She took a deep breath.
“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, each word trembling as it fell to the ground.
The tunnel entrance was small, and she had to crawl on her hands and knees, sucking in her breath, to squeeze through.
As the tunnel sloped downward, the soil became damper, the light became dimmer, and Clara’s nerves echoed ever louder in her ears. Slimy things squirmed under her hands, and bits of earth crumbled onto her head. The air was stale and warm, and the farther she went, the more suffocating it became.
Clara stopped to catch her breath.
Before her there was only darkness; behind her, a pinpoint of light. It occurred to her that the fawn may have tricked her, that this tunnel might lead nowhere, and that by the time she figured it out, the deer would be long gone…and she would be trapped underground.
I can’t do this.
She scooted backward, letting her feet guide her toward the entrance. Panic lodged itself in her throat. Gulping down breaths of stale air, she forced herself to move as quickly as she could.
And then something crumbled in the space behind her. She heard it clearly, the earth shifting. Before she could figure out what it was or what to do, a cold finger touched her ankle.
Clara gasped, and her heart constricted inside her chest. A second finger made contact with her skin, and a strangled cry escaped her throat. But the cry prompted her to action. She raced forward, crawling as fast as she could. Needles of pain shot up her arms as dirt and small stones lodged into the cuts on her palms.
Her breath came fast, almost drowning out the sound of the earth crumbling: behind her, beneath her, over her head. It was as if the tunnel was preparing to collapse. The notion of all that dirt above her stole her breath, but she pushed away the thought and focused instead on just moving.
As the tunnel leveled off, Clara found it easier to gain speed. But she wasn’t fast enough to stop the cold tendrils reaching for her arms and legs. One looped itself around her right foot and yanked her back, hard.
Clara dug her fingers into the ground; dirt jammed up under her fingernails. With her free foot, she kicked at the cold thing pulling her back. It only tightened its grip.
She planted her left foot on the ground and firmly pushed herself forward, using her elbows for leverage. Her right foot felt numb as the tightness around her ankle increased. She pushed onward, fighting for every inch of progress. But the pressure around her foot intensified and a dull pain pulsed up her leg.
A second tendril crawled up her left foot, and before she could stop it, the thing wrapped itself around her leg, completely immobilizing her.
A sob rose in Clara’s throat as she realized that the fawn’s warning had come to pass: the vines had been alerted to her fear. They had found her, and they were dangerous. The grinding of earth all along the tunnel made it clear that more vines were swiftly making their way toward her.
“Esteban!” she called out in the darkness.
Her voice was swallowed up by the many layers of sediment between Clara and her cousin, who at that moment happened to be standing directly above her, realizing that maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to follow the man in red.
The man had come out of nowhere, a kind smile on his face, and eyes that reminded Esteban of his father (“honest eyes,” his mother always said).
“Hey, little fellow.” The man had knelt on the ground, surely ruining his elegant pants. His jacket was also very fancy and shiny and red. Something shuffled inside his breast pocket, and the small head of a dragon poked out, followed quickly by a second tiny head. The man in red put a hand over his pocket and whispered words under his breath. The heads dropped out of sight, and the shuffling stopped.
“Are you okay?” the man asked Esteban.
“I—I think I’m lost,” Esteban replied.
The man nodded.
“I don’t know how I got here.” Esteban looked around. “I thought I heard my mother….”
His sentence fell off into silence, and his eyes welled with tears.
“You mustn’t cry,” the man said. He put a hand on Esteban’s shoulder. “I have it on good authority that your mother is, in fact, nearby.”
“She is?” Esteban lit up.
“Indeed, she is. And she’s eager to see you.”
The man stood and brushed the dirt off his pants. He held a hand out to Esteban. “Shall we go meet her?”
“Yes, oh, please!”
Anticipation coursed through Esteban as he took the man’s hand.
“You must miss her,” the man said.
“I do. So much!”
As they walked, Esteban told the man all about Chita, and the man told him about the beautiful pink castle where he lived.
“Is Mami in the castle?”
“Yes,” the man said. “She’s been waiting for you. Now come, it’s just up ahead.”
They passed by a large hedge of thickly entangled vines, and for a moment Esteban thought he’d heard Clara’s voice.
He turned.
“There are dangerous things beyond that hedge,” the man whispered in his ear. “We must hurry.”
Esteban followed the man, and they crossed through an enormous ring made of stone and onto a smooth platform at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the tops of trees.
Thin steps descended from the platform, seemingly floating in midair. They led to a second platform, which was flanked by two enormous stone blossoms. Steps wrapped around the stem of each flower in a downward spiral that disappeared into the treetops.
“This way.” The man led Esteban down the spiral stairs. As they descended, more of the kingdom revealed itself.
It was unlike anything Esteban had ever seen.
Tall metal structures rose like stalks of rusted seaweed; impossibly thin bridges crisscrossed the trees; tapered stone columns held giant bowls overflowing with flowering vines.
There were tall constructions with walls made of interconnected ovals through which the jungle had woven itself, creating an interlacing tapestry of green and stone. Others had slender walls reaching up to the sky with no roof. Still others had walls that rose and then curved outward like petals on a blossom.
A waterfall roared down the side of the cliff into a pool of clear water that branched off into dozens of canals. The canals snaked along the jungle floor toward fountains carved in the shape of mermaids or fish or outstretched hands with fingers reaching upward.
The ground was paved with stones interspersed with moss. A path made of colorful pieces of glass stood out among the stones, and it was this path that Esteban and the man in red followed.
They passed the frame of a building with intricately carved pillars on thin platforms and steps leading up and into thin air. A lattice of arches rose beside them like waves frozen in stone.
Esteban marveled at the wonders unfolding before him. It didn’t surprise him that his mother would be in a place like this.
The man in red stopped before a grand and imposing entrance; a large metal door was set into the stone, framed by a tangle of what appeared to be vines of solid gold.
“Come.” The man beckoned.
From his jacket, he pulled out a skeleton key, ancient and rusted. He put the key in the keyhole and turned it once.
Esteban hadn’t noticed how loud the jungle was until it fell silent with the turning of the key. A shiver raced down his back; goose bumps flooded his skin.
With a loud creak, the door opened into a dark cave within the cliff.
“Hurry!” The man motioned for Esteban to follow him. Somewhere in the jungle a bell rang.
Esteban stopped. “Do you hear that?”
“Yes,” the man said. “We must be behind this door before the final bell tolls.” He placed a hand on Esteban’s shoulder, gently nudging him
forward.
The bell rang a second time.
“Is my mother in here?” Esteban asked, peering into the cave.
The man nodded. “Yes, yes.” But his words were too quick, and his manner gave Esteban pause. He lingered on the threshold.
The bell rang a third time.
“Come on now,” the man in red urged.
“Mami?” Esteban called into the cave. The word bounced back at him. He looked at the man. “She’s not here.”
The bell rang a fourth time.
A shadow fell across the face of the man in red. But it was gone as quickly as it came. The next moment, he was smiling.
“Of course she’s here.” His long fingers wrapped around Esteban’s arm. With a hard yank, he pulled Esteban through the door and into the cave.
Esteban stumbled but caught himself before he fell. Meanwhile, the man in red slammed the large metal door shut and locked it with his ancient key.
In the darkness that surrounded him, Esteban heard the faint sound of the bell tolling a fifth time, followed by a muffled bang against the door. “What was—” But before he could finish his question, the walls of the cave began to pulse with light. At first the light was dim and hardly noticeable, but with every passing second it intensified, until the walls glowed brightly.
“Whoa!” Esteban ran his hand over the smooth pink crystal surface.
“Welcome to my home.” The man in red grinned. Then he turned the key in the lock of the metal door through which they had just entered. The door opened onto the very same place as before, but the scene was entirely different. It was as if the key had removed a veil shielding a magic kingdom hidden in the jungle.
What had appeared to be overgrown ruins was now a shining citadel made of pink granite, with colored windows that glittered in the sunshine and staircases leading to second and third and fourth floors, all with walls intact and engraved with gems making intricate patterns. Water sparkled from countless crystal fountains, and large colorful umbrellas created a bright canopy for the dozens of people who were milling around, talking gaily and laughing.
Ladies wore flowing gowns of shimmering silk embroidered with gold and silver threads. Flowers and feathers were woven into their hair. Men wore suits of deep green, blue, and purple hues, with flowers tucked into their lapels or on the bands of their hats. Peacocks moved among them, dragging their long iridescent feathers along the ground.
The man in red stepped out of the cave, and Esteban followed him. The crowd turned toward the man in red and bowed.
“Welcome, friends!” the man called out. He kept a hand firmly on Esteban’s shoulder. “El Mercado Rojo is now open!”
Esteban had never heard of the Red Market, but it was clearly an important event for the people gathered around. A cheer burst from the crowd, and a man began pounding on a large drum. With every beat of the drum, sparks filled the air, rippling outward from the instrument.
Behind him, another musician played a wooden flute. A woman followed next, with a mandolin. There were guitars and bells, a harp on golden wheels. Each instrument added its own texture to the air, enveloping the spectators and drawing them forward.
Esteban raised his hand, feeling the harmonies course through his fingertips and down to his bones.
The people gathered in a joyous line behind the musicians, dancing and singing. They clapped in unison as they wound around gleaming towers of metal roses, under curtains of sweet-scented flowers, and over small gem-encrusted bridges, beneath which clear water reflected all the colors of this glorious symphony.
Their merriment was contagious, and Esteban took a step to follow them. A firm hand stopped him in his tracks. The man in red stood beside him, gazing out at the ambling crowd.
“You will go to the Mercado Rojo later,” he said. “First, it’s time to get you ready.” The man turned his gaze toward Esteban. A hunger glinted in his eyes, similar to what Esteban often saw in the eyes of the stray dogs near his home.
“Ready for what?” Esteban asked.
The man smiled. “To see your mother, of course.”
A growing sense of unease had settled into Esteban’s stomach. He recognized it as a premonition.
“Is she far?” he asked.
“Not far at all.” The man turned and walked away from the gaily dancing crowd. His shoes clicked sharply on the path of polished pink stone, like a clock tick-tick-ticking or a boy’s heart beat-beat-beating faster with every passing moment.
The jungle grew increasingly silent as they followed the path, until Esteban could hear only his breath and the rhythmic clicking of shoes.
Sculpted snakes rose alongside them, their jaws open, their fangs tipped in silver. Large bowls rested atop slender stalks of stone, gathering water and birds. Everywhere there were palms, ferns, crawling vines, and flowers dripping from branches.
The man in red led Esteban over a bridge made of a thin sheet of glass. Tall and perfectly even tree trunks, stripped of leaves and branches, stood in a dense row along the bridge, creating a makeshift wall. Below the bridge, jewel-toned fish swam in a pool of clear water.
At the end of the bridge, steps led down to a garden enclosed by tall walls covered in leaves. Unlike the jungle, wild and untamed, the garden was perfectly trimmed and orderly.
Along the sides of the garden, lush fruit trees in tidy rows provided shade for the white benches interspersed beneath their branches. Directly in front of Esteban, hundreds of tulips made an intricate geometric design. Lavender bushes framed the tulips, with bees swarming dizzyingly among the stalks.
The garden stood at the base of a pink castle. But this was no ordinary castle. Slender pillars held up equally thin ceilings, which in turn supported more pillars holding up more ceilings holding up more pillars, and so on, as high as Esteban could see. The structure resembled a house of cards.
“Is this where you live?” Esteban asked.
The man in red nodded.
“And my mother is here, too?”
“You’ll see her soon enough,” the man replied, but Esteban couldn’t see any people anywhere, and he was starting to doubt that this man actually knew where his mother was.
“Now come,” the man said.
“I—I want to see my mother first,” Esteban said. His stomach tightened.
The man stopped but did not turn around.
“You said you’d take me to see her,” Esteban added.
A hush fell upon them, and all that Esteban could hear was a rustling sound from the vine-covered wall along the garden’s edge. A chill crawled across his body.
“Look.” The man turned abruptly. “Why don’t you just come with me and we’ll sort this all out.”
“You don’t know where she is, do you?” Esteban took a step backward. The rustling around him grew louder, more active.
The man in red sighed.
“I want to go back.” Esteban fought a wave of nausea. “To my house.”
The place was a maze, but he was sure he could find his way.
“I’m sorry,” said the man. “I truly am. But that’s no longer possible.”
Esteban’s next step was cut short by a sharp pain in his stomach that made him double over. The strength of his premonition left him gasping for air.
The wall around the garden began to expand, closing off the entrance.
“No!” Esteban cried, and he ran toward the narrowing gap the vines were quickly sealing. He would have made it, he would have reached the exit, except that he tripped on his shoelace, which—in his haste to find his mother when he crawled out of his window so many lifetimes ago—he had forgotten to tie.
With a heavy thud, Esteban crashed to the ground, skinning his hands and knees. The air in his lungs momentarily fled his body, sending him into a breathless panic.
He sucked in
air, breath after breath, fighting back his pain. And then he heard his name being called. It was so very faint and so far away he was certain it was just wishful thinking.
Still, he called out in response. “Clara?”
The word fell to the ground, sinking through grass and soil until it reached his cousin, bound tightly in a mesh of creepers far below him.
Six miles west of the city center, Life and Death sat in the back of a taxi winding its way up a mountain. The narrow road hardly seemed big enough for one small car, let alone the two lanes of traffic it usually carried. Fortunately, at that hour the road was empty. The friends were on a tight schedule, and it would be best if Catrina didn’t have new souls to tend to before they completed their task.
“I told you, señora,” the cabdriver said as he pulled into the parking lot near the top of the mountain. “It’s closed.”
“That’s quite all right,” Catrina replied, and she paid the man handsomely. “This is all we needed.”
Of course, they didn’t need to take the taxi at all. A simple snap of the fingers would have transported them to their destination. But Life and Death enjoyed these rare moments when they got to pretend they were human.
They climbed out of the taxi and bid the driver farewell, watching until the car’s taillights faded into the darkness before turning toward the entrance of Monte Albán.
The cabdriver had not lied. The vast pre-Columbian archaeological site was empty at this hour, save for the ghosts of the ancient priests and nobles who had occupied the area since 500 BC. The terraces, temples, pyramids, and artificial mounds that made up Monte Albán had been carved directly into the mountain and inhabited by a succession of ancient peoples: first the Olmec, then the Zapotec, and finally the Mixtec.
Life and Death climbed to the top of the tallest pyramid and took a seat on the stone ledge. From their perch, they watched over all of Oaxaca City, fast asleep beneath them.
The sky was beginning to show signs of dawn: gilded streaks of coral and amber cutting through the deep blue of night. The rising sun kissed the windows and bells in the city below, creating squares of light all across town. A flock of birds rose to greet the sun, their black shadows crossing over from night to day.
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