The Queen of the Underverse - Chapter 12

Notes From Foto Dono: Some weeks, I feel like Rebecca is going to reach through the page and strangle me. By now, she’s endured enough accidents, nightmares, and impossible choices that I can’t really blame her. If I were in her boots, I’d probably hate me too.

But here’s the thing: every time I think about giving her an easier road, the story refuses. It wants her lost, scared, and angry — because only then can she discover the strength that even she doesn’t believe she has. That’s the unfair magic of writing: we put characters through hell so that when they rise, we believe it.

So yes, Rebecca, I made you take the wrong turn on purpose. You can add that to the ever-growing list of reasons to curse my name. And to my readers — thank you for following along as I keep walking this crooked path with her. It means more than I can say.

—Yuunral Naretar. “Acting Author. I rewrote the last three paragraphs while Dono wasn’t looking. You’re welcome.”

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Previously on *The Queen of the Underverse*…

Astronaut Rebecca Lopez has been through a lot: lost in another universe, traveling with creatures she barely understands and doesn’t quite trust. She thought she’d found her way home, but it was only another version — not hers. All she knows now is that the road to Amberford may hold the true way back.

Now - Rebecca is on her own again. But in the Underverse, the road never belongs to her alone.

Ye saga continues…

Chapter 12 - I Shoulda Taken That Left Turn

Rebecca admitted it: she was lost.

Rebecca sighed, her breath curling into the cool air like a ribbon of doubt. The map—swirling ink and shimmering etchings—wasn’t helping. Overhead, the blue moon hung low in the sky, waning slightly like a peeled pearl dipped in cobalt. It cast indigo light across the world, softening every edge. She was cold again.

Rebecca admitted it: she was lost.

The moon puzzled her. It should have been white or gray, the way she'd always known it, not this unsettling, tranquil blue.

“Maybe it’s made of blue cheese,” she muttered, smirking at her own absurdity before shaking it off. The quiet here swallowed jokes before they landed.

The road ran straight and unsettlingly well-kept, as if someone—or something—maintained it just out of sight. Pale stones lined its edges in irregular patterns, some shaped like stars, others like tiny fists. Now and then, she passed a crumbling mile marker carved with symbols that rearranged themselves when she blinked.

On either side of the road, a countryside that felt too still, as if time here had slowed to listen. Rolling fields of yellow grass rose and fell like breath, swaying gently even when there was no breeze. The color wasn’t quite natural—too saturated, too golden—as though unseen lanterns lit the fields from below.

The trees lining the path leaned slightly inward, forming a loose canopy of silvery-green leaves that shimmered like fish scales in the moonlight. Some trunks were smooth as marble; others were gnarled and etched with spirals, as though the wood had once been molten and cooled mid-whirl. Occasionally, high in the branches, she could see faint glows—soft and pulsating—like dreaming fireflies or sleeping stars.

The flowers along the road were the only constant. They grew wild and abundantly, carpeting the ditches in waves of color: crimson, violet, sunflower gold, soft cream, even black. Each bloom bore the same uncanny feature—a blue crescent moon stamped onto its petals like a birthmark. They smelled faintly of ozone and thyme, and when the wind stirred them, they chimed—softly, like distant wind chimes made of porcelain.

Rebecca glanced at the map again. According to its symbols and vague poetry, she should be in Amberford, the city Chalky had described as bustling, lively, full of people and motion. But she hadn’t seen a soul for hours. Only side paths—cobblestone veins that led off to hidden hamlets and crooked villages, their signs half-rotted or replaced by hanging charms that rattled in her wake.

There was no traffic, no voices, no animals. Just the gentle rustle of enchanted grass, the rhythmic hush of trees breathing in the moonlight, and the occasional flicker of something moving just at the edge of her vision—never close, never threatening, but always there.

It was beautiful. It was lonely. And it was beginning to feel like the countryside itself was waiting for her to ask the right question.

“I must have turned myself around somehow. Maybe I stepped through one of those soft places…”

She eyed the map again. She was grateful that the moonlight was bright and she could still see. No nothing. Nothing orange. She was still on the yellow line, supposedly to Amberford.

She had been walking, she figured six miles. Without a timepiece, it was guesswork. There was an intersection up ahead, and hopefully a sign.

When she arrived at the intersection, her confusion only deepened. The road split three ways, each path vanishing into a different flavor of landscape—one trailed off into misty hills dotted with leaning stone towers, another tunneled beneath a woven archway of crimson trees, and the third seemed to climb gently upward toward a sky that shimmered like heat on glass.

At the center stood a signpost, crooked and tall, made of bleached bonewood and wrapped in faded ribbons. It held six arm-like branches, each pointing in a different direction and carved with shifting glyphs that shimmered and blurred the longer she looked at them. The letters rearranged whenever she tried to focus, sliding like fish under ice. Although everyone she’d met so far had spoken English, this language wasn’t made for tongues—it was for memory, or perhaps dreams.

She was here—wherever here was.

Beneath the signpost, a small circular stone platform was set into the earth, its edge inscribed with a ring of lunar symbols—identical to the blue crescent that adorned the wildflowers. Something about the place felt significant, like a crossroads that didn’t just split roads, but possibilities.

Rebecca rechecked her map. According to it, she should already be in Amberford. Instead, she was here—wherever here was—greeted by a sign she couldn’t read and roads that felt like questions waiting to be answered.

She couldn’t read the sign.

Perfect.

You’d think they would at least have some infographic or pictogram system.

“Of course not..” She muttered. She stretched her joints, cracked—not from overuse, but like they were waking up.

She brought out the map again to study it and see if she had missed a turn somewhere.

“Shit, cold again.” She muttered. “I’d miss firecloak if it wasn’t so needy.” She turned her head and saw a light appear on the road coming from the direction of the woven archway of crimson trees.

Rebecca weighed her odds: whoever—or whatever-this was, maybe they had directions. So far, her odds of success in this world haven’t been in the win column. However, wasn’t she due to having something go her way once? Plus, she wasn’t a cadet anymore either. She rummaged through the backpack and pulled out the small camping lantern and knife. 

The camping lantern used a crystal to illuminate. It could also filter different color wavelengths, Chalky said. Pink was normal illumination, if she remembered correctly; red was if there was danger; orange was if there was caution; and blue was assistance required. The lantern was used primarily by adventurers.

She pocketed the small knife. It wasn’t the sharpest knife she used, but she did have some small martial weapon training. It wasn’t much, but it was what she had. She took a deep breath, lit the lantern, and turned it blue.

She watched the light down the road. It seemed to stop for a moment, then continued its journey toward her. She could hear a distinct pattern of something rumbling down the road. She could make out a big box-like shape that had windows. A truck or a bus? Or whatever they use, she thought, remembering the weird Studebaker cart at the bathhouse.

She kept the lantern behind her to avoid disturbing her night vision.

The vehicle rumbled into view like a dream half-remembered from a childhood too strange to be real. At its core, it was unmistakably a school bus—short and broad, with rounded corners and a front grille that smiled like it knew secrets about you from third grade. But time, magic, and eccentric craftsmanship had reshaped it into something warmer, wiser, and just a little bit unhinged.

The Aetherbus rumbled into view.

It slowed and stopped a few feet before her. She couldn’t see in the windows. The light from the bus bathed her and made her blink.

A voice came out from the bus.

“Hello, I am stoppin’ because of da beacon of distress. However, I’m under no obligation ta render assistance. Kin ya offer proof o’distress?”

The voice was, Rebecca thought, nice, somewhat male - definitely from inside, though the accent made her briefly picture the bus itself talking. What was with the accent? she thought. Of course, she thought the foxkin was cute until she saw all its razor-sharp teeth. 

“Hello?” The voice, sounding exasperated, said. “Are ya mute? Deaf? Kin ya wave a limb at least?”

“And whoever the voice is, they are rude and impatient,” Rebecca sighed. She said to the bus, “I’m lost.”

The bus was silent. Then the voice said incredulously, “Lost? At an intersection wit’ signs?” Then, in a much nicer tone, it said, “Wot? Kin’t ya read?”

Rebecca decided to go with honesty. “I don’t know the language.”

“Ah, yer illiterate. I’m almost afraid ta ask how ya got dis far.”

The voice wasn’t condescending but empathetic—at least if it felt that way.

Rebecca continued with her honesty policy: “Well, I had a map I could read, and I was heading to Amberford. But for some reason, it led me here.”

She could hear the gentle hum of the bus, cart, or whatever. It sat there, as if it were thinking. She hoped someone was in the vehicle and she wasn’t talking to some sentient vehicle with a weird accent.

“So ya got a map dat's out of date, yer headin’ to Amberford, and ya can’t read da local language. Have I summed it up?”

“Yeah… Sorry, can you point me in the right direction?”

“So, ya don’t want a ride?”

“Well,  I’m assuming I’m close by, and it’s not too far?”

There was a faint chuckle coming from the bus. “No, it’s not too far. However, most places will be closed when ya git dere. Finding a place ta stay will be hard.”

Rebecca rubbed her face, “No matter, if you can point me in the right direction.”

However, the voice from the bus was conversing with itself. “I thought ya were all asleep? Yes, we’ve stopped. No, ya kin’t go outside. I’m talkin’ ta a stranger. No, don’t open da window.”

A window shade opened, and several small heads appeared clustered around it.

“Close da window now, and don’ make me tell ya twice!” The voice said sternly. The window closed again.

“I don’ care if she looks safe and pretty. Wot have I told ya ‘bout stranger danger?” The voice lamented.

Finally, Rebecca thought she understood. This was some school bus, or at least a thing full of kids. At least she hoped so. The memory of the foxkin howling at the forest’s edge still gave her the willies.

“Really,” she said, “I don’t need a ride. I’ll even pay you if you can point me in the right direction. I’ll find my way.”

There was silence. All she could hear was the chiming of the flowers along the gentle hum of the bus.

“Fine. Yer on da right road. Da map ya have is prob’ly, oh, a millennium out of date. Ya just need ta sync it.”

“Sync?”

“Yeah, most maps have a squiggly glyph in da lower right. Ya need ta touch it when ya are in da new area, and it should sync up. Yer map is way out o’sync.”

Something else Chalky failed to mention, Rebecca thought angrily. She pulled out her map, and sure enough, there was a squiggly-looking glyph on the lower right. She pressed, and Amberford jumped another few miles down the road. The direction the bus was heading. 

“Of course it is…” she muttered.

“Sorry?”

“Thank you. I didn’t know about the maps.” She said to the bus. “Hey, what’s your name? So can I thank you properly? Mine’s Rebecca?”

She saw the window in the back slowly open again on the bus. “Yer welcome. Mah name is Shean.”

“Thank you, Shean. I mean it. I would have been lost for days out here. Well, maybe hours at least.”

“Be safe out here, Rebecca.” There was a brief moment of silence before he continued. “Even though we be close ta Amberford, da city doesn’t patrol outside after dark dese days. Normally, I wouldn’t be here, but a small accident delayed our trip. Dere are no way stations between here and dere.”

“I see.” Rebecca looked down the road and placed her hand on the knife in her pocket.

“Dings have been a little weird since da passin’ of Queen Lyra. Some folks who believed her have fled ta da Soft Places, hoping for Sanctuary. Some be tryin’ to take advantage of da situation. Some, da majority, want ta get by like dey always have.”

“I’m not trying ta scare ya. Amberford’s only a few miles. Da odds be in yer favor.” Shean sounded remorseful. ”My gut says yer safe, however, I have my concerns ta watch over. I have to consider that first.”

She looked at the open window, and it was easy to believe it was a school bus full of children.

She sighed and rubbed her temples. “I understand. Thank you for the help. I do appreciate it.”

She heard Shean start the bus up. He said through the bus, “If ya get Amberford, look me up. I’m a Provider fir a shelter and school just outside the Memory Market. I’ll buy ya lunch.”

It drove past her, and she marveled at it. Gone was the screeching diesel engine; in its place floated a levitating aether core, nested in a brass cradle beneath the hood. It pulsed with slow, sleepy light—blue, violet, and gold—casting a gentle glow beneath the chassis. The wheels were still there, carved from polished blackwood and bound in glowing silver runes, but they rarely touched the ground. The vehicle hovered a few inches above the earth, drifting more than driving. 

Most of the windows at the back of the bus swung open. Small heads of children—varied in race, shape, and hue—peeked out, smiling and waving.

Stranger Danger!

“A school bus,” she said, smiling as she waved back.

Sighing, she said, “Get used to the cold there, Rebecca. The walk should warm you up.”

––To be continued

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Next Time on *The Queen of the Underverse*…

Tuesdays mean trouble in the Underverse—Chapter 13 awaits. Rebecca’s path collides with strangers in peril, and the Underverse proves it’s never safe to stop moving.

Don’t miss Chapter 13 - *Stranger Danger Will Robinson.*

© 2025 Donnavon Evans

September 2, 2025