Time Dancers

to the other one. I asked Geaxi to ride with her and explain to her what Sailor had explained to me years earlier when he introduced me to my Basque protectors and my Aita, Kepa Txopitea. “You come to them,” he said, “they do not come to you.” Nova seemed a little more like herself once we got to Carolina’s, but something was still bothering her. However, it had been a long day and night and I decided to talk to her about it another time.

The size and opulence of the big house astounded Arrosa. As Owen and Carolina showed her upstairs to her room, she was genuinely humbled and thanked Carolina profusely, saying she might sleep forever in such a comfortable place. Carolina said she certainly hoped that didn’t happen because Ciela would have a hearty St. Louis breakfast ready and waiting for everyone in the morning.

A short while later, Opari and I were also turning out the lights. Opari whispered, “The first day of April in America is a beautiful day, no?”

I laughed and agreed, but as I lay back on the pillow, over and over in my head, I kept hearing Jack’s voice saying, “Hey, Z, your shoe’s untied…your shoe’s untied.”

At breakfast we mostly made small talk. Everyone who was living in the house was present except Nova. Several times during the meal Arrosa complimented Ciela, at one point saying, “I have only tasted flavors like this in the small Cuban neighborhoods of New York.” Ciela laughed and kept the food coming. “Si, si,” she said, “es verdad, es verdad.” After breakfast I found Nova and asked if we could talk somewhere. She said she wanted to talk to me, too, and we strolled out to the “Honeycircle,” where the crocuses were still wet with dew. We walked over to Baju’s sundial and within minutes I knew I’d been wrong about why Nova had acted nervous around Arrosa. Nova had seen something the moment Arrosa stepped onstage at Mitch’s. She said when she looked at the white rose Arrosa was wearing, her real vision blurred and another reality, another vision, took its place. In this alternate vision Nova saw Arrosa’s throat being cut. The knife was flashing in bright sunlight, making it difficult for her to clearly see the one with the knife, but she could make out three things: the attacker was Meq, he had green eyes, and he wore two red ruby earrings. There were other images in the vision that came into focus and blurred again, including a gold mask and eyes that never close, a bleeding rose, and torches moving through airless darkness. Nova said she snapped out of it only after Arrosa left the stage. She asked me what it might mean and before I could even respond, I felt the old prickly feeling of the net descending. I didn’t know what the other images meant, but there was just one who could be the one with the knife—the Fleur-du-Mal. But what would he be doing attacking a young Basque girl, who meant nothing to him, in a vision of someone who has never seen him and probably never heard of him? I knew he was unpredictable, but it made no sense whatsoever. Also, I had to respect Nova’s “ability,” and yet I wondered if she could sometimes get it wrong, like Ray. Nova’s “ability” was the most baffling to me of all the varieties we possess. Even she seemed bewildered by it. Was she able to see real events to come, or did she see symbols of events; feelings and projections of her own fears and demons? And time was never part of the vision. For all I knew, each vision could be in some sort of dreamtime that has nothing to do with real events. However, if the Fleur-du-Mal was even remotely connected, I could not afford to ignore any “vision.”

It was clear why Nova was avoiding Arrosa. She knew the Meq are expected to be completely forthcoming and honest with their Basque protectors, and the same is true for them. It has been that way for countless generations and it presented Nova with a dilemma. Should she tell Arrosa what she had seen? Should she remain silent?

Sailor had told me in Cornwall to serve the family. I thought this was a good time to do just that. I made the decision for her and told her to stay silent. I advised her to establish close ties with Arrosa and learn as much as she could from her, but for now, stay silent about the “vision.” I told her we must first find out Mowsel’s message, then we could decide about what should or shouldn’t be revealed.

“Message?” Nova asked.

She was truly surprised and I realized she was unaware of Arrosa’s hidden mission. “That’s why she came. She has a message to deliver from Trumoi-Meq. It concerns Unai and Usoa.”

“Oh…I see,” she said, staring down at the crocuses. “And who better to deliver the message, right? The last in the line of the tribe of Caristies.”

“Right,” I said. I searched her eyes and their expression was enigmatic. I could read nothing, and the heavy Egyptian mascara gave her the appearance of wearing a mask. “Nova,” I said quietly, “you and I—” I stopped. I made sure we were looking at each other eye to eye. “We—you and me—are the only ones to be born in the West, in America, and carry the Stone.” I paused again. “We have much to learn, you and I.”

“I know, Z. I’m trying.”

“Get to know her, Nova. Learn from her, even though she is young. Learn the long history of your Stone and her tribe. Don’t worry about what you saw in your vision.”

Nova smiled and picked a few crocuses, gently shaking the dew from their long petals. “Arrosa probably needs our help,” she said, almost to herself.

“Most likely. More likely my help since I was close to Unai and Usoa shortly before they crossed in the Zeharkatu. No one knows exactly why, but Opari said that makes a difference. The Zeharkatu is our deepest mystery. It is the moment and place where our bodies become like the Giza and we begin to age. It is an act of ultimate surrender to your Ameq, and it allows us to procreate.”

“But—”

“I know, I remember what you said at ‘the slabs’—‘The old way will not work. The old Zeharkatu will not cross in the old way.’”

“I don’t even know why I said that, Z.”

“One thing at a time, Nova.”

“Come on,” Nova said and turned to leave. “Let’s find out the message. I know just the place to go.”

I gathered Geaxi, Opari, and Arrosa. We all followed Nova the short distance to Forest Park. It was early afternoon and the fair weather was holding. The park itself was crowded with people of all ages and descriptions. We passed around a nine-hole golf course that had been in existence for a few years, but was new to me. Several of the caddies removed their oversized caps and whistled at Arrosa, who ignored them entirely. I got the impression she had heard worse and dealt with it many times. Geaxi shouted something back to the caddies in a strange language I’d never heard and we kept on walking, laughing all the way.

Eventually, Nova steered us to Art Hill and on to a natural amphitheater nearby. Plays were performed there in the summer, she told us, with enough chairs for a thousand people. We stood at the top of the hill and below us were two large oak trees that framed the raised ground of the stage. Behind the stage there was a small bridge that spanned a creek called the River des Peres.

“Down there,” Nova said, “to the bridge. It’s a good place to talk.”

We bounded down the slope like kids playing tag and spread out on the bridge. Nova was right—it was a good place to talk. We could speak freely and listen without interruption. Geaxi and Nova took seats atop the wooden railing on one side of the little bridge and Opari and I sat across from them on the opposite railing. Arrosa paced back and forth between us and, for the next half hour, told us Mowsel’s message and warning, using his exact words whenever possible. She spoke rapidly and we learned many things in a brief amount of time, the first of which was the reason Trumoi-Meq was not with her.

Although Arrosa continued to refer to Sailor as “the one who wears the star sapphire,” we learned that Mowsel was worried about his “old friend” and was off to a mysterious destination in the Canary Islands. We were all worried about Sailor and without having to say a word, all of us, even Geaxi, agreed with Trumoi-Meq’s decision. Then we heard the sad and heartbreaking story of Unai and Usoa. Arrosa prefaced this part with a few personal anecdotes about both of them and how much they meant to her, especially Unai, who had saved her from despair and became her best friend following her father’s death. He knew people in New York and was instrumental in her move there and introduced her to other painters and artists.

When Unai and Usoa’s child, a boy, died from influenza, Arrosa didn’t hear about it until Mowsel told her six months later. By that time they had disappeared into the mountains, living hand to mouth and moving daily on an endless journey in search of the haunted vision that drove Usoa—she believed their boy had been switched with another and was still alive and kept hidden from her. It was insane, but Unai loved her from a place with no boundaries and told himself he would “see” what she “saw” if that’s what it took to live in this world, because he had decided long ago he would not live in this world without her.

Kepa and his family followed their movements and made sure they did not accidentally endanger themselves,