Mayan Blood (4 page)

A few more breaths and she lowered her hands from her ears. “Once we get some answers from Renato, we’ll figure out how to get out of here.”

“You have to be conscious to talk to him.” Tara vanished for a moment and came back with a glass of water. “Here. Drink this. It’ll help.”

Zanya sipped the cool liquid, restoring moisture to her throat. “Thanks.”

Tara sat down, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin in the palm of her hand. She examined the room with a warm smile. “This place is…It’s nice—and, I don’t know—” she shrugged, “—homey. I like it here. I like most everything about it, actually.” She sat up. “Especially the incredibly good-looking company.”

Zanya arched an eyebrow. “Come again?”

Tara grinned. “You’ll see.”

***

“Ah, you found your friend.” Renato stood from behind his desk as Zanya and Tara entered the study.

Renato invited her and Tara to the sitting area with a few sofas in dark leather and an oval coffee table in the center. She was determined to stay close to her friend, but as usual, Tara didn’t seem concerned. Tara waved at Renato and then hunkered down on the leather love seat. Zanya sat beside her.

A boy with shaggy brown hair walked toward them. His radiant skin and soft smile seemed to entrance Tara, putting Zanya more on edge. She reached in her pocket and ran her fingers over the sharp edges of the letter opener. It was the only weapon she could find, and one she wouldn’t give up.

Tara leaned in close to Zanya. “And—cue incredibly good-looking company,” she whispered, studying the blue-eyed boy. He winked. Tara’s cheeks flushed so red, they nearly matched the color of her shimmering hair.

Typical. A cute face and Tara goes weak at the knees.

“This is Peter.” Renato laid his hand on the guy’s shoulder. “Peter, this is Zanya. I believe you have already met Tara.”

“It’s really nice to meet you. An honor.” Peter shoved his hands in his front pockets and leaned in close to Renato. “Where’s Arwan? I’m pretty sure he didn’t want to miss this.”

“I spoke with him last night. He’s on his way. With or without him, we need to focus on the task at hand.” He directed Peter’s attention to Zanya's arm. “If you don’t mind, can you please tend to our guest’s wound?”

Tara shifted back and scanned Zanya. “Wound? What happened?”

“It’s not a big deal. I’ve had worse.” It wasn’t a lie, but the puncture mark still hurt like hell. She’d gotten used to managing pain through ignoring it, pushing it to the back of her mind. The nurse at her school wasn’t keen on prescribing anything to dull the discomfort.

Peter knelt beside her and gently rolled up her sleeve.

“Really.” Zanya coiled back. “I’m fine.”

Peter unveiled brown, clotted blood that had formed a thick scab. He sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Ouch. How’d that happen?”

“It was an accident,” she mumbled.

“Some accident.”

“What are you, some kind of doctor?” The swollen, red skin throbbed and itched. Her pride was strong, but the fear of infection in a third-world country was stronger.

“I guess you could call me that.” He gently laid his hand over the torn skin. Nervous bubbles built in Zanya's stomach while warmth from the guy’s touch radiated up her arm. She was used to people touching her, but always on their terms. Here, there were no restraints or drugs to force her cooperation. Zanya shoved Peter back and cradled her limb close to her chest. “I don’t like to be touched.”

“Well, unless you want an infection, which is a lot harder to heal, you’ll have to let me help you.”

“I don’t see how touching it with dirty hands is going to prevent infection.” She worked her sleeve back over the scab.

Renato cleared his throat. “Then, shall we begin?” He spoke as if he’d said those words a thousand times.

Zanya would match Renato’s calm demeanor, for now, though she’d be a liar if she denied the raw panic bubbling just under the surface. She’d have to seem calm, strong. At least until she figured out what the hell was going on. “Tara said we’re in Belize.”

“Yes. Our home is located in a southern district called Toledo. I have lived here for many years.”

“The last thing I remember was walking in the woods with Tara and that little girl. Did you drug us?”

“Certainly not.” He seemed horrified at the suggestion. “You were merely sleeping. Marzena assisted us in relocating you.” He packed his pipe with loose tobacco and struck a thick wooden match against a sandpaper strip. It popped and hissed with smoke and fire. “I assure you, you were both given the utmost respect during the commute.”

The idea of people touching her while she slept made her cringe.

“I’m sure it is a lot to take in,” Renato continued. “Marzena is a close friend of mine. In fact, she wanted to formally introduce herself, if you wouldn’t mind. I believe she can provide answers to many of your questions.”

“Um…” Her gaze flickered from him to Peter, and back to the stately man. She slipped her hand back into her pocket, curling her fingers around the letter opener. “I guess.”

The sound of brushing fabric alerted Zanya someone was behind her, though she hadn’t noticed anyone walk into the room.

Her stomach cramped, remembering the quiet approach of the nurses holding loaded syringes and the mental blackout that always followed.

She quickly spun in her seat to see Hawa, leaning against a marble pillar, her arms crossed and her lips curved in an arrogant grin.

“You can’t honestly believe she’ll be convinced just by meeting Marzena, do you, Uncle?” She lingered for a moment, then vanished.

Zanya blinked, searching the space where the girl had stood.

“Over here, pumpkin.”

Zanya spun back to Hawa, now sitting in a chair opposite her with a magazine propped in her lap.

“How…” Zanya glanced over her shoulder again, then back to Hawa. “You…”

“You’ll get used to it.” She flipped through the pages of her magazine, seemingly bored.

“My niece is quite nimble,” Renato said, “though I did hope to ease you into these details.” His eyes narrowed, focused on the girl. “Hawa, would you be so kind as to fetch Marzena?”

Her jaw dropped. “I just got here. Marzena’s all the way in the north wing.”

“Since you are so keen on exercising your talent, at least you can put it to good use.”

Hawa rolled her eyes and tossed her magazine on the table. “Fine,” she mumbled, and then vanished in a streak of color.

Zanya buried her fingers in her hair. Had she finally lost it? “What the hell is going on here?” She looked up at the others, their faces now blurry from the spinning in her head. “How did she—”

“So. Cool.” Tara beamed with a smile, staring after Hawa.

“Please excuse my niece. She hasn’t had female company for quite some time and has forgotten her social graces. I’m sure once she warms up to you, you will become good friends.” He shifted in his seat. “While Hawa is fetching Marzena, perhaps you can tell me a bit about yourselves.”

What was there to tell, really? She’d been stuck in an institution her entire life. But if she was going to get to the bottom of this insane situation, she’d have to give a little. Tactfully, she sat back and allowed her rigid muscles to relax. “Tara and I live in an orphanage in Ohio. I’ve been there all my life, and Tara, for almost six years.”

“So, neither of you have any family?”

“No.” Zanya laid her fingers gently over Tara’s wrist. Talking about their lives was hard for Zanya, but it was always much more difficult for her friend.

Renato turned his attention to Tara. “Do you mind if I ask why you were sent to that particular orphanage?”

She bit her lip, and her fingers tightened over the fabric of her shirt. For the first time, she tore her gaze from Peter. “I, uh…my dad has never been around, and my mom…well, she wasn’t around much either.”

“Who took care of you?”

She shrugged. “I kinda took care of myself. My mom was…neglectful, as they called it. If she was home, it was because she brought back a new boyfriend and was busy entertaining him. I was put in that particular orphanage because…” She swallowed and rubbed her palms along her jeans. “Sometimes my mom would leave me home alone with one of her boyfriends, and…uh, well, they usually didn’t care who was entertaining them.”

There was a long, silent pause. Zanya tightened her fingers around Tara’s wrist. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. As long as we’re together, we have family. Tara’s my sister, and the closest thing to family I’ve ever had.”

Peter’s eyes had saddened; he focused intently on the floor.

“So, no.” Zanya smiled softly at Tara. “We don’t have parents, but we have each other.”

Renato removed the bone pipe from his mouth and leaned forward in his chair. “Yes. You have each other. Very good.”

Hawa returned to the room in a streak of color, followed by a young, blonde girl at normal pace. “We’re back,” Hawa stepped aside, allowing Marzena to pass.

“Zanya, this is my dear friend Marzena—Marzena, this is Zanya and her friend Tara.” Renato gestured through the introductions.

The girl slightly bowed her head in response.

“You’re the little girl from the woods.”

The child simply stood there, still and brilliant, with blonde waves cascading over her frail shoulders and tiny bronze freckles dotting her milky skin.

“Marzena is very gifted. She is our group’s dream-walker and plays a vital role in our endeavors. She has assisted in influencing and infiltrating the human mind in ways we are normally not capable of.”

Influencing the mind. Like a shrink? Obviously not, considering her age. But at least Zanya would know how to deal with that. She’d had more psych evaluations than she could count, and had more or less figured out how to manipulate the outcome.

There was something peculiar about the girl. Zanya hadn’t noticed it in the woods, but she carried herself in a way unlike a child. The kids in her institution couldn’t hold still for more than ten seconds at a time—if that.

The hairs on her arms stood straight up and a wave of goose bumps traveled over her skin. She turned to Renato, who clearly had manipulation talents of his own. The guy didn’t seem the least bit concerned over the fact he’d smuggled two girls out of the country. “You need to start talking. Like, now.”

“She’s not ready,” Peter said.

Renato raised his hand and silenced Peter, who blew out a puff of air in compliance.

Okay, so this Renato guy was the clear leader. He was the one everyone else answered to and obeyed.

Zanya shifted to the edge of the couch. “Not ready for what?”

Renato examined her for a moment before he spoke. “We brought you here to recover the stone of Muuk’Ich, the only surviving legacy of the Maya. The stone was blessed by the gods and given to a guardian to protect. The last guardian was killed, and the stone was taken. You are the only one who can locate, retrieve, and protect it from underworld forces. This is your destiny.”

Zanya's eyebrows shot up.

Hawa snorted. “That was laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

Renato simply waited for a reply.

“My destiny? You want to help me fulfill my destiny…with a rock?”

“The
stone
has existed since the days of the early Maya civilization; the civilization of our creation—of your people.”

“Of my people,” she said, more as a statement than a question.

“You are a natural-born leader, Zanya. You have a great responsibility, one that you must first understand, and then accept.”

Zanya laughed, mostly from nerves. Renato’s expression didn’t waver. She blinked and her smile vanished. “Oh, you’re serious.”

Renato retrieved a leather-bound book from the table beside him and handed it to her. It was open to a page with strange symbols. He pointed to a drawing of a stone altar. “The first record of our people dates back to 1800 B.C. in the Formative Period. The earliest texts of the enchanted ones were found in the Temple of Inscriptions, carved into the stone walls. They named our kind Riyata, meaning ones with inner strength. Men capable of carrying tremendous weight, such as myself. Healers. Sprinters, like my niece. Even those who can manipulate elements.”

Zanya tore her attention away from the pages. “What, like superheroes?”

“Where do you think the idea came from?” He sat back in his chair. “Comic book characters, children’s fairy tales. Every myth has some truth in it, Zanya. We were given a great responsibility—to protect humans from the forces of the underworld.” His open hands teetered side to side like a balance scale working to even out. “Thus, the age-old battle of good versus evil.”

Her back fell against the cool surface of the leather love seat.

They had been taken from one madhouse and thrown into another. The only difference was these people didn’t know they were crazy.

Chapter Four

Zanya leaned over the bathroom sink and splashed cool water onto her face. She stared into the mirror. All the color drained from her cheeks. “Get it together.” If she didn’t want to wake up facedown on the bathroom floor, she’d have to calm down.

The toilet was the only available seat, so she rested onto the lid and cradled her head in her hands, drawing in deep breaths.
The Gadfly Suite
by Shostakovich was her saving grace. The sweet melody eased her anxiety until the spinning in her head eventually stopped.

She blinked open her eyes to a reddish-brown stain on her sleeve. With the gauze removed, blood had seeped through the fabric, leaving a tarnished stain.

She walked to the sink and turned on the water, snatching an embroidered hand towel off the rack. She damped the rag with warm water and wiped the clotted blood from her skin. Every gentle stroke sent flakes of scab swirling down the drain.

Zanya's breath hitched when the dry blood wiped away. The wound was still there. It had to be. Injuries like that didn’t just vanish.

Her skin burned from her scrubbing with the texture of the towel. She stopped, staring down at supple, irrefutably flawless skin. The cloth slipped from her fingers to the floor.

“What the hell…” She recalled Peter’s warm hands pressed over her wound. She flung open the bathroom door and crossed the study, her hands balled into fists. Peter glanced from Renato to Zanya, pushing back in his seat as if bracing himself for impact. She stopped right in front of him. “What did you do to me?” She glared at Renato. “Who the hell are you people?”

“If you would calm down for a moment—”

“To hell with this.” Zanya pulled the letter opener from her pocket. She pinned her knee to Peter’s chest and pressed the blade to his throat.

Tara shouted.

Hawa shot to her feet, shifting her weight and pumping her hands.

Renato extended his hand to Hawa.

Peter swallowed against the metal edge. “I…I was just trying to help.”

“You.” She leaned into him. “What did you do to me?”

“I’m so going to kick your ass,” Hawa said from where she stood.

Zanya scoffed. “You’re like him. Who are you?
What
are you?”

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Hawa scowled at Renato.

Renato stepped forward, his fingers curled around his jacket lapel. “I certainly could, if I wished. Any of us could. The important thing is that Zanya makes the decision on her own. That she learns to accept who she really is. Who we all are.”

“I disagree.” Peter pushed his back against the couch.

“People don’t heal that fast,” Zanya said. “It’s just not possible. Now you tell me what’s going on, or I swear—”

“You’ll what?” Hawa shifted her weight, her hands balled into fists. “You’ll have no one to protect you if you so much as give him a shaving nick.”

“Zanya.” Tara’s voice caught her attention. Her friend slowly pushed out of her seat and extended her hand. “I know you. You aren’t a…” Her gaze flickered to the letter opener. “You’re not this person.”

The savage heat pulsing inside her was cooled by the tears welled in Tara’s eyes.

“Please, Zanya.” Renato slowly sat and relaxed into his char. “I’ll do my best to tell you exactly who we are and, more importantly, who you are.”

“‘We’re ancient superheroes’ is not an explanation.” She glanced at Tara, who had tears streaking down her face. Even though they didn’t know much about Renato or these people, Tara wanted to be here. She wanted to be anywhere but back at the orphanage. Zanya looked back to Renato.

She could either kill this Peter guy and make a valiant effort to run for it, or back off and hear the madman’s story. The latter seemed more realistic, considering the black-haired, snarky one was some kind of track star on crack. Plus, it wasn’t likely Tara was as willing to fight her way out, which would most likely mean leaving her behind. That was not an option.

Zanya tightened her grip on the letter opener and ground her teeth. “You’re not leaving me much of a choice.”

He smiled softly—a reassuring kind of smile. “We all have a choice, my dear Zanya.”

When she pushed off of Peter, he sucked in a breath and touched his throat where the blade had left a thin, red line.

“Oops.” She glared at Hawa. “I wouldn’t call that a shaving nick, wouldn’t you?”

Everyone watched in silence as Zanya moved to her friend’s side. They sat, and she took Tara’s hand. Zanya drew in a deep breath, working to recollect her composure.

A flash of color followed Hawa, who landed beside her in the blink of an eye. Then another streak cued her sprint back to her chair across the room.

It happened so fast, Zanya didn’t have time to react. She looked down at her hand, which was now empty.

“I’ll be hanging onto this.” Hawa sat, her legs crossed, playing with the letter opener between her fingers. “Sharp things are dangerous when they’re handled by idiots.”

“You should be extra careful then,” Peter mumbled.

Hawa’s eyes darkened. “Jerk.”

Renato leaned forward. “Let us not forget our history. We have had quite enough blood shed of our kind.”

“Our kind?” Zanya suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. But the fact she had no weapon was a game changer. She’d have to shift gears. Play nice. Seeing she had plenty of experience with her psychiatrist, it was a role she’d become skilled at. “Go ahead.” She withdrew her focus from Hawa and trained it on Renato. “Tell me. Tell me who you think I am.”

Renato crossed his ankle over his knee. “What do you know about heaven and hell?”

She shrugged. “Whatever we learned in world religion and history classes.”

“Did you learn about the history of the Mayan civilization?”

“Just that they were famous for measuring time, medical treatments, and knowing a lot about astronomy. They were also barbaric. Practiced human sacrifices. Bloodletting. That sort of thing.”

“And what are their religious practices?”

“I really don’t remember. Can you get to the point?”

He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes gleaming with whimsical anticipation. “Allow me to fill you in on the true history of the Maya. The history you won’t find in books.” He drew another long puff from his pipe. Fear slithered inside her, mirrored by the smoke seeping from Renato’s lips.

“Many millennia ago, the gods feared for mankind. They knew humanity was no match for the underworlders, who strove to control every realm in their quest for power. As a result, the middleworld gods, who have limited abilities, pleaded with the deities of heaven to help protect mankind. Seeing the poor chances the humans stood to defend themselves, they gave the people a tool; a stone from the earth, blessed with the ability to transform human into Riyata. A guardian was chosen to protect the stone, and for generations, did. That is, until she was captured, slaughtered, and the stone was taken from her possession.”

A migraine throbbed through Zanya's temples. She massaged the ache, only spreading it behind her eyes. She sighed and squinted at Renato. This guy must have thought she was a total idiot. “Tell me, Renato, if that’s even your real name. How do you know all of this? Did someone tell you this ridiculous story, just like you’re telling me now?” The migraine surged with her aggravation. “How gullible do you think I am? You really expect me to believe all this? Underworlders? An ancient super-race of enlightened people transformed by a magic stone? Where are the vampires and werewolves? Oh, and the giants? You forgot the giants.” She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers over her biceps. “I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate that very much.”

Renato’s gaze intensified. “I know because I was one of the first volunteers to be changed by the stone.”

A tiny wave of relief washed over her. The story had taken a turn for the ridiculous. “Oh, come on. That’s not even possible.” She leaned forward with a smug purse of her lips. “You forgot to do your math. That would mean you’ve been alive—”

“Longer than I can keep track of. I have witnessed man discover the earth is round, the creation of penicillin, and the birth of electricity. However long it has been exactly, I couldn’t say.”

Zanya sat back, her lips parted. “You can’t be serious.”

“Riyata generally stop aging between sixteen and forty years old, unless you are a dreamwalker.” He gestured to Marzena. “We may stop aging, but that does not mean we cannot die. Countless have fallen while protecting the stone. Life can be prolonged, but it can never be ensured.”

Renato extended a book. Zanya slinked back. Maybe he didn’t mean any harm, or maybe he did. She still couldn’t tell. Either way, old habits die hard. She examined it for a moment before taking it from his grasp.

On the aged paper was a drawing of a woman who stood with her arms outstretched and her face tilted toward the sky. An illuminated orb of light glowed from under her skin. Threads of recollection tugged at her. She pushed them away, refusing to fall into his black hole of madness.

Tara tilted the book toward her for a better view. “Wow.”

It was time to put an end to this. “If I am who you say I am, why haven’t I ever felt different? I mean, consider the facts.” Renato listened, puffing his pipe with no particular expression. In fact, he seemed completely convinced of his own story. Convinced this fantasy world he lived in was real. “You know, facts? They’re those little tidbits of information that make things real. Scientific documentation, studies, and observations of things you can see, taste, touch, and smell.”

“Such as the wound on your wrist being miraculously healed by the touch of a healer’s hand.”

She ran her fingers across the area where it had been, the skin supple and flawless. Her stomach fluttered and tightened. She still hadn’t figured out how she healed so quickly, but there had to be an explanation.

“Zanya, I know this is difficult to understand,” Renato continued. “But please trust me. We have been searching for you for a very long time. Searching for the Stone Guardian who would save us from the dark powers of the underworld. With our people so scarce, in hiding, and afraid to expose their abilities, we are very limited on resources. You are truly our only hope.”

“How are you sure? There’s never been so much as a hint that I was anything more than just a girl. Super strength, healing, and whatever the hell she does.” She gestured to Hawa. “How can I be capable of any of that?” She held up the book. “I’m sorry, but I’m not the one you’re looking for.” She searched Renato’s face for an expression other than certainty, but found none.

“You are the Stone Guardian. The responsibility was handed down to you by your mother, as it was handed down to her.”

Zanya widened her eyes, and a wave of heat rushed over her skin. She gripped Tara’s hand. “Wait…” She swallowed against a dry throat. “You…you know my mother?”

“I knew her, yes.” Renato stood and walked to his desk, where he picked up a picture frame that faced away from the sitting area. He stared into the photo, lost in thought. “She and I were very close.” He ran his fingers over the black velvet backing. “Her name was Eleuia. I called her Ellie. She was an honorable woman who loved your father. She loved you too, very much, Zanya.” He crossed the room and handed her the frame.

Zanya snatched it and peered at the black-and-white photo of a beautiful woman with long dark hair and light eyes. She stood on a stone path wearing a summer dress, her hands gently resting on her pregnant belly.

“Is this really her?” Suddenly, she desperately wanted it to be true. She wanted to believe the woman in the photo was the person she had longed to know all her life.

“Yes, that is the last photo I took of her before—”

Zanya raised her gaze to Renato, and then Marzena. The girl tilted her head and spoke, though no words passed through her lips. Instead, her voice echoed in Zanya's mind. Zanya dropped the frame into her lap and clasped her hands over her ears, clinching her eyes shut. “You are capable of doing this, Zanya. We cannot succeed without you.” When Marzena’s voice faded into the recesses of her mind, Zanya forced her eyes open.

“I hope you will consider staying,” Renato added. “I know I am asking you to trust a group of complete strangers, but I assure you that you and Tara are safe here. You will come to understand the importance of the stone and your responsibility toward it.”

Zanya's focus never wavered from Marzena’s angelic face. The silence was taunting, something she should be used to after spending endless nights listening to only her heartbeat, lying alone in her orphanage bed.

Zanya pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face between the humps of her knees. No amount of music could settle the unraveling of her mind.

The Man who haunted her had always been a mere figment of her imagination. He had always been in her head—a twisted reminder of her supposed mental instability.

The wounds acquired in her lucid dreams were painful reminders that The Man was waiting for her. He lurked in the empty space of her subconscious, looming in the shadows, disguised as insanity.