Race to the Sun

by Rebecca Roanhorse

If Mac and Davery can see Mr. Yazzie, then he couldn’t have only existed in my dream, if it was a dream at all.

  “Mac, can you pinch me?”

  He leans over the seat and punches my arm.

  “Ow! I said ‘pinch,’ not ‘punch’!” But at least I’m sure that I’m not dreaming. “I know this is going to sound weird, but Mr. Yazzie used to be a stuffed animal, my stuffed animal, but he came alive because horned toads are natural helpers and he knew I needed help.”

  “At your service,” he croaks.

  “Amazing,” Davery says again.

  “As for the talking,” Mr. Yazzie continues, “all animals can talk. It’s just that they speak a language most humans don’t bother to learn.”

  “But we didn’t learn it, either…” I say.

  “Ah, but your ancestral powers have awakened. This gives you the ability to know all kinds of things that were perhaps once forgotten, including the language of animals. Now allow me to introduce myself,” he says, turning to Mac. “My name is Theodous Alvin Yazzie.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Mac says, extending his pinkie politely. Mr. Yazzie rests a claw briefly against his fingernail in a human-to-horned-toad handshake.

  Davery also holds his pinkie out for a shake. “Ancestral powers, you say? I don’t know about that in my case, but this isn’t much stranger than anything else that’s happened today.”

  “Now that introductions are out of the way, we must get down to business.”

  “What business is that?” Mac asks.

  Sometimes my brother has the attention span of a gnat. “Monster fighting!”

  “Congratulations, Nizhoni and Marcus. You are the descendants of Changing Woman and have been gifted the powers of her sons, the Hero Twins!” Mr. Yazzie lifts a small claw and throws a handful of what looks like gold confetti into the air. I watch the teeny bits of colored paper rain down on our train seats. Mr. Yazzie pulls a tiny party horn from somewhere and blows it. It makes an unhappy sound.

  “It’s the best I could do on short notice,” he explains. “Whenever a new monsterslayer and born for water are awakened, I usually try to splurge on a banner, streamers, a few party hats.”

  “Whoa, back up. A monster what? And a born for who?” Mac asks, flabbergasted.

  “Ah, I get it,” Davery says. “Monsterslayer”—he points at me—“and Born for Water”—he points at Mac. “You’re not quite twins, but you’re pretty close.”

  “Ten months!” Mac pronounces triumphantly.

  “Maybe you should start from the beginning, Mr. Yazzie,” I say.

  The lizard clears his throat. “It is said that, long ago, Changing Woman created the first four Diné clans from her own skin.”

  “The Diné. That’s us,” Davery whispers to me.

  “I know that!” I snap.

  “But she looked around and saw that there were many monsters who threatened her people. So Changing Woman gave birth to twin boys, Monsterslayer and Born for Water, to protect the Diné.”

  “The Diné. That’s us,” I whisper to Mac.

  He rolls his eyes.

  “Enduring many trials and hardships, the Hero Twins did just that,” Mr. Yazzie continued. “And ever since, whenever the world has been threatened by monsters, new heroes have arisen. Descendants who have inherited the twins’ special powers as well as the responsibility to fight evil.”

  “And this time it’s us?” Mac asks excitedly.

  Mr. Yazzie nods.

  Mac lets out a whoop. “We’re going to be superheroes!”

  So it’s true. Mac and I are related to the legendary Hero Twins.

  I give Mr. Yazzie a smile, despite the fact that my insides are curling in worry. I’ve been waiting my whole life to be chosen for something, to stand out as someone special. But now that we’re in this for real, with my father’s life at stake and my little brother facing physical danger, it isn’t what I was expecting. Like the time Dad promised he would get mint chocolate chip ice cream on his way home from work, but the store was out of that flavor, so he came home with vanilla and some off-brand chocolate syrup instead. Still good, but not exactly great.

  “Didn’t you tell me before that the heroes who fight monsters”—I shoot a look at Mac and choose my words carefully—“er…sometimes fail?” I ask Mr. Yazzie.

  “It is true that this is a very dangerous mission you two have been given, and there are no guarantees of success. But you must fight regardless. There is no other way.”

  “I’m still willing to fight,” I assure Mr. Yazzie, “but I want Mac to know what he’s getting into.” I turn to him. “This isn’t a video game we’re talking about, bro.”

  The light of excitement in Mac’s eyes has been replaced with a steeliness that surprises me. “I know it’s dangerous, Z,” he says, “but when I used the water against Adrien and those other guys, it felt…”

  “Right?” I prompt.

  “Natural?” offers Davery.

  “It felt awesome!” Mac finishes. “I want to do more of that. I’m in! Hero Twins power!” he shouts, throwing his hands up.

  I grin, feeling better. Like the cart lady’s song said, I am not alone.

  “I’m in, too,” says Davery.

  “No, Davery,” I say. “You don’t have to be involved in this. You’ve already done—”

  He holds up a palm to stop me. “Hey, I’m half-Diné, aren’t I? I care about our people’s future. And if I remember correctly, that cart lady gave you three lunches, not just two. So clearly I’m supposed to be involved.”

  As usual, my best friend makes a good argument, leaving me speechless. I give him a big smile of gratitude.

  Then I look to the horned toad, who is nodding in approval. “Mr. Yazzie, I remembered what you told me about asking Na’ashjéii Asdzáá for a map to the House of the Sun. Davery and I looked her up on the internet and found out she lives at Spider Rock in Canyon de Chelly. So we bought train tickets to the closest town, Gallup. And I swear we got on the right train, but now…” I gesture around helplessly.

  “Very good initiative, Nizhoni!” Mr. Yazzie says. “You’re a natural at this, I see.”

  “Oh.” That cheers me up even more, and Davery gives me an encouraging smile. I might be hero material yet!

  Mr. Yazzie continues, “I took the liberty of informing the Diyin Dine’é of our destination, and they redirected the train. No need to be alarmed.”

  “You can talk to the Holy People?” Davery asks.

  “Of course. So can you.”

  All three of us stare at him, mouths open.

  Mr. Yazzie smiles. “Who do you think you were talking to at the train station?”

  “You mean the cart lady, right?” I thought so. “That’s how she knew our names.”

  “And how much I like Cheetos,” Mac adds.

  “And that I’m lactose intolerant,” Davery remarks, holding up his grape soda pop can.

  “The tricky part is that the Holy People don’t always answer, or at least not in ways that you might recognize,” says Mr. Yazzie. “But they are always there.”

  Always there…just like the monsters. “Can you tell us more about Mr. Charles?” I ask. “What kind of creature he is, and how we can defeat him?” And what he might do to my dad, I think. But Mac still doesn’t know the whole truth, so I keep that part to myself.

  “I believe Mr. Charles is related to a nasty kind of monster called a bináá’ yee aghání. These are vicious bird creatures that the original Monsterslayer imprisoned at Tsé Bit’a’í, the volcanic pillar now called Shiprock. Mr. Charles is a shape-shifter, so he can take on the form of these birds, or he can look human, as you have already seen.”

  “Does he have scales underneath his skin?” Mac asks eagerly. “Tentacles?”

  “All of those and more, should he wish it,” Mr. Yazzie says somberly. “He is very powerful and quite evil. He and his kind will not be happy until they have destroyed the land. He must be stopped.”

  And
I’m the one who must stop him, I think with a slightly terrified gulp. I’m up for the challenge, and glad to have Mac and Davery and Mr. Yazzie to help me, but I’m still scared.

  As if sensing my worry, Davery pats me encouragingly on the shoulder.

  “There’s only three of them,” says Mac. “We can take ’em, easy.”

  “It’s only Charles and his two henchmen for now,” Mr. Yazzie says. “But if he isn’t stopped, he will free his kin, and they will try to break out the other monsters that are imprisoned beneath the earth. Once they are released, I’m afraid it will be too late.”

  “Too late?” I ask. “Too late for what?”

  “To save the planet. They are devourers, you see. They will not stop until they have consumed every patch of ground and every drop of water, and pulled the guts of Mother Earth from the inside for their own uses.”

  Mac gnaws on the side of his thumb and says, “That’s bad.”

  Understatement of the year.

  “Plus, they eat people,” Mr. Yazzie adds.

  Davery coughs. “Did you say ‘eat people’?”

  “Yes, eat.” He works his jaw like he’s chewing something. “You aren’t familiar with the word?”

  “I know the word,” Davery says. “It just seems a bit…excessive.”

  “Sounds right to me,” I say, visions of eyeball hors d’oeuvres rolling around in my mind.

  A loud horn blows as the train crests the mountain. We’ve been climbing the whole time Mr. Yazzie has been talking, and now we’re moving through puffy white clouds.

  The train slows to a gentle roll, and finally it stops, coming to rest in the middle of a meadow between several snowy mountain peaks. The ground is covered in a layer of fresh powder. Mist lingers, making everything look soft and inviting.

  “It’s beautiful here,” I say.

  “Don’t be fooled,” Mr. Yazzie warns us. “Beautiful things can kill you just as quickly as ugly ones. You must be careful. And trust no one!”

  We gather our backpacks and stumble out of the train into the snowy landscape. Our breath puffs in the air, and I zip up my hoodie, already missing the warmth of the Albuquerque spring. Out here it seems to be sunrise, but that doesn’t make sense. We didn’t spend the night on the train.…

  Mr. Yazzie hops up on a nearby boulder and clears his throat.

  “Welcome to Sisnaajiní!” he proclaims, flinging out his tiny arms. “The Mountain of the Dawn, the easternmost sacred mountain, and the home of the Rock Crystal Guardians and the Gray Dove Heralds.” His voice rings through the snowy valley, and the last word of each sentence comes back to us in reverberating echoes. “Also,” he adds, “the guardians had some very delicious corn cakes last time I visited. Really the best.” Best…best…best…

  “So there’s more than one sacred mountain?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Mr. Yazzie explains. “There are four—one for each of the cardinal directions: east, south, west, and north. They were set in place by the Diyin Dine’é and equipped with a guardian and a herald to care for the land. They surround the ancestral home of the Diné people, and each represents a powerful part of Navajo history and culture.”

  “Four mountains bind you to your home. That’s the second line in the song,” Davery says, looking at the cart lady’s note, which I’d let him keep to puzzle over. He scratches his ear thoughtfully. “It’s starting to make sense.”

  “But why are we even here?” Mac asks. “I thought we were going to Spider Rock to see some lady?”

  “I arranged for a little detour,” says Mr. Yazzie. “So we can find gifts for Na’ashjéii Asdzáá.”

  “Who is that, anyway?” Mac asks.

  “Her name means Spider Woman.” He starts to say something, but I cut him off. “And no, she isn’t related to Peter Parker.”

  He looks a little disappointed.

  “She has a map we need, but we can’t just show up empty-handed and start asking her for stuff,” Davery says. “That would be rude.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Yazzie agrees. “So we will visit the Four Sacred Mountains and gather an item from each place. A perfect white shell from Sisnaajiní, a piece of turquoise from Tsoodził, an abalone shell from Dook’o’oosłiid, and a nugget of black jet from Dibé Nitsaa.”

  “All those are mentioned in the song!” Davery says excitedly, pointing at the sheet. “White shell, blue turquoise, abalone, and jet.”

  I look over his shoulder. Right under the part about the four kinds of stones, it says, Two to remember, one to forget. The last, take from the progenitor’s debt.

  “But what about the next part, about remembering and forgetting?” I ask. “And what the heck is a progenitor, and how are we going to take from his debt? I thought debt was, like, something you owed people.”

  “I can’t tell you,” Mr. Yazzie says. “The song was meant for you to understand, not me.”

  “A progenitor is like your ancestor,” Davery says. “But I haven’t figured out the rest yet.”

  My breath is puffing in tiny frosty clouds in front of my face as I look around at the white mountain peaks that surround us. There are so many things to keep up with and so much to learn. Spiders and rainbows. Talking stones, fields of knives, and of course, the phrase that is bothering me the most: Beware, beware the friendly toad. I hate to think poorly of Mr. Yazzie, but I can’t ignore the words of the song. I vow to trust him for now, but to stay alert.

  “I’m really cold,” Mac says, his teeth chattering as he tucks his hands into his long sleeves. “Is anyone else freezing out here?”

  “F-f-for n-n-now, let’s f-f-focus on the mountains and getting the f-f-four gifts we need,” Mr. Yazzie says.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Yazzie?” Davery asks. “I remember from biology class that horned toads don’t do well in the cold.”

  “N-n-now that you m-m-mention it,” he says, “I d-d-do seem to be rather ch-chilly.…”

  I scoop up our tiny guide and tuck him into the neck of my hoodie, between my warm shirt and the fleece. I make sure he’s cozy but leave enough room around him so he can still see out.

  “Is he okay?” Mac asks.

  “Horned toads freeze in cold weather,” Davery says. “It’s a hibernation response. He’ll be fine in a few minutes, once Nizhoni warms him up.”

  “Maybe we should look around and try to find somewhere inside,” I suggest.

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Mac asks, peering around nervously. “We don’t want to wander off the edge of a cliff or something.”

  “We’ll be fine,” I say, starting off toward the closest white peak on the edge of the meadow. “He said there’s a guardian on this mountain, right? We’ll just look for them while we wait for Mr. Yazzie to warm up.”

  “I don’t know, Z,” Davery says, looking uneasy. “The guardian may not be friendly. He or she could be the one Mr. Yazzie warned us not to trust. I mean, ‘guardian’ does imply there’s something worth guarding. And this guardian person might not take too kindly to us stomping all over their mountain looking for…What exactly are we looking for?”

  “A white shell,” I say, remembering what Mr. Yazzie said.

  “Uh, this doesn’t look like the ideal place to find a white shell,” Mac says.

  “I hate to agree,” Davery says, “but I agree.”

  I stop in my tracks, resting my hands on my hips, and look at my companions. “Maybe you two have forgotten, but we are on a quest here, not a ski vacation. And frankly, neither of you sounds particularly questish. In fact, you sound like you’re already giving up.”

  Davery frowns. “I don’t think ‘questish’ is a real word.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s a real word!” I say, feeling exasperated. “What matters is that we find that shell. Now!” I motion toward the mountain peak.

  “Fine,” Davery says, “but I have a feeling we’re going to regret this.”

  “Stop worrying so much,” I say. “We’ll be fine.”

/>   And that’s when the arrow comes flying through the air to thunk into the ground inches from my toes.

  We all stop in our tracks.

  “I surrender!” Mac yells, throwing his backpack down in the snow and raising his hands.

  Davery and I do the same.

  “Who’s there?” comes a boy’s voice. Or at least I think it’s a boy. It sounds like winter wind blowing through pine trees—a soft sound that carries a lot of potential. I shiver when it touches my ears.

  “Say your names!” the voice demands.

  I look around, but I can’t see who’s talking. “Hello?”

  “We come in peace,” Davery says calmly.

  “Don’t kill us!” wails Mac.

  I swear, I cannot take my brother anywhere.

  A figure materializes, slowly separating itself from the white fields of snow. At first I think it’s a statue that I somehow didn’t see before—a statue of a boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, carved from a diamond. His skin, his clothes—everything is made of white crystal rock. He’s wearing long pants, a loose shirt, a shell necklace and matching earrings, and he has a bandanna tied around his head and knotted to the side. The morning sun illuminates the angles of his face, the crook of his elbow, the bend of his knees, so that he sparkles like the prism Dad hung in the window to catch the light. But he can talk and move—and he’s holding a bow and arrow in his hands, nocked and aimed directly at me!

  “Davery!” I yelp, my hands squeezing his arm.

  “I see him,” he says.

  “What do we do?”

  He steps forward, his hands still raised, and says again, sounding more official than before, “We come in peace!”

  The crystal boy narrows his eyes, and his hands grasp the bow a little tighter.

  “I don’t think that’s working,” I whisper through teeth clenched in a smile.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  As a matter of fact, I do. “Mr. Yazzie,” I say to my shoulder, “I know you’re frozen and all, but it would be really good if you woke up about now.”

  “Who are you talking to?” the boy asks suspiciously.

  “How can you talk if you’re a statue?” Mac asks.