by Carol A Park
With that, she left them alone, the door shutting gently behind her.
Vaughn looked around the room and let out a sigh of relief. It was almost normal-looking, except that apparently Thaxchatichan thought “his kind” preferred a setup more like the nomads south of Donia. And except that everything was oversized.
From the large sleeping pallet piled with furs in one corner to the oversized tub in the other corner to the overlarge, legless chaise that reclined next to a low table that would fit five or six. It was almost as if everything had been designed to fit two or three, or even four humans, rather than one.
Perhaps they had been.
He shrugged his pack off his shoulders and set it down next to the chaise. Then he turned to face Ivana.
It struck him that they were truly alone for the first time since she had inexplicably kissed him. Since then, they had either been in the company of others or in enough danger that they hadn’t had time to think, let alone talk.
She didn’t look at him. Instead, she paced the perimeter of the room, much as she once had at a set of rooms they had been given at Ri Talesin’s estate, looking into every corner, opening every drawer.
“What are you looking for?” Vaughn asked. “It isn’t as though I need to hide who I am here.”
She finished her sweep. “I just like to know my surroundings,” she said. “Especially when they’re so unfamiliar.”
He pulled off his boots, sat down on the chaise, and stretched his toes out with a sigh. “Well, we had a bit of a rocky start, but I’d say overall things have gone well?”
“We started in the abyss. I’d say that’s more than rocky.” She stopped in front of a long etching above the fireplace. “If Xiu hadn’t rescued us, we would have been digesting in the stomach of a bloodbane before we even got started.”
“But he did, and we aren’t. And anyway, he seemed an amiable god, don’t you think? If Thaxchatichan is anything like him, we’ll be off to see Zily in the morning and home before dinner.”
Ivana didn’t answer. She was running her fingers over the etching. “Come look at this,” she said.
He groaned at having to stand on his sore feet again, but he did as she asked and joined her at the wall.
“Look,” she said. “What do you make of it?”
He studied the carvings. They looked as though they were depicting a scene, or several scenes. Small humans surrounded a large, radiant figure who looked like a much larger version of the xchotli who had brought them here—Thaxchatichan, he supposed. Some of the humans bowed down. Another spilled her blood into a bowl nearby. Two others fought, stark naked. One, also naked, reclined in front of Thaxchatichan, as if a piece of art to admire. All of this, Thaxchatichan appeared to preside over.
The blood in the bowl was silver, and while it seemed many objects around here were also silver, the etching had been done in full color.
“Banebringers,” Vaughn said. “They must be. From the things Xiu and Azaz said, combined with the myths, I’m beginning to gather that there is actual truth to the legend that Banebringers would travel here.”
Ivana frowned. “They look like they’re being used more as slaves than ‘honored guests.’”
Vaughn shifted. It did look like that.
Azaz had said there would still be danger, even on this side of the divide. He probably wasn’t just being dramatic.
Ivana turned away from the etching to face him. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. Her eyes ran over him with a particular sort of irritated disgust that he knew well. “Or distracted.”
“What was that?” he asked.
“What was what?”
“That look. Why’d I get that look? I didn’t do anything!”
She sniffed. “I’m aware. I’m warning you not to.”
“If you’re suggesting I’m going to go calling our glowy-skinned friend for a quick romp in the sheets…”
“I doubt I need to fill in the details for you.”
He frowned, affronted. “I’ll have you know, I haven’t had a good romp in over a year.”
“So you said.”
“What, you don’t believe me?”
She didn’t say anything.
He folded his arms across his chest. He had tried to change. Because of her. And all along, she hadn’t even believed he had made the effort? He didn’t want to admit it, but that…hurt. “I thought you had recognized that I’m not that person anymore. I thought that’s why you—” He broke off. He wasn’t sure he wanted to bring up her unexpected advances.
No, damn it, yes, he did. He wasn’t allowed to dally with women, but she could kiss him and then say nothing about it afterward? “Apparently, I’m not the only one who knows how to use people for their own pleasure.”
Her eyes flashed. “You have never understood me. Don’t pretend you do now.”
“I could level the same charge at you,” he snapped. “You think you hold the sole rights to being mistreated and misunderstood?”
Her jaw twitched multiple times. “You want to play a game of who had it worse off, is that it?”
He ran a hand through his hair. No, he didn’t want to play that game. But he was so tired of these unwinnable arguments. “How long are you going to hide behind your past—any of it? When are you just going to let it go?”
“Let it go? Let it go?”
“Ivana, I just meant—”
“I need a hot bath,” she said, then walked over to the tub.
She ran her hand into it, and it came up wet.
Vaughn blinked. Apparently, the xchotli hadn’t been joking when she said they just needed to speak what they wanted.
Ivana unfolded a large screen and dragged it across the area with the tub so she was blocked from his view. A moment later, he heard the slosh of water.
He turned away, trying not to let his imagination run away with him.
“I need food,” he said hopefully.
He spun around to the table, but nothing magically appeared. He frowned and opened a low cabinet nearby.
A plate of fruit and cheeses was within.
Now, had that been there before or after he’d said he needed food?
He set the plate on the table and plopped down on the chaise with a sigh.
Sweetblade was dead—that much was true. But that hadn’t stopped Ivana from erecting a barrier around herself again. She didn’t trust him, refused to trust him, whether due to principle or fear, he didn’t know. If only they could get past this roadblock in their relationship, maybe…
He shook his head. It wasn’t worth contemplating.
Chapter Thirty-Four
An Overdue Visit
Ivana had no clean clothes to change into. Unlike Vaughn, she hadn’t come prepared for this journey. “I need clothes,” she said as she toweled off after her bath.
Nothing appeared nearby, and she frowned. Back into her old clothes it was.
“They’re out here,” Vaughn said.
His shadow came nearer, and a moment later, he slung a garment over the top of the screen. Then his shadow retreated.
She sank to the ground, clutching her towel to her. Everything inside of her felt so out of control. A decade of carefully teaching herself to brick up her emotions—control every word, every thought, every feeling—had been for naught.
She was adrift at sea, alternating between desperately clinging to anything that she might perceive as a rescue line and considering simply slipping off her driftwood into the depths and never resurfacing again.
Would she never find peace now that Sweetblade was gone? Was this her doom, her punishment?
She swallowed and stood up again. She had to get through whatever they had to do here and get back home. If she was going to let herself drown, she’d at least do it in her own pond.
She pulled down the garment and found it was two. One slipped to the ground, and the other she held up in front of her. She had been half afraid it would be a copy of whatever the moon-lady h
ad been wearing; she was sure Vaughn would enjoy that. But it was an unremarkable white robe, one piece that she could slip her arms into, cross over her front, and belt. She bent and picked up the piece she had dropped. A shift for underneath.
She strapped her dagger to her thigh and then put on the shift and robe and belted it.
When she stepped out, she found Vaughn had changed into clean clothes himself, no doubt from his pack.
He was sitting on the chaise, a half-eaten plate of food in front of him. He shoved the plate toward her without looking at her.
She ate, and not a moment too soon, for as soon as she had popped the last grape in her mouth, a knock came on the door.
Vaughn rose to answer it. The moon-lady stood outside.
“Thaxchatichan will see you now.”
Vaughn was filled with both trepidation and curiosity at the prospect of meeting his patron deity. Would she be a larger version of the moon-lady? Wear water as clothing like Xiu did fire? Was she abnormally tall as well?
And, of course, given the sole myth they had about her—in which she was decapitated by her own brother—the most pressing question was: Did she have a head?
When he voiced the latter to Ivana, she gave him a look that reminded him that, in fact, the most pressing question ought to be whether she would be as amiable—or at least helpful—as the fire god had been.
On that note, some of the looks and comments of the respective xchotli filled him with a sense of foreboding rather than hope.
The moon-lady led them into a giant hall; it was twice as wide as it was tall, and the vaulted ceilings must have reached twenty feet at their peak. He’d imagined a hard room, all white marble and silver trimmings, but instead, the room was surprisingly soft. The plush light blue rug stretched the entire width and length of the room, and the walls, while they may well have been stone underneath, were draped in flowing silver fabric.
The far wall was made of pure glass, giving an unobstructed view into the starry night sky and of the full moon. Unobstructed, that is, except for the larger-than-life woman who reclined on a chaise on a dais.
She was wearing clothing similar to the moon-lady’s, including the collar that encompassed her entire neck; she lay on her right side, revealing a generous amount of the same moon-white flesh on her exposed left side, except that it was tattooed with blue and silver markings, right down to the place where her robe covered her, beyond the hint of the curve of her left breast.
All he could think was that it seemed she had her head after all.
She was surrounded by at least a dozen attendants, both male and female, some who reclined below her chaise, and others who stood nearby, as if awaiting her command. All the attendants, male and female alike, wore the same fabric collar around their necks that she and her xchotli did.
She didn’t rise when the moon-lady led them into the hall; instead, she rolled over onto her stomach. She had been absently running her free hand through the hair of one of her male attendants, as though petting a dog. She ran it through his hair one last time, giving a tug as she withdrew her hand that made the attendant wince, and then she propped her chin up on her hands and tilted her head to gaze at them.
“One of yours, my lady,” the moon-lady said, “and…” She looked at Ivana. “I don’t know what she is.”
Vaughn rather took exception to being talked about as though he were a possession, but now was probably not the best time to voice his opinion—especially if he wanted the goddess’ cooperation.
Chati—he decided she needed a nickname too—studied Ivana first, then turned her eyes to Vaughn.
“Thank you, Chara. You are dismissed.” She looked around, as if noticing her attendants for the first time, and flicked her hand in annoyance. “In fact, all of you are dismissed.” The attendants obediently rose and filtered out of side doors in the hall.
Once they were gone, Chati gestured to Vaughn and Ivana. “Come closer,” she said.
Vaughn swallowed. She made him nervous. Perhaps it was the way she was looking at him as though he were a succulent piece of meat.
They walked up the long hall and paused in front of the dais. “Uh…” He glanced at Ivana, and then knelt. Best to show proper respect. Ivana rolled her eyes but followed his lead. “My name is Vaughn, my lady. And this is Ivana, my companion. We’ve come to request—”
Chati abruptly rose from the chaise, her eyes flashing with anger.
Uh-oh.
“It has been millennia since one of my own has come to pay me due homage. Millenia. And now you show up begging favors?”
“Begging your pardon, my lady. We didn’t even know we could get here until a few weeks ag—”
She slashed her hand through the air and padded down the dais on bare feet. She was tall, taller than any human woman would be, but not as tall as Xiu. And it seemed, as she joined Vaughn at his level, that she shrank to a more normal size—though still taller than Vaughn.
He bit his tongue and waited. He had seen what Xiu could do; he had no doubt this creature—goddess, such as it were—could snuff out his life in an instant if she wanted to. Now was probably not the time for quips.
He wondered idly if he would still spawn a bloodbane in this world.
She gripped his chin in one silver-inscribed hand and yanked him to his feet, and then she turned his head from side to side, as if inspecting a prize horse. Then she ran her hands across his chest and down his arms before stepping back and tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Still,” she murmured, “he is a handsome one.”
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled brilliantly, the anger of a few moments ago gone. “What do you wish of me, teotontl?”
He blinked, her sudden shift in attitude leaving him momentarily confused.
“Come,” she said, waving her hand. “Don’t be shy. Ask whatever you desire.”
He stirred. “Very well, my lady. As I said, we’ve come to request your help in gaining an audience with Zily. I mean, Ziloxchanachi.”
She frowned. “Ziloxchanachi? Why in the heavens would you want to see Ziloxchanachi?” She laid a hand on his arm. “You’re mine. He has no servants.”
This talk of belonging to her was starting to wear on him. Had ancient Banebringers really voluntarily visited these beings?
“Not to serve him, my lady,” he said quickly. “We need his help with some problems we’re experiencing in our world. Or at least advice.”
She pursed her lips and stared at him for a moment. “The Great Father sees no one. Not even his own children.” She sniffed. “Enough of this nonsense. What do you truly want from me? Riches? Power? Weapons? I can open my treasury or armory to you, if you wish.”
He blinked once again. Any of those things would come in awfully handy. Perhaps they didn’t need to see Zily. But what was the catch? There had to be a catch.
She trailed a finger down his arm. “Or perhaps you would rather I teach you the delights of the body.”
“Er…I’m pretty good with that already.”
She laughed and pushed him lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, you mortals do amuse me. When I’m done with you, you would be a god of love in your world.” She quirked one eyebrow up and gazed more deeply into his eyes. “I confess, that is what I would have you ask. Your tenure in service to me need not be tedious, after all.”
She ran a finger along his jaw and then stepped in closer to him so that her breasts were right below his eye level. He pressed his lips together, determined not to let her distract him.
“Tenure in service, my lady?” he asked. That needed more clarification.
She dropped her hand, clearly annoyed that her proposal wasn’t having the desired effect. “Yes, of course. Has your kind so soon forgotten our arrangement?”
“It’s been millennia,” he reminded her. “Perhaps you could refresh my memory?”
She sighed heavily and pulled down her collar to scratch at her neck.
When she did so, he noticed a shimmery silver line running h
orizontally around her throat. It wasn’t one of the tattoos; it looked like a scar.
All right. Maybe she had lost her head at some point…
“You give me one year in service, and I give you whatever you ask for when your service is complete. The same offer is open to all of our chosen, should they wish to take us up on it.” She turned to the side and looked out through the glass wall, giving him an unhindered view of her exposed side.
That was deliberate, he thought. Also, there was no way he was going to give her, or any of the gods, a year of “service” for any reward.
Not only did he not have that kind of time, but given what the etchings on the walls displayed, he was beginning to understand what sort of service she meant.
They were nothing but favored pets.
“My lady,” he said firmly, “we wish to see Ziloxchanachi. I have no desire to take you up on that offer at present.”
She turned toward him again, her eyes flashing, and he thought she would strike him. But before he could flinch back, instead, incredibly, she ripped her own head off her body and flung it across the room. “Insubordinate, ungrateful wretch!” her mouth said, though her body still stood, headless, in front of him.
He gaped at the stump of her neck, his stomach queasy, and her headless body moved toward her head to retrieve it. “After all I have already given you,” the head said, and she bent down to pull it up by the hair.
Gods have mercy, he thought. She…can take her head off. He was starting to feel dizzy. Keep it together, Vaughn.
She still held the head in her hand, and the eyes glared at him, as if daring him to mock her headless state.
He swallowed, steeled himself, and tried to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “All you’ve given me? Forgive me, my lady, but all I’ve received is hatred from my friends and family and the inability to lead any sort of normal life.”
She scoffed. “Mortal scum,” she said. “Who cares what they think?” She settled the head back on her neck, twisting it a little as though needing to tighten it down, and pulled the collar back up to hide the scar. Then, she stepped quickly closer to him. “The Great Father is an old dotard,” she said. “He cannot help you.” A calculating look came into her eyes. “I, however, may be able to. I have resources you don’t realize. Allies in your world. I give this aid free, not as part of a contract.”
