The day began.

The day, in fact, had never begun before. And it never would again, for that matter. August 3rd, 2018 would begin and end exactly once, just like all other days.

It would’ve been nice to think that this particular day had been waiting a very long time to begin- several thousand years, in fact- and that it knew that it only had one chance to begin. Why not make it impressive, right?

However, the day, merely a period of 24 consecutive hours, was entirely without sentience or ability, and thusly had no say over how it began. This all goes to say that the beginning of the second full day Hector had spent in the Grand Shaman’s company was less than impressive.

When the sun rose above the horizon, it was immediately obscured by rainclouds.

When a fresh morning breeze came in from the west, it only served to blow the rainclouds nearer.

When the rain started to fall, it got everything sopping wet and did little to lower the thick, syrup-like humidity.

When Hector woke up, water was dripping through a crack in the roof onto his head. He rolled over, trying to avoid it, and fell off of his cot landing facedown on the worn wooden floor.

Good morning to you too, floor.

Kyle was already in the room, busily stoking the coals of a fire. The fire was carefully built in a patch of dirt in one corner, surrounded by stones from the mountain. However, the boards that made up the house were wet enough, at least on the outside, that the precautions probably weren’t necessary. The blaze was hardly for warmth- even though the rain had cooled everything off, an August in California is still quite warm- and served mainly to dry the few puddles that lay on the floor.

Hector got to his feet off the floor. Day two with the madman. Stretching his legs as he walked, he opened the only door in the room and looked out at a bleak, overcast, and supremely dreary mountain landscape. He had discovered that the mountains of California- the Sierra Nevada range to be precise- were distinctly different than the Sierra Madre Occidentals in Mexico.

Hector’s previous day with the Spirit-Healer had been uneventful, at least in the way of danger, but very interesting and a uniquely strange experience that Hector hoped to be over with as soon as possible. He was very much ready to do something. And there were many things to be done.

Most importantly, there was the issue of the fern. If Flores didn’t have it now, then he would have it soon. It might take a few days for them to distill it into a drug, but if Hector had done it in five days, a whole team of experts at Flores’ command couldn’t take too long. They couldn’t let that happen.

Now that Hector thought about it, it wasn’t just that he didn’t want an immortal Flores. He wanted the fern- for himself. He had suspected it might be mildly addictive, but as the days passed, his longing for the infinity fern increased beyond expectation. And this desire had only begun within the last day or two. It’s almost as if the fern is calling to me… Hector blinked and shook his head. His mind was wandering again. This was no cheap fantasy-thriller novel by some sixteen-year-old. This was real life. He was addicted to the fern. Simple as that.

Addicted. Hector had always had an inexplicable ability to resist most forms of addiction. He had tried crack four times in the past, and after each time he was perfectly fine. Meth, twice. Marijuana, five times. He was addicted to none of them. Yet this fern… Hector shook his head in half disbelief. Just one taste, a single sample, and he was hooked.

There was something that wasn’t quite right about that, though. As far as he could remember, Hector hadn’t felt a strong desire for the fern until after it had been taken. And it wasn’t like he had been using the drug a lot- in fact, he had only tried it once. So it makes no sense that I should want it now, if there was no sign of addiction a week ago, and I haven’t used it in between… Something is off, that’s for sure. But then, what in my life hasn’t been off for the past month? First I find a magic fern and it brings me back to life, then I’m on the run from the police, and then Flores… and now I’m living with a wacko witch doctor… Yep, things are pretty off.

The point was, he needed the fern back, and for a few reasons. He had told Kyle on several occasions that it was about time for them to make plans, but so far the Spirit-Healer had shown little motivation. “Take it slow, duder,” he had said perhaps five times so far. Hector had expected reluctance, but he was over this. What if Flores already has some kind of drug? What then? We can’t already be too late…

“Ky- eh, sorry- Yogwo, get over here.” It was worth a try, Hector thought. They needed to plan something, eventually. Surely the guy will come around to it sometime.

Kyle was in the corner, meticulously dusting his battered telescope. [By dusting, I (the author) do not mean that Kyle was wiping the dust off of the instrument. By no means. Quite the contrary. Just the opposite. I beg to differ. You get it. By dusting, as he called it, Kyle was sprinkling a generous handful of fine dust onto the telescope. Hector didn’t know what the dust was or why the telescope needed it, and he hadn’t bothered to ask. The self-proclaimed Grand Shaman had more than a few such strange habits.]

Kyle looked up from his work. Some of the powder spilled from his hand onto the floor. “What do you want, dude?” he drawled in his dry, half-asthmatic voice. “What’s, like, hoppin’?”

If all Americans acted like this, Hector thought, he was surprised that the US had made it this far. “We need to get that fern back, Ky- uh- Yogwo.” The Spirit-Healer started to protest, but Hector wasn’t done. “No more waiting, idi- uh- amigo. We’ve sat here for long enough already. If you aren’t going to help me, I’ll just go myself.” Hector knew very well that this was impossible. No car, no food, no money, no shelter- without the Spirit-Healer’s help, he didn’t have much of a chance. However, he let the threat hang in the air.

“Alright, then, dude…” Yogwo seemed to be cowed into submission. “Where do we start?”

Hector considered this. “Well, we… we… good question. Uh, well…” The fact was, he hadn’t put too much thought into what their plan might be. They needed to plan, that was all he had been thinking. “Um, well, we… I suppose we… hmmmm… We need the fern,” he said, for the two hundredth time in the past two days. “I suppose… that means we need to find Flores and take it from him.”

Yogwo nodded in that calm, laid-back way that only hippies can master. “Seems about right, dude. How we gonna, like, find him though?”

This was an easier question. Hector had contemplated many times before what Flores’ plans might be. From the drug-lord’s perspective, it would probably seem best to set up a base of some kind at the Occidental compound. It was secretive, safe, well-guarded, and fully stocked. From there, Hector reckoned, Flores would be commandeering his minions. All the same, he might be staying in one of the mansions he had scattered across Mexico. Maybe those assassins have reached him and handed him the fern by now. No, no, no. They can’t have. They just can’t have. Denial was not a feeling he was used to, and he didn’t like it. It felt like trying to studiously ignore and deny an angry tarantula that had manifested itself in one’s pant leg.

He suddenly jolted out of thought when Yogwo repeated his question. “Oh, sorry. They, uh, I think they’re in that compound I told you about. The one that drug dealers use in emergencies.”

“Okay. And, like, how will we get there?”

Hector grunted. “I dunno. That’s the problem. Assuming they’re there in the first place.”

Yogwo shook his head sadly. “Like, dude, hate to, you know, burst your bubble or whatever, but that seems pretty hopeless. That place is one long car trip off, and, like, who knows how we could beat them?” Suddenly, the fanatical healer blinked and recoiled, as if he had been struck over the head with a large wooden club. “Well…” he mused.

Hector’s foot tapped impatiently. “What?”

“We could talk to a friend of mine…”

Hector remained silent, waiting for the rest of the thought to come. A friend of Kyle’s did not sound especially appealing- the man was crazy, and any companion of his must be at least as wacky- but if whoever it was could help, he just might accept it.

“Who is he?”

“He’s a… the… uh…” Yogwo looked uncomfortable. “He’s the Arch-Shaman of the Divine Cel-”

“Stop,” Hector said simply.

Yogwo stopped.

“Are you telling me there’s another one of you? I thought you were the one who… invented… this cult or whatever?!”

Yogwo looked taken aback, like a mother whose 2-year-old child has just said a curse word at another 2-year-old’s birthday party.

“A CULT?!” he wheezed in righteous indignation. “The Divine Celestial Monarchy is NOT a CULT! It is a RELIGION! A BELIEF SYSTEM! Even a WORLDVIEW! But it is NOT a CULT!!! And no, I didn’t invent it,” he said, looking as if the argument had been won already. “It’s truth. People can’t invent truth.” He looked as if he would like to say more, but he was prevented to do so by lack of breath.

“Okay, okay, amigo, sorry,” Hector apologized. That was weird. Yogwo had never been so irate in his experience, and the general emotion of anger seemed contradictory to his nature. He seems to drop his hippie slang when he forgets himself. Strange. There’s more to him than meets the eye, that’s for sure. “So this guy is a… a… he’s whatever you are, and he can help us how exactly?”

Yogwo took several deep breaths. “Sorry, man, I got a bit, like, carried away there. But it’s not a cult. It is” and here he took another huge breath, as if to calm himself- “Not. A. Cult.” He paused, thinking. “And no, he’s not what I am, dude. I’m a Grand Shaman. He’s, like, an Arch-Shaman. He ranks higher than I do.”

Hector sensed that this wasn’t getting anywhere. “And how, exactly, will this friend of yours help us?”

“He’s, like, super wise or something, dude. The Arch-Shaman has to be wise to be an Arch-Shaman. And plus, he knows a lot about, well, stuff like your magic plant. You know… that’s why I thought of him, bro. I bet he knows what fern you’re talking about.”

Hector had not been expecting this. Someone who can tell me about the infinity fern? It seemed worth a try… I know practically nothing about it currently. Surely it’d help to know a bit more… even if it is a waste of time… maybe he can tell me something valuable. Argh, why does this have to be so difficult? If I go, I might get some vital information about the fern, but it will be using up precious time, and what if this Arch-Shaman is just a fraud?

Hector let out a long sigh. He needed to do something. Anything was better than just sitting here, while Flores might be actively preparing a fern-drug.

“Take me to him.”