Some secrets are carved into the bones of the mountain.
The rumors came up from the valley slowly.
A road closed.
A neighbor disappeared.
Someone said outsiders had seen the Southern Bridge.
By the second week, the gates stayed locked.
At meals, he watched his cousin at the far end of the table.
Sometimes he caught her looking toward the mountain wall.
Waiting.
The first explosion came after breakfast.
A low crack rolled up from the valley.
The second shook dust from the ceiling.
Adults poured into the main hall.
Doors opened.
Closed.
Someone shouted that the gates were gone.
The windows shattered.
He pressed himself against the back wall.
Across the room, his cousin was moving toward the library.
She stopped.
Looked back.
Then crossed the room to him.
“Come.”
He looked toward the others.
Toward the adults still shouting across the room.
Her hand tightened around his wrist.
“They’re coming.”
Another explosion.
Closer.
He submitted.
She led him to the library.
Stopped in front of the lower shelves.
Waited.
Behind them, voices rose.
Three shelves slid silently into the wall.
She disappeared inside.
He hesitated.
Her hand reached from the dark and pulled him through.
The books closed behind them.
A thin light ran beneath their feet.
A few steps farther, the house ended.
The mountain opened.
Wood and steel disappeared into stone.
She moved quickly.
Left.
Right.
Through an opening barely wide enough for his shoulders.
She never hesitated.
The mountain grew colder as they went deeper.
At the end of the narrow corridor, she stopped.
Three shafts had been cut into the floor.
Two were sealed.
The third stood open.
A cabinet was hidden in the wall.
Inside, bundles of clothing waited.
She handed him one.
“Change.”
He did.
She covered her hair and handed him a small parcel.
“Keep this dry.”
Another explosion shook the mountain.
She looked at him.
Measured him.
Then took his hand.
“Do you trust me?”
He smiled, almost.
“Yes.”
She did not smile back.
“Do not let go.”
She looked into the shaft.
“One breath before you enter. Then nothing. Not in. Not out.”
“What happens?”
“It swallows you whole.”
The voices behind them grew louder.
She sat at the edge of the shaft.
For a moment she looked back toward the corridor.
Toward the house.
Then at him.
A door slammed somewhere in the mountain.
Voices.
Close enough now to separate one from another.
She inhaled and lowered herself into the opening.
Her grip tightened around his hand.
He took one breath.
Then followed.
The opening sealed above him with an exhale.
The walls tightened around his shoulders, his ribs, his hips.
Heat gathered against his skin.
His lungs began to ache.
The shaft curved, twisting his body with it.
He wanted air.
The wanting became pain.
Then panic.
He held his breath.
Her hand pulled hard.
Sunlight.
He fell on top of her.
She covered his mouth before he could make a sound.
For several seconds neither moved.
Then she grinned.
People passed carrying baskets, folded cloth, cages of birds.
The air smelled of bread and spice.
Spring.
Their clothes matched the crowd.
No one looked at them.
She pulled him up.
They crossed the market.
She moved through alleys as if she knew them.
They stopped at a counter.
She ordered in the unfamiliar language.
Not well.
But enough.
She let go of his hand.
He looked up.
An older couple stood beside the counter.
The woman’s eyes found his cousin first.
Relief softened her face.
Then she saw him.
It disappeared.
His cousin stood.
The woman embraced her, eyes fixed on the boy.
The old man took the parcel from him without asking his name, clutching it tightly against his chest.
His cousin said something softly in the unfamiliar language.
The woman answered.
Sharp.
She reached for his hand again.
The woman noticed.
Said nothing more.
They followed the couple through the market and into a narrow building.
Down one flight of stairs.
Then another.
One wall was made of milky glass.
His cousin slowed.
Light moved behind it.
She watched as they descended.
Tears gathered in her eyes.
He thought of the shaft.
“Can we go back?”
“No.”
He wanted to ask about the others.
Instead, he looked at the hand still holding his.
The old couple waited below.
His cousin wiped her eyes against her sleeve.
She tightened her grip.