Crack! Something breaks in the distance, making me flinch.
My mom looks up and peers into the dark and swirling snow. I can’t see anything, but she does, and whatever it is isn’t good. Fear tightens her mouth and narrows her eyes.
“So soon?” she murmurs.
She gets to her feet, gathering baby me up in the blankets and tucking me close to her chest inside her worn coat. She pulls her hat and gloves back on, wraps the scarf tight around her neck, and starts running through the snow, back the way she came.
Real me chases after her. The snowfall seems to have gotten even heavier while we were in her little shelter. I glide through the storm, because I’m not really there, but my mom stumbles as she tries to avoid ever-growing snowdrifts. I can see where she’s headed now—a house not too far away. Warm golden light shines from the windows, driving back the darkness like the beacon from a lighthouse.
Another booming crack comes from the woods. Something is definitely out there. Something big and scary.
My mom speeds up, still holding little me tight. It seems like the snow is actively trying to drag her down. I can see ice forming around the tops of her boots, and I imagine that her feet are freezing. She trips and falls to her knees, but she’s back up in seconds.
I feel a presence behind me, something shadowy that seems to grow. My mom must feel it, too, because she turns to look over her shoulder and lets out a soft cry. She reaches the front door of the house, and I accompany her as she barrels through, slamming it shut behind her. Not a second later, something hits the door from the outside. A spine-shaking boom rattles the house.
My mom slowly backs away, staring at the front door to see if it will hold or if whatever is out there will break it down.
“What is it?” I whisper, afraid, even though I know she won’t answer.
There’s another boom, and now little me stirs and lets out a scared whimper.
“Shhhh,” my mom says, patting my head.
“Bethany?”
We both turn at the voice coming from down the hallway. “Bethany, is that you? Is everything okay with Nizhoni? I woke up and the two of you were gone.” Soft footsteps pad toward us. It’s my dad, sounding a lot younger than he does now.
“Mac wouldn’t sleep, either,” he calls, yawning. “I thought I’d make him some warm milk.…”
My mom’s gaze whips between the front door and the hallway, and it’s clear that she’s struggling. And then I see her face shut down, her expression go cold, and I know she has made her decision. She drops to her knees and lays little me gently on the floor. Gives me one last kiss on the forehead and murmurs something I can’t quite hear. And then she’s up on her feet. She shrugs off her coat and pulls something from a holster on her back. It’s a bow, but not like the kind you see in old movies. This one has a complicated drawing mechanism and a place where you can slot arrows, and it has a black metal grip like a gun.
She readies an arrow and steps toward the door. Her hand hesitates on the knob, and she looks over her shoulder. My dad is still talking to her, something about Mac being colicky, but he hasn’t turned the corner and can’t see us yet. I focus on the spot where he will appear any second now.
Then my eyes flick back to my mom, but the front door is already closing behind her. I missed her leaving, and she is no longer part of this vision.
I hear a fierce cry outside, like a challenge, and the roar of a monster in response. There’s a flash of light and a heavy thump that feels like it could take the house down. My dad doesn’t even seem to notice. Can he not see the monsters? Does he not know that my mom is fighting for her life?
I want to scream in frustration, but I’m just a helpless, invisible observer.
“Bethany?” my dad says as he finally comes around the corner. “Honey?”
But he’s too late.
Little me, still lying on the floor, starts to wail for the first time.
My dad peers down at the baby with a sleepy and confused expression. And then he looks up at the door, bewilderment on his face.
“No, no, no!” I murmur. “This can’t be how it happened.” I try to back away from my dad and Mac and little me, but the memory has me trapped.
“I want out of here,” I say, my voice quiet at first, then getting louder, until I’m yelling. “Let me out! Let me out!” I don’t know who or what I’m screaming at, but if the trials are aware enough to change depending on how we imagine them, then they should be able to stop this.
“This is too much. Let me out! Please!”
And suddenly I’m back in the field of mirrors, staring into the white-framed one, my hand pressed against the glass.
I gulp air, as if I’ve been holding my breath. I feel like sobbing.
“Nizhoni? Are you okay?” Somebody shakes me by the shoulder and I turn, blinking back tears.
“What happened?” Davery asks, voice concerned. “You disappeared for a minute. And then, when I turned around again, you were back.”
“I was in there,” I say, pointing at the glass, my hand shaking a little. “I fell into the mirror, or a memory or something. I saw my mom. The day she left.”
“Wow, that’s wild,” Davery says with wide eyes. “What happened?”
“She left to fight a monster, Davery. She knew what she was doing, and she left.”
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“Me too,” I say, sniffling. “I can’t believe she chose to fight the monster over staying with her family.”
Davery’s brow crinkles like it does when he’s thinking hard. “Maybe she didn’t have a choice. Maybe if she didn’t kill the monster, it would have killed you and everybody else, too.”
“But she didn’t kill the monster!” I shout at him.
He takes a step back, surprised at my anger.
I’m surprised by how angry I feel, too, but I can’t help it. It’s like lava inside me, bubbling up from my stomach and rising to fill my head. The pressure of it makes me want to scream, to hit something. It’s worse than when I got into a fight at school, worse than when I attacked Mr. Charles. And it comes out of my mouth as words I wish I never said.
“The monsters are still alive, which means my mom failed, and she’s probably…she’s probably dead! Or she might as well be dead! And now we have to fight the monsters all over again, so what good did she do, anyway?”
“She did her best.”
“Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. All I know is that I didn’t get to have a mom and IT’S ALL HER FAULT!” And the anger still boiling inside me, the part that didn’t come out as words, now comes out as a kick. I strike the mirror with my heel as hard as I can. It cracks down the middle. I kick it again, slapping my whole foot into it. I want it to shatter. To look the way I feel inside. But no matter how many times I hit it, it won’t break any further.
After a dozen kicks and a few screams of frustration, I’m tired. The anger has drained away. I slump to the ground, exhausted. “I hate this place,” I say, my throat raw and my eyes wet. “I want these trials to be over. What else can it show me that’s worse than this?”
Davery’s been really patient, not saying a word while waiting for me to let out all my rage. I owe him a serious apology for throwing a tantrum, but it’s not every day you see your mom leave you as a baby to fend for yourself. It hurts, and it feels like it won’t stop hurting for a long time. Maybe ever.
“Promise me you’ll go back to that anger management class when this is over?” he asks.
I sniffle, feeling embarrassed. “I promise.”
“Good. Because I can’t handle another freak-out like that.”
“That’s fair.”
Davery holds out a hand to pull me to my feet. “Okay, then let’s focus on getting through this trial and to the House of the Sun. We can deal with your feelings about your mom later.”
The Sun. He’s supposed to give me weapons so I can save my brother and my dad. I’d almost forgotten why we were doing all t
his.
“What did you see in your mirror?” I ask.
“Nothing like you did. I mean, I just saw me. It was a normal mirror.”
I take a deep breath. “Well, we better try another. I’m sure this trial has something else to throw at us.”
Davery points to a mirror a few dozen feet away. It’s faceted around the edges, the sunlight bouncing off the diamond shapes and making it sparkle. “How ’bout that one?”
“Okay,” I say, “but let’s look at this one together. I don’t want to do that alone again.”
“Sure,” Davery says. He grips my hand in his, and we both walk to the mirror. “Close your eyes, and then we’ll open them at the same time.”
“Okay.” I close my eyes, squeeze his hand, and say, “On three. One, two…”
On “three,” I take a look.
The reflection shows only me, and my hand is empty.
Davery is gone.
“Davery?”
I whirl around wildly, but I don’t see him anywhere. I’m alone.
I run from mirror to mirror, looking into and banging on the glass, praying one of them will let me back in. Not to the snowy past with my mom, but to wherever Davery went.
I can feel my breath getting short and my heart beating too loud in my ears as panic starts to creep in. First Mac, now Davery. I lost them both. I knew I wasn’t cut out for this hero business!
Why me? I want to wail. Is this what I get for wanting to be someone special? Stuck in the middle of I-don’t-even-know-where with all my friends and family gone?
I plop down onto the Rainbow Road and sob. Big, fat tears stream down my face and I can’t stop them. I’m exhausted and starving and dirty, and I feel lonelier than I’ve ever been.
After a while, when all the tears are spent, I look up and see something amazing: A herd of deer is coming my way. No, scratch that—it’s just one, a doe, reflected in many mirrors. She cautiously picks her way over, ears flapping. When she’s a few feet from me, she stops and stares. She must wonder what kind of creature I am, hunched over and sniffling.
“Hello,” I say quietly, not wanting to frighten her off. “Are you lost and alone, too?”
She doesn’t move, just considers me curiously with her liquid brown eyes.
Then I get it. “Don’t tell me. You’re one of the Holy People, right?” Mr. Yazzie did say they were everywhere, and a talking deer is no weirder than a horned toad advisor.
But the doe doesn’t answer.
“Well, go ahead. Impart your wisdom or whatever.”
The deer turns her head and gazes at the horizon.
“You think I should keep going,” I say, filling in the silence. I stand up and wipe off the back of my pants. “Well, you have a point. I’ve come this far and risked everything to get here. If not for myself, I should do it for Mac, and Davery, and my dad.”
The deer paws the ground with one hoof.
“And yes, my mom. Maybe her most of all.” I touch my chest automatically, wishing my turquoise necklace were there.
I look toward the mirror I cracked with my foot. Its surface looks black now. The boiling anger I felt toward my mom before has been replaced with a clawing sorrow. Leaving us wasn’t something she’d done on a whim. She had to sacrifice everything to try to keep us safe. She was being selfless, not selfish. And so strong…
She wanted me to be strong, too. She called me brave, a warrior, just before she went off to save the world.
“It’s time to show her I am a warrior,” I say, turning back to the deer.
The doe flicks her tail and bounds away.
“Thanks for your advice!” I call after her.
I’m not sure whether the deer was sent to help me or not, but either way, I feel better. I wipe the tears from my face and hoist my backpack onto my shoulders. “I’m going to do this, Mom,” I declare. “And I’m going to make you proud.”
Next stop: the House of the Sun.
The Rainbow Road ends at the top of a hill. And on top of that hill, spread out across the horizon, is a massive house. Well, “house” doesn’t quite do the place justice. This is a mansion. Maybe a castle. Definitely the home of someone important.
The mansion/castle was built in a pueblo style, like a lot of the houses in Albuquerque. Only this one isn’t made out of the adobe mud so popular back home. It was constructed with chunks of turquoise. The blue-green surface glimmers in the predawn light, the tiny veins in the rocks shining like diamonds. The building is at least three stories, with tall windows in the top level, and a long flat roof. As I walk up the front path of finely crushed white shells, my footsteps crunching, I hope the Sun, or whoever answers the door, is expecting me.
To the side of the entrance is a bench carved out of a log, and it is set off from the path by a red velvet rope—the kind you see in movie theaters. Judging from the plastic water bottles and foil sandwich wrappers piled in a nearby trash bin, I’m guessing it’s some kind of waiting area, and visitors have used it recently.
Above the front door is a neon sign that says YÁ’ÁT’ÉÉH. PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER AND THE MERCILESS ONE WILL SEE YOU SHORTLY. FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED. Beside the velvet rope stands a round red ticket dispenser, and a piece of paper flutters at its mouth, the edges of a black digit showing. It seems a little strange to take a number, especially when I don’t see anyone else around. But it seems just as strange to simply walk up and knock on the door.
Standing at either side of the door are two giant bear statues. They are very lifelike—black and shaggy, and at least ten feet tall, with muscled bodies and oversize paws tipped with sharp claws. As I get closer, I swear one of them is staring at me with its dark beady eyes.
And then it turns its head and roars, “Who goes there?”
I freeze in my tracks. The bear’s fangs glisten, looking extra sharp under the entrance lights. “Be brave,” I remind myself, and step forward.
“Yá’át’ééh,” I say loudly to the sharp-toothed bear. I hope I’m doing this right. “My name is Nizhoni Begay. My mother’s clan is Towering House. My father’s clan is Bitter Water. My maternal grandfather’s clan is the Mud People clan, and my paternal grandfather’s clan is the Crystal Rock people.” There. Perfect!
The other bear, who has a notch in its ear, turns his head to look at me. “Where’s your number?”
“What?”
“You need a number.”
“Oh.” I reach over and pull a ticket from the dispenser. Number 4444. I hold it up to the bear and he leans over to look.
“What business do you have with the Sun?” the bear demands.
“I’m here to ask for his help.”
“Help?” The bear with the piece missing from one ear laughs, a big belly-shaking chortle. “Everyone comes to Jóhonaa’éí for help! What makes your case so special?”
“Jo who?”
“You don’t even know his name? Jóhonaa’éí is his Navajo name.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, embarrassed. “I’m still learning. But I have come a long way and been though the four trials on the Rainbow Road, and I lost my brother and my best friend and my trainer, and if I don’t see Jóhonaa’éí, I may lose my dad and maybe the whole world, so could you at least let him know I’m here?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I ask, incredulous. “I asked nicely.”
“And I said no nicely, so we’re even.”
I’ve been trying to control my anger, really trying, but I can feel it rising again at these very rude bears. “Tell Jóhonaa’éí that I faced some serious danger to get here, and the least he can do is see me! It says he will!” I point to the neon sign above us.
“He doesn’t have to see anybody!” the bear counters. “Read the sign!” It points, and as we watch, the letters morph to spell out THE MERCILESS ONE DOESN’T HAVE TO SEE ANYBODY.
“You made it do that!”
“Did not! Well, maybe I did. But you can’t prove it!”
“Are
you kidding me?” I say, exasperated.
The words on the sign morph again, and now it reads TOTALLY NOT KIDDING.
I throw my hands up. I don’t know what I was expecting when I got here, but this wasn’t it.
“You can see him,” the other bear, the one with the fangs, says. “But you’ll have to wait.”
“I don’t really have a lot of time.”
“Sorry, those are the rules.”
“I don’t care about your rules!” I shout, my frustration boiling over, just like it did in the sand trial. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to and now I want—no, I demand to see the Sun! This minute!” I hold up my ticket and very deliberately tear it in half. I let the pieces float to the ground. But then I feel a little guilty about littering and hastily pick them up and drop them into the nearby trash bin. I hurry back to the entrance, plant my hands on my hips, and say, “Now!”
The bears lean in to talk to one another, their murmuring voices a low grumble. I can’t hear exactly what they’re saying, but I catch the words “highly unusual” and “fierce cub girl” and “not really doing anything anyway” before they turn back to me.
“Very well,” the bear with the notch says. “I’ll ask if he can see you now.”
“Ahéhee’,” I say. “And tell him I can’t wait long. Mr. Charles plans to release the monsters at sunrise.”
Fangs turns to me. “Did you say monsters?”
“Yes. I’m here to ask for the weapon I need to fight them. Spider Woman sent me.”
“Oh,” the bear says, eyes wide, “why didn’t you say so?” It hurries to push the door open. “Right this way! Hurry, hurry. Time is of the essence. We never keep a hero waiting! Your friend is already here. He arrived a while ago, just in time for supper. We’ve been expecting you!”
Expecting me? They sure didn’t act like they were expecting me. But I’m more surprised by the other thing they said. “Did you say my friend was here?”
“Yes.” It reaches around and pushes me through the door with a paw as big as my head. “He’s in with Jóhonaa’éí right now.”
My steps pick up and my heart races. Did Davery somehow get here before me? The bear rushes me down the halls of the great house. We’re almost running now, and while I’m glad we’re hurrying, I barely have time to look around. The inside of Jóhonaa’éí’s house is what I would call bright, and by bright, I mean blinding. Every surface is a shining unblemished white, like my auntie’s plastic-covered couch that we’re not allowed to sit on. Pictures of the sun cover the walls—sunrises in the desert, the sun at high noon over a mountain range, sunsets on a beach. One is just a huge photo of the sun, big and glowing and centered in a solid gold frame.
Race to the Sun Page 18
