Seven Wonders Journals (6 page)

“No!” he shouted. “Why would I—?”

“Dear lord . . . ,” came Father's voice from a distance.

He was at the other side of the chasm in the earth—and
only now did I get a sense of its size. Osman and I both craned our necks over the edge of a gash at least twenty feet wide. The last bits of sunlight threw our gigantic, gangly shadows out across the chasm as if we were monsters from the center of the earth.

“Are you both all right?” Father called out, running around the crack toward us.

“Fine,” I said.

But Osman was pointing into the darkness. “What's that?”

Father raced to our side, staring downward, too—at what looked like a piece of metal, deep under the ground, catching the last golden rays of sunlight. Although it must have been buried for centuries, it glowed brightly, untarnished. My breath caught in my throat.

“Our mother lode . . . ,” Father murmured, as Dodi, Gencer, and the others arrived beside us. Father stared slack-jawed into the hole. “Revealed by the quake as if by magic! It's as if the earth itself wants us to find this treasure . . .”

“I don't see nothing,” Dodi said, as the sun's light moved just a fraction of an inch, leaving an inky darkness.

“Men, let's get some ropes,” Father said.

“And . . . er, flashlights!” Gencer added, trying to assert some control.

As they raced to get the supplies, Osman squeezed my
hand. “I don't want to go down there.”

“What happened to Osman the Brave?” I asked.

“He's being shielded by Osman the Too-Smart-to-Be-Stupid,” he replied.

I almost laughed. Osman was right. We were staring into earthquake damage, with no reason to think the quake had ended. But for some reason I felt only an overwhelming excitement.

“It'll be you and me—together,” I said. I could feel his fright, but my own skin was tingling with anticipation. “We'll be fine as long as we hang together.”

“H-h-hang?” Osman said.

I grabbed him by both shoulders. “We can do this, little brother. We're kids. We move fast. Think about it. We have access to something under here—something that no one has seen for who knows how long. No looters. No pirates. We will be the first. And you know what Father says. The first rule of his business.”

Osman nodded. “Finders keepers.”

“This could be it, Osman,” I said. “No more living in a shack. We can buy things. Go back to school—”

“Whaaat?” Osman looked dismayed.

“Okay, maybe not that,” I said. “The point is, we will be in charge of our own destinies! You and me!”

As Osman fell silent, Father's Jeep coughed and sputtered over a pile of rubble, parking a few meters from where
we'd seen the glint. He jumped out of the driver's seat and began unloading supplies.

“The others will be here in a moment,” he said, heaving a huge coil of rope to the ground. “Are you ready, my little explorers? Remember, two tugs means ‘all okay' and three means you need help.”

I glanced at Osman. After a long moment, he nodded. We were ready.

“Let's go,” I said, holding his hand firmly.

The team arrived just as Osman and I finished looping the dark, heavy rope around our waists. Ahmet's face was ashen. “You kids are—”

“Courageous,” Ali cut in.

“Yeah, courageous,” Ahmet piped up.

Dodi shrugged. “That wasn't the word I would have chosen—”

His sentence ended in a shout as Gencer poked him in the ribs with his elbow.

Father and Ahmet gave us flashlights and lowered us down into the crack in the earth. After a few meters the crack was narrow enough for Osman and me to brace against each other until we reached the object we'd seen—a metallic opening to a hole in the soil. As I shone my flashlight into the dark, the prickling in my arms grew stronger.

We pushed off the wall of the chasm to stand on the steeply sloping floor of the tunnel. It looked like an old
mine shaft, except there were no wooden supports and the walls were eerily smooth. The rope went slack as we found our footing.

I pulled twice on the rope. All clear.

Two gentle tugs from above returned the signal. “Are you all right?” Father's voice echoed down to us.

“There's a tunnel down here!” Osman shouted, deafening me for a moment as his voice was amplified in every direction by the smooth, curved walls.

“What's inside?” Dodi asked.

“How would they know, you fool?” Gencer shot back.

I ducked, walking carefully in, planting my feet to avoid falling. The going was slow, the oppressive heat seeming to intensify the farther belowground we got. As the air thickened I thought we might be getting close to water. My flashlight beam was picking out waves of motion in the air.

Wisps of blue.

I stopped. “Do you see—?”

“It's . . . the blue smoke,” Osman whispered. As the earth began to creak and groan, he grasped my hand. His fingers were clammy and wet. A high-pitched noise reverberated through the tunnel. “Bats? Are those bats?”

“Th-they're more afraid of us than we are of them,” I muttered.

“Wanna bet?” Osman replied.

Osman turned and shone his flashlight back behind
us. Although we'd only gone maybe twenty yards, the blue smoke had thickened behind us so that it hid the opening of the tunnel. It felt as if we'd been down under the earth forever. I figured Osman wanted to go back.

I have to admit, I was thinking the same thing.

But all he said was, “The walls, Aliyah . . .”

“What?” I replied. “What's happening to them?”

“Not what's happening—what happened,” he said. “There's something carved into them.”

I turned around to see faint letters in the wall, letters I'd completely missed as we'd walked. “Looks like the same script we saw in the tomb.”

As I traced the chiseled lines with a finger, the hairs on the back of my hand slowly rose until they were sticking straight up. “Maybe the name of the dude who built this tunnel,” Osman said shakily.

We worked our way slowly forward, down the tunnel, following the lines of text. “That's a long name,” I said.

The tunnel suddenly leveled out and we aimed our flashlights straight in front of us. We seemed to be in some sort of chamber. For a moment I had visions of our earlier adventure. I half expected Safi to come running out. But this all changed as my light caught a shape against the wall to my left.

A foot.

Carved into the rock.

We both trained our beams on it, moving them slowly upward, and saw a carving of a gigantic, regal-looking woman standing in the doorway of what seemed to be a Greek temple. Her hair was wavy and wild, blown back by the wind. Her robes were rich and many-layered. The carving was exquisite, showing intricate details of the bangles on her ankles, but her arms . . . were gone. Halfway to the elbow her arms disappeared.

This was the other half of the relief from the museum.

In my head I joined this half of the carving to the one we had seen at the museum. A man, clothed in exotic patterns, with a huge, flowing beard was handing a large ball to this regal woman. Her strong shoulders, her high cheekbones, and her stance said royalty.

“It's the queen,” Osman said. “From Father's story.”

“How in the world did they get half of this aboveground?” I said.

“Come on,” Osman said, tugging my hand. “Let's keep going. The sooner we get to the end of this tunnel, the sooner we can find the queen's treasure.”

We picked up the pace, rounding a curve in the tunnel, but it was blocked by a tall stone obelisk leaning diagonally across our path. At its base was a pile of rubble, and at the top were five stone prongs set around the obelisk like a claw.

I could hear the breath catch in Osman's throat. “Do you think that thing—that holder—is where they kept the
Big Bahooley? The sapphire?”

A glint of light from the rubble beneath the structure caught my eye. Osman saw it, too, and leaped forward, brushing away bits of soil and rock.

“Oh . . . my . . .” The words caught in his throat. In his hand was a solid ball of blue bigger than his head, of such brightness that it seemed to explode my flashlight beam into a prism of pulsing light. It was covered in an intricate filigree that seemed to shift in color as I moved my head. Gold? Silver? I couldn't tell, but I could feel my face flush as I stared at it.

An uncontrollable giggle bubbled up out of Osman's throat. I tilted my head back and let out a whoop, barely able to control my own body movement. I was twitching, dancing, jumping like a baby. “We found it!” I shouted up the tunnel. “We found it!”

No answer.

“We're too far,” Osman said. “Let's bring it back.”

Seizing the rope at my waist, I tugged on it four times. I pictured Father and his men scrambling to their feet, never expecting to feel the victory signal.

I waited to feel two tugs in response, but they didn't come. Was the rope caught on something, perhaps? I turned and shone my flashlight up the tunnel the way we had come.

And I gasped.

Wreathed in wisps of blue smoke, a gaunt, wrinkled woman stood in the tunnel, holding the severed end of the rope in her hand. Her skin was like peeling leather, and her long, silver-and-black hair lay crazy and unkempt over her shoulders. Her lidless eyes blazed with anger.

“Visitors for Artemisia?” Her voice seemed to emanate from deep within the earth, raspy and dry like a thousand chittering insects. “How fortuitous.”

Artemisia.

I forced myself to stare into her skeletal, decrepit face, imagining the skin smooth, the hair dark.

“It's . . . the queen,” Osman whispered. “From the legend.”

Somehow, we had . . . what? Awakened her? Summoned her? Whatever we had done, she wasn't happy.

I felt the earth shake again. I wanted us to run, but my whole body was frozen in place. Was I under a spell? Stiffened by fear?

“Pray tell, how did you get here?” Artemisia demanded. She was staring intently at Osman. “And . . . what is this I sense? Have you the mark, young man?”

“The . . . what?” Osman said. “Marker? You need to do some writing? Sure. I think we—”

“The mark! And you will address me as My Queen!” Artemisia's scream pierced my ears like a rapier. As Osman turned away, I sank to my knees in pain.

“You are young,” Artemisia said, staring at the back of my brother's head, “but, yes, I see it forming. Very good.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Osman said. “But we're sorry. My Queen.”

“Very sorry, My Queen,” I agreed. “Super sorry.”

“Here!” Osman sputtered, holding the blue bauble out toward Artemisia. “I wasn't going to take it anyway. Um, we were just checking out your, uh, cool tunnel here and we were about to head home.”

“You think you can just walk out of here?” She reached her bony hand toward my brother's chest, her fingers crooked like talons. “When I haven't fed in years?!” The blue gas gathered around her fingers, pulsing with light.

Osman dropped the blue ball. His body began to quiver, his chest heaving.

What was she doing to him?

I snapped out of my frozen state. “Stop! What are you doing? He's a kid! He has nothing for you!”

She paused and looked at me. “What did you say?”

“My Queen!” I added.

“Are you saying this boy has no soul?” Artemisia asked. “How can that be?”

I nearly fell back on my heels. Was that what she was after—Osman's soul?

“His . . . soul belongs to him,” I said. “It's not removable, like a fingernail.”

“Don't give her any ideas!” Osman screamed.

“I am old,” Artemisia said, “but, like you, I must be fed. And I will be fed.”

Osman was rising off the ground, his mouth forming an oval of shock. The queen was closing her eyes now, smiling.

“WAIT!” I ran between them and felt a jolt, as if I'd stuck my entire torso into an electric socket.

Artemisia's eyes blinked open, and the shock drained. “Are you offering, also?” she asked. “That is generous.”

“No!” I squealed. “I mean, yes!”

“Yes?” Artemisia said, turning her face toward me.

“Why settle for two . . . young souls?” I improvised. “You know, immature, unformed. We have . . . more souls available. Fine, aged souls.”

Osman looked at me in shock. I knew it sickened him that I was saying these words. Offering other people. Volunteering other lives.

I tried to send him a mental message. I am bluffing. To get out of here.

“Oh . . . oh, yeah!” Osman said. “A—a bunch of them! Grown men! Big and juicy souls!”

“Is this true? How can I believe you? I see no others.” Artemisia cocked her head and the blue smoke withdrew from her hand. “What power have you to offer the souls of others?” she asked. I thought of offering Gencer to Artemisia, leaving with the jewel, rejoicing with Father.

Osman looked at me, then back at her. “Because . . . um, I have . . . the mark! That's it. I'm the Chief Assistant Officer of Bartevyan Antiquities, Inc.! I'm actually older than I look. And I can get my employees down here, all soulful and all. They're going to want a price, though.”

“What price?” Artemisia asked.

“That blue soccer ball–looking thingy, “Osman said.

Artemisia's eyes burned white hot, and the blue smoke around her began circling her body, a living wreath of smoke. Waves of heat blasted my face as she approached. “Do you think I care about that godforsaken ball? I can't wear it. It is a key to nothingness. This is hardly a fair trade. But if it's what you want, I think we might have a deal.”

Osman and I stood, mouths open, rooted to the spot. Was it really going to be that easy? I guess hundreds of years underground doesn't make you a good negotiator.