Seven Wonders Journals by Peter Lerangis Page A

thing—that holder—is where they kept theBig 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.
    â€œOh . . . 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.
    â€œWe’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.
    â€œVisitors 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.
    â€œIt’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?
    â€œPray 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?”
    â€œThe . . . what?” Osman said. “Marker? You need to do some writing? Sure. I think we—”
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œYou are young,” Artemisia said, staring at the back of my brother’s head, “but, yes, I see it forming. Very good.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” Osman said. “But we’re sorry. My Queen.”
    â€œVery sorry, My Queen,” I agreed. “Super sorry.”
    â€œHere!” 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.”
    â€œYou 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?”
    â€œMy Queen!” I added.
    â€œAre 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?
    â€œHis . . . soul