“A book of lightning is all well and good, but shouldn’t our heroes also have something sharp and pointy?” Mr. Yazzie asks the Sun. “Not that I don’t trust your judgment,” he adds hastily. “It’s just…it’s never been done quite like this.”
“Each monsterslayer will have the weapon most appropriate for them,” Jóhonaa’éí chides. “You know this.” He looks back to me. “Though forged in the fire, each weapon is simply a part of the bearer, made solid in the Glittering World. Now, for your brother?”
“Well, his ancestral powers have something to do with water.”
“Ah, yes, he is related to Born for Water. I remember now. I have just the thing.” Jóhonaa’éí reaches back into the tumult of white fire, and again I have to shut my eyes at the flare of bright light. When I open them, Jóhonaa’éí has a small bottle in his hand. It’s attached to a loop of leather cord, just like the one my piece of turquoise used to hang from.
“What is it?”
“Liquid lightning,” he explains. “For the boy who can control things in a fluid state. But he must be careful. It is very unstable and can only be used once.”
“Whoa! He’s gonna love this!”
He hands Mac’s weapon to me, and I carefully put it in the padded pocket of my backpack.
Mr. Yazzie makes an unhappy noise behind me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I don’t mean to complain, but how can I be a weapons master if I don’t even recognize the weapon?” he huffs. “Books? Liquid lightning? Bah! Maybe I’m getting too old for this after all.”
“We all must change with the times,” Jóhonaa’éí says, not unkindly. “These children are different from their ancestors. Just as the trials changed to fit Nizhoni’s imagination, so must the weapons adapt. The ways of the Diné are not static but alive and ever-changing.”
Mr. Yazzie sighs, but it’s a satisfied sound, like he understands.
The Sun regards me with expectant eyes. “And for you, Nizhoni?”
“I took an archery class at summer camp once,” I say in a rush, remembering the weight of the bow, the feeling of the taut string close to my cheek, the whip of the arrow as I loosed it at the target. “And I was good at it.” I hit a bull’s-eye that day. My instructor called it beginner’s luck, and maybe it was, or maybe I was a natural and the teacher didn’t recognize it. I believed her because she was an adult and I thought she knew better, but now I’m not so sure.
“And there’s something else,” I add. “When I saw my mom in the vision, she had a crossbow. So I’d like to try a bow and arrow.”
Jóhonaa’éí studies me for a moment before nodding. “I think a more traditional weapon would suit you well. ‘A pointy one,’ as your weapons master called it. Yes, it should suit very well indeed.” He does the whole hand-in-the-fire/blazing-light thing again, and this time he pulls out a glowing bow and a quiver full of arrows.
“Well, thank goodness,” Mr. Yazzie says. “Finally, a weapon I know.”
The bow and arrows are beautiful, made of a fine golden wood that seems to pulse with shadow and flame. The bow is just my size, not too big, and there are four perfectly formed arrows in the long thin quiver, which has a strap for wearing on your back. He hands them to me.
“Carry these proudly, Monsterslayer. You have earned them.”
A feeling of deep satisfaction fills me, as if the fire from the lightning forge is flowing through my veins. But it’s more than just the weapons. It’s knowing for a fact that this is my destiny.
“They’re beautiful,” I whisper. “Thank you. Ahéhee’.”
I sling my backpack onto one shoulder and pull the quiver over the other. Not a perfect solution, but it will have to do.
“And now we must go,” Mr. Yazzie says. “Before we lose any more time.”
“You two go ahead,” Jóhonaa’éí says. “There is one more weapon I must forge before sunrise. I will join you when I am done.”
I want to ask who the other weapon is for, but Mr. Yazzie is already pushing at my ankles, trying to hurry me out of the room.
I pull the big wooden door open, and Mr. Yazzie and I spill back out into the hallway.
“Can we get Mac and Davery from the Lost and Found now?” I ask. I can’t wait to show them the weapons Jóhonaa’éí made especially for us.
“I suppose so, if we don’t dally,” Mr. Yazzie says. “Hmm, which is the door to the Lost and Found department again…?”
I groan at his forgetfulness as we rush down the hall, past a row of similar doors, each marked with a different symbol. A geometric basket on a red, white, and black door…a sand-painting figure in browns and tans on a door that looks like solid turquoise…But nothing that says LOST AND FOUND.
When we are almost at the end of the hallway, I ask, “Did we miss it?”
“No. I’m sure it’s here somewhere.…”
The last door on the right is bigger than the rest, with a drawing of a sheep on it. It looks just like the sheep Davery made for Ancestor Club, except sadder. Like maybe the little guy got separated from his flock. Like maybe he’s…lost!
“This is it!” I push on the door, flinging it wide open.
But I don’t see Mac and Davery.
Instead, I see her.
My mom.
“Nizhoni, wait!” Mr. Yazzie calls.
But I’m not listening, and definitely not waiting.
My throat is suddenly dry, and my legs are shaking, but I make myself go through the Lost and Found door. Standing all around the room are strange glasslike cases, transparent but solid, and more amber-colored than clear. And inside the cases, frozen in place, are people. People like my mom.
I walk over to her case and peer at it closely. It’s definitely her. She looks the same as she did in my mirror vision. The punk rock hair, the leather jacket, the motorcycle boots. The sad eyes.
“What’s she doing here, Mr. Yazzie?” I ask, my voice quiet. I press one hand against the side of the amber and reach for my turquoise with the other. But, of course, my pendant is no longer there.
“Oh dear,” he says. “I didn’t know she would be in the Lost and Found, but now that I think about it, it does make sense.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “If I could, I would spare you this sorrow, child.”
“Why?” I stare down at him, incredulous. “Were you trying to hide my mother from me?”
“She failed, Nizhoni. She is here because she failed to kill the monsters of her generation, and with her failure, the threat grew stronger, the evil bigger. She is not a role model for you now. In fact, she’s a distraction we can’t afford.”
“She’s not ‘a distraction.’ She’s my mom! Whose side are you on?”
Mr. Yazzie crawls up my leg and torso, settling on my arm so he can look me in the eye. “I am on the side of the monsterslayers, as always. It’s my job to help you save the world.”
“Even if that means losing my friends?” I turn back to my mom. “My family?”
“Your mother did not succeed,” he says again. “You need to move on. Our hopes are riding on you now.”
“Maybe it wasn’t her fault,” I argue. “She must have followed the same path we did, but she didn’t have any companions to help her. She had to fight the monsters all alone.…”
“Your mother was one of my most promising students, but she could not pass the trial of the sand.”
My eyes widen. “The mirrors? The trial of the sand manifested as mirrors for me. Is that why I saw her there? She’s stuck there?”
“In a way,” he says. “Her body is here, in the Lost and Found. But her consciousness, her soul, is still in the trial. That must be what you saw—the moment of her life that haunts her the most. It seems she could not let you go after all.”
I shiver. “Is that what happens when you fail a trial? Is that what would have happened to me?”
He nods gravely.
“But wait—you left her there?”
“It is not in my pow
er to free her.”
“Then how do we get her out?” I spin around, and Mr. Yazzie clings to my sleeve for dear life. There are other slayers here, too—all Navajo, but clearly from different eras in time. A man to my right is wearing blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up and a plain white T-shirt. His hair is slicked back, and he looks like someone out of a movie from the 1950s, like Elvis. Another wears a three-piece suit, a fancy bowler hat, and carries a cane. A woman in velvet skirts and a huge squash blossom necklace is in a case farther back in the room. And just beyond her, I see someone I know.
“Mac!” I rush to the case he is in. He appears to be sleeping, which is less creepy-looking than some of the other slayers, who are frozen in mid-action. I put a hand on the glass. “We have to save him.” I look around wildly. “Is Davery here, too?” There he is, just a few cases down. He’s sitting cross-legged, hunched over a book, but completely still. “I have to get him out,” I cry. “I have to get them all out!”
Mr. Yazzie’s face scrunches up, and I get the feeling he’s about to say something really bad. “You know the song, Nizhoni,” he says sadly. “What does it tell you?”
“Who will pay the lost ones’ price? These are the lost ones, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m guessing the price to pay is not spare change in my pocket.”
“What are the next lines?” he prompts.
I know them by heart. “Blood and flesh will not suffice. A dream must be the sacrifice.”
Mr. Yazzie nods.
“A dream…” I say. “Something stronger than blood and flesh, whatever that means.”
“Think about it,” Mr. Yazzie urges. “Dreams are our hopes for the future, and as such they are more powerful than anything in the physical world.”
“But how do I get a dream to free them?”
“You already have it. What is your heart’s true desire?”
I gulp, thinking furiously. I want so many different things. But surely—
“It is up to you, Nizhoni,” comes a voice from behind me. I whirl to see Jóhonaa’éí standing in the doorway. He’s been listening to our conversation. Mr. Yazzie leaves his perch on my arm and makes the long trek up to the Sun’s shoulder.
“Me?” I ask, not liking this at all.
“Yes,” he says resolutely. “You are the monsterslayer of this generation. It is you who must make the sacrifice.”
I clutch my stomach, suddenly feeling sick. My mouth tastes sour, like I just drank old milk, as it fully hits me what he and Mr. Yazzie are saying. If I want Mom, Mac, and Davery back, I have to give up my dream of being a hero. Even though I completed the trials and worked so hard to get here, I must step aside and let someone else finish the battle.
I think about the silly dreams I used to have, too embarrassed to say them out loud. It seems like a lifetime ago that the thing I craved most was internet fame. Then I wanted to be good at sports so the kids at ICCS would respect me. It had felt so great at the Prom of Thorns when I was popular. But now that I’ve discovered my ancestral powers and I have my lightning weapons, I could be a real hero in the old-fashioned sense, like something out of a storybook. Like the original Monsterslayer.
I look over my shoulder at Mac, and next to him, Davery, frozen in amber. Their lives have barely begun. I can’t leave them stuck in there forever.
Then my eyes turn to my mother and I recall the vision, the sacrifice she made to keep us safe, even though there was no guarantee of success. And my dad’s confused face when she left…If I miss having her in my life, I can’t imagine how devastated he must feel.
So maybe it isn’t much of a choice after all.
“I’ll do it,” I say firmly, trying my best to be brave. “I’ll give up my dream of being a hero to set them free. All of them. It’s worth it. Then they can fight the monsters.” I square my shoulders, ball my hands into fists, squeeze my eyes shut, and yell, “Take it! Take my dream!”
I hold my breath, waiting. When nothing happens, I crack an eyelid open. Mr. Yazzie is staring at me, and the Sun is trying not to laugh.
“What?”
“That’s not how it works,” Jóhonaa’éí says.
I relax, feeling a little silly. “Well, then why didn’t you say so?”
“I would have, if I’d known you were going to do something so dramatic.”
Okay, so it was a little dramatic. “Then how does it work?”
Mr. Yazzie looks at Jóhonaa’éí. “Actually, I’m actually not quite certain about the application of—”
Before he can finish his sentence, the ground begins to shake—a low rattle at first, but then it grows to a great rumble. The amber cases totter on their platforms.
Aha! It did work!
“Move back!” Mr. Yazzie yells, and I plaster myself against a trembling wall. I watch in awe as cracks form in the cases, and with a shriek, they all shatter.
I duck as shards fly around me. And when I look up, Mac is standing on a platform, yawning and stretching his arms over his head.
“Mac!” I dash over, pull him down, and give him a big hug.
“Ow!” he grumbles, pushing me away. “Don’t mess up the hair.”
I laugh, because he’s still the same old Mac. I missed him so much. And to think, in the trial of thorns, I almost forgot he existed!
“Where am I?” he asks, looking around. “Last thing I remember, I was running through some kind of maze, but it was too dark to see and I got all confused. I must have walked around forever, yelling for you and Davery, but nobody answered. After a while, I got so tired I lay down for a quick snooze and—”
“Nizhoni?” says another voice behind me.
“Davery!” I run to my best friend and hug him, too. And this time it’s not awkward at all.
“What happened?” he asks, brushing amber dust from his hair. “How did we get here? Is this the House of the Sun? How did we get through the mirrors?”
“You didn’t,” I tell him. “You went into one of them and never came back. I had to keep going, hoping I could find help.”
“It was like I was stuck in a vision,” he says. “I was in the biggest library I’d ever seen, and I kept looking for the answer to how to beat Mr. Charles, but there were so many books.…I could hear you and Mac somewhere, crying for me, but I couldn’t help, because I couldn’t find the right book.” He shivers. “It was not a good feeling.”
Trust Davery to do research even in his nightmares.
“Speaking of books, I have something for you.” I reach into my backpack and take out the monster-fighting manual. It shines and shimmers like it holds something alive and powerful in its pages.
“Whoa!” As he takes it, the light reflects off his glasses. “What is it?”
“It’s a weapon of knowledge from the Sun.” I motion toward Jóhonaa’éí. He is helping other freed warriors step down off their platforms while Mr. Yazzie, still on his shoulder, hails each one.
“Is that him?” Davery asks.
“Yep.”
Jóhonaa’éí spies us with the lightning book and strides over. Mr. Yazzie raises a tiny claw in greeting. “Ah, our scholar has returned. Welcome, Davery.”
“Good,” the Sun says to me. “You are distributing the weapons. We have no time to waste.” Then he turns to Davery. “If you open this book in your time of need, it will tell you how to defeat the monsters.”
“This must have been what I was searching for in my dream,” Davery whispers, awed. “Thank you. I mean, ahéhee’.”
“And this is for you, Mac,” I say, dangling the vial attached to the leather cord. The liquid inside looks like quicksilver, thick and viscous and hinting at the colors of the rainbow. “You have to be really careful with it.”
“Sweet!” Mac exclaims, taking it gingerly. “Uh, what is it?”
“Lightning in a bottle,” Jóhonaa’éí explains. “You, related to Born for Water, should be able to direct it just as you direct the waters of the earth.
But do not use it lightly. There is only this vial and then it is gone.”
Mac pumps his fist in the air. “Eat your heart out, X-Men!” he shouts as he slips the cord over his neck.
“Did you get a weapon, Nizhoni?” Davery asks.
I slip the bow off my shoulder, nock an arrow, and point it toward the ceiling.
“Can you shoot that?” he asks.
“She better,” Mac says. “Because we’ve got monster butt to kick!”
Jóhonaa’éí raises his eyebrows, but he’s soon distracted by an older warrior who is having trouble getting to his feet. He leaves us to help him up.
This would probably be a good time for me to let Mac and Davery know I won’t be fighting alongside them. “Uh, guys, there’s something I need to tell you—”
“Umm…who’s the lady in the leather jacket?” Mac asks. “And why is she staring at us and crying?”
A lump in my throat makes it hard for me to swallow. “That,” I tell my little brother, “is our mom.”
“Whoa,” says Davery.
“It can’t be. She’s dead,” Mac says flatly. “And definitely not someone who would wear a leather jacket and motorcycle boots.”
“No, she’s not dead. She got stuck in a trial, just like you did. And she couldn’t come back to us until now.”
“Is that really…?” he starts, his voice a shaky whisper.
I don’t have to answer, because she’s walking over. Davery slips away to give us some private time.
“Nizhoni’s right. That’s what happened, Marcus,” my mom says, standing awkwardly a few feet away. “I’m so, so sorry. For leaving you, for failing you. For putting you both in danger now. This wasn’t how it was supposed to…” She puts a hand over her mouth, and tears run down her face.
“You did what you thought was best,” I say quietly. I sound grown-up, but inside I feel like a confused and hurt little girl. Even though I know why my mom did what she did, a selfish part of me still wishes she hadn’t.
“Who cares why you left,” Mac says. “You’re back now!” He rushes forward and our mom opens her arms. Mac falls into her embrace, giving her a huge hug. I can hear him sniffling a little. She looks up at me, trails of black mascara scoring her cheeks. She opens her arms a little more, clearly inviting me into the big old group-hug reunion, but I cross my arms and give her a weak smile. Mac may be ready to forgive and forget, but I’m not quite there yet.
Race to the Sun Page 20
