World of Shadows

by Emily Rachelle

  The first person I meet is a young woman about my age named Fleur. Her face is smooth and round, though her hands are callused. There’s a young man with her. Fleur introduces him as Constantin; if I understand the clumsy French-English explanation properly, Constantin is her husband. I don’t feel his face, but his hands are large and rough.

  Another couple with aged voices and wrinkled foreheads introduce themselves as Sophie and Rainier. They have children with them. The children are too shy to meet me, but I think there’s one son and a daughter.

  Two boys, probably a few years younger than I, are bolder than Sophie’s children. They speak in rapid French which I have no hope of understanding, often interrupting each other. Adele introduces them as Joachim and Paul before scolding them for something in French and sending them away.

  The villagers continue greeting me: an older man named Horace makes Adele laugh; a boy named Samuel speaks more to Louna than to Adele or me; a young family convinces me to hold their invisible baby girl for a few minutes.

  I feel we must’ve met nearly everyone in this tunnel when a noise, like dishes crashing on a television show, echoes from some distant place and all the torches in the tunnel go out simultaneously. Instantly, Adele pulls me and Louna back toward my room while the neighbors’ doors slam shut. She pushes me into my room hastily.

  “Restez ici! No leave, il n'est pas sûr!” Her voice is pleading, fearful. She pauses for a moment before finding the English words she wants. “No safe!” Then the door closes in my face and I’m left to process the sudden insanity alone.

  “No leave,” “no safe”? The noises grow louder and continue, and I recognize them as the terrors from my dreams…the griffin? I try to take comfort from the fact that whatever it is isn’t accompanied by human cries. Besides, that door is real wood, very solid, thick wood, and the noise is definitely farther away than it was in my dreams. Focusing very hard on not being terrified, I curl up on my bed and ignore the sounds, but my dress doesn’t really allow for proper curling up. After a few minutes of lying in an oddly twisted position, I give up and manage to undress as quickly as possible. The room has grown very cold, and the dirt floor chills my bare feet. I find something that’s either a nightgown or a very long undershirt in a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. I pull it on before burrowing under the covers in my bed.

  The fire in the fireplace has gone down, still giving off light but not nearly as much. It’s almost like a night-light. Is it night?

  Where exactly am I? How did I get here? Will I ever get home?

  I have countless more questions, but I can’t focus on any of them. The worries and fear overwhelm me until tears break through my fight to cling to sanity. Eventually I give up reasonable thought. In these circumstances, I can do nothing but sob myself to sleep.

  My eyes flicker open; I’m standing in a poorly-lit room, a room I’ve seen before. Not until I see the black cloaked figure reclining in the carved wooden chair do I realize where I am. I look down at myself; I’m wearing the same nightgown (or possibly undershirt) I went to bed in, and I’m just as barefoot, but I’m not cold. I’m wearing the dream-necklace, too, which shakes me out of my confused haze. I realize I’m dreaming again.

  “Hello.” I try a half-curtsy and decide it doesn’t work well in a nightgown. Maybe it improves with practice, but I doubt nightgowns were ever intended for curtsy-requiring situations.

  The hood nods. “Hello.” It occurs to me that whoever hides under that cloak likes to nod a great deal.

  “I found the tunnels.”

  “I know.”

  Not one for many words, I guess. “Can I…may I sit down?”

  “Yes.” The cloaked figure stands.

  “No, no, I don’t want to take your chair. I meant on the floor.” Quite the gentleman, this one.

  “If you prefer.” He sits back down.

  “Do you always answer like that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I try to think of how to explain. The phrases are short, cut off, but the tone isn’t clipped or anything. Maybe he’s just one of those people who talk like this normally and prefer to minimize their words. “Never mind.”

  “Have you met with anyone?”

  “Oh yes! I met Adele—she’s the woman from before, in my dreams, you know. At least, I’m pretty sure she is.” I pause. “You do know about my dreams, don’t you? I guess I just assumed. I mean, it just seems like you’d know about that.”

  “Yes, I know of your previous encounters with the lady. What else?”

  “Well, I met Adele, and she showed me to my room. Speaking of which, is that room really mine? I mean, was it made for me? Was I expected?” I think of the griffin’s words that Dad told us. Redemption from a daughter…from me?

  “What do you think?”

  “Right, I forgot, you can’t tell me. If I guess, though, can you tell me if I’m right?”

  There’s a pause before he replies, “It depends. I suppose in this instance you’ve figured enough out on your own, there would be no harm. However, I must be cautious. The slightest misstep could ruin everything.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He shakes his head. “You were about to guess at something?”

  “Yeah. I’m guessing that…well, that Dad’s dream and mine are connected.”

  A nod.

  “And we already established that you know about the dreams.”

  Another.

  “So I was thinking that maybe those dreams sort of, well, really happened? Down here in this tunnel place?”

  Another nod. I swallow hard and bite my cheek.

  “Which would mean that I’ve come in place of my dad, and that I was expected, so that room was prepared for me…by the, um, invisible people, maybe, or—or by the—that griffin.”

  Another nod. The figure shows no sign that anything I’ve said fazes him, and of course he doesn’t tell me anything about the invisible people or the griffin expecting me. I take a deep breath.

  “Okay then. Now that we’ve covered that, on to other things.”

  The cloak stands. “I’m sorry, Beila, but our time is nearly done. Morning approaches.”

  Disappointment sinks in, but at least I’ve learned something from this visit. “Will I come back here?”

  “That is one question I may answer easily. Yes, we will meet again. Now, though, you must go. Farewell, milady.”

  I stand up, brush my hands on my nightgown, and decide to ditch the curtsy bit. “Goodbye.” The door opens at my gentle tug.

  Four

  I wake in my antique bed in the medieval dirt bedroom. My eyes have just readjusted to the brightness of the now blazing fireplace when I hear a knock on my door.

  “Bonjour, Beila. Puis-je entrer?”

  “Entry, yes! Come in, Adele. Bonjour.”

  The door eases open silently. A silver tray carrying two bowls, silverware, and a metal glass floats in and lands on my lap. I smile. “Breakfast in bed!”

  Adele laughs. As I’m eating, the wardrobe opens and she begins her drawn-out process of choosing my clothes. That’s when I realize the dress I’d worn the day before and left on the floor now hangs neatly in the wardrobe.

  “Adele, is this whole place under a spell?”

  A gown headed back into the wardrobe pauses in midair. “Spell? Eh…what is?”

  “Magic. The torches and fireplace change with day and night. The dress I wore yesterday—gown, clothes—I left them on the floor and they’re in the wardrobe now. Is that you—or, I mean, the invisible people—or is this place enchanted?”

  “Ah, magie. Enchantement. Oui, il y a de magie ici.”

  I nod like I understood, although the general idea of “yes” was all I really got from that, and resume eating. Breakfast down here—today, at least—consists of a small loaf of bread, strawberries, and obviously homemade orange juice. The bread is still warm. I wonder who made it. Adele? One o
f the neighbors I met yesterday? I think about how much work this one meal for me must’ve been, this early in the day. At least, it feels early. With no windows and no clocks, I can’t tell. I feel rather like a princess. But I wonder why I’m being so well-treated. Why is Adele serving me like a maid? Why is my room this grand while the homes of the tunnel people I met were so much poorer and simpler? I have beautiful, hand-carved, white-painted furniture. The rooms I saw yesterday held a plain brown-wood table, a chair or two, and a mattress on the floor. My room is only a little bigger than the others, but those rooms all house couples and families. I have mine to myself.

  By now I’ve finished eating and Adele has pulled me out of bed to begin the long task of helping me into underclothes. This includes a nightgown/undershirt thing Adele calls a chemise, skirts over that which I assume are petticoats, and a corset. She lays the items on the bed before pulling off my nightgown and helping me into the chemise. I try to wave her off and put it on myself, but she insists on helping. I give up and let her dress me. Meanwhile, I try to find a way to ask her about my special treatment that she will understand without being offended.

  “Adele, why am I…I mean, why are you…why do you serve me, and you and your people live with such plain homes, while I have such expensive furnishings and breakfast in bed?”

  Her hands slow a bit, but she doesn’t acknowledge my question.

  “Does it have something to do with what you told Louna the other day—something about a princess? Do you…do the people down here think I’m a princess?”

  She finishes adjusting my petticoats and picks up the corset, helping me into it and turning to pull the strings in the back. “No. No think. I know.”

  I figured she would say yes, but her firm insistence surprises me. “But I’m just a normal girl!”

  She doesn’t answer immediately. I take a sharp breath in when she tugs too hard at the corset strings, but really, the whole corset-lacing thing isn’t as bad as it looks in the movies. I wonder if the entertainment industry just likes to exaggerate, or if Adele tied my corset a bit looser than normal since I’m new to this whole medieval-clothes thing.

  Adele turns me to face her, though I can’t see her. She takes my hand and points it to the ceiling. “Oui, normal girl.” Then she takes both hands and gestures around us at the room. “Princess.”

  She drops my hands, and a few moments later, the dresses in the wardrobe slide back and forth on the hanging bar while she chooses my gown for today.

  “But why do you think that? How do you know?” I pause. “What’s so special about me?”

  A dress floats silently toward me, a green velvet one this time with criss-crossing red ribbons instead of lace adorning the white bodice piece. She shakes the dress at me. I take it, and she places her hands on my cheeks. “I know.” I feel her lips press against my forehead. It seems a little too familiar an action for someone I just met yesterday, but it feels right, warm and comforting.

  “It still doesn’t seem very fair. I mean, you and your people are so poor. And I’m sure you have things you need to do, to take care of yourself and Louna. Why wait on me? I’ve always taken care of myself; I can keep doing it now.”

  Adele’s response is firmer and more insistent, almost desperate, now. Her accent gets thicker, which I didn’t know was possible. “Want to serve Beila. Please.” I sigh and relent, but I resolve to find ways to do my fair share once I’ve gotten to know more about life down here.

  Once I’m done up like a fine lady again, Adele takes me out to her room to get Louna. I expected the girl to be shy and withdrawn again, but she takes my hand in hers as we leave her home. With Adele holding one hand and her daughter the other, we walk past some of the people I met yesterday. I can’t see them, of course, but they call out greetings—some in French, some in accented English, one or two almost entirely understandable—to make me aware of their presence. I smile and call back to the general direction of each sound, hoping to look slightly less ridiculous than I feel. Will I ever get used to this invisibility thing?

  I think about what Dad would say if he could be here. He’d be a bit oblivious to customs and probably stand out even more than I already do. He’s always a little too loud and a little too excitable when my family goes out places. Still, he’d be sure to make the most of this strange village. I recall his theatrical recounting of the griffin dream and try to imagine how his retelling of a visit to these people would go.

  “You can’t see the people, of course,” he’d say, “since they’re invisible and all, but my, are they friendly! Calling out to you, making you feel welcome—you almost forget you’re not invisible, too! Why, I’d say that if I’d spent another hour with those lovely individuals, I’d be more surprised to look down and see my hands than if I couldn’t see them at all!” The thought makes me bite back a laugh.

  I wonder what my family must be thinking right now. How long have I been gone? Have they searched the woods for me? Called the police? Printed my face on milk cartons? A sharp pain in my temples distracts me from my spiraling fear. I try to massage the pain from my head.

  We’re halfway down the tunnel when Adele stops in front of the only double doors I’ve seen in the tunnels. She pulls one open and leads me inside. This room is longer than any of the others I’ve seen, and filled with rows of long, plain wooden benches. The doors open into the side of the church near the back, with two sets of benches in neat rows facing our right. There’s an aisle on each side of the room, as well as one in the middle between the rows of benches. At the end of the room farthest from the doors stands a podium with two torches aligned behind it on the walls. The place could be mistaken for any ordinary auditorium, if it weren’t for the small wooden cross hanging on the wall behind the podium.

  “C’est notre église, la chapelle royale protestante.”

  I have no clue what Adele’s first sentence was, but I can understand ‘chapel’ and ‘protestant’ well enough. The ‘royal’ is a little confusing, but I let that slide. “It’s a church. Do you and Louna attend here?”

  “Oui, c’est notre église. Le village organise chaque dimanche de service. Eh, worship Sunday.”

  I nod and crane my neck to look at the roof, pointed up like a normal church steeple would be from the inside. These tunnels are so oddly designed! I’m pretty sure this dirt should not hold up like this naturally without supports. Directly across from the doors we entered stand an identical set of doors. Adele pulls me and Louna through a set of benches to exit through these.

  We walk out into another tunnel. There are more doors along the side with the church, but no doors at all in the wall across from us. There are two openings in this wall, though, the same size as doors, and Adele guides me through the one to our left. Louna, still holding my hand, trails behind me.

  It’s a garden! A huge garden, growing right here underground. I’d forgotten about the greenery I’d noticed when Adele first brought me through the tunnels to my room. This is clearly the room I’d glimpsed. There’s light trickling down from the ceiling, which of course is an architectural impossibility in this space, but vines and treetops obscure the source of light from view. The greenery is amazing. This is the strangest combination of plants, though. I let go of Adele’s and Louna’s hands and slowly walk forward, feeling almost like I’ve been hypnotized.

  Flowers, herbs, fruits, and vegetables all grow in this giant greenhouse-type space, all in areas divided by the walking paths. It seems that there are main paths, large and at ninety-degree corners to each other, leading in from and out to the tunnels. Then there are smaller paths, just as symmetrical and perfect, creating a sort of maze within the plant areas, allowing for the best access to each plant. The plants grow straight out of the dirt floor and walls and even ceiling, I think, but they’re all perfectly contained without any visible restraints. No sign of seasonal partiality shows, either; traditional summer and fall plants grow alongside winter and spring varieties. All I
’ve learned since I was old enough to pull weeds and help Mom in the backyard boxes is defied by this place. Honestly, this place is a miracle—a huge, impossible marvel. I turn back around to face the spot where I left the others.

  “This is amazing! How does it work?”

  “Enchantement.” I can hear her smile on her voice. She whispers rapidly to Louna, who brushes between me and the plants—I feel the cloth of her sleeve and see the plants bend back a little. Then Adele’s hands rest on my shoulders, turning me around and pushing me further into this marvelous, magic place.

  We take a right and reach a sort of square clearing in the middle of the garden. There’s a great fire pit in the corner to our left, with a few pots and pans hanging over the fire on stands or just in midair. Obviously, they’re in use by the invisible villagers. Across from the fire, in the far right corner, stands a well, by which a line of levitating vases and pitchers has formed. The various sounds of breathing and feet shuffling, not to mention the produce and dishes floating in midair, tell me this area is crowded. Some of the people I met yesterday. They greet me and I do my best to reply, but most of them know even less English than Adele. I’m really going to need to work on learning French. Many others are new to me, and Adele takes the time to introduce me to each one personally. I’m quickly learning that the princess thing comes with quite the celebrity status. It seems I’m going to meet every tunnel person one-on-one. Today I feel much more relaxed. The clothes will still take some getting used to, but I almost feel at ease here. Maybe it’s the garden atmosphere, which is definitely close to my idea of heaven, or maybe I’m just getting better with the whole invisibility and princess bits.

  Once I’ve met everyone, and Adele has fetched Louna from a rather loud cluster of invisible children, we head out of the garden and into a new tunnel. The process of going door to door to meet people resumes where we left off yesterday. I can only remember maybe a handful of names from yesterday at the most, and I know I’ll probably recall even fewer from today. It just feels like this blurry parade of people. I intend to remember people by their voice, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think to distinguish people when you can’t see them.