Chapter 3 (Ash)

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Next: Chapter 4

They rushed across the courtyard, all of them keeping their eyes down as they went. There was, Ash thought, an unspoken agreement between them that the best thing to do now was to just look at their feet and pretend no one could see them that way. That was all they could do, really, being exposed on two sides by purplish, grey tinted glass. It was a diagonal cut across a neglected, snow-dusted garden, around a sandy old fountain and through another glass door, this time with the assistance of Shang's keys.

The door took them into a new area of the museum, though it looked mostly the same as the rest. The hallway was just wider and instead of more dimly lit rooms behind empty doorframes they found two perfectly unassuming elevators. A panel with a single call button sat squarely on the wall between them. Shang slapped it on its head and retracted himself into an unmoving, pencil-like silhouette. He reminded Ash of the stick bugs she used to keep in a little glass terrarium at the foot of her bed. They always seemed highly irritated that anyone was looking at them.

"How exciting," said Foxgear, trying to fill the tense silence. You could feel her trying not to look behind them or to the right where someone could, at any moment, barge in on their little raiding party. "I haven't been down to the passages for years. You'll like them very much, Asha. Do you go down often, Shang?"

"I do not. It's quite prohibited."

"I see," said Foxgear.

"Besides, there's been some deadly accidents down there recently." The elevator on the left dinged and the doors drew open.

"What?" said Foxgear.

"Come along," said Shang, "before anyone sees us."

They all crowded in, Gertrude last, the doors nearly closing on her tail. Shang stuck a key into a keyhole on the panel labeled S-3, and before he even turned it all the way, the elevator groaned and dipped downwards. Slowly at first, excruciatingly so. The analog display at the top of the button panel spelled out a G in dashed red lines, flipping into a -1 after a full minute of humming and sinking. Everyone looked up at the ceiling, pretending to be calm while vivid beads of sweat gathered at their temples. When the display finally switched to -2 and then stayed there for another three minutes at least, Shang got impatient and twisted his key a little further to the right. The carriage dropped abruptly. Ash caught Foxgear as she toppled over and accidentally lobbed her into a wall. Jacoby nearly sat on Gertrude, who darted to the opposite corner. Shang grasped for a rail and took Foxgear's arm instead.

"Pasca!" yelled Jacoby. The key turned back by itself, some kind of reflex of the system perhaps, and they jerked back to a snail's pace. Everyone looked a bit ridiculous for a moment, frozen in mid fall or tilt, striking out for balance. It might have been funny under different circumstances, but all Ash could think was someone must have heard them by now and were there stairs they could have taken?

"How far down is this place anyway?" she asked.

"About five stories," said Shang.

"Then why is it only sub-basement three?"

"Well there's nothing to see between s-3 and s-2," answered the brit. "Just dirt." This Jacoby objected to.

"It's never just dirt."

"I don't remember the lift being so slow," said Foxgear, "was it always this slow?" Shang narrowed his eyes, like he was the kind of beleaguered schoolteacher that believed wholeheartedly in dumb questions, but he replied anyway.

"Ever since they started bringing up artifacts and bringing down machinery parts, they slowed the lifts down to minimize any potential damage." There was a disapproving grunt from beside him.

"So you do know what they're doing."

"No, I don't, Jacoby. I only know as much as they tell me and it's not much."

"You must have some idea," said Foxgear, "I remember you were always so clever. " Shang scowled.

"Oh don't 'good cop' me, woman. You're no good at it."

"And rude. I remember now, you were always so rude," said Foxgear. "Oh look. We've arrived."

There was no ding. Just a honking crawl to a stop and the shutter of the doors as as they jostled open. Ash felt a blast of cold air sweep through her. But not cold and stinging like the air outside. Cold and damp, with an acrid, chalky smell.

All they could see at first was the floodlights, looming above them, illuminating the uneven red-brown granite floor and the neon cables running across it. But it all came into focus as Ash stepped into this underground world, past the initial glare of hazy lemonade light, a little cloud of dust kicking up at her feet as she walked. She heard the sound of dripping water, and then as she took a single step forward, it was like the entire cistern emerged at once from the darkness.

It was magnificently and needlessly beautiful, in a cobbled together way. The vaulted arches of the ceiling were a spotted, mottled blend of grey granite and dark marble, supported by a forest of the strangest columns Ash had ever seen. Here was a stub of a Corinthian capital, stacked onto the torso of a grecian sculpture, itself stacked onto a thick, unshapen slab of stone, and so on. They were all like that—towers of recycled debris, brought into order; a gallery of marble flowers, lightning-shaped cracks, grooves, corners and round edges, pupil-less eyes on pale faces, a sphynx.

Ash took a moment to scan the room. They were on a raised platform half a story above the base, with steps on either side descending into the rest of the cistern, which reached far back, deep into pitch, dripping, unlit territory. In the far left corner, she thought she could make out the rubble of a roof collapse. Towards the right, the columns evened out into ordinary, uniform cylinders. Her footsteps echoed thinly as she stepped forward, and her voice.

"It's like they ran out of stone partway through and just used whatever they could find lying around.” At this point, Jacoby felt the need to chime in as tour guide.

"Exactly. A common tactic of the Romans, in fact. They used salvaged materials from disused structures and pagan temples torn down during christianization. We are under the Uskudar District, here on the Anatolian side—Uskudar which was called Scutaria, which was once its own city, which was once the Hellenistic colony of Chrysopolis—from which, of course, these pieces were likely taken.

"By hellenistic," said Foxgear, "he means Greek."

"I know that," said Ash. She was looking out beyond the immediate glow of the floodlights where the tops of the columns disappeared into a canopy of shadows. This place was immense. How much water could it hold? Filled all the way up as it might have been in its heyday, pumped or directed somehow out to fountains and baths...

"And do you see on the right," continued Jacoby, "that Medusa head, similar to those found in the Basilica Cistern?" Ash felt the sudden need to add her own two cents.

"I bet Justinian built these, too."

"No," said Jacoby, "this structure is from a later period. Neither did Justinian build—"

"Oy." Shang had appeared with a plastic container filled with heavy duty flashlights. "You can walk and jabber on at the same time, can't you?"

But they were all quiet for most of the journey, down the steps and into the dark—out of reverence or caution, or both, Ash couldn't be sure, but it fit the tense mood; the brisk, yet unhurried speed at which they went. The ground was mostly dry, save for the occasional puddle, which Gertrude happily, but conservatively, splashed through. Their flashlight beams swept steadily back and forth, sometimes up and across each other, like circus lights before a show. They never lingered too long on anything, darting towards every phantom movement or faint rustling from an indeterminate distance.

Only Jacoby seemed completely at ease. Actually, he seemed a totally different person, just barely suppressing a little skip in his step and a froggy gleam in his eyes. He managed to contain himself as long as it took them to run into the warped, moss streaked back wall and make a right towards the uniform columns. After a minute, he stopped in his tracks and Ash stopped behind him.

"Remarkable," he whispered, but it felt like a shout somehow. "Stunning. Absolutely stunning. And all just sitting beneath the street waiting to be found.” He was pointing his beam up at something near the ceiling. It took a moment for Ash to realize what they were looking at. The stone lioness stared back at her, teeth bared, with the two deep holes she had for eyes. She wasn’t Greek. She was something much older. Something more rigid and finely textured and fiercely ugly. She was magnificent.  “A marvel, isn't it?” Said Jacoby. Ash inhaled the sweet, dense air.

"It's—it is.”

"A bitter monument," said Foxgear, approaching the column. She ran her hand along its surface. "I can think only of all the slaves who suffered and died to build such wonders. This is just what I am thinking. If I lived long ago, more likely I would be a slave, not an Empress.”

"Go on, ruin the fun then," said Shang.

"Oh?" said Foxgear, "Please explain what kind of fun you were having, Shang. Because when I hear you talk talk talk, I think that maybe you have never had any.”

"What. Fun? Hmph." Shang fidgeted with his keys, mumbled something to himself, and tried to keep moving, but Jacoby stopped him.

"Hold on just a minute," said the older man, "I think we've passed it.”

“Hm. Yes, possibly,” said Shang. He pointed his flashlight back towards the direction they’d come from. Foxgear did too, though she aimed more at the back wall of the cistern.

“Further,” said Jacoby. Shang’s little spotlight scooted further back. They all walked along with it, but not very far. After a few feet, it fell on what they were looking for: a narrow crack in the wall, barely wide enough for Jacoby to fit sidelong, and just a foot or so taller than Shang. “Aha!” Said Jacoby.

“I think there is something else.” Said Foxgear. She’d moved her beam to the left some, into something large and black. Ash felt a large gust of wind make its way through her. And as their lights converged on the shape, she understood why. There in the wall was a hole the size of a semi-truck.

No one said anything for a good long couple of seconds, after which someone finally broke the silence.

"Good lord." It was Shang. “When did they put that in?"

"My question," said Foxgear, "is how we managed to miss something that size." Jacoby didn’t have a question. His face, backlit by Shang’s flashlight, was crimson red.

"Animals," he said. “These people—” He huffed. “—the transport of large—what would be so large that you’d need to drill a tunnel this egregious?”

“It’s very ugly, yes,” said Foxgear.

“Hideous,” said Shang. Foxgear smiled.

“Oh look, there is something we all agree on.” There was another long silence before Jacoby spoke.

“Shall we move on then?”

“Wait,” said Ash, “where does it lead?” By which she meant, the tunnel. By which she meant; is this it? Is this the way to Celtheste? A hole in the wall five stories below the earth. She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder.

“It’s alright,” said Foxgear, “we’ll be right alongside you.” Ash exhaled forcefully.

“That's not—I'm not scared. I’m saying, how does this work? How does this take us to Celtheste?”

“Ah yes, a fascinating question,” said Jacoby.

“Jacoby!” Said Foxgear, “she doesn’t want to know the technicalities. Asha, this is just the beginning of one possible pathway to another world. In truth, we don’t know much about how it works.”

“There are rules,” said the older man, “an almost arbitrary set of rules.”

“Usually it just happens,” said the woman.

“What, by magic?” Ash thought of the painted men and Grandmama’s words, and she shuddered.

“Yes,” said Jacoby, “if that’s what you want to call it.”

“If you say it’s science that just hasn’t been explained yet...” started Ash.

“Science? No. Significance.”

“What?”

“No, Jacoby, let me.” Foxgear flicked off her torch so she could face Ash, whose own flashlight was pointing up, lighting their faces from below like they were telling ghost stories around a campfire. “Magic is not so mysterious, Asha. Not so strange. Even in this world, you have felt it before.”

“I don’t follow.”

“But you do. You do. Earlier today, at the Aya Irini, when you sang that song. You felt you must, yes? You felt something so old, so beautiful, so filled with memory. It reminded you of something—maybe someone? The place, the feeling—it overcomes, do you understand?” Ash didn’t nod, or move. She just stared. “You became aware. Or shall I say, you encountered something much larger than you.” Ash blinked once for yes. “Yes? Or struck by something awesome—“ In her accent it sounded more like oosome, “—something alive or profound or wonderful. Magical.”

“Magic is...a feeling.”

“No,” said Foxgear, “it is not a feeling, but you have felt it.”

“And this is magic?” Ash pointed at the tunnel.

“It's like a black hole,” said Shang. The other two adults looked surprised that he'd spoken. “Not this—monstrosity. I meant the whole of this place, the immensity of this archeological playground. It's all something like a real black hole, in space. Something with so much mass, so much gravity, so heavy—to misuse a term—that it tears a hole in the universe.”

“Yes,” said Jacoby, “that’s not a bad analogy at all. But instead of mass, think of majesty, memory, ingenuity—“

“Grief,” said Foxgear. Jacoby nodded.

“Think of it all piling up in one place, so dense with significance, it bends the laws of reality. And then breaks it."

"And this is..." Ash pointed her flashlight forward, "...a hole in the universe?"

"No, my dear," said Shang, "this is a tunnel."

"Just come with me," said Jacoby, "it will be easier to show you." He waddled on into the darkness.

Foxgear followed him, but no one else moved at first. It really did look like a deadly space vortex. Sure, everything was dark, but this tunnel felt more intense somehow, more unnatural. That’s silly, Ash thought to herself. None of this was natural. All this place would be was earth if people hadn’t cleared it out and held up the ceiling with columns and arches. Yet there was something crude about this particular human mark. Something excessive and thoughtless.

Gertrude stood at attention. Her ears were swept back, like she was bracing against a strong wind.

“Something the matter, girl?” Asked Ash. The dog tilted her head and then without warning sprinted after Jacoby and Foxgear. Ash started after her but Shang put his hand on her shoulder. Ash pushed it away.

“Don’t touch me.” He shushed her.

“Listen” Ash listened. She really did. But—

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Shh!”

“Shh yourself, I’m going after my dog.” But her words were drowned out by a much louder, deeper shushing, to which Ash’s first reaction was extreme annoyance, and then confusion, and then as the sound sputtered into a rush, which gurgled into a roar, Ash finally became very afraid.

Water exploded out of the tunnel, but all Ash saw of it was a foamy white crest in the beam of her flashlight before the whole thing was knocked out of her hand. Then, as the column of water impacted her entire body at once, she immediately felt that offensive, sharp nasal pinch that happens when you get water up your nose and indeed, Ash would feel like she’d laughed so hard milk had come out of her nose for the rest of the evening.

But for now it was just one of several unpleasant sensations (though the worst by far) including but not limited to: a shocking, cold slap to the face and all exposed skin; an instant, cloying, soaking of her hair, clothes, and all her possessions; the air from her lungs, violently expelled; and all the terror and bruising of being toppled to the floor by a thousand liquid bowling pins.

Ash stood up coughing. The mass open space of the cistern had absorbed the sudden river into a shallow pool, but the water was still coming, pouring out. Ash stayed still for a second, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness, listening for a bark or a yell. All that emerged was a metallic rattling, a frustrated whimper, a click, and then a beam of light, swinging 180 degrees around to face another catastrophe.

“Hey!” Said Shang, “Little girl!” Ash was about to take umbridge before she realized they’d never actually introduced themselves.

“Ash!” She shouted.

“Where?”

“No, it’s my name!”

“Honestly, who cares. Look! Judgement day continues.”

She saw and heard what he meant. The flood was coming in from every direction. From the four corners of the stone skies; leaking, pattering down, spilling out; the walls were weeping. A jet of water burst out the ceiling by the spot they’d come in and knocked over a now barely glimmering floodlight. It sparked and flared before going dark.

“We can still make it back,” said Shang, though he sounded unsure and faint now. Maybe the sight of the lights winking out had done it for him.

“Are you stupid? We’ll get electrocuted! And what about the other people? Gertrude? Gertrude! Here girl! Come out, girl! What’s in there, anyway? Where’d they go?”

“I—I don’t know. It’s new. I assume a more direct path to the catacombs, but.”

“Is there a way out that way? Or—did they go to—”

“No, it’s further along. There’s a chance they took some kind of service tunnel there. And then—yes, possibly they’re at the catacombs by now. But there’s no way we’ll make it through now.”

“So we’re stuck and I’m going to die here with you?”

“Well you didn’t have to say it like that. Wait. Good lord, I’m a complete idiot. We can go the old way. It can’t be flooded. They built it for cave-ins.”

“And will it take us to Celtheste?”

“You’re still on that, aren’t you. Can’t you see we need to find our way back, not forward?”

“Only way’s forward, mister.” And she believed it. She felt it, even as she shivered and the straps on her bag dug into her shoulders. There was a heat inside her, that burned from the familiar sense of onwards or die. Fly, fly, fly.

“Alright then. Ashley, was it?” He turned abruptly towards the back wall and made for the narrow gap they’d found at first.

They fit through just fine, even with Ash’s backpack and Shang’s height. It was easy to stay close, with just the one flashlight now between them and the claustrophobic space of the passage. Water was sheening down the walls here, too, though just barely. They could hear it as a trickle over the thundering rumble next door in the tunnel.

"Do you know what's happening here?" said Ash. "Is it something magical? The boundaries between worlds thinning maybe."

"If it makes you happy, dear," said Shang. They'd come across a half-formed attempt at a barricade: a piece of caution tape and one of those foldable wooden blockers they put on roads. Shang picked it up and folded it somewhat carefully.

"Answer me," demanded Ash.

"Yes, a leak perhaps. The space between worlds, well it's not exactly finite, but it's--" he set the blocker against the cave wall, "delicately," and adjusted it slightly to make sure it wouldn't fall, "knit. Do you mind helping or are you just going to stand there?" Ash ripped down the line of caution tape, curled it up in a ball and threw it behind her.

"You're saying all the passages are connected."

"I'm saying the more you burrow, the weaker the entire substrate becomes. Cracks form. Leaks. Burrow too much and the whole thing--"

"Collapses?" The roughshod cave floor had transitioned now into flat, paved ground.

"It's a theory," said Shang, "or this is a perfectly ordinary cave in. Tends to happen when you drill ordinary, non magical holes a mile below layers and layers of dirt. If you recall, water was meant to come through here once. Mind the steps, please." He pointed the flashlight at their feet. The paved ground cut off into steep steps, downwards, downwards, dizzyingly far downwards. Ash caught herself teetering at the edge.

"Is it possible for people to leak across worlds?" asked Ash. "But just a part of them. Not like a body part. Just a part of them."

"What, like your soul?" answered Shang. Ash decided not to respond. She started down the stairs. "If we don't have a little philosopher..."

"Well, how does it work then?" She stepped slowly, gripping the thin, rotting rail on her left. "How does someone actually get through? Is there a door or a spell? Or a--"

"A wardrobe? No, I'm afraid it's all a bit more byzantine. Pun fully intended. And this is where it pays to be a literary historian and not a physicist." The flashlight flickered and Shang tapped it against his palm. "Well when it comes to that and this: you go through life thinking the universe is some impartial, expansive, unconcerned entity of which we are all a part. And then you learn that what it requires of you, to cross the great thresholds of the multiverse, is not some sort of space-time machine, but an invitation." Ash back at Shang's long, gaunt face, lit from below.

"What, like in the mail?"

"Yes. Or hand delivered. Or spoken even. Shouted." Ash waited rather a long time for him to shout a demonstration, but he didn't.

"You're telling me the universe has one rule, and it's the same protocol for fourth grade birthday parties?"

"In fairness," said Shang, "we have no way of knowing how old our universe feels it is." Ash raised an eyebrow and continued down the stairs.

"Wow," she said, "If I go to college. Will I be as smart as you?"

"Stop that."

"I'm just saying--"

"I mean stop using my arm to steady yourself. Oh it's no matter, we're here anyway."

They'd come to a steel door with a whole wheel for a handle, like a vault, which they unstuck until it spun and spun and the door swung open. Shang flipped a large handle switch just inside the passageway. Lights came on with a coarse electric hum. Dim, flickering, dehydrated pee colored lights.

"If we don't find a way out," said Shang, "I hope you don't mind 'dilapidated great war bunker' as accommodation for the next couple weeks." But now it was Ash's turn to shush and point. Footsteps. Muffled voices in the distance. They both huffed. Of course this part wouldn't be easy either.

Ash reached for the light switch.

"What are you doing?" whispered Shang. Ash shook her head in defiance, like you've done enough already. She switched the lights back off and pulled his lanky frame down towards the floor. Cold, smooth, dusty concrete.

This usually worked when backed into a corner. People always thought she would run and hide, so of course it was the right moment to sock them in the balls and push them into a ditch. How to find someone's balls in the dark, you ask? Put your head down and charge. She always managed to damage something, if not just an ego. Ash was a child but she wasn't a flower. She had a bit of heft to her. To get her through the winter months as Papa used to say. Besides, smaller things scared the precious daylights out of grown men every day. And here they were now, the grown men, drawing nearer. She counted two, no, three sets of footsteps. The hallway was narrow enough so she could knock them into each other like dominoes and then scurry around them in the chaos. A flashlight switched on. They were about to round the corner. It was now or never.

But then it occurred to her that Shang had no idea what the plan was and now there was no time explain. She could leave him here. What was the worst that could happen? He worked here, right? He'd get fired. Or maybe they'd kill him. No, that's silly. This was a museum. An archeological dig. A gateway between worlds? No, she didn't have time. She didn't know him. Ash shot forward, a circle of white-blue light blinded her as it emerged from around the bend, like a sideways sunrise. She ducked her head and aimed below it. She felt the dome of her head slam into a belt buckle, the pain receptors beneath her hair crying out in icy shock. The almost soft vibrations of one body slamming into another. An echo of the same, low thud as that body slammed into one more. Ash ducked even lower, til she was nearly on her hands and knees, scrambling for balance, then unattractively monkey-running around the corner and the pile of guards, palms slapping the concrete like an extra pair of feet. Only when she had the enemy a full five yards behind her did she straighten up and sprint at max speed, her arms crossed in front of her face, braced for impact.

A wall arrived. Ash managed to anticipate it before she crashed into it full force. She crumpled and then staggered back. The lights flickered back on.

"Oi!" shouted a man from behind her. Ash didn't look back. She was at a T-junction now. Left or right? Didn't matter. Left. Go. Down the corridor. The corrugated metal on either side morphed into concrete. Thin metal doors painted in a chloric green seemed to flip up on her right side. She tried a few. Locked. Another bend, right this time. More doors, one of them broken. Empty room. "Oi! Quitentu!" shouted the man. She risked a glance. He was blur of brown and grey and he was carrying a long, ugly gun in both hands. Ash felt her chest go cold. Who were these people?

She made another right. Shit. There was another gunman at the far end of the hall. He must have gone right at the T-junction and came around the other side. But there. A ladder, just a bit further along. She slid into it and then scaled it, gripping extra hard to make up for her damp, clammy fingers. The trapdoor above her was already open, she could feel warm air coming through, moist on her skin. Come on. Just a little bit further. She emerged and flung the trapdoor closed behind her.

The light was different here. It moved, wavered, and had an orange glow to it. It was wielded by five of the sixteen men surrounding Ash on all sides. Those without torches pointed their long, blocky machine guns at her. All except for the one with the bow and arrow; drawn, ready, and aimed at her heart. Ash threw her hands up.

"Ei, monadu ti qiento," said the one with the bow. It was such a strangely familiar language, almost portuguese or italian, but not sufficiently either. Like a long lost cousin of the Romance dialects. She thought about trying some of her spanish on them, but decided against it.

"You win," she said. Calmly. All her anxiety disappeared the moment she realized she was caught. Now the rules had changed. "You got me. Now look. I'm just a kid." The bowman stepped forward and the torchbearers on either side of him stepped with him. Ash's eyes widened. He wasn't a man at all. He was a boy. All of them were boys. Barely older than Ash, if at all. Some younger. They were thin, too. Their uniforms were baggy and burlap-looking. A few of the bigger ones wore thin chainmail vests.

"Why have you come?" asked the one with the bow. His accent was thick. He said hev instead of have. His shirt was so loose on him that Ash could see a massive star-shaped scar his bare chest.

Ash considered lying for a moment, playing the lost, confused girl. But how long could she keep that up? They’d search her. They’d find the map and ask questions. So she decided the most expedient option was to tell the truth. The most salient version of it at least.

“I’m trying to get home,” she said.

“Home?” Said the archer.

“To Celtheste.” The boys exchanged some puzzled looks, but only the archer spoke.

“Interesting to say.”  His aim stayed steady.

“It’s not that interesting,” said Ash. “I’m sure you can understand. Being such a long way from home yourself.” The archer snarled at her. His brown skin crinkled with the faintest of laugh lines.

“From what village?” He demanded.

“Me?” Ash searched her mental catalogue of Grandmama’s stories. “I’m from Dar-Ness.” Everyone burst into laughter.

“Very big village,” said one of the boys. Everyone except the Archer.

“You say Celtest,” he said, “Dar-Ness is not Celtest.” He spat.

Ash felt a familiar growl in her chest. Even if he was right, she hadn’t liked the way he said it.

“Sounds like an opinion.” She reached for her backpack. The gang took a step forward. The trapdoor burst open behind them. A clink of metal as guns swiveled towards the fresh noise. Ash took the moment to take in her surroundings.

She’d made it to the catacombs at least, though they were like no catacombs she’d ever known. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that behind the boy soldiers was the edge of a steep cliff. Or would it be a chasm if it was all underground? And past that, a wall, made up of—at first it looked like huge rectangular blocks with irregular surfaces, but no, it was more than that.

Ash walked towards it. Some of the boys noticed and trained their sights back on her, but she didn’t really notice.

“Where are you going?” said the archer. Ash waved him aside.

“Sh. Shhh. Give me some light.” Perhaps out of shock, one of the torchbearers obliged her. Ash felt her heart stop as the fire underlit the faces. “Holy Gilgamesh,” she whispered.

They were carved out of the blocks, each one four times the size of Ash’s entire body, and most notably, their open mouths were stuffed with human remains; ancient, mottled skulls and femurs and fingers, dangling over granite incisors and lips. There were scores of them...five...ten...fifteen across side by side going up and down as far as the light would carry. Some of them had the slightest remains of paint or metallic gilding. Each one was different from the next.

“Ashley,” said a familiar voice, “I implore you to do what they ask.” For a moment, Ash thought he meant the faces. She spun around. Shang was being held by two beefy men, though they couldn’t be much older than the others soldiers. Their faces were just as smooth and unfocused. A drop of water landed on Ash’s nose.

“You are with this man?” Asked the archer.

“He was guiding me through. He’s with the museum. He’s authorized to be here.”

“He is not,” said the archer.

“That’s what he told me,” said Ash.

“There's been a misunderstanding,” said Shang. “Call Sabine. She’ll vouch for me.”

“Sabine is no longer in charge,” said the archer. “I am.” Shang sputtered.

“Excuse me?”

“Who is the girl? What is in the bag?” Ash wasn’t paying attention. She was looking at the wall of faces again. How old were they? And who made them? They weren’t Ottoman or Roman. They were far too well preserved to be Greek.

"She's a traveler," said Shang.

"What's in the bag?"

"I don't know!" And what was the story here? The faces ranged from regal to monstrous to entirely animal. They wore headpieces and big, chunky jewelry. Were they gods or kings that devoured their subjects? Were the dead sacrifices or the bodies of those depicted?

"What is in your bag?"

"Answer him," pleaded Shang, "I promise you they aren't having a laugh." How many skeletons were in each mouth anyway? No, it was impossible to count from here. She'd have to get closer. She squinted at one of the younger looking faces; a woman with a crown of flowers. Her mouth was only halfway open, but Ash would easily fit inside. Was Ash imagining things or was there a glint of light coming through a space in the bones?

Ash couldn’t look away just yet.

“Who are they?” She asked. Shang was the only one who responded, more genuinely than she’d yet heard him.

“We’re caught, girl. Hand over the bag. Show them you have nothing to hide.” Ash ignored him.

“Someone’s got to know something about this place,” she said. Maybe she should’ve gotten stranded with Jacoby. He would’ve had something to say. And more importantly Ash was certain that these mouths had something to do with Celtheste. “Anyone?” She turned around to face her captors. She wasn’t stupid. She knew she was in danger. Mortal. Her forehead and neck were clammy and slick. But her heart rate was steely and steady. She’d been cornered before.

“Take it,” said the Archer. He motioned with his head towards the boys on his right. Two of them scrambled forward to seize Ash’s backpack. The map.

“Who are you people anyway?”

“Cujodit,” said one of the boys taking her bag. He said it with a French J, like in Jean-Pierre. “The Common Guard,” he translated. Then he tapped an image on his gun strap: two fists touching, knuckles interlaced. “We protec Celtheste.”

“From who?” Asked Ash. They were opening the bag now. If only she could get more light she could see more of the room and formulate a plan.

“Enemies,” said the Archer. Ash frowned. If she had to guess, these boys didn’t have the slightest understanding of what they were doing or why.

“Do you encounter many enemies here?” The boy searcher her bag seemed to pause, like he had something to say, but he quickly swallowed it.

“We’re here to protect the nation,” the Archer recited.

“You’re not in Celtheste, you know,” said Ash, “do you even know you’re in another world? Or are you lost? You know you need an invitation to get back, right?” There was a murmur among the boys. The archer dropped his bow and stamped his foot.

“Shh! Os yenta mor ourenche!” The boys shut their mouths, except for the one, who looked up from Ash’s backpack. Her heart dropped.

“Alexandri,” he held up a worn piece of paper. “Mura, ia cartografi do...treasure.” Oy. She knew what that meant. ‘Alexandri’ tucked his arrow back into its quiver and snatched up the map. He squinted at it. Then held it right up to his eyes. Then he got that look that anyone who saw the map inevitably seemed to have. Like they’d just noticed how many zeros were printed on the front of a check.

“You. Scholar.” He snapped his fingers at Shang. “Tell me the truth of what this is.”

“I’m sorry?” Said the older man.

“Do not lie,” said Alexandri. Someone put a gun against Shang’s temple and pressed him onto his knees.

“I’m not lying! I swear I’ve never seen—I don’t know what that is!”

“Maybe you remember when you look,” said Alexandri. He shoved the map in front of Shang’s face. Shang scanned the page, thinking aloud as he did.

“It’s...Celtheste. It’s...but the place names are First Kingdom. Post Lantany but pre Maslan. No Centory. That puts it at about… 1809 Ks, right before the fracture. These markings...the symbol…it’s Dafinian. Shang looked up at Ash. “It’s nearly a thousand years old and you’ve been carrying it around in a knapsack? Where did you—”

“Say,” interrupted Alexandri. “Say it’s true. This is the map to Cana’s Baerns.”

“It’s just a legend,” said Shang, weakly.

“It is authentic, no? From the correct time. The correct credentials.”

“I’d need more time to verify. Equipment.”

“I said don’t lie.” He kneed Shang in the chin. The man fell back with a cry. “You have not come to go home. You come to steal powerful magic from our lands. Of course Lord Samarius knows you are coming and he sends us. See?” He was speaking more to his followers now than to Shang or Ash. “We are not abandoned. Our mission was the most important of all. Now these liars must die.” He spit on the ground. Guns cocked. The boys trained their sights on the intruders.

“Wait!” Shouted Ash. She racked her brain for a knowledge of teenage boys. They couldn’t be that different from teenage girls. Scared. Lonely. Jealous. Eager to please. “Wait,” she repeated. The room stared at her, attentively. She closed her eyes. Breathed. Listened. There was that faint rushing. The water in the walls. And...soft, sticky footsteps. She had to stall. “You’re right!” She said. “You caught us. We’re imposters. We’re agents. With...valuable information for Lord Samarius.”

“Yes,” said Shang. “Yes. We’re Capalesian agents. Much more useful alive.”

“I knew it,” said one of the boys.

“I knew it,” said Alexandri. He tilted his head in thought. “But I think two prisoners is too many. Only one needs to live. Why do you smile?”

“Behind you,” said Ash.

They came out of the dark, the painted men, sunglasses and all. Half melted or partially melted, the empty parts of their bodies blending perfectly in with the pitch black behind them. They marched towards the map, Ash knew, barely registering anything else in their path. One of the boys screamed and opened fire, the rest followed. They received a spray of pigment in return, a Jackson Pollack on their faces. And the painted men kept marching, their bullet holes dabbed over by an invisible artist. They carried no weapons but they had strength and size. One grabbed a boy soldier by the arm and flung him aside like a toy. Another grabbed a rifle with two hands, then reached inside it. Everything up to his forearms liquified and jammed up the gun. Swirls of oily peach, blue, and white seeped out the barrel.

In an instant they broke through the ranks. One fell on the boy standing beside Alexandri and pinned him to the ground. A viscous palm pressed over the poor kid’s mouth and nose. He convulsed as he tried to breathe. Alexandri stepped back, wide eyed, before another painted man lunged into him and knocked him over. He dropped the map to pull two arrows from his quiver, stabbing wildly in front of him.

Ash didn’t wait around to see more. She snatched up the map in one hand and a discarded torch in the other. She ran.

Almost immediately, Ash tripped over a block of stone, but managed to regain her balance before she fell. She flung the torch forward. It wasn’t a lot of light, but she could see a mound of gravel before her and another to her left. From all the tunneling they’ve been doing down here, she thought. Further to her right was the chasm and the wall of faces. She folded the map and tucked it into her pocket. Then up the mount she went, careful to keep ground each step and not rush. Behind her the barrage of gunfire and screams continued. But she couldn’t focus on that. She couldn’t lose focus, even though the mental exhaustion of the last couple hours was really catching up to her. She had to make it through the next thirty seconds and then she’d worry about the next.

Down the mound of gravel, careful not to slide too much. A flash from behind her lit the room up for a split second. She was in a forest of stone. Irregular blocks, cut from the chasm probably, stacked into pillars like in the cistern. These weren’t as tall, though, only a couple blocks high, and not supporting any ceiling. There was something else, too, just beyond the blocks: some kind of truck-sized vehicle close to the far wall. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a blur of wood and metal near the faces. Scaffolding of some kind? What Ash didn’t see was any kind of exit. Had she gone entirely the wrong way? Was she about to run herself into a corner?

She dashed to the nearest stone stack and ducked behind it. Then she picked up a piece of gravel from the ground and threw it to her right, into the chasm. A splash. She allowed herself an audible sigh of relief. That was one way out. Unless the water was shallow, in which case she’d just break her neck. Okay. Maybe there’s a tunnel on the other side and I just didn’t see it. She took a breath and---

Something grabbed her wrist. Ash jerked her head towards it. She winced at the full force of a white flashlight beam.

It swung away. Her eyes adjusted, and through the film of the purple afterimpressions left on her eyes, she saw that it was Shang. He was pale even in, or especially in the darkness, haggard. He was covered in paint splatters an...well Ash hoped those were just red paint splatters on his nose and forehead.

“Ash,” he whispered frantically. “The map,” he tried to catch his breath and coughed. He leaned himself against the stone. “They mustn’t get the map. It’s what they’re after. All this time...I understand now. The things they’ve been carting back and forth through worlds. They’re looking for a weapon. It’s a weapon.” He gripped Ash’s wrist even harder. “Against the most vulnerable. Against all hope...I thought--it doesn’t matter now. No one must have it. It shouldn’t exist. Best--best be destroyed.”

“What do you mean? The thing… they called Cana’s Baerns? It’s real then? The treasure. The red Xs on the map?”

“No,” said Shang, but he didn’t finish his sentence because, with a soft thud, an arrow sprouted from his neck. Through his neck. He opened his mouth. There was a gruesome sputter, and then his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Ash didn't have time to react. In fact there wasn't anything to react to. It's not real, she thought. It's a picture of a picture, she recited. And she heard Grandmama's voice--

''Asha! Go play! Leave!''  Da... putting his hand on her shoulder.

She's already seen, Muma. You want to keep a girl from her mother? Grandmama turned her face awy. ''Come, Asha, he guided her to the bed. See? It's your ma. There's nothing to fear.''

Is she dead? said Ash. She was so small then, too small to possibly know what that meant.

She suffered, said Grandmama, she suffered and now she is at peace.

''What happened? Did she kill herself?'' Grandmama smacked Asha on the back of her head.

''Don't you say that! You don't say that to anyone, you hear?'' Da shook his head.

''Ay, Muma, it's not like that here. People understand.''

So it's true, said Ash.

''Oh. No. No no don't cry,'' said Da. ''It's not real. See?'' He had a point. It didn't look so real. It didn't look like Ma so much. It's just a picture, bubi, a picture.

It's not a very good picture, said Ash.

That's because it's a picture of a picture. It was then that Ash had noticed how haggard her father looked. Wobbly, rubbery. When he hugged her she could smell that rank perfume of alcohol and cigarretes. It's just a picture, he repeated, a picture of a picture.

And for all Ash knew, it had been, because when she saw Ma again the next day at the hospital, she was back to her sullen old self. In fact, she'd all but forgotten about that night until now, as she felt Shang's hand go limp, as she listened to his overcoat slide against the stone as he slumped over. The memory flared up long enough to sever her tie to the moment and then she was gone. She smothered her torch into the gravel and then hit the ground behind a nearby column. Then she presed her hands into her face and tried to think. Think. Think. Think, Ash!

"Call them off," said Alexandri. So he thought they were hers. At least he wouldn't be teaming up with them. He had a light on him, something dim and yellow. She was out of his range now, but he was coming her direction and in a couple seconds she wouldn't be hidden any longer. "Call them off now or my next arrow will pierce your spine." And what did she have? Rocks. Just rocks of all shapes and sizes. No, she couldn't think like that. She couldn't defeat herself that quickly. Could she run? Through the stone forest like a hunted animal? Or into the chasm? It was right there. She could dive in before he got to her... and break her neck anyway. She had to choose, though, she had to pick fast...or did she? She wasn't empty handed after all. I have rocks. Rocks of all shapes and sizes. All she had to do was find one roughly her weight. She groped around. Here's a big one. No time for exact measurements.

She hauled it up and ran for the chasm, making her footsteps as loud as possible, stopping before she actually reached the edge. The rock wasn't actually her size, of course. It was like carrying a small child or her bookbag stuffed with stuff she and Gertrude had dug up in the park. Whatever the weight and how strenuous it was to throw it into the chasm, it was easier than being shot through the spine with an arrow. The rock splashed loudly when it reached the bottom. Ash held her breath.

An arrow whizzed past her, followed by a shout and the archer's footsteps. Ash moved as quietly as she could out of the range of Alexandri's dim lantern. It was tied to his belt--kerosine or something, bright at the center with the thinnest of halos around it. She was counting on it blinding him to her, just feet away in the shadows. Or at least that he'd be looking in the wrong direction. And he was. The idiot went straight to edge of the chasm.

"You think you can escape down--" but it was his turn to be interrupted. Ash kicked him right above his ass. He flailed. He fell in. Ash didn't wait to hear if he'd survived. She knew the painted men were on their way.

Onwards through the stone forest, Ash ran. She was counting on there being a way out. At first she kept smacking into the stone stacks, but her eyes adjusted eventually. There were lights ahead, coming from that truck thing she'd seen. It got brighter as she approached and she began to make out its shape. It wasn't a truck. It was a drill. The massive drill that had made that monstrous tunnel she'd lost her dog down.

It didn't look like any machine she'd ever seen before. It was as odd and anachronistic as the boy soldiers and their outdated uniforms. It was made of dull, naturalistic colors; amber and rust and soot. It clearly wasn't out of a factory, rather, someone had tinkered it together. That is, there was an imperfect, human character to it. Quirks and aesthetic touches that didn't seem to serve any real function. The headlights Ash had followed were dangling from the operator's cabin, facing the wall it had begun to bore into.

A wall, thought Ash. What was she going to do now? Tunnel her way slowly to freedom? Or Celtheste? She thought of Gertrude and those two morons who'd insisted there wouldn't be any danger. Where were they? Were they even looking for her?

She approached the cavern wall. Its wounded skin. She touched it. It was bleeding.

Ash was ready when they came. There was no key to the thing. There wasn't even a wheel. Just a whole bunch of levers and dials. Ash found the "on" lever fairly quickly and then the forwards/backwards level soon after that. The drill made a hideous sound as it hit the wall accompanied by a cloud of dust that immediately blinded Ash's already impaired vision. There was a windshield, but it all came in through the empty side windows. She covered her face and coughed and then pushed down on the lever harder.

When she opened her eyes again they were there, standing as still and lifeless as the stacks of stone behind them. It was uncanny, the way the dust and air blowing out from the drill blew right past them. Their hair, their awful hawaiian shirts didn't billow or budge. And then all at once they were moving again, climbing up the side of the machine. Ash opened the cabin door to swat one off and he fell on the others, knocking one into the base of the drill. Half his body splattered away, but he fell back, unfazed. The paint was already regathering in the air, reforming his fingertips. Come on. Come on. Come on. She jammed the drill lever as far down as it would go. It was screeching and groaning as it strained and sputtered.

She tried to do the same door trick on the other side of the cabin but there was no door. Just an empty window that one of the monsters was now reaching through with his whole arm and shoulder. He took hold of Ash's windbreaker and pulled. She let him have it. It wasn't very warm anyway. There was more behind her, though. They'd made it back up the first side. There wasn't much room in here. Maybe there plan was to all squeeze inside until she suffocated.

The cabin door swung open, this time not of her own doing. The monster lunged for her. She tried to dodge but the one on the other side caught her by the hair this time. She punched his arm with no luck. She kicked and caught one in the face. He didn't flinch. He reached for her face. Ash felt his cold, sticky hand close over her mouth and nose. She smelled its earthy, chemical fumes before it closed her off completely.

And then the wall burst apart. The drill shook as the flood rushed forth. The wall was splitting apart along a central fracture, up and up like a reverse lightning bolt. And as the crack got bigger, so did the flow of water, pounding down against the windshield, and spilling off the sides. The painted men outside the truck dissolved instantly, including most of the guy pulling down on her hair. She took his now disembodied arm and swung it at her suffocator who hesitated at the feeling of water droplets sprayed on his skin. Ash took the moment to wriggle free and pull all the way down on the forwards/backwards lever. The drill jerked into reverse, jolting the monster out the open door and into a torrent of oblivion.

The problem was, Ash couldn't find a break switch. And for whatever reason, this was finally when she panicked. She pulled the levers wildly, raising and lowering the drill, turning on and off the lights, and finally, fatally, turning the front wheels so the vehicle swerved right into the chasm. Ash felt her stomach drop, she curled up in a ball and braced for impact.

But it came too fast, and too gently. How was she still, and alive? She was dizzy, choking on her breaths.The lights on the sides of the cabin were swinging wildly, but as they steadied a bit she figured it out. The drill had stuck between the two sides of the chasm. It must have broken down, too, because it wasn't moving anymore. She climbed out of the vehicle, slowly. She wasn't just being careful. Her head was throbbing from the adreniline and exhaustion and hunger. Her fingers were shaking. She caught a light before it swung into her face and pointed it out and up. She laughed. The drill had lodged itself right next to a wooden rope bridge. Okay. She thought. I'll take it.

On she went, nearly collapsing as she pulled herself up. She knew where she had to go, of course. She'd known when she'd seen the light coming through. She felt something, a recognition. I wanted to see these up close anyway, she thought. She approached the wall of faces. And boy were they as magnificent as ever. The skeletons were eerily well preserved. The faces themselves, clearly ancient, yet barely weathered. Their faces were even larger and more grotesque up close. How big their mouths were, stretched open inhumanly like that. Look at the tusks on that one, she thought. She even managed to smile.

Here was the scaffolding she'd seen earlier. Ladders. Just ladders. But they felt as big as any other obstacle she'd faced today. She took a full three minute break after each one. The light from the drill was fading now and the scaffolding was ending. No sounds besides the rushing of water. If any of the boys had survived their encounter with the painted men, or if Alexandri had survived the fall, they weren't letting it be known. Maybe they'd run off somewhere. Hopefully not for bigger guns. Ash decided to brush that thought aside and focus on getting where she needed to go. Stop thinking so much. She just closed her eyes, followed her insticts.

The scaffolding ended. Ash was on a stone walkway now, the faces and human remains invisible on her left. She hummed to keep her sanity, and when that wasn't enough, she sang, so quietly she could barely hear herself.

I am going home to the land my father tilled

Where the boys are tough and the girls strong-willed

Not a king can take my home from me

Nor an empress' army make me flee