“Riyata generally stop aging between sixteen and forty years old, unless you are a dreamwalker.” He gestured to Marzena. “We may stop aging, but that does not mean we cannot die. Countless have fallen while protecting the stone. Life can be prolonged, but it can never be ensured.”
Renato extended a book. Zanya slinked back. Maybe he didn’t mean any harm, or maybe he did. She still couldn’t tell. Either way, old habits die hard. She examined it for a moment before taking it from his grasp.
On the aged paper was a drawing of a woman who stood with her arms outstretched and her face tilted toward the sky. An illuminated orb of light glowed from under her skin. Threads of recollection tugged at her. She pushed them away, refusing to fall into his black hole of madness.
Tara tilted the book toward her for a better view. “Wow.”
It was time to put an end to this. “If I am who you say I am, why haven’t I ever felt different? I mean, consider the facts.” Renato listened, puffing his pipe with no particular expression. In fact, he seemed completely convinced of his own story. Convinced this fantasy world he lived in was real. “You know, facts? They’re those little tidbits of information that make things real. Scientific documentation, studies, and observations of things you can see, taste, touch, and smell.”
“Such as the wound on your wrist being miraculously healed by the touch of a healer’s hand.”
She ran her fingers across the area where it had been, the skin supple and flawless. Her stomach fluttered and tightened. She still hadn’t figured out how she healed so quickly, but there had to be an explanation.
“Zanya, I know this is difficult to understand,” Renato continued. “But please trust me. We have been searching for you for a very long time. Searching for the Stone Guardian who would save us from the dark powers of the underworld. With our people so scarce, in hiding, and afraid to expose their abilities, we are very limited on resources. You are truly our only hope.”
“How are you sure? There’s never been so much as a hint that I was anything more than just a girl. Super strength, healing, and whatever the hell she does.” She gestured to Hawa. “How can I be capable of any of that?” She held up the book. “I’m sorry, but I’m not the one you’re looking for.” She searched Renato’s face for an expression other than certainty, but found none.
“You are the Stone Guardian. The responsibility was handed down to you by your mother, as it was handed down to her.”
Zanya widened her eyes, and a wave of heat rushed over her skin. She gripped Tara’s hand. “Wait…” She swallowed against a dry throat. “You…you know my mother?”
“I knew her, yes.” Renato stood and walked to his desk, where he picked up a picture frame that faced away from the sitting area. He stared into the photo, lost in thought. “She and I were very close.” He ran his fingers over the black velvet backing. “Her name was Eleuia. I called her Ellie. She was an honorable woman who loved your father. She loved you too, very much, Zanya.” He crossed the room and handed her the frame.
Zanya snatched it and peered at the black-and-white photo of a beautiful woman with long dark hair and light eyes. She stood on a stone path wearing a summer dress, her hands gently resting on her pregnant belly.
“Is this really her?” Suddenly, she desperately wanted it to be true. She wanted to believe the woman in the photo was the person she had longed to know all her life.
“Yes, that is the last photo I took of her before—”
Zanya raised her gaze to Renato, and then Marzena. The girl tilted her head and spoke, though no words passed through her lips. Instead, her voice echoed in Zanya's mind. Zanya dropped the frame into her lap and clasped her hands over her ears, clinching her eyes shut. “You are capable of doing this, Zanya. We cannot succeed without you.” When Marzena’s voice faded into the recesses of her mind, Zanya forced her eyes open.
“I hope you will consider staying,” Renato added. “I know I am asking you to trust a group of complete strangers, but I assure you that you and Tara are safe here. You will come to understand the importance of the stone and your responsibility toward it.”
Zanya's focus never wavered from Marzena’s angelic face. The silence was taunting, something she should be used to after spending endless nights listening to only her heartbeat, lying alone in her orphanage bed.
Zanya pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face between the humps of her knees. No amount of music could settle the unraveling of her mind.
The Man who haunted her had always been a mere figment of her imagination. He had always been in her head—a twisted reminder of her supposed mental instability.
The wounds acquired in her lucid dreams were painful reminders that The Man was waiting for her. He lurked in the empty space of her subconscious, looming in the shadows, disguised as insanity.
He’d lived there his entire life.
Believing these people’s impossible stories would mean the monster with dark hair, empty eyes, and an inauspicious grin, was real. That she was never crazy, and all of the medications and nights spent in hospitals were a lost cause. Worse, it meant the one who cloaked his desire with torture, his motives with greed, and his power with the service of horrifying creatures, was coming for her.
If she believed them, it would mean there was no limit. The door between dream and reality would be flung open. Anything could cross between them.
And there was no doubt it would.
Her friend’s gentle touch reminded Zanya to breathe. Tara rested her head on Zanya's shoulder, spilling curls over her chest. “Even if it’s all a lie,” Tara whispered, “it’s a beautiful lie.”
Zanya searched her memory, riddled with images of the stone. “W-what does the stone look like?”
Renato stood, grabbed another book from a shelf, and handed it to her. She opened it and scanned the pages until she came found a drawing of the stone, roughly the size of a mango. Light shined from its core, illuminating its walls.
Zanya's lips parted. “I’ve seen this before.” She glanced around the room. “I, uh, I have nightmares. I’ve seen the stone in my dreams.”
“I have no doubt your true abilities have made themselves known to you, even if only in your subconscious. There are still many things you do not know. Please understand that I would not have brought you here if I was not one hundred percent sure of your identity.”
Zanya picked up the photo in the silver frame.
“You look exactly like her.” The tender edge to his voice caught her off guard.
“You have to at least try,” Hawa said. “What do you have to lose? No one will miss you at your school, and your friend is here with you. If you don’t try, you’ll grow up wondering what you could have been other than some pathetic orphan.”
Zanya sucked in a breath.
“Hawa,” Peter scolded. “How can you say something like that? What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know, Peter. But I bet you have a long list written up to share with everyone. Why don’t you start with—” As if she had suddenly become aware she had an audience, Hawa crossed her arms over her chest and sat back in silence.
Zanya turned to Tara. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”
Tara shrugged. “I’ll go wherever you go, but…” Tara’s eye swelled with more tears. “I can’t go back.”
The sadness in Tara’s voice tore at her. Every day they woke in the community sleeping room, a tiny piece of her best friend died. Tara wanted the life that had always been just out of her reach. She didn’t want to go back to the probing and monthly strip searches for hidden wounds they both endured. Tara couldn’t return, and Zanya wasn’t going to make her.
She stood and offered the book back to Renato. “For the record, I don’t trust you.”
“You will learn to, in time.”
“And we don’t owe you anything.”
“Understood.”
Zanya shifted her weight. “And I’m not agreeing to this beca
use I need you, got it? Because I don’t. We don’t.”
A smile curled the edges of Renato’s lips. “Are you agreeing to stay?”
She tightened her jaw, holding Renato’s gaze. “Under one condition. You have to tell me everything you know about my mother.”
His smile widened. “Of course.”
“So, are you going to tell her the rest?” Hawa arched a brow.
Zanya's shifted back. “Tell me what? There’s more?”
Renato put out his pipe and set it down on his desk behind him. “We can start with the day your parents told me they were expecting. Ellie couldn’t stop giggling, and your father was beaming with pride.” Zanya's jaw dropped open. “I, of course, was equally thrilled I would soon have a niece.”
Zanya’s fingers went numb and her breath stalled. Renato stood, grinning like a madman. He burst into laughter and threw his arms around her. “I’m sorry, Zanya. I desperately wanted to tell you earlier. This house is the house your mother lived in many years ago. You are staying in your parents’ bedroom.” He braced his hands on Zanya's shoulders, his arms outstretched. He admired her as if in that very moment he were seeing her for the first time. “Ellie would be happy to know you’re back home.”
Zanya’s throat tightened and she peered at Hawa. “If he’s my uncle, does that mean…”
Hawa smirked. “You’re not that lucky. I’m not your sister. I’m your cousin.”
“Good God,” Zanya whispered. “How much family do I have?”
His expression became solemn. “We are the only ones left.” The warmth slowly drained from his eyes, and was replaced with what she could only identify as pride. “Everyone here has come from different places for various reasons, all for a mutual goal. Those of us standing here are the few who are brave enough to fight for what is rightfully ours.”
“So…what now?” Tara asked.
Renato handed Zanya a small stack of books. “Here is some literature for you to read. Please don’t skip any of them, as all of them hold pertinent information that will be useful to you.”
“And will these books tell me how to, you know, do whatever I’m supposed to do?”
“You need to protect the stone, but first, we must locate it so there can be a bond. You cannot do that alone. Not yet. I’ve called in reinforcements to help.”
“Really?” She gripped the books tighter against her chest. “Who?”
After a slight shake of Hawa’s head, Renato sighed. “This cause is of the utmost importance. Sometimes we must do things in order to ensure that our plans move ahead without delay or errors. The person who is coming to help—please, just promise you will try to be patient.”
“What?” She glanced between Hawa and Renato. “You won’t tell me who it is?”
Marzena’s voice echoed in her mind. “One step at a time, Zanya. You have been through quite a lot today. Take some time to explore.”
Renato nodded. “Yes. I believe some rest and relaxation would be good for you before things get…eventful.”
Hawa stood and strutted past her, pausing just long enough to let out a fleeting comment. “Better get ready. I hear he’s excited to see you.”
Chapter Five
Arwan
Arwan walked through the open entryway of the front of the house. “Hola.” He closed the door, listening for a response. “Renato, I’m home.”
“In here.” Peter’s voice came from the kitchen. Arwan walked through the hall, turned the corner, and stopped short. A fair-skinned girl with red hair sat at the kitchen bar, giggling as she picked at a burnt pancake.
She didn’t look anything like Renato, or Eleuia from what he’d seen of her in the photo on Renato’s desk. Perhaps her father had red hair. Arwan stepped forward and gave a formal bow while holding her gaze. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
The redhead’s expression wiped blank, and Peter chuckled. “Arwan, this is Tara. Zanya’s friend. Tara, meet Arwan. The local trainer and general badass of the town.”
Arwan stood, examining her. “You’re not the guardian.”
“Nope.” Her eyebrows bounced. “But I think she’ll be mighty happy to see you.” She winked.
Arwan shifted his weight. Was she hitting on him? Though she seemed nice enough, he wasn’t interested. He turned to Peter. “Where’s Renato? I need to speak with him.”
“He ran into town to grab some supplies, but he’ll be back soon.” Peter pushed a plated pancake across the counter. “Hungry?”
There was no time to eat. Not when the guardian was there, and he hadn’t laid eyes on her. “Did he take the guardian with him?”
“No. She’s on the beach. Renato said he wanted you to wait to talk to her.” He shrugged.
Arwan checked his watch. It was only nine-thirty. “Bien. Then we have time to train. Get geared up.” He had to see her, just for a second, to know she was really there.
Peter’s shoulders slouched forward. “But I haven’t eaten—”
“Then you should have woken up earlier.” He gestured to the veranda that lead to the beach. “Five minutes.” He looked at Tara. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah.” She swallowed a mouthful of pancake. “You too.”
He walked through the double doors, onto the veranda. The guardian was nowhere in sight. He yanked off his shoes and socks, then stripped off his shirt. The warm breeze wove through the tall, alabaster pillars. He jumped the railing and landed in the hot sand.
Arwan drew in a deep breath, balling his hands into fists.
“Ready.” Peter followed him over the railing.
“That’s what you said last week.” Arwan pulled the drawstring to his sweatpants tight. “Have you been practicing while I was gone?”
Peter stretched one leg out in front of him, then the other. “On and off. I’ve been kind of busy—”
Arwan threw a low kick and swept him off his feet. Peter hit the sand—hard—and sucked in a labored breath. He coughed and rolled to his side.
“I thought you said you’re ready.”
Peter nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “You caught me off guard.”
“Do you think your enemy is going to give you a heads up every time he attacks?”
“No.” Peter swept grains of sand off his shorts. “I guess—”
Arwan threw a left hook. It landed on Peter’s chest, throwing him back. Peter narrowed his eyes. “Come on, man.”
“Your lack of preparation is disappointing. You said you would train every day while I was gone.” He readied into a fighting stance. “Every. Day.”
Peter shifted his foot back and lifted his fists. “Things got crazy while you were out.” He tightened his fists. “Warm up?”
Arwan grinned “Warm up.”
Peter sprinted down the beach. Arwan chased, staying on Peter’s heels as they raced over grains of sand. “Faster.”
Peter puffed out his chest and picked up the pace. Good, but not good enough. Arwan leaped ahead and threw a roundhouse kick at his head. Peter skidded to a stop and arched his back, barely dodging the attack before he rolled forward and landed on his feet. Peter struck a few punches, all of them too slow and not strong enough.
“You’re not focused.” Arwan tested his theory with a solid punch to Peter’s jaw, followed by a front kick to his chest.
Peter landed in the sand and spit out a mouthful blood. “Just because I can heal fast doesn’t mean I enjoy getting my ass kicked.”
“Then stand up and show me what you got.” Arwan extended his hand. Peter took it, and Arwan pulled him to his feet. The blemished skin on Peter’s face had already begun to heal.
Peter punched Arwan in the gut. Arwan let out a muffled grunt and raised his brow. “Not bad.” He slashed Peter in the face with an elbow strike, cutting deep into his cheek. The clash of bone on bone vibrated up Arwan’s arm. Peter doubled over and cradled his face, mumbling a string of curse words as blood seeped through is fingers. A moment later the wound had healed, and Peter fis
ted his hands even tighter.
“Healing is your one advantage. But you can still be killed. Never forget that.”
A flash of blue caught Arwan’s eye. He peered over Peter’s shoulder.
Peter glanced back, and returned his gaze to Arwan. “Before you go doing something crazy—”
Arwan stepped around him and to get a better look at the guardian. Long, brown hair brushed over her narrow shudders, with olive skin. Every muscle in his body tensed. There was an aura about her—the way the sun reflected off of her petite silhouette.
“Hey.” Peter stepped in his line of sight. “Renato said to wait.”
Arwan clenched his jaw. “Did he say why, exactly?”
“I don’t know. Ask him.” Peter gestured to the house. “He just got home.”
Arwan turned to see Renato’s SUV pull into the covered garage. “lo haré.” He walked toward the house.
“Um…” Peter jogged to catch up with him. “Are we done with training?”
“No. Meet me at the cliffs in one hour. I have to talk to Renato.”
Peter slowed his pace. “I guess I’ll just…hang out.” He huffed.
Arwan reached the veranda and hopped back over the railing. He grabbed his shirt and slipped it on, then continued inside. “Renato.”
“Sí. In the welcoming room.” Arwan followed his mentor’s voice through a pair of open double doors, into a small room with a bay window. He shook Renato’s hand firmly.
“It’s nice to have you back,” Renato said. “I hope your trip went well.”
“I’m sorry if I was gone too long. I hope you didn’t need me.” Arwan withdrew his hand, glad to see Renato smoking the familiar bone pipe—the same pipe Renato had smoked since Arwan was a boy. Renato was most likely worrying about him, as he often did. Even at Arwan’s lowest times, Renato was always there.
Renato slid his hand down the lapel of his gentleman’s vest and braced his pipe in his mouth with the other. “We can survive without you for a short while. Besides, what you were doing was equally as important.” Sadness flooded his gaze. “I hope you gave your mother my regards.”
Mayan Blood Page 5
