“What’s inside?” Dodi asked.
“How would they know, you fool?” Gencer shot back.
I ducked, walking carefully in, planting my feet to avoid falling. The going was slow, the oppressive heat seeming to intensify the farther belowground we got. As the air thickened I thought we might be getting close to water. My flashlight beam was picking out waves of motion in the air.
Wisps of blue.
I stopped. “Do you see—?”
“It’s . . . the blue smoke,” Osman whispered. As the earth began to creak and groan, he grasped my hand. His fingers were clammy and wet. A high-pitched noise reverberated through the tunnel. “Bats? Are those bats?”
“Th-they’re more afraid of us than we are of them,” I muttered.
“Wanna bet?” Osman replied.
Osman turned and shone his flashlight back behind us. Although we’d only gone maybe twenty yards, the blue smoke had thickened behind us so that it hid the opening of the tunnel. It felt as if we’d been down under the earth forever. I figured Osman wanted to go back.
I have to admit, I was thinking the same thing.
But all he said was, “The walls, Aliyah . . .”
“What?” I replied. “What’s happening to them?”
“Not what’s happening—what happened,” he said. “There’s something carved into them.”
I turned around to see faint letters in the wall, letters I’d completely missed as we’d walked. “Looks like the same script we saw in the tomb.”
As I traced the chiseled lines with a finger, the hairs on the back of my hand slowly rose until they were sticking straight up. “Maybe the name of the dude who built this tunnel,” Osman said shakily.
We worked our way slowly forward, down the tunnel, following the lines of text. “That’s a long name,” I said.
The tunnel suddenly leveled out and we aimed our flashlights straight in front of us. We seemed to be in some sort of chamber. For a moment I had visions of our earlier adventure. I half expected Safi to come running out. But this all changed as my light caught a shape against the wall to my left.
A foot.
Carved into the rock.
We both trained our beams on it, moving them slowly upward, and saw a carving of a gigantic, regal-looking woman standing in the doorway of what seemed to be a Greek temple. Her hair was wavy and wild, blown back by the wind. Her robes were rich and many-layered. The carving was exquisite, showing intricate details of the bangles on her ankles, but her arms . . . were gone. Halfway to the elbow her arms disappeared.
This was the other half of the relief from the museum.
In my head I joined this half of the carving to the one we had seen at the museum. A man, clothed in exotic patterns, with a huge, flowing beard was handing a large ball to this regal woman. Her strong shoulders, her high cheekbones, and her stance said royalty.
“It’s the queen,” Osman said. “From Father’s story.”
“How in the world did they get half of this aboveground?” I said.
“Come on,” Osman said, tugging my hand. “Let’s keep going. The sooner we get to the end of this tunnel, the sooner we can find the queen’s treasure.”
We picked up the pace, rounding a curve in the tunnel, but it was blocked by a tall stone obelisk leaning diagonally across our path. At its base was a pile of rubble, and at the top were five stone prongs set around the obelisk like a claw.
I could hear the breath catch in Osman’s throat. “Do you think that thing—that holder—is where they kept the Big Bahooley? The sapphire?”
A glint of light from the rubble beneath the structure caught my eye. Osman saw it, too, and leaped forward, brushing away bits of soil and rock.
“Oh . . . my . . .” The words caught in his throat. In his hand was a solid ball of blue bigger than his head, of such brightness that it seemed to explode my flashlight beam into a prism of pulsing light. It was covered in an intricate filigree that seemed to shift in color as I moved my head. Gold? Silver? I couldn’t tell, but I could feel my face flush as I stared at it.
An uncontrollable giggle bubbled up out of Osman’s throat. I tilted my head back and let out a whoop, barely able to control my own body movement. I was twitching, dancing, jumping like a baby. “We found it!” I shouted up the tunnel. “We found it!”
No answer.
“We’re too far,” Osman said. “Let’s bring it back.”
Seizing the rope at my waist, I tugged on it four times. I pictured Father and his men scrambling to their feet, never expecting to feel the victory signal.
I waited to feel two tugs in response, but they didn’t come. Was the rope caught on something, perhaps? I turned and shone my flashlight up the tunnel the way we had come.
And I gasped.
Wreathed in wisps of blue smoke, a gaunt, wrinkled woman stood in the tunnel, holding the severed end of the rope in her hand. Her skin was like peeling leather, and her long, silver-and-black hair lay crazy and unkempt over her shoulders. Her lidless eyes blazed with anger.
“Visitors for Artemisia?” Her voice seemed to emanate from deep within the earth, raspy and dry like a thousand chittering insects. “How fortuitous.”
Artemisia.
I forced myself to stare into her skeletal, decrepit face, imagining the skin smooth, the hair dark.
“It’s . . . the queen,” Osman whispered. “From the legend.”
Somehow, we had . . . what? Awakened her? Summoned her? Whatever we had done, she wasn’t happy.
I felt the earth shake again. I wanted us to run, but my whole body was frozen in place. Was I under a spell? Stiffened by fear?
“Pray tell, how did you get here?” Artemisia demanded. She was staring intently at Osman. “And . . . what is this I sense? Have you the mark, young man?”
“The . . . what?” Osman said. “Marker? You need to do some writing? Sure. I think we—”
“The mark! And you will address me as My Queen!” Artemisia’s scream pierced my ears like a rapier. As Osman turned away, I sank to my knees in pain.
“You are young,” Artemisia said, staring at the back of my brother’s head, “but, yes, I see it forming. Very good.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Osman said. “But we’re sorry. My Queen.”
“Very sorry, My Queen,” I agreed. “Super sorry.”
“Here!” Osman sputtered, holding the blue bauble out toward Artemisia. “I wasn’t going to take it anyway. Um, we were just checking out your, uh, cool tunnel here and we were about to head home.”
“You think you can just walk out of here?” She reached her bony hand toward my brother’s chest, her fingers crooked like talons. “When I haven’t fed in years?!” The blue gas gathered around her fingers, pulsing with light.
Osman dropped the blue ball. His body began to quiver, his chest heaving.
What was she doing to him?
I snapped out of my frozen state. “Stop! What are you doing? He’s a kid! He has nothing for you!”
She paused and looked at me. “What did you say?”
“My Queen!” I added.
“Are you saying this boy has no soul?” Artemisia asked. “How can that be?”
I nearly fell back on my heels. Was that what she was after—Osman’s soul?
“His . . . soul belongs to him,” I said. “It’s not removable, like a fingernail.”
“Don’t give her any ideas!” Osman screamed.
“I am old,” Artemisia said, “but, like you, I must be fed. And I will be fed.”
Osman was rising off the ground, his mouth forming an oval of shock. The queen was closing her eyes now, smiling.
“WAIT!” I ran between them and felt a jolt, as if I’d stuck my entire torso into an electric socket.
Artemisia’s eyes blinked open, and the shock drained. “Are you offering, also?” she asked. “That is generous.”
“No!” I squealed. “I mean, yes!”
“Yes?” A
rtemisia said, turning her face toward me.
“Why settle for two . . . young souls?” I improvised. “You know, immature, unformed. We have . . . more souls available. Fine, aged souls.”
Osman looked at me in shock. I knew it sickened him that I was saying these words. Offering other people. Volunteering other lives.
I tried to send him a mental message. I am bluffing. To get out of here.
“Oh . . . oh, yeah!” Osman said. “A—a bunch of them! Grown men! Big and juicy souls!”
“Is this true? How can I believe you? I see no others.” Artemisia cocked her head and the blue smoke withdrew from her hand. “What power have you to offer the souls of others?” she asked. I thought of offering Gencer to Artemisia, leaving with the jewel, rejoicing with Father.
Osman looked at me, then back at her. “Because . . . um, I have . . . the mark! That’s it. I’m the Chief Assistant Officer of Bartevyan Antiquities, Inc.! I’m actually older than I look. And I can get my employees down here, all soulful and all. They’re going to want a price, though.”
“What price?” Artemisia asked.
“That blue soccer ball–looking thingy, “Osman said.
Artemisia’s eyes burned white hot, and the blue smoke around her began circling her body, a living wreath of smoke. Waves of heat blasted my face as she approached. “Do you think I care about that godforsaken ball? I can’t wear it. It is a key to nothingness. This is hardly a fair trade. But if it’s what you want, I think we might have a deal.”
Osman and I stood, mouths open, rooted to the spot. Was it really going to be that easy? I guess hundreds of years underground doesn’t make you a good negotiator.
“Go now before I change my mind!” Artemisia shrieked, ripping our eardrums to shreds.
Osman grabbed the orb. We started toward the severed end of the rope that led to the surface. I reached for it.
Then it moved.
Was Artemisia playing tricks on us?
I heard a thump, and another. Heavy footsteps approached as the end of the rope slid back into the darkness. Then Father appeared, lit only by the dim blue light of Artemisia’s smoky armor.
“You’re alive!” Father gasped. “And . . .” His voice dried up as he saw Artemisia.
“Thank you, boy,” she said. “This man’s soul will tide me over until you bring me the rest.”
I realized what we had just done. Osman shook his head. “No,” he said. “You can’t do this.”
“Osman . . . ?” Father said, his eyes widening.
Artemisia reached a clawlike hand toward him. With surprising gentleness, she laid it against his chest. Father looked uncertain. Then he knew exactly what was happening. As the life flowed from him, his eyes met mine. Go! he mouthed.
But I froze in horror as a flash of light burst from his chest. He shuddered, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his knees buckled.
Before our eyes he crumpled to the ground, lifeless and inert.
Osman screamed. My mouth hung open as my brain searched for a way to react. Bitter bile rose in my throat. I felt like I was going to be sick.
Father’s body was drained of all color, a rag doll left on the floor, as if it had never been alive. Never been that enthusiastic, foolish man, leaping for joy at the news of some distant treasure, rubbing his hands as he crafted another misguided plan, smiling all the while.
“Father!” Osman moaned, tears cascading down his cheeks.
I tried to scream, to cry, but my body seemed like it was no longer mine, frozen by the sight of my father lying on the ground like a pile of old clothes.
Artemisia, however, was a changed woman. Her wrinkled skin was no longer cracked, her shoulders no longer stooped. Through the fog I noticed that her hair had more black than gray in it now. Her voice was clearer, healthier.
“Thaaank youuu,” she said.
She grinned widely, and her head tipped back as she began to rise off the tunnel floor.
Osman looked up from Father’s side, face streaked with tears. His lips bunched together, his hands shook. “You’re not a queen!” he screamed, “You’re a killer! You’re a witch!” But Artemisia was oblivious to his cries. She floated there, blissfully ignoring us.
This was our chance. I shook free of my trance, blinking back tears, and tucked the ball under my arm. “Let’s go!” I cried, starting toward the end of the tunnel.
“I’m coming.” Osman knelt at Father’s side, trying to lift the body into his arms.
Osman might have grown up that day, but he was still no match for the dead weight of a grown man. “Leave him, Osman! We have to go. Now!” I screamed.
Sobbing, Osman let go and we began scrambling up the steep tunnel.
I found the severed rope and gathered it in my hands, yanking as hard as I could. I shouted wordlessly up the tunnel, hoping desperately that Father’s team had enough loyalty to wait for him to return.
I felt a tug on the rope and relief washed over me. We were going to make it. I could see pale light at the end of the tunnel. Daylight. I held on to the rope as Ali and Ahmet hauled me up.
As I reached for Osman’s hand, I heard a rushing noise, like a waterfall. A billow of hot air hit us from below.
“MINE!” Artemisia’s voice erupted from the tunnel. At the same moment, Osman’s hand jerked out of my grasp.
“Aliyah!” Osman screamed.
Then he was gone, snatched backward into the dark. Loose soil and stones rattled after him, a small avalanche, blocking the mouth of the tunnel.
And then . . . silence.
The queen of the underworld was gone.
Osman was gone.
Father was gone.
All I had left was the blue bauble from the legend.
I stared at it as tears welled up and blinded me. “No,” I screamed, but my throat was too dry to make a sound.
My eyes are closing, Diary. I need a few minutes of rest before I—
Friday evening
I’M AWAKE AGAIN.
I wish I were dreaming, Diary, but there’s more to tell.
Hands reached down into the tunnel and pulled me up after a minute or two of climbing. I crawled onto solid ground. Gencer gasped and snatched the blue bauble out of my hands. The men cheered and crowded around him.
I burst into tears.
“What’s wrong with you?” Gencer asked. “Where’s Khalid and your brother? What happened?”
“Sh-she took them,” I sobbed. “Artemisia!”
“Arte-who?” Ahmet said.
“You were right here! We weren’t more than twenty meters away! You didn’t hear anything?” I screamed, falling to my hands and knees. Sobs racked my body.
“All we heard was you shouting Osman’s name.” Gencer shook his head.
“She took them both—Father and Osman,” I said.
“What do you mean? Who is she? Are they alive?” Gencer said.
I shook with anger. “The Queen of the Underworld. Artemisia. She’s down there—and she took my brother!” Suddenly a thought struck me. How could I have been so stupid! “Maybe it’s not too late! She said Osman had some sort of . . . mark . . . maybe she’s not going to rip out his soul so fast. If we hurry maybe we can . . .”
There was a booming sound from deep inside the tunnel. I knew my plea would go unanswered but I tried anyway. “Ahmet? P-please?” My voice broke.
The men exchanged glances.
“I’m not going down there, I won’t fit,” Ahmet said.
“The tunnel is completely blocked,” Dodi added.
“Khalid should never have gone down there,” Ali said. “Is this the curse Nigel talked about?”
“I warned him,” Gencer sighed, shaking his head. “I told him it was a bad idea.”
I turned away, sickened, as one by one Father’s friends abandoned him.
For a piece of jewelry.
A fortune, yes, but was it worth it?
They think so, but they didn’t just lose their whole family
.
I can’t even think about tomorrow, Diary. I am lost.
Saturday
I DON’T KNOW if I slept or not. Or if I ever will again. All I know is that I am wrapped in Father’s military coat. My arms are stiff, my back bruised. No one remains. The blue bauble is gone, too.
I have scoured the earth for the gash, but it, too, has disappeared as if it never existed.
So this is it, Diary. Today I bury you and start a new life. Today I am alone.
I will embrace Alone. Alone will be my ally. If you have no one, then you have nothing to lose.
I know Artemisia is down there. I can feel her through the earth. She may think she has the souls of my father and my brother. But she is wrong. I have them. My mother’s, too, deep inside me. In a way the zombie queen could never understand.
I am all of them. And I will have my revenge.
My vow:
I will track down that scum, Gencer, and get the jewel back. It might well have magical powers, and if it does I will find out how to use them. I will become rich, powerful, and influential. Gencer will wish he’d never met my father and my family.
And then I will teach Artemisia the meaning of pain.
Dear Diary, I know now that my brother had the mark. I will find out what that is. I know this blue ball is the key to more than nothingness. My father and brother will not have died in vain. I will make their lives mean something.
This is my solemn promise. Even if it takes all of eternity.
—Aliyah
Excerpt from Seven Wonders: The Curse of the King
READ A SNEAK PEEK OF BOOK FOUR
LEAVING THE LOCULI at home was out of the question. Dad and I were both paranoid the Massa—or some snoop hired by Morty Reese—would break in and steal them. So we took them with us on Dad’s jet. For protection.
The ride was bumpy. We argued for six hours about how to proceed. Aly was still thin and quiet from being sick. But by the time we reached the Kalamata Airport, we had a plan. Cass, Aly, and I would grab a taxi. Alone. Bringing Dad with us, we decided, would make the Massa suspicious.
So we left him and the Loculi behind in the plane.
I was a nervous wreck.
The Select Page 5
