CHAPTER 3 – UNDER AND OVER

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 – 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 Châtelet 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. ‘Châtelet 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 — 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 — my chest tightened at the thought of David — 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 — 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 — or was it Zombie? — 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 — 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 — the flowers, the sheep, the back pains, the chore, the fat arse, the silver bed —, 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’. 

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — David and Axel’s sister and Michelle that I hadn’t got to know — 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 — if this wasn’t just my mind losing its grip on reality and seeking refuge in the comfort of my childhood stories — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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. 

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