World of Shadows

by Emily Rachelle

  I come to with a start. The screeching of the griffin has faded some, drowned out by crashing glass. It must be back in the dining room.

  I look down at the necklace still resting against my collarbone. I remember who I am. I remember why these people know me. I remember the truth, but we’re all still in trouble unless I figure out how to use that truth. What in my memory can save us?

  The book lies on the floor by my feet. With refreshed energy and hope, I push off the window seat to kneel in front of the book. I flip through the story yet again. Is there something I missed before that would be important for my new memories?

  The text is the same, and none of the information seems any more useful now than it was before. My hope is beginning to fade again. I can hear the griffin wreaking mayhem in the dining room, but eventually it will emerge and return to chasing me or terrorizing the villagers. I have to do something, fast.

  Lost in thought, my gaze wanders idly over a full page illustration in the book. The painting shows Anne leading Francis and the princess—me—through the woods. Anne holds the lantern high above us, casting eerie shadows on the mossy tree trunks. Francis and I hold hands, expressions of trepidation on our faces.

  I realize the painting looks different than it did when I first read the story. The image portrays the same part from the story, but my features are more detailed. I no longer look like a bland random female figure—it’s clear now that the character is me.

  I return to the beginning of the story and examine each of the paintings. None show new parts of the story, but each image contains more detail. Nuance I didn’t notice at first glance becomes clear to me. In most of the images, the only changes are to my character, just like the forest scene. But one painting reveals much more.

  The last page of the story is another full illustration, captioned ‘Pierrette carried out her plans that night.’ This image of the witch shows her youthful form, lithe and pale-skinned, wearing a simple brown dress. Her strawberry-blond hair rests over one shoulder in a thick braid. The painting shows her from the side, a determined expression only partially visible. One hand grasps the handle of a door. I recognize it as a side entrance to the palace for servants’ use. I remember this image; originally she had her other hand shoved into the pocket on her apron. Now, though, her fist is pulling something out of the pocket.

  I hold the book up to get a closer look. The new detail is small, but I can tell what the object is. Pierrette’s thin fingers wrap around a long bronze chain. One end trails from her pocket. On the other, a square pendant dangles freely.

  The necklace. Why does Pierrette have the necklace? And whose necklace is it—mine or Francis’? I glance down at my necklace for a moment. I stare back at the painting, straining to make out the individual brushstrokes in the tiny replicated portrait. Both of our portraits contain a lot of red and gold, but his has silver armor while mine has my brown hair. The portrait in the picture has no silver. I can make out the tiniest strokes of brown.

  So it’s Francis’ necklace. I haven’t seen that piece since I came to the tunnels. What did he do with it after we visited the fairy and I disappeared? Is it somewhere down here? Is it the key to this curse?

  I glance around me. If the necklace is somewhere in the library, chances are incredibly slim that I’ll find it in time. I don’t know when hiding things in books became popular, but I’m hoping it was less than five hundred years ago.

  Where would the most likely place be for the necklace? I doubt it would be somewhere in the village. I think back to the rooms in the castle. I never spent much time in the empty bedrooms; maybe the necklace is there.

  I stand by the door of the library listening to the griffin. The banging sound coming from the dining room would suggest it’s somehow trapped itself in the room and is now stuck behind the closed doors. Perfect.

  I slip out the library door and run to the nearest bedroom. It’s the yellow room. I shut the door behind me and head for the dresser, but each drawer is empty. I pull open every door and drawer in the room. No necklace. I crawl on the floor, looking under the furniture. I find an empty chamber pot under the bed, but no necklace.

  A peek out the door confirms that the griffin is still stuck in the dining room. It must not be a highly intelligent animal. I hurry to reach the next room, the one decorated in black and red. I pull open the first drawer and grin when I find it’s not empty, but my heart drops when I realize it only contains an empty notebook and writing utensils. The other drawers and the wardrobe each hold various items for everyday life—undergarments, men’s clothing, a comb—and I do find a stash of jewelry, but the necklace isn’t there, either.

  I reach the final bedroom and repeat the process, but am interrupted by a crashing sound. The griffin has escaped the dining room.

  It sounds like it’s heading back towards the village. I can’t let that happen. It’s my fault this monster is still rampaging, my fault the curse isn’t broken yet. I have to protect the others.

  I throw the bedroom door open. It slams behind me, catching the griffin’s attention. The creature stands at the end of the marble hallway, inches away from the place the ground turns back into dirt. Its head swings around to lock its beady golden gaze on me. The sunlight from the magic window behind me reflects off a spot on the griffin’s neck, creating a blinding flash like that from a camera at night. What is that?

  I don’t have time to stare; the griffin charges towards me. My feet scramble for grip as I turn to flee back towards the library. The necklace has got to be in this castle somewhere, and right now my only semblance of a plan requires finding it.

  That flash on the griffin’s neck bothers me, though. A griffin’s feathers shouldn’t reflect sunlight. Talons, maybe, and beak, but the light wasn’t coming from its claws or face—it was definitely the neck. The griffin is part of the curse. The curse somehow involves a missing necklace. And the griffin has something reflecting light on its neck.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. A giant killing machine is running towards me down a castle hallway, and somehow I have to get to a tiny magic pendant on its neck. I need a plan. I have no time to make a plan.

  The dining room is probably in ruins by now, so I continue my trajectory into the library. A split-second decision leads to me grabbing the nearest bookshelf. If I can climb this thing without falling off or knocking it over, maybe I can reach the griffin’s neck from there. It’s worth a try.

  I’m one shelf from the top when the griffin runs through the doors, bumping its side into the doorframe. I realize the monster has surprisingly poor balance. Its head swings around wildly, eyes searching for me on the ground. There’s no way I can reach its neck from here. It’s moving too much.

  There’s only one thing I can do. I’m going to have to jump.

  I take a deep breath and steady myself in a crouching position. I wait for the griffin to turn so the point where its neck descends into its back is closest to me. Then I jump.

  My feet slide over the feathers and fur on the creature’s back. I clench my hands against the soft surface. My left hand slips, but the other gets a grip near the griffin’s head. I use that to pull my body into a mounted position.

  The monster screams. It spins in circles, swinging its head and bucking like a mechanical bull. I wrap my left arm around its neck and grasp the feathers there, holding on for my life. I have to get to that necklace, but it takes all my strength not to fall.

  The griffin’s wild movements knock over one bookshelf and it screeches. Its body stills long enough for me to reach forward with my right hand. I run my fingers over the feathers on the front of its neck. There! Buried beneath feathers, something metal bumps against my hand.

  I grab at the pendant. My fist closes around the frame just as the griffin begins bucking again. My grip tightens to hold my balance. The corner of the pendant cuts into my palm and I hiss in a breath. The creature
’s movement is slower and less drastic now; I realize it’s favoring one leg. It must have injured itself when it crashed into the bookshelf.

  I slide my right hand over the pendant, wincing as the hard metal presses into my new cut. I want to find the chain to tear the necklace off the creature, but all I can feel is feather and skin. My balance slips again and I return my grip to the pendant. Is it…fused to the griffin’s body?

  Now what?

  I’m starting to feel sick from the bucking and swaying. I can’t hold on much longer. If I can’t remove the necklace from the monster, what am I supposed to do with it?

  My head spins. I try to think back, remember everything I can about the necklace—the matching necklace set. It occurs to me that Francis made a set for a reason; maybe it’s time for the set to be reunited.

  I need to get my necklace off, but for that I’ll have to let go of the creature. I take a few deep breaths, trying to at least control my dizziness. I can’t wait any longer.

  I let go of the griffin with my right hand and tug at my necklace, but the chain bites into my neck. I tug again, and the chain slides up to get caught in my hair. A few more tugs bring tears to my eyes, but the necklace finally pulls free.

  The movement of the griffin combined with my hard tugging throws me off balance. With the necklace in one hand, I can’t keep my place on the griffin’s back. I scream as I slide to the left. The griffin screeches as my left hand tightens its grip on its feathers.

  I let go and drop to the floor. The griffin rears back. I scramble up just in time as it crashes back down. Beak pointed directly at me, the creature charges. I slide down to the floor and reach my left hand up to grab any feathers or fur I can.

  Luck is on my side this time; my finger actually catches on the pendant. It hurts like I slammed my hand in the door, but I hold on. My back slides against the library floor as the griffin runs and bucks. I roll to avoid its limbs while I raise the necklace in my right hand. It takes a few tries, but finally I line up the two pieces. I pull with my left hand and push with my right until I hear a click.

  A deep boom resonates through the room. A force stronger and colder than a snowstorm throws me back onto the floor. Glaring blue light blinds me before everything goes black.

  A crashing sound wakes me with a gasp and a shudder. I look around. I’m on the floor of a reddish room with odd walls and flickering lights. Everything aches. My muscles throb. My skin feels stretched and dry, caked with dirt and blood. My mind is hazy, head pounding; my eyes are struggling to see. A face leans over me. I force myself to focus on it. It’s a boy, or a man, with shining blond hair and golden eyes. He’s wearing a billowing black cloak with a hood. His square jaw is set, muscles tight, and his eyes are concerned. Is he worried about me? I prop myself up on my elbows. Do I know him? Am I hurt?

  I look past him, to the remains of the room surrounding us. Towering wooden shelves are stacked like fallen dominoes across each other, parted in the row in front of me. Books lay splayed open in piles, some on the highest stacks still sliding down toward the floor. Two giant doors, carvings scratched out with long, deep marks, stand open, one hanging crooked off one of its hinges. What was once an impressive library is now an impressive mess. What happened here?

  Then I remember. I remember fear and running, the griffin and the dirt floors and my heart pounding. I remember the book, the useless book, and hiding in the window to cry. I remember Francis and Anne, the prince and the servant girl. I remember Adele and Bellamy and Louna, the little family in the little straw-floored house. I remember Shadow and the village, the cloaked man and invisible people. I remember the forest, the forest by the cave and the forest with the hole in the ground. I remember a necklace, a necklace with two pieces.

  The memories are overwhelming, flooding my mind at once. I feel as though something in my brain has cracked open. It hurts. It pulses and throbs, burning hot, but I can’t focus, can’t pull it shut. I need him, I need his help, I need to tell him what I remembered so I can make the memories stop, make them stand still.

  “Francis,” I manage to scrape out, before my arms give out and my head falls back to the ground.

  He catches my head in his hand, warm and soft, and smiles. His eyes sparkle with the beginning of tears. “You remember.”

  I try to bring my hand up to touch his cheek, but I ‘m too weak. It hardly moves an inch. I lick my lips, to no avail. “Water.”

  “Of course, of course. I’ll take care of you. Don’t move. I’m here, I’ve got you. We’re safe.” He slides his left arm under my neck and around my shoulders, then scoops my legs up with his right. Soon I’m resting against his chest, soaking in his warmth. I have so many questions, so many worries…but right now all I want is to curl up and sleep forever.

  He carries me several steps. We leave the destroyed library and walk through the castle out into the tunnels. I realize I’ve never seen him outside of his room or the library. Is this the first time he’s been out in the tunnels? I don’t know. Several steps and a few turns later, I hear voices—a lot of them, loud.

  “Francis!”

  “Your Highness!”

  “The princess!”

  “The prince has returned.”

  “She did it. I knew she’d save us.”

  I feel a hand on my cheek.

  “Beila…Beila dear, you did it.” Sophie’s voice cracks. I’ve never heard her this emotional, even when Adele died. I guess joy is more rare in the tunnels than grief. “You saved us all.”

  Many villagers—men, women, children—come up to grab my hand, thank me, speak to Francis, but he quiets the people, pushing them away. I’m grateful. My skin is dry and aching. The air here suffocates. I feel feverish.

  Francis lays me on the ground and props my head up against the wall. Kneeling beside me, he turns to speak to the crowd. I realize they’re all still fully visible. What time is it?

  “My people…Our curse has been broken. My lady has saved us, just like the fairy said. She has found me again and freed us all. We are a free people! We can return to our land and our lives!”

  This statement alarms me. Return? Our land? These people are from France five hundred years ago! I struggle to speak. Why am I so weak and sore? “Francis, you…the villagers…” My words sound like I’m scratching the air. Just opening my mouth to speak tires me. “The world…out there, it’s…changed.” I have to stop for a moment.

  Francis crouches over me, one hand on my cheek and the other resting on my hand. Concern and love radiate from his clear golden eyes. My heart leaps; for a second, it’s as though these five hundred years never passed, as though my life in France and my life in New York were both distant dreams, as though he and I are the only ones to ever exist. But the moment passes. As bizarre as this situation is, this is real life.

  I realize I can think of both of my lives—or all three, really—New York and the tunnels and France, all without a headache. Or at least, without a worse headache than I already have. My head feels crowded and cluttered, but I can clearly remember everything, all the people I’ve known and places I’ve lived, all at once. That’s a nice change.

  “Beila, dear heart, hush now. You’re weak. That was very strong magic you battled. Our necklaces were turned to dust. You must be feeling the effects as well.” He presses his lips to my forehead and squeezes my hand before turning back out to the crowd. This time he remains crouching by my side.

  “She’s right. After five hundred years, the world above has moved on without us.”

  “Francis, let me speak.”

  He turns to me again, voice lowered. “Are you sure? You shouldn’t push yourself.”

  I prop myself up on my elbows. My body aches with fatigue. My muscles are screaming, but the pain has faded. The memories are stable, no longer flying at me with every moment. I feel…whole. Tired, but whole. “Yes, I’m sure. Help me up.”

  He pauses for a moment and squeezes my hand, then
does as I asked. I stand on wobbly legs, gripping his arm for balance, and address the village. My village.

  “You saw how confused I was when I came here. You saw how different my clothes looked. You know how differently I talked. Life changes a lot in five hundred years, especially with machines and technology.” I know they won’t understand me now, but they’ll learn eventually. They’ll have to, to live on the surface. “Also, I’m not really sure how the magic works…but you should know we’re not under France. Unless the tunnel teleported me when I fell. Which I guess could’ve happened. But when I left the surface, I wasn’t in France. I wasn’t even in Europe.”

  A ripple of noise goes through the crowd, but they quiet after a moment. I’ll never stop being surprised by the respect this group of people has for me. “I lived on a different continent, a place called America. Everything about America is different. We speak English, but different English than Britain. And we have a lot of different food now, and people’s jobs are different. It’s a totally different world, America. I lived in New York, but I just moved to the country. We can probably start there. A bunch of land and cows will probably be a good place to start. Less of an adjustment than the city. I mean, assuming we don’t actually show up still in France, which would still be totally different than you remember.”

  I’m rambling now, talking more to myself than to everyone else. I’m too tired to give a speech right now. “I can tell you all about the world later. Right now, just be prepared for a big shock. I should get some sleep.”

  The people start to disperse, heading off for…something. They don’t own much, but maybe there’s something in their homes for them to take with them. Maybe they’ll get fresh clothing in the shop before we leave.