The Queen of the Underverse - Chapter 16
- Donovan Evans-Foto Dono
- Sep 30
- 10 min read
Updated: Oct 7
A Note from Shean: Queens leave fancy notes. Providers leave warnin’s.
Blue moon’s up. Aetherrucks hummin’. Younglings in cages tryin’ not ta cry. I’m bleedin’ a bit—don’t make a fuss. If ya see a dagger in mah back, do me a kindness and don’t pull it out. Cursed things got rules.
Rebecca? Folks whisper Queen when she runs past with that big damn tree. Maybe she is, maybe she ain’t. Crowns don’t matter much when bars need bendin’. She laughs in a storm and still carries ya out of it. Checks the kids first, argues after. I’ll take that over a throne.
Couple o’ tips while yer readin’:If someone flashes a crystal-blue flower and calls it a Queen’s Surprise, don’t stand there admirin’ it—shoot it, then duck. If ya spot a lean smile wearin’ yellow-tinted bone glasses, that one dances two seconds ahead; don’t give ’im the third. If I say “purple button,” hit it. Bus knows what ta do.
We ain’t heroes. We’re busy.
Go on, then. Keep quiet and keep up. The night’s loud enough, and the younglings need their way home.
—Shean, Provider of Younglings (Amberford)
—Yuunral Naretar: Shean calls it ‘providin’.’ The rest of us call it yelling at fate until it behaves.
Previously on The Queen of the Underverse…
Alone on the road to Amberford, Rebecca finds children in need and a strength she didn’t know she had—and it ends in blood.
Now—twenty minutes earlier—we see how the blood was spilled.
Ye saga continues…
Chapter 16 - Twenty Minutes Prior...
Rebecca had faced pressure before—combat sorties in the Navy Aviation Corps, split-second calls with lives on the line. But this wasn’t her sky, and this wasn’t her Earth. She was on the ground, bait to save someone else’s children, in a world that made about as much sense as a bad dream. Her pulse hammered; her hands stayed steady.
She laughed under her breath as she neared the aetherrucks and the first cage. Yeah, I’m freaking calm, she told herself. Good thing not every cage was packed—some crammed with six, others holding one or two. She picked the cage with six first.
She crept up and whispered, “Hello, I’m Rebecca. Shean sent me to rescue you.” A jumble of faces stared back—different ages, different skin tones, different everything. Some had orange skin and yellow eyes, some brown or fair, some with pointed ears, some with horns—but all of them were just kids. One little one pointed at the tree trunk across her shoulder and whispered to an older girl.
Rebecca set the trunk aside and raised a hand. “Look, I don’t have a key.” The door, she mused, didn’t even have a lock. Or whatever they use here. She spoke to the girl, “Shean thinks I can break these open.”
“Can any of you disappear like him?” she asked, fingers testing the bars.
“No. He’s Chameloid. It’s their gift,” said an older girl with pink skin—a dreamlike hue, cherry blossoms in shadow. Small, question-mark horns. Purple eyes. Overalls. A shirt that… changed color? Twelve or thirteen, maybe. The others tried to quiet her.
“Ah, so that’s what he is. Is that why he talks with that strange accent?” Rebecca tugged; the frame shifted.
“He always talks like that,” the girl admitted.
Rebecca did a terrible impression: “Rebecca, will ya just go open da youngling cages on da aetherrucks and get ’em back on da aetherbus?”
The girl laughed. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“True, but here I am.” One more pull—metal squealed. “What’s your name?”
“S’Rah.”

“That’s an awesome name. When I open this, I need you to run the others to the bus—err, the aetherbus. Can you help me?”
“What about those men?”
“Shean’s got my back. And you saw my giant ‘stick,’ right? I’ll knock them to the moon. You run, okay? All of you.” She hauled; the door popped free. “Now run!”
S’Rah darted out, her shirt suddenly a field of stars. Rebecca clocked the girl’s horrified stare. Oh, hell. They’re right behind me. She reached for the trunk—too slow. A concussive ka-thoom, a wet slap across Rebecca’s back. She turned to find a man on the ground with a hole where his chest had been.
“Well, I think I got ’em,” Shean said—in a better Rebecca impression than her Shean impression.
She felt her back, came up slick with blood. “Oh my God—did you shoot me too?”
“Oh fer Lyra’s sake, of course not. Dat’s his blood.” He glanced at S’Rah. “Git ta da aetherbus, youngling, and hit da purple button. Help da others.” He turned to Rebecca: “Open da rest o’ da cages.” His body began to fade, only his grin hanging like a Cheshire cat—until he jerked back into view with a strangled fuck! A dagger jutted from his back. A man in leather armor stood behind him, smiling beneath odd, glinting glasses.
“I can’t have you running off with my bonuses,” the man said, licking his lips.
Predator, Rebecca thought. The deeper kind. She slid away from the aetherrucks, tree trunk ready, buying room to move. In the corner of her eye, S’Rah shepherded the kids toward the aetherbus. The other younglings would have to watch this. She hated that.
“This is going to be fun,” he said, twin daggers flashing as he charged.
Rebecca’s trunk scythed in a wide arc. The bark no longer bit her palms—her skin felt tougher. Air whooshed like a falling star. He dropped flat, and the blow carved dirt in a bone-jarring crack. Pivot, swing, growl through the air—dust and leaves fountained. He rolled clear again. She drove him back with ramming strokes. Keep him outside your reach, she told herself. Her limbs felt unfamiliar—not larger, just more decisive. He moved like liquid shadow, reading her steps—speed against mass, scalpel against storm. She pressed harder.

He danced around each strike with uncanny grace, ducking and weaving like a performer who could predict her every move.
“Well, this has been fun. I wanted to see what you could do.” His smile thinned. “But I guess you’re not her.” He sounded disappointed—and relieved. He stiffened, as if ready to unleash everything.
Her? The word clung like smoke. Whoever he meant, it wasn’t Rebecca. Couldn’t be. Still, the way he said it chilled her gut.
A ka-thoom ripped the clearing; a bright flash bloomed where the man had stood.
“How da hell do ya dodge dat?” Shean panted, barely standing, pistol up, shirt soaked in blood.
“How the hell are you still breathing?” the man snapped. “Ah—right. Chameloid. Next time I’ll aim for the skull.” He cocked his head toward the trees. “Not now, Silas.”
Two more in leather stepped out, halfway between them and the aetherrucks—broadsword, longsword, and a crystal-blue flower cupped like a prize. “Cassian, what the fuck happened? Why’s Vesper dead? Where are Rook and Echo?”
“Silas, not the time. Is that the Queen’s Surprise, Thom?” Cassian snapped.
“Well, it’s not a surprise now, is it?” Thom rolled her eyes.
“So that’s the noob Queen,” Silas said. “Whatever. Fuck her up, Thom.”
Thom grinned. “Bye-bye, Queenie.” The blue flower began to glow. Queen? Rebecca’s mind tripped as she raised the trunk to throw. And what the hell is with the flower— A barked “No, stop, Thom!” and then, ka-thoom—light, blast, sky, ground—everything became a ringing blur.
She hit the ground hard. The aetherrucks slammed to their sides near the epicenter, beds split, cages skidding but miraculously intact. Rocks and soil geysered and rained back down. She moved—astonished she could. The ringing swallowed the world.
She saw the aetherucks lying on their side and feared the worst, so she ran over. After confirming, she saw the younglings were okay for now. The younglings were calling for Shean; she yelled back that she’d find him. Vesper’s body lay where it had fallen, only tossed a few feet. Where Silas and Thom had stood was now a five-foot crater. Shean, what did you do?
She spotted a human shape crawling. Shean. Thank the bright blue moon. “Looks like you’re still alive,” she said—maybe shouted. He spoke, but the ringing smothered it. He pointed to his back. She saw the hilt and—without thinking—yanked the dagger free. He yelped, swung, and cursed her out. “I thought you wanted it out!” she said, wincing. “You look… gray.”
S’Rah sprinted up with a backpack, poured a green bottle down his throat, and over the wound. His color came back, but he kept bleeding. She handed Rebecca a tiny dropper bottle and covered her ears meaningfully. “For my… hearing?” S’Rah shook her head. “Am I shouting?” Another shake. Rebecca dripped once in each ear, and the world snapped into focus—along with Shean’s griping.
“I was tryin’ ta show ya da cursed dagger in mah back and how important it was not ta take it out. Now da bleedin’ won’t stop.”
“Do you want me to put it back in?”
“No, I don’t want ya ta put it back in. Ya just took it out! Lyra, where are ya from?”
“You blew everyone up,” she shot back. “Where were your brains?”
“Dey had a blue crystal flower—kept callin’ it a Queen’s Surprise. I knew it weren’t goin’ ta be good. Also, everybody knows Queen Lyra hated surprises. So I shot it.”
Queen’s Surprise? It sounded like a bad Navy-bar cocktail. The crater said otherwise. “Well, you flipped the aetherrucks.”
“Da younglings.”
“They’re fine—scared and bruised, but fine. They’re asking for you. I checked them first before I found your complaining ass.” He went quiet at that. “I still need to break the other cages. I’m taking S’Rah—she can watch the kids while you lie here and, you know, heal.” She slid the dagger into her belt. Not ideal, but reachable.
“If I don’t move much, da bleedin’ won’t worsen. Mah body’s tryin’ ta stop it, an’ da potions helped. But I gotta get back ta Amberford fer proper treatment.”
“Okay.” She squeezed S’Rah’s hand. “You and me—let’s free your friends.”
“Rebecca,” Shean called after them. “Thank ya fer carin’ fer da younglings.”
“You’re welcome,” she said over her shoulder.
“I think Shean likes you,” S’Rah giggled.
“What makes you say that?”
“He said thank you. He only does that when he likes people.” She slung on the backpack and took Rebecca’s hand. “I like your shirt. It’s funny.”
Rebecca glanced down. Right—the shirt. She laughed, still holding S’Rah’s hand. Better than foxkin, she thought, even covered in dirt and blood.
They cracked the remaining cages quickly. S’Rah checked bruises and handed a potion to a sobbing little one; he calmed almost instantly. If we had this stuff on Earth… Rebecca thought of all the good medicine that could do. S’Rah led the kids back toward the bus.
Rebecca jogged to Shean. “Fifteen kids—younglings—all accounted for,” she reported. “Shaken, but tough. S’Rah’s loading them and knows where your secret candy stash is.” He laughed, then groaned.
“There’s still one more out der,” he said, showing her broken glasses like Cassian’s. “Six mercs came at us. Ya got two, I got three. The one that danced around—I haven’t seen da body.”
“I haven’t either,” Rebecca said, scanning. The blue moon cast long spears of shadow. She found the children—then saw him bolt from the trees, straight at them. “Fuck,” she breathed, and ran.
She was not out of shape—just normal. But this was something else. She ran like she’d been born sprinting, not trained into it. The aetherbus flared as someone inside hit the purple button; S’Rah was the last outside. Cassian grabbed S’Rah and slung her over his shoulder and began to run. She could see S’Rah’s eyes looking at her. Her eyes pleaded for her to come and get her. Rebecca pulled out the dagger she had. Rebecca was catching up.
Cassian dropped her in front of him and pressed a dagger to her throat, gripping her by the horns.
“I don’t think so.”
She stopped a few feet short, not even out of breath—she didn’t notice. Her attention was locked on Cassian and S’Rah.
“I could cut her now,” he said, calm as a butcher. “You’ll kill me—I’m sure. But she’ll still die. What’s she to you anyway? She’s just an Orphaned Memory. Not yours. You’ve got fourteen more. You killed the rest of the Darkflame.”
Orphaned Memory? Rebecca’s brain snagged on orphan. She knew that word. But what the hell did memory have to do with it?
Cassian smiled. “You know my daggers are special, right? Once they cut, they don’t stop cutting and bleeding. The wound never heals.” S’Rah whimpered as he held her tighter. “You could let me go. You could—” He licked his lips, eyes on S’Rah. “—let me have my bonus.”
The thought flicked past like a spark. Her hand moved on instinct. The dagger flashed from her fingers in the same heartbeat. He looked down at S’Rah. It thudded into his chest; he staggered, dropped her, and she charged.
He lunged for S’Rah; Rebecca caught his arm mid-strike and wrenched it out of its socket. Cassian screamed. She ripped the dagger free, spun him, and drove it into his back. “That’s for Shean,” she said, shoving him down. S’Rah lay still—breathing, thank God. One horn broken, shirt gone black.
Cassian laughed. Rebecca’s mind went red with rage, and in the next breath, she grabbed his legs, swung him, and hurled him. She didn’t care where he landed.

She ran back to S’Rah, scooped her up, pocketed the broken horn, and carried her to Shean. The moment she set S’Rah beside him, the girl woke, saw him, and sobbed into his chest. Her shirt rippled into cloud patterns. Shean flicked his chin toward the aetherrucks. Rebecca followed his gaze.
Cassian was still moving near Vesper’s body. Still alive. Her trunk—miraculously intact—leaned against a toppled aetherruck. She picked it up and stood over him, the moon throwing her shadow across his face.
He saw her and somehow found his voice. “Hello.”

She was calm again—the mission kind. This was the target. “You will never harm another child again.” She raised the trunk.
“So it’s true,” he rasped. “There’s a new Queen after all.”
THUNK.
––To be continued
Next Time on The Queen of the Underverse…
Under lantern-blue skies, the Memory Market opens: stalls of bottled summers, rented courage, and second chances that never come cheap. Rules are simple—trade true, pay promptly, and never sample what you can’t bear to keep. Wander long enough and you might find the thing you’ve been missing… or learn why it was taken in the first place.
Don’t miss Interlude - Tales from the Memory Market
© 2025 Donnavon Evans
September 30, 2025
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