Page 67 of My Trojan Horse Majesty

I scowl. “I’m not struggling, I just. . .” I dig deep, and I pull hard, and then I take that power and magic and might, and I yank as hard as I can on the little piece of emerald I feel, deep, deep down below us.

The ground splits open in front of me, and I shove Izzy backward to keep her from tumbling into the crevasse. There’s a massive groaning in the earth, and a small, blue rock shoots out of the crack, landing at my feet.

“Got it.” I lean over and pick it up, frowning. “Well, shoot. This isn’t green. It’s not an emerald at all.”

“It’s a blue beryl, you idiot,” a woman’s voice says.

I spin around, finally spotting her, perched on the edge of a tree limb twenty paces behind us. “Who—or what—are you?”

“What on earth was that insane stunt?” She drops to her feet and stalks toward us. Her hair’s blue, her pants look like studded leather, and she has a glinting, sparkling stone stud in her nose. “Are youthatdesperate to unleash the end of the world?”

“The—what?” I ask.

“You don’t even know who I am.” She shakes her head. “Ridiculous.”

“You must be Baba Yaga’s contemporary here,” I say. “Squannit, right?”

Her entire face contorts. “She knows that’s my least favorite name. She uses it just to irritate me. Squannit, like squatting?”

I glance at Izzy, who looks even more confused than I do. “What are you—areyouthe end of the world?” Izzy steps toward me, reaching for my hand.

“Don’t even think about it,” Squannit-who-hates-that-name says. “Not a speck more magic out of you, or he’ll wake up for sure.”

“Who will wake up?” Izzy beats me to the question.

Squannit-who-hates-that-name growls. “I swear, it’s like she taught you nothing. Xolotl. Ta’xet. Whatever name she uses for the Lord of Mictlan. The death God of the Aztecs.” She throws her hands up in the air. “Do you two really know nothing at all?”

Izzy shakes her head.

“Baba Yaga told me she has three sisters, and she said their names were Squannit, Boohag, and Chedipe,” I say. “But that was a very long time ago.”

“Oh, won’t Tituba be angry if she knows Baba Yaga’s been calling her Boohag again.” She actually smiles. “I’m Lechuza, and there are four of us, but your mother left out the most important part. We’re only half of the balance of the circle of life on earth. Our powers help restore and heal and strengthen all living things.”

“Half?” Izzy’s now standing right beside me, and she slides her hand into mine, twining our fingers together.

“You know, the balance that Yamauba’s responsible for—the one you call Baba Yaga—was destroyed when she shared her magic with a human man.” She snorts. “The balance that keeps living things growing and yearning was just shattered thanks to her actions.”

“Okay,” I say. “But what’s the other half, the non-living and growing side?”

“At least you’re asking the right thing, finally. Ding, ding, give the baby boy a prize.”

Izzy glances at me with the exact expression of baffled confusion I must share.

“You and your stupid little war here almost woke up the local horseman.”

Izzy wants to ask. I want to ask, but we both wait. The questions seem to annoy her.

“Tell me you’ve heard of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.” She lifts both eyebrows. “Do you just wander around using magic, ignoring every single legend we left to explain the truths of the world?”

“I guess we do,” I say. “I thought that was all make-believe.”

She casts her eyes upward and shakes her head. “Oh, it’s all real, and you two are a hair’s breadth away from waking the horseman of death who’s been sleeping right here, under these confounded mountains.” She points at the crack. “This right here?” She clenches her fist. “Pure idiocy.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I had no idea?—”

“That’s clear.” She sighs. “You were about to undo the damage control I was doing when I linked the two of you in the first place.”

“Linked us?” I suppose Izzy couldn’t help herself that time.

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