Everfound (42 page)

“I’m nobody’s property,” grumbled Mikey, growing himself a pair of inadvertent fangs that he drew back once Nick glared at him.

Jix showed no emotion in his response. “If you wish to stop your sister, then you will do as I say. The king will become your ally only if you approach him with absolute humility, then win him over.”

Nick sighed. “Then we’re in trouble. Mikey doesn’t do humility.”

“If all goes well, you may not be palace slaves for long.” Jix thought for a moment, pondering what he should say and what he shouldn’t. “His Excellency has another name,” Jix told them. “They call him ‘the Unremembering King.’ It has to do with his memory. The things he remembers and the things he doesn’t.”

“So he forgets things?” scoffed Mikey. “Big deal. Who isn’t forgetful in Everlost?”

“No,” said Jix patiently “He’s not forgetful, he’s
unremembering
. There’s a big difference, and you will know that difference. It is the very core of his power.”

“What does that mean for us?” asked Nick

“It means that he will have a very short attention span
for you,” Jix explained, “and when he tires of treating you as playthings, he may unremember you into a position of power. But take care, because there are others who seek power in the City of Souls. . . .”

“Like you?” asked Mikey, almost an accusation.

“I,” said Jix, “will be the least of your troubles.”

Upon seeing the approaching yacht, winged messengers went soaring over the forest toward the city, and by the time the yacht neared shore, an army numbering a thousand was there to capture the intruders, whoever they were.

“His Excellency believes in excess,” Jix told Nick and Mikey, as they sailed closer to the waiting army.

Mikey and Nick were less than thrilled by the huge battalion of tribal warriors, each armed with nasty-looking sharp objects. Although they knew the weapons technically couldn’t hurt them, there was nothing pleasant about being riddled with arrows, or impaled by a spear, or hacked by a machete—and if this king was as resourceful as Jix said, perhaps he had found a way to inflict pain, or at least unrelenting discomfort.

“They’ll recognize you, right?” asked Nick. “Because you work for the king.”

Jix mewled a little, then said, “Not necessarily.” Then he turned to Mikey. “Quickly—explain to me your power. What kind of things can you turn yourself into?”

“I can’t make myself something real, if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t be a giraffe or a jaguar or an elephant—it has to be something I make up, and I’m never sure how it’s going to look.”

Jix pondered that, fiddling with his whiskers. “I think we can work with that.”

Five minutes later, the yacht had run aground, and the entire army had lowered their weapons, gawking in awe at a creature that was part vulture, part fish, and part iguana, with scales like golden kernels of maize. Taken together, they were four of the holiest of Mayan symbols. The only thing holier was the boy riding the beast: a jaguar spirit, and what appeared to be his dark, oozing shadow riding behind him. When the strange beast leaped off the boat onto shore, none of the warriors dared to disturb it, because clearly it was sent from the gods. Then when the creature turned itself into a boy, the guards picked up their weapons once more, but only to protect the three boys, and escort them inland to the City of Souls.

Jix spoke to their escorts in a language that baffled Nick and Mikey. “It’s Mayan,” he explained. “The language of the kingdom. But don’t worry; the king speaks English.”

“How could he learn a language that didn’t exist before he died?” asked Mikey, who knew that an Afterlight’s set of skills could never surpass his or her fleshly education.

“He didn’t have to learn it,” was all Jix offered as an explanation.

They marched on well-worn dirt paths that had crossed into Everlost. The forest around them was filled with trees that lived, and trees that had crossed. It seemed Everlost had much more of a footprint here than in the North.

They marched through the night, and just after dawn they came to a high stone wall that stretched out in either
direction for as far as the eye could see, and in the center of the wall was a triangular wooden gate, barring their entrance.

Mikey and Nick suspected that an ancient city might have such a wall, but what they saw atop that wall made it clear that this wasn’t just an ancient city, it was an Everlost city. All along the ramparts were strange-looking spirits, their mouths open wider than normal mouths, like living gargoyles, and their feet—if they even
had
feet—were embedded in the stone. They all wore brightly colored headdresses full of feathers and gold, and there were hundreds of them, probably enough to stretch all the way around the city.

“The wailers,” said Jix, with an exasperated sigh.

At the sight of the approaching crowd, they began to shriek, their eyes fixing on the three new arrivals. Then, in a minute or two, those screeches resolved into song, sometimes dissonant and sometimes harmonic. Their song was in Mayan, and was strangely hypnotic.

“They are announcing us to the king,” Jix explained. “Telling their impressions of each of us—but I suspect the king won’t be listening. He never listens to the wailers anymore. He’s lost interest in them.”

“What are they saying?” asked Mikey.

“They’re talking about me,” Jix said. “They’re saying that I look familiar, yet very suspicious. . . . Now they’re talking about Nick. They say that you are made of rotten tree-resin, and you’re highly suspicious. . . . Now they’re talking about you, Mikey. They seem to like you.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” said Jix, “but they’re very suspicious of spirits they like.”

The song continued, and the army, which was apparently used to this, waited with practiced patience.

“Now they’re debating whether or not you should be thrown into the Cenote,” Jix explained. “That’s a bottomless pool that goes to Xibalba, the Mayan underworld . . . although I suspect it really just goes to the center of the Earth.”

“Thanks for sharing,” said Mikey.

That made Nick laugh, which was something, because Mikey was never known to make anyone laugh.

The strange song of the wailers soon changed, becoming more melodic, building toward a crescendo. “They’re singing the song of opening,” Jix told them. “When they’re done, the guards will open the gates.”

“How long will this take?” asked Mikey.

“As long as they feel like,” said Jix. “The wailers are a pain.”

And sure enough they went on singing for another half hour, until finally they reached the last note which, since Afterlights need no air to sing, lasted four whole minutes. Then the song came to a dramatic end and the gates began to swing open. Immediately Nick and Mikey were struck by light and color so bright they had to look away.

“Welcome,” said Jix, a little bit proud, and a little embarrassed, “to the City of Souls.”

No one who has seen the City of Souls is ever the same. There are sights and sounds to boggle the most worldly mind and fill it with both elation and terror. Spirits with the colorful wings
of parrots soared overhead in formation, dancing in the sky, while on the ground below, Afterlights adorned with gold, jade, onyx, and impossibly bright feathers engaged in all sorts of joyous activities. Troops of dancers stomped and gyrated in circles everywhere. Crowds moved in swarms, seeming to have no purpose other than moving and swarming. Magicians performed amazing feats and jugglers hurled balls of flame high into the sky. The entire city was a single massive party that had raged for eons and showed no signs of slowing.

“As I told you,” Jix said, “the king likes excess.”

“Right. More is more,” said Mikey.

“No,” said Jix, “as far as His Excellency is concerned, ‘more’ is not nearly enough.”

Nick was so bewildered, he couldn’t speak. While he still remembered nothing of his life, he had a momentary flash to a trip he had taken with his family to Las Vegas. He recalled the dazzling assault of light, color, and sound—sensory overload, everything competing violently for his attention. Well, the City of Souls was so much more intense, it made Las Vegas feel like a lazy Sunday suburb. The sight of it would probably kill the living—or at the very least drive them insane.

It was only as Mikey and Nick looked closer that a darker side of this eternal celebration revealed itself. The dancers, so full of rhythm and grace, needed no voices to perform. So they no longer had mouths. The many street singers, so full of joyous vocal tones, didn’t need to see their audience. So they no longer had eyes. The artisans, who worked only in color and texture, had no need for ears. And the wandering minstrels, who had no need to ever put down
their instruments, now had their instruments growing right out of them.

“Eww!” said Mikey, a bit embarrassed that he, master of all imaginable monstrosities, actually said “Eww.”

“Well . . . uh . . . they seem to be . . . happy,” Nick offered, uneasily. “It’s kind of like an extreme version of Mary’s ‘perfect day.’”

“We all find our place in the City of Souls,” said Jix, looking around at the strange living mosaic. “But none of this is for their pleasure. It’s all for the king’s amusement. This entire place is
his
perfect day.”

They came around a huge temple and before them stood the pyramid of Kukulcan, the feathered serpent god, which was engraved in gold on every side. While the living world saw the pyramid as a crumbling ruin, in Everlost its limestone was smoothly chiseled and shining white.

However, it wasn’t the sight of the pyramid that stopped them in their tracks. It was the object behind it.

“No!” gasped Mikey. “It can’t be!” Mikey felt himself beginning to turn inside out, but swallowed, keeping his innards from switching places with his outards.

“This could be really, really good,” said Nick, “or really, really bad.”

There, moored to the top of the great pyramid of Kukulcan, was the largest gas-filled object ever built by man. The
Hindenburg
sat in the heart of Chichén Itzá, its sliver skin reflecting the tropical sun, looking like it belonged there.

“Hmm,” said Jix. “I’ve never seen that before. I guess the king found a new way to get around.”

T
he Unremembering King had the power to create a barrier of wind in a world that had no wind, in order to keep certain intruders from crossing the Mississippi.

The Unremembering King could speak any language instantly upon hearing it.

The Unremembering King could bring lightning from the sky to make his own afterglow shine brighter than anyone else’s.

Such tall tales were common in Everlost, but when it came to Yax K’uk Mo’, The Supreme King of the Middle Realm, every tale was true. He had been in Everlost for many thousands of years, and his true name and true life were long forgotten . . . until one day, he unremembered the fact that he wasn’t a Mayan king. So suddenly he was. And as a king he felt he should set up court in the halls and temples of Chichén Itzá, and declare dominion over all lands that had once been Mayan. He unremembered that he had no actual claim to those lands—yet by the awesome power of his unmemory, every Afterlight existing in those places
instantly believed that he was their king without knowing or meeting him.

And shouldn’t a Mayan king have power over the heavens and glow brighter than all the other Afterlights? So suddenly he did, because he couldn’t remember that he shouldn’t. Naturally it was easy for him to speak all languages when he couldn’t remember a single language he didn’t know. It was the same way with the flying red-winged spirits. Being from Mesoamerica, he had never seen people with red hair, and so when he did, he thought them beautiful, like the red-crowned parrot of the Yucatan jungles. He unremembered that these spirits didn’t have parrot wings, and so all spirits he saw with red hair instantly grew wings the color of their hair, and could fly—which thrilled the spirits, unless they had a fear of heights.

The power of unremembering made King Yax the mighty ruler that he was—and when it came to unremembering, the only limit to the things he couldn’t not do, was his imagination.

Unfortunately, King Yax did not have much of an imagination, so mostly he just spent his time being amused by Mayan sports, loud parties, and admiring his own glow.

Lately, however, his attentions had been elsewhere.

For many years an ironsmith had been laboring to create a statue in his image by melting down the coins of all fresh souls who came to his kingdom. Until recently it hadn’t been much of a statue—a thin, headless, and armless thing on a huge black obsidian base. There simply had never been enough metal to finish it—and in Everlost, nothing else made of metal melted. Things were annoyingly permanent.
But the coins, which behaved like nothing else in Everlost,
did
melt. Where, then, was a king to find more coins? It was useless trying to unremember his lack of coins, because, try as he might, he couldn’t forget he had none left.

And then the giant silver balloon arrived with two foreigners bearing the greatest gift he had ever received. A bucket full of coins! And not just any bucket—this bucket was bottomless! As soon as it was empty, all one need do was look away, and when one looked again, the bucket held however many coins as there were souls present. His latest ironsmith quickly got to work, and whenever the coin supply was depleted, the king threw a party in the Temple of the Jaguar, until the bucket filled itself once again, and then he threw everyone out.

The king’s ironsmith was a large boy who had the misfortune to die while wearing a blue luchador mask—a wrestling disguise that covered his whole head, leaving him looking somewhat like an executioner. No one knew what he looked like under the
lucha libre
mask, and no one ever would. The blue luchador worked tirelessly melting down the coins, with gloves on his hands to protect him from the coins’ magic. Then, as the metal cooled, he pounded them flat into thin skins that were then applied to the surface of the statue and shaped by hammer into a perfect likeness of the king.