Wander Dust

by Michelle Warren

  Chapter 33: Friends for Life

  The choir’s song, so beautiful in the background, seems a fitting soundtrack to the hope that surges through me. We’re so close to my mom now, I think I can feel her. Looking into the dark entrance, I envision our reunion.

  “Sam’s back,” Bishop whispers. “We must be close.”

  I smile; I knew I was right.

  We descend the blackened, ancient staircase. The tunnel isn’t the kind of place you search for a light switch, so I grab the rugged wall for guidance.

  “Is your mom the crypt keeper or something?” Perpetua jabs when our surroundings turn almost pitch black.

  I want to respond in a snarky way, but Bishop’s hand brushes mine. The simple gesture defuses my anger, allowing me to let her comment go.

  Just as all visibility disappears, a dim green light snaps on, glowing from much farther down the corridor. It emits barely enough illuminated ground to guide us.

  “Wait.” Bishop grabs my arm.

  “What?”

  “Sam doesn’t think we should go. Something’s off,” he cautions.

  “If we don’t go now, we’ll lose it.” I look between the disappearing green light and Bishop’s grip on my arm. “What if this is the bracelet guiding us?”

  “No, I don’t think we should. Neither does Sam.”

  “Well, Sam’s not here, and I say we go,” Perpetua grumbles.

  “Me too,” Stu offers. I look at them both, shocked that they’d stick up for me. “We’ve come this far,” Stu challenges.

  I look at Bishop—it’s three against two. From what I can see, his jaw tightens as he deliberates mentally with Sam.

  “Fine,” he unwillingly consents and stomps off ahead of us.

  We continue for what feels like forever, weaving through a maze of underground catacombs. Little rushes of fur skim my ankles. I know rats roam below the earth, but I don’t want to work myself up. So for each one that passes, I simply cringe and walk a little faster.

  We wind around under the church and back toward the piazza. Rows and rows of domed ledges extend the length of the walls. I avert my eyes from them, knowing they contain dead bodies. I don’t need to see the ancient, decaying remnants for myself.

  The corridor ends, opening into a room. As we step in, the dim green light unexpectedly snaps off, leaving us in the thick darkness.

  “Great!” I huff out loud.

  Bishop grabs my arm and forcefully flips me behind his back. Stu and Perpetua huddle against us. I recognize the tactic from Defense Arts class.

  Green flames from several wall torches spring to life.

  I scream at the newly revealed, gruesome scene. Several mummified monks hang, fully dressed, on the wall. Their bodies, arranged in awkward positions, remind me of marionette puppets.

  To the left, a wall lined with a thousand skulls stares back. A black snake slithers out of an eye socket and drops to the floor. I jump back, startled. From the ceiling hangs the most heinous item, a chandelier made from small finger and toe bones.

  Stu hides his face in my arm and whimpers. Bishop and Perpetua remain focused on a dark niche in the corner. The green light suddenly shows itself again.

  That’s when I realize we aren’t alone.

  Raucous laughter comes first. But the man doesn’t need to step out of the darkness for me to recognize his voice.

  “Francis?” I call out over Bishop’s shoulder.

  He coughs and stumbles into the room. Someone’s pushed him from behind. Four more figures appear from the shadows—the gang.

  The lead gang member steps forward.

  “Well, well, it’s about time.” The boy smirks, strutting up to us in a cocky manner. His dark hair, wild and unkempt, spikes away from his head in every direction. One long earring drapes to his shoulder. Black eyeliner wraps his dark eyes.

  “Francis, you’ll no doubt be rewarded for your duties,” the boy says. He looks down at the bum holding the green light. I can tell he holds no real regard for the man.

  “Was ah team effort, boss,” Francis mumbles.

  “I’m Drake,” the leader says, looking us over. “You appear to be intelligent people, so you’ll want to follow me.”

  “We’ll go nowhere with you,” Bishop says. He and Perpetua stiffen, ready to fight. Another group steps out from the corridor, instantly outnumbering and surrounding us.

  “Are you positive?” Drake asks, then sneers. He holds his hands out, directing us toward their numbers. “Four against twelve?”

  Bishop and Perpetua relax their stance just enough to signal surrender.

  “That’s what I thought.” Drake grins.

  Francis, still on the floor, begins laughing. He struggles to push himself to his feet. As he does, he coughs and spews snot across the room. Everyone ducks.

  “Francis, you’re repulsive!” Drake scolds, giving the bum another unforgiving push to the floor. Drake steps over Francis and waves his arm for us to follow. Like we have a choice.

  I turn and give Stu an angry look. The sundial bracelet did not work. Because I’m absolutely positive that my deepest desire does not include finding the Underground.

  We follow our captors through a new corridor, but this isn’t a catacomb, or at least there aren’t any bones—thank goodness. Green torches light the dank tunnel. Putrid sludge drips from the walls. Horrific groans echo in the distance. Trash litters all available floor space. The smell increases as we walk and I recognize the stench. It smells just like the gang—a disgusting garbage dump.

  Tension increases as we walk. Bishop guards the front, Perpetua the back. As Stu and I huddle together in the center, I wish I were the Protector. Instead, I’m just some stupid weakling who can’t defend herself. At least not in the way they can. If I ever make it out of here alive, I will learn everything Bishop knows about defense and more. I don’t want to feel this helpless ever again.

  The walkway descends in a wide spiral. Arched windows with simple Tuscan columns line the inside wall. You can see through them and into a humongous open circular shaft. In the center of the shaft sits the bottom half of the obelisk from the Piazza Del Popolo above. The pillar cuts down through the ceiling and into the open room, just like Olde Town. But here, there’s no weather machine or buildings, just decrepit rocks. Do Wanderers always live below obelisks?

  When we reach the end of the spiral corridor, we step out onto an oversized stone balcony without railings. The protruding piece of earth hangs precariously over a massive pit—the bottom I can’t see. I stand in the middle, shivering, not wanting to move too close to the dangerous edge.

  A thin, natural bridge attaches the balcony to the midpoint of the obelisk. On the other side of the shaft, a much larger suspended platform connects the obelisk and the far wall.

  My gaze rakes the circumference of the moldy walls. The huge shaft with levels and levels of archways reminds me of a crumbling colosseum. The opaque ceiling allows light to filter into the space. How, I can’t explain. I know that up above, flat stone completely covers the piazza. From here, I see tourists’ feet shuffling about and stopping when they take photos. Flashes from their cameras twinkle above. They’re oblivious to what lurks several hundred feet below them.

  Hundreds of grungy people quickly appear in the windows surrounding the shaft, peering down at us as though they’re spectating a sport. Their murmurs increase in volume. I wish I could make out what they’re saying. They probably know more than I do about why we’re even here.

  I look back at Stu. “So much for your deepest desires.” I narrow my eyes.

  “Sorry.” He only shrugs and looks back at the four people guarding the exit. Now, my one comfort is knowing that Stu is probably more scared than I.

  Snarling noises echo through the cavern. Whipping my head around, I look across the narrow bridge. Four shapes float out from behind the obelisk and stop before us on the other side. They must be important because the crowd hushes to a silence.

/>   The lady in front makes my skin crawl. I slide my hands over my arms to rub away the chills. Her bright red hooded cape contrasts sharply with the drab arena.

  In line behind her paces an oversized, mutated beast-dog. Its muscles are bulging and overgrown. They pulse and flex as it patrols the space behind her. Its piercing canine eyes latch onto mine. The creature’s tail lashes angrily back and forth as though it’s anticipating the perfect time to attack me.

  Directly behind the dog-beast stands a feeble bald man dressed in a monk’s robe. Hunched over, his cloudy gaze wanders aimlessly over the ground, seeing nothing. He holds his hands at his waist as though he’s in prayer.

  A figure rolls a wheelchair-bound person into position directly behind the bald man. A green velvet cape drapes over their lifeless body.

  There are many others surrounding them, but they appear to be the guards for the motley group. I watch the four main figures with a keen eye. They move in a peculiar way, resembling a slithering snake. Each part follows the part before, vertebrae slithering in motion. The person in the wheelchair, all the way in the back in the shadows, acts as the head, the point from which they move.

  “You idiots!” the lady in red screeches. The crowd gasps. “Separate them and strip them of their relics!” she screams, but she doesn’t have to. Her words ignite like wildfire through the cavernous space.

  Immediately I’m ripped away from Bishop. A group of women encircle me. Like my worst nightmare come true, they tear and rip off my clothes. I scratch, kick, and fight with them, but there are too many hands pulling and yanking at my body.

  The crowd laughs. They must see everything. The others must be getting stripped too. I hear Bishop fighting and yelling.

  I collapse to the floor, curling up into a ball, embarrassed. My naked body shivers in the cold. When I look up at the grungy women, their human wall parts—opening a space only large enough for one person to squeeze through.

  Perpetua appears in the opening with an evil smirk on her face. However, she is clothed. She holds up a gray robe, offering it to me.

  “I’ll trade you,” she says in her snotty voice. I can’t comprehend her meaning until I follow her line of sight. It lands on my wrist. The sundial bracelet sits heavy on my arm. It’s the only thing left on my body.

  “What are you doing?” The words twist out of my mouth.

  She approaches and bends down to meet my eyes. She drapes the robe around my back, letting it fall over my body. As she does, she whispers in my ear, “And don’t even try to wander in this robe. The only place you’ll land is in a dungeon. I promise.”

  I stand and shrug into the robe, closing it tightly around my body. The women restrain my arms and shoulders. Perpetua grabs my wrist and unlatches the bracelet. I just stare at her, failing to understand why she’s doing this. She speaks again, but not in her normal voice. This time, she speaks in English but in a beautiful, clear Italian accent. “I’m so very sorry, Seraphina. I know if things were not like this, we would have been such good friends. Amici per la vita.” She laughs in the back of her throat. “I must take this back from you now.” She dangles the bracelet. Her lips curl on one side. Perpetua spins and struts away.

  As she walks, I envision her in a gold, shimmering cloak. Perpetua is my supposed “friend” from Venice, the lady that returned my mom’s bracelet. I wrestle with my captors, trying to break free, but their fingernails dig painfully into my skin, drawing blood.

  Perpetua runs across the bridge, presenting the bracelet to the lady in red. The lady snatches it from her, surveys the relic, and holds it up to the light.

  “Exeter!” the lady yells. She tosses the relic over her head to the bald man. He catches it without lifting his blind eyes.

  His head tips back and his eyes roll back into his head. The bracelet hovers above his palms. For several seconds it floats through the air emitting gold light, until it releases and drops back into his grasp. He is her Seer.

  “It is restored, Cecero,” he says in a monotone voice. Cecero—what a horrible name. I spell it in my head. C-E-C-E-R-O. I suck in air and want to scream. My blood boils. She is Cece. I study her further. There’s no way that she’s my mother. I eye her waterfall of blood-red hair, spilling over her cape, and her pure white skin. I look more like Ray than her, and that isn’t much.

  Immediately, I understand this entire meeting between us is a set-up, but I can’t understand why they have gone to so much trouble. I glare at Francis, the person who originally sent me on this path.

  He stands behind me, smirking. “Sorry, kid.” He shrugs. “Needed tha money."

  I turn back to Cece. She kisses Perpetua on the forehead. “You’ve done an excellent job, my pet,” she says, then strokes her blonde hair.

  “I couldn’t have done it alone,” Perpetua chirps, glancing back to the balcony where I stand.

  “Yes, so true. You’re so kind, never taking all the glory.”

  “Come here!” Cece yells out, pointing to the spot in front of her.

  I look back, waiting for Francis to step forward.