The Incomplete Crown Of Bethmoora

Chapter 12

"No human has entered here before. This is an exception," the Prince said with his gaze fixed ahead.

The place was an abandoned warehouse near the Brooklyn bridge in New York. Only meters away, at their backs, the city continued its life in all normality. She didn't know exactly what time it was, but the night smelled like the wee hours, judging by the freezing fall breeze piercing the bones. The freshness relieved some of the pulsing, burning pain in her left arm. The heat of the bullet buried in her flesh had spread to her entire limb and part of her shoulder and chest. Her head still floating light like a feather, Loreto leaned against the wall and slowly she lost strength, sliding down until she landed on the cold concrete floor. The Prince hastened activating the complex grids, valves and locks of the massive round door which as a bank vault yielded opening up against cramps and metallic roars. He bent down and took her in his arms again.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, she noticed a powerful sewers stench tangled in a mixture of fried noodles, fish and incense. A dissonant and strangely festive melody barely sounded from a hurdy-gurdy creature above the collective jabber. She lifted her head with difficulty and open-mouthed observed the panorama. A sea of creatures and monsters of all colors and shapes transited through narrow paths in what appeared to be a big paranormal bazaar. From high above, light shone like gas lamps or light bulbs blinking about to switch off. Buildings piled upwards in full anarchy along the walls, creating tiny nooks like small shelters. The Prince opened his way in between the strange inhabitants with her in his arms. They advanced among beings worth it nightmares and tales mumbling weird noises. An ocean of wires hung from the roof, television sets in static stations, radiators, and air conditioner systems. All piled up like a technological dumpster of the city. Some monsters commuting seemed to negotiate about product prices while many of the creatures tending the stands were piling up boxes, cutting fish heads, tidying up and cutting pieces of fabric, leather, and human skins, or shaving clients. In horror she spotted at her right two giant rolls with spikes like an imminent mortal trap turning against each other's direction. A being casually inserted enormous pieces of meat and animal parts in its center. Suddenly she felt something walking on her knee. As she saw what it was, she shook in panic and the creature flew away. There were hundreds of them flying above their heads. They seemed like a cross between a praying mantis and a huge wasp. This was a market, a door to another world, an unknown one, banned for humans. Did these creatures live side-by-side with humans beneath New York this entire time? They stared at her in skepticism, yet not so to the Prince. As the shop owners noticed his presence, they moved out of his way and one by one bowed at him.

After what seemed like a good thirty minutes walking and descending into the guts of New York, the Prince stopped and only then he faced her for the first time in his arms.

"Here begins my private dwelling," he said and walked under tall foundations like a threshold.

The place seemed like an enormous cave of endless dimensions. The living rock of the walls and coal-black roof tangled with the underground foundations of New York. Cobblestones grouped in circular design covered the floor. In its center, the water puddled, hiding under its reflection bits of the floor. High above, a sort of skylight looked at the starry sky. Through the surface above, arrived the weak city roar of cars and people unaware of the secret world beneath their feet. The first thing that caught her attention was the great open coal kitchen like a chimney which illuminated part of the lower level with its warm halo. Directly at each side there were two surfaces filled with pots and dishes, bottles, all kinds of tableware, knives and glass jars of disproportionate sizes. A piece of wall exhibited a carved design of superb details which did not match with the surroundings. It looked as if it had been taken from a palace and brought there to the sewers. Suddenly at her left the flash, sound impact of an underground train going at full speed made Loreto jump in fear. The Prince hugged her tight against him, with her still in his arms. He advanced under the stone stairs towards an area above the previous one. A group of lamps, which looked like crystal bowls upside down, generously illuminated this section. Long bits of hay covered the cobblestones. This part seemed to be away from the train line view. A thick golden curtain and other ones of apparent black tulle separated from the lower level and served as a frame for a bed with fat cushions and comforters of shiny orange and gold fabric. A lonely armchair found itself vacant before a small fireplace and at its left, a great rectangular dark wooden table and six chairs formed a dining area placed in one of the corners.

The Prince carried her through nooks and under foundations for a few minutes more until they reached their destination. Loreto was once again dumbfounded. The air was fresh and aromatic to breathe and came from a concentrated spot of trees and bushes fighting for organic soil just below the narrow skylight. An underground forest? The Prince greeted the slender beings who approached them. They shared similarities with his facial features and those of his sister the Princess, yet these looked somewhat older and were exceptionally tall. Their faces had scars or rosy wounds and a scarce bunch of white, long hairs that rather looked like feather threads.

"This human had just rescued your Prince from torture and a dishonored death," the Prince said with a strong voice still carrying her in his arms. "As you can see, she was wounded in the process. We both require immediate healing."

One of the beings took Loreto in his arms with no effort and carried her into another chamber.  As soon as the Prince let her go, he collapsed on the floor. Her heart skipped a beat. Loreto tried to run to his aid, but the pain her left arm radiated was such that she was almost paralyzed. She feared the amount of blood she had lost was too much. She watched the other tall beings help the Prince stand up and hold him by his waist to assist him walking behind her.

They were elves and much older than the Prince, Loreto concluded for herself while laying on the platform like a hospital bed as she watched them prepare unknown infusions and concoctions. The Prince laid on a similar surface at her left. He looked directly at the rock roof and foundations high above as if lost in his thoughts. How had she ended up there, meters and meters underground with a bullet wound in her arm and among beings and monsters of another world? One elf arrived at her side and carefully he cut the fabric of her cardigan and T-shirt with golden scissors. The blood had dried and stuck the clothing to her skin. Another approached and began pouring lukewarm water on her arm to wash her skin. They freed the area of the wound. It felt feverish to the touch; she knew it as soon as the fragile and long hands of the elves made contact with her skin. From the corner of her eye she noticed the Prince sitting on the platform and receiving a long and narrow jar filled with a green liquid. He drank it all in one sip and immediately another elf gave him a water drop-shaped glass with a thick red and yellowish liquid. The Prince drank the whole of the content.

One elf began reciting words in a strange language and elevated his bony hand of long fingers above her head.

"Stop!," the Prince ordered from her left.

The elf obeyed on the spot.

"She's human, you must inform her what you will do to her. She doesn't know our medicine," he said. "Loreto," he caught her attention, she turned her head to the left, still half dazzled, "my druid will hypnotize you with a spell so you lose consciousness and don't feel pain when they extract the bullet from your arm."

Loreto went blank. She attempted to stand up from the platform,but she soon regretted it. Her strengths were abandoning her. The Prince rose and with effort went to her side. He took her right hand and placed his other one with his open palm against her. He looked into her eyes.

You are safe here. Your wound is my fault. We won't hurt you. When you wake up all pain will have gone.

She searched into his gaze. She rummaged into his iris of abysmal black framed in gold. Had that been his voice in her mind? The Prince nodded and drew a weak smile. The pain of his own torture was still written on his features. He had carried her in his arms all the way from the agency to the sewers. The road had been a hard one. They called a taxi; the driver took them for a few blocks until he broke in panic when he saw all the blood Loreto was losing. He studied the Prince through the rear view mirror with horror in his features and threw them out of the vehicle. Three taxis later with the same luck they finally arrived at the Brooklyn bridge in New York. Some three hours of laborious and rough trip which drained the energy of both of them. Both badly wounded, exhausted and hungry.

Trust in my druids. A moment of deep sleep and your wound will heal.

Loreto barely nodded. She closed her eyes. The druid recited the spell in an ancestral language. And the last piece of consciousness drained away from her, elevating her above the flesh, the world and the light.