The man grunted in an accented sort of way as he nudged the corpse with his foot.

“Should we take ‘im?”

“Why bothah?”

“I dunno. No sense in doing it, I suppose. Let’s head out.”

They left with the backpack.

***

Hector opened his eyes.

Wherever he was, it was dark. Very dark. He turned his head, not knowing if he should expect the pain that was, for some reason, not there.

What happened? Why am I here? Is this a dream? It was an uncomfortable dream, that was for sure. The floor seemed to be made of rough wood, cracked and in some places splintered, though it was hard to tell in the darkness. It was uncomfortably hot, wherever he was, and though he could not see anything, Hector had the feeling of being in a small and cramped space. The experience was not unlike being trapped in an oven while it was on the “Keep Warm” setting.

Suddenly, light flared- a brief glow of warm yellow. The light illuminated nothing of Hector’s surroundings and instead served only to reveal a ghastly face, with long, stringy black hair, hovering in the blackness not four feet from where he lay. The horrible phantom stared straight at him, eyes wide in what Hector would have classified “clinical insanity” on a good day.

In half of a second the light went out again. Hector barely held in a scream.

A whispered curse and a rapid, repeated flicking noise reached his ears.

“Dratted lighter,” someone muttered. “Of course it chooses not to work, like, right now when it’s needed most. Like, good blessings of Toohkla, I just bought more lighter fluid, you child of the dark stars. May the Great Constellations curse this piece of junk…”

The voice continued its muttering and cursing in a dry, hoarse voice. Hector started to think that this might not be hell, after all, and the apparition he had just seen might not be some demon of the abyss. Fear was promptly replaced with curiosity and more than a bit of confusion.

Light came again, in the form of a lit candle. The face was there as well. Hector stared at it- at him, he supposed- and realized that it wasn’t as creepy as he had first thought.

It was creepier.

The face spread into a wide and manic grin, revealing a few decaying teeth too jagged and weary to fall out. The dry voice came again in what was probably supposed be a friendly voice.

“Well, well, Yogwo, been a hot minute since your last patient, yeah? Yeah, quite a while indeed.”

He talks in third person. Not a good sign. Hector studied the face. He had at first assumed its owner was very old, but he saw now that this was not the case. The man- assuming that was what he was- couldn’t have been much older than Hector. In fact, he sounded younger than Hector, despite his cracked voice. His black hair hung midway down his back. He wore no shirt.

The man turned and lit a few more candles, revealing more of the room that Hector was in.

It was a wooden shack of some kind, made of grayed and weathered boards. The floor and ceiling were made of the exact same rough and splintery wood, but apart from the wall material, every surface was different. Long strings of colored wooden beads and what looked like animal bones dangled ominously above. The walls were plastered with papers- Hector could make out two star-maps, a diagram of some kind of constellation, and plenty of strange symbols- writing?– that he didn’t understand. The floor was painted with a series of elaborate red concentric circles, with more of the same unreadable symbols dotted around in an off-putting and rather occult fashion. A telescope sat in one corner, looking as if it had been through a lot and probably needed therapy.

“Hey, dude, I’m Yogwo, Grand Shaman of the Divine Celestial Monarchy. What’s your name?” The creep with the candle was studying him again with his intense stare.

There was a brief pause. “Come again?” Hector asked uncomprehendingly.

“I said I’m Yogwo, Grand Shaman of the Divine Celestial Monarchy. Whaddya go by?”
Hector’s brows furrowed. “Divine… huh? Grand… what now? Shaman, did you say? Like a witch doctor?”

The man’s voice took on a frustrated tone. “Grand Shaman, dude. Of the Divine Celestial Monarchy.” Hector’s face was blank. After some time it became clear to Yogwo that here was yet another poor soul who had no idea of the Omni-Spiritual Star Globes of Toohkla or the Seven Dances of the Heavens. Many of his patients (in fact, all of them) were clueless about the great goings-on in the sky above, and about the magical energies that could be harnessed and channeled by the Grand Shaman. He would have a lot of preaching to do to this new patient, that was clear, but no matter. He had plenty of experience.

The man who called himself Yogwo was, in fact, a self-proclaimed Spirit-Healer. None of his restorative efforts had been especially fruitful until now, and he was understandably very excited- he had come across a man, nearly dead, just lying there in the desert, with two bullets lodged in him. Now, this man was awake and perfectly fine. The only possible explanation? The magic of the Grand Shaman. It had never happened before, and he still wasn’t sure exactly how the healing had occurred, but these issues only served to strengthen his self-confidence. A small part of him was, admittedly, surprised at the success, but the larger part of him ignored it and pretended that this happened all the time.

Hector, meanwhile, was frantically going through his memories trying to figure out what had happened, how he had gotten here, and who the heck was this freak in front of him. After about 30 seconds, he remembered the car chase. The fern. Suddenly, everything seemed a lot worse than it had.

“Where is my backpack?! What did you do with it?! Where is the fern?! Where is Dog?!” Hector was going to say more- he wanted to make it clear to this creep that he wouldn’t tolerate thievery- but the Spirit-Healer interrupted him.

“Backpack? My bro, I dunno about your backpack, dude, I never saw no backpack. I found you lying there in the desert. No backpack or nothing. Fern? Like, dude, are you some kind of, like, I dunno, like, botanist or something? Like, did you have a special fern or something, like, in your pocket maybe? And bro, there was no dog that I could see, dude.”

Hector’s heart sank. The fern, along with just about everything else he owned, had been in his massive military backpack.

That was now gone, and if this man didn’t have it, Flores did. There’s no way this weirdo is a good liar. He’s probably telling the truth. In fact, the man- Yogwo, he calls himself– looked like he hadn’t lied, let alone talked, to anyone for at least a few months.

“Are- are you sure?”

Yogwo nodded. “I dunno, dude, it was just you with two bullet holes in your body, lying face down about, like, I guess 100 yards maybe, from the highway, where there’s this epically crashed taxi. You’re lucky I found you, or, you would have, like, died. I’m a Spirit-Healer, you know, bro. Dude, what are you up to? Most people don’t, like, get shot.”

Hector tried to parse the man’s unfamiliar jargon out and understand what he was saying. A Spirit-Healer? So he thinks… he healed me. Best to let him believe that, I suppose. Hector glanced around at the man’s various occult decorations. Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me.

The man who called himself Yogwo was staring expectantly at Hector. It took a minute for him to realize he had been asked a question, and a difficult one at that.

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking. Uh, it’s…” How much should I tell this guy? Not like he’s gonna call the police. Hector had already smelled at least one variety of marijauna once his senses had been fully restored. “I… I’m on the run from a criminal.” Or I was on the run. Hector had no idea if Flores was still looking for him, now that he most likely had the fern. “A drug-lord. I was chased across the border.”

Yogwo sat for some time in thought. After a minute or two, he started to mumble gibberish to himself. And he didn’t show signs of stopping.

What have I gotten myself into. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement of sad resignation.

Five minutes passed in anticipation while the Spirit-Healer stared at the ceiling and continued his muttering. What is he doing? Did he just say he should’ve bought a Honda? Is this guy mad? Well, that last question wasn’t so hard to answer. Clearly, he’s insane.

Finally, the man ceased his mumbling and looked back at Hector.

“I was, like, communing with the Constellation of the Little Bear. I asked it if my dude was telling the truth.”

“And?” Hector held his breath in anticipation. This is ridiculous.

“It told me you’re, like, a total liar, and everything you said is false.”

Hector’s expression, for lack of a better word, flattened. He began to protest, but the self-titled Grand Shaman wasn’t done.

“But the thing about the Little Bear is that its Subliminal Revelations are always, like, opposite to the Great Bear, and the Great Bear always tells the truth, dude. Since I don’t have the offerings that the Great Bear demands, bro, I guess the Little Bear is mad enough.”

Hector thought that someone other than the Little Bear was mad enough, but he didn’t bother to interrupt.

“So, dude, what I’m trying to say is that you’re, like, telling the truth, bro.”

Hector didn’t bother to process the 90% of what he had heard and instead focused on the healer’s closing statement. “Wait, am I telling the truth?- I mean, yes,” he caught himself, “I am telling the truth. Correct. Right-o.”

The Grand Shaman smiled eerily. “Good, bro, that’s mad. I thought so.” After a second his face tightened into an expression of concern. “On the run from a drug-lord? Bro, that’s, like, I dunno, crazy. Why?”

Hector sighed. May as well tell this guy some of the story. “A fern. A blue fern. I made it into a drug and he’s trying to kill me to get it.” That wasn’t a good explanation. Too many things left out. “The fern is… He’s…”

Hector gave up and decided to tell Yogwo everything.

The Spirit-Healer sat attentively in the candlelit shack, listening to Hector with an expression of profound insight on his face.

“…And I blacked out, and now I’m here, and Flores must have the fern, or he will soon enough,” Hector finished. The silence stretched for too long, like chocolate pudding scraped across too much ham. Finally, Hector decided to ask something he had been wondering all along.

“Is your name really Yogwo?”

This was a question that the Grand Shaman appeared to be entirely unprepared for. His air of wise tranquility was shattered.

“Uh, um, well, uh, like, no, not exactly…”

Hector raised an eyebrow. “Not exactly? It either is or it isn’t.”

The Spirit-Healer looked like a guilty child who had been caught stealing candy. He mumbled to himself for a bit before resolving to answer.

“Ummmm… No. It’s not. Well, it is,” he replied fiercely. “It’s just not really.”

Hector didn’t think this made sense, and he said so.

“Well, I can call myself what I want, right?” snapped the man. “Sorry, dude. It’s… uh… it’s…”

“I’m waiting.” Hector tried to contain his amusement at the man’s embarrassment.

“Kyle. My name is Kyle.”

Hector burst out in a loud guffaw. When he realized that Yogwo- er, Kyle- wasn’t laughing, he promptly resumed his neutral expression. “Sorry. I’m just… surprised.” Kyle looked slightly offended, so he tried to apologize again. “Sorry, man. It’s really fine, trust me. I’m not laughing at you,” he lied. “I’ll call you Yogwo if you want.”

The Spirit-Healer’s face gradually returned to a more natural shade of red, which is to say, it became slightly less red. Hector managed to quell the humor welling up inside of him.

“So, what state are we in?” A pause. “I am in the US, aren’t I?”

Kyle’s face brightened. “Southern California, dude. You said you came in through Santa Batempa? That’s about two hours from here. From what you’ve told me, bro, I bet I found you about an hour after you were shot. You said the sun was down, right? And when I saw the wreck, and then found your body, well, you, it was, like, 11 or something. 11 PM.”

Hector thought about this for a while. “What time is it now?”

The Grand Shaman of the Divine Celestial Monarchy took a candle from its place on the floor and went to the other end of the small room, which had been obscured in shadows. A door stood there. He opened it and peered outside. It was too dark for Hector to tell what the terrain was like, and the candle ruined his night vision, but even so he could see the glint of a hundred stars in the black sky. Wherever Yogwo- no, Kyle– had decided to build his abode, he certainly had a good view of the night sky.

He turned back to Hector after gazing up at the stars for a moment.

“2 o’clock, dude. Maybe, you should, like, sleep,” he said, scratching his head as if he wasn’t sure Hector would want to.

The reminder of sleep made Hector yawn. He glanced around the half-lit room. No beds, not that he could see. “Where… where do I sleep?”

Kyle looked at him strangely, as if not understanding. Suddenly, his face changed. “Oh, yeah, dude, I forgot people sleep inside. Like, I sleep on my roof, bro. Most of the time.”

Hector raised one eyebrow. “And will I be sleeping on your roof as well?” The idea did not especially appeal to him- he had already had his fill of sleeping outside during his adventure in the Sierra Madres. And sleeping on a roof with this guy wasn’t something he thought he’d ever be excited about.

Kyle shook his head. “Not unless you want to, dude. I can get you something ready in, like, five minutes, let’s say?” He phrased it as a question, so Hector nodded in acceptance. I just hope this guy doesn’t murder me in my sleep, he thought sardonically. The decorations in this place don’t help any. Hector didn’t believe Kyle would truly do anything of the sort- he seemed harmless enough- but even so, he would make sure to be on his guard when he went to bed.

Six minutes later, a “bed” was made ready for Hector. It was not exactly the nicest thing he had slept on- merely a large pile of Mexican blankets thrown onto a too-springy mattress and completed by a stained pillow without a case. However, Hector wasn’t about to complain. He had half-expected to be given a pile of moss and some leaves to serve the same purpose, and the makeshift bed was good enough for his low standards.

Kyle moved about the room, putting out the sparse candles. When it was pitch-black in the room, Hector heard a scuffling noise, as if someone was climbing a ladder, and then a trapdoor in the ceiling was opened, letting in some light from the thousands of visible stars.

When the trapdoor closed, Hector lay there in the blackness. He hadn’t slept on a bed for over a week, and he was just so tired. His last thought as he drifted off was that he should stay awake, just to be safe.