It was a little before noon and Kepa stood in front of the bar again, though Iratxe was no where to be found. He heard some bustling coming from the back as he waited patiently for Iratxe, or anyone really, to pop out front. Some fifteen minutes must have passed as he waited there, quietly.

Suddenly a face peaked from behind the curtain separating the bar from the kitchen.

“There you are!” barked Iratxe irritatedly. “Get your ass back here.”

Kepa looked around and quickly made his way through the dining room and into the kitchen.

“Barkatu…” he began as Iratxe took off the apron she had been wearing and threw it at him. 

“Dammit,” she said, shaking her head. “We are already behind. The first customers will be showing up any moment. Tortilla, now!” She disappeared behind the curtain.

Kepa pulled on the apron and grabbed three pans. He was glad he had the test run yesterday as that gave him just enough familiarity with the kitchen that he didn’t have to go asking Iratxe where things were. She had already peeled and sliced a bowl full of potatoes. Not quite the way he would have done it – while Iratxe’s potatoes were cut up into almost perfect cubes, he preferred very thin slices, almost like coins. He just thought they cooked better. He threw her potatoes into one of the pans after the oil got hot while he sliced up his own.

Soon, three perfect tortillas sat plated and ready to pass to the bar. Almost as soon as he had finished, the plates came back empty. He could hear the ruckus on the other side of the curtain. He had no idea how popular this place was. And here he had hoped to find a nice quiet place to work with no stress.

But, he didn’t stop making tortilla. Another cook was in the kitchen working on the various lunch items. Kepa wasn’t sure if he should help her, but she didn’t ask for any help and he figured he should just keep making tortilla until he was told to stop. Both he and the other cook worked silently for hours. Only once did Iratxe peak in to eye things, but saying nothing, she disappeared behind the curtain. A young man appeared, taking plates of food prepared by the other cook to the dining room. Still Kepa made his tortilla. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Iratxe walked through the curtain, her forehead glistening with sweat. 

“I think we’re good,” she said, looking at Kepa. “You can help Belen now.” Iratxe gestured to the other woman in the kitchen, who barely looked up and gave Kepa a brief nod as she gestured to some pots in the sink.

Right, Kepa thought to himself. I get to help wash…

Kepa had always known that working in a bar was hard, he’d seen enough of his friends doing it. Particularly Maite and her parents. They were up in the earliest part of the day, getting ready, and one of them was always up way past midnight, serving drinks to the last few patrons. And he had done a few stints himself, helping out with a parttime job here and there. But this was a bit different. The enormous crush of the lunchtime crowd just overwhelmed him. He wasn’t sure he could do this every day.

“How do you do it?” he asked as he scrubbed a pot.

“Eh?” replied Belen as she flipped a steak. “What do you mean?”

“How do you do this every day?”

Belen shrugged. “It’s my job,” she said. “It’s what the boss pays me for.” She paused before letting out a little smile. “But, today was about as rough as I’ve seen. A big wedding party booked the whole bar. It won’t be like this yesterday.”

Kepa looked stunned. “She could have told me!” he stammered.

“Would you have come?” asked Belen, her smile widening. 

“Maybe not,” Kepa admitted.

“Don’t worry, tomorrow will be a lot easier.”

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Weeks had passed and classes were about to begin for Maite. Kepa had continued to check out the local bars to see if anyone could use a bartender or waiter, but so far, he hadn’t found anything he liked. Or rather, no one had seemed to like him. He had been let go from his first job in the Parte Vieja and no one since had been willing to give him a chance. They all told him that helping out at the local taberna in a small village simply didn’t compare to the bustle of the big city – none of them thought he could keep up. Eventually, he decided he needed to go a bit away from the heart of the city and check out some of the quieter neighborhoods, maybe a side street, and see if anyone there might give him a chance.

“Egun on,” he said as he entered what was probably his fifth stop today. 

A woman stood behind the bar drying glasses. She was probably in her late forties. Her black hair, pulled tight into a bun behind her head, showed a few streaks of silver running through it. She wore a loose-fitting t-shirt that looked like it might have been as old as Kepa. The words “Negu Gorriak” were emblazoned across the front. 

“Barkatu,” she said without looking up. “But we are closed. We open at 2. Come back later.”

“I’m not here to eat or drink,” replied Kepa tentatively – the woman gave off an almost hostile vibe. “I was hoping you might be looking to hire.”

“Hire?” replied the woman quizzically as she put the glass down and looked up. Her striking grey eyes almost seemed to pierce Kepa. “What do you mean, hire?”

“I’m…” stammered Kepa. “I’m trying to find work,” he finally belted out. “Anything really.”

“Do you know how to cook?” asked the woman.

“Only what my ama taught me,” replied Kepa sheepishly. He wasn’t sure why, but this woman really made him feel uncomfortable. She exuded a confidence, a power, that took him off guard.

“Etorri,” barked the woman as she passed behind the bar to the kitchen. Once there, she pointed at the stove. “Make me a tortilla.”

Kepa scanned the kitchen, locating a pan and the fridge where he assumed the eggs would be.

“How do you like it?” he asked.

“Very good question,” replied the woman with a smile. “Most people don’t bother to ask. I like mine just a little gooey inside.”

Kepa smiled as he hefted the pan in his hand. “The same as me.”

He cracked the eggs and peeled the potatoes. Soon the pan was sizzling. He knew it was a risk, but he decided he needed to do whatever he could to impress the woman. He flipped the tortilla in the air and caught it dead center in the pan. Moments later, he was plating a slice and handing it to the woman.

“Not bad,” judged the woman as she took a bite. “Do you think you can do it any faster?”

“Probably,” replied Kepa.

“Oso ondo. Come back tomorrow around 12.”

As Kepa was about to leave the bar, he turned to see the woman back behind the counter, continuing to dry glasses. 

“Eskerrik asko,” he began and then paused.

“Iratxe,” she replied. “See you tomorrow.”

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“That was… weird,” said Kepa, after Amalur had vanished. He still sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in the sheet. Maite sat next to him, feeling sticky from her run and wanting nothing more than a shower. But she sensed that he needed to talk so she remained by his side.

“It was certainly unexpected,” she added. “But, I have to say that I feel almost infinitely better having some basic sense of how these zatiak and this magic work.”

“I’m just confused,” said Kepa as if he hadn’t really heard her. “If all of this is connected to Amalur, why didn’t Marina tell us? Why the secret? Are we, in the end, doing all of this for Amalur or are we doing it for Marina?”

“That’s a good question,” replied Maite as she stood. She stared out the window of their apartment. She could see Mount Urgell rising nearby, though the statue of Christ that adorned the top was hidden from her view. “And what about de Lancre? I’m starting to think there is more to him than just an overzealous inquisitor.”

Kepa nodded. “None of this makes sense. But I’m not sure how we get answers.”

“Amalur isn’t going to help us,” scoffed Maite. “All she does is speak in riddles.”

She sighed as she plopped down next to Kepa again. She poked him in the shoulder. “At least I know what you are.”

Kepa smiled. “And what is that exactly?”

With a mischievous smile, Maite lifted the sheet that covered Kepa and peaked underneath.

—

It was approaching late afternoon. Maite and Kepa were wandering the Parte Vieja, taking in the different sights and sounds. As was often the case, the old part of town was filled with tourists. Most looked out of place, either by how they dressed or their facial features. Once in a while Maite saw someone she suspected had Basque ancestry. She wondered if some of them might be related to those old sheepherders they had encountered in Bakersfield, the distant grandson or granddaughter of the men and women who she got to know in the boarding house. It seemed so long ago, and in some ways, it really was. More than a century in their lives. But, for her, it wasn’t even a year ago. She winced as the memory of Kepa being shot flashed through her mind. She shook her head and pointed to a side alley.

“Let’s get a drink,” she said. 

The pub was quiet, lying just slightly off the beaten path that the pintxo guides herded the tourists along. Maite went up to the bar and ordered a kalitxiki for herself and a zurito for Kepa. 

“What now?” asked Kepa as Maite returned with their drinks. 

“I think we involve Amalur as much as we can in this,” replied Maite. “You know how to summon her now. We can always pull her in whenever we want.”

“I suspect she might start ignoring us if we do it too much.”

“Perhaps, but she seems to have a vested interest in the zatiak. I think she will help as she can.”

“Why doesn’t she simply collect the zatiak herself?” mused Kepa. “Why have us chase through time to collect them? I’d think she would be so much more effective.”

Maite shrugged. “Maybe she can’t for some reason? Maybe she can’t enter the bubbles?”

“If she can’t enter the bubbles, how can we summon her from inside one?”

“Oh,” replied Maite, realizing the contradiction in what she had just suggested. “I guess I don’t know. Maybe we can’t.”

“This is all so frustrating,” said Kepa as he took a sip of his beer. “It’s so complicated. It really doesn’t make any sense.”

“For the moment, all we can do is push forward, keep looking for zatiak when we get the chance, and hope that with time we begin to understand what is going on. We know much more now than we did before, right?”

Kepa nodded. “That’s true.” He paused as he took another sip. “Should we tell Marina that we know about Amalur?”

Maite shook her head. “Not yet. I think we are better off keeping that to ourselves for now.”

Kepa nodded again as he finished his beer.

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Maite and Kepa sat there, staring dumbly at Amalur as she continued to morph between her three forms. Kepa couldn’t quite tell if they were three distinct personalities or just different variations of the same person. No, person wasn’t quite right. You didn’t call an ancient earth goddess a person. But, he wasn’t quite sure what to call her. Goddess was probably the best thing, now that he thought about it.

“Goddesses,” he began.

Amalur, appearing now as a composite of her three forms that some how both completely confused his brain but was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, nodded her head down toward him, as if acknowledging him.

“Bai,” he stuttered before continuing. “What happens to the people when the bubbles burst?”

A flash of sadness seemed to ripple across Amalur’s face before it regained its stoic composure.

“They are simply gone,” she answered.

“Erased from existence?” asked Kepa horrified.

Amalur floated closer to him and touched his forehead. “Some still exist, here.”

“Like Latxe,” muttered Kepa, a tear welling in his eye.

Maite brushed aside the confused feelings of sympathy and jealousy she felt at the mention of Latxe’s name as she turned to Amalur. “Who is de Lancre? Who is he, really?”

Amalur feigned confusion. “What do you mean? He is de Lancre, of course.”

“Ez, ez,” replied Maite, shaking her head. “He isn’t just another man, there is something more there. What is it?”

Amalur sighed as her formed morphed into that of Ilargia, the goddess of the moon. “Something more?” her icy voice repeated, sending a chill down Maite’s spine. “Perhaps, or perhaps he is all the evil of humankind personified.”

Maite shook her head. “There is no good nor evil. Just humans making bad choices, or selfish choices.”

Eguzki’s radiance filled the room as she shifted form again. Maite had to turn away as the brightness grew with Eguzki’s smile. “Can that not be a definition of evil?”

Maite threw her hands up in frustration. “Fine, be all cryptic with your answers.” She folded her arms as she sat on the bed, pouting.

“What happens when we collect all of the zatiak?” asked Kepa.

“You cannot,” replied Amalur, this time, appearing in a new form, an elderly amuma with a sad visage. “After you count the stars in the sky, the blades of grass on the earth, and the grains of sand on the coast, there are still more zatiak.”

With that answer, Amalur faded and vanished from the room.

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“It’s sort of like a cheat code,” mused Kepa as Amalur hovered above their bed expectantly. “You know, in video games, there are times where they right combination of moves opens up an Easter egg.”

Maite turned to look at him. “You think this is all some kind of game?”

Kepa shrugged. “Not a game, exactly, but maybe it’s all some kind of program, some kind of Matrix-like virtual world. And I inadvertantly tapped into some parallel world.”

“I’ve seen some scientists argue that we are living in a simulation,” mused Maite. “I personally never believed it.”

Garuna rumbled in the back of Maite’s head. “This is no simulation. Of that I am sure.”

Maite repeated the AI’s words outloud for Kepa’s benefit. “Garuna says this isn’t a simulation.”

“Ok,” replied Kepa, “but then what does this mean?” He waved his hand in the general direction of Amalur. “She’s here.”

“Has she said anything since you conjured her? Besides ‘agur’?” asked Maite.

Kepa shook his head. “To be honest, I really haven’t tried to engage her. She barely appeared before you got home.”

Maite nodded as she turned to look at the dazzling form of Eguzki, her beauty almost painful to look at. “Why are you here?”

“I was summoned,” replied the unearthly figure as it slowly morphed into Ilargi, a visage that was equally as beautiful but easier to behold. At times, Maite couldn’t tell if there were three distinct beings or if they were all three present all the time and the one she saw was a matter of how her eye focused. It reminded her of those optical illusions where you saw either a duck or a rabbit depending on how you focused on the image.

“And?” asked Kepa. “What happens now?”

“Why was I summoned?” asked Amalur.

“No reason,” responded Kepa. “I summoned you by accident.”

“Then I will go,” replied Amalur as she began to fade.

“Ez! Wait!” exclaimed Maite.

The floating vision wavered for a moment, almost flickering, before it again solidified. 

“Bai?” it asked.

Maite didn’t know what she should ask but she didn’t want Amalur to leave yet. 

“Are you magic?” she asked.

“What is magic?” asked Amalur in reply. “There is no magic. There is simply the manipulation of energy.”

“Energy?” Maite sat, pondering for a moment. “Do you mean the conversion of energy from one type to another?”

“Energy is energy. There is no difference. Just how it is manifested.”

Maite turned to Kepa. “In physics, there is a theorem that all energy is conserved, that if you lose one type you gain another. Maybe magic is way to change that balance?”

“To break conservation?” asked Kepa.

“Not exactly,” replied Maite. “Maybe it is to control the flow of energy, to overcome entropy.”

“I’m not following,” interjected Kepa, looking thoroughly confused.

“Energy is always conserved, but entropy is always increasing. This means that energy is converted into forms that are less useful, like through friction, that increases entropy. Maybe magic lets us control or even reverse that loss. Think about it like this. Maybe magic lets us take energy from the air around us and turn it into more useful forms.”

“Like light and electricity?” asked Kepa.

Maite nodded. “Maybe.” She looked up at Amalur who appeared to her now in her earthly mother form. She was smiling at Maite.

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