Each of Us a Desert

by Mark Oshiro

  There was so much red.

  A horrific roar rumbled in the passageway. He looked up, farther into the tunnel, saw something monstrous charging toward him, its snout too long, horns protruding from its head, and he had never seen anything like it, never seen teeth that sharp, and he knew he should have run, knew he should have turned around and tried to escape, but the guardian that had torn apart one of the masked people leapt up, meeting the creature in the air, and then the leader was there, the large gato that had spoken to Eduardo so many times, and the two guardians tore into el sabueso, bone and muscle rent apart.

  This is what they do to us, they said, their jaw covered in blood and entrails. They kidnap us, and when they force us to consume the blood of the humans we are supposed to protect, we are corrupted. Why do you think los sabuesos came after the children of La Reina Nueva? It is because los pálidos exhausted all their guardians; now, they have turned to us.

  Eduardo slid down the wall, breathing heavily. “What is this place?”

  They stole Solado from the original inhabitants many years ago, said the guardian, cleaning themselves off. They could not survive the world above after La Quema. The sun of Solís burned them terribly. They moved underground elsewhere, but failed to sustain themselves there. It was only when a messenger brought news back of Solado that they planned to take this place, to use their corrupted guardians for the purpose of control.

  “But who would come here knowing this?” Eduardo sobbed, tears pouring down his face.

  And when he said those words out loud, the guilt finally crushed him.

  He swept viciously, falling to the floor. “I never told them the price,” he said.

  You did once, the guardian said. And what happened?

  Eduardo wiped at his face, spat on the ground. “They all left.”

  You knew the truth then. And yet you continued. For your own gain.

  “But I—”

  He did not finish it. But what? he thought. He needed money? He needed to pay off his debt? So that made this acceptable?

  The screams continued in the distance.

  It was ending. He had to make this right.

  And he needed to bear witness.

  “Take me,” said Eduardo. “Take me to see Solado.”

  You should stay, the guardian said, twisting its head as it stared upon him. This is not for you.

  “But I did this!” he screamed. “I brought these people here, and I helped it continue! Shouldn’t I at least try to free those who have been held against their will?”

  When we are done with the cleansing, you—

  Eduardo did not want to hear any more excuses. He lifted himself up, plowed forward into the darkness, toward the sound of death and terror, and he pumped his legs, ignored the pain ripping through them, ignored the bodies strewn about the passageway, and he found the cavern, the light pouring in from the holes above and—

  And—

  No.

  He watched a guardian bend down.

  Open their jaw.

  Rip into a body.

  One without a mask.

  Without a pale cloak.

  Without pale skin.

  He cried out, and he tried to run to them, to save them, to stop this horror, but the leader of the guardians hit him from behind, and he dropped to the earth, the breath knocked out of him, and they pinned him down.

  This is not for you, they repeated.

  “What have you done?” Eduardo choked out.

  We have done as Solís would have wanted. They once scorched the earth. It is time for Solado to start over. We are cleansing it.

  “But won’t this turn you into those things?”

  It will not, for we have chosen this. It is for their own good.

  And the screams continued. There, in the cavern where the people of Solado could grow food, Eduardo remained on the ground, listening to the horrible sound of death. It was not much longer before the screams faded away, before there were no more footsteps fleeing the inevitable, and he knew it was all over.

  Eduardo cried into the soil and did not move, not even when the guardian lifted their paw from his back. When he finally rolled upright, he was not sure he could cry another tear.

  “Take me, too,” he said. “Do it. Make it quick.”

  The guardian hesitated, then rested on their haunches.

  No.

  “There is nothing I can do for this place anymore,” he said. “For these people. There is no penance to make up for what I have done. For what I have caused.”

  The guardian paused and considered this.

  There is one last thing you can do, they said. To ensure that this never happens again.

  “Tell me,” Eduardo said, and he pushed himself up on his elbows, and his throat was raw, but he was willing to do anything. Anything to make this right.

  Remain here, they said, until la cuentista arrives with la poeta. Then you can tell her the story of this place, so that Solís will know what we have done for Them.

  He stood and dusted himself off. “But how do you know that a cuentista is coming? How will they know how to find this place?”

  Because las poemas are luring her here and guiding la poeta back, they said. Their journey will begin soon, and then … all this will be over.

  Eduardo coughed, spat up blood and dirt, and then nodded. “Please,” he said. “Please let me do something. Let me show Solís that I am sorry.”

  And he was guided to a room in Solado. There, the guardians told him to remain. He could leave only to relieve himself or to drink water from the stream in the rocks in the cavern across from his.

  So he waited.

  Two days ago, the other guardian arrived, the one with the black and gray fur. She told Eduardo that it was only a matter of time before la cuentista y la poeta would arrive.

  Eduardo waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  She sat next to him.

  They waited.

  And waited.

  And then …

  We arrived.

  La poeta.

  Las poemas.

  Emilia.

  Emilia.

  She had been with me the entire time.

  We had been drawn to one another. And for what?

  I struggled with the truth then, Solís. Did you feel it? Did you sense what passed over me as I let go of Eduardo’s hands?

  Elation. Rage.

  The person I had been looking for was right there. She had written such beautiful words, had spoken to me across the vast and empty desert, and it explained so much.

  Was I drawn to her because she understood? Or because the guardians wanted me to find her? Because they needed me.

  Were they on a mission guided by you? How could they be? If I was necessary to their act, then it meant that they did not have direct contact with you. They were the same as everyone else.

  I was a means to an end for them.

  Just a cuentista.

  Once again.

  No more.

  I sat back as Eduardo took in a deep breath, one of relief, one of finality. “Gracias,” he said, and his face looked so peaceful.

  He did not rise from his chair. He twisted toward Emilia, who was sobbing. “I am sorry for what I have done,” he said, and his face drooped as he spoke. “But now you know the fate of Solado.”

  He shifted his weight, leaned back, his eyes red with exhaustion and tears.

  “It is time to rest,” he said. “I’m so very tired.”

  “Eduardo,” I said, my hands still outstretched. “Please. I still have so many questions.” I glanced at Emilia, at her distraught face. “We both do.”

  His eyes bored into me. “I wanted to be free,” he said. “I wanted to do something for myself. Was that too much to ask, cuentista? Will Solís understand that?”

  He looked to Luz.

  Luz inclined her head. You have done well, Eduardo, she said.

  He smiled.

  And
Eduardo looked so very young again, almost like he was a child.

  He leaned forward.

  His body pitched to the ground.

  And when he hit it, he erupted into a cloud of ash, black and thick, like those above Solado.

  They slowly floated to the earth like feathers in a breeze until they settled peacefully on the packed dirt.

  Eduardo was … free.

  Sweat dripped down my face, and I gazed up at Emilia.

  La poeta.

  “You have them,” she said. “You’ve had them this entire time.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to react. So I reached over to my pack and turned it upside down, letting the contents fall to the ground, and there it was: the leather pouch full of las poemas.

  “Did you really write these?” I asked her.

  She crouched down and picked up the pouch. An intense urge flowed through me: I wanted to snatch it out of her hands, hold it close to me.

  But the feeling passed as she loosened its strings and opened it, as tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “You found them,” she said softly.

  “I can’t explain it,” I said. “They called to me.”

  “They call to me, too,” she said, running her fingers over the stitching in the leather.

  It all came together then.

  “That’s how you knew,” I said. “Where to go.”

  She nodded, and then she handed them back to me. As soon as it touched my hand, the surge came back: all those emotions, trapped in the words she had written, rushing through me.

  There were so many clues. So many hints to the truth. But no answer.

  So I asked it.

  “Why? Why did you do this?”

  Emilia looked from me to Luz, who licked at her own paw but said nothing. “When we were separated, I had no one to talk to,” Emilia explained. “Luz had been my companion for so long, and then, all of a sudden … no one.”

  Lo siento, mi amor, said Luz. I wanted to be there for you, but … She dropped her head down, down between her paws. She said nothing else.

  Emilia moved closer to her guardian, stepping through Eduardo’s ashes, and knelt down in front of her. “Luz, why can’t I touch you?”

  Luz whined, a high, pitiful sound.

  Because I am not really here.

  Emilia shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  I came to you when you were most alone, when you had not said a single word aloud in weeks. You turned to me, and you relied on me, and you opened up. You told me stories. You were so magical with words, and I loved every single one of them.

  And then you found a new way to express what you had denied, what you had hidden.

  Luz sat upright and let out a sorrowful whine, then rose to all fours.

  After you were stolen from your home, you began to write your poems. You left them behind once you realized the power they held, and they were your path back here.

  Emilia’s guardian came so close, her snout hovering over Emilia’s chest.

  You do not need me.

  Emilia and I were not touching, either. But I could tell what it cost her, to not be able to reach out to her guardian.

  “Where are you, Luz?” Emilia cried. “Just tell me that.”

  Luz hesitated. Pulled back. Sat down.

  I do not understand the magic, she said. But I have been gone for a while now.

  And then she looked directly at me.

  I knew.

  Oh, no.

  I knew.

  “Obregán,” I said. “Emilia, she was in Obregán.”

  It took a moment for the truth to blossom, and then Emilia tucked into herself, brought her face to the ground, and she screamed, wailed, pounded her fists so hard against the earth that clouds of dust wafted into the air.

  Luz had been el sabueso that Julio used.

  They changed me after you left. One of Julio’s men stayed behind to do it, so that Julio could have a force on his side. But it took longer than he thought. He could not find someone to feed to me, and he was not willing to sacrifice himself.

  Luz let out a low howl, a mournful, pitiful thing. They fed me the one you called Simone.

  My world spun.

  My world ended.

  I had come so far.

  For nothing.

  “Lo siento, Luz,” said Emilia once she was able to speak. “That this happened to you.”

  It is done, Luz said.

  “Then how are you here? How can I even see you?”

  I do not know, she said. We guardians are as in the dark as you are. The light of Solís has not spoken to us since La Quema, since we were created.

  “How is that possible?” I asked. “Aren’t all guardians in contact with Solís?”

  Do not let the others tell you any different—we may have been expected to be between you and Them. But Solís has been silent.

  She howled, a mournful sound that echoed throughout Solado.

  And it is time for me to go, too.

  She trotted up to Emilia.

  You will do great things, mi amor. Please keep revealing your heart to others. It is beautiful.

  And then she came up to me.

  Thank you for taking care of her, cuentista.

  I nodded at her.

  It is your turn now, she added. To tell the truth.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Tell her the truth.

  Luz bowed her head to the earth.

  And as she did, her body turned to ash.

  Emilia broke down, and her sob pitched sharply, escaped into the place that had once been her home.

  At the same moment, I felt a sharpness in my stomach.

  My cry must have been lost in Emilia’s, for she did not look to me as I doubled over in pain. As I pressed my hand against my belly. As I felt them move.

  The truth was impossible to ignore any longer.

  These stories were killing me.

  I watched Emilia, unsure what to say next.

  Luz’s last words were said only to me.

  She touched the small wooden bed in the corner, then sat on it, running her hands over the edge of the frame. She stayed there, silent, contemplative for a while, and finally I lay back, my eyes on that stone ceiling, and I thought about how we were underneath the earth, so very far from you. I felt far from you, Solís, more than I ever had before.

  “La poeta was right by me the whole time,” I said, breaking the silence. “The only person who made me feel … seen.”

  Emilia sighed—a wave of emotion rushing past—the sound of someone letting loose years of relief in one breath. “I suspected you had them because I could feel their power,” she said. “It confused me. I thought I was drawn to you at first, that morning in Empalme, and I couldn’t figure out why it felt so strong. I guess I believed that Solís was guiding me in the right direction the whole time.”

  She laughed, and I gazed over at her.

  “What is it?”

  “That’s why I thought I was lost the other evening,” she said. “Because you had the poems with you, I knew one was to the west, but I could sense the one en las montañas. It confused me.”

  “I thought Solís was talking to you or something,” I said, and I resumed studying the cracks and fissures in the walls. “That you had something that I did not.”

  “Do you not communicate with Solís during the ritual?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. If I do, They do not let me remember it.” I paused. “No, I’m pretty sure They’ve never spoken to me.”

  “It’s weird to talk of Solís,” she said. “I had heard Their name so much when I was younger, especially here in Solado. But we did not visit cuentistas as much as your people. And we had so many of them. Not like how it was for you.”

  “I hope I wasn’t disappointing,” I said.

  She squeezed my hand tighter. “No,” she said. “Intimidating.”

  “Me? Intimidating?”
/>   “I didn’t know whether to trust you!” she exclaimed. “You seemed so distant all the time, and after you took my story, you at least understood me. But then … well, everything happened so fast.”

  It felt like years ago. Soledad, the chase through Obregán, the journey …

  And now we were here.

  Together.

  “I have so much I want to say to you,” I said, and then the tears came, pouring down my face. “So many things I want to talk to you about. About your words. Your life. Emilia, I barely know you.”

  She laughed. “Well, we have time,” she said. “We have to go somewhere.”

  But where would that even be?

  There was no Simone. No more Luz. I had come this far to have this power taken from my body, but now … well, what now, Solís? What was I supposed to do?

  “Should we go back to La Reina?” I asked.

  She nodded. “At least that far. We have to tell them the truth about this place.”

  I sighed. “I can’t even imagine how difficult that’s going to be.”

  “Well, at least we can do that next.”

  There was a next.

  And it was with her.

  I pushed myself up, my heart thumping fiercely.

  I was here.

  Because she was la poeta.

  Because she had traveled so far from her home.

  Because she used to feel so very, very alone.

  This all started years ago, at the bedside of Tía Inez, when the power of la cuentista was granted to me. It had frightened me, but I believed what I was told: that I would be the most important person of Empalme, that I had been given a purpose that would last until the end of my life.

  It had also trapped me. Contained me. It made me feel as I would forever remain in that place, that the world beyond our gates would forever be a mystery to me.

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