Mundahlia (The Mundahlian Era, #1) (8 page)

Only a few scratches kept the headstone from looking like new once I’d de-weeded it and scrubbed the letters as hard as I could to get them nice and cleaned. There were a few words damaged beyond repair, but it was still legible. My wrists hurt, but the sight of the polished stone made it worth it. I hope whoever Zunicio
“Zuni”
Sarantos is—or as the stone now read:
Zunco Zui Saran
, is looking down on me right now and smiling—appreciative of what I’d done for him. Hell, if I were able to see someone doing this for me when I’m gone, I’d make sure they got something in return. An extra day on earth. A gentle shove out of the way of a careening vehicle that was skidding toward them—a crisp hundred dollar bill that blew over to them by the wind. Come to think of it, where would I get the hundred dollars from? I’d be dead.

I threw the gloves into the bucket and grabbed the bouquet by the stems. “
Crap!
” I stammered as a drop of blood plopped to the dirt. A thorn from one of the roses in the bouquet had pierced my thumb. Sucking on another forming drop of blood from the wound, I used my palm to move the flowers into place. Done.
Phew!
Another twig snapped behind me, only this time—husky growls followed. An electrifying sensation shot down my spine.

I turned and found myself face to face with a brown eyed wolf. Looking at me with voracious eyes as its pink flat tongue curled around its snout—snarled up into a devilish grin that protruded rows of glossy, razor-sharp teeth.
Oh shit!
I thought.
This is how you repay me Zunco?! By sending a fucking wolf to kill me?!
Game over. I could feel my heart pounding in both my throat and ears as the rush of panic overtook me.

The wolf backed a few steps away—still keeping its eyes and teeth on me as I got to my feet slowly. Trying as much as I possibly could to not make a sudden movement that would entice it to attack. It shifted low into a hunch—a single trail of its dark brown fur stood—erected like a razorback, going down its lengthy spine that lead to its bushy tail. It was ready to attack. “Nice wolf,” I said slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you. So, please,
please
don’t hurt
me
.”

We circled each other as though we were in a daring game of musical chairs. Only there was no chairs—just dirt and trees. And there was no music cue—only me and a wolf—each unaware of the other’s intent. I dared myself to take a quick glance at my cabin—nothing but a small brown dot in the distance.
Should I make a run for it?
I asked myself. The wolf hunched deeper and let out another menacing growl that made my heart skip a beat.

Yes! Go, go, go!
I burst into a run for the cabin, leaving the bucket with the supplies behind. I ran as fast as I could. My legs—shaking with each forceful stomp after the other. I felt a knot forming in the back of my calf ready to contract at the slightest clench.
Not now! Please don’t cramp on me now!
I threw my head around my shoulder and snuck a glance. The wolf was far behind, smelling the headstone then peering over to me as I made my way through the edge of the forest. “
Good!”
I sighed with relief. It wasn’t following me.

Bam!
I shut the backdoor, locking both locks, and ran down the narrow corridor to my room. “I knew it!” I said aloud as I jumped onto the bed to fetch my charging phone. I was just about to dial George’s cell and tell him of my encounter when a thought lingered its way into my mind.
Why didn’t the wolf follow me?”

Later that night, I ate in silence at the table—which shocked both Celeste and George. Especially since I was usually the talkative one at dinner. George gave my cousin a look that said, ‘
she-sure-must-be-traumatized-by-what-she-saw-us-doing-earlier
.’ All she did was shrug and wipe her mouth with a napkin.

“So what did you do all day?” Celeste asked, poking her fork through a piece of lettuce in her Caesar salad.

I wanted to tell them of the incident earlier, but I knew that it would sound farfetched to them. Not only had George proved to me that there were no wolves—but why did I feel compelled to fix up the headstone? And I knew if Celeste had heard that I had spent my afternoon fixing up a headstone and nearly getting killed by a vicious wolf, she would more than likely send me back home—or an insane asylum. On top of that, she didn’t need any added stress. I didn’t want her to go into stress-induced labor on my account.

“Somethin’ wrong?” George asked, taking a spatula to go back for seconds in the tray directly under the hanging fixture that emitted a yellowish-orange light against the already golden walls.

I must of seemed a bit off.

“No. I’m just tired, I guess.” I twirled a fork around the remains of my lasagna. “I got a job, though,” I changed the subject.

“Really? That’s great. Where?”

“At Chansile Café. Sarah’s parents own it and they needed a waitress, so-.”

“Oh, Sarah’s the girl you were talking about earlier, right?” Celeste covered her mouth as she talked while she chewed. “When do you start?”

“Tomorrow. She’s going to pick me up in the morning.”

“By any chance, is this
Sarah
the waitress girl that served us last weekend?” George asked.

I laughed, “Yeah, that’s her. We have English together.”

“Who
is
your English teacher, by the way?” Celeste interjected, putting her glass of water down after taking a sip.

“Well had you stayed, it would have been you—my
beloved
cousin.”

“Really?” she said, as though it sounded odd. “So, how’s
the permanent sub? Is he or she a hard-ass?”

“No,” I said. “
He’s
actually pretty cool.”

Celeste nodded, “Oh, well that’s good news. I wouldn’t want my students ending up with someone that was one of those jerk teachers for the rest of the year.”

George took a bite from his fork and silence made its return.

“So. Any ideas on your son’s name yet?” I asked. I was so used to eating dinner in my room while watching TV back home. I didn’t even think families actually eating at a table was still around.

Celeste tried to speak, but finished chewing before she said, “Actually we’re still thinking. But, what names do
you
have in mind?”

Me?
“Why me?”

“Just wondering. I just want to hear some of your thoughts.”

I thought of all the names I could possibly think of before selecting one that I favored. “
Jackson
,” I finally said. Figuring the nicknames
Jack
would be adorable for a baby, and maybe
Jay
for when he was in high school. And even so, it was a unisex name incase something happens and this boy they were expecting ends up being a girl. I’ve heard about it. The doctor tells a couple they’re expecting a boy, then in a bout of joy they go out and buy everything blue and other things deemed “boy-ish.” Then, a few months later they go from naming the baby Joseph to Josephine because at the last minute they found out all this time it was a girl.

“Hmm,” Celeste pondered for a while. “I guess I’ll throw it into the ones we’re thinking of already.”

“Which are?” I crumpled up the paper napkin I used to wipe my hands and set it on the plate.

“Ryder, Jonathan, Nathan, Cruise, Colton, and George Jr.” Celeste counted off her fingers as she said each one. I added George’s last name
Bell
to the ends of each of the names.
Jackson Bell
would sound perfect. Like a name ripped straight out of a history book.

I smiled at both of them, “I can’t wait to see my second cousin.” They exchanged a look, then turned back to me.

“Rini, you know you’re like a little sister to me,” Celeste said earnestly, lowering her fork to the plate.

“Uh huh.”

“Well, we were sorta thinking that maybe instead of a second cousin, you could think of this little baby of ours as your nephew.”

“You mean-”

“That’s right,” George cut in, “You’d be
Aunt
Rini.”

“Oh, um. I don’t know what to say, you guys.” If I could, I probably would of said,
say what?
but instead, “I’m honored,” slipped from my mouth.

The idea of being an aunt had to settle with me. For the most part, I absolutely loved the idea of having a nephew. Something I knew as a single child I was never going to get. I
had
a sister. She would have been about five by now. Unfortunately, she died shortly after birth. My mom never really got over it. And my dad, well, he was different after it. It was around the time I went through a whole dark, poetic phase.

I used to keep a diary. Not daily, like others. But every so often, I’d crack it open and write something so that I could see the words and feel them in person, just to know that they were real and not just in my head anymore. The day my sister died was the last day I’d written in it. Somewhere in my drawer, back in my small purple-walled room in Del Rio, the last page of my old diary reads:

A flower bloomed, already wilting.

Beginning its life, with an early ending.

...

I lied awake on my bed. Too tired to read more pages into the book or continue drawing my sketches—just thinking of the brief encounter with the wolf. Had it wanted to do so, I could have been dead within a few seconds and it would have been getting its fill. Tearing off strips of flesh from my lifeless body to satisfy its hunger as it chewed each bite—ripe with fresh blood.

What had stopped it? The headstone? What did this signify to the wolf?
Too many questions!

Scratch, Scratch, Scratch
. A sound arose from the back door.
Probably just a branch scratching against the wall,
I thought.

The sound disappeared and I rested my head on the soft pillow, turning onto my side.
Scratch, Scratch.
There it was again, this time softer. I chose to ignore it and adjusted myself again.
Scratch, Scratch, Scratch, Scratch, Scratch, Scratch—Thunk!

“What the hell!” I stammered, throwing the duvet off of me.

I flipped the small porch light on and threw open the door.

The bucket of supplies I had abandoned in the forest was sitting near the edge of the stairs. I whipped my head up—trying to seek out the person who had put them there, but all throughout the darkness I could only hear a set of hastening footsteps as they entered the forest.

Jett

4

I wasn’t supposed to be here—but I was anyway.

I just couldn’t help it. I watched the girl from behind a bush. Her face was both shocked and confused as she found her things sitting on the porch. I felt bad for what I had done. It wasn’t fair for me to have scared the living hell out of her, when all she was doing was cleaning the stone of my brother. The fallen. The gone, but never forgotten part of my life that I miss each and every passing day. If anything, I should of thanked her, but I was already in my animal form, roaming around the forest on one of my many lone walks when I’d gotten a hold of her scent nearby.

This was what I am. A freak. A monster. I knew she wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t accept the fact that I am different—unlike her in so many ways. The others back at our cabin by the lake had warned me not to explore this part of the forest anymore when the humans moved in. But as usual, I didn’t pay any attention to them. And besides, if I hadn’t, I never would have stumbled across her.

Her sweet scent, drifting about the air that night, tempted my senses. She smelled—delicious—mouth-watering even. An aroma redolent of a tropical array of fruits. From far away, she smelled of fresh pineapples. As I neared it turned to subtle coconut and lime. But when I’d come from the bushes and gotten within a few feet from her, all the scents blended into a sweet, tempting aroma that made my mouth water. Our kind swore we’d never eat any of the humans again—made a promise to ourselves and the people before them. Long before her. Long before me. It was part of the pact. Not that I wanted to eat her. My mind thought of other things I could do with her. Things I had yet to experience, but was exceedingly curious to try.

I had stood silently—hidden in the forest, watching her struggle with the box that night. At the mere scent of her blood, I felt my feet overpower me. I found myself heading toward her, unable to stop. I was drawn to her like a fly to a bug zapper. My animalistic instincts kicking in.

She was helpless—a newborn fawn left to fend for itself from a large beast twice its size. I could have killed her in seconds had I had the mind to. But, I didn’t.

Then, as I caught sight of her breathtaking eyes—looking to me from the ground, I felt the human side of me push through. Golden-green, and shining like stars in the moonlight. Had I not been well-poised, I might of even buckled at the knees at the mere sight of them. She was not the girl I expected her to be from far away. No. Up close she was spectacular. She looked like a woman taken from a vintage Hollywood film. Lengthy wavy dark brown hair that curled at the tips in gentle rings that I wanted reach out and touch. A gorgeous pair of eyes and the face of an angel. Soft features, well-defined nose, full light-pink lips, and full breasts that I couldn’t help but glance at in between the moments she would turn her gaze away. She had some meat on her bones, and I liked that. A well curved woman with the body shape of an hourglass. The classic image of a sexy woman. Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor—all the vixens back then had this voluptuous figure.

She carried herself well in a confident stride—well, up until she fell at least. A rare gem to find. One that I felt as though I needed to keep and hold tightly in my hand, never
ever
letting go.

Upon conversing with her, I found her to be very down-to-earth. I could easily see myself with someone like her. However, I know she could never see herself with some
thing
like me. It was just how things were meant to be, I suppose.

Yes, I am part human—to an extent. But there is another side to me that I’m sure would frighten her deeply. In books, my kind are referred to as
hybrids
. Beings of both human and animal. A species that accelerated far past the humans and animals during evolution. So fast, in fact, that one species became merged with the other. Bonding, and therefore spawning our species.

There was a time long ago—very long ago, when we shared this land with the humans. Before the humans crafted weaponry and became filled with arrogance and greed for the majority of land. Taking nearly all of it for themselves, and forcing us to be banished to a small nation of islands off the coast of Florida, visible only in the light of the moon. A mystifying part of land that has been kept secret by only a select few humans throughout history across the world, which they later on divided up into their own countries. Guess the greediness didn’t end with us.

The human children do not learn of our land, which later became known as Mundahlia, in their geography books. Nor does the rest of the world even know of our existence. However, our images have been embedded in ancient ruins. Ruins that beings like myself helped build. As much as the humans tried to erase our existence, their own history foretells of our kind. The Egyptians worshipped us as gods and forever marked our images on their pyramid walls in hieroglyphics or statues. Anubis, Horus, Sobek, and others were the names they used—referring to the jackal, falcon and crocodile hybrids of our kind that were in their region at the time. The Greeks and Romans had their own interpretations of us in their mythology. Mermaids, Centaurs, Minotaurs, Fauns, Sirens and more are what they referred to us as. The Mayans eternally inked us in their temples, where beneath all the traps and trick passages within their great temples, lies even more secrets of our kind than one could possibly imagine. The Native Americans spun fables of us
skinwalkers
around campfires, telling of a kind that had the spirit and ability to shift into the form of an animal at will. Our kind does in fact exist. We just exist in the outer boundaries of the world’s vision, alongside other species of beings that were deemed
unacceptable
in the eyes of the
majority
at that time—the humans.