“I didn’t know that,” says Uncle Li. “It’s rather extraordinary, isn’t it?”
“I think we’ll discover that ancient civilizations were far more advanced than we gave them credit for,” Tenzo replies.
“But what does this gland do?” I ask.
“It’s the timekeeper of the body,” Tenzo replies. “It regulates day and night cycles.”
“So that’s why Fergus and your ancestor came from the Dunhuang Caves to the Isle of Huracan? Because it was some special place on the planet?” I ask.
“That’s what my mother told me. She said that when Fergus got to the caves, Xu Bao Cheng described a mythical place to him and Fergus knew exactly where it was. He stayed on with Bao Cheng for several years, learning what he could about the prophecy and his role in it, and then the two of them set off for this place. And that’s where my mother stopped—she wouldn’t tell me about Breidablik or the Isle of Huracan. Like I said, I had originally guessed it was in Egypt. But I still don’t know what to make of it all, especially your part in all this, Caity.”
“Well, one thing Bolon told me is that what I’m going to be doing will involve the computer,” I offer.
Both look at me “Sorry, what did you say?” Uncle Li asks.
“Bolon, the Mayan guy. He said I’ll be using my computer as this thing unfolds.”
“What else did this ‘Bolon’ say?” Tenzo asks.
“He was just telling me that the Elders think I’m doing a great job so far, and then he explained the Galactic Center thing.”
“Caity, I’m worried about this stranger being in your room with you,” Tenzo says. “I’m going to ask Mrs. Findlay what she knows about our new guest.”
I try to protest but he just walks out. I turn to Uncle Li and say, “I know it seems weird, but wait until he explains it to you, you’ll totally get it.”
“I’d love to meet him,” Uncle Li says. It seems weird that he doesn’t seem concerned at all, while Tenzo is freaking out.
Tenzo walks back into the room with a stern look on his face, and says, “Caity, Mrs. Findlay knows nothing of a new guest. She said that your parents never mentioned there would be anyone checking in while they were away.”
“What, you think I made him up? Like an imaginary friend or something?” I ask.
“I wish he were an imaginary friend. No, I worry that he’s real. He could be the one who locked you in the tower.”
“There’s no way. You shouldn’t even worry about him; he’s the nicest, most gentle old guy I’ve ever met.”
“And you’re certain you weren’t dreaming?” Tenzo asks as gently as he can.
“Maybe I was,” I say just to get them off my back. My brain hurts. I’m tired of talking to these guys, I wish I could talk to someone my own age. I wish Alex were still speaking to me.
“Are you all done with dinner?” I ask. “I’ll help Mrs. Findlay clean up before bed.”
I pile the plates on the rolling cart and Mr. Papers runs over and crawls on the lower rack for a ride. When I get to the kitchen, I’m happy to see Mrs. Findlay sitting at the table playing solitaire.
“Hello dear,” she says.
Papers jumps from the lower rack to the table and Mrs. Findlay nearly has a heart attack.
“Up to your cubby you scoundrel!” she says to him.
“Hi.” I plop down next to her and put my head on her shoulder. “Would you mind if I slept in one of the twin beds in your room tonight?”
“Course not,” she says. “It’s your castle; you can sleep wherever you please.”
It’s so nice to be near someone comforting that I decide to confide in her, but only halfway. “Mrs. Findlay, if I tell you something will you promise not to tell my parents?”
She looks at me to see if I’m joking around or serious. “S’pose I would,” she replies.
“Really, you have to swear you won’t tell.”
“Right then, I swear,” she says. “What is it dear?”
I decide to tell her a modified version of the story. “Well, earlier today Uncle Li and I were in the shed, um, looking for something for Mr. Papers, and someone slipped a couple of books in and then locked the door.”
She looks at me as if she doesn’t believe me.
“I’m serious! Someone locked us in with a note that said to translate the books, then we’d be let out.”
“And what were the books?”
“Some old Sanskrit books. Uncle Li said he can read them. Anyway, we managed to get out, but we think Thomas might have locked us in.”
Mrs. Findlay takes a deep breath. She picks up her cards, even though her game is not over, and neatly stacks them, shaking her head slowly the whole time.
“What?” I ask.
“Well, I reckon we’ll have to have an agreement that goes both ways—if I tell you something then you must promise not to tell your parents. They’ll probably find out sooner of later, but I’d like it to come from Thomas, not me.”
“What is it?” I ask.
She puts the cards back in their box and then sets her hands on them before she begins.
“Thomas has a twin brother named Donald. They’re identical—even their parents had trouble telling them apart.”
“Really? Thomas has a twin?” For some reason I associate twins with young kids. I never think of old people as being part of a twin set.
“Yes. They were quite the pair growing up, thick as thieves. But one day at the age of about sixteen, they had a falling out. It was as if on that day Thomas became the golden child and Donald became the bad seed, always getting into trouble. Then one day, not long after I started working here, poof ! He up and disappeared. Hamish’s father, Robert, had always taken a likin’ to the twins and they were allowed to roam freely in and around the castle, which was a rare treat for anyone outside the family. Aye, but after the falling out, Donald only came back here once—to steal two rare old books from Robert. Robert, Hamish, and Thomas looked all over for that boy and those books but no one could ever find him, nor the books.”
“And in all those years he’s never returned?” I ask, mesmerized by her story.
“Not that anyone has been aware of. But,” she says looking at me sideways, “the books he took were two ancient Sanskrit texts.”
“Oh my God! Do you think Donald is back? That these are the books he stole?”
She puts her arm around my shoulder. “I don’t know dear. But when you told me what happened, all I could think of was Donald.”
“Is he crazy? Would he hurt us?” I ask.
Instead of answering my question she says, “You know what? I’d sure feel better if we had Hans, my German shepherd, here with us tonight.”
She stands up and goes to the phone. “I’m sure Alex won’t mind bringing him out, what with having the night off and all.”
I wince when I hear his name. He definitely wouldn’t want to do me any favors. She dials a number and speaks quietly; Alex must not have put up any resistance because she quickly hangs up the phone.
“You’ll love Hans. He looks vicious but he’s a sweet, sweet creature.”
When I was a kid I saw an animal show about wolves taking down a huge moose and since then I’ve been afraid of dogs. It shocks me that people let these animals that are capable of total savagery sleep in their beds. However, tonight I am thrilled to have a savage on my side.
While Mrs. Findlay prepares for breakfast, I play a couple of games of solitaire with her cards. I’ve only ever played solitaire on the computer and it’s kind of nice to play it in real life. I like the snap of the cards against the table as I lay them out and the way they never stay completely straight in their rows. Lost in the game, I don’t realize how much time passes before the kitchen door swings open and a huge German shepherd runs in. Mrs. Findlay bends down to greet Hans and slips him half of a sandwich, which he swallows in one gulp without chewing. Mr. Papers has crammed himself as far back as he can inside his cubby; this would be like me
encountering a grizzly bear or something.
Alex walks in and sits next to me at the kitchen table. I keep looking down, ashamed and embarrassed by what I’d said to him about his father. While Mrs. Findlay is distracted by the dog, Alex taps me on the shoulder and mouths the words, “I’m sorry.”
I put my hand to my chest and whisper, “No, no, it was my fault. I’m so sorry.”
He takes a napkin from the dispenser on the table and waves it like a surrender flag. I do the same. My heart feels like a chocolate chip on a hot cookie sheet.
When Mrs. Findlay looks over at us he puts the napkin down and says, “So you girls need a bit of protection tonight?”
Mrs. Findlay scratches Hans behind the ears until his whole body shakes and says, “Don’t be silly! I just thought Hans would be a bit lonely without me.”
Once Alex is loaded up with a basket of cookies and scones, Mrs. Findlay sends him on his way, bolting the kitchen door behind him. I follow her and Hans to the guest room off the kitchen that used to be a servant’s quarters. I’d always thought it was so depressing that there weren’t any windows in this room, but now I’m glad there’s only one way in—through the door that I’m locking.
There’s no way I’m going upstairs alone, so I decide to sleep in my T-shirt. Mrs. Findlay disappears into the small attached bathroom and comes out wearing a long white nightgown. She pulls down the covers on one of the beds, gets in with a big sigh, and says, “Ah, lovely.”
Despite my fears, as I look down at Hans lying on the cold floor I feel the urge to have him on the bed with me.
“Mrs. Findlay?” I say quietly. “Would it be alright of Hans slept on my bed?”
Mrs. Findlay makes the tsk tsk sound but then looks at my pleading eyes and shakes a finger at Hans. “Only tonight, mister.”
I get in, pull the covers up, and then pat the foot of the bed. “Come on pal!” I say, and Hans hops up gingerly, as if he knows he’s doing something he shouldn’t. He looks over at Mrs. Findlay and she nods. “It’s okay, boy,” she reassures him, “it’s okay.”
I roll over and fall deeply to sleep with my toes tucked under the weight of the big savage.
Awakened by the sounds of Mrs. Findlay in the kitchen, I roll over and bury my face in the pillow. I don’t feel like bouncing out of bed yet. Hans’ nose is twitching like crazy; when he can’t stand it anymore, he hops off and trots into the kitchen. His toenails make an interesting noise on the tile, like a million tiny high heels clickity-clicking.
I follow Hans and pour a cup of tea while toasting two slices of bread. Passing the big cast-iron pan of bacon, I can’t resist pulling out a couple of pieces to slip between my toast, sandwich style. I walk over to Mr. Papers’ wood cubby to check on him, but because Hans is in the kitchen, he’s backed himself as far back into his little space as he can. “Here Hans!” I yell as I toss piece of bacon and open the side door. As soon as the meat is launched in the air, Hans runs out and catches it like a Frisbee and I quickly close the door.
Mr. Papers finally emerges and hops on my shoulder. By the time we get to my room, Bolon is already there sitting in one of the leather chairs.
“Good morning, Caity,” he says.
“Hello Bolon,” I reply as I walk over to the chair next to him. Mr. Papers hops on back of the chair that Bolon is in and then climbs up his shoulder and then onto his head. He just sits there as if he is a monkey hat, with his tail curled around himself like he’s settling in. Bolon doesn’t even seem to notice.
“So where are you staying, anyway?” I ask.
“Oh, just a little place in town.” Then he leans forward in his chair and says, “Today I would like to discuss the specifics of your role in the unfolding of this plan.”
“Finally!” I’m good with specifics.
“I’ve brought you this,” he says as he hands me a CD. “It’s one of the Mayan calendars; the one for the human cycle, called the ‘Tzolk’in.’”
“Wow, thanks!” I say, surprised that Bolon even knows how to burn a disc. “Zol-keen? That’s how you pronounce this?” I ask as I look at the word Tzolk’in printed on the disc written on it.
“Yes. It’s a Mayan word that can be translated as either ‘Count of Days’ or ‘Pieces of the Sun’.”
“Pieces of the Sun,” I repeat. That’s beautiful.
Bolon says, “The Tzolk’in is one of the twenty Mayan calendars explained on this disc. It will help synchronize your youth, help ease the transition that the world is going through.”
“Seriously?” I say. “Can a calendar really matter?”
Bolon closes his eyes for a moment as if I have just personally insulted him. “The calendar is the center of any civilization. It’s the agreement we all make about what time is. The Tzolk’in is a different kind of agreement.”
I’m trying to hide it, but Bolon sees that I still don’t buy into a calendar as this huge and radical change-maker.
“Your calendar was devised by a Pope for religious and agricultural reasons. It has nothing to do with humans and our particular cycles. A serious error in time happened when Western Civilization decided to view time as a straight line heading into the future, rather than as a cycle.”
“So you want me to somehow make everyone start using a different calendar?” I ask.
“Not everyone, only those who are ready. But you will be shocked by how many people, especially people your age, will embrace the Tzolk’in.” He looks at me like he’s deciding whether or not to say something before he continues. “There will also be many who deny what you say. Some will be working for the Shadow Forces and will want to put out your light, some will just ignore you. Remember: it is not your job to convince anyone.”
I’m relieved to hear this. “Good, because I had a hard time even selling Girl Scout cookies, and if you’ve ever had a Thin Mint you know those things practically sell themselves.”
“This is not a product—it is a highly sophisticated synchronization tool,” Bolon says. “Do not come to this as a warrior or a salesperson; come to it as a flower opening to the sun. Walk away from those who are not open or those who align with the Shadow Forces.”
“Every time you mention the Shadow Forces you scare me,” I admit.
“The Shadow Forces want people to remain off balance, put off-kilter by mechanical time and chaos, so that people are easier to control. When you are balanced, it’s more difficult for someone to push you over, yes? Stay balanced and you will not be controlled; stay soft and openhearted and evil will have nothing to oppose.”
Didn’t Uncle Li use that same line? I hold up the CD. “So I give this away to anyone who wants it? Like shareware or something?” I ask, trying to define my actual job.
He shrugs. “How you distribute it will be up to you. The most important thing is that you must make it resonate with people your age.”
“Resonate?”
“Yes, resonate. If you do not make it resonate, it will be like handing out books to a blind person; it will mean nothing.”
We both freeze when Mom’s voice comes over the intercom. “Caity, we’re home!”
“We’ll continue this talk later,” Bolon says. “There’s one more thing you’ll need to do.”
“I hope it’s easy; this is starting to sound like a full-time job,” I say.
Bolon laughs. He says, “I’ll find you later,” and walks out the door.
When I get to the kitchen, Mom runs over and gives me a huge hug. “Oh, Caity, I just had the weirdest feeling about you yesterday. I know it’s probably because we were stuck and I couldn’t get to you, but I’m still glad to see you.”
As she’s hugging me I wonder whether she picked up on my vibe while Uncle Li and I were locked in the tower. God was that just yesterday?
“So how was the big tour?” I ask. “Were any of the guests upset?”
“We might just fake a bus breakdown with every group—they loved it!” Dad says.
“So Thomas came out and rescued
you guys?” I ask. I’m dying to find out where he is and talk to him about his brother. “Is he here now?”
“Thomas saved us. He picked up the part we needed and brought it out,” Dad says. “We told him to take the day off, after all his help. Why, do you need something?”
I shake my head. Dad musses up my hair like I’m a six-year-old and I shrug and duck away from him.
“We’ve had an overwhelming request for fly-fishing today,” Mom says, cheerily. “Want to come?”
“No thanks, I’m good here. Uncle Li is teaching me so much about feng shui.”
“Angus, aren’t you proud of how we raised such an independent girl?”
They have no idea just how independent, I think to myself.
Mom hugs me again and then she and Dad go to the parlor to join the guests.
When I get to my room I check out what’s on the Tzolk’in disc from Bolon.
The Tzolk’in
(Pronounced Zole-keen)
The ancient Maya knew that humans have a specific rhythmic cycle, which is why they devised the Tzolk’in,
a 260-day calendar that has 20 months of 13 days.
Each day has 1 of 20 energies (pictures) and 1 of 13 forces (numbers). The combination of the number and the picture tell you what to focus on that day. For example, a day called 8 Imix (pronounced ee-meesh) would look like this:
Imix represents creation, or beginning, and is a great day to start something new. The number 8 brings the force of integrity, so whatever you begin with, have honest energy behind it.
Though deceptively simple, the Tzolk’in is a highly advanced DNA synchronization tool that reconnects humans to the natural cycles of the universe. Like a room full of tuning forks, if you strike one the others will resonate without even being touched.
Sounds interesting, kind of like one of those daily meditation calendars. I scroll down to see how it works. It looks like a regular calendar, but there’s a number and a picture and a word on each of the days in addition to the normal date that we use. At the end there’s this key to the thirteen numbers and the twenty pictures so you can look up the deeper meaning of each day. I print out the whole year so I can use it myself and see what it’s all about.
The Daykeeper's Grimoire Page 16