old roots, fronded brown and gray. The lamps were odd, glowing without visible wicks, their brightness doing nothing to relieve the deep chill of the cavern. I could hear a trickling nearby, and when we reached the topmost point, I saw that the canopied shelf led through into a higher chamber whose floor was gleaming blue-green water. Here, the roof was lower, perhaps twice the height of a tall man above the rippling surface. The place was filled with a curious droning sound.
On the rocks that bordered this subterranean lake stood the source of the instructions: not a man or woman, not a creature such as the catlike being we had encountered before, but something that seemed made up of smoke and mist and illusions. It swirled and changed and twisted itself in and out of various shapes, but if I narrowed my eyes, I could make out, vaguely, the form of a portly man of Turkish appearance, his full trousers, billowing shirt, and bejeweled caftan winking in and out of view as if he did not really want us to see him at all.
“A djinn,” whispered Stoyan.
He was probably right. I had read stories in which such magical beings appeared, usually as a result of a human accidentally summoning them by polishing a mysterious old lamp or uncorking a forbidden bottle. I could not remember whether they were of a helpful disposition or not.
“Who are you?” I asked, aware that I had shown my worst side during the last ordeal and determined to start as strongly as I could this time. “What challenge?”
“We need to move on,” Duarte muttered, half to me, half to the djinn, which he was rather pointedly not looking at. “We mean no harm here; I do not understand why there are so many barriers to our progress. What must we do to pass forward?”
I was recalling the miniatures. The cat and the riddles, the rope swing. What came next?
“This task is for two,” said the djinn in its vaporous voice, waving its evanescent arms toward the lake. “Choose the two with the greatest bond of trust, those who will work best as a team. The third need not endure this trial.”
No choice, I thought. Duarte and Stoyan had, at best, a wary truce. The fledgling trust between Duarte and myself was too new to be put to such a test. “It has to be Stoyan and me,” I said, glancing at the others.
A crimson flush spread slowly across Stoyan’s pale skin. He uttered not a word.
“But…,” Duarte began, looking from me to Stoyan and back again. Then, to the djinn, he added, “This is unreasonable. We need to know what this task is first. If it’s a feat of strength, we’d want Paula to be the one who is spared from having to attempt it.”
“In this place, the rules are not yours to make,” the djinn said solemnly. “Your quest brought your companions here. Either they will help you or they will hinder you. The choice is made.”
“So you do know why I’ve come here. Then I don’t understand these obstacles that have been set in our way. What purpose—”
“It is required,” said the djinn, gesturing with its incorporeal hand. “It is foretold.”
“It’s the way of things in the Other Kingdom,” I said under my breath. “Tests and trials. They love them.”
There was a little flat boat on the lake, tied up by the rock shelf. It looked unstable. I could not remember anything in the miniatures that matched this.
“Balance,” said the djinn. “The boat must be guided through the cave. There is a pole to propel the craft forward. That will require strength.”
It sounded suspiciously easy, something Stoyan could do without even thinking. “And?” I asked.
Somewhere within the vaporous form of its rotund countenance, the djinn seemed to be smiling. “Balance,” it said again. “You bring the goddess home. She cannot come without an entourage, a celebratory throng to accompany her. You will find them here, in the cavern of the lake. While your companion guides the boat, you must gather them.”
“Gather?” My voice had shrunk to a wisp of sound. The bee goddess. A celebratory throng. I recalled the miniature, the image of Cybele with her hair flowing wild, garlanded with flying insects. High above us, the strange humming sound echoed around the cavern. “You mean gather…bees? How?” The nightmare again, the sensation of crawling creatures on my face, in my ears, swarming down my throat…My gorge rose.
“How could she reach them?” Duarte was staring up at the cave roof. “It’s too high even for the tallest of men. Besides, she’d be stung. You can’t ask Paula to do this!”
“Shh,” I said, forcing down both physical sickness and fresh panic. “We have to do it; that’s the way these things work. If I’m supposed to get through without being stung to death, then I will. Stoyan, that day you came bursting into Irene’s hamam, I thought I might find another picture. I dreamed it the night before; I thought the girl was picking fruit. I know what we have to do.” I bent down and took off my boots.
As if this were not already hard enough, the djinn insisted I carry Cybele’s Gift. Perhaps it was to prevent Duarte from abandoning his crazy friends and somehow bolting ahead with the artifact, leaving us to what did indeed seem an impossible endeavor. I tied a loop of the cloth around my belt so the artifact hung by my side. Stoyan stepped into the boat. It rocked wildly under his weight until he balanced it, standing with legs apart.
“You realize what we’re going to have to do,” I said, meeting his eyes. As I spoke, I heard sounds from the lower cavern—voices, footsteps. I had believed the run through the darkness and the hideous, squeezing passage through the rocks might have defeated our pursuers. It seemed I was wrong. Irene was every bit as determined as we were. And she was taller than me.
“I know what must be done, and I do not like it at all,” said Stoyan through gritted teeth. I could feel his unease in my own belly.
“Here,” I said, picking up the pole by which the boat was guided and leaning it against him with one end wedged in the boat and the other by his shoulder. “Once you’re supporting me, you won’t be able to bend and pick it up. I’m not quite sure how to do this next part….”
“Paula,” said Duarte, his tone incredulous, “you can’t be going to—” Then, seeing that I was, he fell silent.
I stepped into the boat. Stoyan gripped my hands; I climbed via his knees to his shoulders. It was not a particularly graceful performance, but his strength and my light weight made it easier than it might have been. In addition, we had practiced maneuvers of a similar kind when rehearsing our combat sequences. It all helped.
