Pleiades Rising

By Christine Candland

When seventeen-year-old Maggie Marland and nineteen-year- old Will Brighton explore a Chumash Indian cave in Malibu, California, they fi nd a mysterious gold coin and the centuries-old bones of Yacate, an Aztec shaman.

Later, Yacate appears to Maggie in a dream. She is convinced he wants her to return his bones to Mexico. While her parents are away on a cruise, Maggie, Will, and Sammy, her fourteen-year-old brother, travel south of the border in search of what is to be Yacates final resting place. Uncertain of where the bones are to be buried, the three pursue clues that ultimately lead them to Teotihuacan, the home of the gods.

They arrive on the eve of the Summer Solstice when the Pleiades star cluster is set to appear before dawn. Maggie and Will investigate a mysterious cave located under the two-thousand-year-old Pyramid of the Sun. There, they discover the ruins of an ancient civilization and the mysterious object that awaits Yacates return. Maggies determination to find the secret of the Aztecs bones, brings this spellbinding adventure to its exciting conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462020188

Christine Candland

Christine Candland lives in Los Angeles with her husband Michael. Her first two books Topaz Woman and Pleiades Rising, received awards in the London Book Festival and Eric Hoffer competitions. Her first collection of poems When Snow Walks In, describes the extraordinary amidst everyday scenes in understandable prose and sparkling details (U.S. Review of Books); And in her second collection, Paris Spoken Here, Candland’s poems sing with keen awareness of the gift of the ordinary (Elline Lipkin). Several of her poems have appeared in the California Quarterly and Altadena Poetry Review.

Book preview

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

THE END

GLOSSARY

AUTHOR’S NOTE

In memory of my parents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m grateful to the Westside Writers at Beyond Baroque for their feedback on chapters I’d bring in to read on Saturday mornings. To my husband, Michael, for editing and for his creative cover design. To Sharon McCall for her beautiful art. To Annette Robinson and Dianne de la Vega for helpful comments. To Gedda Ilves, Anna Der Sarkisian and Jorid Nygard for their support and enthusiasm.

I’d like to thank my companions Joyce Fredholm and Cindi Economu, who traveled to Mexico with me. I’m grateful to the docents at the Adamson House in Malibu and to the State of California for preserving the Chumash Painted Cave near Santa Barbara. And always to the Los Angeles Public Library, my second home.

He who made the Pleiades and

Orion,

and turns deep darkness into

the morning,

and darkens the day into night …

Amos 5:8

Map.pdf

CHAPTER 1

It’s a glorious June afternoon and I’m just getting out of the water. I’m not a great swimmer, but I can paddle back and forth pretty well. I’m heading toward my favorite lounge chair when I hear my mother yelling.

Margaret—he’s eaten all my romaine! I mean it this time—he’s got to go! When she calls like that, I know there’s trouble.

Margaret! she yells again. I run across the hot sand, up the deck, through the house, and outside into the front yard where she keeps a garden. I see the problem right away. Matches, my pet deer, is standing in the middle of it, between rows of cucumber and lettuce.

Take him back to the woods where he belongs, Mom says. I just spoke to Amanda. You can borrow her horse trailer. Get Sammy to help you.

I coax Matches away from the garden. He follows me down to a small corral. While I feed him, Mom continues her rant. We’ve had him over six months now. He’s well and it’s not fair to him.

I can tell she’s feeling guilty but won’t let up this time. Last fall was particularly dry and we had a big fire that started in Malibu Canyon. Before long it swept across chasms and burned hills covered with stands of eucalyptus and pine—igniting houses, oak trees and everything else in its path. Animals got caught in it. Deer and horses stampeded toward the water. That’s where I found Matches, knee-deep in the waves. Burned and helpless.

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My name is Maggie Marland and I live with my parents, which explains everything. I am medium height and have brown hair and green eyes. Sometimes I use peroxide which gives me some nice blonde highlights. I am seventeen years old and a very responsible person, although no one else seems to think so. My family is fairly normal. My mom stays at home and my dad works for an insurance company—which can be bad for me, especially when he sees the personal injury claims at work. Every time I take some initiative he treats me like an accident waiting to happen and puts the kibosh on my plans.

We live in Malibu—actually, in the Colony—which is something like living in a fishbowl. Sometimes tourists walk by on the beach and stare as if they expect us to do something weird like break out into a song and dance. But we don’t. We just wish they’d go away. I have a younger brother, Sammy, who’s fourteen. He gets in my hair—but only when the waves are too flat for him to go surfing.

It’s already seven in the evening by the time I’m ready. I guide Matches carefully into the horse trailer which is hooked up to my Jeep. He follows because he trusts me. And now I’m letting him down, sending him back into the wilds after he’s become so tame. I drive deep into Corral Canyon then along a dirt road, past a couple of large boulders, looking for the right place. There is a stream ahead and a nice group of shade trees. He ought to like that. Not watching, I drive right smack into a ditch and get stuck. I check out the situation. It isn’t good. I push soil and leaves in front of the wheels for traction and gun the engine but the tires just spin.

Do you need any help? a voice calls out.

Turning around, I look toward an incline. A boy astride a beautiful chestnut horse is watching. Leading his horse down the path, he pulls up beside me.

Hi, I sputter, embarrassed to be caught in such a predicament. I sure could use some.

His name is Will, as I learn later on. Tall and blond, he wears jeans and a T-shirt that outlines broad shoulders. I wonder why I haven’t seen him down at the beach before. He looks around then picks up a branch to place in front of the half-buried wheels. I climb back into the front seat. Turning on the ignition, I coax the Jeep forward but it barely moves. The engine is straining. I put on the brakes. Will adds another branch and a pile of twigs. The sunken wheels gain traction but it’s still not enough. He fills the ditch in front of the Jeep and around the tires with more debris. This time the wheels lurch forward.

Thanks for helping me out of that hole, I say, hoping my father doesn’t hear about this.

He walks to the back of the trailer. Strange looking horse you’ve got back here.

I call him Matches. He wandered down last fall when we had that fire. He was hurt. We nursed him back to health. I look around. I wonder if he’ll like it here.

Why wouldn’t he? Beautiful skies, hills—there’s even a stream over there. He points in the direction of the shade trees.

Who owns this property? I ask. There’s a food stain on the front of my sweatshirt that I hope he doesn’t notice.

My parents.

Would you look in on him from time to time?

Sure, but he’s not going to stay put, you know.

I know that, I think to myself, but maybe I’ll run into this guy again if I have a reason to be up here.

If I want to visit him, I know he’ll find me.

Unlocking the back of the trailer, I back Matches out and unbuckle his lead. He remains close, uncertain in his new surroundings. He’s gotten attached to me.

I can see why.

I blush. Will is one of the cutest guys I’ve ever met. My whole body is on high alert.

Isn’t that the head of Janus? he asks, looking at my necklace. Moving closer, he takes the coin gently between his fingers. I hold my breath. He’s so near I can see the ocean blue of his eyes and the faint stubble on his chin.

I got it last summer when we were in Italy. How’d you know? I back up and walk over to pet his horse.

I collect coins, he answers. I notice he has really nice teeth.

I’m Maggie Marland.

Will Brighton. You live around here?

Down in the Colony, I answer, slapping at a mosquito.

The sun has set and it’s getting dark. I glance up at the sky and point to a formation of stars. Look! There are the Pleiades! I’ve never seen them out this early before.

When do you usually see them? Will looks up.

Since it’s June, about three or four in the morning.

You’d get up that early for a constellation? he asks, as if he can’t imagine anyone getting up in the middle of the night to see a bunch of stars.

They’re not just any constellation. The Pleiades are known as the Seven Sisters. Sailors used them to navigate. They were the seven daughters of Atlas.

I can see six of them. Will squints as he studies the dark sky.

The Pleiades have over a thousand stars in their cluster. They’re four hundred light years away.

How do you know all this? he asks.

I was president of the astronomy club in high school. I gave a talk on them at the science fair, I say proudly.

"You’re still in high school?"

Hoping that minor detail won’t be a deal breaker, I quickly add, I just graduated.

So you’re eighteen, he exclaims.

I’ll be eighteen in November.

"You’re only seventeen?" he raises his voice. I feel like I’ve just been scolded.

I’m starting UCLA in the fall. I could tell him how hard I worked my senior year to get in and how I studied at the campus library to get the feel of the place, but I don’t.

That’s where I’m going, he says, as if happy we have something in common.

How old are you? I ask.

Nineteen. I’ll be twenty in August.

You’re a Leo.

How about you?

Scorpio.

I don’t know much about signs. You’re pretty young to be out here all by yourself. He studies me thoughtfully. I hope he doesn’t think I’m just a kid.

It’s completely dark and quiet except for a songbird beginning its evening trill.

I can take care of myself. I stand as tall as my five feet four inches will allow.

I believe you, he laughs.

I look up at the stars again. One night last November, it was on my birthday, the Pleiades were above Taurus, near the ecliptic—

The path the planets travel on, Will says.

Right. I was standing down by the water and could almost touch them. I can’t stop talking.

I like Hercules, he says, searching the sky.

Where’s Hercules?

It’s near Vega—that bright one over there. He points upward.

You like to follow the stars, too.

I got into it in my archaeology classes. Star watching was important in a lot of cultures.

That’s what I’d like to major in. What year are you? I imagine Will and I going to class together. We’ll study ancient civilizations and travel to exotic places and when we have kids, we’ll take them with us. Maybe we’ll work on a dig at some remote outpost.

I’ll be a junior.

Have you been up to Griffith Observatory?

Not in a while.

I was there a few weeks ago. When I looked through that big telescope, I wondered if someone was looking back. The moon’s light is shining on the strands of his hair and I want to reach up and comb back the layers with my fingers.

That’s pretty spooky, he says.

Do you think someone is looking back? I ask.

It all depends …

On what?

On whether you believe in UFOs or not.

And do you? I kick at a stone self-consciously.

Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t.

Are you one of the Indigo Children?

One of the what?

Some kids born in the nineties have auras that are blue or indigo. They’re telepathic and have special gifts.

I never thought about it, he says.

I’d sure like to be. They come from the stars—wouldn’t you like to be born of the stars?

Not necessarily. He smiles. My heart does a flip-flop.

In my mind I summon the Seven Sisters. What is it, they ask. I want him to like me, I answer. And they say, don’t worry, he already does. But I’m not so sure.

A bright light in the distance catches my eye. It moves back and forth, disappears and then reappears again. What’s that light shining over in those hills?

Probably some hikers coming down off the trail.

What’s up there?

An old Indian cave.

Let’s go check it out. I’m usually not this brave but being in Will’s presence makes me want to impress him. Ever so casually, I fluff up my hair in case it’s gotten flat in the night’s dampness.

You’re not going to get very far pulling that horse trailer, he says. Besides, it’s too dark to see anything. Come back in the morning and I’ll show you the way.

What time?

Nine or so, he answers.

I nod and we shake hands on it. But as I watch him getting back on his horse, I wonder if he’ll show up. I’ve been disappointed before.

When I was fifteen, I met this wonderful guy on the beach. He was a senior, went to private school and worked at a market near Cross Creek. Every chance I got, I’d walk over to the store and watch him box up groceries. I was head over heels and planning our future. He seemed to like me a lot and we went out a few times. Then he stopped calling. When I went down to see him, one of the clerks said he’d transferred to a market in the Valley. He’d gotten some girl pregnant and married her. Up until then, I was convinced all I had to do was to fall in love and my life would run smoothly every day after that. But I know better now. In fact, I never thought I’d ever meet another guy I could love again. But today I met Will. Maybe I’ll get a second chance.

CHAPTER 2

The following morning I pull up next to the brook and shade trees where a red pickup is parked.

Hey, I call to Will, who is leaning against the truck bed. He’s wearing cutoffs, a T-shirt and sandals.

He holds up his watch to let me know I’m late.

It’s nine thirty—I almost left.

My alarm didn’t go off, I explain. Just seeing him gives me this wonderful rush. I keep the engine running, waiting for him to jump in.

It’s not like me to oversleep but I didn’t drift off until late last night. When I got home, Mom was waiting up. You’ve got a smile on your face and I expected tears, she said. Mom, I met this great guy and he promised to look after Matches.

Don’t you use your internal clock? Will asks, bringing me back to the moment. He throws his pack in the backseat.

I don’t trust it, I say, shaking my head. The sun is already heating up the day. I unzip my sweatshirt. I usually do trust it, I want to say, but today was special because I was meeting him and didn’t want to take any chances. But then the alarm didn’t go off and I was late anyway. Is this a sign? I’m into signs, but I’m not sure what this one means.

That’s like saying you don’t trust yourself, he continues, swinging easily into the seat next to me.

Maybe I don’t. I turn onto the asphalt road that will take us further into the canyon.

Why not? he persists.

Maybe it won’t work.

Maybe it’ll work too well, he counters.

What do you mean? My laugh is uneasy.

If you trust yourself, that’s like following your intuition and that may take you places you’re not ready to go, he chuckles.

I’m not afraid to follow my intuition! I say sharply. "And if you’re going to give me a hard time, I’m going