled, falling on his knees. The gloom surrounded him.


    I tried to yell, but the ties around my neck stiffened against my efforts. I fell back, head spinning and vision darkening. Blood thumped frantically in my ears like drums of war. Unable to blink or look away, I stared at the scene in horror. The girls were flattened against the wall, vainly trying to shelter themselves from the shadows that edged towards them from all sides, closing in on the globe of meagre light.


    All I could do was watch. My entire attention shifted away from the pain in my lungs and the numbness in my limbs. Each of my senses sharpened, amplifying everything: the trickling of sweat along my brow, the foul odor of decay borne by the infernal gale. The rasp of a sole against the stone.


    The figure coiled to strike.


    Its shadow writhed, impatient.


    Lilianne leaned on her good leg, steadying her stance, and stood her ground.


    They moved simultaneously.


    Dark arms moved in a blurr, aiming for her neck.


    The wind hissed.


    She crouched and sprang, barrelling headfirst into the stranger¡¯s chest.


    They hit the wall together; someone exhaled sharply at the impact. The attacker staggered, its hands around her neck, and pulled her to the ground as it tumbled down.


    Michelle cried out.


    They grappled together in the mud, the darkness boiling around them. I stared, transfixed, recording the scene automatically, as if all of me had become a single, unblinking eye.


    In the weakening light of our lamps, the struggle was reduced to threshing shadows and rare glimpses of blonde hair or a pale patch of skin.


    On the edge of my vision, Axel stirred, and tried to stand. I couldn¡¯t see David.


    I stared, petrified.


    There was a piercing scream of excruciating pain. Michelle threw herself into the wrestle. I heard more than saw her be crushed against the wall.


    The stranger stood.


    Its shadow spread, filling the space wall to wall, dimming the lights.


    Our lamps flickered wildly, and died.


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    Heartbeats, thumping wildly. Rocks, falling. A shrill, continuous ringing. The deep rumble of the crumbling earth, resonating in my chest. Sounds came to me as if muffled through layers of cotton.


    ¡®David! David!¡¯


    It was my own voice.


    I kept yelling.


    White light seared my eyes. The gale slapped me in the face.


    ¡®Ru? Ru, are you alright?¡¯


    I batted at the hand.


    ¡®David!¡¯


    ¡®Ru, it''s me, it''s Axel. Listen to me.¡¯


    I tried to get on my feet and slipped. Arms grabbed me firmly.


    ¡®We have to get out of here.¡¯


    My ears kept on ringing, ringing.


    ¡®David!¡¯


    Axel hauled me up and passed my arm over his shoulder. I moved as if in a dream. My throat was hoarse from screaming.


    ¡®David¡¯, I whispered, dragging my feet along the now empty gallery. Axel was silent while carrying me to the exit. He propped me against the cold stone of the shaft, and tapped my cheeks.


    ¡®Rusanda, look at me¡¯, he said urgently, taking my face in both hands and forcing me to lock eyes with him.


    ¡®We have to go up. You have to climb. There is no other way.¡¯


    I stared at him blankly, then away into the darkness. They were gone.


    ¡®Rusanda, climb, come on!¡¯


    I heard the words, but they didn¡¯t reach me. It wasn¡¯t important. They were gone; David was gone.


    With a grunt, Axel turned me to face the ladder. I let him do it. He buckled a strap around both of us, put my hands on the rusty steps and started climbing. Instinctively, I gripped each rung as he placed my hands onto it, put one leg in front of the other, securely held by his body.


    We made it out.


    But they are gone.


    Questions for the readers</a>

 Chapter 3 - Under and Over

    <h1 style="text-align: justify">Chapter 3 ¨C Under and Over</h1>


    I had fallen asleep next to Axel at some point, my laptop forgotten at my feet. When he gently woke me up, there was barely enough time left to throw on some clean clothes and rush to work for my afternoon shift. In my mind, I was still underground, living the same moments over and over again ¨C the earthquake, the foggy galleries, the shadows¡­ I soldiered on through the day absently, eyes stinging and head thumping, focusing on the repetitive tasks that didn¡¯t need me to think. Make coffee, answer the same questions, wash the dishes, over and over, until my mind was emptied of everything but the sharp pain of the loss.


    At the end of the day, Axel was waiting for me in front of the coffeeshop. The feeble light of the lamp post above him drew shadows under his eyes and outlined the white stains of lime mud on his clothes. My own backpack rested on the pavement next to him. I smiled tiredly in his direction, finished sweeping the floor, and went out to fall into his arms. I was shaking with exhaustion and too much caffeine as he held me tight.


    ¡®Are you sure about coming with me?¡¯, Axel inquired, with concern in his voice. I nodded tiredly.


    ¡®I can¡¯t stay at home twiddling my thumbs, I¡¯d go insane. I need to be doing something.¡¯


    ¡®Very well¡¯, he gave in. ¡®But at the first sign of unwellness, I will get you to the surface.¡¯


    I shrugged, too weary to argue, locked the door, and heaved on my backpack.


    We headed to the subway, cutting through the crowd spilling out from the various universities, libraries, and bookshops of the Quartier Latin. There were tourists, awed or loud, commenting on or taking pictures of everything they saw; flocks of students, impatient to grab a drink after class or discussing animatedly; waiters, trying to navigate through the tables and their oblivious customers like wary sailors through a reef; street musicians braving the sharp wind blowing from the Seine, their songs mixing with the gurgling of the Fontaine Saint-Michel and the scarce applause of the bystanders; and amongst them all, the hurried Parisians, ranting, elbowing, or squeezing their way through. The Christmas lights were already lit along and across the streets, and wafts of mulled wine or molten cheese wandered out whenever a brasserie door opened. The city was alive, and I felt surprisingly invigorated as we took the steps down to the subway.


    The line 10 offered a contrasting atmosphere to the one above. Barely a handful of people waited on the platforms, their absent, resigned expressions putting me in mind of convicts waiting by the scaffold for their turn to come. Sitting down at one end of the carriage, I surveyed the commuters that shared it with us.


    ¡®Why do you think everyone looks so empty inside?¡¯, I wondered.


    Axel shrugged. ¡®It¡¯s the end of the day.¡¯


    ¡®No, I mean, it¡¯s as if they become like this the moment they step underground. Like sheep pushing their way in or out of their shelter. No one looks at the others, no one cares if they shove or disturb or are in the way. And they get this look about them, as if their soul has been sucked away.¡¯


    He gave me a long look, considering my words. ¡®They¡¯re not like that all the time.¡¯


    ¡®They are most of the time¡¯, I insisted. ¡®Never looked around yourself at Chatelet during rush hours?¡¯


    ¡®As a matter of fact, not really. I¡¯m mostly in a hurry to be out of there as quickly as possible.¡¯ He pondered for a few moments. ¡®Chatelet does seem to have been conceived as a labyrinth.¡¯


    ¡®Filled with tourists forever erring, forever lost, in the corridors where the Beast roams¡¯, I joked half-heartedly as the subway halted to a stop.


    The streets were quieter and emptier than those of the Quartier Latin. The shops were closed; the only moving shadows were those against the windows of the upper floors, where people hid for the evening. No terraces on the narrow sideways, or noisy crowds. The public Christmas lights shone bleakly on the occasional Santa Claus hanging from a balcony.


    ¡®I¡¯ve organised a search party for tonight. We¡¯ll descend through different entries around the cemetery, which I divided into several sections, and look for them every step of the way¡¯, Axel filled me in as we walked. ¡®And if we don¡¯t find anything, we¡¯ll spread farther out.¡¯


    Gloom filled the air between us. He stopped and pulled me to his chest, resting his chin on the top of my head.


    ¡®We will find them, Ru. I promise.¡¯


    I nodded quietly and turned away, blinking quickly and taking a few deep breaths. ¡®What happened there, Axel?¡¯


    His answer took a moment too long to come. ¡®What do you mean?¡¯


    I looked at him with blurred eyes. ¡®Who took them? Why?¡¯


    Axel didn¡¯t look me in the face as he shrugged half-heartedly.¡®I¡¯m not sure of what I¡¯ve seen after having hit the wall. Especially with the smoke¡­¡¯ He lifted his chin with a new fire in his eyes. ¡®I will find them. And I will find him.¡¯ The stress he put on the last word left no doubt as to his intentions.


    ¡®Let¡¯s go then.¡¯


    He nodded sharply and put his backpack down. I hadn¡¯t noticed the square metal hatch by our feet until Axel grabbed one of the two handles and opened it. Through its gaping mouth, I could see a metal ladder defying us to dive into the darkness far below, and without thinking, I took a step back.


    ¡®You can do this, Ru.¡¯ His gaze was open and encouraging. It felt like something new was taking shape between us, a new bond. Maybe that¡¯s how soldiers or firemen felt before a mission, when looking at their comrades and knowing they could rely on them. Axel and I needed to shoulder each other through this mess that neither of us could comprehend entirely. If only I could get past my fear of mostly everything.


    ¡®I¡¯ve never been much of a daredevil, you know?¡¯, I confessed in a whisper, eyeing the seemingly never-ending ladder.


    ¡®I can¡¯t go first ¡ª I have to close the hatch.¡¯


    ¡®But you won¡¯t come down until I reach the bottom, right?¡¯


    ¡®Exactly.¡¯


    ¡®I, uh¡­¡¯ I stopped myself and swallowed hard. I¡¯d rather not be alone in the darkness, I almost said, and felt ashamed. This wasn¡¯t about me, and Axel didn¡¯t need me to be a liability, either. This was happening because our friends ¡ª my chest tightened at the thought of David ¡ª were missing. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t have happened had I not mocked the ancient lore my ancestors took so seriously. My guilt-ridden conscience reminded me that Axel had lost his own sister; and I didn¡¯t even know who was worrying about Michelle.


    The shadows that swallowed the ladder looked even gloomier, and our headlamps barely cut through them.


    ¡®I¡¯m not ready to wait alone in the darkness, I must say. But if you have some time to show me how to close the hatch, I will.¡¯


    Axel considered it for a while.


    ¡®Five minutes won¡¯t change much¡¯, I pleaded.


    ¡®Alright. Let me get our backpacks down first.¡¯ He shouldered both easily and slid down the steps, his light barely a blink at the bottom of the pit. I shuddered, and looked around for witnesses. Thankfully, everyone seemed to be enjoying the warmth of their homes, and no bystanders were there to ask uncomfortable questions. It surprised me to realise I was eager to be underneath, to close the trap between me and the surface and be safely away from here. I felt way too exposed waiting in plain sight next to the open manhole.


    Axel was back before I was done mulling over this new feeling, and quickly showed me how to unlock the mechanism that held the hatch open. It leaned heavily on my outstretched arm as he slid smoothly by my side on the narrow ladder and slipped down.


    ¡®I¡¯m good!¡¯ he called.


    I started moving down carefully, feeling around with my foot for the next steps. My shoulder protested as the weight of iron and concrete threatened to fall on my head, and muscles I didn¡¯t know I had burned with pain. Holding onto the ladder with the best grip I could get, I slowly angled my body and let the hatch come down and rest on my back. It lowered with each step I took down the rungs, until it set into its frame with a small clang. I stopped to catch my breath and ease the soreness in my shoulders, and found myself grinning. It was a new feeling, a mix of relief and jubilation ¡ª I would have never thought myself able to do such a thing, and entirely on my own. Above me, someone walked carelessly on the hatch in their hurry to be somewhere else, and entirely oblivious to my presence less than half a meter under their feet. I laughed, light-headed with relief, safely hidden in my secret den.


    ¡®Ru?¡¯Axel¡¯s voice had a tint of worry.


    ¡®I¡¯m good, I¡¯ll be right there!¡¯


    I made my way down the ladder carefully, keeping my gaze on the wall in front of me and focusing on not clinging on to each step. A few long minutes seemed to pass before I was by his side and hugging him tight; it had lasted much less than the eternity I had spent on the rungs the first time. He gently pushed me away and studied my face. I laughed again.


    ¡®I¡¯m okay, really, it¡¯s the adrenaline, I guess. It¡¯s just that closing the hatch by myself, stuck on top of the ladder and far from you, well, it makes me feel like an amazon. I¡¯d¡¯ve never thought I was able to do it. And now I feel like I can do anything.¡¯


    Axel grinned back at me. ¡®Isn¡¯t it a fantastic feeling?¡¯


    I nodded, eager to get going, my fatigue forgotten.


    We trod through a utility tunnel, its walls covered in heavyweight cables and spray painted obscenities, figures, and tags. White dust covered everything in a thick blanket, creating a landscape of urban, industrial winter, whose heavy silence was barely broken by our footsteps. When Axel stopped, I looked incredulously at the hole in the floor.


    ¡®This can¡¯t be it!¡¯


    ¡®Oh, but it is. Come on, throw your backpack down and off you go. The team is waiting for us.¡¯


    While examining the access, I tried to remember the elation that I¡¯d felt not that long ago and stick to it. It wasn¡¯t, after all, the chimney I thought it to be at first. It had rather been dug at a slight angle, allowing the passing cataphile to get a grip on walls with their hands and feet and thus slow down their slide if needed. A little more at ease, I slithered in and began my careful descent. The now familiar scent of the quarries, lime and clay and dampness, filled my nose. My heart beat a little faster as the tight earth around me held me securely in its breast until I reached the bottom of the cathole and dropped into the low gallery below. A small avalanche of gravel later, Axel joined me, patting the dust off his clothes.


    ¡®They¡¯re waiting for us right around the corner¡¯, he informed me, and indeed, once the miniature landslide stopped, I could hear faint conversation and music from afar. We walked the short distance bent in half in the low gallery, and ended up into a crossroads. In front of us opened a chamber dug into the stone itself. To the right, a half-wall supporting several candles separated it from a narrow stairway leading down into the darkness. Around the stone table sat a handful of cataphiles, all sharing Axel¡¯s scruffy appearance. Well-worn t-shirts, combat or baggy trousers, and fisherman boots, all covered in white dust and mud, seemed to be the underground uniform.


    ¡®Oi, Land!¡¯, one of them exclaimed, raising to slap him on the back in greeting.


    ¡®This is Rusanda, who¡¯s joining us for the search¡¯, Axel said, gesturing towards me. The three girls and two guys introduced themselves with nicknames like Red, Captain, Zombie, Al, and Meta, so I supposed Land was Axel¡¯s underground name. I waved shyly back at them.


    ¡®Where did you last see them?¡¯, asked one of the girls.


    ¡®At the Carrefour des Morts, last night. We were attempting to reach the access, but between the uproar, the dust, and the smoke bomb some clay-brained imbecile had lit, the situation got out of hand¡¯, Axel explained, his voice strained with the effort of lying.


    ¡®I was not far from there¡¯, joined Al, or maybe it was Meta, ¡®it was like the freaking Blair Witch Project, man. No wonder you got separated.¡¯


    ¡®Are you sure they didn''t get out, though?¡¯ someone else asked.


    Axel shook his head, looking to the ground. ¡®Only David could have found his way out, but my sister was limping and the other girl had a quite serious concussion.¡¯


    ¡®And there was that other guy¡¯, I added quietly.


    They all looked up at me.


    ¡®What guy?¡¯, asked Red.


    ¡®Probably the one with the smoke bomb¡¯, Axel cut me off before I could answer. ¡®He sent David to the ground, and attacked my sister.¡¯ His voice trailed. Saying that the intruder¡¯s shadow filled the gallery and smothered the lights couldn¡¯t sound like a reasonable story. An angry blush of shame flared on his face. He hadn¡¯t protected Lilianne.


    Feeling sorry for him, I stepped in to help. ¡®We tried to rush in, but I suppose there was another shake or something, because all of a sudden we were on the ground and couldn''t see a thing¡¯, I lied. ¡®And then they were gone.¡¯


    ¡®If everyone was passed out, that guy couldn''t have moved them all by himself¡¯. Captain ¡ª or was it Zombie? ¡ª had a worrying point. The glances the cataphiles exchanged weren''t reassuring.


    ¡®Let''s not waste time¡¯, Captain broke the silence. She stood up and settled her headlamp in place. Everyone heaved their packs or duffel bags onto their backs and got ready to leave. While they were talking teams and sharing the ground to cover, I started to put out the candles, mulling over what had been said. Were there dangerous bands in the catacombs? Of course, everyone had heard the urban legends about punks, virgin sacrifices and dark messes in here, but it sounded exactly like every other case of ignorant people being afraid of something and inventing stories. Just look at what they said about the early Christians.


    I was about to put out the last candle on the half-wall by the stairs when I saw a glint with the corner of my eye. Was there water? I leaned slightly over and peered down. The candle light shone back at me from the bottom. I turned my lamp on ¡ª there seemed to be water indeed. And something else moving under the surface¡­ I tried to get a better look. The reflection almost looked like a face¡­ a woman''s face, with waving hair under the water, fascinatingly beautiful, surprisingly alive.


    And it wasn''t mine.


    ¡®Ru! What the hell are you doing?!¡¯


    Axel¡¯s hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back violently.¡®Do you really intend to jump, right here under my eyes?¡¯


    He was shaking me and yelling. I felt dazed. ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡®You were half over the wall, a second away from falling in head first! What¡¯s happening to you?¡¯


    ¡®I¡­¡¯


    ¡­ couldn¡¯t think, actually. Couldn¡¯t find my words. I sat down carefully and held my head. Axel did likewise. I hadn¡¯t even heard the cataphiles leave.


    ¡®I thought I saw something moving in the water, that¡¯s all.¡¯


    ¡®Ru, there¡¯s nothing down there. It¡¯s barely a puddle, nothing can possibly live in it.¡¯


    I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder. ¡®I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, Axel. I can¡¯t be losing my mind, you were there the other night, too, you saw¡­¡¯


    ¡®Yes, I did¡¯, he cut me up sharply. Standing up, he swept the depths beyond the wall with his light. ¡®There¡¯s nothing in the water except for a plastic bucket, Ru.¡¯


    ¡®Hell.¡¯


    We sat in silence for a while.


    ¡®The others must¡¯ve got there by now¡¯, he whispered. ¡®Are you ready to go? Do you want to do this? Because if you have doubts or you feel uncomfortable being here, I can take you back to the surface.¡¯


    I thought of David, of his warmth, and the smile in his dark eyes. Of the way everything had disappeared when we¡¯d kissed. My chest ached.


    ¡®I¡¯m coming¡¯, I said, standing up.


    Without looking back at the water, we left through the yellow and grey corridors we had come through the first time. Was that only yesterday? It seemed like a much longer time ago. A rumble resonated from above, muffled by the thousands of tons of stone and earth that separated us. The rhythm of the trains accompanied our steady walk, growing weaker and further apart after we took one of the seven identical galleries radiating from a junction. The air grew chiller, and the breeze that slithered around our legs brought forth the memories of Saint Andrew¡¯s night. I shivered, cold creeping its way up my fingers and into my bones.


    Memories rushed to me like a speeding train: the monstrous chasm opening above the sea of moving bones like an up-ended mouth of hell, the disquieting whine of the moving air. Then came the ghosts of what I¡¯d felt at that moment, fleshing themselves out as I remembered Axel¡¯s wariness and the tension in his shoulders, the edge in David¡¯s voice, Lilianne¡¯s growing alarm¡­ Each feeling, each sensation I recalled added itself to the weave of fright that spread its tentacles in my blood, growing stronger, rooting itself deeper. I couldn¡¯t stop remembering, feeding it¡­ Cold twisted around my spine and criss-crossed down my arms, wrapping them in gloves of frost. I fumbled blindly around me for something solid and reassuring to hold on to, before the torrent of memories could drown me. My hands found the chill, rough stone; I almost collapsed against it, embracing its concrete presence with my whole body. Face pressed to the wall and taking deep breaths, I let the fear wash over and through me. The rock surrounded, sheltered, and anchored me; when everything was gone, only I remained.


    ¡®Ru?¡­ Are you alright?¡¯


    A sigh, eyes still closed, then a nod. Axel¡¯s arm wrapped around me. The overly vivid recollection had left me reeling, and I needed to keep my hands on the immobile limestone to stop the world from turning. Gradually, its mineral tranquillity filled me like sand, pouring grain after grain, covering and engulfing the anxiety, the fears, the tension. My fingers caressed the marks left, centuries ago, by the pickaxes of the quarrymen; in the distance, drops of water fell leisurely, marking the unrushed passing of a time that felt older here than above. My memories, as intense as they seemed moments ago, were nothing but a blink to these walls, who had seen, and maybe stored, the countless lives of the men who had buried themselves here for so long.


    With my mind¡¯s eye, I saw them chip away unhurriedly at the limestone, knowing it would take them a lifetime; exchange jokes and give their own names to the layers they encountered ¡ª the flowers, the sheep, the back pains, the chore, the fat arse, the silver bed ¡ª, but also missing a step, falling down a well, a hand crushed by a block of rock¡­


    My fingers found the rectangular shape of a plate and deciphered the word ¡°bell-hole¡±, followed by an arrow pointing down; and I saw the workers stare unblinking at the opening in the quarry¡¯s ceiling, while two of them mounted on ladders and, with trembling hands, started filling it with bricks and cement. A man signed himself.


    ¡®Don¡¯t stay there and gape, ye lot of superstitious geese!¡¯, snapped the foreman. They startled and grabbed their tools, scattering in the tunnel. ¡®And ye two, ye¡¯d better fill that up by the end of the day¡¯, he snarled at the others, ¡®and stop dragging yer feet about it, or so help me God!¡¯ The men on the ladders started lining up the bricks faster as he left grumbling. One of them, who applied the cement, was barely a teenager, his face pale under the pimples and the dust.


    ¡®Don¡¯t ye worry, Jean¡¯, muttered the older one, ¡®ye¡¯ll be done here and back to yer ol¡¯ mum in no time.¡¯ He spat behind the foreman¡¯s back and cursed. ¡®Havin¡¯ us do this from down ¡®ere, the bastard¡­¡¯ The youngster heaved another brick from the basket at his feet and passed it to his fellow.


    ¡®Be careful, son, don¡¯t rush it¡¯, the older man reprimanded Jean, carefully placing the brick in its place and holding out a hand for the spade.


    ¡®As ye say, Pierre¡¯.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Still trembling, Jean bent to the bucket at his feet. I yelped as he yelped and felt the jerk of the ladder losing its balance.


    ¡®Ru!¡¯


    Axel¡¯s hand pulled me roughly away from the wall. Fading in the distance, the young man flailed around and grabbed Pierre¡¯s ankle. Dust fell from the ceiling.


    ¡®Jean!¡¯


    A dull cry arrived at my ears, sharply cut off by the rumble of stones.


    ¡®Jean!¡¯


    Axel shook me. ¡®Ru, what¡¯s happening to you? Ru!¡¯


    I fell to his chest, sobbing. ¡®They¡­ they are¡­¡¯


    He held me tight, patiently, patting my back. ¡®We will find them, I promise.¡¯


    I nodded in his shirt. How could I tell him what was the true reason for my tears? And what was it, other than my overly vivid imagination? I felt foolish for crying over something I¡¯d dreamt up, and hastened to wipe my eyes.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s just that¡­ being here again¡­¡¯


    ¡®I know¡¯, he whispered. ¡®I know.¡¯


    Of course he did. Lilianne had disappeared too, and their bond was much stronger than whatever I shared with David. Once more, I felt ashamed ¡ª and guilty. I had to stop wasting time, and find them.


    ¡®Let¡¯s get going¡¯, I said, standing up decisively. Axel nodded sharply and took the lead again, his long strides covering more ground at once than I could, but I followed him, half running, splashing through the mud and the puddles without noticing ¡ª and suddenly, there it was, looming in front of us, its girth so massive that our lights could not enclose it.


    The Carrefour des Morts.


    We stopped.


    ¡®Now what?¡¯


    ¡®Now we retrace our steps, and hope.¡¯


    I went past him and into the Carrefour, walking slowly, taking it in.


    ¡®Axel...? Are these the galleries you were looking for last night?¡¯, I asked, remembering the mottled, old, and very much continuous wall that had been here then. Now, tunnels spread out from it like the streets from the Arc de Triomphe. With two steps, Axel was by my side and stared at what should have been a familiar view to him.


    ¡®I don¡¯t get it¡¯, he whispered.


    ¡®We¡¯ve both seen it¡¯, I insisted, sitting down on a damp boulder and rubbing my temples. It felt like a sandstorm was closing in on my mind.


    ¡®We circled and checked this carrefour three times ¡ª at first, looking for the galleries, the second time panicking, and the third time we saw the¡­¡¯


    I stopped abruptly and stared at him, suddenly remembering a detail from a long, long while ago.


    ¡®Axel, this will sound absurd, but it¡¯s the only thing that comes to my mind right now. So, please tell me it¡¯s stupid.¡¯


    He looked at me wearily. ¡®Go on.¡¯


    I hesitated for a moment, questioning my sanity, thinking of every inane thing I¡¯d seen ¡ª or thought I had. But I was desperate, and willing to grasp at any straw, however thin. At the end of the day, either I was losing my mind, or something beyond our comprehension was at work. Whatever it was, if it brought them back ¡ª David and Axel¡¯s sister and Michelle that I hadn¡¯t got to know ¡ª I felt ready to embrace it.


    ¡®In many folklore stories and ancient rituals¡¯, I started, certain he wouldn¡¯t believe it, ¡®three is a magic number. In the stories I heard and read as a kid, when the hero needed to go to ¡°the other realm¡±, the magical realm, to fight an ogre or a dragon, or fulfil a quest, he was supposed to do something three times.¡¯


    Axel stared at me, then shook his head. ¡®If we were in a fairy tale, we¡¯d definitely know what to do now. But we aren¡¯t.¡¯


    ¡®And I¡¯m not the third daughter. I¡¯m the oldest one. In a fairy tale, I¡¯m the one who¡¯s supposed to fail first.¡¯


    ¡®Ru, it is¡­¡¯


    ¡®Stupid, I know.¡¯


    ¡®It does not matter. I think we should repeat what we did, anyway, and see if we missed anything.¡¯


    With a sigh, I rose and started walking, counting. He was right. We weren¡¯t in a fairy tale. One time... He was also right that it did not matter, as long as we found them.


    ¡®See, all the galleries are right here.¡¯


    Two times¡­ Whatever, whoever took them, we¡¯d find them.


    Axel walked slowly behind me, scrutinising everything.


    Three times. At whatever cost.


    ¡®There. Nothing¡¯s changed, nothing¡¯s new. Everything is still here. I was silly.¡¯


    He didn''t reply. I turned around and saw the light of his lamp far away into another tunnel. I rushed after him.


    ¡®Axel! Let me know before you leave me behind, can you?¡¯


    The corridor ended abruptly and I stumbled into a large chamber full of flickering candle light. Massive upturned pillars were supporting a high, vaulted ceiling, gathered like stone guardians around a low, circular pool of limpid water which glowed like a broken mirror, throwing radiant shards back on the walls. It was mesmerizing, and stopped me in my tracks. I closed my eyes, but light kept playing behind my lids in circling patterns, and I found myself unwillingly moving forward at its call. My foot hitting the curbstone around the pool startled me; I looked down.


    The water moved and glinted softly, like the quiet dance of sunset on the sea. I kneeled, enthralled. It was soothing, and my worries, my fatigue, and my tension were washed away. The lapping of the waves sounded like a lullaby. I turned off my lamp, laid my head down and caressed the surface with my fingertips, feeling at peace for the first time in a while, smiling. The water swirled gently. The glints of candle light moved, and gave shape to the beautiful face I¡¯d seen in the shallow water beyond the half wall. I lifted my head slightly, watching it rise from the water with idle curiosity, as the lapping lullaby rocked me slowly to sleep. A pleasant numbness was spreading through my tired limbs, pushing away the feeling of the cold, hard stone. Golden green eyes looked into mine under half closed eyelids, and the opulent lips parted. Dimples appeared briefly, catching the light on the wet skin like water diamonds.


    ¡®Rusanda, my daughter¡­¡¯, the woman murmured. ¡®At last.¡¯


    I smiled, sleepily.


    ¡®You are so beautiful¡¯, I whispered back. I could have spent ages contemplating her liquid beauty, her amber eyes, the shape of her cheeks as she smiled, the pale hair falling down like a heavy summer rain on statuesque shoulders. The lines of her neck alone called for caresses. Sleep tugging delightfully at my eyelids, I wanted to give in and dive into this dream.


    A pale hand surfaced, reaching for my cheek.


    ¡®You have his eyes, my child¡­¡¯


    ¡®Who are you?¡¯, I managed a murmur.


    A flash of hunger marred her smile. The water went cold, and the reflection of the light on her skin suddenly looked like scales.


    ¡®Come to me¡¯, she purred, and suddenly her shapely mouth was too large, her eyes too bright. Her hand struck out and grabbed mine, pulling me to the icy pool. Suddenly awake, I struggled to free myself, flailing for support with my other hand.


    ¡®Come to me¡¯, the woman hissed, and I managed to plant my feet against the curbstone and push myself away from the pool. Nails left long, burning scratches on my hand as the creature let go of me, screeching in frustration. It was still beautiful in the way deadly snakes are, her eyes glinting like the surrounding water, silver scales covering the ivory skin. Her hair shone green as it cascaded like a tangle of water weeds, ready to knot around a swimmer¡¯s foot and drag them into the depths. The hand I¡¯d been dangling into the water burnt cold, and the feeling of blood freezing into my veins moved up my arm, probing with ice tentacles into my flesh.


    I back-pedalled as far away as I could, slipping on the slimy floor, and our eyes locked again. I froze, suddenly uncertain about what I was doing.


    ¡®Come to me, my child¡¯, the creature pleaded, struggling to regain its beautiful form, veiling in a cloud of fine mist.


    An urge to take the plunge seized me; desire burnt in my chest, demanding unrelentingly that I threw myself into those white arms, taking over my will and body. The swirling water looked so welcoming, calling to me with the voice of home. She smiled invitingly, showing off her predatory teeth, beckoning me with clawed fingers. My feet inched slowly closer to the pool as her smile grew larger and more hungry. At the back of my mind, my survival instincts struggled and fought against the glamour that paralysed my consciousness. Her golden eyes bore into me, her slender body undulating like a cobra raising to strike, its moves enthralling to watch. My hand reached out to take hers. She sprang and grabbed it, her features changing in a blur, pupils slitting, jaw stretching, hair rising around her head like a crown. I fell into the pool and her body wrapped around mine, painfully cold and painfully delighting, pulling me to the bottom.


    The shock of the glacial water snapped my brain out of her control. As I fought for breath and tried to free myself from her tightening embrace, it struck me. My thoughts lined up like lightning spreading out in a single blink. If this was a fairy tale ¡ª if this wasn¡¯t just my mind losing its grip on reality and seeking refuge in the comfort of my childhood stories ¡ª then it was familiar ground. This world I had burst into seemed to shape itself after me, my memories, the things buried deep inside me. It was rooted in who I was and what I knew. And I knew this creature was evil.


    I kicked and managed to free my right arm, straining to reach the surface. One breath was all I needed ¡ª my head cleared, and I made the sign of the Cross, calling forth the memories of the Sunday mornings, the heavy smell of incense and dried basil, the feeling of protection that surrounded me, as a child, in the church.


    She shrieked and flailed as if I¡¯d whipped her.


    ¡®Why!... Why, my child?!¡¯


    ¡®I am not your child¡¯, I yelled. ¡®I am a woman, not a¡­¡¯ Rusalka, whispered a memory.


    The creature laughed.


    ¡®Not a rusalka? Think of your name, young one¡¯, it taunted, and sank into the pool, which closed above it like a mirror. No sign of it was left in the limpid waters.


    I crawled out and sank to the floor, dumb. Make sense of this, and quick, Rusanda, I thought to myself, and a part of my brain echoed, Rusanda¡­ Rusalka.


    Was I hallucinating? It would make sense, given that this¡­ world, these things I kept seeing were connected to me, to the stories I had so loved as a child. How many times had I daydreamed, imagining myself in the Nether Realm? How many books had I devoured, living them more vividly than real life? But then, would I have enough lucidity left to question these hallucinations?


    ¡®Come with us¡¯, a voice whispered in my ear as a hand laid gently on my shoulder. I yelped and jumped to my feet, turning around quickly enough to slip, and almost hit my head on the edge of the pool. Hands stopped my fall and steadied me. I looked into the brown, steady eyes of the man still holding me, whose curly hair and round features made him look very young.


    ¡®We are here to help. We saw what you are¡¯, said another voice from behind me. Another young man stepped into view, almost a mirror image of his brother, both tall and slim under their long capes. Only their hair was different: one¡¯s was the colour of the forest in autumn, with curls that caught the light in a rainbow of reds; the other¡¯s was like a field of ripe wheat, waving under the wind. Even the scars above their eyes were the same.


    ¡®Who are you?¡¯, I asked, my voice trembling only a little.


    ¡®Remember the tale¡¯, they said, and placed one hand on each of my shoulders.


    The story rushed forth in a swirl of colours, shapes forming as my memories came. A young girl in the fields with her sisters, saying that if the king married her, she would bear him twin sons like the world had never seen. Sometimes they''d have gold hair, vesper stars on their foreheads, or the sun and moon on their shoulders. After giving birth, she would be tricked by the servant, who would tell the king that his wife gave him two dogs instead of the promised twins, and bury the babies in the garden. While the king imprisons his wife and marries the servant, his sons reappear as trees by his window; get cut down and made into beds by the servant; burnt when she hears them talk at night about what had really happened; reborn as golden lambs from two sparks; killed and served at the king''s table; and finally reappearing as children when their hearts fall into the river, and telling the truth to their father. A story of resilience, of trial and error until the lost way is found again.


    As the last thought crossed my mind, they smiled simultaneously.


    ¡®Do you trust us now?¡¯


    They had persisted until they had returned to their family, persisted through deaths and rebirths. I nodded.


    The twins stepped to each side of the entrance I had come through. Holding hands and locking eyes, they rose their arms to form an arch, and the tunnel beyond them glimmered. Their capes shone as if covered in stars. The light grew brighter and brighter, until I had to cover my eyes, and still it burnt through.


    ¡®Welcome to our realm, Rusanda¡¯, said another voice. A silhouette, caped and hooded, outlined against the dimming brilliance, stepped forward; only a benevolent smile and a few strands of copper hair escaped the shadow of his cowl. A small, battered axe was shoved in his belt, made of strings of white bark. Another piece of bark rope crossed his chest and supported a thin wooden plank against his thigh, almost like a sword sheath. Nothing was familiar to me, though. Fatigue crept up on me, and the cold insinuated into my limbs from my soaked clothes, urging me to sleep. I was tired of this unintelligible world, may it be real or imaginary, and only wished it to be over, so I could go to bed. I slumped against a pillar and asked, wearily:


    ¡®Who are you?¡¯


    ¡®You know what I am¡¯, said the stranger, still smiling. That was the proverbial last drop, and my strained nerves finally snapped.


    ¡®No, I don¡¯t!¡¯, I snarled at him. ¡®I feel like Alice in bloody Wonderland, I¡¯m exhausted, my friends disappeared in circumstances that make no sense, and everything that happened since has been bloody confusing! So no, I have no idea who the hell you are. Bloody Galahad the Pure and his white cape of innocence?¡¯


    The man seemed taken aback by my vehemence, quite far from the ¡°you¡¯re a wizard, Harry¡± kind of reaction he might have expected, but I didn¡¯t have any energy left to spare on diplomacy.


    ¡®If you¡¯re real, which doesn¡¯t make any more sense than everything else, I want to know where my friends are. If you aren¡¯t, then why am I not in my bed, where I can at least hallucinate comfortably?¡¯


    He kept staring at me. I blew my last fuse, and in a blink I was under his nose, shaking my fist. Behind him, the twins took a startled step backwards.


    ¡®Talk to me! Otherwise, you¡¯d better be imaginary, because my temper broke its already short leash, and I¡¯m only seconds away from kicking you in the hood!¡¯


    ¡®Rusanda¡­ your hands¡¯, whispered the golden haired youth. I lowered my gaze.


    My right hand, the one the rusalka had caught, was covered in a glove of liquid ice. It shimmered and moved as I turned it this side and that, aghast. I looked up at the hooded man, eyes wide. He seemed to regain his composure.


    ¡®It would seem we weren¡¯t wrong¡¯, he finally said, apparently just as astounded as I was.


    ¡®Wrong about what?¡¯ I tried to remain aggressive, but the surprise had taken the force out of it. I couldn¡¯t help but stare at the flowing ice that embraced my hand like a gauntlet.


    He let out a sigh and sat down cross-legged, leaning against the pillar.


    ¡®You might want to do the same, Rusanda.¡¯


    I was thankful for it ¡ª my knees were starting to give up. Exhaustion flew in, making up for the last few days. I cradled my right hand as the ice began to vanish.


    ¡®Have you ever heard of the Solomonars?¡¯


    I thought it over, recalling a vague memory of sorcerers and ¡­dragons? I must have read something somewhere. I shrugged.


    ¡®I can¡¯t say for sure¡¯, I admitted. At this point, I welcomed whatever piece of information was provided.


    ¡®They go back a very, very long time. Masters of the winds and rains, summoners of dragons, and storm bringers. Their first appearance was lost in the mists of time, and even they didn''t remember for sure who was the first one. Some say they were high priests of the Dacians, your ancestors, others that they were disciples of King Solomon, famous for his wisdom and, sometimes, his occult knowledge. Anyway, they have existed and roamed the lands until the early modern age.¡¯


    ¡®Are you one of them?¡¯


    He shook his head, sadly, fiddling with his old axe. ¡®I wouldn¡¯t be here, underground, if I were. We of today are but Stonemasters. Keepers of the lore, but alas, the ways and powers of the Solomonars are gone. No one can summon a storm dragon any more, or control rain and thunder.¡¯ Regret coloured his words, and I felt sorry for him. ¡®Once upon a time, they were powerful men, and good men. They were hand-picked, and travelled to ensure Good prevailed on their grounds. Sometimes they settled down, gave up their powers, and became simple Stonemasters.¡¯


    ¡®And what does that have to do with me? And with this?¡¯, I asked, raising my hand. He took it and nested it between his, warming it up.


    ¡®We believed... well, I now know that¡­¡¯


    The stranger hesitated, looking down, then took a deep breath and stared into my eyes from the depths of his cowl.


    ¡®Your great-grandfather was a Solomonar, Rusanda¡¯, he said softly. ¡®His land was that which lies from the Carpathian mountains to the river of Dniester.¡¯


    ¡®Moldavia¡¯, I realised. ¡®The old territory.¡¯


    ¡®Indeed¡¯, he nodded. ¡®He and some others were its protectors, and Keepers of the Winter Gate.¡¯


    ¡®Do you mean¡­¡¯, I hesitated, as pieces of puzzle clicked into place, ¡®Saint Andrew¡¯s Night?¡¯


    ¡®Yes. They made sure that the evil that came through didn¡¯t do harm, or at least not as much as it could. It was the time when they were most needed.¡¯


    Realization hit me like a freight train and left me panting for air. I stared at him in shock.


    ¡®I¡¯m truly sorry to bear the bad news, Rusanda. But yes, it is as you think.¡¯


    It rang terribly true. Pain tightened my chest as if my ribs were shattering over my heart. It was my fault. Somehow, I could have, should have protected my friends. And, even if I hadn''t known how to do that, it was entirely my fault they had been there on that night. I curled up on the floor, gasping for air, wanting to howl and to cry and to throw up at the same time, as my insides were ripped apart. The man laid a sympathetic hand on my shoulder while I rocked slowly back and forth, hugging myself, head dropped, hair hanging around my face, hiding it. Hiding my burning cheeks and eyes that stung. I¡¯d brought them here. I knew. I should have known. I remembered Lilianne springing up and throwing the attacker on the floor. Like I should have done. But I¡¯d been paralysed with fear, and now they were gone. They were gone because of me.


    ¡®We can help, Rusanda. We are but the Stonemasters, but you might still carry the power of your ancestor in your blood.¡¯ He nodded towards my hand. I looked away. ¡®There is a chance you can save your friends. Do not give up.¡¯


    I hid my face again, blinking away the tears, throat tight, chest tight, my stomach heavy and painful. Fought for air, crying and gasping, unable to imagine a way out, felt my body being ripped to shreds. Red fog clouded my thoughts, until all I could do was take a difficult gulp of air between the sobs that shook me. I pressed my back hard against the pillar, wishing to make one with it, disappear in the stone. Be nothing.


    ¡®Let us help¡­¡¯


    ¡®Get the hell away from me!¡¯, I shouted. ¡®Leave me alone!¡¯


    ¡®But, Rusa¡­¡¯


    ¡®Go away!¡¯, I yelled, jumping to my feet. ¡®Let me be crazy by myself! Get the hell out of my sight!¡¯


    He let out a sigh, then nodded slowly.


    ¡®Very well, then. When you need us, find us. Find the School, and prove us your will¡¯, he said, and stepped back into the tunnel. With a nod to me, the twins joined hands again, and the light shimmered and swirled around them, growing dimmer and dimmer, until it was gone.


    Darkness swallowed me. I froze. Not the slightest shadow, not the merest glint was left. Nothing but pure, primal, absolute darkness surrounded me, caressed my skin, crawled into my lungs. My eyes widened and fought desperately to perceive something, anything. Breath caught in my throat once more as dread seized me in its claws and immobilised me. Even my thoughts were petrified. A raw, animal scream rose from deep inside me, but it wasn¡¯t unable to get past my clenched throat.


    Calm down. Calm down.


    Breathe.


    I groped around me and found the stone behind me. Hard, cold, reassuring stone. Probing the floor at every step backwards, I reached the pillar and pressed myself against it. Closing my eyes was unexpectedly comforting ¡ª at least the darkness behind my lids was there of my own will. Breathe. Feel the rock under your fingers. You cannot see it, but it exists, and so do you. Breathe.


    Time seemed to have vanished along with the light. I counted my racing heartbeats, willing them to slow down with deep, long breaths. I thought of Philibert Aspairt, patron of the cataphiles: this was how he must have felt, lost in the darkness, three hundred years ago¡­ Panic flared up again, but I pressed myself harder against the pillar and wished to gain its immobility. Breathe. Slow down. I¡¯m not Aspairt, and I am not lost. Think.


    While the Stonemaster and I were talking, the tunnel had been behind him, and a little to the left. I had come through it, and it led back to the Carrefour des Morts, where Axel should still be. Although I couldn¡¯t tell how much time I had been gone, he wouldn¡¯t let me disappear too without doing anything to find me.


    Feeling emboldened, I raised my hands in front of me and moved forward, step by hesitant step, one with each breath. I will get there, and I will get out. I focused on that, feeling around and in front of me, blindly, until the fingers of my right hand brushed another pillar. That¡¯s where he had sat, cross-legged, in front of me. Get there, get out. Breathe in, breath out. And after long, long hours, there were walls on both my sides, and a light flickered in the distance.


    Relief washed over me, making me stagger.


    ¡®Axel!¡¯


    ¡®Ru?¡¯


    I rushed to him and fell into his arms. ¡®Holy Heavens, I¡¯m so relieved to see you again!¡¯


    ¡®What? What do you mean, again?¡¯


    I took a step back and stared at him, puzzled. ¡®Weren¡¯t you worried?¡¯


    ¡®Why should I be? I only took a glimpse in another tunnel ahead, and then you flew into my arms.¡¯


    I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came.


    ¡®Are you alright? Why is your headlamp turned off? And why are you soaked?¡¯


    ¡®My headlamp...?¡¯


    I raised a hand to my forehead and indeed, there it was. I clicked it back on, taking a few moments to work out something to say.


    ¡®Come on, let¡¯s sit down for a second. I¡¯m not sure what happened, and honestly I don¡¯t understand anything anymore, but let me show you where I was.¡¯


    ¡®Alright¡¯, he replied, raising an eyebrow doubtfully.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know how to tell you this¡¯, I started as I led him back to the chamber of mysteries ahead of us. ¡®But I¡¯ve been here for¡­¡¯


    Words caught in my throat as we stepped in and our lights swept the floor.


    Propped against the curbstone of the glittering pool, slumped and pale and motionless, lay Michelle, David, and Lilianne.


    Questions: https://forms.gle/CNnZs9dUKHWfVwLZ7</a>

 Chapter 4 - De Profundis ad Altum

    <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 ¨C 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 ¨C the well of bones that shouldn¡¯t have been open ¨C linking the nether world and the real world ¨C from under the cemetery, no less ¨Cthe warning of the danger lurking free ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C 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>

 Chapter 5 - And There Was Light

    A barista, smoking by the door in the early light, reluctantly told me they were about to open. She was eyeing my dirty clothes suspiciously.


    ¡®Night shift¡¯, I lied, and she nodded.


    ¡®You with the team up the street, huh?¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, and I really need something caffeinated and hot.¡¯


    ¡®Sure thing. Must be awful, working in these conditions¡¯, she said sympathetically.


    I didn¡¯t contradict her, and we went in. The warmth wrapped around me and I shivered, realizing only then how cold I¡¯d been. I took the cup of coffee gratefully, sat as far from the door as I could get, and rummaged through my backpack, thankful that the paramedics had brought it up with me. Luckily, Axel had been thoughtful enough to put some cash in one of the inner pockets. The first sip of cappuccino slid down my throat like a velvet blessing; my eyes closed in delight, I let the magic drink spread its invigorating warmth. There¡¯s nothing better in the world than well-made coffee, I thought, taking a second sip. Catching the barista¡¯s eye, I raised my cup to her.


    Feeling a little better, I fished around my pockets for my phone and began taking notes of everything that happened since I had left work the evening before. I¡¯ll flesh them out later, when I have time; for now, I must not forget any detail. Typing frantically, fuelled by a second cappuccino, I took no notice of the early customers ordering and settling around me until my phone buzzed.


    ¡®Out. Meet at the hospital? Front desk?¡¯


    ¡®Sure¡¯, I replied immediately, gulping down the rest of my coffee, and going to pay.


    ¡®See you around¡¯, smiled the barista, her hand lingering on my fingers a little too long as she took the money. I nodded, my mind elsewhere, and headed out in the cold morning once more.


    The fresh wind slapping my face snapped my brain into frantic action; questions and memories bustled and fought for my attention, but nothing became any clearer. I needed to talk to Axel, and put some order in my thoughts.


    He wasn¡¯t at the front desk, so I asked for directions and headed up to the second floor to see David. The hushed atmosphere and pale lights slowly calmed me down; and the frenzied thinking became mere concern ¨C and guilt, tearing my innards apart, like my very own Prometheus¡¯ eagle. I hugged myself absent-mindedly as I walked down the hall. In the early morning hours, the place seemed to be still asleep; nurses and doctors spoke in whispers, moving soundlessly from one room to another. It was warm, and after a while I had to take off my jacket and roll up my sleeves. The silence muted the buzz of the neons and the occasional beeping of some life-support machine, akin to a wordless song, hummed under one''s breath, slipping almost imperceptibly in my ears, and making me drowsy. It grew stronger as I moved on, though, gaining rhythm and clarity. Was it really someone singing? I glimpsed through each glass door that I passed at the still patients, deep in sleep or coma ¨C then a sight stopped me dead in my tracks.


    She looked like Michelle, her face half-turned away from me ¨C from the unruly mass of raven hair to the dimples that showed now and then as she sang wordlessly. And yet, it wasn¡¯t her; for Michelle was lying on the bed, her warm dark skin now ashen, locks of curly hair stuck to her sweaty brow under a white bandana. A bouquet of ferns swayed gently in the air stirred by the slow dance of the other Michelle.


    ¡®Rusanda?¡¯


    Startled by the sound of Axel¡¯s voice, she turned vividly. Lines of searing white light flared on her face. Taken aback and nearly blinded, I raised my arms in defence as the unexpected sight unleashed a rush of adrenaline.


    ¡®Ru!¡¯


    I turned towards Axel and he stepped back, his widened eyes fixed on me.


    ¡®What?¡¯


    His gaze followed my hands as I lowered them to look at him.


    ¡®What is this?¡¯, Axel whispered.


    I looked down, and forgot to blink.


    Under the Steri Strips, the gashes left by the rusalka¡¯s claws burned white. Glimmering ice spread from them like living roots under our eyes, criss-crossing and entwining around my right forearm, sliding down my hand, until cristaline gloves covered everything from the elbow to the tips of my fingers. The wounds pulsated vividly underneath, as if pumping life into the moving ice.


    I stood transfixed, gaping, at a loss for words, my thoughts colliding in a hazy, brownian motion.


    ¡®What is happening?¡¯


    Were those my words, or Axel¡¯s?


    The door slammed, startling me back to reality with a jolt. The other Michelle grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around.


    ¡®Who are you?¡¯, she asked brusquely, her light tattoos now dimming. ¡®What are you doing?¡¯


    ¡®I¡­¡¯ Wasn¡¯t capable of coherent speech. All I could think was that they¡¯ve seen it as well. It was real. I was not losing my mind.


    ¡®Who are you?¡¯, retorted Axel, pulling me protectively by his side and towering above the girl. She stood her ground, unimpressed.


    ¡®What are you doing outside my sister¡¯s room with that?¡¯ Her voice was low and threatening as she leaned in and pointed at my ice-clad hand.


    ¡®We¡¯re¡­ friends¡¯, I managed to utter.


    ¡®Like hell you are¡¯, she snapped back, ¡®coming here with your magic. What do you want to do to her?¡¯


    I shrank away from her flaring eyes, cradling my right hand to my chest. ¡®I¡­ I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening¡¯, I confessed, feeling tears starting to sting my eyes. ¡®I have no idea, I wish I did, believe me!¡¯


    Axel¡¯s arms enclosed me in their cocoon, and I hid my face in his chest. Too many feelings had built up over the past few days; too many questions had been assaulting me. Exhaustion gnawed at the walls I¡¯d built in order to continue. They were cracking. It¡¯s your fault, my inner voice whispered. You should have known. It¡¯s your fault.


    Three bodies, slumped against the curbstone.


    Your fault.


    Axel¡¯s sunken eyes and absent gaze.


    You should¡¯ve known.


    Lilianne pinned against the wall, motionless.


    You should have done something.


    I pressed against his chest, trying to silence the cruel voice. My voice.


    ¡®Rusanda, my daughter¡­¡¯


    ¡®You know what I am.¡¯


    Did I? Did I really know anything, anything at all, that could help me, help them? Once more, I tried to understand, to find the tiniest of straws I could grasp at, and retain my sanity. My head seemed to burst under the strain.


    The walls crumbled.


    The first wave of pain hit me in the chest, and I collapsed against Axel. Agony tore my innards apart, spasm after spasm. I gulped for air. Each breath was a struggle; each surge of misery ripped through my ribs. An urge to howl rose in my throat. I bit my scarf to keep it down, clutching Axel¡¯s jacket. Tightening his grip around me, he leant his cheek against my head. I hiccuped and snivelled and screamed silently. The tempest inside jolted me like a broken doll lost at sea. I coughed and cried, gasped and shuddered, until my overtaxed body gave in. Exhaustion swept through me like the last winds of the storm.


    Prostrate against Axel, I waited for the last shivers to pass.


    ¡®Find us.¡¯


    I breathed in, deeply.


    ¡®We can help. Do not give up.¡¯


    Patiently, Axel stroked my hair until I stopped trembling. Beyond the weariness, I felt a new strength building up.


    ¡®Find the School, and prove us your will.¡¯


    With a last deep breath, I steadied myself and fished for a napkin in my pockets.


    ¡®It¡¯s okay, I¡¯m here¡¯, Axel whispered in my ear. ¡®Let¡¯s go somewhere quiet and talk this through, shall we?¡¯ Under the worried tone, his voice was tense.


    I offered him what I hoped was a reassuring smile, but my eyes were puffed and stingy. Knowing that emotions weren¡¯t something he dealt with very well, I appreciated his offer even more. I would take most of it on myself, I decided, unwilling to add more weight on him. I had to be stronger.


    Forcing myself to turn around and face the other Michelle, I met her withering gaze and, painstakingly, still on the edge of bursting in tears again, held it.


    ¡®I¡¯m Rusanda, and this is Axel. We were there when they¡­ she¡­¡¯ My chin trembled.


    She kept her arms crossed, the light lines on her face dimmed but still threatening. ¡®I don¡¯t trust you. I can feel your pain is real, but still, I saw you prepare your magic in front of my sister¡¯s door. What is it that you wanted to do to her?¡¯, she glowered.


    ¡®Nothing, I didn¡¯t want to do anything!¡¯, I insisted, fighting down a renewed wave of frustration and fear. ¡®I can¡¯t control it, I don¡¯t even know where it¡¯s coming from! Believe me¡¯, I pleaded, ¡®I wish I did!¡¯


    Axel pulled me to his chest and took a step forward, leaning in to stare in the girl¡¯s eyes. His voice was like the growl of the earth tearing apart. ¡®Back off. Ru had no ill intent, and it is not her fault. I was there, and I witnessed it.¡¯ This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    She threw her head back defiantly, still covering the door. ¡®Fine. But I still don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing here.¡¯ Her tattoos blazed briefly, and I shielded my eyes, nearly blinded.


    ¡®We just wanted to check on our friends¡¯, I answered, still looking away. ¡®You surprised me, that¡¯s all. I swear I don¡¯t know how this¡­¡¯ I hesitated, then waved an arm vaguely, ¡®... ice thing works. I meant Michelle no harm.¡¯


    The girl stared at me for a long moment, as if pondering if she could believe me. ¡®We need to talk¡¯, she finally nodded. ¡®There¡¯s much I need to know before I decide how I feel about you. Both of you¡¯, she scowled at Axel. ¡®But not now, Michelle needs me still. I¡¯m Lucie, by the way.¡¯ She pulled a supermarket receipt out of a pocket and scribbled her number on the back. ¡®Let¡¯s meet tomorrow.¡¯


    ¡®Alright¡¯, I said. She nodded sharply and returned to Michelle¡¯s room. Soon, the fern leaves started to sway again in the breeze of her dance.


    I grabbed Axel¡¯s arm and turned on my heels.


    ¡®Where are you heading to? Exit is the other way¡¯, Axel told me with a confused glance.


    ¡®I still want to see David¡¯, I murmured, despite fearing another surge of guilt and pain. I owed him at least that.


    He was a few rooms down the corridor. I stood in front of the door, looking through the glass panel, and gathering my will to turn the knob.


    ¡®I¡¯ll be with Lilianne¡¯, Axel said quietly, kissed me on the hair, and left.


    I steeled myself and went in.


    David lay on the bed, his face turned away from me, his warm, tanned skin now ashen like Michelle¡¯s. I sat down next to him, and, hesitatingly, pushed a lock of damp hair away from his forehead. He looked far from peaceful. His thick eyebrows knitted together, the clenched jaw, the snarl that curled his lips contorted his face into a mask of hostility, as if he was fighting off a nightmare. This wasn¡¯t the David I remembered; his expression troubled me. Uneasily, I rose to leave, but guilt kept me anchored in the room.


    ¡®I¡¯m here¡¯, I whispered, bending towards him. ¡®It¡¯s my fault, and I¡¯ll find a way to help you.¡¯ A sob tightened my chest and drowned the last words. ¡®I won¡¯t give up¡¯.


    His eyelids fluttered briefly, and he seemed to frown. Had he heard? Was he just caught in a dream? With a pang of remorse, I headed for the door.


    Axel was waiting outside, and we strode silently down to the exit. ¡®Where do you want to go?¡¯, he asked, exhaustion palpable in his voice.


    ¡®Home, please.¡¯


    ¨x¨x¨x


    I surfaced from a tormented sleep in the evening, struggling to free myself from its quicksands. A headache tore at my forehead, and my eyes felt so dry and painful I could barely keep them open. By my side, Axel seemed to fight the same nightmares I did, trapped in the bedsheets dampened by sweat. Clumsily, I managed to make myself some coffee, and since then I¡¯ve been curled on the bean-bag with a blanket and the laptop, writing feverishly, only interrupted by regular coffee-making breaks. My thoughts have become clearer; if it was the effect of caffeine, or a consequence of marking everything down, I couldn¡¯t say.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    A groan came from the bedroom. Through the open door, I caught a glimpse of Axel rubbing at his eyes, stretching, and disentangling his long limbs from the sheets.


    ¡®What year is it?¡¯, he mumbled, stumbling into the living-room and falling down on the couch. I poured the last of the coffee into a mug, and he took a sip gratefully. I settled down next to him, prodding his shoulder with my head like cats do, and he put an arm around me. We drank our coffee quietly, enjoying each other¡¯s presence, and steeling ourselves for the conversation to come. After a while, Axel put his cup on the floor with a sigh.


    ¡®So¡­ What happened?¡¯


    I passed him the laptop. He scanned the few hours worth of writing, sometimes scrolling back for details, without uttering a word. I closed my eyes, waiting, fearful of what he¡¯d believe. After a while, he sighed and put the laptop away. Silence stretched between us, and I could hardly breathe.


    ¡®Let¡¯s see what we know so far.¡¯


    His voice sounded neutral, as if he was restraining himself from saying something else.


    ¡®I¡¯ve seen¡¯ ¨C the word was stressed ¨C ¡®someone send David to the ground, and¡­¡¯, his fists clenched, ¡®attack my sister. I didn¡¯t see this¡­ person¡­ leave with them.¡¯


    Axel hesitated when he said it. Was he also questioning what he had witnessed, the details that were hard to believe, but also hard to ignore?


    ¡®But I¡¯ve also seen what¡­ Lucie was doing. I¡¯ve also seen your¡­ hand.¡¯


    The words seemed to be struggling to leave his mouth.


    ¡®Rusanda, I¡­¡¯ He took a deep breath, and I finally looked up at him. He was rubbing at his eyes, grimacing. ¡®I don¡¯t know what to make of this. It doesn¡¯t make sense. That shaft¡­ it has been full of stuck bones for two centuries. Everyone has seen it. And the galleries of the Carrefour des Morts¡­ where had they gone? Why was everything normal yesterday? I¡¯ve been wondering if I have hit my head, until I read your notes. I know what I¡¯ve seen. It¡¯s¡­¡¯


    I shuffled closer to him and put my head on his shoulder, searching for the comfort his presence had always given me.


    ¡®I know.¡¯ My voice was hoarse. ¡®And I¡¯m glad you were ¨C are ¨C with me.¡¯ His arm tightened around me.


    ¡®I don¡¯t have any reasonable explanation to offer¡¯, Axel finally answered. ¡®And saying it¡¯s¡­ magic¡­ I have difficulties with that. This is the twenty-first century. But¡­¡¯


    He was still struggling to articulate his thoughts. I didn¡¯t interrupt him.


    ¡®Look, Ru. We do not know what actually happened, or is happening. We can¡¯t explain it, but neither accept it¡¯s¡­ something else, just like that. It goes against common sense, against every law and rule we know. On the other hand, we never lied to each other, so I can only believe you, despite¡­ how incredible and illogical it sounds.¡¯


    His words filled my chest with a warmth that threatened to overflow. I hugged him tight as my sight became blurry, and hid my face in the hollow of his shoulder. ¡®Thank you so much for saying this.¡¯


    Axel held me tight, patting my hair like he used to do every time I needed comforting. I knew he was there, and would stay there, for me.


    ¡®We¡¯ll figure this out together¡¯, he whispered back. ¡®Whatever this is. And even if I can¡¯t conceive it ¨C right now, at least ¨C, I¡¯ll consider it a possibility until we know. We¡¯ll follow every lead until¡­¡¯ I felt his body tense, and pulled away from him. The words came through clenched teeth. ¡®Until I find whoever did this to Lilianne.¡¯


    He looked frightening, and I stayed quiet, offering him space. Axel, too, knew I was there, and he would come back when ready. I put the ibrik on the stove and slowly brewed another pot of coffee, biding my time, watching the foam form and bubble gently. He had admitted seeing the ice on my hand, too, and Lucie had been a witness as well. The relief I felt at the thought was strong enough to overcome the angst of the new realm that had opened before us, and the fear of the unknown that beckoned me down its path.


    I took the ibrik back to the couch. The coffee¡¯s invigorating perfume filled the room, so thick I could almost taste it in the back of my mouth.


    ¡®I wonder what Lucie has to say¡¯, I began again, pouring the coffee carefully. Axel cupped his mug in both hands, breathing in deeply.


    ¡®I do hope we¡¯ll start figuring some things out¡¯, he answered after a while.


    And so did I. I knew that he needed to do, to understand and plan ahead ¨C to act. Brooding over incomprehensible things was already taking its toll on him.


    ¡®Until we meet her, there¡¯s something we can try to work on¡¯, I offered, and his eyes lit up. ¡®They said ¡°Find the School¡±. What do you think that means? Where could it be?¡¯


    ¡®Well¡­¡¯, he pondered. ¡®You tell me. They are part of your folklore. Isn¡¯t there something we can use in one of your books?¡¯


    I  jumped to my feet and rushed to the chaotic piles on my shelves, searching feverishly and cursing my lack of organization.


    ¡®There should be something in this one¡­ and this one¡­ and¡­ Argh!¡¯, I exclaimed in frustration, dumping them all on the couch. ¡®Here, help me out.¡¯


    ¡®They¡¯re all written in Romanian¡¯, Axel observed coolly after leafing through them. I sighed dramatically and threw my hands in the air, making him snort. Good, I mused, smiling internally.


    ¡®Let¡¯s see¡­ page 304¡­ Here we are: ¡°they retire under the ground for seven years without seeing anyone, after which they are taught at the school of Solomonars¡±. That¡¯s it. And this other one¡­ Now this one is a bit longer: ¡°they travel to the end of the world, and they live in a cave there and write on a stone table all the sciences and the teachings that are in this world¡±. I¡¯m translating it as I go, sorry if it doesn¡¯t sound very good.¡¯


    Axel simply nodded and waved at me to continue.


    ¡®Where was I? ¡°And there, they stay as if in school and there are many of them, but not all become Solomonars, because they have to go through difficult trials.¡± Trials?¡¯, I raised my eyes from the book, panicked. ¡®There are trials?¡¯


    ¡®Maybe it was only some sort of exam¡¯, Axel tried to reassure me. ¡®It¡¯s a school, after all. Does it say anything more?¡¯


    I picked up the book again; my hands were a little shaky.


    ¡®In this school¡¯, I read, and winced at how shrill my voice sounded. After a deep breath, I continued: ¡®¡°In this school, millstones are hanging from the ceiling by a thread, on the verge of falling.¡± What?!¡¯


    ¡®Keep going, Ru.¡¯


    I spit out the rest of the sentence in a single breath: ¡®¡°And those who wish to become Solomonars must pass beneath these stones and many turn away in fear.¡±¡¯ I looked at him. ¡®¡°And there are other trials as well, which are harsher and harsher¡±¡¯, I whispered the conclusion, wide-eyed.


    ¡®Worry about that when we get there¡¯, Axel said. ¡®We still have to find out where it is, and then what they want from you. No one said you have to become a full-fledged wizard, did they now?¡¯


    ¡®Okay, alright¡¯, I gave in, already feeling tired again. ¡®Let¡¯s try to think matter-of-factly, as if this made any kind of sense. Where could ¡°the end of the world¡± be? The Stonemaster said they hid underground in Paris, but that can mean everywhere - the subway, the sewers¡­¡¯


    ¡®If they are stone masters, they would need, or look for, stone, not concrete¡¯, Axel pointed out after a moment of reflexion. ¡®Which means they might be somewhere in the catacombs, but then someone would have noticed.¡¯


    ¡®Unless I really crossed into this other world. Remember, it felt like I was there for hours, and you said I¡¯d been gone for moments. And also¡¯, I brightened up suddenly as I remembered, ¡®the twins linked arms and created some sort of portal for the Stonemaster to come through! He really wasn¡¯t in the same¡­ reality¡­ as I was.¡¯


    ¡®So, we have to find a place that fits the description, and that isn¡¯t necessarily real, or accessible for everyone. Which means the entire network is a possibility.¡¯


    He rubbed at the bridge of his nose as I stared at him, wheels spinning.


    ¡®Axel¡­ when that¡­ person¡­ attacked us, we were at the Carrefour des Morts. The Crossroads of the Dead¡¯. I stressed the word. ¡®At Saint Andrew¡¯s Night, when the gates between worlds open, in a place where roads meet. It might be that names are significant ¨C maybe their meaning can be a link to something else. Is there any place in the catacombs that comes to mind? Maybe at the edge of the network?¡¯


    Axel pondered for a while, then reached for his backpack and fished out a map. ¡®Well, there¡¯s the Cit¨¦ Universitaire right here¡¯, he pointed, ¡®but the galleries underneath are quite unstable ¨C and besides, it¡¯s not exactly at the edge of anything.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s only existed since the early 1900¡¯s¡¯, I said after looking it up. ¡®I think the Stonemasters would have chosen an older place. I have this feeling they¡¯ve been here for longer.¡¯


    ¡®Hmmmm. There¡¯s also the Lyc¨¦e Montaigne¡­¡¯


    ¡®1891. Anything else?¡¯


    ¡®Facult¨¦ de Pharmacie?¡¯


    ¡®1864. That¡¯s more like it, unless you can think of another place¡¯.


    ¡®Ecole des Mines? That would be the last one¡­¡¯


    ¡®Now¡­ that¡¯s promising. Created by Louis XVI in 1783¡¯, I read. ¡®In its actual building since 1815.¡¯ I pondered. ¡®The school of Mines, harboring Stonemasters. Sounds like something we can work with. Where is it?¡¯


    ¡®Quite to the North¡¯, he showed me, ¡®not quite at the northern end of the network, but almost.¡¯


    We looked at each other, and something like hope lit his clear blue eyes. I smiled, my determination to fight renewed. We will find them.


    Axel nodded, and rose.


    Questions for the readers</a>

 Chapter 6 - A Message and a Gift

    <h1>Chapter 6 ¨C A Message and a Gift</h1>


    We¡¯re ready to go into the unknown. What will we find under the Ecole des Mines? Is it even the right place? What happens when we, or I, cross over? As I mull over these questions to which we have no answers, I realise I am not afraid, and it surprises me; but then I think of David pulling me to his chest, of Michelle¡¯s warmth, of Lilianne¡¯s unexpected bravery as she fought to protect them, and an unfamiliar feeling takes over my usual hesitations and fears. As I finish lacing up my Docs and zipping up my ripped, dusty leather jacket from the first night, I feel fierce. I look up at Axel like a soldier before a fight. He puts a hand on my shoulder, without a word, and I know he trusts me as I trust him.


    It is time to stop writing. It¡¯s time to do.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    A new bleak Parisian dawn greeted us as we stepped into the street, making me shiver and rub my gloved hands. Taking Axel¡¯s arm and huddling closer to him for warmth, I let him cut through the early crowd on their way to work.


    ¡®Ecole des Mines is on the right¡¯, I said, confused, when he stirred me towards the Port Royal train station.


    ¡®We¡¯ll make a quick stop at Chatelet to buy you some equipment¡¯, Axel explained. ¡®It would be better for you to be prepared - real boots, better gloves, a better headlamp, and some other things. One is never careful enough, especially in¡­ uncharted territory.¡¯


    ¡®That makes me feel¡­ safer, on one hand, but also more worried¡¯, I admitted as we took the stairs to the platform. ¡®It forces me to think of what could go wrong, and how badly. On the other hand, we have no idea of what¡¯s going to happen. Maybe we¡¯ll find nothing. So I¡¯m trying to tell myself that I¡¯ll burn that bridge when I get there.¡¯


    Axel laughed at the mix of metaphors. ¡®Sounds exactly like something you would do.¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, plan not, worry later¡¯, I confirmed.


    We stopped abruptly in the middle of the stairs, incredulous. The platforms in both directions were crammed with so many people that no one could take a step in any direction.


    ¡®What the¡­ ?!¡¯, I exclaimed, sweeping the station from my vantage point. A rumble made the rails resonate, and a wave went through the crowd, pushing everyone forward.


    ¡®For your safety, please stay clear of the edge of the platform!¡¯, a tired, annoyed voice called from the speakers, and was ignored. The train slowed as it approached the jammed platform. I caught a glimpse of the driver, his face wary.


    ¡®Are these people idiots, pushing like that?¡¯


    ¡®A rhetorical question if there ever was one¡¯, replied Axel with a sigh. ¡®And what is worse than that is that we¡¯ll be joining them.¡¯


    It was my turn to sigh. ¡®Do we really have to?¡¯


    ¡®I won¡¯t ever let you go without being properly equipped¡¯, he said firmly. ¡®But we can also walk to Chatelet. It¡¯s only forty minutes or so.¡¯


    ¡®And then walk back?...¡¯, I asked, wearily, remembering David¡¯s ashen, frowning face lying on the crumbled pillow. ¡®I can¡¯t wait that long. I¡¯m already stressed out, and the quicker we¡¯re over with this expedition, the better. And also¡­¡¯ My voice trailed at the thought, and the guilt awoke and gnawed at my insides. ¡®Don¡¯t you feel any urgency to do something for them?¡¯


    Axel¡¯s face clouded. ¡®Of course I do¡¯, he snapped. ¡®Do you think I forgot? Do you think my sister has slipped my mind for the shortest moment? Do you think I¡¯m not mad at myself for not protecting her as I should have?¡¯


    I cowered under the wave of anger that spilled from him like a storm.


    ¡®Sorry¡¯, I whispered, looking down. ¡®I didn¡¯t mean to suggest¡­ I just want to be doing something, whatever that is. As soon as possible. I can¡¯t stand waiting any longer.¡¯


    Axel inhaled deeply, forcing his fists open. ¡®I am sorry.¡¯ He laid a hand on my shoulder, and his eyes searched mine. ¡®Let¡¯s do this.¡¯


    As we walked down the steps, the crawling train finally came to a halt. With a mechanical sigh, the doors started to open. The carriages were as crammed as the platforms, if not more, and commuters fought to step out through their peers, as well as through the crowd that already was forcing its way in. Those caught between the two human walls struggled like swimmers caught between conflicting currents: the mass who barged and shoved their way out, and the impatient mob dead-set to get aboard. I watched wide-eyed, appalled by the mindless, selfish melee on the platforms ¨C all this to get on a train? I took a step back, repulsed ¨C or at least I tried to. The stairs behind us were now just as packed, and we were slowly pushed forward. There was no way to oppose the inertia of the crowd; not going down the steps would only result in being shoved, and possibly breaking a leg, if not worse.


    A hand fumbled for mine through the sea of bodies. I grasped it tightly and was slowly pulled against the flow to Axel¡¯s chest. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, setting his jaw. I felt his body tighten as he tried to protect me from the swarm of commuters, half of which strived to reach the platform, while the other half, who had laboriously freed themselves from the train, now toiled upstream towards the exit.


    ¡®What, in Odin¡¯s sweet name, is going on here?...¡¯, I whispered, imprisoned in the middle of the mob.


    ¡®Due to a collective action, the traffic is severely disrupted on the RER line B¡¯, answered the cheerful robot voice of the RATP announcements. ¡®Please consider other commuting alternatives when possible.¡¯ The last words were drowned by angry hoots and curses from the crowd.


    ¡®We don¡¯t have an alternative right now¡¯, Axel commented wearily in my ear. ¡®It would be more difficult to turn around now than to get on the train.¡¯


    With a deep sigh, I let myself be carried towards the platform, trying to imagine I was floating on the sea. The next train came, and the crowd moved once more. Squashed between the bodies that pressed to get on, I was thankful to have Axel¡¯s solid protection; images of people falling between the train and the platform were starting to form vividly in my mind. We had been pushed almost to the edge, and I felt dizzy, as if staring down from a bridge. Fearful, even. Hiding my face against Axel¡¯s chest, I tried not to think of any accidents, to empty my mind and simply wait.


    In the animal warmth of the people all around me, I soon drifted into a state of near sleep, only troubled by the raising of a general feeling of discontent. Some kept pressing forward, even though there was no train, and those in front, at risk of falling on the rails, started to yell and push back. Angry arguments erupted over our heads, directed at everyone in general and no one in particular. The escalating irritation started to get to me, my emptied mind absorbing it like a dry sponge. It was all I could do not to shove in return, to kick some damn sense into the impatient pushers. What the hell is wrong with everyone? Anger was rising in my chest like a red tide, and I clenched my fists, ready to punch whoever would shove me again. I dare you, I thought, hands itching to hit someone, anyone.


    ¡®Please step away from the edge of the platform¡¯, the dispassionate voice said just as the rails rumbled again. I felt Axel¡¯s body tense, his arms grip me tighter as the crowd pressed forward once more. I planted my Docs firmly on the ground and braced myself against him in an effort to help him keep us both from moving, but we were slowly, inexorably, reaching the edge. The arriving train was as slow paced as the ones before it, thankfully, since the repeated warnings from the speakers had no effect on the mass of commuters; and before we could do anything, we were swept by the tide and shoved into the carriage.


    ¡®Been here nine years and never reached this level of hell¡¯, I grumbled when we lurched into movement. With a dozen people on the square meter, the temperature became unbearable within minutes. Breathing was difficult, children started to scream, commuters¡¯ nerves snapped; swearing and shouts shot through the air. At each stop, more people forced their way in, mindlessly and carelessly crushing feet and bodies standing in their way.


    A woman screamed: ¡®I¡¯m pregnant! Stop pushing!¡¯


    Her plea was lost in the chorus of yelling and cursing around the doors. Those already inside, although squashed, seemed walled away in indifference.


    ¡®This is incredible¡¯, I whispered, wide-eyed by the savagery, flattened against the glass of the opposite door, and still partially protected by Axel¡¯s viking frame. ¡®People are insane.¡¯ He only sighed, bracing himself against another wave.


    One more stop.


    I have to hold on for one more stop, and then I can get out of the madness, I told myself, and focused on this mantra, trying to take a breath, then another, of the heavy, hot air, thick with sweat and anger. It was becoming strenuous to know if my head was spinning or if it was just the swaying of the train. It was too hot, too stifling. A wave of weakness was steadily taking over me; I felt I was drifting away, unable to grasp at anything to remain conscious, unable to fight it, like a bug caught in liquid amber.


    ¡®Parlays¡¯, said someone next to me. I struggled to come back to my senses, in vain. Before my unfocused eyes, a face. A woman¡¯s. She smiled, her golden eyes glistening with joy, pushing a chestnut curl away from her cheek. Why is she smiling in this hell? Her image fluttered, and she was screaming silently, eyes wide, pulled away, hand outstretched seeking something to hold on to. I raised mine, feebly, but she was gone.


    ¡®Come to me¡¯, I heard from nowhere.


    ¡®Who¡­ are you?¡¯


    ¡®Ru? Ru, are you alright?¡¯ Axel¡¯s voice, from afar.


    I tried to look up at him, but everything was moving too much.


    ¡®I have something you want.¡¯


    Three figures on the ground, blurry, surrounded by shadows. A pang. David?


    I was shaken by the shoulders. ¡®Ru!¡¯ And then, ¡®Someone open a window! My friend is about to faint!¡¯


    I clung to his familiar voice as if to a saving rope.


    A shred of cool air touched my face and I inhaled thirstily.


    ¡®Ru?¡¯


    Hands cupping my face, then steadying me upright. My eyes came into focus, my sight flickering like an old TV.


    ¡®I¡¯m ok¡¯, I managed to whisper. ¡®Thank you.¡¯


    ¡®Come to me for parlays¡¯, repeated the voice to my left. I snapped my head around, and caught a glimpse of thick eyebrows and a dark beard.


    ¡®Hey¡¯, I called out weakly. ¡®What did you say?¡¯


    The man turned, surprised, his phone still stuck to his ear. He was dark-skinned and clean-shaved. I waved an apology, confused.


    ¡®You need me and I need you¡¯, said another commuter. I looked around, startled, searching for the one who had spoken.


    ¡®In the depths of Paris I reside¡¯, another voice continued, then another:


    ¡®You could bring them back.¡¯


    On tiptoe, I tried desperately to see who was talking to me, craning my neck to scan the crowd.


    ¡®Ru? What¡¯s wrong?¡¯


    I raised a hand to shush him, focusing. ¡®Where are you?¡¯, I whispered, almost to myself.


    ¡®Not here¡¯, said the woman in front of me, not looking up from her phone.


    ¡®Not here¡¯, repeated a man behind her, absent gaze fixed on a spot above my head.


    ¡®Not here, not here, not here¡¯, the words traveled from mouth to mouth, all around me.


    ¡®Come to me, and you could bring them back.¡¯


    Almost a murmur, from the back of the crowd of empty eyed commuters.


    ¡®Ru! Talk to me!¡¯, Axel whispered urgently.


    ¡®I¡¯m hearing things again¡¯, I sighed, ¡®seeing things.¡¯


    ¡®What things? Is it about¡­ what happened?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ll tell you when we¡¯re out of this nightmare¡¯, I answered, still feeling weak in the knees.


    ¡®Chatelet ¨C Les Halles¡¯, said the almost cheerful female voice from the speakers. The doors opened laboriously; we were propelled out by compact mass behind us and into the identical one on the platform. I showed and elbowed my way mercilessly through the mob that didn¡¯t move to let us leave the train, indifferent to their cursing.


    ¡®Watch where you¡¯re going, you cow!¡¯, someone yelled when my left boot squashed something underneath.


    ¡®You should¡¯ve let us pass, you damned moron¡¯, I snapped back, without stopping.


    Once we¡¯d reached a bit of space with some air, I groaned, rubbing my temples. ¡®Freaking dumb sheep, the lot of them.¡¯


    ¡®Would you rather walk the way back, then?¡¯ Axel asked, concerned.


    ¡®Hell yes. I¡¯m not taking the train again.¡¯


    ¡®Alright then. Let¡¯s go get the equipment and leave this place as soon as we can.¡¯


    The escalators and hallways weren¡¯t much better than the trains, but at least we could move. Weary traffic controllers tried, quite ineffectually, to facilitate the flow of the commuters between the overcrowded subway and RER lines. Beyond the turnstiles leading from the main hall to the subway, I caught a glimpse of a compact sea of bodies, stuck by their own numbers and unable to turn on their heels. Hands with phones appeared above the heads like the periscopes, filming the unbelievable scene. A murmur filled the air; it had become pointless to keep protesting, or arguing. No one was faring better than their neighbour, anyway.


    ¡®I¡¯m glad not to be caught in that¡¯, I said, indicating the scene with a tip of my head. Axel looked over his shoulder, and his face clouded.


    ¡®Let us hurry¡¯, he answered, his voice low. ¡®The sooner we¡¯re out of there, the better.¡¯


    Just as the words left his lips, someone shoved me brutally out of the way, and sent me staggering into another commuter.


    ¡®Hey, what the¡­?¡¯, I started to yell after him, but a kick in the ribs stole my breath. I keeled, gasping, and looked up in shock at the man who hit me and was already elbowing his way through the crowd, shooting me angry looks over his shoulder. Axel was by my side in a second and helped me stand until I caught my breath.


    ¡®We need to leave this madness¡¯, he said, worried, scanning the swarming hallway. I grabbed his arm and he took the lead, once more sheltering me from the horde of seemingly numbed, already worn-out travellers who ambled like lost souls or simply stood, empty-eyed, in the middle of the way. Ignoring our ¡°excuse me, sorry, coming through¡±, they blocked our passage, indifferent to anything else than themselves. Others, on the contrary, savagely pushed and shoved, cursing loudly as they crossed the large hall to reach the subway turnstiles, only to be caught in the paralyzed throng.


    We ploughed our way through as best as we could, fighting for each shred of space through the immobile folk who seemed devoid of purpose and let themselves be carried by the slow flow. It was maddening, like dream running, when one¡¯s moving as if against the current in a chest-high river; the exit sign didn¡¯t appear to get any closer. Mass inertia was weighting everyone down ¨C but at the same time, each and every individual had visibly turned inwards, focusing only on themselves and their own route, mindless of the others. Scarce cries were heard here and there in the crowd, probably from people being violently pushed aside, but no one took notice or stopped. Clinging to Axel, I advanced in a stupor, unable to believe what I was seeing.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡®We¡¯re almost there¡¯, he told me over his shoulder, and indeed, over the heads blocking my view, I could see the wall end and give way to an open space. Angling his body, he started to head for the exit, cutting the flow diagonally, ignoring the rude protests and curses that arose. Hiding behind him, I was following blindly, jostled by shoulders and elbows and bags, when my foot hit something soft and I staggered. The wall was fortunately close enough so I could stop my fall, although with some difficulty, as my foot got tangled into whatever I¡¯d touched. I looked down.


    ¡®Axel!¡¯, I called, horrified.


    He glanced back and turned on his heels immediately. We both knelt by the old woman on the floor, whose long coat had tripped my foot. She lay curled up on herself, eyes closed, one arm spread lifelessly. Several boot prints stained her sleeve, and other dark smudges were visible on the white tissue of her dress, around her stomach and thighs. At the sight, a mixture of nausea and rage at my peers filled me. How could they¡­? I felt an urge to punch the wall and yell at everyone.


    Axel¡¯s face hardened into a mask of icy calm. He patted the woman¡¯s cheek gently, and his voice was contained and steady when he spoke. ¡®Ma¡¯am? Can you hear me?¡¯


    Her head rolled on the side in response. He bent over her and put an ear to her chest, while I took my phone to call for help. No signal. Of course, I sighed, why would it work when I need it? Damned Chatelet. ¡®No phone reception. Screw this place. How can I help?¡¯


    ¡®She¡¯s breathing, and I don¡¯t think she has any internal bleeding from the kicks she received. She¡¯d be pale as death otherwise. So we need to prop her up against the wall to help her breathe.¡¯


    I nodded, and we moved her into a sitting position, supporting her from either side so she wouldn¡¯t fall over again. Passersby shot us angry looks or insults for taking up so much space, but no one stopped to help. An older man kicking me in the leg as he passed made me lose it; I dug deep into my roots and offered the richest, most varied assortment of best wishes for him, his family, and the seven generations of his ancestors in my native tongue, adding a ¡°connard de merde¡± to make sure he got the message. With some of the steam blown off, I turned back to the woman, whose collar and scarf Axel had just finished loosing.


    ¡®Give me some water¡¯, he asked, his eyes fixed on her for a sign of consciousness. Understanding his intentions, I fished hastily around my backpack for the bottle, then poured a few drops in my hand and splashed her cheeks and forehead.


    ¡®Ma¡¯am?¡¯, I whispered in turn. ¡®If you can hear me, can you move something? Your fingers, or maybe a nod?¡¯


    We watched her closely, almost holding our breaths. I realised I was completely cut from my surroundings, ignoring the people tripping on my boots, or almost walking over us. I was only focused on the woman¡¯s chest slowly moving up and down, scrutinizing her fluttering eyelids ¨C as if she were dreaming.


    ¡®Ma¡¯am, please, wake up¡¯, I worriedly pleaded once more. With her soft, white hair in a loose bun, framing a kind face, she reminded me of my grandmother. She¡¯d passed away after I moved here, and the guilt of not having been by her side was revived by this other woman, who was maybe slowly dying, too, from the savagery of others. My eyes stang, became blurry, and I felt the overwhelming need to protect her, help her. Her face and my grandmother¡¯s blended through the tears welling up.


    ¡®Please wake up¡¯, I murmured, almost to myself, like a prayer, taking her hand.


    Axel sighed and started to stand, when a soft moan escaped the woman¡¯s lips.


    ¡®Are you alright? Are you hurt?¡¯, I rushed to ask. She held a hand to her ribs, and grimaced. ¡®What¡­ what happened?¡¯ Her voice was feeble, almost shaky.


    ¡®Here, take a sip first.¡¯ Axel lifted the bottle to her lips, and she drank slowly.


    ¡®We think you fell, maybe someone pushed you¡¯, he said. ¡®How are you feeling? Can you please move your arms and legs for me?¡¯


    ¡®I feel¡­ weak. I don¡¯t think I can stand¡­¡¯, the woman answered, doing as Axel asked. ¡®I can move¡­ everything.¡¯


    ¡®Are you ill? Do you take any medication? I need to know that for the paramedics, when we¡¯re able to call them.¡¯


    She shook her head. ¡®No, I¡¯ve always had good health. That¡¯s how I¡¯ve carried so many centuries on my back¡¯, she replied, with an almost roguish smile. I laughed, liking her for being able to joke like that after being trod on to unconsciousness. ¡®I¡¯m most thankful for your help, young ones. You deserve something in return¡¯, she added, propping herself straight and starting to go through her pockets.


    ¡®Oh, no, don¡¯t even think about that¡¯, Axel waved his hands dismissively.


    ¡®That¡¯s the way of things, my dear. You¡¯ve earned a reward.¡¯


    ¡®No way¡¯, I piped in.


    ¡®But you do need help¡¯, she insisted, looking deep into my eyes. ¡®Don¡¯t you? To find what you¡¯re looking for?¡¯


    I froze, sensing there was something there, a meaning, just out of my grasp. Something that I knew, a long time ago, stored in the dusty depths of my memory. The woman watched me, smiling, and nodded encouragingly. ¡®I see you are wondering. I am the oldest sister, who waits at the crossroads. I am the guide. I am the first one to help the lost.¡¯


    She brought out a small bundle from an inner pocket, tied up neatly in a white handkerchief, and closed my hands around it.


    ¡®Take these, and use them. You¡¯ll know when it¡¯s time. As for you, young man¡­ there isn¡¯t much I can offer. You aren¡¯t from our lands. But even so¡­¡¯ She placed a hand on his cheek, then leaned in and whispered:


    ¡®May your road be straight and clear. May you find guidance on your way. And most of all¡­ may your wounded be healed.¡¯


    We could but watch her, astounded, as she stood up; then, nodding a goodbye, the old woman straightened her back and walked briskly into the crowd, who swiftly swallowed her frail silhouette.


    ¡®How¡­ did she just... walk away? She couldn¡¯t even sit up straight five minutes ago! What was that about?¡¯, Axel whispered, still gazing in her direction.


    I was staring as well, still searching for her through the swarm of commuters, and I turned my eyes away with some difficulty, staring at him instead, and trying to gather my thoughts.


    ¡®Uh¡­ I think I need some time to process this¡¯, I said uncertainly, feeling hazy.


    ¡®It sounded like she was sure you understood her.¡¯


    ¡®I know there¡¯s something I should see, a meaning, but I can¡¯t put my finger on it.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, well¡¯, he sighed. ¡®Let¡¯s get going, and you can think while we walk.¡¯


    We picked up our backpacks and headed for the exit. Axel made a way for us without slowing down or answering the insults that our passage stirred up. Soon enough, we found ourselves in the shopping centre and heading to the sports store. It was almost empty in these early hours of the morning, and finding everything we needed took less than fifteen minutes. Fisherman¡¯s boots, harness, rope and snap hooks, abseiling gloves to make climbing easier, a compass, and a hard hat.


    ¡®This will cost a fortune¡¯, I observed, uneasy.


    ¡®Maybe, but then, your life is quite priceless.¡¯


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡®Aren¡¯t you exaggerating a little?¡¯


    He put the equipment on the conveyor belt and grabbed my shoulders with both hands, staring into my eyes. ¡®We don¡¯t know where this path leads. Had we remained in the catacombs, I would¡¯ve known exactly what the risks are and what we need. But we don¡¯t know, and we agreed to take every possibility into account. So, if you¡­ cross¡­ to somewhere else, then we ¨C you ¨C have to be ready, whatever is waiting for you on the other side. I would rather be overly cautious.¡¯


    I had rarely seen him so serious, almost worried, so I nodded and paid without further comments.


    Once outside, the chill air snapped me into wakefulness. I hadn¡¯t realised how much energy had been sucked out of me since we¡¯d got on the train. We walked briskly towards the Seine, and for once I didn¡¯t complain about the wind. Axel kept silent, probably mulling over the events of the morning, and I did the same, trying to pinpoint the elusive memory the old lady had prompted. The oldest sister, helping travellers¡­ I must have read something like that somewhere¡­ but in which book? Vague scenes, most likely imagined memories, floated near the surface of my thoughts. Crossing the windy Pont-au-Change, I shoved my hands in my pockets, shivering, and my fingers found the woman¡¯s gift. I stopped in my tracks.


    ¡®Axel, hold on for a minute.¡¯


    He turned, raising an interrogative eyebrow. I laid the bundle on the bridge parapet and unknotted it. We stared down.


    ¡®What is this supposed to mean?¡¯


    I picked up the long, rectangular piece of grey stone and turned it between my fingers, examining it. I had seen this somewhere¡­


    Axel lifted the small mirror and the comb, then shook the handkerchief. There was nothing else.


    ¡®Axel¡¯, I whispered, putting the stone down and staring at the three objects.


    ¡®...and the prince fled with the wondrous bird hidden in his shirt, and the ogres were hot on his heels¡¯, I heard my grandmother''s voice. She was sitting by the fire, smiling dreamily at the flames as she unravelled the story once more. I was by her feet on my low stool, with awe in my eyes, listening raptly. ¡®And he remembered the gifts he had been given to help him on his way; he took the comb out of his bundle, and threw it over the shoulder. At once, a forest thicker than anyone had ever seen sprang from the ground¡­¡¯


    ¡®I think I know who she was.¡¯


    I bundled the comb, the mirror, and the whetstone again and put them back in my pocket, then I leaned on the parapet. Watching the muddy waters of the Seine, I tried to recollect the folk tales I¡¯ve heard, as detailed as my hazy childhood souvenirs allowed it. Axel joined me.


    ¡®Don¡¯t you want to tell me on the way?¡¯, he suggested. There was the subtlest hint of well-contained impatience in his voice.


    ¡®Sure, sorry.¡¯ I felt guilty for getting distracted, for forgetting the main reason we were there. We set off again, Axel leading with his long strides, and I half walking, half running to keep up.


    ¡®Can you slow down, please? I won¡¯t be able to talk much at this speed¡­¡¯


    Without answering, he did so, and I caught up with him.


    ¡®I said I¡¯m sorry.¡¯ It came out a tad reproachfully. He stopped and faced me abruptly, his face clouding dangerously. I took an involuntary step backwards.


    ¡®You were the one who was in a hurry to get underground this morning, remember? When you asked me if I didn¡¯t want to do something for Lilianne?¡¯


    He had never talked to me like this. Heat flamed in my chest and my pulse sped up. ¡®Yeah, I was. But you know what? A crapload of things have happened since this morning, so excuse me if I need time to process! It¡¯s not like hearing voices and seeing shadows is part of my normal life, alright? And as if that wasn¡¯t enough, now there¡¯s a damn fairytale character plopping down in the middle of Chatelet, and I¡¯m the one who¡¯s expected to make sense of it all¡¯, I fumed. ¡®Don¡¯t you think I wish you could share the weight of this? Do you think I asked to become a Disney prince, or that I¡¯m having fun?¡¯


    Axel¡¯s shoulders dropped slightly, but his expression was still dark. ¡®I didn¡¯t say that.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ve just found myself in the middle of something that makes no sense whatsoever, been attacked by my own folklore, ice keeps appearing on my hands, and all that on top of the fact that it¡¯s my fault for what happened. It¡¯s my fault we were there.¡¯ I broke up. My anger coagulated into tears, and I wiped them away furiously. Keep it together, you fragile snowflake, I scolded myself. Everyone depends on you. That thought didn¡¯t help; on the contrary, I felt even weaker. I shivered, and hugged myself, shutting out the images that started to take shape in my mind, the possibility of finding myself alone in the guts of the earth.


    ¡®I wish I could help more, you know¡¯, Axel said, in a low voice, not looking at me. ¡®I feel powerless already, and I need you to help me out. The only lead we have is completely unknown to me, and very far from everything I¡¯ve experienced. Nevertheless, I¡¯m willing to give it a shot, because I have no other straw to grab at. But I need you for that.¡¯


    I sniffed and tried to steady my breath for a couple of minutes. Calm down and think. We¡¯re a team. He counts on me, and I have to make this right. Had I listened to the ancient lore and not dismissed it as old women¡¯s tales, everyone would have been safe right now. Everything would have been as usual.


    I made a decision.


    ¡®I am going to assume that what I know about the old beliefs is true. I will pay attention to every detail I can think of as if it were true. I don¡¯t know how much of it really is, but I don¡¯t want to be responsible for another¡­¡¯, I searched for a less dramatic word, in vain, ¡®¡­tragedy. So I count on you to be the voice of reason in my stead.¡¯


    Axel nodded. ¡®I understand. I can do that.¡¯


    ¡®Here¡¯s what I know.¡¯


    We walked along the golden gates of the Palace of Justice and its greying stone walls, heedless of the hurrying passersby and the deafening klaxons of the normal Parisian morning. I told him about the Story of the Pig, about the White Moor, and other nameless tales I remembered vaguely; about Saint Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday: the three sisters that the lost traveler, man or woman, met and helped, and who offered assistance in exchange.


    ¡®I think that woman was Saint Wednesday¡¯, I concluded. ¡®She usually cannot point the right way, but instead she gives advice or objects that can help. Often it¡¯s the mirror, the comb, and the whetstone we got; they¡¯re used to escape pursuit by turning into obstacles.¡¯


    ¡®I guess we should expect trouble, then¡¯, he mused.


    ¡®Not an encouraging perspective¡¯, I agreed, fighting down the rising alarm.


    ¡®I know it must be scary for you. Even I don¡¯t know how I would handle a situation like this, to be honest. But keep in mind I¡¯ll be by your side as long as I can, and do everything in my power to help you. And I trust you. I really do.¡¯


    I looked up at him, deeply touched. ¡®I don¡¯t trust myself as much as you do¡¯, I admitted.


    ¡®You have ice gauntlets, and a wizard ancestor¡¯, he tried for a joke. ¡®Who knows what other hidden powers you possess?¡¯


    I laughed half-heartedly. ¡®I suppose we¡¯ll have to wait and find out, huh?¡¯


    ¡®Another thing, now that this part is cleared out. What happened on the train? You¡¯ve seemed¡­ far away, as if in another world. I mean, besides being half fainted. You said you were hearing and seeing things that I certainly was not.¡¯


    ¡®Well¡­ I¡¯m not really sure what it was exactly. Remember those hallucinations I had in the catacombs, while they were taking me out? With that couple, and the woman screaming?¡¯


    Axel nodded.


    ¡®I saw them again. The same images, and three shapes on the floor, in the shadows. Then someone said ¡°parlays¡± and ¡°come to me¡±, and that I could bring them back.¡¯


    He stopped abruptly and stared at me.


    ¡®How?¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t know. That¡¯s all there was, and that¡­ they, I can¡¯t say for sure, the message came through both men and women, they ¡°reside in the depths of Paris¡±, or something along those lines.¡¯


    ¡®Great. Another clear clue, to waste even more time¡¯, he fumed and started walking again, almost angrily.


    ¡®Come on, let¡¯s think about this. What¡¯s the deepest place in Paris?¡¯


    ¡®I have no idea¡¯, he snapped. ¡®Deepest compared to sea level? Deepest as in the longest distance from the surface? Or deepest in some other mythological way we cannot yet conceive?¡¯


    Without even looking at him, I could feel his burgeoning anger in the sneer underlying his last sentence. Axel, as strong and patient as he could be, was cracking too.


    ¡®I can imagine how you feel¡¯, I said, patting his arm, and I felt the tension in his muscles.


    We were crossing the Saint-Michel bridge, pushing through the crowd of tourists posing with the Notre-Dame and its scaffolding, or heading to the train station.


    ¡®That¡¯s it!¡¯, I exclaimed, an idea popping in my mind. Axel glanced at me, still brooding. ¡®The subways! Some of them go quite deep underground. I remember seeing a picture from the building site here. The hole they dug to host the RERs B and C, plus the subways, was monstrous. Some stations include even more lines! Maybe that¡¯s what the message meant?¡¯


    I was getting excited with my hypothesis. After all, the Chatelet shopping center was mostly underground, and the transportation lines were underneath it. How deep did it go?


    ¡®Yeah, maybe¡­¡¯, Axel grumbled, apparently unwilling to come out of his dark bubble.


    ¡®And what about Saint-Lazare? I¡¯m pretty sure I saw a plaque on the floor of a lower level saying it was the deepest station in Paris. I should check that¡¯, I thought out loud.


    ¡®Mmhm.¡¯


    I gave up the attempt at conversation and let myself drift away in my memories of folklore and tales that I knew from my grandmother. We walked and walked; the more it lasted, the deeper I hid in my thoughts, avoiding the real world with its aggressive people and noises. It got worse as we approached the Sorbonne and its horde of students heading to their morning classes, mixing with the usual gaping, loitering tourists. We only stopped a few minutes so I could buy a bad cup of coffee to warm my hands and keep my brain working.


    ¡®Are we there yet?¡¯, I groaned at some point, impatient to leave the crowd and get away from the harsh sunlight.


    ¡®Ten minutes¡¯, came the laconic answer.


    I sighed. ¡®Can we at least talk to pass the time?¡¯


    ¡®Sure.¡¯


    Another sigh, more audible, hoping he¡¯d get the hint.


    ¡®Sorry¡¯, Axel finally said. ¡®I can¡¯t stop myself from thinking. About Lili, about that night, about every irrational thing I¡¯ve witnessed. I¡¯m trying really hard to wrap my mind around the possibility of¡­ magic.¡¯ The word came out strenuously, as if he had to fight himself to say it. ¡®I feel foolish by simply saying it. I wish I knew what I can do, I need to know something, have a clear purpose, plan my course of action. The vagueness of all this¡­ it¡¯s torture.¡¯


    He pondered for a while, then added: ¡®Maybe you¡¯re right, maybe I should busy myself with the more concrete clues. The deepest place in Paris and all that. It¡¯s something I can actually do, with a tangible result.¡¯ There was a smile, like a flicker of sunlight in a storm. ¡®Let¡¯s stop in the garden for a minute so you can change, shall we?¡¯, he asked as we approached the gates of Luxembourg.


    I nodded and followed him through the thickening throng flowing out of the train station and into the park. We sat down on the first empty bench; I traded my comfortable Docs for the cold rubber boots, and shivered.


    ¡®You¡¯ll be glad to have them later¡¯, Axel promised, stuffing my Docs into his seemingly bottomless backpack, then showing me how to fold up the extra length so it wouldn¡¯t bother me while walking. When he was done, the fisherman boots looked much less conspicuous.


    ¡®I certainly hope I won¡¯t regret it¡¯, I admitted, already feeling my feet turn into icicles.


    ¡®We¡¯ll be there soon, and it will be a little warmer underground.¡¯ He patted me on the back and stood. ¡®Let¡¯s go. We have to get there at the same time with the students.¡¯


    It was I who walked briskly this time, trying to warm up again; and soon enough, the massive girth of Ecole des Mines blocked away the sun on our side of the boulevard. I examined its fa?ade, scarred by the marks of the bullets and bombshells of the two world wars, and ran my fingers over it. It was an eerie feeling, being able to touch history, almost captivating; but it was not the time to indulge in daydreaming. Shaking my head, I turned my eyes away from the wall, and saw the large wooden doors open.


    ¡®Here we go¡¯, Axel whispered, looking around to spot the university guards. ¡®We¡¯ll blend in where the crowd is thickest and try not to be noticed and asked for our student cards. Ready?¡¯


    A tingle started to spread along my skin. My throat was as tight as the knot in my stomach. I swallowed hard.


    ¡®No.¡¯


    Then I plunged in the middle of the chattering, fretting students, and let their flow carry me into the shadows of the hall.


    Questions for the readers</a>

 Chapter 7 - Voi chentrate

    <h1 style="text-align: justify">Chapter 7 ¨C Voi ch¡¯entrate</h1>


    A sudden chill made me shiver as I stepped into the gloom. I followed the others blindly, guided by their jostling, until my eyes adjusted to the weak light and I could see we¡¯d passed the guards¡¯ desk. They were busy checking the cards of a larger group, who protested loudly about being late for a test. Axel used the distraction to slip behind them and join me.


    ¡®Where next?¡¯


    ¡®We cross the building to the inner yard to reach the archives¡¯, he said.


    ¡®Just like that?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, just like that.¡¯


    ¡®But what if someone stops us, asks questions?¡¯


    ¡®Just act like you belong here, and no one will.¡¯


    I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling tense as my pulse sped up. So far, my life had consisted of avoiding taking risks, mostly by respecting all the rules and fleeing rather than fighting when the slightest conflict arose. The simple idea of doing something I wasn¡¯t supposed to made me nervous. While I was still biting my nails and hesitating, Axel set off nonchalantly, his backpack hanging carelessly from one shoulder, hands in his pockets. I rushed to catch up, doing my best to hide my agitation and look like any other student on a Thursday morning. I felt like a mouse in plain sight, walking through the spacious corridors where I had no right to be. The muscles in my back were stiff with apprehension, and there was an insisting itch between my shoulderblades, as if someone stared at me from behind. I kept glancing back, each time with the certainty that a guard had noticed our intrusion and was about to catch up with us.


    At the same time, however, I was awed by Axel¡¯s self-assurance, the way he walked down the hall and opened doors as if he owned the place. Had I not known him, I would have believed he was a teacher, or even someone in a higher position: he had the attitude of someone who has somewhere to be, and whose time should not be wasted on trivial questions like where he was headed. With each wave of relief that came with every door we passed unhindered, the adrenaline rush became more and more exhilarating. When we stepped into the inner yard, I almost laughed from the unexpected thrill ¨C understanding, for the first time, those who sought it regularly.


    On the steps of the building across the yard, another guard was basking in the morning sun, eyes half closed.


    ¡®We have to get there¡¯, Axel pointed to the left, where the sidewalk circled around the corner.


    ¡®¡®They¡¯re really overdoing things with the Vigipirate plan, don¡¯t you think?¡¯


    He shrugged. ¡®Who knows? This school has already been used by the Luftwaffe in the second war, maybe it could still have some strategic importance to an ill-intentioned individual. It makes sense they would continue with the plan. Let¡¯s just wait here until he is distracted. Here they come¡¯, he said, tilting his head towards a raucous group that was just pushing the door.


    Once more, I shivered with anticipation. As soon as they passed us, we joined the left fringe of the group and crossed the yard. Lazily, the guard waved the students in without checking their cards; I couldn¡¯t believe it would be so easy. We sneaked away from the group, in a haste to be around the corner and out of sight.


    ¡®Hey, you two!¡¯, he shouted after us. I froze on the spot, blood thumping in my ears. That¡¯s the end of our luck, I thought, panicking, thinking frantically for a way out. My legs itched furiously with the urge to run away, but there was nowhere to go: we were surrounded by buildings with a parking lot in front of us, bordered by a high fence. Even if Axel could easily jump over it, I certainly wasn¡¯t tall nor strong enough to succeed.


    ¡®Where are you going?¡¯, the guard asked, frowning. He was a tall and wiry man in his forties, with angular features which didn¡¯t seem to have shown benevolence since his teenage years. His beady eyes surveyed us suspiciously.


    Axel turned around slowly, half-covering me behind him.


    ¡®Hello, sir¡¯, he said politely. ¡®We were just visiting the museum, when my friend felt weak all of a sudden. We wanted to be here early before going to work, you see, and she hasn¡¯t had breakfast.¡¯ He nudged me discreetly. I leant against him, eyes half closed, doing my best impression of a damsel in distress. ¡®I figured she would feel better if she had some fresh air.¡¯


    The guard looked us up and down, his eyes narrowing at the sight of our boots. He raised an eyebrow.


    ¡®We have an intervention in the phone utility tunnel¡¯, Axel lied smoothly, waving towards the street. ¡®Haven¡¯t you noticed that the internet is down in the neighbourhood?¡¯


    The man kept staring at us for a while, without replying. I clung to Axel¡¯s arm with both hands and pretended I was on the verge of fainting.


    ¡®You should sit down against the wall¡¯, the guardian finally said, ¡®before your knees give in.¡¯


    I offered him a grateful, although feeble, smile, and did as instructed. Axel knelt by my side, looking concerned.


    ¡®I¡¯ll fetch you a glass of water and some sugar, you¡¯ll feel better in no time¡¯, the man added. ¡®Stay put until I¡¯m back. It will help.¡¯


    Axel watched him enter the building, and whispered: ¡®He¡¯s gone. We have to move quickly.¡¯


    I sprang back on my feet and ran after him through the parking lot. Hidden behind the cars, an unremarkable rectangular hole led to concrete stairs.


    ¡®I was expecting something¡­ different¡¯, I said, surprised. ¡®Four walls and a roof, at least.¡¯


    ¡®It really doesn¡¯t matter. There¡¯s no time to think about the architecture now ¨C let¡¯s go before he comes back¡¯, Axel said, shooting a glance over his shoulder.


    We ran down the steps, and were stopped by a door with a note stuck to it. ¡°Exceptionally, the archives will open at 10 on the 5th of December¡±, it read.


    ¡®Now what?...¡¯


    ¡®Now you check that no one is coming¡¯, he whispered tensely.


    ¡®Axel, what are you going to¡­?¡¯


    ¡®Just keep watch!¡¯


    The urgency in his voice shut me up. I turned my back to him, fiddling with my gloves as I looked up the steps at the blinding morning light, and wondering what other illicit secrets Axel had. Wrought with anticipation and expecting to hear the guard¡¯s footsteps any time, I jumped when something clicked behind me.


    ¡®Quickly, get inside¡¯, Axel whispered.


    With a last glance up the stairs, I slipped in the archives, eager to be out of sight.


    ¡®This way.¡¯


    I fumbled about in the shadows, trying to follow Axel.


    ¡®Where the hell did they go?!¡¯, came the guardian¡¯s voice, muffled by the earth and the concrete around us. I was hurrying along the corridor when a sharp pain stopped me dead. I cursed under my breath, crouching to hold my knee.


    ¡®Ru?...¡¯, called Axel, trying to keep his voice low.


    ¡®I¡¯m okay, a damn shelf attacked me.¡¯


    ¡®Come on, we¡¯re almost there! You can take a break and look at it when we get underground.¡¯


    I stood up, flinching, and limped over to him.


    ¡®In there¡¯, he pointed at the deeper gloom between two shelves. I groped around with my hands outstretched, hoping not to meet other aggressive corners, until my foot bumped into something on the floor. I heard a door close behind me, then a neon bulb flickered to life. I closed my eyes against the aggressive light, and took a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart before I looked around me.


    ¡®Uh, I think we have a problem¡¯, I said, staring at the concrete weighing down the hatch.


    Axel opened a closet door, and, after some rummaging, he produced a crowbar and showed it to me with a grin.


    ¡®You¡¯ve been before?¡¯


    He nodded.


    ¡®I like to be prepared beforehand, as you know so well. Now, we¡¯d better hurry up.¡¯ He wedged the hatch open with a grunt of effort. ¡®Give me a hand, please.¡¯


    I stepped next to him and grabbed the rounded edge with both hands. My entire spine protested when I tried to lift it, and my knee sent a sharp pain through my nerves.


    ¡®Don¡¯t pull it up, Ru, you¡¯ll hurt yourself¡¯, Axel scolded me. ¡®Keep your arms and back straight, and push with your legs to keep it open for me.¡¯


    I shifted my position as instructed, and the hatch suddenly felt much lighter. Axel let go of the crowbar and seized the edge too. ¡®Ready? When I say three, push. One, two¡­¡¯


    Together, we hauled it up easily. The top of the steps, narrowed by another slab of concrete, opened at our feet, spiralling down into the darkness. The now familiar smell drafted up to me: damp stone and clay and old dust.


    I passed my backpack through, then slid in, wriggling in the narrow, coiling space the best I could, then down the first steps until I could stand. Axel propped the hatch open with the crowbar, then followed me. Crouching uncomfortably at the top of the stairs, he supported the heavy cover on his shoulders, kicked the crowbar away, then let the hatch come down slowly.


    ¡®Not the easiest one to handle¡¯, he said, panting. ¡®I¡¯m glad I don¡¯t have to do it very often.¡¯


    ¡®Understandable¡¯, I nodded.


    ¡®Ready?¡¯


    ¡®As ready as I could be.¡¯ My voice was tight.


    ¡®This probably won¡¯t help, but try not to worry yet. We don¡¯t know if this is the right place.¡¯


    ¡®I wish I had control over my imagination¡¯, I sighed. ¡®Let¡¯s go, I can panic just as well while walking.¡¯


    The stairs swirled monotonously, like an endless descent to the center of the earth. Or hell, my inner voice provided obligingly. I felt my legs go weak; was it the effort, or was it fear? I focused on each step instead, careful not to stagger as my head started to spin and my knee to hurt, and trying not to think about what was to come; and when we reached the bottom, I leaned against the metal door frame that marked the entrance, my legs still unsteady.


    We had arrived in the middle of a gallery, slightly curving away on both sides. Compared to what I¡¯d seen so far, it was ugly. Its limestone blocks contrasted with the rough cement that bound them; bricks lined the inside of the stairs, their colour a dirty crimson, like innards. What a welcoming start, I thought.


    ¡®The Germans¡¯ work¡¯, Axel commented, seeing my expression as I looked around. ¡®Never cared for aesthetics. Anyway¡­ where do you want to begin?¡¯. He pulled out the map of the area and laid it on the ground at my feet. I crouched down and examined it. The gallery was an irregular oval, crossed by two other intersecting tunnels, marked encouragingly as ¡°low¡± and ¡°very low¡±, which delineated three uneven areas.


    ¡®I have no idea, to be honest. I don¡¯t know what to look for, or what the passage should be like.¡¯


    Axel pondered. ¡®There is no name in this sector that could point us in the right direction, like it happened with the Carrefour des Morts. Hmmm.¡¯


    I lifted the map to my eyes, scrutinizing every millimeter for a clue, but it seemed to be a quite unremarkable part of the underground. Apart from the three galleries, there were only a service shaft towards the surface, a consolidated bell-hole, and a well.


    ¡®There¡¯s not much to work with¡¯, I sighed, disheartened.


    ¡®I wish I could help¡­ but I know nothing more than you do. Quite the contrary. I hoped you would have a clue, once we get here.¡¯


    I rubbed my temples as if, by doing so, an idea would be prompted into life, but in vain.


    ¡®I can see nothing special on the map. I¡¯d say we try to just walk around, check these galleries, and see if something pops out. What do you think?¡¯


    ¡®Sure. I guess that is the best we can do, given the circumstances.¡¯


    We collected our backpacks and stood up.


    ¡®Which way do you want to go?¡¯


    I took another glance at the map.


    ¡®Well, there¡¯s a bell-hole to the South. Might as well start there¡¯, I offered, setting off.


    ¡®It¡¯s the other way¡¯, Axel said, suppressing a laugh. I grumbled and turned around as he smiled discreetly.


    After a few steps, the hideous German cement gave way to clean limestone, its warm, pale colour only stained by the dark dust that had settled in its crevices as centuries passed by. Unlike the rest of the quarries I¡¯d seen so far, no tag or graffiti marked the passage of other people since the quarrymen had left, as if time had stopped between these walls. Our steps seemed intrusive and unwelcome, like we were disturbing an old, abandoned house. Was I too sensitive, too impressionable, or was I becoming aware of something that used to be out of reach for me? Was it a clue? I walked warily, trying to pay attention to everything I saw, heard, or felt around me. Axel followed me, only breaking the silence to give me directions when galleries crossed.


    ¡®Take a left, the bell-hole is right before the dead-end.¡¯


    The floor angled to a gentle slope towards the fractured ceiling. Wood scaffoldings, cracked with age and weakened by the ever present humidity, buckled worryingly under the weight of the earth, stained with sickly grey mold. Here and there, broken stones matched the fissures above our heads. I became aware that my steps were slower, that I¡¯d been walking with my shoulders hunched, as if expecting for an avalanche of rocks to come down on us. I wanted to lay a hand on the wall, to find reassurance in its solidity, but splits ran along it as well, and limestone dust showered down whenever I accidentally touched something. I felt uneasy and tense in this bowel that twisted its way through, like a trap slowly closing down on us.


    Almost bent in half, I didn¡¯t see the wall of concrete blocks that surged in my way, and almost bumped into it, startled. Behind me, Axel came out of the tunnel and stretched with a grunt, content to be able to stand straight. I looked up at the grey dome, covered in rough mortar.


    ¡®That¡¯s it? That¡¯s the bell-hole?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m afraid so¡¯, he confirmed.


    I examined it, trying to feel something, remembering how I¡¯d almost seen the workers lying down the bricks when I¡¯d touched the plaque in the cemetery. Nothing came, besides the cold that seeped in my limbs in this cul-de-sac.


    ¡®I think there¡¯s nothing here¡¯, I said, somewhat disheartened by this unfruitful start.


    Taking a deep breath for courage, I crept back into the cramped tunnel, crouching as not to touch anything, and moved uncomfortably through as quickly as I could. Even breathing that damp air made me queasy at the thought of the mold that reigned on the decaying wood. I sighed with relief when I stood again under a high, solid-looking ceiling. My knee throbbed, and I rubbed it absentmindedly. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Once Axel joined me, we moved on to check the other galleries, sometimes walking, sometimes bent in half or crouching through mud and puddles. The monotonous walls turned round and round, the same rocks piling up to the same ceiling, the same pickaxe marks and the same white dust or muddy water on the floor ¨C and no sign, no clue, not the slightest eerie feeling. I put all my hopes on the well, refusing to think about the possibility that we¡¯d been wrong all along. It has to be there, I kept repeating to myself, believing it with all my strength, wishing it to be the way through, as if I could make it come to existence. It cannot not be there, I thought stubbornly as the same walls kept scrolling past. I was so focused on my aimless prayer that I jumped when Axel spoke.


    ¡®I don¡¯t think it is here, either¡­¡¯


    I stared at the crimson inscription in front of my eyes, the only stain of colour on the blonde limestone. In capital letters, the word ¡°well¡± stood out, and yet it refused to make sense. There was nothing else.


    ¡®I suppose it has been filled and walled up¡¯, Axel said in a tired whisper, leaning heavily against the wall and rubbing his eyes. I let myself slide down and stared at the four red letters, empty and dejected.


    ¡®I don¡¯t see what else I can do. I have no idea where to look. I can¡¯t even think anymore.¡¯


    The words left my mouth on their own; my mind was vacant but for the fog of misery that clouded it. My throat tightened, and I gnawed at my lower lip in an attempt to keep down the sobs that were starting to rise to my throat. Frustration and rage, fueled by my own shame for being useless and incapable, swelled in my chest, threatening to burst.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know! I don¡¯t know where it is, damn it!¡¯, I yelled, clenching my fingers around a rock and hurling it at the wall. ¡®Why am I so fucking useless? Why the hell am I sitting here, crying and feeling sorry for myself like a weakling, instead of doing something for them?¡¯


    ¡®Hey, hey, don¡¯t say that.¡¯


    Axel sat next to me and gently pulled my hands away. I realised I¡¯d been clawing my own arm in rage. ¡®Don¡¯t be so harsh on yourself¡¯, he murmured, wiping my cheeks with his sleeve. ¡®This is an unusual situation; it¡¯s perfectly normal to be nervous, or to have a break-down. I¡¯m here, I¡¯m with you.¡¯  He patted me awkwardly on the back, holding me tight with his other arm, as if to pass on some of his calm. I steadied my breath, fighting down the overwhelming certitude of being worthless.


    He needs me, I told myself, we don¡¯t have any other course of action, no other clue. He needs me. They need me. I have to stop whimpering, and act.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry¡¯, I whispered, ¡®I wish I were more reliable¡­¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s alright.¡¯


    ¡®I feel so powerless, so clueless¡­ I¡¯m so angry at myself I¡¯d punch a wall.¡¯


    ¡®I know. But I trust you, Ru. I believe you can find it, whatever it is, and I will be here with you as long as I can.¡¯


    I laid my head back against his arm, eyes closed, and tried to think through the haze.


    ¡®A school at the end of the world. What are we missing?¡¯, he pondered out loud, switching back to his practical self. I realised how handling yet another of my emotional bursts must have been difficult for him. A new reason for me to feel guilty¡­


    I tried to push my brooding aside and join Axel¡¯s efforts towards a solution. His words floated around my mind. I tried to remember the map: how far north were we? And where exactly, on the map of Paris, were we? Something nagged me, a clue maybe, hazily. Ecole des Mines¡­ What is it that I didn¡¯t see? I plunged in my memories of the morning, searching for the detail that circled at the edge of my consciousness. I walked back to the Luxembourg garden, back into the streets, along the Saint-Michel boulevard¡­ The hunch became more and more insistent, if only I could put my finger on it. I saw us elbowing our way through the crowd of students, hurrying to class, and I understood.


    ¡®I know!¡¯


    Axel glanced at me, startled.


    ¡®Pass me the map¡¯, I asked, suddenly excited. He had barely taken it out when I snatched it from his hands, almost ripping it in my haste to check if I was right. I bent over it, searching where we were, and then following the galleries up North.


    ¡®Rue Saint-Jacques!¡¯, I pointed. ¡®And here, look, rue Royer Collard!¡¯


    Axel raised an eyebrow in confusion.


    ¡®Indeed, and¡­?¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t you get it? Don¡¯t you see? That¡¯s what we missed!¡¯, I exclaimed, feverishly, as everything fell into place.


    ¡®Ru, slow down, I¡¯m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ve studied at the Sorbonne, Axel. What¡¯s the oldest university in Paris, or even in France?¡¯


    ¡®Alright, but¡­ the quarries don¡¯t stretch that far.¡¯


    ¡®It doesn¡¯t matter, I¡¯m sure of it! Royer Collard is maybe three streets away from the Sorbonne, and Saint-Jacques runs along it!¡¯


    ¡®Ru, calm down and explain this rationally.¡¯


    ¡®It was bloody obvious, why didn¡¯t I think of it from the beginning?¡¯ I shook my head in disbelief at myself, then continued:


    ¡®Okay, listen to this. Sorbonne has existed since the 1200s, even though since then it has been built on and around, and probably doesn¡¯t keep much of its medieval self. But, the school, as an entity, has been there continuously, for more than eight hundred years. Now, you once told me that everything at the surface mirrors a void underground, remember?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, but I meant¡­¡¯


    ¡®I know, I know. But what if, what if the Solomonars took that to the letter? As above, so below, the alchemists used to say. What is higher is like what is lower, if we translate it literally. What if the fact that Sorbonne existed on the same ground for centuries somehow created a mirror of itself underground? Another school? I don¡¯t know how to explain this clearly¡¯, I groaned, rubbing at my temples. ¡®But I¡¯m certain that the school of the Solomonars, even if it¡¯s in their realm beyond ours, is there. I think we need to look for the entry in those galeries.¡¯


    Axel mulled over it for a while, then stood up.


    ¡®Well, I don¡¯t see why you would not be right. We don¡¯t know what is the logic of this other world, or whatever it is, so¡­ I would do anything that has even the slightest chance to help Lili.¡¯


    I nodded.


    ¡®Me too. And I must confess, now that I thought of this possibility, I feel a little better. It cheered me up a bit¡¯, I smiled.


    ¡®Good to hear¡¯, he replied, his relief almost palpable. ¡®Ready to go, then?¡¯


    ¡®Ready.¡¯


    We heaved our backpacks and left at a determined pace, past the cemented walls and the crimson bricks. The farther we got from the stairs, the more the gallery changed, bringing to mind its past as a part of the quarry. The left-hand side seemed to have been the working face; rough edges protruded in almost straight layers, marking the place from which the stone blocks were cut. Strata of limestone ran unbroken on the face of the exposed rock, lining it in shades of pale beige, ochre, and amber. I ran my fingers along it as we walked, its continuous flow almost mesmerizing, and imagined the quarrymen at work: shoving the wedges into the cracks with rhythmic blows, almost musical; heaving the stone away, and sawing it into regular blocks, while others threw the debris behind them, mounting a parapet to hold the backfill, and hoisting the hefty stones into pillars to support the ceiling. Over and over again, the cutting face advanced deeper into the bed of limestone, the layers of backfill and stone walls and pillars following like ranks of mineral soldiers in an underground parade.


    ¡®Through there¡¯, Axel interrupted my reverie, pointing at the base of a concrete wall that shut our way. I crouched and peered into the cathole that twisted its way through the stone, around the obstacle. Shoving my backpack first, I got to my hands and knees and wriggled in, crawling on the hard floor. Drops of clear, cold water infiltrated through the cracks in the ceiling and down my back, slowly seeping through my clothes. I tried my best not to startle at the icy touch in the narrow passage with its protruding edges, while also paying attention to the treacherous puddles. Finally, the backpack I¡¯d been pushing ahead of me fell out into the open space beyond, and I dragged myself along on aching knees and elbows until I was able to stand again. Axel¡¯s grumbling progress through the wormhole was slower than mine; being petite had its advantages in some environments, but I sympathised with his toil nonetheless. He came through the opening, and rolled on his back with a tired sigh.


    ¡®These holes make me feel like an old man.¡¯


    ¡®I feel your pain in my bones, you know¡¯, I replied, extending a hand to help him up, and looked around.


    The gallery was higher and more spacious than the underside of the Ecole des Mines, and much more frequented, judged by the agglomeration of tags. Signs of people¡¯s passage littered the floor and even the holes in the walls: beer cans and bottles, plastic bags, empty sandwich wrappers, tissues¡­


    ¡®This place looks like a garbage dump¡¯, I sighed, disheartened.


    ¡®I know¡¯, Axel answered, his face clouding. ¡®There¡¯s even a chamber over there¡¯, he pointed down the crossroads ahead, ¡®that¡¯s called the Filthy Chamber.¡¯


    ¡®Mmmm, that sounds appetizing¡­¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m glad we don¡¯t need to go that way. This kind of behaviour is infuriating¡¯, he fumed.


    ¡®Let¡¯s leave this place behind us, then¡¯, I suggested, noticing his clenching fists. He really felt strongly about everything that was related to the quarries, I understood, as if it were his home ¨C or maybe even more than a home.


    Axel nodded, his expression still dark, and walked away quickly. I followed the best I could without tripping on the uneven floor, while examining the sawed-off metal bars that stuck out from the wall at regular intervals. I didn¡¯t dare to bother Axel with questions, however; I felt he needed to get away from this kind of tunnel as soon as he could. The degradations seemed to upset him deeply, and I wondered how much time he had spent here so far.


    For a while, the gallery continued monotonously, its straight walls pockmarked by the pickaxes that had carved the passage, and smeared with spray paint. Ahead of me, Axel stopped and waited. As I approached, the small metal gate he was holding open came into sight, and I raised an eyebrow.


    ¡®What¡¯s a gate doing here?¡¯, I asked, also noticing the concrete steps that went down into the next gallery.


    ¡®This tunnel has been used for the phone cables in the past, I¡¯m sure you noticed the remains of the ducts. This gate was usually closed so that workers wouldn¡¯t fall down the steps in case they didn¡¯t see them.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, right.¡¯


    ¡®And see this shaft right here?¡¯, Axel pointed up when we got in the middle of the adjoining tunnel. ¡®That¡¯s where the cables went. You can see the same stairs and gates on both sides.¡¯


    It made me happy to see that the explanations he was giving me kept him distracted from the garbage, so I encouraged him with questions as we moved away from the intersection. With each step, the walls seemed to recover their original creamy whiteness, only spotted here and there by ancient inscriptions in charcoal or ochre. The floor, who had been partly covered in small gravel along the cable ducts, became muddy with pale clay once more. From the distance came the sound of droplets falling rhythmically, like an underground clock counting slower seconds. Gradually, we lowered our voices into whispers, and silence wrapped itself around us. Had we stopped and turned off the lights, I would have believed to be in a cave, deep into the earth.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    The peace insinuates itself into my mind once more as I write this, in spite of what came afterwards. The magic of the old stone is subtle, yet powerful. However grim and tired I might feel in this moment, simply remembering it brings back the calmness I¡¯ve felt in the heart of the earth. I could let go and bathe in it, give in to its pull, and let it take over me. I could remain in this peaceful dream, until I become one with the stone, free from suffering, free from everything. A way to escape reality.


    However, I cannot flee, I must not. Not this time, however tempting it might be. It is not about me anymore. I must fight, this time. For them.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    Splashes. Limpid water flooded the gallery as far as I could see, swirling sleepily around our boots, and embracing our legs possessively, like a jealous lover. It seeped from the ceiling, trailing down along the wounds left by the mining tools, covering their bites in petrified lace in the colour of saffron and fresh blood. The mineral quietude surrounded me, like a cocoon out of time. I watched the mesmerising dance of the white clay at the bottom. Each step we took brought up pale silhouettes that shifted through the water before they dissolved. The steady lapping and the glimmer of our lights on the ripples lulled me close to sleep. I went on as if in a dream, listening to the earth, one hand caressing the wall, its limestone smooth to touch. Having pulled my boots as high as they went, I didn¡¯t pay attention to the level of the water that slowly crept up my thighs. When its cold fingers slithered into my boots, I startled back to reality.


    The dead-end was in sight, a pile of backfill sloping up towards another wall of concrete blocks. The gallery forked to the left; standing on tiptoe to avoid getting even wetter, I peered around the corner. My lamp couldn¡¯t reach the bottom of the water, despite its transparency, and the ceiling seemed to be much closer to it. The floor must be slanted, I supposed, not knowing how to continue.


    ¡®I could go see how flooded it is up ahead¡¯, Axel said. ¡®Maybe it can be crossed if I carry you.¡¯


    I thanked him with a nod, and climbed on the backfill to sit down while I waited. Head on the knees, I watched the coils and twirls in the water, like the hair of a graceful swimmer. Ripples circled continuously, enthrallingly, beckoning me to give in to the crystalline waves. Their music was an enticing call, awakening a sense of home in the depths of my being, beyond awareness. Glimpses of a river flowing lazily under the summer sky. White light glinting on the waves above my head. The caress of billowing, long leaves rising from the bottom. I leaned forward, dipping my fingers in the cool water, drawing circles of my own, like an answer.


    The sudden reflection of Axel¡¯s lamp dazzled me. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, confused, waiting for my vision to adjust.


    ¡®It¡¯s entirely flooded farther down the gallery¡¯, he informed me miserably, slumping down next to me. ¡®There¡¯s no way to reach it without diving equipment¡­¡¯ He hid his face in his hands and went quiet. I stared into the water, thinking furiously, searching for a way, another clue, something I might have missed.


    ¡®Axel¡­¡¯, I whispered after a while, ¡®maybe that¡¯s the point. He raised his eyes and looked quizzically at me. ¡®It would make sense for the entrance to be hidden, wouldn¡¯t it? Otherwise everyone would stumble through uninvited.¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t know¡­ Maybe.¡¯ His voice was tired.


    ¡®I want to try¡¯, I insisted, ¡®before looking for something else. I want to be sure it¡¯s not here, first.¡¯


    ¡®The water goes up to the ceiling for several meters. You¡¯re not a trained diver, how could you hold your breath long enough? You won¡¯t be able to come to the surface to breathe. It¡¯s dangerous, Ru.¡¯ Axel leaned in as he spoke, putting his hands on my shoulders and staring into my eyes. ¡®It really is dangerous. You could drown.¡¯


    I turned away from him and back to the ripples that called for me. I longed to swim, wondering how smooth the floating clay would feel on my skin, how would the light look below. I wanted to follow the path of the polished pebbles down the tunnel and see where it led.


    ¡®I¡¯m going to do it.¡¯


    ¡®Rusanda, don¡¯t. I¡¯m serious. Do not go there.¡¯


    This time, it was I who leaned towards him.


    ¡®Our friends need me¡¯, I said, sadly. ¡®I need to try.¡¯


    Axel looked down and away. I put a hand on his cheek.


    ¡®I have to go.¡¯


    Have to swim¡­


    ¡®Think of Lili¡¯, I whispered. He closed his eyes tight, refusing to look at me. ¡®It will be alright, I know it will. Because you¡¯ll keep an eye on me.¡¯ I stood and undressed, taking off the heavy, long boots, the jacket and the sweater, and piling them next to my backpack. Axel glanced up at the sound of my clothes, but looked away immediately, finding a most interesting crevice in the wall that required his attention.


    A thought crossed my mind, fighting my increasing urge to be in the water. I unknotted the white handkerchief. In the dancing lights, embroidered patterns appeared briefly, like moonlight on a lake; but when I looked closer, there was nothing. I took the whetstone, and put the rest on top of my clothes.


    ¡®Axel, I need you. You have to hold both our lights for me, I can¡¯t take my headlamp underwater¡¯, I insisted.


    ¡®And what if I need to come after you?¡¯, he said, still looking away.


    I searched for his gaze until he met my eyes.


    ¡®I trust you, Axel. I have to do this, and I need you. Because you¡¯ll make sure I get back safely. Okay?¡¯


    The lapping waves tugged at my naked feet, impatiently.


    ¡®Light up your second lamp and leave it here, just in case.¡¯


    ¡®Ru, I¡­¡¯ Axel stopped, seemingly unsure of what to say, then pulled me to his chest. He held me tight, giving me his warmth while the water sent chills up my legs. ¡®I¡¯m worried. I¡­ I¡¯m afraid of what might happen. This is reckless. We can come back with equipment, I know people who¡­¡¯


    ¡®And make Lili wait longer?¡¯, I asked bluntly, pulling away, and knowing it would hurt him into persuasion. His jaw clenched.


    ¡®I¡¯d rather not lose you too¡¯, he managed to say after a long silence. I was growing restive to dive.


    ¡®Axel, I am going. Follow if you want.¡¯


    ¨x¨x¨x


    I should have listened.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    I stomped into the water, shuddering at its icy touch as it reached up my thighs, and steeling myself for what was to come. Feeling around with each foot before taking a step, I headed towards the end of the gallery, and the northest point of the quarries. The edge of this underground world. The chill grew more pleasant as the level rose towards my hips, higher and higher, probing the sensitive skin ahead with glacial brushes. I shivered as if tickled, ready to laugh.


    ¡®Come to me¡­¡¯ A whisper, like the sigh of the wind through willow leaves.


    I plunged.


    Everything went quiet. The silence embraced me, smothering everything else. The muddy water encircled my body like velvet ribbons. I wanted to laugh and swirl and dance in it, the feeling of unhindered freedom exhilarating. I wanted to breathe it in and feel it in my lungs. I opened my eyes, and all I could see was moving whiteness, changing into ivory and cream and alabaster and beige under the dancing lights from afar, growing clearer towards the ceiling. Pulling away from the hypnotizing sight, I dove towards the stone bed with a thrust, and followed the pebbles along the wall, heading for the bottom of the tunnel at the end of the world.


    I groped with one hand through the opaque water in front of me, searching, while my lungs began to tighten. My fingers hit something ahead. I felt around the flat surface for an opening, but the wall sealed the tunnel entirely. Gasping, I fought the urge to open my mouth and breathe in, and, with a kick, I rose towards the surface. My head hit the ceiling before I knew it was there. Dazzled and suffocating, I remembered Axel¡¯s warnings, too late. I needed to get back. Through the throbbing pain and the spasms in my chest, weakness spread through my limbs. I sought the lights ahead through the troubled water, praying I wouldn¡¯t faint before I reached them. I swam awkwardly, half blinded by the headache and struggling to hold my breath, when a flash of movement caught my eye. Axel, I thought with relief. I was going to be safe. I was going to breathe, finally. With the last of my strength, I rushed forward to meet him. A lightning of pain flashed through my right arm.


    A carnivorous grin welcomed me, emaciated arms opening for an embrace.


    Questions for the readers</a>

 Chapter 8 - The Beyonder

    <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 ¨C 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.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    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.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    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.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    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.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    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 ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C ¡®My love!¡¯ ¨C 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 ¨C a beastly face, twisted in rage ¨C a howl ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C fears, hesitations, guilt ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C your friends ¨C is what will help you through your quest. That is your strength ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C an engineer, maybe ¨C had added quotes from Moli¨¨re, 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 ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C 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 ¨C 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>

 Chapter 9 - A New Path

    <h1>Chapter 9 ¨C A New Path</h1>


    <h1 style="text-align: justify"> </h1>


    Once more, I hid in the shower, shivering with cold and fatigue. I had managed to keep my thoughts away from the disturbing experience in the Beyonder only as long as Axel had been with me. Too much had happened in a single day; the slow flow of time in the other realm had crammed too many unsettling events in a few hours, and my mind struggled to keep track. Now that I was alone, the memories came back like a furious tide, beating at the walls I had erected in order to protect myself. After a long while, I crawled out of the shower feeling drained, my limbs laden, and my thoughts sluggish. I glanced longingly at my bed as I passed by on my way to the living room; but I had much to do before I could sleep.


    The fridge was almost empty, and my stomach growled. I had to improvise some sort of dinner if I wanted to stay up a little longer. With a sigh, I fished out some remains of Brie cheese, and butter. In the grocery bag hanging from the cupboard¡¯s handle I found half a stale baguette. It would have to do. I opened the last bottle of beer and took my plate on the couch, where I plopped down heavily. It was all I could do to keep from falling asleep face-first on the coffee table. I turned on the laptop, and forced myself to chew one morsel, then another, as I wrote down brief notes like I used to do in college. Kapnobatai, I added after finishing the summary of the latest events, must research: title, role? Possibly Dacian and/or pre-Roman. Starry twins: connexion with other myths? Maybe useful information; and finally,  reluctantly, I typed: underworld??


    ¨x¨x¨x


    I lean back and rub my eyes tiredly. I¡¯ll fill in the notes later, when I have enough energy to deal with the memories of the rusalka¡¯s cadaverous lips pressing to mine, and those of the overwhelming dread I fought alone in the darkness. With the insane hope that I had found David and the others in the middle of the earthquake. And remember what you did to Codrin¡¯s hand. I shake my head violently and take another sip of beer to shut the inner voice away. It¡¯s the last one, and I feel like I need at least another bottle. Flashes assault my mind again through the fogs of exhaustion. My heart, thumping madly. Talons digging in my neck. Shadows boiling and spreading.


    No, not again.


    Bestial howls in the night.


    A whisper. Come to me.


    Emaciated heads spitting sickly lights on the dark waves.


    I curl up on the couch, hugging my knees and shivering.


    Not again, not again¡­ Please, no.


    Unseen tentacles roll around my ankles and pull me into the river.


    Oh no, oh no¡­


    I¡¯m shaking, my eyes closed tight, my teeth chattering with dread as the water engulfs me, and I drown.


    No!


    Cold explodes from the wound on my arm and spreads throughout my body.


    No. Not again.


    My wrists burn. White light coils and dances beyond my eyelids.


    I open my eyes.


    I¡¯m standing in the middle of the river. The gloom parts slowly, consumed by a moon-like luminescence that draws a path in front of me. I lift my hands; the spirals of the ram horns shine softly as the ice trickles down towards my elbows.


    Under the surface, a shape circles me, its movements souple and elegant.


    ¡®Rusanda¡­¡¯


    Not you. Not again.


    ¡®My daughter.¡¯ A soft murmur, like the wind through the willow leaves.


    You will not fool me again.


    I clench my fists, and the ice thickens around them.


    The lightpath shatters as the rusalka rises. Her pale hair catches the moon gleams, and her amber eyes sparkle.


    ¡®Don¡¯t fear me¡¯, she whispers, reaching out with a pale hand. I step back.


    ¡®Stay away from me!¡¯


    She tilts her head sadly.


    ¡®Why? Why are you afraid of me, you of my own blood?¡¯


    A hysterical laugh escapes my throat.


    ¡®Really? You tried to drown me! Twice!¡¯


    ¡®And now we meet for the third time¡¯, the rusalka says.


    A chill runs down my spine. I am too tired to fight her, or even to think. The ram horns fade from my skin, and I search frantically for an escape.


    ¡®You are dreaming, my child¡¯, she whispers as soon as the question crosses my mind. ¡®You may leave if you wish.¡¯


    May I really? Can I just wake up, that¡¯s it? That¡¯s all?


    I hesitate. If I can truly escape her so easily, then I could stay a little longer, and ask her about¡­ There are so many things I want to ask her about. She could give me answers. Or she could attack again, my inner voice points out. Yes, but I can leave whenever I want, I retort.


    The rusalka watches me struggle. She takes in my hair, my features, as if measuring me against a memory. Our gazes lock; she swims towards me, and rises slowly, until I can see myself mirrored in her green eyes.


    ¡®Why¡­ why did you try to kill me?¡¯, I whisper, enthralled. She touches my hair lightly, and curls a strand around her finger. The brown dye fades, and the copper shines in its stead.


    ¡®That was only you¡¯, she says.


    ¡®Riddles and quizzes, again¡¯, I snap and pull back sharply, her spell broken by the anger that flares once more in my chest. ¡®They¡¯re of no use to me. I¡¯d rather wake up.¡¯ The water swirls as I turn my heels.


    ¡®Stay¡¯, the rusalka pleads, and her voice wraps around me like a silk rope.


    ¡®No.¡¯


    The cold flares again around my wrists. I take another step.


    ¡®Please¡­¡¯


    My fists clench. I¡¯ve had enough of this game. It has to end.


    ¡®I said no.¡¯ The words come like a hiss through my teeth.


    Above us, a blast of wind whips through my hair. She lets out a sharp breath.


    ¡®Rusanda!¡¯


    I turn my head at her call, and she points upwards. My gaze follows her gesture; I freeze at the sight, and stare.


    Silhouettes, indefinite against the dark sky, circle above us. The whirlwind they raise upsets the surface of the river. Waves slap at my chest, and the rusalka is swayed away from me.


    ¡®What is this?¡¯, I manage to whisper.


    ¡®You called for them¡¯, she replies softly, keeping a wary eye on the ever-moving shapes. ¡®Like Gheorghe did¡­ when we first met.¡¯


    The wind becomes stronger, louder ¨C or is it them moaning and wailing? They circle faster, lower, like a tornado descending, and the water lifts to meet them in an ascending whirlpool. My wrists flare and burn.


    ¡®Stop them!¡¯, the rusalka yells, fighting against the currents, her sinuous tail flailing wildly in and out the waves. ¡®You have to stop them!¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t know how!¡¯, I scream back, terrified by the maddened elements that sweep around me. I don¡¯t dare move from the eye of the storm I somehow brought upon us. As she struggles not to be carried away, her appearance starts to flicker: lustrous hair becoming a tangle of putrid weeds around her lovely face; white, dead eyes above a beguiling mouth; ghastly scales spreading down the alluring curves of her breast. I shiver in horror.


    ¡®Help me! Help me, my daughter¡­¡¯, she gargles, striving against the angry maelstrom, which now embraces the swirling winds above.


    I am petrified. The ram horns coil on my skin like a furious swarm of ants, their light almost blinding.


    I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t.


    I close my eyes, searching desperately for the way out of the dream.


    ¡®No!¡¯


    I wake up.


    Her voice fades.


    <h1 style="text-align: justify"> </h1>


    I¡¯m breathing fast, taking gulps of air as if I were drowning. My entire body is shaking uncontrollably.


    ¡®Rusanda¡­¡¯


    A faint whisper, beyond the edge of wakefulness, pleading. I cover my ears, pulling my knees tight against my chest, trying to keep away the tide of shame that threatens to engulf me once more. There was nothing I could¡¯ve done, I keep repeating to myself, like a mantra. I didn¡¯t do it on purpose. I couldn¡¯t stop it.


    ¡®You called them¡¯, she had said. But how?


    It¡¯s not my fault. It¡¯s not my fault. It¡¯s not my fault.


    I¡¯m rolling back and forth on the couch, shaking and crying with fear and dread and guilt.


    You should¡¯ve done something.


    Again.


    My own thoughts stab me in the guts.


    I let go.


    <h1 style="text-align: justify"> </h1>


    I don¡¯t know how much time has passed before I came back to my senses. My clothes are soaked with tears, and weariness weights my entire body down. I stare ahead of me, unseeingly, and feel like I¡¯m floating, my mind empty and numb.


    After a while, I rise from the couch and stumble to the bedroom like a broken automaton. I fall on the bed, and sleep claims me.


    ¨x¨x¨x


    Something buzzed unpleasantly in the distance, dragging me slowly out of the blissful oblivion of sleep. I groaned in protest, but it didn¡¯t stop, so I crawled out of sheets and into the living room, rubbing at my stinging eyes. The droning sound kept on and on, until I located its source: my phone, its screen lit up with an incoming call, vibrating on the coffee table. I plopped down on the couch and picked it up. It was Axel.


    ¡®Mmmmyeah?¡¯, I mumbled. ¡®It¡¯s very, very early, you know¡­¡¯


    ¡®Good morning to you too¡¯, he said, and the tone of his voice made me stand upright and focus. He sounded harried.


    ¡®What¡¯s wrong?¡¯


    ¡®I will be at your place in an hour. Something happened.¡¯


    ¡®What? What is it?¡¯


    ¡®Call Michelle¡¯s sister. It is urgent, make her understand that.¡¯


    ¡®Axel, tell me what¡­¡¯


    He hung up. I growled out loud in frustration, now entirely awake. What could have happened? Was it Lilianne? I couldn¡¯t see any other reason for the tension in his voice ¨C he was always so calm and in control. Knowing that now he was not was an unpleasant feeling, as if my world had suddenly become unstable. I busied myself with the ibrik to keep my mind off it, then looked for the supermarket receipt on which Lucie had written her number. I texted her: ¡°Hi, it¡¯s Rusanda, we met at the hospital. Sorry to bother you so early, but could we meet? Axel said it¡¯s an emergency, but that¡¯s all I know.¡± I pondered briefly, feeling uneasy with the tone of my message, and added: ¡°I hope you can make it.¡± I had just turned back to the stove when the answer came: ¡°Hello Rusanda, thanks for reaching out. I can be at your place in about half an hour. I¡¯ll bring something I think you should have. Text me the address. Lucie.¡±


    I stood by ibrik, forcing myself to watch the slow simmer of the coffee so I wouldn¡¯t pace around the cramped room until she arrived. Oriental coffee was all about patience. It didn¡¯t have the nervousness quality of an espresso, shot out of the machine at high pressure in a handful of seconds. On the contrary, it invited the maker to take their time, to enjoy a few minutes of rest, of daydreaming, while it bubbled and foamed peacefully. Around me rose the sounds of the city awakening; those of the street six floors below me, and of the ancient building. The rush of traffic was muffled; beyond it, faintly, children squeaked on their way to school; somewhere, a neighbour¡¯s music made the old wooden floor thump.


    A hiss from the stove startled me back to reality, and I rushed to move the overflowing ibrik away, scolding myself for ruining the coffee. It would probably be as bitter as my guilt, now. With a sigh, I resolved to put my principles aside for this one time, and hastily whipped some cream. I would serve it the way the women in my family used to ¨C and also cover its taste of failure. May the gods of black coffee forgive me, I prayed, taking the ibrik and two cups to the couch.


    The narrow wooden stairs creaked, and I opened the door before the knock came. Lucie stood in the doorway, and I took a step back in surprise. I¡¯d forgotten how much she looked like her sister. For a confusing moment I thought Michelle had come out of the hospital. At a second glance, though, I could see some faint differences: Lucie¡¯s hair, held back with a green-and-yellow headwrap, was longer and more luxurious,  and whereas her sister¡¯s eyes had the colour of brown amber, hers were like deep water on a moonless night, dark and mesmerising.


    ¡®Are you alright?¡¯, she asked, looking worried, as I hadn¡¯t yet uttered a word. I nodded wearily and invited her in. ¡®You look pale.¡¯ I noticed another difference between her and her twin: both their voices were warm and velvety, but Lucie¡¯s carried a more distinct, melodic Cameroonian accent than Michelle¡¯s had.


    ¡®It¡¯s my natural colour¡¯, I tried for a joke. ¡®It¡¯s just that you¡­¡¯ I gestured vaguely at her face. She smiled sadly.


    ¡®I know. Here, take this¡¯, she added, and only then I noticed the box she carried. When I took it, something moved inside, and I almost dropped it in surprise. Lucie steadied it in my arms, and a feeble squeal came from inside. I stared at her, confused.


    ¡®What is this?¡¯


    ¡®Sit down, we need to talk about many things.¡¯


    I put the box carefully on the couch next to me, not knowing what to do.


    ¡®Open it¡¯, Lucie prompted me gently.


    ¡®Meow¡¯, said the box in a tiny voice.


    I hurried to it, my hands shaky with a mix of disbelief and excitement. From the depths of a blanket, a small, scruffy head with ridiculously large ears emerged cautiously, squinting at us. My heart melted, and, without a second thought, I pulled the black kitten and her blanket out and cuddled her tightly, cooing while she meowed weakly in protest.


    ¡®I think Michelle has told you about her¡¯, Lucie said, scratching the tiny head with a finger. ¡®She was David¡¯s ¨C he and my sister were trying to find her a family.¡¯ A pang tightened my chest. The comical little creature was now the only link to him that I had.


    ¡®What¡¯s her name?¡¯, I whispered.


    ¡®Why, Sekhmet, of course. She has a sister named Bastet.¡¯


    ¡®Of course¡¯, I repeated absentmindedly, as memories of David playing with his dog Anubis made my heart suddenly heavy. ¡®He was fond of his roots, wasn¡¯t he¡­¡¯


    ¡®He still is¡¯, she corrected me, patting my arm. I flinched and pulled away, as a sharp pain flashed through my flesh. ¡®What is it?¡¯, Lucie asked, startled. I rubbed my skin, grimacing, then pulled my sleeve up to show her.


    ¡®I¡¯ve got some cuts that haven¡¯t healed yet.¡¯


    She inspected the red gashes closely, running a light finger around them, and frowned. ¡®It doesn¡¯t look good. There¡¯s something I could do to help, if you agree.¡¯ I nodded. ¡®Hold out your hands, please, palm up.¡¯ Lucie placed her own hands on mine, and, closing her eyes, began to murmur something. Her face lit up with a faint, pearly glow, tracing the same patterns I¡¯d seen at the hospital. The cuts on my arm tickled as a gentle warmth spread from her fingers. The angry red that surrounded them started to fade, until the flesh was again the same pale colour as usual. Lucie opened her eyes and smiled. ¡®How does it feel now?¡¯


    ¡®It doesn¡¯t feel¡­ anything, actually¡¯, I said, touching the wounds carefully. ¡®It doesn¡¯t hurt anymore. At all. How¡­?¡¯ I let the question hang in the air, looking up at her. She settled more comfortably, tucking her feet beneath her. ¡®It¡¯s a story for another time, and for now we need to talk about¡­ what happened.¡¯ Her eyes unfocused, and her lips pressed together tightly. What happened to Michelle, she meant. I bit back the urge to cry at the renewed pang of guilt, settled the kitten on the bean-bag, and rose to fetch the coffee while I fought to regain control. I wiped my eyes hastily while my back was turned, then filled two cups and spooned a generous amount of whipped cream into each of them. Lucie took hers with a nod of thanks.


    ¡®So¡¯, she said after taking a sip. ¡®Can you fill me in?¡¯


    I took a deep breath and started talking, trying to keep things short, but as clear as possible. The little Sekhmet scrambled down from her place and bumped my foot with her head. I picked her up, stroking her fur while I told the story, and she purred contentedly.  Lucie remained very silent, listening so attentively that I felt like she was absorbing my words. Never before has anyone listened to me the way she did; talking to her was a liberation. When I finished, I felt much lighter than I had been in the past five days, as if her listening had unburdened me. I lay back with a sigh, and stared into the cup I was cradling. Silence descended on us, a familiar silence made of muffled life ¨C distant traffic, the hum of the heaters, and the slow purr of a sleeping kitten. Rain started to splatter softly on my windows, as if asking to be let into our cocoon.


    ¡®There¡¯s a lot I¡¯m not familiar with¡¯, Lucie said after a while, gazing thoughtfully at the drops that danced on the glass. ¡®All this is as far from what I know as it could possibly be, and I¡¯ll need you to talk me through it. But for now, what I think is urgent if we are to work together to help my sister and your friends, is the skill you¡¯ve discovered.¡¯


    I shrank deeper into the couch, pulling my knees up and disturbing Sekhmet. ¡®Sorry, little one¡¯, I whispered, petting her back to sleep. ¡®I don¡¯t know how to handle it. I don¡¯t know what it is, or who could teach me.¡¯ A sudden idea made me look up at Lucie. ¡®Could¡­ you?¡¯ I asked uncertainly, a small flame of hope kindling in my chest. ¡®You seem to know a lot about¡­  these things.¡¯


    She shook her head apologetically. ¡®We don¡¯t have the same blood, and even if we did, I can¡¯t teach you the ways of the liengu. I couldn¡¯t even teach Michelle.¡¯


    ¡®The liengu¡­?¡¯ I started.


    ¡®Later, when your friend comes too. Meanwhile, could you show me your skill again?¡¯


    ¡®I, uh¡­ I¡¯m not sure¡¯, I stammered. ¡®I never did it on purpose. I wouldn¡¯t know how.¡¯


    ¡®Give it a try¡¯, she encouraged me. ¡®Remember how it felt.¡¯


    I thought of the cold, spreading from my fingers and up my arms, focusing on the trickle of the ice as it crawled up my skin. As hard as I tried, however, nothing came.


    ¡®I can¡¯t do it at will¡¯, I said with a sigh of exasperation. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡®Try again. Use your memories, if needed be, bring forth the cold from your mind.¡¯


    I closed my eyes again and tried to remember what a true winter felt like.


    Since I¡¯ve moved to Paris, I might have seen snow three or four times, and I miss it. I thought fondly of the heavy, grey sky, and the specific smell in the air that announced the first snow during the first days of November. Of that one unforgettable morning when a perfect silence had wrapped over the town. I had walked to school, holding my father¡¯s hand, and bundled up from ears to ankles in a thick coat and rabbit-fur hat that used to be my mother¡¯s, ploughing through the snow that swallowed me up to my knees at every step. I remembered the pale, yellow lights on the whiteness that had engulfed the street, and the silent figures that plodded towards the factories neighbourhood, walking in the middle of the road that was now inaccessible to cars and tramways. It was an eerie, although peaceful, memory, that of the spectral march through the quiet darkness of the early hours, all sounds muffled by the steady, thick snowfall. After school, I would drag out the sleigh to the hillside behind our building, and stay there until I¡¯d be frozen to the bone.


    I smiled to myself as I remembered another hillside, behind my grandparents¡¯ house, where we would all gather to play the day away. The snow was so high there, that we would dig burrows large enough for several children to sit inside, and we¡¯d make chairs and tables and shelves out of snow, until our wool gloves were soaked through, and we couldn¡¯t feel our fingers anymore.


    I remembered the sharp bite of the cold, freezing my bones and burning my skin as I stubbornly dug just a little longer, made just another snowman, threw one last snowball, and I was out there again, breathing into my hands in an attempt to delay the moment of going home. The chill crawled up my fingers, and the rough gloves rasped against my reddened skin as I cupped another handful of snow and imagined it melt and soak through my sleeves. I felt it slither towards my elbows, spread its roots around my arms.


    I opened my eyes, and the ice glimmered as it moved. Sekhmet woke up with a jolt, stared, and jumped on the floor, where she hid behind the bean-bag. The pale scars of the rusalka¡¯s gashes pulsated insistently. I watched, mesmerised, and somehow proud that I succeeded, until the ache became uncomfortable.


    ¡®How do I stop it? It hurts!¡­¡¯, I managed a whine as the pain became almost blinding. Lucie lunged and caught both my wrists in her hands, her tattoos flaring as her face twisted with evident effort. The torturing cold faded slightly for a short moment, but suddenly she yelped and yanked her hands back. They were red and frostbitten.


    The ice was inescapably inching towards my shoulders. What would happen if it arrived in my heart?, I wondered feebly, dizzied by the slumber that creeped on me. I must not give in, not sleep, I thought, while my laden eyelids were slowly closing. I must resist.


    An iron grip tightened around my arms, almost crushing them, and I gasped as it wrested me from the overwhelming sleep. My wrists shone with the white light of the burning ram horns, their intertwining loops twisting under the ice as if fighting it back. We could but watch  the struggle of fire and ice wordlessly. Step by step, the swirling spirals seemed to drink the cold away from my shoulders, then my arms, forcing it to fall back until I saw my skin again, frostbitten like Lucie¡¯s ¨C or Codrin¡¯s. They flared once more, and disappeared.


    We stared, stunned.


    ¡®That was¡­ something¡¯, Lucie finally whispered. ¡®And you definitely have to find a way to harness it.¡¯ I felt too exhausted to do more than nod. I couldn¡¯t even think of anything beyond the throbbing burn of the frostbite. She foraged in her bag, and produced a small tube of flower scented balm, which she spread carefully on her hands, then my arms. It eased the pain a little.


    ¡®Thank you¡¯, I managed to mutter.


    ¡®There is one thing I can suggest in order to help¡¯, Lucie said, still rubbing the balm into the skin of her hands. ¡®How did you make it happen?¡¯


    ¡®Well, the first times it just¡­ appeared.¡¯ I pondered for a moment, trying to recall each occurrence. ¡®I was scared, or in danger¡­¡¯ I remembered Codrin, and felt cheeks burn violently with sudden shame. ¡®¡­ Or angry¡¯, I finished, looking down.


    ¡®And today?¡¯


    ¡®Memories¡¯, I replied briefly, my throat still tight with guilt, then forced myself to elaborate. ¡®I remembered the winters back home.¡¯


    Lucie nodded thoughtfully. ¡®It seems rooted in what you feel, like an organic response, at least the first times it happened. Even if this time you summoned it on purpose, I think it was the fact that you panicked that fed it even more. You lost control of what you felt, so you lost control of it, too. Maybe that¡¯s what you have to look into: some way to steer your emotions, to channel them into your magic. The tattoos you have stopped it, but it was a close call.¡¯


    She was right. I couldn¡¯t rely on the ram-horns every time. Now that I had this¡­ skill, if there was no way to make it go away, I would have to learn to live with it ¨C and to control it. I took a deep breath, trying not to panic at the unfathomable world of new possibilities and consequences that now lied in front of me. It was time to act like an adult, and face the unknown.


    ¡®What do you suggest I do?¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t know what would work for you, but you should find a way to improve your discipline. Maybe join a martial art class, maybe meditate, you know best. You need to get control over your mind. You should also try to find out more about the way your ancestors handled it: did they use specific objects for focus? Clothing? Tattoos?¡¯


    I opened my mouth to tell her about Gheorghe and the Stonemaster, about their bark belts and the rest, when the doorbell rang. ¡®It¡¯s open¡¯, I called, unwilling to disturb Sekhmet again. She stirred, then settled back peacefully.


    ¡®Good morning¡¯, Axel said, hanging his coat by the door and ruffling his wet hair. Lucie waved from the couch. He replied with a small nod, then kneeled next to the couch. ¡®Hello, Sekhmet.¡¯


    I stared at him, confused. ¡®How do you¡­?¡¯


    ¡®Are you seriously asking this?¡¯


    My tired mind finally put two and two together, and I felt like an idiot. Of course.


    ¡®There¡¯s some coffee left on the stove¡¯, I quickly changed the subject. Axel shook his head, still incredulous at my morning doltishness after all these years, and went to pour himself the last of the coffee. When he sat back down on the floor, the grey winter light brought out new lines around his mouth, and the darkening circles beneath his eyes. I reached out to touch his hand, feeling concerned. ¡®You look awful. Did you get any sleep?¡¯


    He waved the question away with an evasive gesture. ¡®Sleep is not my main concern right now.¡¯ He rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning as if in pain, then took a large gulp of coffee. I was anxious to know what was the emergency he¡¯d mentioned, but at the same time, I was afraid of the news. I shrank back in the refuge of the couch and its pillows, wishing I could hide there until everything went away, or somehow fixed itself without my aid. The silence fell again, heavy with all the words that were unsaid. Axel seemed to have closed down on himself as well; he put me in mind of a fighter sheltering a deep wound.


    Lucie¡¯s gaze travelled between the both of us, weighing the situation, and she probably decided we needed a nudge. ¡®I¡¯ve been told there was an emergency¡¯, she prompted Axel. He seemed to close down even more, his arms crossed tightly against his chest, and muttered something I didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡®What was that?¡¯, I asked as gently as I could. He took a deep breath.


    ¡®I said Lili¡¯s getting worse. Critical.¡¯ His voice was strangled, as if he didn¡¯t want to say the words out loud. ¡®The doctors called.¡¯ Another pause. ¡®She can¡¯t breathe on her own anymore.¡¯


    Lucie jumped to her feet. ¡®What about Michelle?¡¯ Axel shrugged weakly. It surely had been the last thing on his mind. My chest tightened when I realised that maybe David was in danger as well; tears welled up.


    ¡®I¡¯m going to see her right now¡¯, Lucie announced, gathering her coat and bag in a single sweep.


    ¡®I¡¯m coming with you¡¯, I said, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. I had to know. We got ready quickly and made for the door. Axel stumbled slowly to his feet. ¡®Do you mind if I just wait here?¡¯


    I reached out to caress his cheek. ¡®Of course I don¡¯t mind.¡¯ He looked as if the light had gone out inside him, and I pulled him close for a hug. ¡®I¡¯m here, you know. You¡¯re not alone.¡¯ He nodded slightly, and Lucie cleared her throat discreetly. I felt her impatience and let go of Axel with a last worried glance.


    ¡®I¡¯ll be fine. Go.¡¯


    <h1 style="text-align: justify"> </h1>


    We ran down the stairs, threw the door open and rushed into the street.


    ¡®What¡¯s the quickest way?¡¯, Lucie asked breathlessly. ¡®Do we have to take the subway?¡¯


    I shook my head, diving into the morning crowd. ¡®The hospital is less than ten minutes away¡¯, I said above my shoulder, trying to walk as fast as I could without shoving people aside. We made haste, stepping down on the road when needed, avoiding cars and bikes at the last moment. Curses and klaxons accompanied us, but we only had one thing in mind and paid no attention to the rest of the world.


    At the hospital¡¯s gate, we stopped to catch our breaths, then looked at each other. I bit my lip as stress, and fear at the news I expected rose inside me. My knees felt suddenly weak, and I had to lean against the stone wall. Lucie touched my arm slightly. ¡®I know¡¯, she whispered, her eyes a little wider than usual. She tugged at her scarf to loosen it and swallowed hard. We couldn¡¯t delay it much longer. ¡®Let¡¯s go.¡¯


    David, Michelle, and Lilianne had been moved from the Emergencies unit to Intensive Care. Lucie led me past the awful beige and metal building where they used to be, and along the older premises of the hospital, their walls covered in red and ochre bricks. At the welcome desk, a tired nurse was trying to answer the questions of several visitors who talked at the same time.


    ¡®This is good, they might not have let you in, only family can visit at this hour¡¯, Lucie whispered to me. We tiptoed along the hall, but were greeted by a guard that kept the door to the courtyard. ¡®Where are you headed to, ladies?¡¯, he inquired, somewhat brusquely. I flinched at his tone, but Lucie was not impressed. ¡®My sister is in Intensive Care and I heard she was not doing well. I¡¯m going to see her and talk to the doctors.¡¯


    The guard nodded for her to pass, but frowned when he saw me. ¡®It¡¯s family only in the morning¡¯, he said, stepping in my way.


    ¡®I¡¯m her cousin¡¯, I lied without even thinking. The man eyed me suspiciously, taking in my ghostly skin and turning to look at Lucie with an eloquent stare.


    ¡®Dr Martin is waiting for us¡¯, she said pointedly, a hand on the knob. The guard studied us once more, but gave in under Lucie¡¯s firm gaze and buzzed the door open. ¡®Alright, have a nice day.¡¯


    I let out a deep breath as soon as we were out of his sight, only then realising I had been holding it, and followed Lucie across the courtyard and into another, identical building. As we arrived on the second floor, a group of nurses and doctors passed us, whispering in urgent tones. Lucie frowned. ¡®Michelle¡¯s room is that way¡¯, she gasped, and bolted. I rushed after her, and stopped dead at the door.


    The sight was unsettling. Michelle lay on her bed, her once warm skin now cadaverous, her face sunken and sharp, half-hidden beneath a breathing mask. Machines surrounded her, blinking and beeping softly, their tubes and cables spread like tentacles. Lucie was standing still, staring at her twin, arms hanging uselessly at her side. I didn¡¯t dare to say something, or even move; so I stepped back soundlessly, and closed the door.


    My knees gave in, and I slid slowly down along the wall, suddenly empty of all feeling. I sat there, crouching, my gaze fixed on the metal leg of a chair in front of me. A few scratches ran along it, ending in a small spot of rust where it curved, and a bit of dry mud was spattered on the lower half. The other half mirrored the hall, and me with it, twisting and elongating everything, and I stared and stared until I felt dizzy.


    A pair of worn out, but well taken care of, sensible shoes appeared in my peripheral vision. ¡®Miss? Are you alright?¡¯ My gaze traveled up the green uniform until the nurse¡¯s concerned face came into focus. One of her bobby pins was getting loose, and a strand of chestnut hair was slowly sliding free. She kneeled down by my side. ¡®Miss? What¡¯s wrong?¡¯ Her voice seemed to come from afar; the only thing that had my attention was her pin, and the few hairs that barely held it in its place. ¡®Hey¡¯, she insisted, taking my hand and tapping it with the other. ¡®Talk to me.¡¯ With an effort, I managed to look into her eyes and tried to blink my confusion away, feeling I was drifting away.


    ¡®Marie! Over here¡¯, she called above my head, and told her colleague something I didn¡¯t catch. My head lolled, and she steadied me against the wall. ¡®Don¡¯t fall asleep. Look at me. Keep your eyes open. Can you tell me if you¡¯re sick?¡¯ It took me a few seconds to understand, and I shook my head slowly. ¡®Are you taking any medication?¡¯ Another negation. ¡®Alright¡¯, she sighed, ¡®did you eat today?¡¯ It was hard to remember. Had I? My mind was still foggy, I felt a headache coming whenever I tried to think. Her colleague came back with a glass, and the nurse lifted it to my lips. ¡®Drink this.¡¯ I obeyed. It felt weirdly powdery, as if I was drinking dust, and it tasted like hospital. I choked a little, but continued until the glass was empty.


    ¡®Can you stay like this for a few minutes? You should feel better soon, and I¡¯ll be right over there if you need me¡¯, she said.


    I nodded feebly and leaned back against the wall. ¡®Thank you¡¯, I managed to whisper.


    ¡®Just stay still and don¡¯t give in to the temptation to close your eyes¡¯, she replied firmly, and left. I felt somehow guilty of having troubled her, but I was still too weak to process it. Minutes passed and, slowly, the sounds around me became clearer and the world stopped spinning. I stood up gingerly and walked to the chair with the mud drops so I wouldn¡¯t be in people¡¯s way. Someone gasped down the corridor, and I looked up instinctively.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry to give you such news¡¯, a doctor said. Before him, a tall woman in a well tailored suit pulled a corner of her hijab to hide her mouth. The man by her side put his arm around her and pulled her close, his face closed in an effort to remain expressionless, and murmured a few words. The doctor nodded apologetically. I couldn¡¯t help but stare at the couple: there was something strangely familiar about them. The man had turned his back to me, but his silhouette, the way he stood, the slight curl of his hair reminded me of something I couldn¡¯t put my finger on. Then the woman looked up from her blue hijab, and it struck me. I knew those dark eyes and the long eyelashes, the shape of those cheekbones. They were David¡¯s parents.


    I looked away quickly, shuddering at the perspective of them knowing I was responsible for their son¡¯s condition. What could I possibly say? How could I even explain I should¡¯ve known, kept them safe on Saint Andrew¡¯s Night? What would they think of me? Of what had¡­ (really?)... happened? Too ashamed to face them, feeling too guilty to even try to have a glimpse of David, I stood up carefully and, keeping close to the wall, I fled.


    <h1 style="text-align: justify"> </h1>


    I walked the streets aimlessly for a while, letting the cold numb me until it was all I could feel. The rain had stopped, and a few shy rays of sunshine pierced the thinning clouds. The air was damp and chilly, however; I craved a smoke, a strong drink, and a nap until the end of days. Only one of the three was possible, so I stepped into a cigarette shop and, shutting away the voice of reason, bought a pack. If only I could find a decent cappuccino, my morning would, at least, improve slightly; I headed to the coffee-shop where the friendly barista had let me in before opening time when I had been waiting for Axel. They had put a couple of tables outside, so I took my coffee there and lit a cigarette. My lungs filled with the long-forgotten smoke and bliss and, for a short moment, the world was a better place. Then, because I had quit years ago, I started to cough my lungs out until my head spun and the world with it. The fit was bad enough for the friendly barista to come check on me. She brought me a glass of water and, when she handed it to me, our fingers touched for a brief moment. She held my gaze and smiled.


    ¡®I can sit with you for a while until you feel better¡¯, she offered. ¡®There¡¯s no one at this hour anyway.¡¯ Intrigued, I nodded towards the chair next to me, and took a better look at her as she sat down and crossed her arms on the table. Her short hair was henna-dyed to a deep red, contrasting with her Mediterranean skin and making her olive green eyes stand out. ¡®My name¡¯s Samia, by the way¡¯, she smiled.


    ¡®Rusanda. Nice to meet you.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s unusual¡¯, she mused. ¡®It goes with your accent, I guess. It¡¯s a charming one¡¯, Samia hastened to add when I frowned.


    ¡®Sorry, I¡¯ve had a lot of unpleasant comments about it since I¡¯ve come to Paris.¡¯


    ¡®People are assholes sometimes, aren¡¯t they?¡¯


    ¡®Oh boy, don¡¯t even get me started¡¯, I sighed. ¡®I¡¯m a barista too, you know.¡¯


    She grinned at that, and we spent a few minutes talking shop: coffee machines, espresso recipes, and stories about customers, nice or otherwise.


    ¡®Speaking of which, here comes one¡¯, Samia said, and stood to go inside. ¡®Do you need anything else?¡¯


    My stomach grumbled, and I realised I still hadn¡¯t eaten. No wonder I had almost fainted at the hospital, especially with the exhaustion that took me after my impromptu ice summoning earlier. ¡®If you have a muffin or something consistent, I won¡¯t say no.¡¯ She nodded and left. I took my phone out: it was only 9 a. m., although it felt like more time had passed since Axel had woken me up. Neither he or Lucie had texted me, so I started digging around the internet for information. The most urgent, it seemed to me, was the underworld; I was sure that the river with the ghostly boat that I had dreamed of was the Styx. If I was right, then the couple I¡¯d seen several times already must have been Hades and Persephone. But why, then, had it looked like she was taken away from him? And what did it, or they, have to do with Saint Andrew¡¯s Night?


    The sudden memory of the threshing shadows in the Carrefour des Morts overtook me with a wave of cold. I froze, staring unseeingly at the phone I clutched tightly, as dread rose in me once more and crushed my lungs. No no no no. I closed my eyes, pushing the images away with all I had. Breathe. Breathe. Each gulp of air hurt. Keep breathing. It¡¯s alright. It will be alright. It will pass. Michelle¡¯s soothing voice came to me, and I saw myself in the dim candlelight, staring at the pebble with the shell in it. I struggled to focus on that memory instead: I was safe in her arms, my panicked body following the steady, slow rhythm of her breathing; surrounded by Axel, who held my hand, and David, so close, so warm. Second after slow second, the threatening terror withdrew, until there was nothing left but me and my weariness. I pressed my shaking hands down on the table, firmly, and waited for the shivers to pass. I need help, I thought. I need to seek help. It was an unpleasant perspective, from which I had shied away several times before; but I could not deny it any more. As soon as this is over, I promised myself. It was both a decision and a compromise for more time.


    For now, I needed to focus on the task at hand: find the way to help my friends. The first lead pointed at Hades, so I ate my muffin while scouring every website I could find and reading every legend about heroes in the underworld. It was disappointingly little, though; until something caught my eye. I went back to the beginning of the paragraph and read again, more slowly. Texting Lucie to ask her if she could come to my flat, I gulped down the rest of my cappuccino and rushed inside to pay. ¡®Sorry, I have to run¡¯, I apologized, and Samia, who had welcomed me with a grin, seemed to deflate. ¡®You¡¯ll see me again¡¯, I promised.


    ¡®I¡¯ll be waiting, then¡¯, she said, reaching over the counter to touch my hand. ¡®Don¡¯t make it too long, though, okay?¡¯


    Something in her voice made me want to linger a little more, but I needed to talk to Axel about what I had found. He was the only one who might turn the information into something concrete. ¡®I¡¯ll be back soon¡¯, I repeated, and stepped out. Once on the sidewalk, I couldn¡¯t help but glance back through the shop¡¯s window; Samia was still looking at me, and waved.


    <h1 style="text-align: justify"> </h1>


    I walked quickly, stopping only to buy some croissants for Axel, while turning over the facts and the legends in my mind on the way home. The more I did, the more they fit together; the only problem was that the facts were rather a vague memory, and I could have been getting my hopes up in vain. I prayed I remembered correctly, and that Axel would confirm ¨C and maybe, just maybe, if it wasn¡¯t too much to ask for, he would know where to look.


    I slammed the door in my haste to tell him what I''d found, and he almost jumped from the couch, making Sekhmet roll to the floor in the process. She fell on her feet and, with an offended look, climbed on the bean-bag.


    ¡®Oh, I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t realise you were sleeping¡¯, I apologised. The sight of his sunken eyes as he inched up in a sitting position made me feel even worse for it. ¡®I¡¯ll make some coffee¡¯, I said, putting the bag of croissants on the table. Axel grumbled, rubbing his temples, then sat slowly and stretched. ¡®I don¡¯t have time for sleeping right now. I should not have given in. I should have...¡®


    ¡®There was nothing for you to do¡¯, I replied. ¡®And you needed the rest.¡¯


    ¡®I could have done some of the research, or¡­¡¯


    ¡®Axel¡¯, I said firmly, putting the ibrik down. ¡®Stop beating yourself over it. Sit down.¡¯ He raised an eyebrow at my tone. I walked over to him and pushed him slowly back to the couch. ¡®Breakfast, coffee, and then we talk. There might be something you can do¨C¡¯, he moved to stand again at this, ¡®¨C but not before you eat.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, ma¡¯am¡¯, he replied, but the tone of his voice was inquiring. While he ate, I scooped a generous amount of grounds into the pot. We needed a stronger brew than usual. Axel offered me the last croissant, but I shook my head: ¡®Nah, thanks, I already ate.¡¯


    He put it aside with an eloquent glare; then, leaning back, he sighed and asked the unavoidable question: ¡®So¡­ what are the news?¡¯


    I stared stubbornly at the coffee pot while my eyes blurred and my throat clenched, searching for the right words.


    ¡®Ru?...¡¯, he prompted me gently. I swallowed hard, still unable to talk. ¡®I suppose, then¡­¡¯, Axel continued. I nodded before he finished. A heavy silence slithered between us, and the soft bubbling of the coffee sounded like an intrusion.


    <h1 style="text-align: justify"> </h1>


    After a brief knock on the door, Lucie stepped inside, still flushed from walking in the cold. ¡®What¡¯s happening?¡¯, she asked right away while she took off her coat and scarf. I waved an invitation for her to sit down with the hand holding the ibrik, and nearly spilled the coffee. Axel jumped from the couch and took it from my hands. ¡®Would you please sit down and eat, now.¡¯


    I gave up pretending everything was fine; I was painfully hungry, and longing for the comfort of the bed as well. My knees all but buckled before I reached the couch. Axel poured the coffee, then pushed a mug and the last croissant in my hands. Both tasted like a blessing from the gods. Between mouthfuls, I filled them in on my most recent research, feeling a little more alert with every sip of the thick, strong coffee.


    ¡®As for the¡­ hallucinations I had¡¯, I finally said, after a deep breath.


    ¡®Or visions¡¯, Lucie said gently.


    ¡®Maybe.¡¯ I felt reluctant to use that word. ¡®What I¡­ saw¡­ was a couple, the man dark haired, the woman young and¡­¡¯ I struggled to find an appropriate description for the impression she had left on me. ¡®She reminded me of spring. She had something about her, as if¡­ she was shining. Like that specific colour of the light on an April morning ¨C fresh, like new grass, and golden ¨C but a pale kind of gold, as if it was shy.¡¯


    As I visualised and described that particular kind of light, my voice became warmer and fonder. Lucie smiled, and even Axel turned his head to stare at me intently. I looked away, somehow embarrassed, but still basking in the pleasant image I had conjured in my mind.


    ¡®There is power in your words¡¯, Lucie said encouragingly. ¡®Maybe that¡¯s the core of your magic. You should explore it.¡¯


    ¡®We¡¯ll see that later¡¯, I eluded the matter. ¡®Anyway. What I saw, the two lovers in the garden, the woman being snatched away¡­ it makes me think of¡­¡¯ I hesitated saying it out loud, as if, by that, yet another tale would force its way into existence in the real world. It had seemed so easy, so logical, while it existed only in my mind. But now...


    ¡®Yes?¡¯, Axel asked, leaning forward attentively. I felt his eagerness for a new clue, a new lead. I didn¡¯t want him to be disappointed if it turned out to be only scraps and crumbles once more.


    ¡®That, and also the dream I had in the cavern¡­¡¯ I looked up at each in turn, the conviction melting away as it turned into words. It was, actually, immensely silly. However, they nodded at me to go on.


    ¡®It¡¯s only a legend. Maybe I¡¯m seeing connections where there aren''t any.¡¯


    ¡®Every legend is rooted in truth. Maybe, once upon a time, it was the truth. Maybe it has become a legend because people stopped believing in it¡¯, Lucie pressed me. ¡®Just say it. We¡¯ll see if it¡¯s helpful afterwards.¡¯


    I sighed, still doubtful. The threads I thought I held together now seemed thinner than spiderweb.


    ¡®Come on, Ru.¡¯ Axel was getting impatient.


    ¡®They made me think of Hades and Persephone¡¯, I blurted out. There.


    I pulled my knees up, crossing my arms around them defensively.


    Lucie looked at me, then at Axel, raising her eyebrows.


    ¡®¡­Okay?¡¯


    Axel shrugged. ¡®It¡¯s not my field of expertise, I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t offer you any help.¡¯


    ¡®I only have a vague inkling of the European mythology, so¡­ Can you explain?¡¯


    ¡®Oh. Umm, sure¡¯, I scratched my head, putting some order into my thoughts before speaking.


    ¡®Persephone was the daughter of Ceres, or Demeter, goddess of agriculture, and Zeus. She was, of course, a goddess herself, of spring and rebirth. The common lore says Hades fell in love with Persephone, and kidnapped her to the Underworld. To make her stay, he would¡¯ve used an old trap ¨C someone who ate or drank something belonging to the Underworld would be stuck there. So Hades offered her a pomegranate, and she fell for it. As for Ceres, she freaked out when her daughter disappeared, and even more when she heard that Zeus had agreed with his brother¡¯s plans. She went on a strike, and there weren¡¯t any crops for months, until Zeus gave in. They compromised on sharing Persephone: she¡¯d stay with her mom during spring and summer, and with her husband during autumn and winter. That¡¯s why everything withers away when she¡¯s underground.¡¯


    ¡®I think they¡¯ve been having some marital issues¡¯, Lucie said, nodding towards the window. ¡®Look at the wild weather we¡¯ve been having for years now.¡¯ Bright sunlight poured in, over-heating the room, much to Sekhmet¡¯s content. She jumped down on the wool rug and rolled on her back, basking in the sun. ¡®I bet Persephone is staying with her mother these days.¡¯


    We smiled faintly at the joke; the news from the hospital still weighed on our hearts.


    ¡®If I¡¯m right, many details would fit¡¯, I continued. ¡®The dream, for starters ¨C the river would be the Styx, I suppose, which makes the boat Charon¡¯s. And also, what the dark man said when I was on the train, about finding him in the deepest place ¨C the motif of the katabasis¡¯, I said, as my literature studies came back to me.


    ¡®The what now?¡¯


    I paused, noticing their blank stares, and tittered, blushing.


    ¡®Sorry, I got carried away. The katabasis is the descent to the underworld. It¡¯s quite common in the myths of Antiquity. And¡¯, I paused for effect, ¡®here¡¯s where everything aligns. If I¡¯m not wrong, that is.¡¯


    Axel perked like an exhausted hound finally picking up a scent.


    I couldn¡¯t say how I knew this, when or where I had read it or seen it, so I remained silent for a moment while I put my thoughts into words. ¡®I was reading about the entrances to the Underworld: it¡¯s always a cave, a chasm¡­ An opening to the bowels of the earth. It¡¯s usually given away by stinking fumes, although I¡¯m guessing that sulphur was a later addition to the legends.¡¯


    Axel¡¯s eyes widened slightly as he started to see where I was going. ¡®Are you thinking that the Well of Bones was¡­?¡¯


    ¡®During Saint Andrew¡¯s Night¡¯, I nodded. ¡®When the gates open.¡¯


    ¡®So, what can we do? You said there was something¡¯, Lucie asked, poised on the edge of the couch.


    ¡®If the dark haired man I¡¯ve been seeing was indeed Hades, we need to find another gate.¡¯


    Axel clenched his fists: ¡®And confront him.¡¯


    ¡®Are we going back to this well you mentioned?¡¯


    ¡®It has returned to what it used to be. I have checked¡¯, he answered in my stead.


    ¡®Yes, but¡¯, I grinned, ¡®I think there¡¯s another way.¡¯


    I told them what I knew, and the conclusion I had drawn. Axel jumped to his feet.


    ¡®I know where it is!¡¯, he exclaimed, and, before we could say anything, he was already lacing up his Rangers. ¡®Prepare for a descent. I¡¯ll text you¡¯, and he bolted out the door.


    Questions for the readers</a>

 Chapter 10 - Roots and Routes

    <h1 style="text-align: justify">Chapter 10 ¨C Roots and Routes</h1>


    The door slammed behind him. Lucie and I stared at each other, taken aback by Axel¡¯s sudden departure.


    ¡®Do you know¡­?¡¯, she asked.


    ¡®Nope¡¯, I replied, picking up the ibrik and heading to the kitchenette. ¡®He surely has an idea, something to check before telling us for certain. Do you want some more?¡¯


    ¡®No, thank you. I¡¯m already agitated as it is. I¡­¡¯ She looked down at her clenched hands and chewed on her lip. Of course. I had been so excited by my discovery, I hadn¡¯t even asked about Michelle.


    ¡®Would you like a hug?¡¯, I offered, not knowing what else to say. Lucie nodded quietly, and I sat back down on the couch, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. We leaned against each other wordlessly. Images from the hospital kept nagging me, and I pushed them away, refusing to remember the pain of David¡¯s parents, or how awful he had looked when I saw him. However hard I fought the memories, my chest grew heavy and my eyes blurred. Lucie¡¯s hand found mine and held it tight.


    ¡®We have to find them. We have to bring them back. Somehow.¡¯


    ¡®We will¡¯, I whispered a promise. ¡®I¡¯ll use everything I know, I¡¯ll read everything there is if that helps us even a little. We¡¯ll¡­¡¯ My voice caught in my throat. We¡¯ll what? I might have found a way, but where would it lead? Was it even the right path?


    ¡®You¡¯re troubled¡¯, she said, lifting her head to look at me. ¡®What is it?¡¯


    ¡®I¡­ I don¡¯t know. There¡¯s just so much¡­ so many¡­ I don¡¯t even know how to explain. There¡¯s too much that¡¯s happened lately, and it¡¯s so confusing and so¡­ so messy.¡¯ Words started pouring out as if I had opened a door, without order or logic. ¡®I mean, there¡¯s the rusalka and the solomonars and Saint Wednesday, and it makes sense so far, it all happened on Saint Andrew¡¯s Night, it¡¯s all my folklore. But then¡­ what does any of that have to do with¡­ Hades? It doesn¡¯t make any sense! And who was there that night, anyway? Why the smoke and shadows? Why take¡­¡¯ My voice broke, and I had to swallow hard to continue: ¡®Why them, and not me? If I have these¡­ magic abilities? What if I¡¯m wrong, and we¡¯re losing time?¡¯


    The thought was so unbearable that I choked.


    ¡®Imagine how I feel¡¯, Lucie whispered. ¡®I don¡¯t know anything about all this. I don¡¯t know what happened to Michelle. I don¡¯t know what to do.¡¯ She looked up at me. ¡®And nor does Axel.¡¯


    ¡®No pressure¡¯, I snapped, and immediately regretted it. She was right. ¡®I¡¯m sorry. I just¡­¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re confused, and scared. I get it. But we¡¯re here with you. We¡¯ll do whatever we can. But we need you¡¯, she insisted. ¡®We need what you know. I don¡¯t see any other path right now. All this¡­¡¯, she gestured widely, ¡®it¡¯s beyond what I know and what I can do. It¡¯s not my world. It¡¯s yours and, to some extent, Axel¡¯s. These are your legends, your lore.¡¯


    ¡®Axel is Swedish¡¯, I whispered tiredly. ¡®It¡¯s not his world either.¡¯


    ¡®If I knew what to do by myself, trust me that I already would have.¡¯


    ¡®I know. I saw.¡¯


    ¡®Then please pull yourself together and do what needs to be done¡¯, she said. I stared at her in surprise; I hadn¡¯t expected such harshness, and I opened my mouth to lash back. Lucie raised a hand to stop me.


    ¡®I actually do know what it¡¯s like, discovering that the old tales are not just that. So, yes, if that helps you move forward: magic is real, other realms do exist, and you can control those abilities. The path is right there in front of you. Now walk it.¡¯


    She stood and started to get dressed.


    ¡®I left the rest of Sekhmet¡¯s stuff in a bag outside your door. I¡¯ll send you the adoption papers tomorrow. And now I¡¯m going to get ready for whatever Axel has in mind, and you should too. Let me know where and when.¡¯ And with that, she left me staring and closed the door behind her.


    Still too stunned to react, I remained open-mouthed for a few more seconds before my brain caught up. I retrieved the bag and busied myself preparing the kitten¡¯s litter and filling her bowls with food and water. Sekhmet followed me around, loudly meowing her approval or lack thereof until everything was settled to her convenience. Then I prepared my own things, filling my backpack with food, water, and warm clothes, checking the batteries in my lamp, and putting everything next to my rubber boots by the door. All the while, I tried to digest what Lucie had said. Hearing it declared out loud and with such certitude was unsettling, but also weirdly comforting. Although part of my rational mind was still fighting it, despite everything I had seen and done, the other part was already analyzing what I knew and pointing out what I needed to know.


    I pulled the bean-bag next to the bookshelves and made a list of points that needed to be clarified. The twins and the kapnobatai didn¡¯t seem relevant for the moment, so I focused on the geography of the underworld, Hades, and his subordinates. ¡°Any news yet?¡±, I texted Axel after an hour had passed, but the message remained undelivered. He was probably somewhere underground, so I waved my impatience away and returned to my books, taking notes. Nothing that I read was reassuring, however: Hades, both the place and the god, were unwelcoming and rarely willing to let someone leave. I put the book away and, crossing my arms behind my head, I stared at the ceiling, thinking. We needed protection, but what, exactly? Sekhmet climbed on my belly, bumping me with her head until I started scratching her ears.


    ¡®Do you know what we need, little one?¡¯, I asked her softly. She stretched, exhibiting her tiny claws and minuscule teeth. ¡®The real Sekhmet was the goddess of raw, unbridled magic, you know¡¯, I chided her. ¡®She would¡¯ve helped. Maybe.¡¯ The kitten sneezed, then curled up and closed her eyes. I sighed, not knowing where to find answers. I had had way too much coffee to try to sleep, hoping I would dream of Gheorghe. Could I even call on him at will? I didn¡¯t know. There was probably no time to go back to the kapnobatai, either, and I was unable to do so by myself. I rubbed my temples tiredly, gazing at the rug, when a sudden thought made me sit up. Sekhmet protested. ¡®Shhh, I know, I know¡¯, I said, trying to reach for my laptop without disturbing her further. I scrolled through dozens of different sites, collecting only frustrating bits and pieces of information until I had enough to get a general idea and improvise from there.


    The ram horns were one of the countless patterns that Romanian women had used since immemorial times for weaving and embroidering. These motifs were common knowledge ¨C everyone knew about them and could more or less identify a rug or a blouse as ¡°traditional¡±. However, few were those who could tell the original region by the type of patterns and colours; and fewer yet, those who knew what each shape meant.


    One of them had been my grandmother. I had sat by her side every winter evening while she spun wool, weaved, or embroidered, but I hadn¡¯t been able to remain still and focused long enough to learn any of her skills. ¡®You¡¯ll never find a husband¡¯, she¡¯d say, ¡®if you don¡¯t know any of these things.¡¯ I would shrug it away, for what could a six year old care for marriage? Watching her at work would quickly mesmerize me into daydreaming as the shuttle moved back and forth on the loom, or the needle danced in and out the threads. The wool rug in my living-room had been a gift from her ¨C part of my dowry, she had insisted, that she had made in my stead. I followed its patterns with a gentle finger, comparing them with the bits of information I had gleaned: the wolf fangs that protected the borders from tearing, the constellation of identical stars that would shine above my way, the protective eyes in the middle of a column.


    My eyes blurred. Not only had I lost the one person who had loved me truly, but also, stupidly, her legacy, the knowledge that had been passed from mother to daughter for so long, only to be abruptly cut off before it had reached me. Why hadn¡¯t I listened to her? Why had I dismissed so much of what she had said as mere folklore and superstitious tales? I had been so sure of myself, then, so proud of my rational, logical thinking which set me apart from the naive peasants. An idiot, that¡¯s what you were, I thought. So much knowledge which would have, surely, prevented all this from happening, had I accepted it. I could have protected everyone. I would¡¯ve even prevented them from getting in harm¡¯s way in the first place. I bit my lip down hard and dug my nails into my arm, the sharp physical pain taking the edge off the torture of my own guilt. There¡¯s no point in brooding on what ifs right now, I scolded myself sharply. Stop wasting time feeling sorry for yourself and get a grip. Make up for the lost time and repair your wrongs.


    My will renewed, I set the kitten aside and headed to the bedroom. Buried somewhere in the chaos was my ie, the traditional blouse that was my only other inheritance from my grandmother. I rummaged through the closet, then pulled the mattress aside to get to the suitcases I¡¯d stuffed under the bed, and after much digging, I found it in a pile of old clothes. With a pang of remorse at the way I had treated it, I pulled it out and unfolded it in front of me. A faint perfume of old, dry lavender spread from it ¨C and for a brief moment, I was a child again, playing hide and seek in my grandmother¡¯s trunk, where she kept her embroidered linen. I smiled fondly, holding the ie to my chest as I went back to the living-room where I could examine it in better light.


    My recent research had taught me that every blouse was unique, and it told the story of the woman who embroidered it. Every pattern and colour held a meaning in itself, playing a part in the tale the cloth told. Moreover, and that was what interested me more than anything at the moment, each motif had a purpose ¨C the final ornament becoming a sewn spell, one that protected, or brought luck, or called fertility. I laid the blouse on the floor, with my laptop next to it, and set to deciphering its message. On its white, soft fabric, the red and black design stood out boldly. The chest was covered in columns of scarlet stars, bordered by black zigzags: the meanders of life, guided by the sky. On the shoulders, richly decorated patches spoke of eternal movement and regeneration with their repeated helix patterns. Down the arms flowed what were called the ¡°rivers¡± in parallel lines of simple, mirrored spirals: the shepherd¡¯s hook, calling for the return of what ¨C or whom ¨C was lost. I stopped, leaning back on my heels to take it all in. She had died soon after finishing the blouse; and I realised she had known, without me saying it, that I would leave and seek a new life somewhere else. She had embroidered my ie with this in mind, and I had barely worn it a few times during the last nine years.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry¡¯, I whispered. Wiping my eyes, I buried my face in the soft linen. It would finally serve its intended purpose: protecting me. ¡®I will learn, I promise.¡¯ The smell of lavender filled my nose, and, briefly, it felt as if grandma Ileana was there with me again, comforting me.


    The buzz of my phone jolted me from my reverie: it was, two hours and a half later, a message from Axel. ¡°Might have found the entrance to Hades. Had to drill a hole in a sewers tunnel wall for us. Ready now. Text me when you get here.¡± An address followed. I forwarded it to Lucie, then changed my clothes quickly, and put the blouse on, layering several long-sleeves t-shirts underneath to keep the winter temperatures at bay. Pulling the fisherman¡¯s boots on and shouldering my backpack, I took a last look around the apartment, but there was nothing else that I could see which would be useful during this particular descent. Sekhmet came running to bump my legs with her tiny head, and I bent to give her a scratch.


    ¡®Be good, little one. I¡¯ll be back tonight.¡¯ Or so I tried to reassure myself, for my heartbeat had already sped up. She rubbed against my boots, then sat down and watched me leave, her head tilted.


    I walked briskly to Port-Royal to take the RER line B to my destination, but the second I arrived, the view changed my mind. The strike was still going strong: the trains came every half an hour, and the station was packed from the platforms to the entry. There was no way in hell I would go through that again ¨C not to mention it would probably take hours to arrive. I turned on my heels and headed to the nearest Velib¡¯ station to take a bike.


    The strike also turned the streets to chaos. Hundreds of cars were jammed together, and the horns filled the air with their maddening cacophony. Cyclists, scooters, and bikers squeezed through as they could, taking risks with no more regard to traffic rules, and passed on the sidewalk without slowing down whenever they could. I held on to the handlebars for dear life, with all my senses on maximal alert, glancing warily around and behind me every few seconds. My back was as tense as a wood plank; it was only a matter of minutes until the general anger got to me as well, and I joined the chorus of curses and swearing to which no one paid attention. A passing scooter almost pushed me into a car, and I yelled a strong of traditional profanities after the driver before I set foot on the ground to steady myself. I was shaking and enraged; the next one who would so much as brush me would get a bike to their teeth.


    Calm down, I told myself as soon as the thought crossed my mind. It was so unlike me, this overwhelming aggressivity I felt. Never in my life had I wanted to kick someone so badly, and it scared me. I looked for the cigarettes in my pocket, but my fingers were so numb with cold I couldn¡¯t even grab the pack. Starting to rub my hands together to warm them up, I felt they were wet, and I glanced down in surprise. And cursed.


    ¡®It¡¯s really not a good time right now¡¯, I muttered as the light of the ram horns slid from under my sleeves. ¡®I¡¯m not in danger, please go away.¡¯ I wiped my hands on my jeans, trying to get rid of the liquid ice, but of course it didn¡¯t work. With a sigh, I settled my bike against the nearest wall and shove my hands in my pockets. Now what?, I thought, looking around to see if any of the passers-by noticed. Fortunately, they were too busy typing on their phones and dodging the cyclists to care about me. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, trying to steady my breath and let go of the anger that still bubbled in my chest, threatening to spill. I thought of Axel waiting for me, and what was expecting us ahead. It didn¡¯t help, for I grew impatient to be on my way again, and the stress of our descent to the unknown added its weight on my already fragile nerves.


    The cold started to crawl up my forearms, and I shook my head, annoyed at myself. Stop fidgeting and calm the hell down, otherwise you¡¯re stuck here. I took a deep breath and counted to five, held it, then exhaled, still counting. Inhale, hold, exhale. Inhale, hold, exhale. I did my best to empty my mind, to focus on the sensation of the cold, crisp air as it entered my lungs. I visualised the numbers in my head, trying to give each of them a different colour in order to keep all other thoughts and images at bay. Slowly, with every breath, my shoulders relaxed, the weight lifted off my chest. I opened my eyes, still keeping the colourful numbers in my mind, and carefully took my hands out of my pockets. They still glimmered, but faintly; the light of the ram horns was dimming. I maintained the mental exercise until the ice was entirely gone, and there was only reddened skin to be seen. I would have to keep some balm in my backpack for now on, and gloves.


    I crossed the Pont au Change on foot, holding the bike, as I didn¡¯t feel at ease at all with the heavy traffic threatening to push me over the bridge into the grey, swirling waters of the Seine below. I smoked with my free hand, finding again the familiar relief it had on my nerves, even though it made me cough now and then. It was possibly a bad idea to pick up the habit again; but there was no other coping mechanism I could think of that could help me unwind, with everything that had been happening. And who knew what else was coming¡­


    Once I left the river behind me, the road was mostly straight, although the traffic on boulevard S¨¦bastopol was even worse, and the cyclists pullulated. I tried to shut away the noise and the stressful atmosphere, and pedalled as fast as I could. On boulevard Saint-Denis, the crowd on the sidewalks grew more dense. African street sellers spread their goods on the pavement, others roasted and sold chestnuts and corn. Groups of middle aged men stood and chatted animatedly in front of the kebab restaurants, some in Arabic, others in languages I couldn¡¯t identify, while women in brightly coloured clothes and intricately knotted headscarves pushed through the crowd with their strollers or shopping carts, some carrying babies that slept peacefully on their backs, unbothered by the noise of the street. The smells of food drafted in the street, curry and kofta and cilantro, making my mouth water. My grumbling stomach almost made me forget I had to turn left on Magenta, and I made a mental note to improve my eating schedule.


    Soon, I rode past Gare de l¡¯Est and turned on rue La Fayette, where I slowed down to check the street numbers and scan the sidewalks for Axel¡¯s blonde head that would stand out as usual. The crowd had already become entirely different, as I had entered the neighbourhood of the Grands Magasins: tourists chatted in all the languages of the world, stopped for pictures with their Printemps shopping bags, and drooled over the displays of Ladur¨¦e macaroons; while weary looking employes in uniforms tried to enjoy their brief cigarette break by the stores¡¯ back doors. I dropped my bike at the Velib¡¯ station and elbowed my way up the street.


    ¡®Ru! Over here!¡¯


    Axel was leaning against a large blue door between a delicatessen shop and a caf¨¦, his clothes covered in grey concrete dust. His face was even more drawn with fatigue; I had never seen him so close to collapsing.


    ¡®Well, at least no one would wonder why you¡¯re disappearing down a manhole when looking like that¡¯, I teased, pretending not to notice how awful he looked and trying to hide how worried I was about him.


    ¡®Whereas you are as clean and shiny as a new crowbar¡¯, he retorted, stooping to kiss me on the cheek, ¡®and just as conspicuous.¡¯


    ¡®Has Lucie arrived yet?¡¯


    ¡®She is around the corner¡¯, Axel said, ¡®and ready to go.¡¯


    ¡®How are we doing this?¡¯, I asked as we set off. ¡®And where are we going, exactly?¡¯


    ¡®Well, you made the connexion between the entrances to Hades and the ventilation shafts for the RER, remember? That you said you had read somewhere that they were called gueules d¡¯enfer?¡¯


    I nodded. At first, it had seemed too far-fetched that the popular nickname of ¡°hell-mouths¡± would literally point to a gate. These enormous shafts, hidden behind fake fa?ades which blended with the other Hausmannian buildings, used to spew out the dark, foul-smelling fumes of the subway below, back when trains ran on charcoal. People, more accustomed to the Greek myths and legends in those days, had seen the similarity with the descriptions of the entrances to Hades, and it had caught my attention, too. I didn¡¯t know where these empty buildings were, however, and I had turned to Axel.


    ¡®Some days ago, we talked about the deepest place in Paris, and when you mentioned the gueules d¡¯enfer, I remembered that, and something clicked. I had to check first, though, so we wouldn¡¯t get on a fool¡¯s errand.¡¯


    ¡®Go on, get it out already¡¯, I replied impatiently, and he rolled his eyes.


    ¡®To my knowledge, the Saint-Lazare train station is the place we were looking for. It is a tad far from here, but the nearest building of this kind is right there.¡¯ He flicked a thumb above his shoulder towards the wooden door where he had waited for me. ¡®So I figured, if Hades is somewhere beneath Saint-Lazare, there is a chance that we can enter through here, and walk the rest of the way underground.¡¯ If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡®It would make sense¡¯, I pondered. There were a little too many coincidences to be wrong, and I started to feel more confident.


    ¡®That door is most likely under alarm, however. I had to find us a way around.¡¯


    Axel turned into a narrow street that ended in a cul-de-sac, and Lucie stepped forward from the shadows of an entryway. I looked around for the manhole: it was barely noticeable, as it had been covered in concrete like the rest of the street. Only its edges had been left free, and they were filled with dirt. Without the white footprints around it, I probably wouldn¡¯t have noticed it, or believed it to be open. Axel pulled a long strap from one of the innumerable pockets of his military fatigues. ¡®Are you ready? We have to move quickly¡¯, he said. Lucie and I nodded and stepped closer to the cover, hiding him from the sight of the passers-by. I briefly wondered where he had hidden the crowbar I had seen him use on the trap in the archives; however, he proved there was more than one way to open such a cover.


    A waft of damp air, reeking of sewers, escaped from the opening. I pulled my scarf over my nose, already queasy, before slipping into the shaft. My backpack, too full, scraped against the damp concrete wall, slowing me down. I clung to the slippery rungs, freshly covered in muck, and made my way down carefully. With a splash, I reached the floor and moved away from the shaft, calling out for Lucie to start down. My steps stirred the blanket of slime at the bottom of the shallow water; miasmas rose and filled the tunnel. My stomach clenched, and I fought down the nausea. It seemed like a poor idea to throw up here, in this already foul place we would have to waddle through for who knows how long. I wanted to tighten my scarf over my face in an attempt to diminish the smell, but the sight of my gloves sickened me further. An exclamation of disgust announced Lucie¡¯s arrival. She stepped past me into the main tunnel and shone her headlamp along it; I followed, dreading what we would see.


    The stifling, moist air absorbed the light like fog; we could barely see a couple of meters ahead. Mould-stained pipes of all sizes ran along the concrete walls which curved towards the rounded ceiling. The floor was thankfully dry, with only a narrow gully conveying dirty, yellowish waters through its middle. A sickly white, shaggy substance filled the interstices between the pipes and covered parts of the ceiling like decaying cotton-candy. ¡®What the hell is that?¡¯, Lucie whispered, revulsion in her voice. I took a closer look: dead, bloated insects spotted the pallid surface, and I shuddered with realisation.


    ¡®Spider webs, I think.¡¯


    Behind us, Axel splashed heavily as he crossed the fetid puddle to join us, and his powerful lamp swept the tunnel. Something moved swiftly at the edge of my vision, startling me: hit by the light, an army of innumerable roaches scuttered away from us and into the shadows.


    ¡®Please tell me we don¡¯t have to be here long¡¯, I pleaded.


    ¡®That way¡¯, was his only answer as he took the lead. With a sigh, I followed silently. At least, keeping an eye out for the sticky webs dangling from the pipes and focusing on each step I took on the treacherous, slimy floor distracted me from the stench. Here and there, movement attracted my eyes, only for me to avert them immediately at the sight of crawling centipedes or other appalling inhabitants of the sewers.


    On our right, another rounded tunnel opened, breathing out a flow of warm, sickening fumes. Concrete stairs, worn and damp, led down to a lower level, from which came a sound like that of a strong stream. I could bet, quite certainly, that it wasn¡¯t a spring of clear water. In accord, we stopped and pulled our boots up as far as they would go, fastening the straps. Lucie caught my eye, her mouth tight, and we nodded to each other wordlessly, bracing ourselves for what was to come. The gully accompanied us, gurgling its contents along the stairs as we went down, ducking often to avoid the thickening threads of cobweb and trying not to touch the rusty pipes above the gutter. We reached the lower floor unwillingly; the turbulent current swept the bottom steps, engulfing in the narrow opening in its haste, where it swirled in a nauseous maelstrom.


    ¡®Careful now¡¯, Axel said, his voice blank, and stepped into the water.


    ¡®Are you alright?¡¯, I worried. Since he had arrived at my apartment this morning, I got an unsettling feeling that he was walling himself away from the world. The rare shows of emotion that were part of his usual behaviour had become even scarcer, and seemed almost shallow. I had never seen him so closed down since I¡¯ve known him. It was disquieting.


    Axel turned towards me, and I almost took a step back. In the dim, white light of our lamps, he looked almost spectral. The dark rings around his eyes had deepened, and the shadows on his face made it seem more sunken than it already was in the morning. He stared at me with hollow eyes, as if he didn¡¯t understand my words, then a flicker of life returned. ¡®Yeah, I am quite alright. We¡¯ll be arriving soon.¡¯


    Lucie shot me a nervous glance at his words, but followed Axel as he stepped into the water, swaying for a few seconds before he caught his balance again.


    ¡®Try to place your feet on the sides and your hands on the walls¡¯, he said over his shoulder, then started moving down the tunnel. I prodded the floor carefully with my foot before going in: it seemed to be curved, as if we were in a gigantic, oval pipe. I held on tight to the end of the rail as I turned, trying not to be swept away before I could steady myself. The current ran into my thighs with the force of a mountain stream in spring, threatening to knock me down into its troubled waters. I took a few moments to brace myself before taking another step; and slowly, tensely, I followed Axel and Lucie through the reeking bowels of the city. Now and then, one of us would slip, and hearts would skip a beat, gruesome consequences flashing through our minds in a blink; then balance would be regained, and our bogging progress resumed.


    Axel¡¯s voice came to me, muffled by the heavy air and half covered by the gurgling of the raging current:


    ¡®Stop! We¡¯re there!¡¯


    On the right hand wall, at chest weight, opened the ragged mouth of a narrow hole, lined with vicious-looking rods of steel poking through the reinforced concrete.


    ¡®Be very careful¡¯, he advised. ¡®This is the best I could do in two hours.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s too high for us¡¯, Lucie said, examining the gap.


    ¡®But it is not for me. I will give you a leg up, and come in last¡¯, he replied. She nodded and handed me her backpack; then, grabbing on to the edges, she placed a foot on Axel¡¯s joined hands, and hoisted herself up.


    ¡®Watch for the steel bars, they look sharp¡¯, I warned her. Lucie pulled herself through with difficulty: the hole was so tight that she had to wriggle until she could place her hips diagonally, then advanced carefully between the serrated metal teeth. Her legs flailed inelegantly as she seemed to arrive head down on the other side, but finally she made it through. We handed her our backpacks, then my turn came. Axel was just bending towards me with his fingers locked when he froze, staring behind me.


    ¡®What is it?¡¯, I asked, panicking with my foot up, and the current almost pushed me over. I flapped around desperately and took hold of his shoulders, making him trip and hit the wall with a grunt of pain.


    ¡®Sorry, I¡¯m so sorry!¡¯


    He got to his feet quickly, grabbed my waist and nearly shoved me in the hole.


    ¡®Axel, what is it?¡¯, I cried, scared, trying to see what was coming.


    ¡®Get in, right now!¡¯, he yelled back, pulling his own scarf over his nose, ¡®or we¡¯re dead!¡¯


    I pushed myself through the narrow gap, my efforts fuelled by the emergency in his voice, when something caught the strap of my boot and stopped me. I struggled like a fish on a hook, unable to free myself.


    ¡®I¡¯m stuck!¡¯, I yelled, my voice quivering with tears. ¡®I can¡¯t move forward!¡¯


    Behind me, Axel cursed loudly.


    ¡®Can you come back?¡¯


    I wriggled, pushing with my elbows, and inched my way blindly back into the tunnel. Axel¡¯s hands helped me down.


    ¡®Okay, you have to go legs first¡¯, he said, turning me around and lifting me up before I could say anything. Leaning against him, I passed my feet through, trying to turn a little so I would squeeze in diagonally. My lamp shone on the waters.


    ¡®Axel, what the hell is that?¡¯, I whispered, horrified.


    Jostled by the current, a shapeless, revoltingly yellow mass advanced towards us.


    ¡®That¡¯s the reason why we must not be here when it comes!¡¯, he answered sharply, and pushed me unceremoniously.


    ¡®Lucie, help!¡¯, I called, then squirmed and wriggled the best I could, ignoring the pain from the rough edges that scrapped my hips and ribs as she pulled my legs. At the last moment, I thought of protecting my face with my arms as I came to the other side. ¡®Careful, here comes the floor¡¯, Lucie warned me, and I let myself slide when my feet touched it.


    ¡®Axel, come! Hurry!¡¯


    He didn¡¯t need another call. Passing his arms first, he anchored himself on his spread elbows and, with one hard push, he was halfway through. For once, his height was an advantage, as he was able to touch the floor with his hands and support himself. He extricated his long legs awkwardly and fell in a tired heap on the ground.


    We sat next to him, catching our breaths. I looked around: we were in a large, circular shaft of some sorts, its floor a simple metal grid through which a strong airstream blew. Powerful engines, probably fans, hummed in the darkness below. Opposite us, metal ladders led up and down to the other levels. Feeling queasy at the thought of the void beneath me, I closed my eyes and sought the reassuring presence of the concrete wall.


    ¡®What was that? What happened?¡¯, Lucie inquired. ¡®What was deadly?¡¯


    ¡®Grease¡¯, Axel whispered wearily. ¡®A decomposing layer of grease. If you touch it and it bursts, the gases it liberates are fatal.¡¯ We stared at him, wordless. ¡®And the tunnel was much too narrow for us to avoid it¡¯, he added.


    ¡®A horrible way to die¡¯, I shuddered. ¡®In the sewers, laying on the bottom of a shit river, killed by grease. Ugh.¡¯


    ¡®But how does this kind of thing¡­ appear? Where is the fat coming from? And why the deadly gas?¡¯


    Axel leaned his head against the wall and rubbed his eyes. ¡®People throw anything down their sink. Do you know anyone who disposes of their cooking oil differently?¡¯


    I hadn¡¯t even known I shouldn¡¯t do it, so I kept a guilty silence.


    ¡®Once in the sewers, the anaerobic bacteria will do their part, producing decomposition gases that are stuck beneath the layer of grease. Most of these gases are sulfur and methane derivatives ¨C both fatal in different concentrations.¡¯ Axel sighed deeply. ¡®We need to get moving again.¡¯ He tried to stand, but his legs gave out. Lucie and I jumped to our feet, and I caught his arm before he fell to the floor. We both stumbled, hitting the wall.


    ¡®You¡¯re worn out¡¯, I frowned at him. ¡®Sit down and take five minutes.¡¯


    Axel brushed me away and got back to his feet. ¡®We need to go. Now.¡¯


    ¡®What you need to do right now is take a break, have some food, and drink some coffee. This isn¡¯t the army, Axel.¡¯


    He stared at me and snarled: ¡®My sister is dying. I do not have time to waste on luxuries.¡¯


    I hated when he was too stubborn to think rationally, and my already weakened nerves snapped. ¡®Oh yeah? Do you even know what we¡¯re facing? Who we¡¯re going to meet? Huh?¡¯


    ¡®Why should that concern me?¡¯


    ¡®Take a good look at me, Axel.¡¯


    He raised an eyebrow, confused. ¡®What am I supposed to see?¡¯


    I rolled my eyes. ¡®I¡¯m just about as impressive as a soaked kitten. Do you really, really think I can face Cerberus? Just one example, from the top of my head. Do you see me taking a huge, three headed beast down? Do you?¡¯


    I let the image sink in for a moment, and Lucie took the opportunity to intervene.


    ¡®I think what Rusanda means is that we need you and your strength for the rest of this journey. And even if we didn¡¯t, I¡¯m sure you wouldn¡¯t want your exhaustion to become a liability, would you?¡¯


    Her words seemed to hit home: Axel let his head fall, and sagged slowly to the floor. ¡®Alright.¡¯


    ¡®Good.¡¯ She sat next to him and took three sandwiches out of her backpack, while I poured the coffee. We ate in silence for a while; I was deep in thought, turning over what I knew about the Underworld in my mind and trying to figure out what to expect. Whatever was coming next, it would most likely be unpleasant, and I worried none of us was ready for it.


    ¡®Penny for your thoughts?¡¯, Lucie asked around a mouthful.


    ¡®I¡¯m afraid they¡¯re not very cheerful. Mostly brooding.¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t forget we know less than you, and everything you can share about this could be helpful. We¡¯d better know too much than too little.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re right.¡¯ I scratched the back of my head, trying to put my thoughts in order. ¡®The problem is not all the legends agree with each other. But what seems to appear each time is the marsh where the souls wait to cross into the underworld, the Styx river and the boatman Charon, then the Cerberus guarding the gates. Some stories mention restless shadows and such.¡¯ I chewed my lip. ¡®I¡¯m not sure we¡¯ve thought this through.¡¯


    Lucie stopped eating and stared at her sandwich until the silence became uncomfortable.


    ¡®We are here now¡¯, Axel said after a while. ¡®People we love depend on us. We can but succeed, by all means necessary.¡¯ He looked up at me. ¡®And, after all, Hades himself called you here. It would not make sense for him to put obstacles in your way.¡¯


    ¡®I suppose¡­ but still, I wish I hadn¡¯t acted on my usual ¡°we¡¯ll burn that bridge when we get there¡± motto.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s not¡­¡¯, Lucie started.


    ¡®I know. But I like mixing metaphors, and anyway, that¡¯s how I¡¯ve handled things my entire life. I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s the best way, of course. But that¡¯s how I am ¨C and now I¡¯m questioning it.¡¯


    ¡®We lack time for regrets right now¡¯, Axel said. ¡®It will have to do. Should we get going?¡¯


    We packed the remains of our lunch and started down the ladders. The rungs were slippery with black, oily dirt, which quickly blackened our gloves, and the dust carried by the strong draught made us cough regularly. At the next level, we stopped to pull our scarves up, and I hoped none of us would catch anything nasty from the foul air we breathed.


    The shaft ended in a low utility tunnel, bathed in a dim, grey neon light. Enormous pipes ran from the grid and along the walls, vibrating with the roar of the fans that must have been close. The airstream was contained, at least, and I took a deep breath of cleaner air.


    ¡®Carefully now¡¯, Axel warned us when we reached the fire door that closed the tunnel. ¡®There might be an intruder alarm on it.¡¯


    ¡®What then?¡¯, Lucie whispered, although the noise effectively covered our voices as well as our footsteps.


    ¡®We will have to move very quickly, and hope that the alarm, if there is one, is not silent.¡¯


    I tensed, ready to spring. He looked at each of us in turn. We nodded, and he pushed the door open. I held my breath.


    Nothing happened. Beyond, there was a simple storeroom, lined with metal lockers and electrical panels. In a corner, a battered plastic table was cluttered with sandwich wrappers and empty soda bottles. A lone bucket and a dirty mop stood guard by another door. We sneaked quietly across the room; Axel turned the handle carefully and peeked outside.


    ¡®No cameras¡¯, he whispered and motioned for us to follow. Another worn down corridor welcomed us. It had the same walls with musty paint, the same yellow linoleum peeling off in the corners like the previous room, beneath a sickly flickering light. Somewhere in the distance, a rumble resonated, growing stronger with each second before fading away. We were close to the RER lines, I guessed. The corridor stretched on and on for long minutes; we walked quietly, tensely, ears strained to hear if anyone was coming. We finally reached an intersection, and Axel pulled out a compass to check our direction.


    ¡®Hey, you there!¡¯


    We jumped; adrenaline inundated my body. Three men in blue, stained overalls stood in the middle of the corridor on our left. ¡®What the hell are you doing here?¡¯, the one in the middle yelled. ¡®Stop right there!¡¯


    We bolted in the opposite way.


    ¡®Stop! Stop right now!¡¯


    Their heavy steps thundered behind us. Axel stumbled as he turned into another corridor at full speed, but caught his balance in a blink. ¡®Hurry!¡¯ I managed the change of course a little more successfully, but Lucie slipped on the old linoleum and crushed into the wall. I skidded to a halt and grabbed her arm. ¡®Come on!¡¯ Over her shoulder, I got a glimpse of our chasers closing in on us.  Lucie got painfully to her feet and took off after Axel, limping a little. There was no way we could escape them at that pace. I thought furiously for a way to slow them down.


    ¡®Stop, I said!¡¯, the largest of the three bellowed. I froze. He¡¯d reach me in a few seconds. My instincts kicked me out of the pilot¡¯s chair and took the wheel. I dashed down the corridor. Axel and Lucie had gained a few meters; she didn¡¯t seem to be limping anymore.


    ¡®Ru, hurry! There¡¯s a door!¡¯


    I forgot everything else but the run; my heart pumped wildly, my muscles burnt with live fire. The fisherman¡¯s boots were not made for running. My feet already ached every time the heels hit the floor, and the folds bothered me at every step.


    ¡®Stop right there, damn it!¡¯


    I felt something grasp at my backpack, making me tumble. The fall sent me sliding on the linoleum. I struggled to get up, dizzied; but the closest of the men caught his foot against my ankle and landed heavily on the floor. Pain shot through my leg. I had to stand up, and get past him.


    ¡®There, he got one!¡¯


    His colleagues turned into the corridor, slowing down for only a couple of seconds.


    ¡®Ru!¡¯


    Axel had only now noticed I had fallen behind. He was standing by an open door, holding it for Lucie. It was too far ¨C farther than the men chasing us.


    ¡®Ru! Are you alright?¡¯


    The man on the floor got on all floors, grunting. He seemed dazed by the fall, maybe even hurt. I hesitated; something pushed me to help him, or at least ask if he was alright. I moved carefully closer.


    ¡®Come on!¡¯


    ¡®Stop right there!¡¯


    I darted, jumping over the guard with an agility I didn¡¯t know I had; but he rose at the last moment and sent me sprawling on the floor along the wall.


    ¡®You¡¯re not going anywhere, you dirty vandal!¡¯


    I was done for. The others would have me in seconds. I lay panting heavily, my mind empty of everything but the heaviness in my lungs and the pain in my ankle. The man leered at me, crawling closer.


    ¡®And a pretty one at that, too¡­¡¯


    ¡®Ru, watch out!¡¯


    My head snapped towards Axel, just in time to see him barrelling down the corridor. I pulled my legs up instinctively. He let himself fall in a controlled slide on the floor, and his heavy Rangers smashed in the man¡¯s side, kicking the breath out of him. Axel was on his feet in a blink and pulled me up.


    ¡®Run!¡¯


    He steadied his footing, facing the running men with his fists up.


    I couldn¡¯t let him behind.


    Something deep inside me responded. My wrists tickled.


    I shoved my hand in the pocket of my coat and closed it around the first thing it found. The comb. Help.


    I threw it before us.


    It hit the ground with a small, almost melodic clang. Like a bell, calling.


    Where it fell, the linoleum swayed, peeling away in large ribbons, like leathery tentacles.


    ¡®What the¡­ ?!¡¯


    The men braked hard, staggering, before the raising wall. The concrete floor cracked. Sprouts shot upwards, thickening into branches as they grew, and entwining with the stripes of linoleum. Thorns pushed through the bark, until there was no breach left, and the men were blocked out of sight.


    I buckled, panting. Axel took my arm and wrapped it around his shoulders, pulling me to my feet.


    ¡®I would ask what did you just do, but we have to go.¡¯


    ¡®Wednesday¡¯, I panted. ¡®Gift.¡¯


    We stumbled along the corridor towards the door. Before I passed it, I shot one last glance behind me and, before my eyes, the newly grown ivy covered in leaves.