“You were there with me and the Red Queen.”
“I was nearly there. It really isn’t as easy as it sounds, being in more than one place at a time. But I thought I would make a showing, remind her she owed me a debt. And I am flawless at collecting.”
“Why? What do you want from her?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re quite the writer and I’m a fan.” He grinned. “I’ve been following you since you penned your first story, the one my fellow gods forced you to write. They are so clueless—they obviously had no idea of the power they’d given you.”
“Power?” Wait…did he say fan?
“The written word is power. It can change worlds. I always say, rule with wisdom, not war.”
His voice was deep and soothing like Jazz’s chocolate drink especial. My whole body started to relax as he spoke.
He continued. “When you wrote the first cuento, I, being the god of writing, noticed you. I don’t like to get involved with human affairs, or even godly affairs. I’d much rather read great works, write poetry, play the flute, and float across the starry sky.” His forehead wrinkled. “But then you began to write again—a second story, using magic ink—and that magic drew me to you. Your words connected us.” He sighed and smiled at the same time. “I must say, you are in quite a predicament. Not sure you are making the right choice here—it’s pretty risky—but I suppose that’s what ups the stakes.”
I felt sick. “How come you haven’t told the other gods I’m alive?”
He continued rowing slowly, the oars gliding effortlessly through the dark, calm waters. “Why would I tell those unenlightened fools about you?” he said. “So they could destroy a talent as rich as yours as they have so many of my other protégés? I think not. I’ll be honest, you do need to work on your phrasing, and perhaps you could use some help with settings, but I know talent when I see it, and you, young man, have a future in words. It would be a travesty for such artistic talent to go to waste. Therefore, I am here to offer my help.”
Why did I have the feeling I was being used as a pawn to stick it to the gods once again?
“What kind of help?” I asked.
“My services, to take you under my wing and show you culture, refinement, and—”
“Uh…sorry, that sounds like a really good offer and all, but I…I, uh, have to get to the Fire Keeper. Now.” So what if the Fire Keeper hadn’t been trying to talk to me? It didn’t mean he wouldn’t help me, right? “Did you say going to see him is a bad choice?”
“A risky one, which I prefer,” he said. “I know what’s at stake. Which is why I have gone through all the trouble to meet you face-to-face. I want you to stay alive, Zane Obispo. So I am breaking my own rule and interfering this one time. But I ask for something in return.”
There it was. The fine print, reminding me that Maya gods never give anything away for free. “Okay?”
“You must continue to write. No matter what happens, you must share your story with the world.”
That’s it? I thought. I really appreciated that this guy liked my story so much, but there are a million writers in the world. “Yeah, okay…” Seemed an easy enough request, right? But remember what I told you. Things are never what they seem when it comes to the Maya gods. “But why?”
Itzamna stopped rowing and leaned forward. “Because the world was born on the back of a story, and the world might be saved—” He cleared his throat. “I have said too much. I am glad we have a deal. Now, I will do what I can to help you stay alive, and if you do your part, you will win a lifetime’s supply of the greatest variety of magic paper ever written upon.”
Great. A lifetime supply of paper. Lucky me. “Maybe you could just take me to the Fire Keeper?” I remembered what the Red Queen had said about going alone, but I bet that didn’t include gods. “I mean, since you’re already here and everything.”
“Ah, that would be too easy. All good stories have peril and risks, stakes so great that the reader shivers in their bed, wondering what will happen to the young hero. Worrying that the young hero has made a grave error in judgment.” He quivered dramatically. “Will he survive? Will good triumph over evil? Will he get the girl?” Itzamna pushed his glasses up his long nose. “So, no, I will not make this journey easy for you. I am much more interested in a grand tale. Something to make all the senses come to life. Aren’t you?”
Uh, that would be a big fat NO! “I’d rather keep my head and my organs and my skin attached to me.” I glanced at the black sky and back to Itzamna. “Am I…making a mistake?”
“Things will get tricky, you have a very high likelihood of death, and in the event that such a tragedy occurs, I have taken it upon my generous self to carry you to Xib’alb’a, where you can pen the ending to this tale.”
I dug my feet into the boat. “I don’t plan to die.”
“No one ever does.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “So that’s it? You came here to tell me to write a good story?”
“Of course not. I came here to wish you luck. Make the story fuerte! Interesting!”
Itzamna set his glasses back on. In the reflective lenses, I saw a massive and seriously awesome dragon with blue, green, and red scales. It wore a wreath made of gold feathers around its neck. But that wasn’t the most freaking amazing part: the dragon’s mouth was open, but instead of flames, a hand was coming out. And in its grasp? A pen.
“Whoa!” I fell back. “That’s…Wait…Did it eat a writer?”
“I’ll add metaphor to our list of studies. If you live.”
“Is it real? Does it fly?”
“Obviously.” Itzamna stood. “It is my faithful companion, and all the writers I deem worthy have the power of the dragon. Now, I must go.”
“What?!” My voice flew across the water. “Power of the dragon? What does that even mean?” My mind was spinning faster than a blender blade, slicing my thoughts to bits so nothing made any sense.
Itzamna pressed a finger to his lips and looked around like he’d heard something. “Good luck. Make your story a worthy one, young man.”
He and his bone oars turned to shimmering dust and blew out to the dark sea.
Perfect.
There I was, floating in the middle of the Sea of Cortés, no oars, no map, no idea how to get to Land’s End. The barely there moon floated behind a bank of clouds, plunging me into utter darkness. (Really, Itzamna? You couldn’t even give me a single oar?)
I peered through the night, scanning in every direction. In the distance, a massive rock formation stuck out of the sea awkwardly. The thing looked like a giant stegosaurus dipping its head into the water for a drink. The grande space between its neck and body must have been the famous arch, and to the left of that was a narrow beach.
Quickly, I stuck Fuego into the water, trying to use him as an oar. (Yeah, I know, dumb idea, but you do stupid things when you’re desperate, okay?) I was only about fifty yards from the arch, but I might as well have been a million, because the tide quickly shifted, dragging me away from Land’s End.
I leaped into the cool water. Gripping the edge of the dinghy, I began to kick with all my might. But it was useless. The power of the current was too great. Why did I have the feeling Itzamna was turning the tides to make for a better story?
No way was I going to be this close and get shoved back now. I had to think quick. If only Brooks were here, she could fly me. But the Red Queen had been clear. I had to take this journey alone. Was that why Itzamna had bailed?
I closed my eyes and focused on my godborn leg, willing it to do something. Anything. I’d barreled through water like a supersonic engine before, I could do it again. I had to do it again.
Focus. Focus.
I dug deep, deep into where the shadow memories of all the hurt and anger I’d ever felt were buried. As Ah-Puch had said, I reminded myself, You’re half god. A burning sensation coursed through my storm runner leg. A second later, it was like lightning rippe
d through every cell in my body, igniting something I couldn’t name, and an overwhelming power rocketed me forward.
“Woo-hoo!”
But I’d celebrated too soon. Just as I was speeding across the sea, Land’s End started moving. That’s right! The huge dinosaurish rock formation reared its head, looked in my direction, and began to glide away.
“NO!” I shouted. “Wait!”
Crap! It was moving too fast. It would soon vanish into the horizon if I didn’t do something pronto. Maybe it was a long shot, but…
I hopped back into the boat, tied the rope around the end of Fuego, shifted it into spear mode, and said, “Fly like you’ve never flown before.” Then I launched it toward the rock. I watched the rope unravel, and at the last second, I grabbed hold of its end. Then, with a sudden jerk, I was launched into the air, flying behind my handy spear.
Things were pretty awesome. At first. But then stupid gravity got in the way and…splash!
I plummeted into the sea, holding tight to the rope that was still jerking me forward. Salt water sprayed up my nose and into my mouth. It was just like the first time I had tried to Jet Ski back at Isla Holbox and forgot to let go of the line when I crashed. Who knew Fuego could go so fast? I choked and heaved, my eyes burned, and it was impossible to see anything. Like whether I was headed into the mouth of a giant shark or something.
With a sudden jolt, I was reeled out of the water. I stared in horror as I headed straight for a massive rock wall. Or was that a leg? With a second to spare, I released the rope, windmilled through the air, and crash-landed on a sandy shore.
Sucking air, I rolled to my knees and looked around for Fuego. It was stuck in the rock…. I take it back. It was stuck in a huge dinosaur’s mouth!
The stone stegosaurus grunted, spraying a gush of slimy ocean water from his nose into my face. The impact sent me stumbling back. Gross! Did a four-hundred-foot rock dinosaur seriously just shower me in mocos?
I wiped the slimy boogers off my face and out of my eyes. Since I’m all about giving you an honest account, yeah, some got in my mouth. Okay, a lot. But I was a little more worried about the fact that the humpback rock was alive and still had Fuego locked in his stony jaws.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Let it go.” I must have looked like an ant to this thing, and I knew better than to think it was going to listen to me, but no one messes with Fuego.
The rock dinosaur grumbled, and I ducked for cover. When I looked back, Fuego was glowing blue. Bright, electric blue. Old Steggy must not have liked that, because he wailed and dropped Fuego, which sailed back to me. With my spear safely in my grasp, I inched back. The stone monster winced. Wait a second. He was afraid of me? No, he was afraid of Fuego, but this dinosaur thing could crush us with half a step, so what was its deal?
That’s when I heard the whistling. Distant at first, then so close I was sure someone was within arm’s reach, but when I looked around, I was alone with only Fuego and shadows for company.
There it was again. The sad blues tune…it was so familiar. Sickeningly familiar. The whistling grew louder. Then came a deep, low voice I’d never wanted to hear again.
“The prophesied days are a-comin’…. Oh, they are a-comin’. Find the shadows and hide, for the days are a-comin’….”
It couldn’t be…
A long moonlit shadow crept up in my peripheral vision. I turned to see a man with long locs step from behind Steggy’s back leg.
“The boy with many troubles,” he said in the same thick accent as that day I’d encountered him on Venice Beach. “I still have your future in my pocket.”
The world spun so fast I wasn’t sure I was actually seeing the tarot-card-reading, guitar-strumming dude who had tried to read my future so many months ago. The same guy who’d said the Prophecy of Fire was only the beginning. But fire spreads. Until it burns everything in its path.
“You…What the—?” The words got jammed in my throat. “You’re…the Fire Keeper?”
The man half grinned like he wasn’t sure I was worth an entire smile. His gold front teeth glinted in the moonlight. He looked just like I remembered. His eyebrows were burned off like before. He wore a plain orange T-shirt with a pair of long shorts and had a half-chewed pencil tucked behind his ear. His left leg was inked with a red tattoo: a winged panther breathing fire from its mouth.
“I am Antonio Marcel De La Vega.” Jazz had called him Santiago before…but it made sense that the Fire Keeper wouldn’t go by his real name. He patted the rock monster. “It’s okay, Chiquita. I’ll write you a song later. And don’t worry, he’s not staying long. Our business will be over soon enough.”
“Uh…my dad, Hurakan…he told me about you, and so did the Red Queen.”
Antonio scratched the back of his neck and said, “You think I don’t know that?” He eyed Fuego, still in my hand. “I don’t like visitors who burn my baby’s mouth.”
“Baby? That—” I stopped myself before I called her a monster. “She’s, like, hundreds of feet tall and made of solid stone!”
“Her name is Chiquita, and you owe her an apology.”
Chiquita whined and tears (more like mini waterfalls) streamed down her craggy face. Seriously? She was going to pull the crying card?
“Fine,” I said. “Sorry, Chiquita…Fuego’s sorry, too. We thought you were going to eat us.”
This must have pleased the giant stone monster, because she dipped her long neck, sniffed me once, and let out a light whimper.
The Fire Keeper patted her again, then said to me, “I was in the middle of a smokin’ jam session before you interrupted me and attacked Chiquita.”
“I didn’t attack—” As soon as his face hardened, I switched gears. “Sorry, but—”
“Everyone’s always sorry. Cheap word.” He shook his head. “Hey, that might make a good lyric.” He tapped his fingers on his leg and sang to a hip-hop beat, “Everyone’s sorry. Cheap words. Cheaper hearts.” He eyed me. “Less bebop, right? Maybe more rhythm and blues. You got a pen on you?”
Was he serious? “Uh, you have a pencil behind your ear.”
His eyes flashed surprised as he reached for it and patted his short pockets. “Man, no paper. Make sure you remember that line—it’s a good one. Cheap words. Cheaper hearts,” he repeated. Chiquita let out a noise that sounded like something between a purr and a soft grunt. I guess she liked his word choices.
I shifted my feet. “Right, so back to why I’m here…”
“Maybe you shoulda listened to me back at the playa. Coulda avoided all this wasted time. But no, you thought you had all the answers, and now there are consequences to your inaction.” He opened both palms and blew his breath across them. Instantly, a wall of purple flames rose into the air, engulfing both of us.
The next thing I knew, we were standing in a large candlelit room with barreled stone ceilings and a concrete floor. There were rows and rows of record albums on a tall rickety bookshelf to my left, and to my right was a glass case filled with all types of guitars in every color and sheen. Some even had signatures on them. A stick of incense that smelled like desert rain burned on a glass table nearby. Beyond that were two worn barstools with a couple of acoustic guitars leaning against each.
Antonio followed my gaze back to the case. “Those fine pieces of musical art were touched by the greatest hands in history,” he said. “Hendrix, Cobain, Richards, Clapton, Santana.” Hondo would have flipped if he could have seen all those guitars.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“This is my jam pad.”
A tall, skinny dude with long blond hair and too many nose piercings to count poked his head through a door and said, “Dude, come on. We ain’t got all day.”
“Actually, we do. I’ll be right there,” Antonio said.
The guy glanced at me before looking at Antonio and rolling his eyes in a slow sweep. “If I lose the rhythm because of you…”
“No one’s losing rhythm,” said the Fire Keeper. “H
ave a cerveza while you wait.”
With a huff, the guy slammed the door.
“Who’s that?”
“A new guy in our band. He’s a little skittish. What do you expect? He’s a drummer,” he said. “He doesn’t like to take breaks and for sure doesn’t like anyone new at a jam. Thinks it’s bad luck.”
“Oh, so, like, do you live here?” I thought a little bit of small talk might warm the guy up.
“Nah…I just feed the eternal flame here.”
I studied the place more closely, looking for fire somewhere. Scraps of paper and cigarette butts littered the floor. Tall iron candelabras filled with half-melted candles lit the space. But other than that, I saw nada. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“So where is this eternal flame?” I asked, trying to ease into it.
He laughed and patted his chest. “In here.”
I must have given him an are-you-kidding-me? look, because he added, “You think the great fire keepers would let such an important flame burn in the open?”
Okay, well, I’d for sure heard crazier things. Couldn’t think of any in that exact moment, but I had a lot on my mind, like an exact address of the godborns and how to save my dad. It was time to get down to business.
“I need your help.”
“No kidding.”
I explained that the godborns had been taken and the great Hurakan needed rescuing. “I thought that you could tell me where the godborns are and how to stop Hurakan’s execution.”
Antonio swept a loc out of his face, unfazed. “Do I look like your personal nine-one-one?”
Was this guy for real? “My dad mentioned…”
He gave me a sly grin like he knew exactly what Hurakan had said: run. “Yeah, well, your old man is decomposing at the bottom of a nasty prison, and the universe is changing. If you’d come a few days ago, no problem. For a high price, maybe I could have changed some things. But now? You’ll be lucky if I can locate these godborns.”
“What do you mean ‘the universe is changing’? Does this have to do with the sobrenaturals’ powers getting weaker?”
The Fire Keeper Page 22
