“That wasn’t a peacock, it was a quetzal.”
“A quetzal?”
“It’s a sacred bird to the Maya. It symbolizes freedom because it’s one of the few birds that will die in captivity. You have heard of Quetzalcoatl, yes?”
“Yeah, he’s the guy they call the Feathered Serpent, right? It’s even mentioned in the poem on the wall of the castle: ‘The butterfly will emerge in three different ways, At the source, at your core, and by way of the days, Called feathered serpent when spoken of in code, Connected to all by the great white road.’”
“So the Feathered Serpent is a butterfly!” Justine says.
“Precisely. The Butterfly, or Feathered Serpent, is a symbol of transformation.”
“And if the poem is right, this happens at the source, the Galactic Center. Your core, or your own DNA, and the days—what’s that, like the transformation of time?”
“A new reckoning of time,” Bolon says.
“What’s the great white road?” Justine asks.
“The Milky Way,” Bolon and I say at the exact same time.
“Jinx!” I say.
Justine hits me on the shoulder. “Don’t say jinx in a place like this—are you crazy?”
“Oops, sorry … ”
“The serpent has always been a symbol of DNA, of your inner coil. The fact that it is given wings is symbolic of the freedom, the switching on, of new DNA. We must let it fly, give it no limits, not hold it in captivity. That is what we mean by the return of the Feathered Serpent.”
Bolon reaches into the gold box and pulls out something bundled in leather. Closing the lid, he places the bundle on top of the box and gently unties the leather cord.
Inside are two thin books covered in the most beautiful iridescent violet covers I have ever seen. Could these be the books the Fraternitas is willing to kill for?
TWENTY-NINE
So these are them?” I ask, not really believing I’m seeing what I’m seeing. “The Sanskrit books?”
“They are,” Bolon says. “There are many decoys out there, but this is the last real set in existence.”
“What is this made of?” Justine asks as we both reach out to touch one of the hypnotic covers.
“It’s a unique combination of tree fiber and mica. Wood and mineral.”
“And I have to give these to Barend Schlacter to get Uncle Li back?”
“No!” Bolon says. I’ve never heard him so emphatic. “No. I will deliver decoys to Barend; he will not know the difference until he takes them to be translated.”
“What’s in these real ones?” Justine asks.
“This is a collection of information known through the ages, collected and guarded by a group called The Nine Unknown Men. If this information gets into the hands of the Fraternitas, we will never be free. It must stay protected at all costs.”
“Like what kind of information?” I ask.
“Information on technologies that make pure water cheap and plentiful, details of how a collective consciousness on the planet will work, instructions on healing with sound and light, a sort of ‘space travel’ based on non-locality, how to extract clean energy from dark matter using this knowledge of spin—or tori; the list goes on.”
“I don’t get why this information is hidden!” I say. “This could change everything.”
“Yes, it could. But this technology also has dangerous negative uses,” Bolon explains. “And the people in position to exploit it, the people with the money and power to do so, will be looking at how to use this information to control the masses, not free them.”
“Do the Fraternitas know any of this?” Justine asks.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he says. “But only tiny pieces discovered from combing ancient myths. The Fraternitas and other aggressive nations have bits of this information. If you look at the list of projects going on in Governmental Black Operations, all are related to information contained in these two books.”
“Well, then there’s only one thing to do,” I say.
Bolon looks confused. “What do you mean?”
“We have to publish this,” I say. “Worldwide.”
“But then the Fraternitas has access to it,” Bolon says.
“Yeah, but so will millions of other people who can actually use this information for good!”
Bolon looks at me as if he’s trying to figure out whether or not I’m joking.
“We’ll start distributing it through our underground network so that they get a head start. I can email it to every kid who has signed up for the calendar tones. We’re up to over a million names.”
Bolon looks like he’s just been tasered. “Are you serious?”
“About what?” I ask. “The number of kids we can contact or that I want to send this information out?”
“Both,” he says.
“Totally. I mean, I know this is above the heads of a lot of these kids, but some would absolutely know what to do with this information. We can publish it on the hidden website that you can’t get to unless you can hear the instructions in the super-high frequency, which means that only people twentyish and younger can hear it.”
“She’s right,” Justine says. “If the Fraternitas is not the only one with the information, then they can’t control it. I mean, if this was the sole reason the Internet was invented, it would be worth it!”
Bolon’s look softens. “You may have a point. We’ve just spent so many centuries guarding this information that it’s frightening to think about putting it out there.”
As he pulls at his chin, his eyebrows furrow. “I’d always thought of placing it directly in the hands of the few people who would do the most good.”
“Maybe we are the ones who can do the most good.”
Bolon smiles.
“At least that’s what you’ve been telling me this whole time,” I say. “That it’s kids who are going to lead this revolution.”
“You mean evolution,” he says.
“Right—kids will lead the evolution. But we have to get this information out there. Hiding it is just what the Fraternitas wants.”
“I suppose you have a point.”
“Seriously, this is information for the world, yeah?”
“It is. But the prophecy says that it cannot be used for good until a shift happens.”
“But what if releasing the information is part of the shift?”
He shrugs. “It’s an excellent point, Caity. Really. It’s just going to take a moment to get used to the idea.”
“Think about it—lots of people that signed up for the calendar tones have .edu addresses. If college students repost this to their college groups, imagine what could happen! Getting this kind of information into the hands of kids who are at big research schools can totally fuel new projects!”
Once he really absorbs what is happening, Bolon agrees. “Okay. But first you must translate, which means finding a scholar you trust implicitly.”
“Tenzo,” I say. “Tenzo can do it.”
“Alright then,” he says, tying the books back up in the piece of leather. He hands me the package. “I trust you will know when the time is right.”
When I take the books, all I think is, I should not be the one in charge of these.
Bolon looks me in the eyes and says, “Yes, you should.”
After closing the gold box, he blows out the candle that lit the room. “We must go,” he says, leading us back through the dark tunnel and up the tiny staircase. He doesn’t use a flashlight, so we don’t either. When your senses are on high alert, it’s amazing how much you can perceive without any light.
The smell of fresh night air mingling with the dense air of the tunnel as we near the exit makes me think of Uncle Li. Makes me wonder if he is in some dank cell somewhere, under the hold of Barend Schlacter.
“Do you think he’s okay?” I ask as we walk out into the open air.
“I am not sure,” Bolon says. “I will try my best to get him released. It breaks my
heart, but it is what we all knew might happen when we joined The Council.”
“Is it worth it?” Justine asks.
I was thinking the same thing, but was afraid to say it out loud.
“If you knew of all the atrocities indigenous people have suffered at the hands of the greedy, you would agree that the answer is yes,” Bolon says. “It is easy to sacrifice one’s self if it is for the benefit of millions of others.”
Justine doesn’t look at me but I know what she’s thinking.
Will we have to be sacrificed, too?
Bolon walks us through the jungle to where we can meet up with the road. Before he leaves, he holds onto my shoulders and looks me right in the eye. His dark skin glistens like a child’s in the night’s dim light, but his eyes seem old and tired.
“We are so proud of you, Caity. Stay on the white path and speak the truth. Release the Feathered Serpent.”
“When will I see you again?” I ask. “I don’t know where to go next.”
“It is time for a talk with your council. With the hundreds of thousands of young people who are ready to change the world.”
“Here? Here in Palenque? But I’m not sure I can get it together that quickly … ”
“You will,” he says in that way he has. “I will make sure the gate leading to the observation tower at the top of The Palace is left open. At sundown when they close the site, sneak up there and close the gate behind you. They will never look up there when they clear the grounds. You will get a good signal from there—a good signal in every way.”
I glance at Justine and she just shrugs, as if to say, Don’t look at me, I’m not the one telling you what to do.
We say goodbye to Bolon at the edge of the jungle. As we walk a few steps down the road I hear “In lak’ech,” but by the time I turn around he is no longer there.
“Dude,” Justine says as we walk back though the dark.
“I know,” I say, feeling the full weight of what’s in my backpack.
THIRTY
As we walk back to the hotel, we plan tomorrow’s talk, agreeing that the best way to do it would be a live streaming audio. That is, if I can get Alex to build me some kind of application that takes my voice and translates it to Mosquito Tone.
By the time we get back, it seems like even the jungle has quieted down. I can feel my mood lighten as my sense of safety increases on the paved lit paths through the hotel grounds. The lights in our cabana are off, but by the light of our porch I see someone sitting on the railing outside our door. I grab Justine’s arm and stop.
“What’s up?” she says, looking around for the reason I stopped.
“Don’t worry, amies,” comes a voice from the porch. “It is just me, Jules D’Aubigne.”
This does nothing to calm my nerves.
We walk up to our cabana and Jules extends his hand. “Mon plaisir,” he says as he shakes both of ours.
“Wow, what are you doing here?” I ask. This doesn’t come out very friendly, but I’m really confused. Plus I’m distracted by the way he smells. It’s not as strong as cologne, maybe a hair product or a face lotion or something. Whatever it is, it’s incredible.
“Same thing you are. I’m studying,” he says, hopping off the railing.
“Studying what?” Justine asks suspiciously.
“The Mayan calendar, of course,” he answers.
“Didn’t Didier say we weren’t supposed to study that?” I ask, sounding like a playground tattletale.
He waves the thought away. “For what my parents have given this school, I can study whatever I want,” he says. “Beside, who says he has to know?”
“Doesn’t your Pedagogue have to clear this stuff with the Research and Curriculum departments?” Justine asks.
Jules laughs. “What is it with you two? I don’t understand why you are so interested in my studies. Can’t we just have a nice chat?”
Justine uses her key to open the door, and Mr. Papers scurries in, unseen by Jules. “I can’t stay awake one more minute,” she says. “Caity, chat all you want.”
I look at his face carefully to see if there’s any trace of disappointment. I’m assuming it’s Justine that Jules wants to spend time with. Instead, he smiles and says, “Bonsoir.”
“Shall we sit?” he asks, gesturing to the two rocking chairs on our porch.
Out of sheer curiosity, I say, “Uh, sure.” Having seen a fist-sized spider on the porch earlier, I run my flashlight over every inch of the chair before I sit down.
“So what were you two girls doing out in the jungle at night?” he asks with a smile. Every time his rocker moves I get a whiff of his amazing scent. I’m sure I smell like BO and the salsa I splashed on my shirt at dinner. Lovely.
I hug my backpack, not wanting to have it out of sight or mind. “Just a little night walk around the grounds. Lots of amazing sounds in the jungle at night.”
“I’ve been waiting here for the better part of three hours,” he says. “You must have circled the grounds a hundred times.”
“How about you don’t worry about what we’re doing and we won’t worry about what you’re doing?” I’m getting a little irritated.
“Fair enough,” he says.
We make small talk for a while, in which I get to finally use all the facts I’d made up about my Luxton heritage. I must say, I’m pretty good at weaving that tale. I’m absolutely bone tired, but the fact that I’m sitting in the dark with Jules D’Aubigne keeps me wired.
After a while the sounds of the jungle shift noticeably. Not long after that, the light changes. I hate seeing sunrise when I haven’t slept; it’s incredibly depressing.
“It’s almost sunup,” I say. “I suppose we should get a little sleep before we start our day.”
He nods and stands up, then reaches down for my hand. In one fluid movement, he pulls me up and into him. Since I’m still hugging my backpack, it ends up between us, so he takes it and sets it on the chair.
I am not moving. I am not breathing. I am not thinking.
I am only there, being held closely by this tall handsome creature who smells like everything good in the world rolled into one single scent. He lifts my chin and then puts his lips on mine. My heart fires like a round of caps.
Oh, no.
When he steps back he says, “I’ve wanted to do that since I met you.” Then he leans down to pick up my backpack and hands it back to me.
“Uh, thanks,” I say. I hold it tight to my chest and watch him walk off into the dusty morning light.
I can’t possibly tell Justine about this. I can’t tell anyone. Maybe it was a dream. Or maybe if I think of it that way it will become one.
Too distracted and buzzed to sleep, I leave a message in the draft folder for Alex, telling him I’ve been instructed to do another talk. I ask if he can build some plug-in application for my microphone so that my voice is translated into Mosquito Tone and also ask him to post something on the hidden website about another gathering tonight at 8 p.m. Palenque time, along with corresponding time zone times.
I am fully aware that I am asking him to do all this stuff for me right after I have kissed another boy.
No, he kissed me.
It doesn’t make sense. Jules D’Aubigne could literally get any girl in the world. What would he want with me?
When I finally lay my head on the pillow I am out, and fast. When a knock on the door wakes me I’m disoriented, not sure where I am or how long I’ve slept. Justine sits up, looks at the clock, and then goes to the door. It’s Clath.
“Hello, girls,” she says, walking in. “Thought I’d let you know I’ll not be going to the ruins today. After yesterday’s standoff with the hormiga roja, I’ll be seeing a local doctor and keeping my legs sterile.”
I feel both terrible and relived. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’ll be fine. I just need to get a cortisone cream and make sure none of these look infected. Doesn’t hurt too bad, but it itches like the dickens.”
<
br /> “Sorry,” I say. “Anything we can do?”
“Just your schoolwork,” Clath says. “I thought the lid of Pacal’s tomb was mighty rife with symbolism from the Mayan creation myth. Maybe you could take a crack at finding some correlations.”
“Definitely,” Justine says. She can tell I’m biting my lip so I won’t laugh. “It’s definitely … uh … rife.”
“Let’s plan to be back at it tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred.”
When Clath leaves, we both start laughing. “Oh my God, do you think her head would explode if she knew what we did last night?” Justine asks.
“Totally. How perfectly is this all working out, with her staying here today?”
“Except for the surprise visit from Monsier D’Aubigne, it’s been smooth sailing,” she says.
“Oh, he’s harmless,” I say.
“Really?” she replies. Looking me dead in the eye, she asks, “You don’t think he has an ulterior motive for being here?”
“What do you mean?” I wonder for a moment if Justine is jealous that we stayed out there together and talked through the night.
“It just doesn’t add up, that’s all.”
“I know what you’re thinking—that there’s no way he would come here just because I’m here.”
“Caity, that’s not where I’m going with this.”
“Can we just stop talking about it?”
“Fine,” she says curtly, and rolls over to face the other way.
Getting up to shower, I feel the tension in the air. This is not resolved.
Justine sleeps, or at least pretends to, while I keep checking our website. Finally, I see the update announcing the talk tonight—meaning that Alex has read the draft email. I log in to the shared account to see if he’s written back.
Caity–I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, wondering where you are and what you are doing. I’m glad to hear you are well. Updates have been made to the website and I’ve created a little app that should translate your voice into Mosquito Tone in real-time. It’s in a zip folder attached to this mail.
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