Making Waves (14 page)

He started by telling me about Coyaba, the City of the Gods. For thousands of years, he said, native people travelled there in canoes from all over the Caribbean to honour their gods.

After Columbus discovered the Caribbean, that all changed. His people were initially willing to live with white people in peace, but there were so many, the old man said; they came like locusts, and they wanted to own Xaymaca in a way the Taino didn’t understand. How could you own trees or birdsong?

The Europeans forced the Taino to work in their fields. Some actually hunted the tribes-people for sport. Many Taino died of the white man’s diseases. Others killed themselves in despair. Soon only a few were left, hiding out in the hills.

“Yet still the location of the sacred city was fiercely protected,” the cacique told me. “Each generation of Taino memorised the secret route, passing it down from generation to generation.”

I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. “It isn’t really made of gold, though, is it?” I asked awkwardly.

The old man sighed, as if I was missing the point. “Ah those mysterious golden cities!” he mocked gently. “Soon my people will vanish like bird trails in the sky, and all the gold in creation will not bring us back.”

Then I knew had to tell him. “I think someone’s betrayed you,” I said miserably. “Someone drew a map of the route. I saw it in Port Royal. A friend of mine got hold of one half. Someone called Mariah Darcy has the other.”

The cacique gave another weary sigh. “I have heard of this young woman. And what I hear worries me greatly. So much intelligence and beauty, yet inside she feels empty. Always hungering for something she can’t have.”

“That’s too harsh,” I objected. “Mariah is—”

“Your friend on the other hand,” the old man continued firmly, “is descended from a long line of rats’ arses.” (Sorry, he might not have said “rats’ arses” exactly, but it’s the closest word I can get to the Taino.)

I stared at him, open-mouthed. “You
know
about Brice?”

“Rats’ arses,” he repeated in a louder voice. “Yet his soul shines like moonbeams on water.”

My heart was thumping. “You think Brice is in danger, don’t you!”

The cacique’s eyes were troubled. “Evil hovers over this boy like the wings of a vulture. I ask myself, ‘Why are these dark beings going to so much trouble to destroy him? He must have made them very angry.’”

It was a warm night, but I could feel chills going up and down my spine.

“Your friend lived in utter darkness. Yet he found the strength to leave. Such souls have a rare power. They are not afraid of the world’s dark places. They shine light on them.”

I didn’t quite buy the cacique’s version of an angel loner who sat around listening to Astral Garbage CDs. I opened my mouth to tell him that at this moment his precious shining light was looting his sacred city to buy guns. But the old man’s next words sent a jolt of fear into my heart.

“That is why the Dark Forces are trying to destroy him. They are playing with him. They have been playing with you all.”

When I went back, Lola was fast asleep.

As I lay rigid in my hammock, traumatised by what I’d heard, Lola spoke to me in her sleep. “I wish I could see this place,” she whispered. “I should love to speak all the languages like you.”

My skin prickled with angel electricity. Lola had spoken in her normal voice.

We were on our way well before it was light.

We had breakfast on the move, nibbling at flat cassava bread as we went along. I gave most of mine to Beetle. I was too nervous to eat.

I wanted to ask Lola if she remembered talking to me in her sleep, but Marohu was there, plus my friend seemed tired and preoccupied.

For the first two hours the river was fast and deep-flowing. Then it divided off into an absolute maze of channels that wandered off, looping and crisscrossing the boggy flood plains, looking like some nightmarish brainteaser: Find Your Way to the Sacred City. Tortured-looking mangrove trees reared up out of the water forcing Marohu to paddle around them. We had now entered the Morass itself. When I saw how skilfully the Taino guided their canoes along the secret waterways, I realised I’d been insane to think we could ever find Coyaba on our own.

The Morass wasn’t actually black, it was slimy green and brown. After just an hour in this place, I started to feel like these were the only colours left in the world. Sludgy brown water, greenish-brown reeds, slimy sinister trees.

Since my scary talk with the cacique, I’d had the sense of being watched by something evil. Here, in this unbelievably creepy place, I felt the Dark Powers coming closer. Everything about the Morass was sinister: the steamy suffocating air, the sinister screechy birds that we never actually saw, but sounded huge. Ominous bubbling, sucking sounds came from inside the swamp. Worst of all were the writhing mangrove roots that looked like agonised body parts of people who had been buried alive, and who died struggling to get free. And over it was this all-pervading stink of rotting vegetation and marsh gas.

Suddenly there was an explosion of sound. An alligator shot out of the reeds and came speeding towards us like a torpedo. Marohu paddled us frantically out of reach.

After my heartbeat returned to normal, I still found myself seeing those cold yellow eyes. Had it truly been an alligator? Or something worse?

And then Marohu just stopped paddling and our canoe glided silently into a lake.

It was like going from darkness into light. Birds sang. A soft breeze trembled through the fronds of palm trees. And tiny white clouds reflected back in the clear, still waters of the lake.

Marohu paddled the canoe towards a towering cliff where a ledge of rock made a natural landing stage. From here you could see a flight of steps in the rock face. We helped Marohu drag the canoe out of the water, then followed the Taino up the steps.

At the top was the entrance to what looked like a large cave, but was actually the entrance to a tunnel. On either side of the entrance were enormous wooden pillars carved with images of the Taino gods.

A shiver went through me as I recognised the weeping god I had seen in my dream. I wanted to run, but I knew this wasn’t about me. I wasn’t an individual to the Taino. I was the angel of their Last Days. I was She who Flew on the Wings of the Storm.

Taking a deep breath I followed the others into the tunnel.

The cacique walked ahead of us holding up a burning torch. I saw dim, ancient paintings flickering on the smooth rock face. They looked like birds and animals. But I think they were also gods. There were more steps at the end of this tunnel. We climbed and climbed in the flickering gloom until my legs were almost giving out. Then we emerged in the sunlight and there were no words.

I saw my own wonder and astonishment reflected in Lola’s face.

She had seemed to be in a kind of trance ever since we’d joined forces with the Taino. But as we finally stood inside the City of the Gods, I felt something change. I felt her start to wake up.

Listen, I can tell you what we saw. I can tell you about the actual physical stuff we saw in the City of the Gods. I could list Taino houses, gardens and fountains. I could describe the huge open space with benches, where the Taino used to play an incomprehensible sacred game that makes absolutely no sense if you’re not Taino. I could get all poetic about the carvings encrusted with shimmering seashells. But that would be missing the point. The actual stuff - the playing field, the quaint Taino objects, their fabulous flair for working with shells - was not what made the city so magical. You couldn’t simply carry off their stuff and knock up a sacred city of your own.

Can you imagine somewhere,
anywhere
, on Planet Earth where you can just inhale pure peace? Where you can literally mingle with invisible gods? I felt myself tingling from the roots of my hair to the soles of my feet.

We were walking slowly towards a small shimmering Taino temple. It seemed to be constructed entirely out of delicate mother-of-pearl shells.

I thought of how the first white men who came to Jamaica used to hunt the Taino for sport, as if they were animals!

We’ve got to save this place, I thought suddenly. People
have
to see this. They have to know how awesome the Taino really are.

I was going to say something, but one of the Taino gestured fiercely for everyone to stay quiet.

When I saw what was happening inside that beautiful little temple, I had to bite my lip to stop myself crying out.

One of Mariah’s men was kicking angrily at the base of a shrine, scattering shimmery shell fragments with his boot. Kneeling on the ground, hands tied behind his back, was Brice, looking sick with fear, just as he had in my dream.

Mariah was watching him with a narrow-eyed expression. She had one beautiful leather boot resting on an overturned statue as she raised her pistol and deliberately aimed it at his head.

Chapter Ten

W
hen I saw Mariah getting ready to blow my friend to pieces, I understood for the first time what was so evil about the PODS. I understood what they’d done.

The Dark Powers are playing with you
.

They’d studied us like a project. The creeps had studied us and taken notes and they’d figured out all the special quirks that make us who we are; Brice’s compulsion to make waves, Lola’s awesome ability to risk everything for love, and my secret longing for adventure. They’d taken everything that was deepest and best, then they’d used them against us, planting drunken pirates and intriguing map fragments. And, like ants high on honey, we’d followed their sticky trail to Port Royal - where Mariah was waiting.

I’m not completely stupid. I did get that Mariah wasn’t like, a nice person. But because she was Cat’s granddaughter, and because she was so beautiful and kind of thrillingly dangerous, I told myself it was OK. But here in the City of the Gods I finally saw what she was; a human so empty, she was no longer quite human.

Mariah Darcy had sold her soul to the PODS.

As I stood watching her finger teasingly release the catch, I thought that Brice had never really stood a chance. When you don’t like yourself, when you don’t know who you are, when you think you’re all alone in an unfriendly universe, it leaves you open to believing all kinds of garbage. For example, that you can create a peaceful world by stealing gold to buy guns. Or that a girl pirate with a diamond tooth is the answer to your prayers.

Let’s face it, Melanie, said a despairing voice inside my head, Life is basically a vast, pointless game. Even angels are just helpless pawns…

Then I felt that familiar hot-potato feeling inside my chest.
Who’s thinking this stuff
? I thought. It’s certainly not me. I’m not a pawn. The hell I am! Angelic reality is SO much bigger than this.

It was like I’d been trapped inside a lonely dark bubble all by myself and POUF! It burst and I was propelled into a totally different movie.

Three Taino marksmen stepped out into the open and started efficiently firing darts. Several pirates crumpled to the ground and immediately began snoring like stunned rhinos.

It was one of those moments when Lola and I didn’t have to speak. We didn’t even glance at each other. We knew Mariah was momentarily shocked so we just ran at her, jumping the pirate girl from behind, wrestling her to the ground. I grabbed her pistol, but the vibes were so foul I dropped it in absolute revulsion.

Marohu had sliced through the ropes that bound Brice. Our buddy quickly picked up the pistol and jammed it in his belt. All three of us exchanged amazed glances. I saw baffled recognition in my friends’ faces.

Omigosh, they’re back
! I thought deliriously. I rushed forward to hug them, fatally taking my eyes off Mariah.

I guess people become pirates for different reasons. I think Mariah took to piracy because when you feel that empty, not getting what you want is worse than being dead. I think, after all her scheming, Maria couldn’t stand to leave Coyaba empty-handed.

I saw her lunge at an exquisite Taino carving on the altar.

The statue of the weeping god had been much bigger in my dream, but its grieving expression was just the same.

“Mariah, don’t!” I shouted.

The statue was never meant to be moved. It was part of the altar in some way. Mariah took a lethal-looking knife out of her belt and levered frantically with the blade. The blade snapped off but the damage had been done.

The ground started vibrating. There were hideous grating and rumbling sounds and a yawning crack appeared in the temple floor. I watched, paralysed, as the two jagged halves began to move apart.

Brice didn’t hesitate. He immediately rushed forward to save her, but Mariah fell flailing into the chasm.

We all stared down in horror. A supernatural wind whipped our hair across our faces. The sky grew dark overhead.

“We must leave!” said the old cacique urgently.

We fled back along the tunnel. Groaning sounds rose from deep inside the earth. Blocks of stone came crashing down around us.