The Shadow Crosser

by J. C. Cervantes

  There was no doubt about it: she still wanted revenge.

  As she walked toward me, the moonbeam lit a path for her. She stopped a few feet away and said, “We never asked for this, Zane. The gods are the ones who abandoned us, never cared about us in the first place. They wanted us dead! Why should we care about them now?”

  Brooks climbed up onto the table next to me and held out her hand. “Because we all belong to a Maya legacy that is bigger—”

  “We are the Maya future!” some guy yelled.

  “And you’re just a nawal!” someone else said.

  Brooks’s massive wings appeared and she looked like she was about to take off and pummel whoever had launched those words, but I took her hand. “Not now,” I said. “It’s not worth it.”

  Her eyes blazed fiercely. She squeezed my hand like I was the anchor keeping her in place. “It might be worth it,” she muttered.

  “Brooks…”

  “Fine.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I mean, the godborns sort of had a point about the gods, but it was a terrible one. Marco slipped into the shadows, his eyes darting from godborn to godborn before landing on me with a knowing look I hated. He’d been right. I had underestimated the godborns’ fear and anger. And obvious lust for power.

  “Really?” I asked, my voice louder now. “You’d rather live in a world where Zotz and Ixkik’ control everything?”

  “You didn’t hear me,” the redheaded girl said. “We will control everything. Let Zotz and Ixkik’ think they’ve won, and when they’re not looking—”

  “Bam!” someone shouted. “We blindside the old losers.”

  Brooks leaned closer, still squeezing my hand. This is a revolt, she said. I’ve seen it before. Or at least heard about it. Tell them what they want to hear and do it now.

  My eyes searched Hondo’s and Ren’s faces. They looked as stunned as I felt. “Okay,” I said, digging deep, because pretending to go along with the godborns’ plan was going to require an Oscar-worthy performance. “You guys are right. The gods are jerks. They probably don’t deserve saving.” The words tasted sour in my mouth. “But we need to plan, to figure out a way to take out Zotz and Ixkik’—”

  “And the hero twins!” A bolt of lightning ripped the sky. I searched the godborns’ faces, wondering who had caused it. Some looked terrified in the torches’ flickering light, others looked unsure, and at least half a dozen appeared ready to riot.

  “And the hero twins,” Brooks echoed as her eyes continued to burn. “They’ll go down, too.”

  Ren’s attention was fixed on the crowd. She was forcing a hard stare, one that hid the horror I knew she was feeling. A large dragon-like shadow rose beside her as she said, “It’s time for the godborns to reveal their powers.”

  Marco stepped into the moonlight and walked toward me, talking while all eyes were on him. “We will keep training, getting stronger, and once we find the bat god, the twins, their mom, and all our enemies,” he said, his expression tight, “we will attack, and take what belongs to us.”

  The crowd got to their feet, chanting, “Godborn power! Godborn power!”

  Brooks gripped my hand like an iron vise. Zane, what have we done?

  Marco’s eyes fixed on mine. I didn’t know him well enough to be able to read his expression, but one thing was certain: there would be no truth tonight.

  Only more secrets and lies.

  It was hours before the godborns chilled out and finally caught some z’s. But even in the peaceful setting of the Montana mountains, with everyone else deep in their dreams, I was haunted by the memory of that terrible chant: Godborn power!

  How could they have turned so quickly? If they were that hungry for power and control, then they were just like the gods. Maybe Itzamna was right—everyone had good and bad, dark and light in them. I was glad I hadn’t been wearing Itzamna’s sunglasses. I couldn’t imagine how he would feel knowing the godborns were rebelling when he was doing all he could to save SHIHOM and the World Tree.

  By midnight, we had a plan. We included Hondo, Brooks, Ren, Alana, Adrik, Rosie, and, yes, Marco.

  I was skeptical of including Marco, but he had a valid argument. “Don’t hate me because I’m such a great actor,” he practically sang. “I said those things so the godborns would think we’re are all on the same team. Come on, man, put on your strategic hat!”

  “Aren’t we?” Ren asked. “On the same team?”

  Brooks nodded. “We have to bring the godborns back around,” she said. “There were some who were not on Team Takeover. I saw it on their horrified faces.”

  “We can’t bring anyone around,” I said, “until we bring the gods back from 1987.”

  We met behind the barn at dawn to kick off our quest. Here’s how things were going to go down: Hondo would be the shadow crosser. Marco would be the 1987 thread’s connection to the present. He didn’t seem too excited about the job. “You mean I have to carry around a gold rope the whole time?”

  “You are the strongest,” I reminded him, which only made him grunt.

  Brooks, Ren, Rosie, and I would find and rescue the gods while Alana stayed in Montana to hold down the fort/ranch (and hoped no one mutinied).

  Itzamna told us he could communicate with us in the Old World, but not in 1987—that would be too far back.

  Mom popped into the barn with Louie in tow. “And where do you think you’re going?”

  Rosie wagged her tail and ran over to greet her.

  “I told her everything, including the godborn treachery,” Louie said.

  I groaned and steeled myself for an argument. I wanted to strangle Louie. We really didn’t have time for this….

  Mom patted Rosie absentmindedly, then marched over to me. “1987? Really?”

  “Don’t try and stop me—”

  “Would you listen if I did?”

  “No.”

  Rosie let out a small whine like she was sticking up for me.

  Mom rubbed Rosie’s chest and added, “Then I’ll help out here.”

  Whoa, that was unexpected. I let out a sigh of relief.

  “I’m good at keeping kids in line,” she said. “Well, except you, Zane.”

  “I’m not,” Louie said. “But I can freeze anyone who tries to bounce.”

  Alana smiled at my mom. “We could definitely use the help.”

  Adrik stretched his long arms over his head and yawned. “I wish I could go with you guys. 1987 was so cool. Such a sick year for music.”

  “Please,” Mom said, batting her hand in the air. “1987 was enough the first time.”

  “Think of the souvenirs I could bring back,” Adrik argued.

  “This is serious,” Brooks said. “And we can’t have any weak links.”

  “I’m no weak link,” Adrik said dramatically. “I’ve got Spidey senses!”

  “He can steal memories,” Alana said snidely, “so he thinks he’s some kind of superhero now.”

  Adrik snorted. “I can talk for myself, Alana.” He faced me. “I can steal memories.”

  “Like clear someone’s mind?” I asked, part-impressed, part-horrified.

  “Nah,” he said. “Just one at a time. But it’s complicated. You see”—he held up his hands like he was gripping a basketball—“first I have to use the dream world to find the memory.”

  “Unless he’s in the memory,” Hondo added.

  Rosie nodded like she was following the convo while Mom’s expression was one of total awe.

  “How do you know you can do this?” Ren asked.

  Adrik’s eyes shifted from face to face like he was deciding whether he wanted to tell us the truth or not. “Um…when I got pounded with lightning, I was transported to this really cool beach, and I heard a voice in the wind, calling me a memory thief.” He shook his head. “At first, I wasn’t too psyched about that…I mean, who wants to be called a thief, right?”

  “So he didn’t want to tell us,” Alana added.

&nbs
p; “Not true, Alana!” he argued. “Well, it kinda is, but the Sparkstriker had said I was a dream walker, so I figured someone got it wrong. I asked that globe lady—the one in the temple—and she gave me all kinds of info.” Adrik rubbed the back of his neck. “I practically had to beg her for it, but at least now I know.”

  “Globe lady?” Mom asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” I said.

  “Did you steal someone’s memory already?” Brooks asked Adrik.

  “Mine!” Alana scowled.

  “Gimme a break,” Adrik said. “It was a dumb memory of a time I hid one of her roller skates. I didn’t think that memory was a big deal, and I had to practice on someone….”

  Alana stuck out her tongue at him.

  “Can you give the memories back?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of,” he said.

  Marco rubbed his scar. “So how do you do it?”

  With half a shrug, Adrik said, “How do you change your face?”

  “I just think it.”

  “Same.”

  “Adrik could be useful on your quest,” Itzamna said in my sunglasses.

  “How?” Ren asked.

  “Memory thieves can be quite cunning, and if you run into someone you know—someone from the present day—he could erase any knowledge you don’t want them to keep.”

  Adrik elbowed his sister’s arm. “Did you hear that? Cunning.”

  I hadn’t even thought about running into someone we knew. Were Jordan and Bird in Venice Beach in 1987? My stomach turned.

  Alana pointed and said, “There’s a gateway in that field—we can use it to get to the Old World. Then I’ll come back here, and”—she hesitated for a moment—“Adrik can stay with you, since he’s so cunning.”

  “Awesome!” Adrik said with a big grin. Then he got serious. “You sure, sis?”

  “I’m sure. It’ll be like a vacation for me,” she joked, but I could tell she was trying to hide her concern for his safety.

  Mom asked, “Are you all positive you’re ready for this?”

  Rosie yelped and bolted in the direction Alana had pointed, across a grassy meadow where yellow and purple flowers bloomed.

  I turned to say good-bye to Mom. She blinked back tears, made the sign of the cross on my forehead with a trembling hand, and said, “You’re my favorite son.”

  “I’m your only son.”

  “So you’d better come home,” she said before hugging me and giving everyone else blessings.

  Louie stood back and added, “If you see any cool souvenirs, bring me some.”

  “We aren’t going to be shopping,” Brooks huffed.

  “But vintage Madonna…” Alana whispered as she joined hands with me and Ren, who connected with Marco.

  Adrik placed his hand on his sister’s shoulder. Brooks, Hondo, and Rosie stood behind us, so close I could feel their hot breath on my neck.

  “Okay, those who have been to the Old World,” Alana said, “visualize it. The rest of you, think of how Zane described it in the book.”

  A second later, we plunged through biting darkness that circled around us like frenzied hands, reaching for, clawing at, and generally trying to rip us open.

  Thankfully, it only lasted a few seconds. We landed with a thunk, oof, and “My back!”

  I sat up and looked around. We were definitely in the Old World, right in the center of a semicircle of five pyramids. Rosie ran around sniffing the ground like she was happy to be back in the place where I’d first seen her in hellhound form.

  As everyone got to their feet, oohing and aahing all over the place, I took a deep breath. Man, the place was just as creepy and amazing as the last time I’d been there. Cobwebs hanging from the silvery trees, a split sky that looked ready to collapse. I half expected to see the Sparkstriker, but she must have been busy cleaning her lightning pool or polishing her ax.

  I pushed Itzamna’s shades up the bridge of my nose. “The Old World could really use an overhaul,” he said.

  Brooks came over with the others. “How are things going at the World Tree, Itzamna?” she asked tentatively, like she was afraid of the answer.

  “We’ve seen better days, but so far even my diminished powers have kept the enemy at bay, and—”

  “Tell us how to do this, Itzamna,” Ren interrupted. “There’s no time to waste.”

  Rosie grunted, smoke curling from her nose as she sat on her haunches like a statue. She was ready and willing, like always.

  Within five minutes of hearing Itzamna’s instructions, we had linked our powers to draw two time threads from Ren’s watch. Everyone released the collective breath we’d been holding.

  “That’s enough, right?” Ren said, searching my face as if I had the answers, but really she was asking Itzamna.

  “Three would’ve been better, or four,” Itzamna said, “but if this is all you have, then it’ll have to do. You will need to fuse the two strands to create a rope strong enough to support time travel. Then you will give one end to Hondo. Ren, you take the other end. Once you get to 1987, you will hand it off to Marco.”

  “Won’t people notice them carrying a big ole gold strand?” Adrik asked.

  “No,” Itzamna said. “Mere mortals won’t be able to see or touch it. And it will always remain straight no matter how many turns you take—although it’s best to remain as stationary as possible.” He took a breath and went on, “The thread will do all it can to return to the present. It will lie to you, Marco, try to trick you. You mustn’t fall for it.”

  “The thing talks?” Marco moaned.

  “After twenty-four hours in 1987, the time rope will vanish,” Itzamna said. “Once that happens, you will be stuck there. Hmph—maybe that’s a good thing. There might not be much to come back to.”

  “You didn’t tell us we had a deadline!” My voice rose a few notches.

  “You only have two threads,” the god said. “That’s why I said three or four would be better.”

  “Okay.” Brooks exhaled a long breath. “How do we get to 1987?”

  “Just tell the rope that’s where you want to go—but please, for the love of stardust, make sure you say Venice Beach, California. Otherwise you could end up in Florida or Italy. Time threads have wicked senses of humor, and you must always be literal and specific. Got it?”

  “And how do we get back?” Marco looked like he wasn’t sure any of this was a good idea.

  “It will know the way to the Old World,” Itzamna said. “Just make sure you are together and physically connected in some way—holding hands, looped arms, whatever. May fortune smile upon you all!”

  We said good-bye to Itzamna and Alana. Adrik even gave his sister a hug, saying, “Don’t visit the Witch again while I’m gone. I don’t want to miss out on the fun.”

  I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave Hondo out in the open while he clung to a time thread that held our lives in the balance, so we headed deep into the jungle. Finally, we found a perfect place: a small clearing in the middle of a thicket of trees.

  “Ready?” I asked my uncle.

  He gave a solemn nod.

  Ren joined the two time threads. There was a flash of light not unlike lightning that forced us all to recoil for a couple of seconds. The golden glow illuminated the jungle and bounced off the metallic trees.

  Hondo reached into his pack and pulled out the warrior mask.

  Brooks’s face registered all sorts of emotions. “Where did you get that?”

  He didn’t hesitate or try to lie. “Quinn gave it to me.”

  Brooks searched his face, and I could see the puzzle coming together in her mind. “You and Quinn? But…” Her eyes softened and she gave a slight nod. “Okay, Hondo. Okay.”

  I hugged my uncle tight. “You got this.”

  He nodded and pulled away. “Just come back in one piece, Diablo.”

  Ren said to Hondo, “Remember your meditations.” She carefully handed one end of the rope to him, and I half expected him
to yowl like a dying sheep. But he took the cord like it was nothing. So Zip had been right. As long as Ren gave it willingly, there was no risk of her incinerating someone’s flesh.

  With the other end of the glowing rope in her hand, Ren walked away from Hondo. The strand grew longer and longer, just like it had at Zip’s place. Brooks, Adrik, Marco, Rosie, and I stood next to her and looked back at Hondo. The great pyramids loomed above the trees like stone ghosts.

  Hondo clenched his jaw, then placed the mask over his face. My heart plummeted.

  “Let’s get in and get out,” I said, knowing that every second we spent in 1987 was a second Hondo would be forced to spend in the shadows of torment.

  We stood in a row like train cars, each gripping the shoulder of the person in front of us. I placed my hand on Rosie’s shoulder.

  From the back of the line, Ren said, “Venice Beach, California, 1987,” over and over until the edges of the world began to bleed, colors faded, and a tunnel of utter blackness swallowed us.

  The ground beneath our feet started moving forward like we were on some kind of conveyor belt, slow at first, then faster and faster. Ren’s voice was on repeat as music echoed and car engines roared. As the words floated over us, I could only hear “1987.”

  Voices rose. Dishes clanked. “1987.”

  Birds chirped. Waves crashed. “1987.”

  A bright light filled the tunnel, and the next thing I knew, a volleyball slammed into my head.

  “Sorry, dude,” said some guy with crazy curly hair and rainbow trunks as he retrieved his ball from the beach. He took a look at the six of us and tried to hide the laugh I could tell was ready to split his face. “Uh, nice sweats.”

  Obnoxious electric-guitar music blared from somewhere down the shore. The smells of salt water and burned hot dogs floated through the air.

  Marco pitched a fake laugh. And then, in the span of a single breath, he shifted his face to look exactly like the dude’s and said, “We’re with the CIA.”

  “Marco!” I warned.

  The guy dropped the ball faster than his mouth fell open.

  Thankfully, Marco shed the guy’s face just as quickly, but the damage had been done. I thought the guy was going to take off screaming, but instead he said, “You just made yourself look like me!”