by David Estes
Adele and Tawni take a long time “using the bathroom.” Trevor occupies himself by swinging his sword around like he’s fighting hordes of angry sun dwellers, while Roc sits facing the wall, just staring. He’s mad at me because I’m keeping things from him. He’ll get over it. I unpack and repack my bag a half-dozen times before the sound of approaching footsteps echoes through the cavern.
They appear through the murk, walking side by side, Tawni wearing a slight grin and Adele sporting a wry smile. From the look Adele shoots me I know: Tawni is completely up to date on the situation.
Roc turns, looks at Tawni, and realizes the same thing. He directs another glare at me, one that says, “See, Adele told Tawni. Why won’t you tell me? You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“Sorry, buddy,” I try to relay to him telepathically, “There’s nothing to tell.” Clearly he doesn’t get the message as his eyes narrow further, until they’re thin slits of annoyance.
“Are we finally ready to go?” Trevor says, slipping his sword back into its loop. “I think there’s been enough drama for one morning.”
“Yeah,” I say, agreeing on both counts, “let’s go.”
We shoulder our packs and file out of the hidden cavern, me in front, then Roc, Trevor, Tawni, and Adele. I pause at the narrow entrance to the shipping tunnel, being far more cautious than the last time I barreled from under cover. I don’t hear anything from either direction, so I step out, flicking my flashlight around me. Only gray, barren rock stares back at me. When I shine the beam on the ceiling, a dozen gray bats gaze back through closed eyelids, sleeping upside down in the dark.
“Either they haven’t figured us out, or they haven’t caught up yet,” I note as the others step into the clear.
“Or they’re setting a trap for us,” Roc says skeptically.
“We’ll be careful,” I say, avoiding Roc’s eyes.
Flush with the wall, I move onwards, pausing every twenty steps, counting each one as if our lives depend on it. After three such segments, I turn and say, “Trevor, how far did you say it was?”
“We just started, man. I don’t know, a couple miles. Take off your women’s underwear and set a decent pace.”
Biting back a comeback, I turn and set off faster, still stopping occasionally, but much less frequently. Each time I do, I hear the soft tread of the others as they catch up, and then only silence when they stop. A mile passes without event.
Five minutes into the second mile, there’s an unexpected sound. I freeze in mid-step and then am bucked forward when Roc crashes into the back of me. “Oh, sorry,” he says.
“Shhhh!” I hiss back, cupping a hand around my ear.
Roc tilts his head—and we both hear it: Thump, thump, thump!
The beat of a drum, or the rumbling tire treads of a tank; it could feasibly be either one.
Trevor and the girls catch up, and Tawni says, “What is that?”
“Sounds like a cannon,” Trevor notes.
“No,” Roc says, “it’s a bass drum. The party has started.”
Nodding, I say, “I agree. Have you ever heard sun dweller music?”
“Of course. We’re not aliens,” Trevor says.
“Yes,” Adele says, directing a frown at Trevor, “it’s the only kind of music to listen to. It’s usually loud and fast.”
“Have you ever heard it live?” I ask.
“How could we, sun boy?” Trevor says. “It’s not like sun dweller bands go on tour through the Lower Realms. We’re lucky if we get it on the radio.”
I ignore him. “Well, you’re about to get a heavy dose.”
For the next few minutes there’s only the thump, thump, thump of the bass as it echoes through the tunnel like a war gong. Soon, however, there are other sounds: the high-pitched squeal of an electric guitar, the metallic clangs of someone bashing a full drum set, a shrieking voice belting out lyrics to some manic song.
“The Sun Rockers,” Roc says from behind me. “Four number one hits and a dozen other top ten songs. Been around for maybe five years.”
“Thank you, Professor Trivia,” Trevor says. “I’ve heard of them.”
I can’t help the smile that sneaks across my lips. Although Trevor can be a royal star dweller pain in the arse sometimes, he’s also quite funny. Somehow I like him a lot more now that he got beat up by Adele. Not that I’m surprised. If we’d been able to finish our training fight, I might have been in the same position as Trevor—defeated.
“Are you sure we should be heading toward the sound?” Tawni asks.
Glancing back, I start to reply, but Adele beats me to it. “Our only chance is to try to blend into the Sun Realm, become a part of the festivities, just five more faces in the crowd.”
“Oh,” Tawni says, looking unconvinced.
As we continue forward, the music reaches a fever pitch, shrieking through the tunnel and into our eardrums. Then, suddenly, it stops. I raise a hand, drawing our group to a halt.
“That’s the end of the song,” Roc says. Glancing at Trevor, he says, “And for the trivia buffs out there, The Sun Rockers are known for fast starts and stops to their songs.”
Trevor grins at the joke. Perhaps he’s starting to like us a bit more, too.
As Roc predicted, the music roars to life once more, as the band goes from silence to teeth-chattering noise in about two seconds flat. It’s right on top of us, like we’re part of the band. We must be very close. Ahead of us the tunnel curves to the left, so I tiptoe across the path, positioning my back against the opposite wall, and then shimmy around the bend. I don’t look to see if the others are following, just keep my eyes forward, my wits on high alert, and my senses trained on the direction of the sound.
When I reach the final section of the bend, I peek around the bulge of rock, feeling more than hearing the rush of the music smash into me, sending vibrations through my bones and naturally speeding up my heart.
Game time.
Before me stands a large break in the tunnel wall, as it curves back to the right, large enough for a full sized truck to drive through with room to spare on either side. Beyond the break: chaos.
Lights are flashing, bodies are moving, people are screaming and cheering, and, of course, music is blaring. I can’t see the band—just the press of bodies, as reveling sun dwellers try to push closer to the action.
When I swivel back the others are looking at me, question marks in their eyes. “Well?” Trevor says.
“We’re here,” I reply.
“What’s the plan?” Adele says, and I realize how stupid it is that we haven’t really talked about what to do once we reached the next Sun Realm subchapter. I guess we were too busy talking about other things.
“Stay close to Roc and me. Keep your weapons tucked beneath your tunics. Act like the other sun dwellers. There will be a lot of people wearing strange things, so we probably won’t stick out too much, except for Adele and I, whose faces have been plastered all over the place for weeks. We should all keep our heads down as much as possible just in case. However, if someone does try to stop us, or raises an alarm, follow me and run like hell. Our only hope will be to get the crowd between us and our pursuers. Any questions?”
“How do other sun dwellers act?” Tawni asks, and I realize just how strange this place is for the others. Probably similar to how strange the Moon and Star Realms are for me.
Roc answers. “Like crazy people, basically. Full of energy, dancing, hollering, carrying on. You’ll catch on quick enough. Just remember, the crazier you act, the less you’ll stand out. It’s essentially the opposite of what you’re used to.”
“Great,” Adele says sarcastically. “We’ll just unlearn everything we’ve been taught and we’ll be good to go.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Anything else?” Adele is smirking, Tawni’s wide-eyed, Trevor’s practically dancing already, and Roc’s expressionless. “Okay then, let’s do it.”
I turn.
The moment I step out f
rom behind the bend, a group of sun dwellers stumble into the tunnel, their eyes locking on me before I can duck back into hiding.
Chapter ElevenAdele
We come around the bend to find Tristan frozen in place, just staring forward. What the hell? I follow his gaze to the next curve in the tunnel, where six silhouettes are highlighted against a bright and churning backdrop into a sun dweller city. The silhouettes are moving, sort of chaotically, holding each other up as they stagger toward us.
As they approach, my fists reflexively clench at my sides, preparing for physical confrontation. My heart rate picks up just a notch.
“Heyyy! Who goesh there?” one of them slurs, as they move into the light from our flashlights. A guy, young, perhaps twenty, clearly drunk. His hair’s unnaturally black and spiky, speckled with something that glitters like diamonds in the light. He’s flanked by two girls and two guys, each with their arms around each other. One of the girls is blond, her hair long enough to reach her waist and streaked with locks of blue and pink and green, some braided, some not. Dark mascara rims her eyes, running slightly from her alcohol-affected blue eyes. The other female is a brunette with a buzz cut, although most of her head is hidden beneath a wildly tall black top hat, stuck with at least ten multi-colored feathers. They’re both wearing tight mini-tunics that show off their toned and tan legs, which seem to go on for a mile before reaching their strange shoes with a thin spike in the back, which they wear without socks. Scooping U-necks show the entire world just how mature they are. They’re beautiful women by any standards, but their clothes just make them look desperate, trashy. The other two guys are as pretty as the women, with high cheekbones and tan faces. They’re tall and muscular, their biceps and shoulders exposed in their tank-tunics. Right away, one of them eyes Tawni, looking her up and down, while the other traces my curves with his stare.
It makes me want to kick them where the artificial Sun Realm sun don’t shine.
“Heyyy,” the center guy says again, raising a blue bottle. I notice they are all holding bottles, the girls’ pink, the guys’ blue. Then, speaking slowly, he says, “What are you all doingsh here?”
I wait for Tristan or Roc to reply. After all, this is their world. Instead, they’re silent. I glance from Tristan to Roc, and can almost feel the angry heat coming off of them. Evidently the way the guys were looking at Tawni and me pissed them off. I’m glad, but this isn’t the time for chivalry. Our position is precarious to say the least.
“We heard the best party is in this subchapter,” Trevor says, surprising us all.
The guys laugh and the girls titter, as if Trevor just made the funniest joke in the world. “Yoush got that right,” the spokesman says. “We were jusht about to havsh our own party. Wanna come?”
If the party involves slapping the drunken smiles off their faces, I’m in.
“Thanks anyway, man,” Tristan says, finally snapping out of his temper-induced haze. “We want to hear the band.”
“Are you sure, honey?” the blonde says to him. “We can make our own music.” Her flirting tone makes me dig my nails into my hands. Now I know how Tristan felt when the guy was undressing me with his eyes.
“Yes, but thank you all for the very kind offer,” Tristan says, using his most diplomatic voice.
“Hey, where’d yoush get those digs, anyway?” the guy asks, sweeping a hand across us, motioning to our battle outfits.
“It’s a new style coming out of subchapter one,” Roc says, lying easily. “I heard they’ll be selling them in every subchapter soon.”
“I gotsh to getsh me some of those.”
“You should,” Tristan says. “Well, we’ll see you all later. Have fun.” His voice is awkward and stiff, but the partygoers don’t seem to notice.
As we pass by them the blonde touches Tristan’s arm. “You look just as handsome as Tristan Nailin,” she says. “What’d you say your name was?”
Tristan goes beet red, but I know it’s not from the compliment. I’ve noticed he always seems uncomfortable with lying. I hold my breath, hoping he can overcome it now.
“I, uh, my name is…” Not looking good.
“Trevor,” he says finally, his face returning to its natural color as a smile crosses his face.
“All right, Trevor. I most certainly hope we see you later,” she sings. Ugh. If we weren’t about to get past them without a fight, I would relish knocking the bleach out of her hair and the fake tan off her skin. If only.
As if by some unspoken agreement, the five of us walk with our heads forward, forcing ourselves not to look back, which might appear suspicious. Just when we’re approaching the entrance to the subchapter and I think we’re home free, the guy yells behind us. “Hey!” We freeze, turn slowly, look at him. The alcohol has worn off, I think. He’s going to realize we don’t belong, recognize Tristan or one of us from the news, sound the alarm, give chase.
“I highly recommend the crowd-surfing,” he says instead. I smile, an easy smile that comes from a narrow, heart-pounding escape. I speak for the first time. “Thanks for the tip. We’ll do that,” I say.
My head’s spinning before we even slip through the entrance to the city. Our close encounter with the partiers, the pulse of the music slamming around in my head, the thrill of being thrust into the midst of the biggest celebration in the Tri-Realms: it all adds up to a muddled brain.
When we trot into the subchapter, all battle-clad and full of adrenaline, my jaw drops to the floor. A brilliant, yellow orb hangs high above the city, shooting shockingly bright light across everything beneath it. I try to look at the ball of light, but am instantly blinded, forcing me to use a hand as a visor. An artificial sun. Nothing could have prepared me for it. Compared to the dim, overhead lights of the Moon Realm, this subchapter is lighted as if by a thousand fires, and yet all that brightness comes from one big ball hanging from the cavern roof. After a few seconds the spots and stars clouding my vision dissipate, and I take in the rest of the scene before me, continuing to use a hand to shield my eyes from the artificial sunlight.
Although the other sun dweller city we passed through was beautiful and incredible—far surpassing anything I’d ever seen—it was empty of humans, the population getting a good night’s sleep before a day of fun and celebration. But this…this is just plain nuts.
The streets are wide and long and straight, jammed with thousands of people wearing the most colorful outfits I’ve ever seen. They’re moving their bodies in what I assume is meant to be dancing, but is more like convulsing, their hips gyrating to the beat while their arms flow over each other like waves. On top of the crowds are dozens of people doing what I’m pretty sure the drunk guy was referring to before: crowd-surfing. Hundreds of hands pass the bodies across the crowds, roaring with delight.
Everyone seems to have a drink of some sort in their hands. Some of them are blue and pink bottles like we saw before, while others hold crystalline mugs and conical glasses full of liquid of varying colors. Somehow most of them manage not to spill their drinks while they move like maniacs. I assume it must come from lots of practice.
The band, The Sun Rockers, is dead ahead, on a raised stage in the middle of the road. They’re wearing bright red, plasticky-looking outfits with pointed shoulders and knees. The lead singer’s black hair is sculpted into a red-tipped Mohawk. He’s clutching the microphone like a rope, using both hands, while he wails a melody about how he’s “gonna hit the party hard.”
“C’mon!” Tristan hisses, and I realize I’ve stopped and am just staring out at the crowd, while the others are moving down a ramp and into the fray.
“Act like the other sun dwellers,” I mumble to myself, recalling Tristan’s advice.
Jogging slightly, I catch up to the others, pushing in close to them as we form a little pod which we can hopefully use to push through the crowds. Tristan leads the way, slipping between the bodies, unafraid to bump and jostle his way through. I cling to Tawni’s back, while she clings to Roc,
instantly feeling claustrophobic. Despite living underground my entire life, and having endured many tight crawlspaces and tunnels, this is far worse. Sweaty, churning bodies. Hands all over the place, unabashedly groping at me in all the wrong places. Cheering and screaming so loud I’m starting to worry I might lose a portion of my long-term hearing. I wasn’t prepared for this at all.
Hang on to Tawni. Just hang on. You’ll get through this just like everything else.
I can tell Tawni’s feeling the same way, unable to mask her horror as a tall, muscly, shirtless guy smacks her on the butt as she passes by.
“Just go to another place, Tawni,” I say, squeezing one of her shoulders. She glances back, manages a nod.
At first we’re able to make steady progress through the herds of sun dwellers. There are a lot of strange and interesting people. A girl with pink hair tied into tight little braids. A guy wearing just his undergarments, both on his head and in the more normal pelvic area. Three guys who look identical, wearing more makeup on their faces than many of the highly makeupped women. The men really are as pretty as the women. Many of the men have long hair, lustrous and silky and full of glitter and colorful hair ties. Most of their ears are pierced, adorned with diamond studs or shiny, gold hoops. Some of them wear dark eyeliner and lipstick.
Definitely not like the Moon Realm.
Tristan’s head bobs and bounces as he fights through the crowd, hopefully taking us in the right direction to eventually give us some breathing room. He’s heading straight for the raised stage, and as we get closer the way forward gets more difficult, as the bodies mash even closer together, almost no space between anybody. With our movements slower, it gives me the chance to watch the reactions of people as we pass by. Right away I realize that Tristan is our biggest problem. He seems to know it, keeping his head tilted down and a raised hand over his face, but it still doesn’t stop some people from recognizing him, just like his tramp-admirer in the caves thought he looked like the son of the President. Heads turn as guys and girls alike stare after him, not sure if they were mistaken at having just seen the heir to the presidency. A few of them even say things like, “Whoa! Wasn’t that Tristan Nailin?” or “Dude, did you just see who I did?”
