She grabbed a bagel and some coffee, and then headed to the study. Renato smoked his pipe, as he usually did, sending clouds of smoke billowing into the air.
She bit a chunk from the bagel. “That’ll kill you, ya know.”
He smirked. “I have been smoking a pipe for a thousand years. I believe I’m past the point of concern.”
She chuckled as she leaned over his desk and peered at dozens of math problems scribbled on a sheet of paper. “What are you doing?”
“Arwan and I did several practice sessions this morning. It only took a few before I was able to calculate an estimated travel time.” He offered her the mathematical Rubix Cube.
“Uh-uh. You’ll have to explain this to me. I was never very good at math.”
“From what I understand, Arwan is extremely vigilant. I estimate it would take a total of seventeen minutes to bend time back by seventeen years. One minute per year, which is extraordinary.”
“But, when we were in the bend, we couldn’t breathe. We can’t last seventeen minutes with no air.”
“No, we cannot.” Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his chin. “Perhaps we should be asking how we can breathe while in the bend.”
“It was like a truck was parked on my chest. Even if we found some kind of oxygen mask, how would we get one with a tank that could withstand the pressure?”
“It is possible we could use deep-sea diving tanks. They are designed to withstand tremendous amounts of pressure.”
“And what if they don’t work right? What if the tubes burst or something comes loose? Besides, oxygen is really flammable. What if one of the tanks was cracked or leaked? It could explode and kill us all.”
Renato sat in silence, his chair creaking as he rocked back and forth. “Very good points.” He rubbed his chin. “What if we can find a way that is not normal? A truly abnormal means, indeed.”
He picked up the phone and dialed a number. It took only a moment before he began conversing in a strange language. Minutes later, he hung up the phone and stood.
Zanya gestured to the phone. “What language were you just speaking?”
“Yucatec is a Mayan dialect.”
“I didn’t know you spoke Mayan.”
“It’s actually my first language. It was only later I learned Spanish, and then English.”
“Wow, you’re trilingual?” She was lucky to slide by with a passing grade in French class in the orphanage.
“I’m what they would call a polyglot. I speak Yucatec, Spanish, English, and then German, Arabic, and a bit of Mandarin.”
Zanya sighed. “Of course you do.”
“When you’ve been alive as long as I have, you either spend quite a bit of time being bored, or you learn something. I chose the latter.”
“How many Mayan languages are there?”
“It’s not a question of how many languages. It’s a question of dialects. Over the years, there have been numerous variations formed throughout Central America. I believe now there are over forty different accents, although Yucatec is most commonly spoken, and the dialect I suggest you learn. It should only take you a few years, with some practice.”
Just the thought of studying another language made her head spin. “Yeah, maybe,” she lied. Time to change the subject before he handed her another stack of books. “What was that phone call about?”
“That was a friend of mine. He’s a collector of rare and endangered artifacts.”
“What, like an archeologist?”
“No. More like a mad scientist of sorts.”
Zanya’s eyebrows shot up. “So you’re asking Victor Frankenstein for help now?”
Renato laughed. “A Frankenstein fan, are we?”
“Not me. Tara.” Zanya grinned, recalling Halloween movie night at the orphanage. Frankenstein was always Tara’s favorite, even though she’d seen it a dozen times.
Zanya’s attention was pulled back to Renato while he gathered papers from his desk. He turned to her and rested his hand on her shoulder. “I suggest you go ready yourself. Thursday will be a big day for you.”
“Thursday?” She shifted her weight. “What’s Thursday?”
“Thursday, we travel to see your mother.”
His hand slipped from her shoulder, and Zanya stared after him as he left the study. She’d always pictured reuniting with her mom. The magical moment in which her mother would hug her and confess how she’d tirelessly searched for her all these years. Zanya always imagined she would be happy. Overjoyed, even. But instead, she found herself with a knot in her gut.
“Okay then.” She smoothed down her shirt. “In three days, I’ll meet my mother.”
***
Zanya spent the next few days reviewing the books and spending more time than she cared to admit swallowing down the metallic taste from rattled nerves.
As promised, she sat in her room, studying the books Renato had given her. She yawned and picked one up titled: ‘Abilities’.
That was it.
Just a single word to mark a book that must have been a thousand pages long.
The thick, leather cover was tied closed with twine. She carefully undid the knot and opened the cover.
Pg. 1: Healing
Pg. 266: Transformation
Pg. 592: Sprinting
Pg. 783: Strength
Pg. 991: Currents
Peter was a healer, and Hawa a sprinter. Renato had strength, which apparently she’d have too. But she’d never heard of transformation or currents.
She flipped to page two hundred twenty-six, where the bold lettering marked the chapter.
There was a sketch of a woman on the right, and to the left stood a sketch of an elderly man. Her eyes narrowed as she read the text scribbled beneath it.
Transformation is an ability of moderate talent. One must have focus to master this ability.
“Focus,” Zanya said to herself. “I could do that.”
Step one. Clear your mind. Find your center and breathe deep. Be aware of your entire body. The tips of your fingers, your limbs, your heartbeat. Do not allow any distractions to divide your focus. The Riyata must be completely neutral in both emotion and mind to accomplish this ability.
Zanya stood from her bed and propped the book on a pillow to face her. “Okay.” She drew in a deep breath, shaking out her hands. “Deep breaths. Tranquility.”
Step two. Picture your body changing. Do not just believe it can happen, but actively play the process through your mind, as if it is happening at that very moment. If the target has long hair, the Riyata must imagine their hair growing. If the target has colored skin, the Riyata must picture the color of their skin changing. It is vital to allow the process to take place in order to transform successfully.
Step three. Transform. Voice, appearance and even clothing can be changed in this process. Once the transformation is complete, the form may be held until the Riyata wills themselves to change back. To transform back, the Riyata must repeat the above steps in order to return to their natural form.
“Um…okay.” She stretched her neck side to side. The book said this ability was of moderate difficulty. If she could throw up a force field, maybe she could do this, too. But who did she want to change into? Someone she was familiar with. Someone she could hold a mental image of without any doubt of their appearance.
“Tara it is.” She drew in another deep breath and relaxed her muscles. Using yoga breaths she learned in group therapy at the orphanage, she centered herself in the quiet room. Her eyes were closed. Her breaths rhythmic. Her heart drummed in her ears and her limbs fell limp. She cleared her mind and focused only on Tara.
Tara had freckles. Lots of them.
The skin on Zanya’s cheeks burned as if she had stood in the sun for too long.
And red, curly hair that ended just past her shoulders.
Her scalp tingled and pinched.
How was she supposed to stay focused when everything she changed, hurt?
She swallowed; her concentrati
on was slipping. She pulled in another breath and exhaled slowly through her mouth, centering herself.
Her voice was—
There was a knock at her door.
Zanya gasped and her eyes flew open. “What!” she shouted in her own voice. Apparently that part hadn’t taken.
There was a long pause. “It’s me, Peter.”
What the hell was Peter doing at her bedroom door at—she checked the clock hung on her wall—eleven at night. “Um…” Zanya turned and looked in the mirror. Her eyes widened and she stumbled back, tumbling over her bed and onto the floor. She knocked her elbow on the nightstand and groaned. “Damn it.”
“Are you okay?” He asked through the door.
Zanya buried her fingers in red, curly hair. “No. Definitely not okay.”
The knob rattled. “You sound like you need help.”
“No. No you can’t come in!” She jumped to her feet and threw herself at the vanity. Freckles dotted her own olive completion. She crinkled her nose. The red hair looked like a bad wig.
“I just came to check up on you. Renato’s been worried about you.”
Zanya spun to face the door. She couldn’t let Peter see her like this. She smoothed down the coarse curls. “I can’t talk right now. Maybe later. Tell Renato I’m fine.”
There was a streak of silence. “Are you?” His tone had taken a softer edge.
Zanya shifted her weight. Shooting him down might make Peter think she was hiding something. He didn’t need any more stress than he already had. “Just, hang on.” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Clear your mind,” she whispered. Her limbs grew heavy. Her breaths softened. With a mental image of herself to focus on, her scalp and cheeks pinched and tingled.
She opened her eyes and looked in the mirror, and released a long exhale. She ran her fingers through strands of brown, wavy hair and over her cheeks, now freckle-free.
Note to self. Moderate meant hard.
She could only imagine how difficult the advanced abilities would be.
Zanya walked to her door and pulled it open. She stuck her head out into the empty hall. “Peter?” When there was no response, she leaned against the doorframe. Too bad. He sounded like he needed to talk.
She shut the door and walked back to her bed. She scooped up the book and snapped it shut, tying it closed with the twine. Maybe she needed to be bonded with the stone to do these things. Maybe Sarian was right. Without her stone, she was worthless.
Zanya collapsed into bed, staring up at the ceiling, where she drifted off to sleep.
The next morning was welcomed with rays of crisp sun shining through her window and a knock on her door. She sat up in bed. “Come in.”
Hawa swung it open. “It’s time. Get up and get ready.” She was dressed like an assassin, with knee-high leather boots and several weapons strapped to her belt.
Zanya crawled out of bed. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“We’re going to get the stone, remember?” She planted her hand on her hip. “Or has all of this escaped you?”
Zanya stood, covering her mouth through a yawn. “No, of course not. But...” The row of daggers gleamed in the light. She raised her brow. “I don’t have any weapons. Do I need any?”
Hawa grabbed the door handle. “Zanya, you are a weapon. Now get out of bed before the boys come up to find you like this. It’ll be my ass Renato chews on if you’re not ready in time.”
After cleaning up and getting dressed, Zanya made her way outside onto the beach. She didn’t have a huge wardrobe of clothes to choose from, but what she did have fitted her fine. Because there was no way of telling what exactly they’d encounter, she chose a pair of yoga pants and a tank top with cardigan to layer over.
Once she got outside, everyone in the group looked just as dangerous as Hawa.
Jayden came out the back door and jogged across the beach. A bow in his hand and a quiver of arrows bunched in a holster on his back.
Since when did he become an archer?
Marzena glided out and settled beside Renato.
Peter and Arwan were both dressed in cotton clothes with leather patches on their elbows and knees, weapons strapped to their own holsters.
“Marzena will link my mind with Arwan’s,” Renato said. “In order to take us to Ellie, he has to see our last link in time.”
Jayden handed Renato something that resembled a high-tech toolbox.
“What is that?”
“These are our oxygen masks.” Renato set the box on a weathered table and opened it to reveal a pile of slimy, twisting creatures flailing their slippery bodies toward the sun.
Zanya jumped back, clutching her stomach. “Those are our masks? What are they?”
He removed one from the box. Its wide, flat body covered his entire hand. Renato held it at arm’s length as the worm reached for his face. “These are the first ancestors of the modern-day fluke worm. They have been kept alive in a lab that belongs to a very close friend of mine, who enjoys collecting…unique antiquities. They are very resilient, surviving for thousands of years in the harshest conditions and most inhospitable climates.”
“And what exactly are we going to do with them?”
Renato braced his hand on Hawa’s shoulder. It was clear from her curled lip she wasn’t happy to have the creature near her, but that didn’t stop her from backing away. She nodded.
Zanya watched what seemed like a horror movie as Renato lifted the parasite to her face. The worm elevated the top half of its body, and then launched toward her. It expanded to a thick, flat mask, sticking to Hawa’s nose and mouth. Hawa gasped and choked as the worm latched on.
Zanya screamed and stumbled back. Hawa righted herself just as the parasite attached a set of suction cups to her face. Its flat body rose up and down, and after a moment of concentration, Hawa’s chest pumped in unison, both her and the creature breathing in a rhythmic pattern.
The parasite formed an armored, glossy mask, muscles rippling and contracting over her mouth and nose.
“The parasite does not drink blood.” Renato reached for another worm. “Nor does it eat from flesh. Instead, it needs what we produce; carbon dioxide. Much like a plant, it absorbs gasses and produces oxygen, but at a much faster rate. As it recycles the carbon dioxide we exhale, it filters it and passes oxygen back into our lungs via an organ it extends into the nasal cavity. The parasite was usually found on cattle and livestock, but was soon discovered to have other useful qualities, such as allowing humans to breathe in unstable conditions.”
He really expected her to put that thing on her face. She shook her head. “No. No way am I letting that thing near me.”
Jayden stepped forward. “If you don’t do this, you won’t be able to go with us, and we’ll have to try to get the stone without you.”
“Ellie may not believe us, and she won’t let the stone go without a fight,” Renato said. “We could all die trying.”
Zanya swayed, pushing down the urge to gag.
“I don’t like it either,” Jayden said. “But it’s the only way we can survive the trip.”
Bile rose in her throat. The bitter, acidic liquid coated the back of her tongue.
“Zanya.” Arwan’s smooth voice was like a breath of fresh air. “It’s the only way.”
She swallowed and looked at Arwan. “Will you hold my hand? It’s just that…these things really freak me out.”
Arwan followed her to Renato, who held the parasite away from his own face. Arwan took her hand. “Try not to panic I know it’ll be hard, but try.”
Without warning, it hit Zanya's face. She gasped. Bad idea. Cold and wet, a thick muscle of slithering slime flooded her mouth. The worm spread over Zanya's nose, cutting off her air. She tried to inhale, but found nothing but mucus to fill her lungs. The creature extended a lubricated tube into her nose, to the back of her throat.
Arwan held her hands tight as she struggled to break free. The parasite created an airtight seal. It
s body flattened as small suction cups gripped onto her skin.
Her lungs burned and ached for air.
She started to panic.
Trying to shake Arwan’s hands loose from hers, she shouted, her voice muffled under the parasite’s body. Her head spinning, she made one last effort, and pushed every ounce of breath from her lungs. Just before Zanya thought she was going to pass out, the parasite’s body expanded, filling her lungs with a gust of fresh, crisp air.
Her eyes wide with terror, Zanya drew in a deep breath.
“Breathe slowly.” Arwan let go of her hands.
She sucked in several deep breaths before she realized it was actually working.
Renato continued on to the others. Zanya cringed and decided not to watch while the other “masks” were applied.
“When we emerge from the time bend, you can remove the parasites.” Renato said loudly to the group. “I’ll take their transporting tank with us. When you want to remove them, simply hold your breath. They will assume you are dead and will quickly fall away in search for another host.”
Peter helped Renato apply his parasite, and they huddled together in a tight circle. Renato rested his hand firmly on Arwan’s shoulder, and then nodded to Marzena, who stood several yards away on the sand. She closed her eyes. Renato flinched, as did Arwan—a reaction to their minds being invaded.
Arwan’s muscles flexed as he stretched the bend around them until it completely encompassed the group. Heavy matter filled the space, pressing on Zanya's skin and clothes, making it difficult to move. The parasites squirmed, probably equally uncomfortable under the pressure.
Arwan’s face paled. The tendons in his hands were visibly strained to keep the ripples intact.
It seemed like forever in the bend. A long, stretched moment of purgatory, not in the past, present or future. They were nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
Finally, the ripples began to fade. Zanya sighed with relief as the pressure lifted from her chest, and the bend vanished.
Arwan swayed, then stumbled in the sand, sweat trickling down his forehead.
Mayan Blood Page 15
