He whipped his hat over the heads of the crowd—and it found the small hand for which it was meant.
His eyes sparkling, Joaquin grinned from ear to ear as he held one of the cherished symbols of his father—his hero—high for all to see.
Laughing, Elena snatched it from him, plopping it down to cover half his face!
You see? I always told you that your father had a big head!
He almost giggled. The comforting darkness of his hero’s oversized hat smelled of Papi’s sweat.
With a wink to her dearest heart, Elena tipped up the brim so that Joaquin could see again. And what a sight he beheld. The congressman laughed and nodded, waving his thanks to the boy.
On the podium, Zorro bowed slightly to him. “I wish you a safe trip back to Washington, Congressman.”
“No need to be so formal,” the congressman assured him. “The name’s Lincoln…Abraham Lincoln.”
The congressman warmly jabbed his hand forward—and Zorro took it, shaking it gladly.
Libertad!
Viva California! Viva America!
The soft warm light of early afternoon poured into the parlor from the veranda and struck the fidgeting hands of Alejandro de la Vega as they moved over his son’s crooked tie. Alejandro’s shoulders tensed from the confines of what he called “my God-forsaken monkey suit.”
Shaking his head, he gazed fully into the silver-gilded mirror before him, studying the portrait of father and son decked out in their finest personally tailored suits, hair slicked back, faces cleaned and in Alejandro’s instance neatly shaved. He was home and that was all that really mattered. The only true enemy he faced today was his own case of nerves—and the nefarious resistance of Joaquin’s rebellious tie…
“Look at you,” said Alejandro proudly. “A real heartbreaker, huh?”
A smile flickered on Joaquin’s face—and quickly faded as he studied first his father’s reflection, then his own.
You’re the son of Zorro, Joaquin de la Vega. Ask what you need to know.
“Dad?” Joaquin whispered. He drew a deep breath and his next words tumbled from him in a breathy rush. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me who you are?”
Alejandro sighed, his powerful hands slowly falling away from the boy, his head hanging sadly, his face etched with sorrow.
Uh-oh, thought Joaquin, staring at the mirror with a look of mute appeal. What have I done?
Alejandro’s face warmed and he met his son’s worried gaze with the softest of smiles. “The day you were born, mijo, I vowed I would give my life to keep you safe. I thought I could protect you by hiding the truth.” A lump grew in his throat as he looked back ruefully on that promise. “But your mother was right, it wasn’t my secret to keep…it belongs to all of us.” He gently clasped his son’s shoulders. “So I promise I’ll never lie to you again.”
His heart soaring, Joaquin whirled and burst into his father’s arms, his eyes brimming with forgiveness. Alejandro crushed the boy to his breast. They held each other so tightly they could barely breathe, but it didn’t matter, their love sustained them, its fire burning so brightly that all their fears melted away. At long last they eased away from each other, Alejandro’s face flushed with happiness, Joaquin raising a solitary eyebrow while flashing a broad grin.
“But you’re still gonna be Zorro, right?” asked Joaquin breathlessly.
Alejandro shrugged—then smiled roguishly. “It seems to be my destiny, for a little while longer. But Zorro has been many men. I won’t be the last.”
Silence breathed easily between them.
“I wonder,” began Joaquin with a sly smile, “who will take your place?”
Alejandro reached out a comforting hand to his son. You know the answer to that, niño. One who is worthy will wear the mask. But were that decision to fall to me today, I would surely say that my successor was with me now.
“You know Zorro,” murmured Alejandro knowingly. “He could be…anyone at all.”
Grinning, father and son left the parlor hand in hand.
A sudden blinding flash filled Joaquin’s vision. Blinking in the bright sunlight of the courtyard, he turned from the photographer and fixed his gaze on the sumptuous kiss his parents were, well… still sharing at the flower-strewn altar, even though the slightly embarrassed Fray Felipe had declared them man and wife again some time ago. Their marriage consecrated before a crowd of cheering well wishers, Alejandro and Elena finally broke their embrace at the insistence of Felipe’s cleared throat and a gentle kick from Joaquin, their ring-bearer.
This was a special day. It was the first day of a new life for this family whose struggles and hardships had been overcome by love, and whose reward was a second chance at life, at happiness. Music from the small orchestra seated to one side of the altar swelled—and the crowd rushed in to congratulate the happy family.
So long as he lived, Joaquin would never forget this day.
Felipe cleared his throat. “And when two people join in the fullness of time, in holy matrimony for all eternity…”
The low urgent tones of the church bell rang out, summoning Zorro. Everyone froze…except Felipe.
“Nay, seekest tolerance when easily provoked…”droned on the padre.
The bell struck again. Alejandro raised a worried eyebrow.
Felipe’s voice rose in passionate delivery. “Endureth all things, for love keeps no score of wrongs…”
The bold sound of the bell rang out once more. Joaquin cast his gaze about in alarm.
Felipe cast his hand to the heavens. “Minute by minute, second by second—”
“Padre,” cautioned Elena.
All eyes turned to the beautiful bride.
“Can you hurry it up?” asked Elena. “The people are calling.”
Alejandro turned to his beloved, surprised and happy. She beamed back at him with a smile that might melt the sun.
“It’s who we are,” she said tenderly.
Felipe gestured excitedly at Alejandro. “Okay, then: You want her back?”
Alejandro nodded hurriedly. “Yeah, yeah, of course…”
The padre expansively opened his hands to Elena. “And you’ll take him?”
With a wry grin, Elena shrugged. “If I must.”
“Terrific, you may kiss the bride…” Felipe scratched his head. “Again.”
Alejandro drew his wife toward him. He drank in the sumptuous darkness of her eyes, breathed the heady scent of her long supple neck and lowered his lips to hers.
Their kiss was the stuff of legends.
“Don’t wait up,” he whispered huskily.
She regaled him with a sexy smile. He would find her waiting, there could be no doubt. “Never.”
Joaquin smiled proudly as Papi winked at him—and raced from the wedding. Mama rushed to Joaquin, took his hand, and laughed as she dragged him inside. In moments they stood on the veranda, Mama’s arms around him, as they watched Zorro streak across the countryside. Their smiles could not have been wider. The pride they felt was enough to light up a starless night.
Zorro stopped on the top of the hill and reared up on Tornado. Dusk swept in around him like a cloak and the bold silver of the rising moon framed him against the horizon.
This was a hero. A true hero in every sense. A husband, a father, a friend to all.
And most of all…a man.
Zorro rode off, the path to adventure stretching boldly, endlessly, ahead of him.
From the Lair of the Fox
I stand before Zorro in his secret lair, staring deeply into his blazing eyes. I came here in search of answers…and I have found them. The words I have shared with you will remain with me always, branded in searing white-hot characters indelibly upon my soul.
The tip of Zorro’s blade is raised high.
As is mine.
When his gaze narrows, mine follows suit. When his sword slowly and tantalizingly cleaves the air, mine does as well…
I stand before a
mirror, you see.
The mask of Zorro, though cool, burns my flesh with excitement. The gloves are tight on my hands, the sash winding round my waist is a comforting band, the silver medallion sits upon my chest with a gold authority and peerless direction. The cape whips about me with righteousness. Any doubts I might have about my worthiness to uphold the tradition of my father—and his father, at least in spirit, before him—have vanished, a now-forgotten tide wiped out upon a sea of distant memory.
Joy seizes me, and a desire for justice above all things lights my way through the darkness. The mission bell tolls. Zorro is needed. Though I am but a man of twenty, I am the
inheritor of a destiny, the keeper of a legend…at least for a time.
My name is Joaquin de la Vega. It is a plain, ordinary name. And it has helped me to appear invisible…hidden behind the mask worn, in spirit, by both my parents…whose steady love has been a compass, pointing me toward my destiny. Tornado comes when I call, and soon we burst together from the lair near the hacienda of my Papi and Mama. They stand together on the veranda watching me, their loving arms wrapped around each other, their faces beaming with happiness. And though I know danger calls and justice must be dealt with all speed, I rear up on the powerful stallion, my sword held high, the image we cast a grand silhouette against the sun’s spectral glow.
Their pride, their love, is a scorching heat that no inferno made by man or God could hope to match. It rises in my heart and I take it with me as I ride on to do honor to the legend entrusted to my care.
The legend of Zorro.
About the Author
Scott Ciencin is a New York Times bestselling author of adult and children’s fiction. He has more than sixty novels and many short stories and comic book scripts in a wide range of genres to his credit. His latest novel is the swashbuckling adult hardcover adventure The Rogue’s Hour (launching the EverQuest novel line).
Scott has also penned the novelization of Jurassic Park III and a series of original Jurassic Park adventures in addition to books on such varied properties as Star Wars, Konami’s Silent Hill, Star Trek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Batman, The Mask, Godzilla, Dinotopia, Kim Possible, Forgotten Realms, R.A. Salvatore’s DemonWars and many more.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE LEGEND OF ZORRO. Copyright © 2005 Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.
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Mobipocket Reader September 2005 ISBN 0-06-089612-4
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