“Would you like to meet more relatives?” Jóhonaa’éí asks, coming up beside us. He gestures to the other slayers who’ve been freed from their amber prisons.
I look around, eyes wide. There are at least a dozen people stumbling around, gazing at each other in wonder. Navajo and English words fill the room as people talk rapidly, asking questions. One man sits on the floor, sobbing quietly. It must be pretty shocking to wake up here, especially for the older ones.
“These people were all monsterslayers?” I ask.
“Yes, child,” says Mr. Yazzie from his perch on the Sun’s shoulder. “That’s your great-great-great auntie.” He gestures toward the woman in the velvet skirts. “And that’s…” He points to the man in the bowler hat. “Oh dear, it’s been so long, I can’t quite remember. Well,” he says brightly, “let’s just say he’s one of your distant ancestors.”
“And this is your great-uncle,” Mom says, disentangling herself from Mac. She beckons to the man who looks like a Navajo Elvis. “Yá’át’ééh, análí.”
“Bethany?” he says in a soft Navajo accent. “Is that you?”
They hug, too, and there are more tears. But all I can think is: Half my ancestors ended up leaving their kids to fight monsters. That doesn’t seem like the greatest sort of lineage to have. I mean, fighting monsters sounded cool when Mr. Yazzie first told us about it, but now that I see how many people in my family went missing because of it, I’m not so convinced. Or maybe my family is just not very good at it.
“What are you thinking, Nizhoni?” Mr. Yazzie asks. “You look upset. Wasn’t this what you wanted?”
“It is,” I admit with a heavy sigh. “But it seems unfair that so many of my relatives had to bear the burden of fighting the monsters. Why not somebody else’s family?”
“A good question, Nizhoni,” Jóhonaa’éí says. “The Diné have always been warriors, have always fought against the monsters who would seek to destroy us and our way of life. But the monsters are many, and warriors like the ones in your family are fewer than they were before.”
“We don’t always win,” Mr. Yazzie says, “but we always, always try our best.”
“I guess I just wish that sometimes they would have loved their kids a little more and fought monsters a little less. Is that selfish?”
Mom turns to look at me and I flush, embarrassed. Everyone gets really quiet, and I can feel their disapproving stares. My heart is beating super fast, and I know I definitely shouldn’t have said that. But it’s true, isn’t it?
“Oh, Nizhoni.” Mom comes to stand in front of me and tentatively places her hands on my shoulders—shoulders she hasn’t touched in more than a decade. Part of me wants to shake them off, and part of me wants her to hug me like she did Mac. “Don’t you see? I tried to save you from all this. I thought that if I could kill the monsters, you wouldn’t have to. You would be free to grow up and become whoever you wanted to be.”
“But all I ever wanted was you.” Now I’m the one who’s crying.
My mom tries to embrace me, but I wrap my arms around my chest. She steps back. “I’m sorry about the way things worked out.”
“And what if ‘sorry’ isn’t good enough?”
“Chill pill, Nizhoni,” Mac mutters.
I’m not sure why I’m acting this way. I should be happy my mom is back. What’s wrong with me?
“Words probably seem pretty empty to you,” Mom says gently. “How about I work on earning your forgiveness, hmm?”
I blink. I didn’t see that coming. “So, like, actions speak louder than words?”
She nods. “One step at a time?” She looks around the room. “For Nizhoni’s sake.”
Everyone murmurs their agreement, and I feel that awful hot anger inside me dissipating a little. “Thank you,” I say, and then remember my Navajo. “Ahéhee’.”
Davery rejoins us, sensing that I’ve cooled off. After being my friend for so many years, he’s an expert at reading my feelings.
Jóhonaa’éí clears his throat. We all turn to him. “I have something for you, Bethany Begay. Something you’re missing.”
“My crossbow?” Mom asks, breathless.
“No, something else.” He pulls a sword from behind his back. It’s at least three feet long, and I swear it makes a low rumbling sound like distant thunder.
Mom holds it up, letting it catch the light. It shimmers with the power of a storm.
“I—I’m not sure I deserve this,” Mom murmurs.
“I wasn’t sure myself, when I fashioned the weapon a few minutes ago,” the Sun admits. “But I have decided to give you a second chance. Your children braved many dangers to get here, your husband’s life is at risk, and your aid will be needed to defeat the monsters. This is my gift to you.”
“Ahéhee’, Jóhonaa’éí. It is a powerful weapon.”
“It’s forged from lightning and not steel,” says the Sun. “It will strike true.” He can’t disguise his pride of craftsmanship.
“Excellent,” says Mr. Yazzie. “Now we can—”
We hear a great flapping sound outside, like a hundred giant birds flying by at once. It fills the air, and Mac throws his hands over his ears.
“What is that?” Jóhonaa’éí asks, alarmed.
He may not recognize the sound, but I would know it anywhere. “It’s Łizhin, the herald of Dibé Nitsaa. Come on!”
Grasping my bow tightly, I run out of the Lost and Found and head for the main gates of the House of the Sun. I can hear everyone following me. I stop on the front stairs outside, and the bird herald lands in the courtyard, Black Jet Girl on her back. One of the bear guards shouts in dismay as the velvet rope is knocked over and crushed under Łizhin’s massive claws, but Jóhonaa’éí says, “Leave it. I never liked the VIP section much anyway. Too Hollywood.”
Łizhin settles her massive black wings, and Black Jet Girl waves at us frantically.
“What is it?” I ask her. “Why are you here?”
“Why is everybody here?” Davery asks, looking up at the sky.
The other great heralds of the four mountains circle above us. I recognize the great bluebird, Dólii, of Tsoodził, the Blue Mountain. Flying next to him is Tsídii, the yellow warbler and herald of Dook’o’oosłiid. I don’t know the great grayish-white bird beside them, but it must be from Sisnaajiní. And on each bird’s back, I can just make out the form of its guardian—Blue Turquoise Boy, Yellow Corn Girl, and Rock Crystal Boy.
“Nizhoni,” Black Jet Girl cries in a strained voice, “what are you still doing here? Why are you not at the mesa with Jóhonaa’éí’s weapons of lightning? The sun has risen on the fourth day.”
Sure enough, the sky has begun to lighten noticeably, and we watch as, one by one, the lamps in the courtyard flicker off.
“We found the missing monsterslayers,” I explain. “Including my mom. They are ready to fight Mr. Charles!”
“It’s too late now,” Black Jet Girl says, her voice anguished. “The sun is up, and all the monsters are already free!”
“That can’t be right!” I protest. “There’s no sunrise without Jóhonaa’éí, and he’s right here.” I turn to point out the Sun, but he’s gone.
“Look!” Davery shouts. And there, just on the edge of the horizon, where the sky is getting lighter by the second, we can see Jóhonaa’éí. Before, he was dressed sort of Navajo casual with an extra helping of fancy jewelry. Now he’s wearing blindingly bright armor and carrying a golden shield. And step-by-step on an invisible set of stairs, he appears to be climbing into the sky.
Mr. Yazzie appears at our feet. “Always a stunning sight,” he says.
“The Sun could have at least warned us he was leaving,” Mac says, picking up the lizard and putting him on his shoulder. “Holy People. They’re always coming and going as they please without even a BRB.”
“What other Holy People have you met?” I ask.
“You don’t have to meet them all to know a type, amirite?”
/> Mr. Yazzie tsk-tsks.
“What do we do now?” Davery asks.
As if in answer, a wild wailing breaks across the land. At first I think it’s the wind, but it quickly becomes clear that it’s something much more ominous. It sounds like the horrible ghostly moaning from the Talking Rocks trial, and it makes my blood run cold. Mac throws his hands over his ears again, and Mom lifts her head like she’s sniffing the air.
“Monsters!” Black Jet Girl cries. “They’re breaking from their ancient cages as we speak! Hurry! We must stop them!”
Mom steps forward. “Where are they gathering?”
“In the shadow of Tsé Bit’a’í, the great rock with wings.”
“Shiprock,” Mom says grimly.
“It was the throat of a volcano long ago,” Mr. Yazzie tells us, “and it’s the legendary home of the bináá’ yee aghání.”
“Why are they after us?” asks Mac, his face pale.
“The very first monsterslayer, your ancestor Nayéé Neizghani, fought and defeated them, turning some into harmless creatures that could help the Diné, and imprisoning the rest,” explains Mr. Yazzie. “Over the years, some have broken free and sought revenge.”
“They have tried many times, and they’ve always been held back,” says Mom. “This time we have to beat them once and for all.”
“How do we get to Shiprock?” Davery asks.
“On our backs,” Łizhin says. “I can take, you, Nizhoni.”
“I’ll ride Tsídii again,” Davery offers. “Mac, can you hop on Dólii?”
“And I’ll ride with the Rock Crystal Boy, if his herald will have me,” Mom says.
“It would be my honor, Monsterslayer,” the white bird says in an ancient windy voice. “You may call me Łigai.”
“I will lead the rest of the slayers across the land,” my great-uncle, Navajo Elvis, says. “It is not so far if we take the Rainbow Road, and we have not forgotten how to fight!”
Everyone hurries to climb on their heralds’ backs. Everyone but me.
“What are you waiting for, Nizhoni?” Davery asks as he secures himself with the rope harness on Tsídii’s back. All the heralds are sporting combat gear now.
“I’m not going,” I say mournfully. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn’t get the chance.”
“What are you talking about?” That’s Mac, already up on Dólii.
“Remember the cart lady’s song? The line where a dream must be the sacrifice? I had to give up my dream of being a hero in order to free you all from the Lost and Found. That means I can’t go fight the monsters. I’ll be cheering for you all from the sidelines, but now you’re the monsterslayers.”
“Oh dear, Nizhoni,” Mr. Yazzie says, peeking out from the collar of Mac’s hoodie. “I believe you’ve misunderstood. You’re still fighting the monsters.”
I look up. “I am?”
“Of course. You are a descendant of Monsterslayer. You passed the trials. We need you.”
“But what about giving up my dream?”
“It’s enough that you were willing to make the sacrifice,” the horned toad explains. “You had to believe you were giving up that which mattered most. True intent was enough to break the amber cases. But things are much too dire for you not to fight!”
I grin. “So I’m in?”
“Most assuredly!”
I yelp with joy and run to Łizhin. I climb onto her back with a quick hug for Black Jet Girl, adjust my bow and quiver, and tie the rope harness around my waist.
“Have your arrows ready, Nizhoni,” the guardian warns me. “The bináá’ yee aghání in my house on Black Mountain were but children of the red-eyed birds, blind and foolish. The newly freed ones will be adults, and they will be able to see…and fly.”
Fly? And it hits me all at once—we’re actually going to be fighting monsters that want to kill us.
“We don’t know how many or what other kinds of monsters your Mr. Charles will raise, but your ancestors will fight the ones on the ground and we will handle whatever comes at us through the air.”
“Are you ready, Nizhoni?” Black Jet Girl asks, sounding grim.
“Never more ready!”
Łizhin smiles over her shoulder. “Then let’s go be heroes!” she shouts as she launches into the sky. Behind us, the other heralds rise and follow us to war.
Łizhin leads us over the Chuska Mountains, great sheer peaks that run north and south down the spine of the Navajo Nation. The rest of the heralds fly with us in tight formation, yellow on our right and white on our left, with blue bringing up the rear.
The wind whips around me, blowing my hair away from my face and burning my cheeks. There, in the distance, is Tsé Bit’a’í. It’s a huge mountain, standing all alone in the desert. I wouldn’t even call it a mountain. More like a big rock boat stranded in the middle of nowhere. We fly right for it.
“Look!” Łizhin shouts. “There, at the ledge.”
Dozens of buzzards stream out of the mouth of a cave near the top of the mountain. These birds are much bigger and scarier than the ones at Dibé Nitsaa. Their wingspan is the length of a school bus, and their glowing red eyes are visible even from here. They must see us, too, because an awful shriek goes up, and they immediately bank to make a beeline for us.
“Remember, only a monsterslayer can look into their eyes,” Black Jet Girl reminds me. “Their gaze freezes everyone else. We’re relying on you.”
“Got it!” I say, hoping Davery and Mac are warned in time.
“Scatter!” Black Jet Girl shouts to the guardians, and Łizhin echoes the sentiment with a piercing call.
The other heralds spread out, banking left and right, respectively. Dólii drops below us. I peer down and see Davery behind Yellow Corn Girl on Tsídii’s back. He’s holding his lightning book and frantically turning the pages as he looks up how to defeat the monsters.
Davery gazes up, as if he senses me watching. “I can’t find anything yet,” he says, “but if I had to guess, I’d say aim for the eyes so they can’t use their freeze powers. And then the heralds should go for the heart!”
All the heralds answer with battle cries.
“Eyes, then heart,” I mutter. Easy enough. If I weren’t a hundred feet in the air on the back of a giant bird.
“Are you ready?” Black Jet Girl asks me.
“Sure. Who doesn’t like a challenge?”
Łizhin suddenly rears, and I try to grab hold of Black Jet Girl’s slick surface to keep from falling. The Black Mountain herald lets loose a skin-tingling scream and thrusts her claws forward just as a huge bináá’ yee aghání comes at us, its moldy beak open wide.
“Nizhoni, your arrows! Now!” Black Jet Girl shouts.
I lift my bow, nock an arrow, and take aim. I exhale, just like they taught us at archery camp, and on the next breath, I release. The arrow flies true, a streak of white lightning that hits the bináá’ yee aghání in its veiny red eyeball. The monster screeches and veers away. Łizhin’s claws rip oily feathers from its chest as it passes, tearing a bloody gash across its body. It screeches again, and we watch as the creature spirals to the earth below. I hold my breath as it strikes the ground and doesn’t move.
“We got him!” I shout. Łizhin must have pierced its heart.
“No time to celebrate,” Black Jet Girl says. “There’s more coming.”
A fierce cry to my left draws my attention. I look over, and Mom is standing on Łigai’s back, holding up her lightning sword. Rock Crystal Boy is steering, but he’s having to do it with his head down to avoid being frozen by the buzzards’ gaze.
“Aim for the eyes!” I yell. At first I think she’s too far away to hear me, but she turns briefly and gives me a thumbs-up. I watch as a bináá’ yee aghání closes in. Mom waits until the buzzard is practically on top of her, and then she swings the sword. Lightning crackles from its tip, slashing the monster’s face. Łigai drops, almost too quickly, streaking under the buzzard and dragging its be
ak across the monster’s underside, tearing it open. Mom has to squat and grab her herald’s feathers to keep her balance. She barely avoids a disgusting rain of buzzard intestines as the bináá’ yee aghání falls from the sky.
And then Black Jet Girl is shouting at me, and I can’t watch Mom anymore, because two more bináá’ yee aghání are coming for us.
I raise my bow, nock another arrow, and try to figure out which to shoot first. They’re both coming in so fast, I won’t have time to hit both.
“Nizhoni! Shoot!” Black Jet Girl yells.
I steady my breath, exhale, and release. Another perfect shot right in the eye! The bináá’ yee aghání shrieks in pain and spins away. I turn as quickly as I can, but the other buzzard is so close there’s no way I can draw an arrow before it hits us. I can smell its hot, fetid breath and see the rows of rotted teeth inside its mouth.
“Duck!” someone shouts. I drop flat against Łizhin’s back and something streaks over my head. I catch a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye. It’s Dólii, head down, wings tucked against his body, as he barrel-rolls past us. And there’s Mac, legs strapped to his back, arm outstretched as he sends liquid fire directly over my head and into the bináá’ yee aghání’s face. I smell burned feathers—and is that fried chicken?—and then the buzzard’s carcass is plummeting toward the ground below. Black Jet Girl and I let out a cheer, and Mac raises his fist in victory.
He’s so distracted, he doesn’t see what’s coming behind him.
And by the time he does, it’s too late.
“Mac!” I scream as a huge bináá’ yee aghání strikes Dólii from behind, sending the blue herald’s controlled barrel roll into an out-of-control spiral. I watch in horror as my brother falls out of his harness and somersaults off Dólii’s back into the open sky. Turquoise Boy reaches for him, but he’s too far away.
Race to the Sun Page 21