The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 166

“What do you think we’ll find here?” asked Kepa as he pulled their car into a little carpark. When Maite had suggested they go to Marina’s ancesctral home in Lapurdi, he was into the idea as he was always ready to see something new, but he wasn’t sure what good it would do or how it would help them.

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

“Ez dakit,” replied Maite. “I’m not sure. But it’s better than just sitting on our asses and waiting for the next bubble to appear.”

Kepa nodded. He knew how Maite hated inaction, hated just sitting around while things moved around her. She needed to feel some level of control or things would just drive her crazy. 

Sara was a bit different from most Basque towns he had been to. It didn’t seem to have a plaza like he was used to, with the traditional church, fronton, and bar. There was a fronton – an open air structure that was in contrast to the enclosed ones he was used to playing in – but it was just laid out differently. Maite walked the streets with determination, but Kepa wasn’t sure what she was really looking for.

They eventually came upon a cemetary full of funeral steeles. Maite began examining the headstones though Kepa was still confused as to what she thought she might find. 

“What are you looking for? I can help.”

Maite shrugged. “Any sign of Marina, I guess.”

“Given how she died, I doubt she was given a proper burial. And we don’t even know her surnames, to find her relatives.”

“True…” began Marina as she held up her hand, which began to glow with a bright white-blue light. She closed her eyes and swept her hand in front of her, letting it swing back and forth like some kind of divining rod. Eventually her arm came to rest, pointing at one of the steeles in the back. 

Kepa walked over to the steele Maite was pointing to. It was old, the stone edges crumbling and some of the engraved letters so worn that they were barely visible. But the names were clear. “Vicente and Clara,” read Kepa.

“Marina’s parents,” remarked Maite. 

“I guess that means she didn’t make up that part of her story,” said Kepa, “but I’m not sure how it helps us.”

“Let’s keep looking. There has to be something in this town that will.”

Kepa shrugged. “Let me try.” He held up his hand in front of him, pointing just like Maite had done. He let the power of the zatia flow through his body. His arm went limp just as some invisible force took control, holding it up. It floated in front of him, sweeping around. He could feel it bouncing back and forth as it swept an imaginary arc in front of him, each time the arc getting a little smaller and tighter. Suddenly, his arm flew around, pulling and spinning him by one hundred and eighty degrees as it pointed rigidly into the woods behind the town.

“I guess we know where we are going next,” he said as his arm fell limp next to his body.

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