Everfound

“Add more muscle,” he would tell the luchador, for he had long since unremembered how scrawny he had once been. “The gods will be pleased,” he would often say, for a Mayan king was a reflection of the gods, so the more glory that he heaped upon himself the greater the joy of the gods—or so he reasoned. Overseeing this project was so important, he gave his vizier control over the kingdom—everything but allowing him to sit on the throne—primarily because the throne had been moved in front of the forge to face the statue. The vizier—a sort of mystical spiritual advisor—was more than happy to run the kingdom.

As the statue neared completion, the more obsessed with it the king became. He had unremembered that the statue was a worthless tribute to his own arrogance . . . and by the power of his own unremembrance, he turned something worthless into the single most important object in the world.

Upon arriving, Jix, Mikey, and Nick were brought directly to the forge. Had the vizier been able to intercept them, things might have gone differently, because he had a tendency to make visitors disappear before ever reaching the king—but the vizier was with the king at the time, so couldn’t prevent His Excellency from seeing them.

The vizier, however, behaved very oddly today. The moment the new arrivals were brought into the forge, the vizier hurried behind the statue to hide. The king might have wondered why, if he weren’t so absorbed in watching the metal-molding luchador build his glorious likeness.

Jix walked into his field of vision, and the king seemed a

“Oh,” said the king. “It’s you. Didn’t we just send you on a mission?”

“That was more than a month ago, Your Excellency.”

Nick hung back with Mikey and watched the interchange, trying to take in everything around him. Nick studied the king, his shiny black onyx throne, the statue, and the diligent luchador—even the vizier, who peered out every few moments from behind the statue, so hidden in shadows he could barely be seen. Nick’s gut told him that something was very wrong here, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. As for the king, Nick found him to be overadorned and so full of himself that he might just explode in a flurry of glitter. He had straight hair, as dark and shiny as raven feathers. He wore a golden headdress, golden wrist cuffs and golden anklets, and a golden skirt that went almost to his knees, and the way his hair was cut in bangs straight across his forehead, it made him look like a very short, very tan, very shiny Mr. Spock. Other than the gold adornments, though, the king had no other clothes. It was clear that these objects were all add-ons, and didn’t cling to him as Everlost clothes would. Nick suspected that he either crossed naked, or in a loincloth beneath his golden skirt—but Nick was definitely not curious enough to check.

“Your assignment was to bring us the Eastern Witch,” the king said to Jix, “but neither of these two look like her, unless she is very clever with disguises.”

“DON’T TRUST THEM!” screeched the vizier from behind the statue. “CAST THEM DOWN TO XIBALBA. THE STARS TELL ME THEY WILL BRING YOUR DOOM.”

While Jix looked concerned, and Mikey just a

The king just reclined on his dark stone throne, dismissing the fearful prophecy with a wave of his hand, as if swatting away a gnat. “We see no stars; it is daytime.” Then he turned to the luchador. “It is daytime, isn’t it?” But apparently he had been in there for so long, he had no idea.

“Why does he keep saying ‘we’?” Mikey whispered to Jix. “Are there more than one of him in there?”

“No,” Jix whispered back. “Royalty always does that, even if there’s just one.”

“We do not approve of secret conversations,” said the king. “We demand to know what you are talking about!”

“We’re talking about the Eastern Witch, Your Excellency,” said Jix. “She is a powerful enemy: She broke through your barrier of wind, and at this moment she threatens to destroy the living world.”

“What do we care about the living world?” said the king.

Suddenly Mikey stepped forward and spoke brashly. “If she does it, then thousands, maybe millions, will be under her control, and she will declare herself Queen of Everlost.”

The king raised an eyebrow. “It speaks!”

“I’m not an ‘it,’” growled Mikey.

Jix grimaced, but the king merely gave his gnat-chasing wave. “Of course you’re an ‘it.’ You are an ‘it’ until we say that you are not.”

Mikey opened his mouth to say something, but the king cut him off. “Being an ‘it’ makes you an object, and we don’t ever remember seeing an object move of its own free will. No, we don’t remember that at all.”

Then all at once, Mikey was frozen in place, unable to move, standing as stiff as the statue, thanks to the king’s unremembrance.

“Now, then,” said the king, “what is this other gift you bring me?”

“A boy of chocolate,” said Jix.

The king smiled. “This is something new.” He rose from his throne and approached Nick, looking him over, dabbing his finger to the tip of Nick’s nose and then tasting the chocolate on his fingertip. Then the king laughed. “We should forget that there aren’t more spirits like you!” the king said. “And perhaps we’ll forget them in different flavors. Coconut, strawberry, tamarind . . .”

“Please, Your Excellency,” said Nick, thinking quickly, “I am one-of-a-kind, and if there were more, I wouldn’t be the special gift that I am. One flavorful spirit for the one true king.”

The king considered it. “Very well. But we may choose to unremember your flavor if the royal taste buds tire of chocolate.”

“That,” said Nick, “would be fine with me.”

“DESTROY THEM,” hissed the vizier, still hiding behind the statue. “THROW THEM INTO THE CENOTE RIGHT NOW.”

The king sighed. “Our vizier doesn’t like you, but we have yet to pass judgment.” Then he turned to Mikey, who was still unable to move. “Your chocolate friend’s wisdom has saved you. We shall unremember that you are an object that ca

“So,” said the king. “We assume that the jaguar-boy would not bring us a gift that did nothing.” The king folded his arms, looking intently at Mikey. “We order you to impress us!”

Jix nodded to Mikey, and Mikey transformed into various spontaneous creations. The king actually applauded.

“We are truly amused! The gods themselves would be amused!”

Mikey transformed back into himself, and folded his arms in the same superior way that the king had done.

“You shall be my personal mascot!” said the king. “I shall parade you on a diamond-studded leash and you will become whatever creation I desire.”

Mikey stared at him, eyes bulging furiously, growing more and more veins.

The king matched his anger, staring into those bulging eyes. “Do I sense that my mascot has become unruly? Perhaps I should listen to my vizier’s advice.”

“YES, YES!” yelled the vizier. “LISTEN TO ME AND SEND THEM TO XIBALBA!”

Mikey’s eyes bulged just a little bit more . . . and then, to everyone’s amazement, Mikey got down on his knees, then on all fours, and spread himself out on the floor before the king.

“I will be a rug before your feet, your Excellency, from now until the end of time, if you agree to battle the Eastern Witch.” Then he transformed himself into something flat and furry. He would have resembled a bear-skin rug if he didn’t have a dozen eyes.