ORDER OF SEVEN (18 page)

His eyes never leave the wall. “Two days ago.”

To the left of the section with Baron’s tattoos are bullet points of my visions, specifying the most important details of each. In the middle of the wall is a map of Mexico and Central America, marking Honduras, and a spot near Oaxaca where we guessed the Maz tribe lives. Another list has everything we know about each tribe. Right in front of our faces are three enormous print outs of El Arbor Del Tule. The tree of life, from three different vantage points, with red circles indicating the areas where animals can be seen.

On the adjacent wall, Nodin has hung a large whiteboard, complete with dry eraser markers on its ledge.

“What’s this for?” I ask Nodin.

“Connections, which we’ll start here in a minute.”

“You look like hell,” Ben says, eyeballing me.

Baron glances at me and I feel myself blush. “What? Shut up. I do not.”

“Yes, you do,” Nodin says. “You look like you’ve just returned from the show
Survivor
. Aren’t you eating?”

I give a big exhale and glare at Nodin. “It’s been a rough week, which you were supposed to
already have fixed
.”

He crosses his arms and darts his eyes at Baron to make sure he’s not looking, and then mouths to me, “They just got here.”

“Look here,” Baron says, interrupting us. He glances at Nodin. “You might want to write this down.”

Nodin goes to the white board and readies himself with a marker. We end up with:

• Number 7: EVERYWHERE. Tattoos, visions
  
• Elephants: tattoo, visions, tree of life, Mahtembo
  
• Tree/life animals same as Baron’s tattoos
  
• Trees: Devi’s tree, Tree/Life, tree tattoo
  

We sit and stare at the wall, taking in the enormity, having absolutely no idea what it all means. We’re close, though. We know it and we’re just waiting for the puzzle pieces to fall into place.

I glance at Nodin. He looks asleep. I grin because I know he’s not.

•◊
18
ץ

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17

I
t’s cold out. Not chilly. Cold. The sun is just rising.

Baron and I exit the Bronco where Nodin and Ben are slumped in the backseat, hiding. Mist still hangs in the surrounding trees. Since we couldn’t have left any earlier due to finals, and we had to wait for the Okie boys to meet us in Odessa, we travelled all night to get here: El Santuario de Chamayo, an old church in the mountains of New Mexico, at precisely the place and time Dr. Mealy requested.

Why here? At a church in the middle of Nowhere, New Mexico? I have no idea. We only know what we learned about this place online: it’s an old, sacred church thought to have healing powers in its soil. People come here in droves from all over to be cured of diseases and crippling injuries.

The simple, rustic mission sits behind courtyards of bountiful gardens. Its terracotta walls glow earthy orange in the sun’s morning rays. Paths wind around sitting areas for meditation and prayer. Fragrant scents of innumerable blooms dance under my nose. But the most present thing is the solitude. It’s strange how silence can sometimes be the most striking thing about a place.

We’ve been told to enter the church and wait for Mealy. I keep stifling yawns—not just because I spent all night being one of four drivers to another state. I yawn when I’m nervous.

And right now, I couldn’t be more nervous.

“Let’s go inside,” Baron says. The heavy wooden doors groan as he pulls them open and we enter. They shut behind us with a thud.

The sanctuary is small, the only light coming from its candlelit altar. A large statue of Jesus stands in the entrance to our right, his wrists wrapped in rope, painted blood dripping down his hands and fingers.

Once at the altar, we notice a doorway to our left. We walk through it and enter another room with walls covered in religious art and crosses, so luminous with colors and textures it feels like the inside of a treasure chest. Crutches and canes are scattered along the walls, presumably abandoned, no longer needed after their owners were healed. Located at the front of this room is a low doorway that leads to another tiny, bare room with nothing on the dirt floor aside from a hole.

A sign hangs on the wall. I read aloud: “If you are a stranger, if you are weary from the struggles in life, whether you have a handicap, whether you have a broken heart, follow the long mountain road, find a home in Chimayó.”

“This must be the soil believed to have healing powers,” Baron says, reaching down to grab a handful. He lets it sift slowly through his fingertips back into the hole.

“It’s a magical place, isn’t it?” says a voice from behind me.

I gasp and leap to Baron, a scream catching in my throat.

The man puts his palms out. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He extends a hand. “I’m Jim Mealy.”

We shake and I introduce myself as Mandi, as we had planned. Mealy’s hair is a fit of dark, unruly waves that frame a round, bearded face and kind brown eyes. I estimate him in his mid-forties, although I’m notoriously bad at guessing.

An Indiana Jones style satchel hangs off his shoulder. He’s wearing mustard yellow corduroys, a New York Yankees T-shirt and tennis shoes. Although his eyes dart back and forth between us, he’s specifically interested in Baron, staring with a reverence like he’s just met Al Pacino or something.

Mealy snaps out of it and gestures for us to follow him back to the sanctuary, but not before he takes a small bag from his pocket and fills it with soil, saying with a wink, “Powerful bartering tool.”

We follow him back through the rooms and down the hall, our footsteps echoing throughout the chambers. Once back in the sanctuary, we sit on the first wooden pew, with Baron between Mealy and me.

Mealy places the satchel in his lap, candles flickering shadows across his face. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asks Baron.

“Hahn said you have information for me regarding the vision I had in the Tabari language.”

Mealy smiles and nods, running his hands over the satchel. “Yes. Yes, I do.” He pauses, gazing at Baron with intensity. “I presume it’s safe to say you’ve had more than this one vision?”

Baron hesitates, then confirms with a nod.

Mealy seems satisfied with this, almost giddy. His eyes are bugging a little as he takes in Baron anew. “I thought as much. Yes.” He clears his throat. “And you’re sure you want your friend present?”

“Like I explained, I wouldn’t have come without her. I trust her implicitly.”

“And I trust you, my friend. I trust you.” Mealy takes a deep inhale and lets it out slow. “I’ve been able to befriend a Tabari
Reywas
, or errand runner, who the tribe periodically sends to nearby towns for goods. It’s taken me years to earn this boy’s trust. They would surely kill him if he’s caught. He has shared things I could never know otherwise about their culture and history, and there’s a large part of their history I believe pertains to you.”

His palm caresses the satchel in small circles. “The details of the Tabari history are in here, which I’ll be handing over to you. But first I must tell you a story. A Mesoamerican legend. One as deeply rooted in their history as any story in the Bible is to Christians. It’s called the Order of Seven.”

Baron nods.

“Hundreds of thousands of years ago, the Earth’s population was already a substantial presence and growing exponentially. The gods saw this as a time to choose stewards of the planet. These stewards would lead by example and teach others how to take care of Earth, all its creatures, and each other. They would each possess a higher consciousness, thereby being man’s direct line to the spirit world. A council of the gods was held and it was decided seven of these stewards would be chosen from around the world. They would be called runes.”

I try not to react, but I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open. I lean back, concealing myself behind Baron with a death grip on his arm.
I’m not the only one.
The room is spinning. I’m trying to keep myself steady, but inside I’m hyperventilating.

“To commemorate the choosing of the runes, the gods put seven stars in the sky in the shape of a powerful warrior to symbolize their leadership and protection of Earth.” He leans slightly forward, as if telling us a secret. “You might be familiar with this cluster of stars; we call it Orion.”

Mealy relaxes against the pew and continues. “In exchange for protecting the land, the gods would warn them of impending natural disaster. The runes, who each possessed abilities like no other human, would determine which and how many runes would be needed to decelerate or stop the natural disaster. This plan is called the Order. If it’s a super virus, it might take two runes. If it’s a volcano, it might take six.” He holds up a finger. “But there’s a caveat: if humans were not taking care of the Earth and its inhabitants, the gods would cease to warn the runes of natural disasters, which would result in tragedy and mass loss of life.” He pauses. “With me still?”

“Let me get this straight,” Baron says. “If humans are acting like a cancer to Earth, the gods let natural disaster wreak havoc, decreasing population. But if humans are in harmony with Earth and all its inhabitants, the gods protect us?”

Mealy nods and Baron’s inner struggle whispers amongst my thoughts. He’s always thought of the concept of god as energy, an energy that doesn’t have intelligence. Maybe it moves like a river in that there are ways it naturally behaves, but it’s not making decisions. But the Order implies thinking, reasoning energy with intent, which contradicts everything Baron believes.

“Shall I continue?” Mealy asks, seeing Baron lost in thought.

I think we nod back to him. Or maybe Baron does, and I just stare straight ahead like a zombie.

“Upon the death of a rune, the responsibility would be handed down to his eldest child. If the rune was childless, the gods would choose the replacement. Which is exactly what happened about two thousand years ago, when a Mesoamerican priest of the God of Wind volunteered to replace a deceased, childless rune. This priest’s name was Pechocha and to test his faithfulness, the God of Wind asked him to journey far and plant a seed of a tree in a specific valley in Mexico. Pechocha did and the God of Wind blessed him for his deed, which turned him white from head to toe, as well as all his children and their children for generations to come. As the tree grew, its mighty branches formed the likeness of each rune’s spirit animal.” He leans forward. “The tree still stands and can be seen today.”

He’s talking about the Maz.
I release my death grip from Baron’s arm. My body is stiff with shock. Candles cast ominous oblong shadows on the walls. The room seems cavernous and eerie.

Mealy leans forward again. “If the relevance of this legend doesn’t make much sense to you now—” he pauses and gives Baron a knowing look while patting the satchel, “don’t worry. It will.” He glances at his watch. “There’ll be a service here in an hour. People will be arriving soon.”

Mealy stands and so do we. His hand glides inside his satchel and retrieves a leather-bound journal which he hands to Baron. “This was my life’s work, but it is clearly yours now.”

Baron takes it, and I see it’s difficult for Mealy to release, but he does. Baron thanks him.

Mealy puts a hand on Baron’s shoulder, still awestruck. “Be safe in your journeys, sir,” he says, and watches as we leave.

About halfway down the aisle, Baron turns back to him. “One question.”

Mealy’s brows rise.

“Why have me come all the way here? You could’ve easily told me the legend on the phone and shipped the journal to me.”

A smile plumps his cheeks. “I would never trust any shipping service with
that
. I’d have sooner shipped my first born.” He pauses, his face growing dead serious. “Plus, bringing you here had the added bonus of meeting one in person.”

“One what?” Baron almost whispers.

I’m holding his hand so tight, I can feel sweat trickling between our palms.

“A rune,” Mealy says with the slightest bow. “The one who unites the rest of them.”

The air seems to suck out of the room, leaving a silence so loud it’s screaming.

•◊•◊•

We burst through the heavy wooden doors, squinting against the bright sunshine.

Baron shoves the journal at my stomach and I take it. He’s walking briskly, and I struggle to keep up. I settle on a jog to keep pace, stealing glances at his grave face. “Baron,” I whisper-shout. “Slow down. What’s going on? Do you think he’s right? Do you think you’re a rune? Talk to me.”

He whirls around, runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting, desperate, before settling on me. “The vision I started having after the jaguar, the one Hahn had to help me with...”

“The one you saw and heard at the same time, with the weird symbols for letters? What about it?”

“It’s a Sanskrit language that originated a long time ago, like B.C. long ago. Hahn had to make some calls and research ancient texts, but he’s pretty sure he got an accurate translation.” He pulls up his shirt and reveals symbols inked vertically along the right side of his torso, still fresh with scabbing and redness.

Baron recites the translation: “The Seer Of Seven Will Come To Know And Bring Them Together To Save Our Souls.”

I shudder. “Holy fuckballs, Baron. That’s...”

“Ominous,” he says, which is the exact word I’m thinking but don’t want to say out loud. He lets his shirt drop and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Devi, Mealy said I’m the rune that unites the rest of them, and look.” He pulls his shirt up again, this time showing the seven Mayan pictographs on his other side. “In the middle of the other six earth symbols, the symbol for unite.”

My hand goes over my mouth.

Baron continues. “How much do you want to bet the earth symbols correlate in some way with each of the runes. And my visions—all the animals on the tree of life—they’re the rune’s spirit animals. He’s right, Devi. Mealy is right.” His arms fall to his sides. “I’m the seer of seven.”

I feel like I can’t get enough air in my lungs and I need to sit, now. Baron puts his arm around my shoulders and holds me tight while we power-walk to the Bronco.