Jade Moon (Celestial War Book 1) (13 page)

Home to Belize

I rode the bus to the airport and, half way there, realized I could probably afford to take a cab.

After I bought a ticket to Belize and cleared security, I retreated to the bathroom to think. Looking at my hands, I wondered if there really was dark Anima running through my veins. What if Selene was right and I somehow had moon blood? Did that mean I was somehow evil? Did I get a choice?

As I headed to my gate, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and marveled that they let me though security. The bruise along my cheek was starting to yellow giving me a sickly pallor. The non-yellowish-blue parts of my face looked dusky and dry, blue bags under my eyes aging me well beyond seventeen. Black curls looked like I’d stuck a finger in an electrical outlet, wild and untamed.

The only thing saving me from looking like a demented homeless person was my fancy new riding outfit.   

We boarded and I ended up stuck next to a newlywed couple on the way to their honeymoon. Their intense focus on each other, barely noticing the world around them, made me feel even more alone.

Head against the window, I stared out at the cheerful cotton-candy clouds below. I’d never really been on my own before. Life in San Pedro had been cloyingly close. A few families isolated from the world. Even when I’d gone out into the jungle on my own, I never felt alone, as though there was no one I could fall back on. No one to turn to if things went wrong.

Now, it was all down to me. If I failed no one would come along behind me and fix it.

I thought about Raf. The pain and sorrow on his face. How could Selene do that to her own son? Such cruelty was beyond my imagination. How horrible it must have been growing up in that household. I’d been unfair to Raf. He had stuck by me while crazy stuff was happening and I hadn’t been very understanding when he lost it.

When I got back, if I got back, I would make it up to him.

***

We disembarked down the rolling staircase directly onto the tarmac of the Belize airport. Heat washed over me in waves and sweat sprang from my flesh. I’d forgotten about the pervasive heat. How could I have forgotten so quickly?

I found the bus to San Ignacio and settled in. Like most public buses in Belize, it was an old yellow school bus. Men, women, babies, and a few small animals piled on in a chaotic swirl of humanity. Plastic bags filled to the brim teetered in stacks threatening to bury us all in the random stuff of everyday life.

The familiar rise and fall of people speaking Spanish and Mayan, the smooth lilting sound of Garifuna pidgin, comforted me. Even the staccato German from the Mennonite teenagers in the back made me feel at home. A piebald chicken flapped it’s wings in fear and a little girl soothed it by singing a traditional Maya song.

I thought about the first time we came to San Pedro when I was just a little girl. Rainy season was just ending. At that time of year, butterflies emerge from rotting tree hollows and deep muddy crevices. The ancient Maya believed butterflies were tiny gods of rebirth. There were so many that they created whirlwinds gathering around beams of sunlight deep in the jungle. That first summer, I would seek them out and stand at the center of the swirling rainbow while they gave me thousands of soft winged kisses.

By the time I stepped off the bus in San Ignacio, I felt embraced by the comforts of home, and yet unable to become part of it. Just a few months away and my home was no longer mine.

As the closest city to San Pedro, I had spent many afternoons in San Ignacio, an urban center in the middle of nowhere. Built on a massive hill rising above the convergence of the Mopan and Macal rivers, San Ignacio feels somehow both run down and vibrant.

With a heavy heart, I stopped at a local shop to buy a few supplies. A simple cloth bag filled with a two bottles of water, a box of cheap granola bars, a bandana, and a flashlight with extra batteries. I tossed a machete and hand sewn leather sheath on the pile. There are some basic rules of jungle survival, the most important being that you never go anywhere without a machete, water, and a source of light.

Checking the glass case at the front of the store, I drooled over the pocket knives — something I had always longed to own but we’d never had enough money. With a strange sense of pride, I asked for the most expensive knife. My total was a whooping thirty-three dollars. Had we really been so poor we couldn’t spend thirty dollars? No way Mom knew how much money sat in Dad’s account.

Fully geared, I headed up the winding, barely paved street to the top of the hill. Punta music thumped from Angel’s All-Day-Night-Club. An internet cafe teemed with tourists and local kids all absorbed in their computer screens. As a jumping off spot for people touring Maya ruins, San Ignacio had a small but growing number of fancy restaurants and boutique hotels. One such restaurant was owned by Sadie Jane, mom’s best friend.

“Harper!” The massive Caribbean woman sat behind the bright turquoise podium, glasses perched on the end of her freckled nose, book open before her. Seeing my disheveled appearance, she hefted herself up and rushed to me. Wrapping arms around me, she pulled me against her starched yellow dress so tightly my bruised ribs screamed in protest. I didn’t pull away, breathing in the smell of hibiscus flower and rain.

Looking me up and down she tisked, “What have you gone and done to yourself, Harper Dae?” She glanced past me, “Is your mom with you?”

I shook my head. Sadie Jane didn’t ask any more questions, just lead me back to a table. Bustling off to the kitchen, she came back with a glass of iced limeade and a steaming pile of fresh tortillas dusted with cinnamon sugar. Belizean comfort food.

“You want to tell me what happened?”

“Not really. I need to get out to San Pedro quickly and wasn’t sure where else to go.”

She nodded sagely. How much had my mom told her? “You can always call on me! You eat while I call Jonny. He’ll give you a ride to the turn off.”

I teared up. What was wrong with me? Keep it together, Harper.

I cleaned my plate and, with a quick hug from Sadie Jane, jumped into the truck with her sullen son, Jonny. He gave me a put upon sigh and floored it.

Without a word, we drove the twenty miles out into nowhere, turning off the Western Highway onto an old logging road. The path out to my village was another three miles up. He skidded to a stop at the entrance, kicking up a cloud of white marl from the lose gravel road.

“Thanks for the ride,” I hopped out.

He grumbled something about being dragged out of bed, and swung a u-turn back toward town. Being so close to home, my heart leapt in my chest, longing and excitement almost overcoming the anger and fear I felt.

I paused at the threshold of the jungle. Though the western half of Belize was criss-crossed by roads and dotted with villages, it still belonged to the jungle. Standing with my toes hanging off the road, I breathed in the jungle air.

Under the jungle canopy was a world pulsing with the chaos of too much damned life slammed together in one place. A churning world of droning mosquitoes accompanied by the swelling rise and fall of cicada song. The endless sound of vines, rubbery palms, and hard wooden branches shifting and grinding against each other. The accusatory roar of howler monkeys. The places of dark stillness. Silent black caves exhaling cool, musty air. Shadowy, confusing tangles of foliage where the world seems to sway and tilt.

And oh, the smells. Rotting plant matter clots in every crevice of the earth trapping a thick layer of sulfurous air that coats your tongue. Sickly sweet flowers mingling with the dull, powdery scent of limestone. 

The jungle felt alive, ancient, dangerous. The power of the place filled me with renewed strength.

I took off at a fast pace toward home. I had walked that path so many times I could do it with my eyes closed despite the occasional roots and fallen trees in the way.

As I traipsed along, I wondered why we hadn’t just built a road out to the village. It would only take a few days to bulldoze a drivable road along the old trail. It occurred to me for the first time that perhaps San Pedro had remained purposefully isolated.

Clearly my dad had known Mr. Ek. Why else would he have told me to give him the jade disk for safekeeping. Maybe Mr. Ek was a Solaris? Though, thinking about it, one of the reasons I had liked Mr. Silver so much was that he reminded me of Mr. Ek. Plus, Mr. Ek had talked about libraries as though they were Disneyland. He had to be a knowledge keeper, a Gnomon!

I was so distracted by my musings, I didn’t notice that the chatter of jungle birds was muted. A troop of red, ring-tailed coati moved swiftly past me, fleeing. A spider monkey chittered an alarm call in the distance. Something was terribly wrong.  

I smelled smoke just seconds before I saw it billowing, thick and black. The sight slammed a wave of terror through my chest and I lost all sense of caution, stumbling down a hill into the village.

At the end of the trail, flames engulf our small church. The green wooden cross above the door was draped with a brightly colored sudario. The death shroud making the cross an embodiment of both death and life. Fresh flowers arched over the cross, a symbolic representation of the sun ascending the thirteen layers of the heavens. Perfect mix of ancient Maya belief with modern Christianity. World tree and crucifix as one, all aflame, crumbling to ash.

San Pedro was burning.

With a cry of terror, I ran into the central dirt plaza bounded by the church, a small store, community building, and two massive trees along the fourth edge. Normally the village would be bustling, men on picnic benches in the shade of the trees, drinking Belekin beer and playing dominoes. Boisterous children playing. The old folks chatting on the porch of the community house. All burning now.

The village was deserted. Uncertain what was going on, I turned wildly in a circle. Where was everyone?

Mr. Ek, always holding a book and asking questions. The grizzled Mutal twins that ran the store and fix-it shop. Old lady Kahlay, blinded by cataracts but tottering around the village complaining about the weather. Baby Rosita and her mother, Rosa, giggling together in the community house. The other kids in the village, Tino, Sam, and Maria. No one.

Frantic, I sprinted from house to house, pulling aside curtains and shouting people’s names. Finding no one, I cautiously returned to the plaza, realizing that whoever set the fire couldn’t be too long gone.

I sat down hard under one of the Ceiba trees and watched my childhood memories burn to the ground. I thought about mom and I living in San Pedro, part of the daily routine. What a simple, full life we’d had. I wished we had never left.

I drank some water and was formulating a plan when I heard the cries. Exactly like those from the library. Jumping up, I spun in a circle, trying to find the source. Silence.

But then there it was again. A young voice, “Please, no. Please.” I felt suddenly flush, and a vision flashed before me. Selene, kneeling over Olivia, blood pouring from Olivia’s palms which were pierced with a stingray spine. A vision? A hallucination?

I sobbed and sprinted wildly, throwing open doors, screaming guttural sounds of terror. Nothing was there. The voice went silent. I knelt in the plaza and let it out. My rage. My fear. My uncertainty. I cried to the trees and screamed at the universe. Nothing was fair. Nothing made sense.

Just like my emotions, eventually the fire burned itself out, nothing but ash remained. “Get off your ass, Harper,” I said to myself. The stone disk wouldn’t burn, so it could still be there. I at least had to try.

The path out to Mr. Ek’s house was narrow, overgrown. When I got there, his house stood untouched by fire. It was small, just a single square hut with a hammock inside and a cooking hearth sheltered by a massive palm. Unlike most homes, there was no small garden patch, no animals.

“Mr. Ek?” I called tentatively peeking inside his house. It had been ransacked. 

Behind his house was the small school room I had spent so many hours in. An old chalk board still hung on the wall, on it someone had scrawled “remember clever rabbit.”

I let out a little laugh. What a silly memory. The morality lessons taught through the adventures of an impetuous little rabbit..

I had loved Mayor Rabbit stories. I thought about rains from a rabbit sky. Though I hadn’t understood as a child, the moral was clear to me now. Maybe because it applied to my own life.

Don’t be selfish, do the right thing, no matter how difficult. No way I could give Selene the disk. What was I even doing here?

I pictured Mr. Ek telling the story. Wait a minute! I played the story back in my head. Mayor Rabbit climbs Sacred Tree where Falcon sat. Then followed the Green River, skirted the bottom of Struggle Rock, climbed Witz Mountain, ending up at Rainbow Falls.

It wasn’t a fable, it was a map!

The sacred tree was the ceiba in San Pedro. Struggle rock, La Lucha escarpment, the limestone cliffs that jutted from the jungle floor. I took off running. I would not fail. I would not be useless like rains from a rabbit sky.

Mr. Ek

At the top of La Lucha escarpment, I followed the Rio Bravo river, climbed Yalbac Mountain, and ran all the way to Pitipan waterfall. A rainbow arched above the falls, created by the mist.

Assessing the speed of the water, I carefully approached the base. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I never would have spotted the lip along the rock that was just wide enough to walk on. Scooting with my back against the wet rock, I inched forward along the narrow path as it disappeared behind the waterfall.

Back to the rock, front only inches from the rushing water, I scooted forward. Almost exactly half way across, I fell backward right onto my ass with a solid ooof.

Dark, menacing eyes stared from behind long machete blades.

“Haper?” a familiar voice echoed from the back of the cave.

“Mr. Ek?”

Blades dropped with recognition. Relief flooded faces and they rushed forward, a cacophony of questions and greetings. My family. The people of San Pedro.

“Did you come from the village?”

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s Harper!”

“Where is your mother?”

“Who gave you that bruise?”

Mr. Ek moved forward with his hands held up, “Everyone give Harper room to breathe.” He reached down and helped me up then pulled me in for a gentle hug. He looked older, grey streaks in his black hair, papery skin hanging loosely from his long face.

“Are you okay?” He stared deep into my eyes.

“I’m okay. A lot has happened.”

“It was bound to eventually.” The look of intense sorrow that crossed his face brought tears to my eyes yet again.

Blinking them away, I tried to explain but Mr. Ek shushed me.

“Come to the back and we can talk. But first, have they found the village?”

“They did. It’s…gone.”

A collective gasp spread across the cave.

Mr. Ek’s face fell even more. “Come to the back.”

He lead me back along a dark tunnel. A momentary flash to the tunnels in Virginia made me shudder, but we quickly emerged into a wide open cavern. Sunlight streamed in through natural openings far above. A canopy of white rock and tendrils of brilliant green roots hung down like mobiles. At the center of the chamber was a perfectly still, perfectly round pool of turquoise water lit by a shaft of sunlight as though the gods were reaching down from the heavens to bless that single spot with intense beauty.

Along the walls, hundreds of nooks were carved into the rock. Each nook was filled with books. Tens of thousands of books.

“Your library. You’re a Gnomon.” My voice was flat.

Mr. Ek nodded. “And you’ve come for this. He held up the jade disk. It looked exactly as I remembered. Lustrous green, carved with glyphs.

For some reason I expected there to be a trial, or a maze, or maybe another underground river to navigate.

“What is this place?” I asked. Rather than touch the disk, I moved to the nearest stack of books that weren’t books at all. They were Maya codices, ancient Maya books written on folding amate paper. According to Maya scholars, only five such books remained. When the Spanish arrived in the Yucatan in 1511, they systematically destroyed all ancient Maya knowledge, including burning thousands of codices.

But I ran my hands over the shelf in front of me, counting a least forty codices.

“Are these?”

Ek’s smile knocked twenty years off his face. He glowed with joy. “They are.”

“You watch over a library of thousands of ancient Maya books? This would…change the world!”

“It would. Though these aren’t all Maya. There are Aztec, even Olmec and a few Inca documents here. However, my job isn’t to change the world. My job is to protect it.”

“But…”

Ek interrupted me, “We don’t have time to dwell on my library. Though I am glad you got to see it. I had always planned to show you one day. Sadly, current events have forced my hand on many things. We have more important things to discuss.”

He handed me the disk. It lit up like the sun and another gasp rolled through the villagers that had gathered behind us.

“They have my mom.”

“I know.” Ek put his hand over mine, together we held the disk that sparkled like a star.

“They want me to trade this to them in exchange for her freedom.”

“I know.”

“What should I do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Great, do you at least understand this?” I gestured to the glowing rock.

“I think I understand. How much do you know about your father’s past?”

“Not a single thing. Who would have told me that? Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” I was angry. “Maybe this all could have been avoided if I’d known.”

“I’m sorry Harper. We were going to tell you eventually, but there are rules I must abide by.”

“Just like Mr. Silver. So, my dad was a Sun warrior.”

“Just so. He is…descended from Pythia, the most powerful Solaris Oracle to have ever lived.”

“Uh…Oracle?”

“Yes, it is very rare, but occasionally there is a special Anima collective that manifests, usually in a young girl, called an Oracle. She had unusual powers that can unite Lunates and Solaris. She wields both and exerts great influence over the direction of mankind. However, the last great Oracle sided with the Solaris, and so, during the last great war between the factions, the Lunates hunted your ancestors. Attempted to destroy them entirely. The Solaris responded with a violence rarely seen. I don’t know all the details, but the Solaris…they tried to wipe out the Lunates.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, all of them. It was…genocide.” Mr. Ek paled. “Your father’s family is descended from that last Oracle. She was called Pythia, the Oracle of Delphi.”

“Wait, I’ve heard of her.”

“You have, I made certain you read about her.” He gave me a sly smile. “She was a Greek Oracle that advised kings, married a sun god, dictated the future of the great empires of her time.”

“Okay, so my dad is descended from some famous Oracle. So I’ve got this Sun Oracle’s blood.”

“Not blood. That’s not how it works. You have some of Pythia’s Anima, the Oracle of Delphi.”

I realized something that made my blood run cold. “Mr. Ek…I’ve been hearing…voices. Crying. Seeing things...”

His eyebrows flew up.

“Am I going crazy? Wasn’t Pythia insane?”

“No Harper, she wasn’t at all. Neither are you. I suspect you are hearing the voices of those calling out to you for help. They might not even know it.”

“So, you think I’m hearing something that is really happening?”

“I would imagine that you’re seeing and hearing real events that are happening far away, or maybe even happening in the future.”

“I saw bloody implements in the shed at school. Was that real?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. It’s possible you were having a vision. Just as with the voices, if you are an Oracle you will be able to see things that are far away, even in the future. Or just occasionally have visions of important objects.”

“So I’m hearing voices and having visions, and this doesn’t sound crazy to you?”

“Not at all, Harper. I’m a Gnomon. I’ve known about this my whole life.”

I thought for a few minutes. “But, so what? So what if I can hear voices? And if Pythia was married to a sun god, why would I trigger a moon relic?”

“Few know the true history of Pythia.”

“That’s exactly what Selene said to me.”

“Ah, you’ve met Selene…” he frowned. “She was right. Pythia was descended from a long line of great Oracles, but they were not Solaris, they were Lunates. As a young girl, Pythia fell in love with Apollo, the sun god. To test her love, he demanded that she change sides, from Moon to Sun. And so she did. The children of Pythia and Apollo begat one of the most powerful Solaris lines in existence. But few remember that she was a Lunate first. Pythia means ‘to rot,’ she spoke in “lunatic’ voices. She spoke the voice of chaos, rot, the power of blood. A Lunate to the end.”

“Pythia just decided to become a Solaris. Can you switch sides like that?”

“No. No one had been able to do such a thing, before or since. Many doubted that it happened, which is why it was eventually forgotten, written off as a myth. But I know it to be true. To be honest, I’m not sure what you are.”

“Uh, wait, sun god. You’re saying I’m a descendant of Apollo, the sun god?”

“It’s complicated. I don’t have time to explain everything. The important thing for you to know is that an Oracle’s power isn’t just in her visions. It’s her voice. Oracles can speak the first words, they have the power to command others.

“It won’t be long before Selene discovers this place. I’m not sure of her intentions, but I need to prepare to defend my library. You need to decide what your next step is.”

“I don’t know what to do, Mr. Ek.”

“You will figure it out.”

“You don’t have any advice? I’m just on my own?”

“That’s right, Harper. You need to remember my lessons and listen to your heart.”

I pulled out the pouch Mr. Ek had given me the night we left San Pedro. The Jade disk slid in, a perfect fit. I said, “I know, I know. Remember who I am.”

Mr. Ek laughed. “I have faith in your Harper. Before you go, your father left this for you.”

He handed me a note and my world narrowed to just ink on paper.

I gently pulled opened the envelope and unfolded the paper. In unfamiliar handwriting, it said,

“My dear little Wren.” Tears sprung up in my eyes like a fountain.

The note continued, “I’ve asked Orlando Ek to watch over this note until he thought it was time for you to read it. I fear that, if you are reading this, things have gone wrong and I am sorry I’m not at your side. Before I go on, I must first say how full of sorrow I am that I had to leave you and your mom. Leaving you both was the single most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do, but we needed to protect you and my presence put you in danger.”

“But know that you were, are, and have always been, the light of my life. Though we are apart, you will never be distant from my heart. I love you and your mom more than anything in this world.”

A tear rolled off my chin and fell on the paper. “Dammit,” I swiped it off, trying not to tear the delicate pages.

Before I could read on, I wondered why mom had never talked about him. If this was true, if he really loved us so much, why hadn’t she told me more about him? I always assumed that he had left us. Or at least that they had been unhappy together. But this was telling a very different story.

“I can’t explain everything here, but I will say that your mom and I have angered some very powerful people. I spent my life fighting the Lunates, and will continue to do so. But lately, things have grown complicated. My own people have done terrible things and I no longer know who to trust. Other than your own mother and Mr. Ek, question everything and everyone. Listen to your own heart because those who claim to be on my side have betrayed me.

“When the time is right, we will be able to be together again. Until that day, be true to who you are, Harper Dae. If you remember that, everything will work out in the end.

“All the Love in my Heart, Dad.”

I folded the note back into the envelope then tucked it next to the jade disk in the pouch around my neck.

With tears in my eyes I spent a few minutes hugging and saying farewells to my friends. For Mr. Ek I had no words, just tears and kisses.

I headed back to the village, plotting my long trip back to Virginia. “Screw stealth,” I muttered to myself as I stomped through the jungle toward my mother.