Evertaster Read online

  As if we need extra rules right now, thought Guster grumpily. Making it all the way to Machu Picchu was a step in the right direction, but they couldn’t let Mom’s overprotective nature get in the way of finding the One Recipe. Hiding it from her was hard enough.

  “I don’t want to go down to some stupid lawn when there are ruins to explore,” Zeke complained.

  “I need you to go to protect your sister,” said Mom. “Besides, you may explore the ruins the whole way there. Henry Junior and I will catch up with you in a bit.” Mom smiled and looked at the city. “We really are out seeing the world, aren’t we?” she said taking in a deep breath.

  Guster, Zeke and Mariah descended the broad staircase until they came to a stone wall with a rectangular archway that marked the entrance to the city. From what Guster could tell, the city was a series of smooth-cut stone buildings and corridors built in levels right into the mountainside. It looked like a web of interconnected staircases.

  Mariah bore to the right and took another staircase down further toward the center of the plateau. Guster followed, staying as far to the left as he could. The right side dropped off into what looked like a moat, and beyond that, at the edge of the city, the mountain fell straight down to the jungle far below. The cliffs surrounding the plateau were so steep, and the plateau itself so narrow, it was like they were balanced on the head of a pin.

  They scrambled down a few flat, wide, grass-covered terraces built like giant steps down the side of the slope.

  “These terraces were probably used for growing things,” said Mariah, as she lowered herself down the stone wall that separated the levels. “The air is so thin, and the city so much closer to the sun, fruits and vegetables grew differently here than in cities down below.”

  Zeke gasped for breath and leaned on his hiking stick. “The people probably grew differently too — grew tired of it. Why do you think they all left?”

  Guster followed Mariah down to the next level, carefully jamming the toes of his cowboy boots in the gaps between rocks for footholds. He could care less if Zeke was going to be his usual, complaining self. There was nowhere Guster would rather be.

  They passed a row of stone buildings, none of them with roofs, dodged a group of tourists snapping photos, and found the lonely tree Mariah had pointed out earlier.

  It was very skinny with a bushy top, like an extra-tall piece of broccoli. Guster got as close as he could to the trunk and stared up into the branches for signs of anything round. Even a blossom or a bud would do, but all he could see were tiny leaves. He shook the trunk. Nothing fell. He could try climbing it, but it was no use — there was nothing up there.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Zeke.

  “You wouldn’t get it,” said Guster. He didn’t have to explain himself to Zeke. He wondered though, what did this fruit taste like? Maybe like a strawberry or a peach.

  Mariah opened her guidebook and flipped through the pages, reading silently to herself. “We could check the bushes,” she said.

  “What exactly are you guys up to?” said Zeke. He looked suspicious.

  “Nothing interesting,” said Mariah, “Just looking for some local fruits.” Good. She was playing it down, keeping Zeke in the dark.

  “Why don’t you just go buy a watermelon or something? You’ll never find anything up here!” said Zeke and plunked himself down on a rock. Though Guster hated to admit it, Zeke had a point. The bushes didn’t sound any more promising than the tree.

  Mom and Henry Junior caught up to them just as a tour group passed by.

  “I hope you are learning all sorts of things about the way of life up here,” said Mom. Guster made a show of peering out over the city. He could pretend it was an educational experience if that’s what would make Mom happy. As long as they got to keep looking.

  “We certainly are, Mom,” said Mariah. “According to this book, there’s even more to learn up there, on that peak.” She pointed to a steep rocky peak that overlooked the city. It was the big nose in the face on the eggbeater. “That’s where something called the Temple of the Moon is. Can we go?”

  “Okay, but we’ll go together,” said Mom. “I need to be able to keep you in sight.”

  They crossed a wide, green plaza surrounded by stone walls in the center of the city, climbed a few levels, passed a tour guide with a wide brimmed straw hat, and came to a massive piece of granite that shot up from the ground like a miniature mountain. A man with a llama stopped them at the rock. “If you want to go to the peak, you must be back in a few hours, before we close the city,” he said. “It is a very steep climb, but the sights are worth it.”

  “Let’s be quick about it then, kids,” said Mom. They started down the steep trail that led toward the big nose.

  They climbed up and down on the high, narrow trail for over an hour. They were so high, that if there had been any clouds that day, Guster could have reached down and scooped up a handful of white fluff.

  The trail dead-ended at a steep stone slab that rose upward for more than fifty feet. A thick orange rope dangled from the top. Guster took hold of it and pulled. It held fast. The only way up was to climb. Guster planted a foot on the stone.

  Mom’s eyebrows scrunched together with concern, “Hmm,” she muttered. It was like Mom was trying on her adventure shoe, but just wasn’t sure she could make it fit.

  “It’s not like it’s straight up or anything,” said Mariah. “Besides, look up there, there’s a whole tour group of people that made it.” Sure enough, there were a dozen folks above them, hiking down the trail toward the rope.

  “I guess if they climbed it…” said Mom. Before Mom could object, Guster took hold of the rope and pulled himself upward. Mariah followed right behind.

  It was steep, but if he kept his weight on the rock instead of the rope, he found that it wasn’t too bad. Still, it was a long way down if he let go. He tried to keep his eyes on his cowboy boots instead of the sheer drop. At one point, he nearly lost his balance; he had to scramble that last few feet to keep from falling. Mariah got to the top a second later.

  Mom tugged nervously on the rope down below.

  “We’ll wait for you ahead,” said Guster.

  “Stay in my sight!” shouted Mom.

  Pretending like he hadn’t heard her, Guster ran down the path. He and Mariah passed the tour group they had seen from below, hiked around a bend, and came to a wide but shallow cave in the side of the mountain. A tour guide in a straw hat spoke with a few tourists in the opening. “The Temple of the Moon is the remains of a ceremonial temple,” he said, pointing to the crumbling stone work. Most of the white granite wall at the back was covered by the shade. There were a few bedroom-sized niches carved into the sides. In the center, there was a throne made of rock. To the side of the throne were five stone steps that lead further into the shadows. It didn’t look like much, but it was obvious from the crumbling stonework that it was very, very old.

  “The caverns in the Temple of the Moon were used to bury mummies and perhaps to record a history of the people.” continued the tour guide while he pointed out some of the tiny carvings. There were hundreds of them, all lined up in rows and columns like letters on the page of a carved stone book: there were jaguars, men with spears, steep pyramids, and the shining sun. Guster felt a surge of excitement — down near the floor, barely visible on the white granite, was a tiny carving no bigger than Guster’s hand. It was a tree with a large oval fruit.

  “Mariah,” Guster whispered, tugging on his sister’s sleeve. He pointed. “It’s just like on the eggbeater.”

  “Indeed,” she said, squinting at it. “And there’s another one,” she said, pointing to a carving near the steps of a chicken hatching.

  Guster’s head whirled with the possibilities. Before this moment, the eggbeater had been nothing more than a hope for something far away that may or may not exist. But this was different. These carvings were real.

  The tour group snapped a few photos, then t
he guide ushered them away from the cave back toward the main ruins. “It’s closing time soon,” he said to Mariah as he was leaving. “You will want to be back at the main city before long.”

  “We’ll only be a few minutes,” she said. They would have to work fast, especially if they didn’t want Mom finding out what they were up to.

  As soon as the tourists were out of sight, Mariah felt around the edges of the stone carving of the chicken eating the bone. “I think it’s a button!” she said, pressing it with both palms and leaning up against it. “Help me.”

  Guster leaned into the stone, adding his weight to Mariah’s. The button made a grinding sound and slowly gave way, sinking back into the wall. The cave was quiet.

  “We have to try the other ones,” said Guster, starting for the carving of the fruit.

  “Wait, let’s do them in order,” Mariah said. “We’ll need the eggbeater.”

  Guster unzipped his backpack and pulled it out. Mariah took a flashlight from her pocket and shined it on the handle. Chicken eats the bone, chicken lays the seed, a tiny sapling, a tree with a big round fruit, a chicken hatching. It was a good thing they had the eggbeater. The carvings were so strange, almost like they were trying to tell a story, but they just didn’t quite make sense.

  Guster found the chicken-laying-the-seed-symbol near his feet. “Here,” he said, pressing it. It barely moved, then gave way under his hand and sunk deeper into the rock.

  There was a rumble and a grinding behind the back of the throne. Mariah focused her flashlight beam. Barely noticeable in the darkness at the back of the cavern was a giant, hideous carving of a twisted face. It was at least twice as tall as Guster, with bulging eyes and slightly open lips.

  “He looks mad,” said Mariah.

  “Like he’s never been able to find anything to eat,” said Guster. He swallowed. Guster knew how it felt. All that hiking had only made the pit in his stomach worse.

  “Let’s hurry,” said Mariah, studying the eggbeater handle again. “The sapling is next.” She scanned the carvings until she found the sapling near the cave’s entrance and pressed it. It gave way, and the stone face’s mouth opened another foot.

  Guster took the other flashlight out of his backpack, reached inside the face’s mouth, and pointed the beam down its throat. He could barely make out a long staircase leading down a dark tunnel hewn out of the mountain. “It’s a passage!” Guster said. His voice echoed into the hole. So the carvings were like another combination lock — press them in the right order and the door opens.

  Mariah handed Guster the eggbeater and heaved herself against the carving of the large oval fruit on the stair that led up to the throne. It clicked, and the huge mouth ground open even wider, bits of stone crumbling away from the lips until they finally parted so wide, Guster could’ve walked through without ducking.

  “Of course. What better place to hide a large oval fruit than the Temple of the Moon?” said Mariah.

  “More like Temple of the Dumb!” said Zeke. He was standing behind them.

  Guster spun around. Zeke looked down at the eggbeater in his hand. A wave of guilt flushed over Guster. He was caught red-handed. “Wow. Mom’s gonna kill you,” Zeke said, obvious relish in his voice.

  Zeke was right. A second later Mom’s stern voice sounded from the crest of the hill. “Guster Stephen Johnsonville!” she cried, “I told you to stay close! Don’t make me count to ten!”

  Guster tensed. If Mom saw the eggbeater, she’d make him do every single chore she could think of for the rest of his life. But without the eggbeater, they’d never have come this far. They couldn’t turn back now. He had to see what was down that tunnel. Mom couldn’t deny him that.

  “What is that in your hand?” she cried. Even from far off, Guster could see the steam building up in her eyes. “I told you to get rid of that thing!” she exploded, charging down the hill. He slipped the eggbeater in his backpack. Better in there than out here with her, thought Guster. He slammed his hand down onto the final carving and dashed through the stone mouth and down the first few steps before he could talk himself out of it.

  It was dark and the way was steep. He paused to glance up at Mariah. She hesitated, then ducked through the stone mouth and into the passage after him.

  Zeke poked his head through the lips. “Fine! Go down there and finish your fancy grocery shopping!” he called. He looked torn, like he was trying to decide whether or not to tell on them, or join them. Zeke rarely missed a chance to be mischievous.

  “Just because you’re scared of the mummies doesn’t mean you have to ruin it for everyone!” shouted Mariah.

  Her taunting worked. “I am not!” Zeke said, then charged down the tunnel after them.

  Guster picked his way carefully down the stairs, the heels of his cowboy boots clicking on the stone in the darkness, two meager flashlight beams lighting their way. He was glad to have Mariah and Zeke’s company. He doubted Mom would have the gumption to follow. Either way, she was not going to be happy with him.

  It was strangely quiet except for the sound of their own footsteps and water drip-dripping onto the ground. They must have gone down more than three stories before Zeke spoke. “What if there are traps or something?” he whispered, clutching the back of Mariah’s shirt.

  “Shh,” Mariah shushed him, though there was little confidence in her voice.

  Guster hated to admit it, but Zeke could be right. They would have to tread as carefully as possible.

  The stairs went deeper and deeper, when something like twigs breaking crunched under Guster’s boot. He shined his light down and stifled a scream. The floor was covered in hundreds and hundreds of white bones. He turned his light away before Zeke could see.

  Zeke’s screech told Guster it was too late. “What do you think ate all these?” stammered Zeke.

  “They’re probably just rat bones. I’m sure they got old and died,” said Mariah, nervously. Her face was worried.

  Guster had to be brave, or at least pretend to be. He stepped out onto the bones. Step, crunch, step. The passage leveled out ahead, and a dim glow shone at the far end of the tunnel. Guster tried to concentrate on the light, since it meant there was something — maybe an end to the tunnel — on the other side. Crunch, crack, crunch. He crunched across the bones for what seemed like a full, agonizing minute.

  “Guster!” hissed a stern voice in the darkness. It was Mom. She sounded like she must have come down the steps.

  “Ba baa ba ba!” babbled Henry Junior, breaking the cave’s silence.

  “That’s far enough!” Mom said, her voice a mixture of anger and worry.

  Guster couldn’t let her stop them now. He was so close to the light, and now it was obvious: it was a way out. He broke into a run.

  Whump! A massive stone pillar shot down from the ceiling and smashed into the ground only inches behind him. “Guster!” cried Mom.

  He jumped to the wall and flattened himself against it, his heart racing. He’d nearly been squished, like a juicy grape underfoot. “I’m okay,” he said, panting.

  “Guster! How many times have I told you not to go into dark secret passages in the middle of ancient cities? See? This is exactly what happens when you disobey your mother!” Mom shouted. She was hysterical, her voice echoing off the walls and ringing in Guster’s ears.

  Guster looked back up the tunnel. The stone pillar blocked most of the passageway, except for a narrow space on either side just wide enough to peer through.

  “I’m coming through,” said Mariah as she pushed herself through the gap.

  “No you are not!” said Mom, her voice getting closer all the time.

  “I’ve got to go with Guster!” she said. Zeke took one look back up the passage, then squeezed himself through the gap like a fat worm.

  “So help me, Guster! You are going to get yourselves killed!” shouted Mom. She was usually exaggerating when she said that. This time, she might be right. It was better that the gap was too narrow for
her to follow. She and Henry Junior would be safer if they didn’t.

  Guster switched off his flashlight and climbed out of the tunnel into the sunlight. It was so bright, he had to blink several times before his eyes finally adjusted. There was a mound of boulders surrounding the tunnel’s end, and beyond that a ledge as wide as a small soccer field with row after row of trees growing out of its fertile ground. Beyond that was a sheer drop that looked over a narrow valley far, far below.

  Guster scrambled over the boulders, Mariah and Zeke right behind him, when they saw the most amazing sight. There, on the ledge, right in front of him, hanging from the trees’ branches, like a flock of golf balls, were hundreds of smooth, white oval fruits.

  The big round fruit. Exactly what they’d been looking for, just like the eggbeater said. It was real, and they’d found it.

  “It’s an orchard!” said Mariah.

  Guster smiled triumphantly and Mariah, then, without hesitation, ran to the nearest tree, reached up, and picked the lowest fruit. It was gleaming white, hard, smooth and a little bit sticky on top where it had grown out of the branch — not at all like what he expected. He shook it. What felt like a thick liquid swirled around inside the hard shell.

  Why hadn’t he seen it? It was right in front of his face this whole time. This was no fruit. “It’s an egg,” he whispered.

  “An egg?” said Mariah and picked one for herself.

  “That’s impossible!” cried Zeke.

  But it wasn’t. Guster was holding one with his own hand. “No, it’s all too possible,” he said. He cracked it on the tree’s trunk. Sure enough, a crystal clear egg white and golden yoke poured out of the shell. Guster caught as much as he could in the broken halves. It smelled so full and sweet to him, even raw, unlike any other egg Guster had ever smelled. He dipped his finger into the yolk and tasted it.

  It was so good, his tongue laughed; his head whirled. Every particle of yolk unfolded across his taste buds, as if five hundred years of sunshine were poured inside a single shell. It was better than empanadas, better than the Master Pastry Chef’s raspberry tart. It was by far the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, and it was only an egg. He drank the rest down like a vanilla milkshake.