Fiction

EnZi Part One Odesa Chapter 18 Prince of the Underground City

by Stanislav Dema
01/28/26
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Infected Mushroom - Saeed

I looked at Ester and saw the emotion on her face. Evidently, she wanted to tell me something.

Vasilis, it seemed, understood everything too. He looked affectionately at Ester and took her hand in his—a gesture unnoticed, but filled with warmth and trust.

Ester took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength, and spoke quietly:

— Now the time has come for my story.

I think it will help you answer the main question—how the structure of En-zi can be destroyed without causing terrible consequences for people.

Ester spoke looking into the distance, as if addressing distant ancestors:

— As I said, I come from the line of Levites. The Tribe of Levi is one of the twelve tribes of Israel, descendants of Levi, the third son of the Patriarch Jacob. We are a special line. We were not allotted our own land because the Lord set us apart for service—not for the sake of power and wealth, but for the sake of sacred action.

She thought for a moment, as if seeing tents in the desert and the pillar of smoke over the Tabernacle of the Congregation before her.

— Not all of us became priests: that right belonged only to the descendants of Aaron, Moses' brother. But the entire Tribe of Levi was appointed by God to keep the Law and the purity of service.

We listened attentively to the story Ester was telling.

— When the Babylonians besieged Jerusalem and before the First Temple was destroyed, my ancestors—Levites from a brotherhood calling itself the Keepers of Sanctity—took a last desperate step. All the holy things—the Ark of the Covenant, Aaron's Rod, the vessels of the Temple—were secretly carried out and hidden in a deep cave. According to ancient legends, the Prophet Jeremiah did this together with the temple ministers so that the shrines would not fall to the enemy.

— Together with these relics, another unusual object was hidden—the Shamir. It had been kept since the time it was used by Bezalel—that very master whom God entrusted with the construction of the Tabernacle and the Ark of the Covenant. They say the Shamir was made by Noah as a tool for building the ark: it could cleave stone, wood, metal—but did not damage living flesh. It divided matter not by pressure or temperature, but by affecting the molecular structure, breaking the bonds between particles. At the same time, the Shamir is neither a soulless object nor a living creature. It possessed a certain specific reason. It was impossible to cause harm to living flesh with the help of the Shamir. It was programmed so that only a person with a pure heart, in whom hatred does not live, could activate it. It was an instrument of creation.

— Later, when King Cyrus II gave permission for the return of the Israelites and the restoration of the Temple, the shrines were found and placed in the new temple. But the Shamir disappeared. It was re-hidden so that it would not be destroyed by evil men. The fact is, an old legend stated that only with the help of the Shamir is it possible to destroy En-zi. Its effect on the crystal structure or elements of the Soul Eater's construction did not trigger the emergency protocol. Therefore, those madmen who might dream of unleashing this ancient evil again might try to destroy the Shamir.

Ester looked at me with a long, attentive gaze:

— Since then, it is my line that carries the knowledge of the place where the Shamir was hidden. We keep this secret, passing it from generation to generation. And we believe that someday the time will come when this power will be needed not for building a temple of stone, but for healing the structure of a society of living people.

Ester fell silent for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, and continued quietly—her voice became softer, warmer, with a tinge of light sadness:

— You know... in childhood and youth, I heard this story several times. I knew that someone in our family was passing on a certain secret, but it interested me little then. All these ancient artifacts, ancestral legends seemed to me just beautiful fairy tales.

She smiled slightly, looking aside, as if seeing her younger self—carefree, in a white dress, with a sketchbook, on the seashore.

— I studied at the art academy, moved in brilliant society, dreamed of becoming a great artist. My father was a very famous lawyer in Odesa—the richest people of the city used his services. He was a kind man, with a soft heart. He helped not only those who could pay: sometimes he defended the poor in court completely free of charge.

He often said: "God once saved me. And now it is my turn to save those whom God wants to help."

Ester thought for a second and added with warmth:

— He knew how to talk to any person—to a beggar, a merchant, an official. And he never considered anyone beneath himself. But still, there was one person of whom he was ashamed.

She looked at me attentively, as if anticipating my surprise.

— You probably won't believe it, — she said softly, — but this person was his own brother—my uncle Ariel.

In his youth, Ariel was also a lawyer, but upon moving to Odesa, he quickly realized there were other ways to get rich.

He became a smuggler. And not just a smuggler—the most successful in Odesa of his time.

— His business went especially boisterously during the times of Porto-Franco, when a preferential trade regime operated in the city. Customs duties were almost abolished then, and true economic freemen reigned in the territory of Odesa. The city was surrounded by moats and outposts, and beyond them began another zone—where any excisable good, even a simple bottle of wine, cost seven times more.

— Ariel quickly realized that this was a gold mine. He organized a whole network of secret cargo transportation channels, using the Odesa catacombs for this purpose—underground tunnels going under the city and extending for many kilometers. Through them, one could walk from the center to Moldavanka—a district lying outside the Porto-Franco zone, where all the contraband flowed, turning into gold and power.

Ester shook her head slightly and added quietly, almost with involuntary pride:

— They said he knew these catacombs better than any guide. There, underground, was his own Odesa—with secret warehouses, guards, and bribed officials.

He knew how to do business with merchants, sailors, and the police. That is exactly why they called him the "Prince of the Underground City."

— Outwardly, he was an educated, gallant, impeccably dressed gentleman, — Ester continued. — Polite, courteous, knew how to shine in society. But behind this facade hid a whole shadow empire. Father was ashamed of him, although there was no enmity between them. They simply kept their distance. Ariel understood that he shouldn't advertise his kinship with my father—a lawyer with an impeccable reputation.

She smiled slightly, remembering:

— But he had one weakness. He had no children. He transferred all his unspent fatherly love to me.

He spoiled me with gifts, attention... even assigned guards to me when overly persistent suitors began to appear around the house.

Ester laughed—briefly, but sincerely, with that light in her eyes that happens when memory touches something dear.

— It was a wonderful time, — she said quietly. — And then...

She fell silent for a moment. A shadow of sadness appeared in her voice.

— One night I woke up from a strange sound. Someone was throwing small pebbles at the window.

It was a dark, foul night; rain drummed on the shutters. At first, I thought it was the wind. But the tapping repeated—persistent, impatient.

Ester spoke quietly, but a tense note sounded in her voice—as if she were living that night again.

— I understood that something important had happened, — she said. — I went to the window, opened the shutters, and looked out into the street.

In the courtyard, right in the rain, stood a young man—ragged, in a dirty jacket, with a hole-ridden hat. At first glance—an ordinary Odesa idler, one of those who beg by shops or sing pitiful songs at crossroads hoping to beg a couple of kopecks.

She paused, looking somewhere into the past:

— But as soon as I looked closer, I realized: this was merely a disguise.

His face... — she shook her head slightly, — it did not belong to a street beggar. There was something completely different in it—a lively mind, decisiveness, and that sense of dignity that cannot be faked.

Rather, it was the face of a card player used to risking and winning.

Ester smiled slightly, remembering one detail:

— I waved my hand to him—and he, as if nothing had happened, blew me a kiss.

Then he took a step forward, raised his hand—and with a deft movement threw a small package into my window.

— I managed to catch it, — she said, — but I had barely opened my mouth to ask who he was when the stranger had already disappeared around the turn of the street, walking quickly, without looking back.

She fell silent, and silence hung in the room.

— Inside the package was a letter, — she continued finally. — A small metal plate with an engraved pattern resembling a complex ornament, and my Uncle Ariel's signet ring.

Ester took a deep breath, as if feeling the tremble of the paper under her fingers again.

Her voice became slightly duller, but in it sounded that intonation with which letters are read, living through every word.

— With a sinking heart, I opened the letter, — she said. — The handwriting was familiar to me—strong, confident, with characteristic curls in the letters 'A' and 'R'. It was my uncle's handwriting. I learned this letter by heart.

She lowered her eyes and began to speak, as if seeing that sheet before her again:

> "My dear little Esti.

> If you are reading this letter—it means something irreparable has happened to your Uncle Arik.

> Do not grieve. I had to do this.

> All my life I was selfish and lived for myself, but evidently, conscience finally got the upper hand over my rebellious soul.

> I am doing what I must.

> If my calculations are correct, you will never read this letter.

> But if I was mistaken, it means you will receive it after all... and learn the truth.

> By that time, I will likely already be gone—forever.

> I have left a will: half of my fortune I transfer to my brother Aaron, half—to you, my beloved niece.

> But the main thing is not in the money.

> The reason for everything happening is a secret that our family has kept for many centuries.

> From generation to generation, it is passed to the eldest son of the family.

> And now, when I see that the secret may leave with me, I pass it to you."

> 

Ester raised her gaze—her eyes were glistening.

— When I read to these words, — she said, — my hands began to tremble.

I couldn't understand—why is he writing to me, and not to father? Why me specifically?

I felt that further in the letter there would be something... something that would change my entire life.

She paused, glanced at Vasilis, and he slightly squeezed her palm, supporting her silently.

— I managed the shock this letter caused, — Ester said quietly. — And began reading further...

> "Recently, my struggle with competitors—the Gokhman brothers—has escalated. What was initially a conflict of interests between two smuggling groups has turned into a real war. My life is in serious danger, so I have decided to retire from business and leave for Argentina. In our business, one must know when to hand over to the young. But before that, I must settle family affairs—save the relic that has been kept in our line from generation to generation.

> This is a small medallion on a chain worn by every family member who possesses the secret. According to legend, an inscription is engraved on it which, if deciphered correctly, will indicate where to look for the Shamir. But there is one condition. The medallion should be given only to the one 'who has penetrated into the very core of the Soul Eater, withstood the temptation, remained alive, and is ready to return to destroy it.'"

> 

Ester pronounced this phrase quietly, verbatim, as if quoting a sacred text.

— By all appearances, — Ariel continued writing, — it concerns En-zi, that very antediluvian machine the legends tell of. I do not want to involve my brother in this matter. I love little Aaron very much and do not wish harm to his reputation: any connection with me could tarnish it. And finding out that I am in mortal danger, he will certainly begin to help me. But you risk nothing, — he wrote further. — I am secretly passing this letter to you through my trusted assistant Moisey Vinnitsky, from whom I extracted an oath to tell no one about this. He is devoted and reliable—he will fulfill the promise.

> By the way, if you or the person you entrust with the secret of the Shamir need help, I am passing the signet ring as a sign of my trust. In case of necessity, show this ring to Moishe, or whoever comes to replace him, and you will receive any possible support and assistance.

> And now about the medallion.

> 

Ester fell silent for a moment, and a vague agitation sounded in her voice.

> "It possesses an amazing property. According to our old family legend, a sort of indicator is built into the medallion. I will explain what I mean. Through millennia, this relic has reached our time. It is known that a moment will come when the Shamir will be needed by the one ready to battle En-zi. And when, let's say, the last watch of our line arrives—that is, the generation comes that must hand it over—the medallion will lighten. It is this process I noticed recently. This disk of strange metal was always black as coal. And then, a month ago, it lightened and became like polished silver. Unfortunately, I am an unreliable keeper of this relic, so I need to pass it to someone. But I want to bind neither my brother nor you with this terrible obligation. I thought long about where the medallion could be reliably hidden until the one who truly needs it appears.

> I think I found the perfect place. You know I love everything underground. Catacombs, abandoned drifts, caves—for me, these are not just voids under the city, but a whole other universe where time is compressed in dark corridors and the world seems different. If life had turned out differently, I probably would have become a speleologist: exploring caves, mapping catacombs, and saving the lost. But it turned out as it turned out, and most of what can be walked through in the Odesa underground, I have already seen with my own eyes.

> Once, during another sortie, I stumbled upon a place that did not fit into any of my usual categories. It was not just a stone quarry and not a natural cave. A stone arch opened before me—and behind it lay a room as if transported from another era: a high hall with support ribs, metal plates, and tiny windows in which a faint glow trembled. It looked like a machine hall filled with mechanisms—but somehow very ancient.

> The strangest thing is not the technology, but the guard. There was a Guardian there, but it was neither animal nor machine. I saw him fleetingly when, slipping into the hall for the first time, I noticed movement and a silhouette that could not be described in usual words. That time I was lucky: the guard did not manage to get close to me, and I slipped back out, ran as fast as I could.

> And then I realized: this is the ideal place to hide the medallion. It was located deep in the network of tunnels, in a node that casual vagrants and even experienced guides do not reach. And at the same time—under the guard of an unknown will. I decided to return and hide the relic there, deceiving the guard.

> I think I figured out how to pull this off. But I am not entirely sure. I hope my idea works; if I was mistaken, the guard will kill me. Well, it's not the first time I've put my life on the line. It's such a game. But even if I perish, the medallion will be in a safe place.

> For this case, I drew up a map. I give it to you. Keep this plate as the greatest treasure. Give it to the one who is worthy: who has penetrated into the very core of the Soul Eater, withstood the temptation, and returned alive to the world of men.

> Listen, my dear Esti. For most of my life, I was a criminal. I know nothing justifies me before the face of God, but I am who I am, and you are the only person in our family who accepted me as such. All my life I ran along the razor's edge. I saw how easy it is to fall into darkness and remain there forever. But now I want to perform an act that will be right before God. Maybe it's naive. Maybe someone will consider this late and ridiculous repentance. But I am tired—not of risk, but of the emptiness in my heart. And I am frightened by that darkness in which I may find myself. I want to fall asleep at least once and sleep through the night with the sleep of the righteous.

> It is time for me. I am going to go and execute what I planned. I do not promise that I will return. But remember: I always loved my little niece, Esti. I pray that God blesses you and that in this life you find your happiness.

> Your Uncle Arik."

> 

I noticed tears in Ester's eyes. She held them back and said quietly:

— This is the letter—from uncle. Now I understand whom he spoke of.

"You, Monsieur Duroc," she said, "are the very one ready to challenge the Soul Eater. To you, I will give the ring and the plate with the map. The Shamir is the only instrument capable of destroying En-zi. You must find it before those who wish to use the Eater for their own selfish purposes."

Ester's story touched me to the depths of my soul, and I sat silently for some time. Vasilis embraced his wife to calm her agitation; silence reigned in the living room.

A minute later, Ester stood up, went into another room, and returned with a casket. She took out a small leather pouch and handed it to me.

I untied the cord. A dull platinum plate fell onto my palm—thin lines engraved on it formed the drawing of a map. The signet ring that lay nearby turned out to be heavy: silver, inlaid with rubies, inside an image: a roaring lion.

Under the surprised glances of my friends, I took off my leather trouser belt and hid the plate in a small secret pocket where I usually kept gold coins for unforeseen situations. Then I put the ring on my finger.

— I am ready, — I said and realized that now there was no turning back.

For some time we were silent. Vasilis was the first to speak:

— I will escort you to the beginning of the tunnel marked on the map. I will give you a lantern, a shovel, and my blessing. If you do not return in two hours—I will come out to search.

He spoke quietly, but his voice was firm.

— By contract, the lighthouse keeper is forbidden to intrude into the state-protected zone of archaeological excavations, but if you need my help, I am ready to break this rule.

We stood up and went out of the house. The sun was already high above the horizon. A strong wind had risen, tousling our hair and rustling the dry grass. Vasilis embraced Ester and whispered something in her ear. She went into the house, and we headed to the shed where garden tools were stored. There, Vasilis handed me a large lantern with a powerful battery, a shovel, and a coil of thick rope—everything that might be useful underground.

Now I was ready for new trials.