Mayan Blood (2 page)

The bell rang, and she slinked out of the room, avoiding eye contact with the sub.

***

Weekends weren’t much fun at the institution. To kill time, Zanya sometimes listened to Tara’s stories about what normal kids did on Friday nights. Parties, bonfires, sleepovers. Teenage girls painting each other’s toenails, their polished feet later dressed in fuzzy slippers, and blushed cheeks that accompanied stories about a boy and a kiss.

None of that happened here. And although religion was only taught for educational purposes in their institution, Zanya often felt like she was stuck in purgatory. Long, terrifying nights. Tedious, drawn-out days that always ended in the same way with lights-out in her assigned bed.

Someday it would be different. Someday, things would change.

“Lights out in fifteen minutes,” the dorm mother announced, shuffling through the sleeping quarters. Her shoes squeaked against the tile with every step. “Let’s go, ladies.” She clapped to gain everyone’s attention. “Get changed and into bed.”

Zanya snatched her pajamas and slipped into the bathroom. When she came out, all but the backlights were switched off. The soft glow cast over the room painted tall shadows of headboards on the walls.

After settling in bed, she braced herself on the edge and leaned over to inspect the dark space beneath her mattress.

“There’s nothing under there,” Tara whispered.

Zanya glanced up. “I know.”

“No, you don’t, or you wouldn’t be checking.”

Zanya's attention returned to the dark space. If Tara only knew what could be hiding in the darkness, though it was best she didn’t. Zanya was glad her friend wasn’t taunted by the same horrifying images she was every night. It gave her someone to talk to—someone who wasn’t equally paranoid, and who made her feel normal.

A shudder crawled up her arms and down her spine. “There’s no harm in checking.”

“There’s plenty of harm, Zanya.” Tara played with the corner of her pillow. “The board will never place you with a foster family if you don’t show them you’re getting better.”

“Who said I want a foster family? Besides, I have you. You’re all the family I need.” Zanya slipped under the over-starched sheets.

The lights shut off and the room fell silent. Zanya closed her eyes, wishing, praying, that just for one night she would sleep peacefully.

The fire alarm sounded. Bright red-and-white emergency lights cast color over the room. The screaming sirens sent every student shooting out of bed. Staff members flooded the sleeping quarters. They rounded up the children and shouted instructions to form a line and exit the building.

Zanya jumped up and followed Tara to the back door and down a ramp, which lead them outside into the bitterly cold night. She hugged herself as breath flowed from her lips in clouds of white.

Emergency vehicles sped down the gravel driveway. They skidded to a halt, and a team of firemen loaded with gear poured out of the trucks.

While Zanya watched the men in uniform, a strange sensation tugged at the back of her mind. Her eyes narrowed. Shivers quaked her muscles. She blinked and huddled against Tara as a stretcher was unfolded from an ambulance.

“Oh, crap!” Tara’s eyes grew wide. “Do you think someone got hurt? I hope it’s not another suicide attempt. I swear to God…”

As Tara rambled on, Zanya couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching her. She glanced over her shoulder at the tree line of the forest—aspen and beech trees sprinkled between a thick blanket of fallen leaves. But there was nothing. No one.

She turned back around, the freezing temperatures biting at her toes. She hadn’t thought to put on her slippers, and the soles of her feet were paying a heavy price. She balanced on one foot, then the other.

“I mean, if every kid here who hated their lives tried to kill themselves, we’d have nobody left,” Tara continued to rant. “Just two more years and I’m so outta here.”

A whisper, from what seemed like far away, caressed Zanya's ears. She glanced over her shoulder at the tops of frail trees swaying under the moonlight. Leaves danced across the soggy ground, blown by gusts of chilled wind. She rubbed her arms.

Maybe it was just the breeze. Through the branches, it could sound like a whisper. Just as she prepared to chalk it up to fatigue and chaos, she spotted a tiny shadow lurking between the trees.

Zanya gripped her arms tighter. She blinked once, twice… Her eyes watered from the cold. When she blinked again, the shadow was gone. She spun back around, determined to ignore any more noises.

The image of the tiny shadow pulsed in her mind. Another whisper. Zanya's heart raced. The urge to look again grew stronger, and when she finally collected the nerve, she turned around one last time.

The figure stood motionless just beyond the first row of trees.

Not just a figure—a girl in a thin, white nightgown with her hands hanging at her sides.

Zanya tugged on Tara’s sleeve. “Turn around.”

Tara’s attention was solely focused on the broad-chested firemen. Zanya tugged harder. “Turn around and look at this.”

Tara finally obeyed and followed Zanya's attention toward the trees. She gasped. “What the hell is she doing out there?”

Zanya shook her head. Without saying another word, Tara stalked toward the woods.

“Wha… Where are you going?” Zanya’s voice cracked, her gaze flickering between Tara and the child.

“To get her.” When Zanya didn’t reply, Tara stopped and spun to face her. “Well? Are you coming?”

“Am I coming?” The eerie night suddenly consumed her. “I can’t. You know I hate the dark. And there could be…” She frantically searched her mind for some epic excuse to keep Tara from trekking forward. “Wolves.”

Wolves? That was the best she could come up with?

Tara snorted. “It’s fine, Zanya. I’ll go alone. It’ll only take a sec.”

Zanya shifted her weight as Tara walked toward the shadowed figure standing unnervingly motionless in the woods.

“I…I…” Zanya forced her feet to uproot from the ground and rushed to catch up. “I’ll come with you.”

Tara grinned. “You have to admit, being eaten by a hungry pack of wolves is still better than being stuck in this loony bin by yourself.”

Zanya's eyes widened. She’d made the wolf thing up, but what if…

Tara rested her hand on her hip and cocked her head. “Oh, come on. I’m just kidding.”

“Definitely not funny.”

“Sorry.” She grabbed Zanya's hand. “Now come on. The longer we wait, the more likely it is she’ll catch frostbite. Poor thing is out here in nothing but that dress.”

Zanya walked over the damp leaves, pushing muddy water through the moss, between the cracks of her toes.

Now just yards away, Tara reached out to the young girl. “Hey. Come here. We’ll take you back.”

A gust of wind blew, carrying the child’s blonde waves off her shoulders. Her bright green eyes seemed to glow in the silky moonlight.

Tara dropped her arms and sighed. “I guess she
likes
freezing her ass off in the middle of the night.” When Tara stepped closer, the child darted into the woods. Tara scoffed. “I never want to have kids.”

Zanya blinked at the maze of shuddering trees. “Let’s get out of here.” She stepped back. “Now.”

“We have to get that girl. If she stays out here overnight, she’ll freeze to death.”

Zanya couldn’t feel the cold anymore. Whether that was good or bad, she wasn’t sure.

The little girl carved a deeper path into the forest.

Tara shook her head. “Something’s not right. It’s like she’s running away from us.”

“Maybe she’s one of the more critical psych patients.”

“I don’t know, maybe.” Tara cupped her fingers over her nose and mouth to keep them warm while she searched their surroundings. “You’re right. We shouldn’t have come out here alone. Let’s go back.”

A tiny girl, no older than eight or nine years old, stepped into sight. Her nightgown was damp and smeared with mud.

Tara’s eyebrows crooked downward. “There you are. Now we can get out of here.” Tara held out her hand to the child, who only stared at her reaching fingers.

The child stepped to the side and slid her small hand into Zanya's. The little girl’s bare feet was covered in pine needles.

“Come on,” Zanya said. “I’ll carry you back. You must be freezing out here with no shoes.” She would know, being in the exact same situation. She lifted the small-framed child to her hip, and the girl wound her legs around Zanya's body. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

She didn’t reply.

“She’s probably too freaked out to talk,” Tara said. “Let’s just get back.”

Zanya did her best to shield the child from the wind as she followed Tara back toward the orphanage. She hummed the tune to
Romance
softly in the little girl’s ear. The melody had always calmed her. Maybe it would do the same for the kid.

The girl’s cheek pressed against hers. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she whispered in a tiny, angelic voice.

Her humming must have worked. “You’re welcome, sweetie.”

The girl’s blonde hair bobbed up and down with a subtle nod. “Everything will be fine, Zanya. Do not be afraid.”

Zanya smiled softly. “I’m not scared. Are you?”

“No.” The little girl hugged her tighter. The stars twinkled above them blurred into streaks. Her head spun and her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the damp forest floor.

Trapped in a thick mental fog, she fought to break through. Her eyes fluttered open and closed. Snapshots of what was happening around her filtered through the cerebral haze.

The girl stood over her, staring down with a sweet face and bright eyes. A tiny smile curled the corners of her delicate lips.

Another voice. It was stronger. Deeper. Who… God, she was so tired. She would give anything to be able to just relax her mind and drift off.

A mixture of voices and a shout from Tara sprouted a renewed resolve, and Zanya pushed against the desire to sleep with all her might. When she managed to force open her eyes, a dark-haired man leaned over her. Tara crept toward him with a small log clenched in her hand.

Heavy lids drew over her eyes.

A loud thud followed by scrambling movements forced Zanya's eyes open one last time.

The man struggled to hold a flailing Tara under his arm like a bag of potatoes while rubbing the back of his head. Was he talking to himself? The child seemed to be paying attention, but didn’t reply. Still, while Tara kicked and punched, he continued to hold what seemed like a one-sided conversation.

A second later he dropped Tara to the ground with a shout, and lifted his shirt to find a crescent bite wound over his ribs.

The young girl loomed over Tara; then, silence.

Chapter Two

Arwan

Arwan knelt beside his mother’s grave, empty handed. Since he was a young boy, every time he visited he had brought an offering. Something small, to mark that he had been there—that someone had been there.

This year was different. He hadn’t stood in front of her grave for three season cycles. Three long years.

“She is back wit’ t’e earth.” The priestess’ thick accent weighed down her words. “It is where she belongs.” She rested her wrinkled hand on his shoulder.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

“One cannot undo what has been done.”

“Yeah. I think about that every day.” He clenched his jaw.

Drina sighed. “You were only a boy.”

A helpless boy.

He examined the new headstone that marked her grave. Renato would be satisfied his gift fit perfectly.

The old man meant well.

“Can you sense her soul?” Arwan asked.

Drina’s hand slipped from his shoulder, leaving it cold. A breeze swept past them, carrying the scent of mountain flowers and crisp water pooled in the valley below.

“Your mot’ers spirit has passed beyond.” Drina said the same thing every year; every time he asked. “I cannot see her.”

“Do you think she’s happy?”

“Happy?” There was a long, silent pause. It was a question he’d never asked her. One that seemed to catch her off guard. “I believe she is proud.”

“Of what?”

Deep creases reached from the corners of her dark eyes. “Of her legacy.”

He fisted his hands. “You know better.”

“She did love you, boy.”

He pushed to his feet. “Because she didn’t know. She didn’t know who…” He turned his face from her grave. “What I am.”

Drina pushed him out of the way and shifted to the foot of his mother’s grave. Piles of dried corn, jade, pouches of cinnabar, and a whistle carved from stone sat near her headstone. “Your mot’er ascended, yet you mope as if her soul was damned to the underworld.” She set another bag of cinnabar over the mounded earth. “You must move on.” She turned to face him. “You must not disappoint her.”

He scowled. “You say that as if I have an option.”

“You do.” She smiled softly, something she didn’t do often. “Everyt’ing is balanced. The sun wit’ t’e moon. Cold wit’ heat. Mountain wit’ valley.”

“Not everything.”

“Yes. Everyt’ing.” She jabbed her finger at his chest. “But you are too stubborn to remember where you come from. Who you come from.” She grabbed a stick from the ground. “Even a mighty tree dies and goes back to the earth.” She smacked him in the arm with the stick. “Stupid boy.”

He rubbed the spot she’d hit, if for no other reason than to amuse her. The old woman showed love in strange ways. “Thanks, Drina.” He placed a kiss on her forehead.

Arwan walked past her, admiring the rolling hills of plush rainforest below. The echoes of monkeys and birds carried through the air. “We should get back. I have to meet with the seeker before returning home. Renato may need me. My phone doesn’t work up here, and I haven’t heard anything from Marzena.”

“Always in a rush. For what? To see the guardian, perhaps?”

Arwan looked at her. “Is she there?”

Drina shrugged. “Perhaps.” She waddled past him, toward their Jeep.

“Wait.” He caught up with her. She was surprisingly fast for an old woman. “Have
you
heard from Marzena?”

She shrugged again and tugged open the car door, then climbed inside. “Perhaps.”

Arwan shut the door and leaned in close through the open window. “You’re a cruel, agonizing woman, you know that?”

She pursed her lips, clearly suppressing a smile. “Perhaps.”

Arwan hopped in the driver’s seat and started the Jeep. The engine roared to life. He watched Drina, who didn’t say a word. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” The woman was never quiet. Not unless she was worried.

She gave a long exhale, her ghostly eyes trained on the mountains below. “I have spent many years wit’ you, boy. Good years. Bad years.” She met his gaze. “T’ere is a balance, even for you. Everyt’ing has balance.”

He shifted the car into drive. “
Tia
…”

She turned away, staring back out at the jungle. “Until you believe you can find balance, you will never find peace.”

He shifted the car into drive. At least her intentions were in the right place, even if she could never understand. He would never find peace.

***

Arwan reached the Punta Gorda Airport just as the sun vanished behind the horizon. The car horns, neon lights, and scent of burnt motor oil in the air all reminded him of why he hated the city. It was too busy, too chaotic, and all of the sights, sounds, and smells assaulted his senses.

He pulled up to the passenger pick up/drop off area, where he scanned the crowd of people gathered under the tin roof. With only a brief description from Renato, it would be easy to miss the seeker. The people were mostly women of various ages, some with children tugging on their coats. Elderly men, and middle-aged men dressed in business suits. Some teenagers, though they all seemed like locals.

A guy stepped toward the curb with only a duffle bag hung over his shoulder. His cutoff sleeves showed both of his arms, covered in bold, black tattoos.

Arwan slowed to a stop, peering out the window at the stranger. “Hey.” Arwan blasted the horn in two short beeps. The guy bobbed his head, staring down at his phone. Arwan honked again, this time leaning on the horn. The stranger lifted his head and met Arwan’s gaze. He stepped forward and flung open the door. “What’s up? Are you my ride?”

“Depends. How good are you at hide and seek?”

The stranger grinned. “Pretty damn good.” He tossed his duffle bag in the back and sat and slammed the door behind him.

Even seated, Arwan was an inch or so taller than the seeker. He extended his hand. “I’m Arwan.”

The seeker ignored his gesture and kicked his feet up on the dash. “Well, I’m starving. Any chance at getting something to eat around here?”

Arwan slowly retracted his hand and rested it on the steering wheel. “What’s your name?” He pulled away from the curb.

“Jayden. Where can we grab some grub? Is there a McDonalds around here?” He snorted. “Maybe a Taco Bell.”

Arwan worked his jaw. “It’s a long drive. Any stops will slow us down.”

“That’s why they call it fast food.” He plugged one earbud into his ear and bobbed his head. “Any word from Renato? Did he get Zanya?”

“Who?” He glanced at the seeker, who stilled from his question.

“You don’t even know her name?”

He did now. Arwan veered right, onto the main road through Toledo City. “How do you know her?”

“I’m a seeker, remember?” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a beaten, leather wallet. “I can pay for my own food, but seriously, I’m starving.” He opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Arwan spied a picture tucked behind the clear, plastic window. A picture of a girl with long, brown hair and wolf-gray eyes. The seeker snapped his wallet shut and shoved it back in his pocket, then held up the bill.

“You can’t use that here.” Arwan turned left, taking them deeper into the city.

“What, you guys don’t use dollars?”

“We use the Belize Dollar. You’ll have to go to a currency exchange.”

“And where the fuck is that?”

Arwan ground his teeth. “That would be at your hotel.” He slammed on the brakes, throwing the seeker against the dashboard.

Jayden pushed away, his features tight.

“We’ll contact you once Renato decides it’s safe,” Arwan said. The seeker inspected the hotel with stucco walls painted in sky blue and toucans painted on either side of the entrance. “Or you can find a
peseros
to exchange your money. They’ll do it without a lot of paperwork.”

“I thought we were going to Renato’s house.” He turned to face Arwan. “I have to see Zanya. Tonight.”

Arwan tightened his grip on the wheel. “Sorry. There must have been
la falta de comunicación.
”

“I speak English.”

“
Sí. Inglés.”

“No,” the seeker said, louder now. “E.N.G.L.I.S.H.”

What he wouldn’t give to punch this ass in the throat. “Get out, seeker.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I see Zanya.”

Arwan tilted his head and cracked his neck in an effort to release some tension. There was obviously no way to get rid of this idiot without someone getting hurt. He wouldn’t bring him to the guardian. Not until he spoke with Renato—until he saw the guardian himself. It was all still so unreal. They’d finally found her, and there was finally hope to put this battle to an end. “She isn’t here yet. When she is, we’ll send for you. Now get out.”

The seeker huffed and kicked open the door. “Fine. But—” Arwan reached in the back seat, grabbed the seeker’s duffle bag, and threw it at him. It slammed into his chest. He stumbled back, clenching the bag in his arms. “Hey, asshole. What the—”

Arwan stomped on the gas, peeling away from the curb. The door slammed shut as he shifted gears.

He watched the seeker in his rearview mirror for a moment, then grabbed his cell phone from the cup holder and dialed Renato’s number.

It rang only a few times before he picked up. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“I picked up the seeker.”

“Good. Will you be home tonight?”

“Tomorrow, most likely.” He paused, pressing the phone tighter to his ear. “I left the seeker in Toledo City.”

“You left him?”

“Who is he? Can we trust him?”

“Arwan, he has done everything we have asked, and more. He is the sole reason we found the guardian.”

“Zanya.”

Renato paused. “Yes. That is her name.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Her name?”

“Anything.” Arwan’s tone was sharp. “You didn’t give me any word that she’d arrived. No information about the seeker, that he knew her already. You didn’t even tell me her name.”

Renato exhaled into the phone. “I wanted to give you time.”

“I’ve had enough time.” He turned onto an isolated road, leading into the jungle. “I thought you of all people would not just want to wait around—”

“Let’s take this one step at a time. Allow the guardian to find her bearings. She will be frightened when she awakens. She’ll have questions that need to be answered. She needs guidance, not pressure.”

“Marzena hasn’t woken her up yet?”

“We thought it best to allow her to sleep through the night. Tomorrow will be a grueling day, and I hope you have the patience and maturity to stay calm while we work out the details.”

Patience was one of his mentor’s best, and worst qualities. “We don’t have time to waste. We have to find Sarian.”

“Our first priority, young man, is to find the stone. If that leads to Sarian, so be it. Either way, we must not push her. The guardian must fulfill her roll on her own terms. In her own time. Until then, you will have to put aside your personal vendetta. That, or do not come home.”