Sapphira glanced down at her body and straightened her frumpy dress. “Isn’t it obvious?”
The boy stepped out from behind the kiln. “I guess so. I haven’t seen very many. Only grown women, really. No one as young as you.”
Sapphira untied her coif and pulled it off, letting her hair tumble down. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she walked closer. The boy’s mouth dropped open. His eyes seemed glazed.
She looked down at her dress again. “Is something wrong?”
He swallowed and retied a leather sash at the front of his dirty gray tunic. “No. It’s just that . . . Do all girls have white hair and shining blue eyes like yours?”
She swept a handful of hair over the front of her shoulder. “No. Only one other that I know of, but she’s dead.” Taking three more steps, she closed the gap between them and stood within arm’s reach. “Your voice is familiar . . .”
“So is yours.”
She whispered, “Elam?”
A broad smile crossed the boy’s face. “Mara?”
Sapphira laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “Yes! I’m Mara!” She hoped Elam would return the embrace, but his body stiffened, feeling cold and hard. She laid her hands on his shoulders and pulled back. “I mean, I’m not Mara anymore. My name’s Sapphira now, but I’m the girl from the below lands.”
He pulled back farther, letting Sapphira’s hands slip away. “That’s impossible,” he said, squinting at her. “How could you still be alive after all these years?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
He picked up half a brick, his grip tight and his bicep flexed. “How do I know you’re not just another one of Morgan’s tricks to get me to do what she wants? You might be an imposter.”
“If you remember Morgan,” she said, wiggling her fingers in front of him, “I’m sure you’ll remember licking stew off of these.”
“I remember.” His ears turned red, and he dropped the brick. “No one else would know about that.”
“Speaking of stew . . .” She swiveled her head from side to side. “Where do you find food in this place?”
“I never looked for food. I haven’t eaten anything for years.”
“Years?” she repeated. “How is that possible?”
Elam shrugged his shoulders. “I never get hungry.”
“Never? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Elam scraped his sandal along the ground. “Remember that tree Morgan has?”
“Uh-huh. Is that where you got that blossom you gave me?”
“Yes. I ate some of the fruit, the best thing I’ve ever tasted, and I haven’t been hungry since.”
Sapphira sighed. “The blossom never faded. I’ve been hiding it under Paili’s bed for centuries.”
“Paili’s alive, too? I’m glad to hear that. She’s a real nice girl from what I could tell.”
“She is, and keeping her out of Morgan’s clutches is worth all the trouble.” She turned slowly in a circle. “So, what is this place?”
“It might not be the truth, but Morgan explained everything to me.” He spread out his arms. “This whole place is the sixth circle of Sheol Hades, I guess they call it now. There used to be lots of people here, dead souls who waited for the Messiah to come and take them to heaven.”
Sapphira kicked a broken brick, scattering more dust across the empty path. “So I guess this messiah came, then.”
“Looks that way. My grandfather told me he was coming someday. Whoever he is, Morgan hates him with a passion. She says the Messiah was vindictive and left behind a lot of souls, but they’re in other circles.”
Elam suddenly covered his ears with his hands and grimaced.
“What’s wrong?” Sapphira asked.
He turned and doubled over. “Just stay away for a minute.”
Sapphira edged toward him, reaching out her hand, but she stopped and pulled back. “Can I do anything to help?”
Breathing heavily, Elam groaned. “Just shut up and leave me alone!”
Sapphira tightened her fingers around her torch, then, as tears formed in her eyes, her fingers loosened again. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll go.”
Elam spun around and held up his hand. “No! I didn’t mean you!” His eyes darkened and rolled wildly.
Sapphira waved her torch in a wide arc. “There’s no one else here!”
Elam covered his ears again. “I hear a voice, a singing voice. It’s beautiful, but the words . . .” He clutched his vest and wrenched it in his fist. “The words stab my heart and make it bleed. I can’t stand it!”
Sapphira laid a hand on his arm and squeezed. “What does it say?”
Elam pulled away and staggered into the street. He stooped, resting