ORDER OF SEVEN (19 page)

Nodin and Ben are waiting, wide-eyed and eager to find out how the meeting went. Baron opens the back passenger door next to Ben and says, “You drive.”

Nodin shuffles up to shotgun and Baron and I climb in the back. A common sense of urgency seems to be among us, although in reality we’ve nowhere to be. We don’t say a word, but drive as fast as we can back down the winding mountain road in silence, our ears popping with the descent.

Then Nodin and Ben are talking at the same time, asking about the journal I’m still clutching to my chest and what happened inside with Mealy. When Baron is done filling them in, Ben is so overwhelmed he has to pull over.

We’re silent, eyes darting around the car at each other. Nodin and Ben’s mouths are gaping. Nodin throws open the car door and begins to pace outside. I know he’s absorbing too much from us and is trying to get his emotions under control. I can’t imagine what it must be like, feeling what I’m feeling times four. I would die.

It takes about five minutes for Nodin to return to the car. He looks sickly pale, which I take as a good sign because that’s how he always looks.

“Let’s go,” he says to Ben, then looks back at me clutching the journal and says, “Read.”

•◊
19
ץ

THE POWER OF LORE

I
slowly turn the journal over in my hands. Thin, leather strips bind it closed. I unravel the strips and open it to see the entire journal is in Mealy’s handwriting. It appears generally easy to read, although filled with scribbly side notes and addendums, one of which is on the inside cover:

The following information was collected from both the Tabari and Maz tribes of South and Central Mexico between the years of 2004–2010. I use their words as much as possible, but explanations are provided in some instances. –J.M.

I turn to the beginning, titled in Mealy’s blocky handwriting:
THE WAR
. I clear my throat and begin to read aloud.

“More than five hundred years ago, the Tabari tribe was forced north from Peru in search of water. Severe drought had turned their once lush, forested homeland into an arid desert littered with dead trees. Combined with Spaniard invasion, this caused much stress on the leaders of the tribe, which in turn caused panic and dissent among its members. The tribe subsequently split and mostly immersed among other populations in Columbia, Venezuela and Central America, except for one large group that stayed united and still exists in a remote jungle region of Honduras, where they’ve lived for more than two hundred years.”

I turn the page and see he’s pasted a map of South and Central America with red circles on the tribe’s beginning and ending locations in both Peru and Honduras, respectively. I pass the journal around for the others to see and then continue reading.

“Since the beginning of their existence, the Tabari have relied on spiritual leaders known as runes—”

As soon as I get to that word, my mouth is sucked dry of all its saliva. The journal falls in my lap and I watch as Baron takes it from me.

“Spiritual leaders known as runes,” he says, “are born each generation kissed by the gods, white head to toe. However, after the earlier dissipation of the tribe, the birth of runes ceased. This is a devastating blow to the Tabari, whose entire existence is defined by being one of seven rune tribes, as outlined in the Order of Seven. The Tabari believe the white skin is inherent to runes.

“In a desperate effort to reestablish a rune, the Tabari sought the aid of an entirely albino tribe, the Maz of southern Mexico, who are renowned for the ancient priest, Pechocha, who planted the rune Tree in Tule, Mexico, known as El Arbor Del Tule, or commonly, the tree of life. In this tree, the likenesses of the rune’s spirit animals are depicted amongst its branches.

“The two tribes met periodically for nearly a century, producing countless children who weren’t runes, which the Tabari consider useless half-breeds and abandoned until about fifty years ago, when the Maz chief put a stop to it. He ordered all half-breeds to be released to the Maz after that. See attachment.” Baron flips through pages, locating the attachment.

“Oh, wow. This is a population graph for Honduras, ranging from the years eighteen-forty-eight to nineteen-fifty-two. The population goes up by point two percent during this time, but not from native citizens. It says they’re orphans living in foster care or being contracted to adoption agencies in neighboring countries.”

Nodin looks at me like he’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t understand.

“Train and Emilet.” He looks out the window.

I suck in air, eyes bulging. “What?”

“I always knew they were related to us, but I never fully understood how.” He pauses. “Now I do.”

“But they lived in America.”

“It says the orphans were sometimes contracted to neighboring countries’ adoption markets,” Baron says.

“We ended up here, didn’t we?” Nodin points out. “Their biological parents are our ancestors. Train and Emilet were a Maz and Tabari mix, just like us.” He rubs his temples. “They were lucky, to start. They got an American family. If only it’d been a decade later...”

I shake my head. “I can’t even...”

“Me neither,” Nodin says and resumes staring out the window.

“Do you want me to keep reading?” Baron asks quietly.

“Yes,” we answer in unison.

“In approximately nineteen-eighty-nine, a Maz male is sent to Tabari land to breed with a Tabari woman. They fall in love, which was forbidden, but probably not the first occurrence. To escape persecution from her tribe the woman flees to the Maz tribe, where they discover the mating attempt worked and she’s pregnant. She gives birth nine months later to not one, but two infants. A boy and a girl, who they realize quickly are both runes.

“The Tabari find out about the rune births and want what they believe is rightfully theirs. They’re desperate to maintain their status as a rune tribe. But the Maz see it differently. It is not a disagreement or a struggle or conflict. It’s straight up war. The Tabari attempt to hunt the runes down and take them. Battles ensue, lives are lost. The tribes’ animosity toward each other grows more vicious by the day. When the Maz realize the Tabari will never stop, they move their runes—” Baron hesitates. “Guys? What year did you say you were born?”

A current in the Bronco is electrifying my nerve endings. Or maybe it’s just me completely, totally, unequivocally Freaking My Shit.

“Ninety-one and ninety-two,” Nodin says. “But it’s not for sure. It’s an estimate because...”

The magnitude sits heavy in the air on us, on my lungs screaming for air.
Where’s the oxygen in this fucking truck?

Nodin is a rune and we’re twins. I’m not eighteen. I’m nineteen, at least.

My eyes catch his and all we can do is stare at each other, reeling, processing, and grappling this new reality. Nodin slumps over and a noise comes from him that sounds like an injured animal. “Pull over,” he says in a strangled voice.

Ben does and Nodin piles out onto the side of the road and vomits, our cumulative emotions overcoming him.

Baron’s hand is on my arm and he’s asking if I’m okay. He looks blurry to me, and then I realize my eyes are wet with tears. I tell him I’m okay in a voice I barely recognize, but I’m lying. I don’t know what I am, but it’s not okay. It’s stunned and confused and overwhelmed all at once.

Nodin gets back in the Bronco. We resume the drive in an eerie silence only utter shock can produce.

•◊
20
ץ

ANSWERS

W
e watch the sun get higher as we trade the mountain’s narrow roads for the wide highways back to Odessa. We’ve been up all night and should be collapsing, but adrenaline and shock work like speed in our systems.

“There’s more,” Baron says, opening the journal and looking at me.

I nod for him to read.

“There’s a side note from Mealy that says the following info comes from the Maz chief, Danook.” He gets water from the cooler we packed, takes a sip and reads.

“The runes and their parents are moved to another rune tribe far away. A guide is chosen by the Maz to protect the runes and lead them on their journey; however, he is less of an escort and more of a sentinel whose life calling is to be a Lyriad. Lyriads have experience with travel and culture that other tribe members don’t. Danook refuses to reveal where the runes were moved, but he does tell me they’re with the only tribe equipped with a mystic, which will aid in their desire to stay apprised of Tabari movement.”

“Africa,” I say. “We were moved to the Mahtembo tribe because of their shaman.” The others nod, slow and robotic.

Baron continues reading in a quiet voice, as if afraid we might shatter.

“The Tabari are fierce in their resolve and continue to hunt the runes across oceans and continents to this day. They have hired bounty hunters and used mystics and have located them once, but were unsuccessful in retrieving the runes.”

“That’s it,” I say. “That’s why I couldn’t know anything about my ability. Their mystic would have detected me. It’s me. Don’t you see? Nodin and I, we’re half-breeds, which means we’re runes to both tribes. He’s more Maz, which makes sense since he got more of the albino gene than I did. Their mystic can’t find him, or at least not as easily. I’m more Tabari. I’m their rune. They’re looking for me because they can detect me.”

“She’s right,” Nodin says.

There’s a few beats of silence before Baron continues reading where he left off.

“The Tabari wait for a sign that the seer of seven has received a warning and the runes are being summoned for the Order, which takes place in one of seven preordained sites. I have determined those locations based on Danook’s detailed descriptions and his knowledge of approximate geographical locations, although he does point out that the locations are not static and have changed many times over the centuries. Pictured below.”

Baron stops reading and I glance at him. He’s looking at whatever’s pictured on the following pages and murmuring indiscernibly. He hands the journal to me and says, “Get a load of the locations.”

I flip through the pages. Each has a title and accompanying photo. What I see floors me to my seat with the force of a wrecking ball:

1. Stonehenge, Southern England
   
2. Nazca Lines, Southern Peru
   
3. Wurdi Youang, Australia
   
4. Wonderboom, South Africa
   
5. Chaco Canyon, United States
   
6. Sanchi Stupa, India
   
7. Arkaim, Russia
   

I hand the journal to Nodin who studies it then chuckles, then bursts into giggles, and then comes completely unglued in a fit of hysterical-tears-down-cheeks laughter.

These sites are archaeological mysteries that have left thousands of baffled scientists in their wake, scientists who spent their careers trying to figure out how humans could have possibly built these incredible monuments. And that’s just the thing. Regular humans didn’t build them. Runes did, for the Order of Seven.

“When do we know what the warning is?” I ask. “How do we know how many of us it’ll take to stop it, or which site we need to go to?”

Baron’s expression changes, a mixture of realization and terror. Nodin’s laughter fades when we all realize the same thing at the same time. The answer has been right under our noses all along.

Seven.

Whatever the impending threat is, it’s so catastrophic it will take all seven of us to stop it.

“This is it. It’s beginning,” Baron says.

“How do we know where to find the other runes? How will they know what the threat is or where to go?” Nodin asks.

“The answers are all over me,” Baron says, his voice low. “The other symbols. All of them coincide with the same regions as the rune sites for the Order.” He looks out the window, lost for a moment in deep thought. “It all connects. The jaguar is Mesoamerican, which we now know connects with our Maz rune, Nodin, plus I had two Mayan visions. The Tomoe symbol I have is Buddhist in origin, specifically India. The Tobono and elephant are African.”

“What about the bear?” I ask.

“Russia. My ancestors on my father’s side are Russian and the bear is steeped in their culture and history,” he says. “The serpent correlates with the Australian site.” He looks at me. “Your name, I mean, hell, if that’s not a connection to Peru, I don’t know what is. And when I researched the buck, I found English and Welsh connections.”

His palm pats his chest. “The sun and white buffalo hoof, those are Native American. It’s all right here. Always was.”

“So what now? What’s the next step?” Ben asks.

“We need to search the unknown runes’ geographical locations,” Baron says. “We look for the symbols or animals represented in a specific civilization or tribe. We narrow it down. We find them. And we wait for the Order.”

As we drive back, I realize we need a shit-ton more room for The Wall of Knowledge.

•◊
21
ץ

THE SUMMONS

I
awake on Nodin’s couch Sunday morning, the remnants of a strange, vivid dream still clouding my mind. Sunlight streams through the shades, throwing horizontal stripes across the room.

I hear heavy, sleepy breathing. On the floor just below me, Ben is asleep. It was nice of him to let me have the couch. I watch him for a couple minutes. His tan, bare shoulders peek out above the thin cover, his hair a sleepy mess. He looks so sweet. I sort of want to kiss him on the cheek and mess up his hair some more, but I don’t.

As I return from the restroom, I notice the door to the second bedroom is open. My parents had high hopes Nodin would get a roommate, clearly underestimating his aversion to people.

I peer inside. The sheets are rumpled on Baron’s bed, but it’s empty. I check the living room floor, thinking I must have walked right past him, but then I see him through the window. He’s outside, leaning against the half-wall that frames the entranceway.

I watch him through the window, watch the way his shirt falls into that valley between his shoulder blades, the way he stands, the way his eyes watch the sunrise, and the swell of love in my chest turns me inside-out.