Zally's Book (9 page)

One of the
not-
cool things about the map was the way it didn't really prepare you for where you were
going. You could plan part of the way, but not a whole trip. Although I wondered if perhaps there was away it would be able to show someone more…. If I saw Queen Patchouli again, if I succeeded in my quest, I would ask.

I traced a finger along the trail we had taken from the marsh, to the comfortable haven where we had spent the night. I closed my eyes, my fingers on the map. I felt that there were more obstacles before the valley, but I had drawn only one thing so far on the way: three trees and a couple of random plants I didn't recognize. I couldn't tell by the drawing whether we were about to reach three trees, an orchard, a bonsai garden of miniature shrubs, or a forest.

“That's the way,” I said to Imishi.

“I'll pack up,” she said.

She folded everything carefully and stored it all in the saddlebags. Kir found a large rock for her to stand on so she could lift the saddlebags onto his back.

I was amazed at Imishi's change in attitude. She didn't seem angry at me anymore. Could something as simple as fixing my hair have made the change? Maybe my genuine appreciation had helped. Or that we had seen each other as girls, both liking pretty things, enjoying something simple outside of the
daunting quest before us. In any case, our cheerfulness made that daunting quest less scary and more exciting.

It was a good thing I was feeling that way, because as it turned out, our path ran through a
jungle—
and by “path,” I don't really mean any kind of real road or trail; it was more like narrow corridors between trees, shrubs, and ground cover. Kir could just set his feet down without tripping over vines and branches, and Imishi and I could barely sit upright on Kir's back and not get smacked in the face by springy palm fronds.

One of the definitions of “jungle” is land that is overgrown with tangled masses of tropical vegetation. This jungle was no exception. It looked very much like pictures my parents have shown me of the jungles of Guatemala.

Plants of every shape and size grew there—trees hundreds of feet tall with countless leafy branches, ferns higher than our heads, thick clusters of bamboo, creeping ground cover that grew between and around the tree trunks, flowers in all colors and scents, and vines dangling from branches high above. The hot air was heavy with moisture, and the light that filtered down through the leaves was tinged a faint green. The
smells of the jungle were rich and damp.

Imishi kept her wings folded tightly out of the way to prevent them from being poked or further damaged by the plants we were passing through. We both stayed alert. Watching Kir's ears swivel this way and that, I knew he was keeping alert, too.

“I wish I could have flown over this,” Imishi sighed. I didn't hear any whininess or criticism in her tone, just wistfulness.

I could feel Kir's worry for his sire as we rode on. It was a constant reminder of our need to hurry. We continued in silence for an hour or so. Of course the jungle is anything but silent: birds chirped, twittered, and cawed; frogs croaked; monkeys chattered; water dripped; insects buzzed or clicked; leaves rustled.

The jungle was filled with amazing sights, but it was what I couldn't see that began to trouble me. I'm not sure when I became aware of it, but I sensed a new restlessness from Kir. Animals have instincts to tell them when something big is about to happen, like a thunderstorm or an earthquake. So I thought maybe Kir was picking up something like that. The answer slammed into my thoughts a moment later: a feeling so strong that it overpowered my connection with Kir
for a moment. A creature was somewhere near us—a creature filled with a wild hunger.

Pushing the thought away, I cleared my mind. I reached out to Kir and directed him to go faster along the path that, according to my map, would take us out of the jungle.

Imishi felt the change. “What's wrong, why don't we—”

I held up a hand to caution her to silence. I turned, with a finger pressed to my lips. She went quiet and started looking around more carefully. I had the creepiest feeling that we were being watched.

Kir picked his way through the trees and underbrush faster than I had thought possible. We broke through the jungle into an open area filled with ruins. My mouth must have dropped open. Some of the ancient buildings looked like step pyramids. Others were little more than foundations raised above the ground with steps leading up to the flat area. The whole scene reminded me of pictures that decorate the walls of our bakery—Mayan ruins like Chichén Itzá, Tikal, and Caracol.

I turned and saw Imishi looking around as wideeyed
as I felt. I nudged Kir forward, and I got a blast of the hunger feeling again. We passed a couple of foot-high circular walls with carvings of horses, wildcats, birds, and monkeys on them. I peeked into one circle and saw that it was a well. Another appeared to be a shallow fire pit. I wondered if we could hide somewhere here.

I heard a low, rumbling growl from the trees behind us.

Finally I saw what I was looking for: a small domed building made of brown stone blocks set upon a raised foundation. I pointed it out to my companions. The square structure, except for part of the ceiling and a chink here and there, was largely intact. A steep grassy slope led up one side of the raised foundation, and Kir started toward it. There was a sudden shriek and flutter as something zoomed past my head—a brightly colored parrot flying toward the same stone structure.

Suddenly I started to see animals everywhere around us—some on the ground, some on pyramids, a few floating in the air. Not real, solid animals, but transparent and hazy, like mirages.
Or ghosts
.

Then I heard a snarl and a roar.

Kir didn't need any encouragement; he ran at full
gallop up the slope onto the raised foundation. Imishi and I stayed on with the help of the magical blanket. The square building, about the size of a large gazebo, was directly ahead of us. Dead leaves and vines littered the ground. At each side of the building—at least the sides I could see—I noticed traces of faint stone circles.

Barely slowing, Kir jumped all the way over one of the stone circles. We came down hard on the other side. Imishi nearly squashed me against Kir's neck on landing, and both of us were winded. Kir didn't wait for us to recover. Finding an opening into the building that was barely wide enough to admit a horse, he squeezed through, while Imishi and I kept our heads ducked down to keep from hitting them as we entered the building. As soon as we were inside, we were able to sit up again and saw that the domed ceiling was at least twenty-five feet high.

Ignoring my sore muscles, I swung off Kir's back and started to search around for something to block the entrance.

“There's a door here,” Imishi said, hopping down beside me and starting to push on a flat block of stone by the entrance that was the same size and shape as the opening we had squeezed through. She was right.

I helped Imishi push, and the slab started to move.

There was a sharp squawk overhead, and a harsh voice screamed, “We're here, we're here!”

The parrot! Was it inside with us?

Another, louder roar echoed around us. I pushed harder, and the door moved a little more. Kir backed up toward us, pressed his rear against the door, and shoved backward. Just as the door closed, I caught a glimpse of something outside—tawny fur spotted with black.

A jaguar, bigger than any jaguar I'd ever seen. It was as tall as Kir!

Panting and shaking, I slid to the floor, which felt pleasantly cool after the humid jungle heat. Imishi, tucking her wings up out of the way, sat beside me. With a noisy flutter, the parrot flew down from a hole in the ceiling to perch on the saddle blanket atop Kir's back.

For a chamber with no electricity, our refuge was surprisingly bright. Slits and square openings in
the walls and a hole in the dome let enough sunlight in to illuminate the room. It was obvious that we weren't going to be leaving until we were sure the jaguar was gone, so we ate some of our rations and opened one of the pods of water.

The parrot amused itself, walking around on the floor of the chamber, eating any crumbs we dropped, and squawking, “More for me, more for me!” I tried to ignore it.

After we ate, Imishi and I peered out various wall slits and saw the jungle cat prowling in slow circles around our building. I got goose bumps each time the jaguar's mind brushed against mine, and I felt its hunger. I caught a glimpse of its eyes. They glowed jade green, giving me the eerie feeling that the jaguar could see us. Its gaze never left the building. The cat must have weighed hundreds of pounds; it would have been ridiculous to think that we could just outrun it or overpower it somehow. No, we would have to wait and hope it found some other prey in the jungle. Once or twice I thought I saw other animals out there—just a glimmer, and then they were gone.

The room was not as small as I had first thought. With each wall about twice as long as Kir was from nose to rump, and with the sunlight helping to make the room feel less claustrophobic, there were much
worse places we could have been trapped. My eyes traveled upward to the domed ceiling. I thought that at night there would be a wonderful view of the stars through the opening. Then it occurred to me what the little building reminded me of: an observatory. I'd even seen pictures of ancient Mayan observatories, some square, some round. I looked at the sunlight-dappled walls around us, and for the first time I realized that each side of the room was carved.

“I wish we could leave,” Imishi said.

I could feel that Kir was anxious about the wasted time as well. Even though we were safe for the moment, we weren't getting any closer to Kib Valley.

As best I could tell, three walls held carvings of the building we were in, surrounded by the sun and moon and stars and thousands of animals. Each carving also showed animal constellations outlined in the stars. Whoever had lived here clearly loved animals.

Imishi pointed to the wall nearest her. “Did you know there is writing here? And something else I believe will interest you. I think you should see it for yourself.”

I went over to see the writing Imishi was talking about. Beneath the text was a separate carving of a creature with feathers—a dragon? I wondered. Each culture seems to have different legends and various
images of such creatures. Chinese dragons tend to be long and snaky, whereas European paintings of dragons remind me of small dinosaurs with batlike wings. This creature was more like drawings of feathered serpents of Maya and Aztec lore, and it had been singled out as special from the host of animals in the other carvings.