by Lani Forbes
A death demon lecturing her on the importance of love? The value of life? The absurdity of such a thing almost had her in a fit of laughter. Perhaps she would believe such a thing if love were ever a possibility for her. Certainly not from her family, and she doubted she’d ever be able to marry for anything more than convenience. Perhaps that was why the poem always meant so much to her. It reminded her of what love should be, had the possibility of being, if you were lucky enough to find it.
She had felt the love of a friend from Mayana, however brief their friendship had been. But wasn’t that the point of the poem? The gods only loaned them to each other. She took a shuddering breath and said a quick prayer of thanks to the Mother for the gift that Mayana’s friendship had been through such a terrifying time.
Then she thought of Mayana and Ahkin. Though it was far too soon to call it love, the excitement they felt for each other certainly seemed to be heading in that direction. The memory of Mayana’s face when she talked about him was bittersweet. How truly short-lived their romance had been. But maybe that brevity was what made it so much sweeter. Their relationship had been a flash of brilliance, like a falling star from the heavens, before it was extinguished. Just like her friendship with Mayana had been.
Yemania swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. “Yes, I suppose love would make life feel as though it has value if you are lucky enough to find it,” she said quietly, not lifting her eyes to meet Ochix’s. She was afraid that if she did, he’d see the sorrowful longing in her own heart. “You fascinate me as well, death demon. I didn’t know your people held such beliefs.”
“Most of us do, anyway. We are not all one and the same, as your existence among the Chicome so clearly proves.”
Yemania gave a watery chuckle and turned her head so that Ochix could not see her wipe the wetness from her eyes.
“Here.” Ochix hissed in pain as he leaned over and held out another obsidian dagger. “It’s easier to get a spark if you strike two flints together instead of striking the blade against a rock.”
Yemania sniffed and took the offered weapon. “Where were you hiding this? I thought I took all of your weapons.”
“If I made them easy to find, I would be a horrible soldier. But it would be more fun to make you search for them.”
She dubiously eyed the plain black wrap around his waist. The corner of her mouth twitched at his irreverent humor. Then, bending over the fire pit, she struck the two obsidian blades together, over and over above the bark shavings.
Ten minutes later she huffed in frustration, about to throw the stupid knives back in the dirt. They would have to forgo fire, she supposed.
“Keep going. Don’t give up on yourself so easily,” Ochix said. He didn’t offer to take the knives from her or do it himself. His complexion was still tinted with shades of gray, and though he tried to hide it, his breathing was labored. Maybe he was too tired to exert such an effort himself, but Yemania got the sense that it wasn’t his reason. He wanted to give her the chance to do it herself.
A not-unpleasant warmness formed in her chest as she tightened her grip on the daggers’ bone handles. She could start this fire, and she would.
Clack. Clack. Clack. The strike of obsidian against obsidian reverberated through her like the steady drum beat of a worship song. Clack. Clack.
“You’re close,” he said, his tone low and encouraging. They both watched the kindling with tense expectation.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
A spark suddenly jumped from the blades into the scraps of bark. Yemania yelped, so surprised that she had made a spark big enough that she completely forgot to coax the ember into something more. It sputtered before her eyes, and her excitement faded along with it.
“Try again,” Ochix said. “Now you know you can.”
A spark of something like pride now burned inside of her. She might have forgotten to coax the ember on the bark, but perhaps she could coax this ember inside her heart. She set to work again, her hands striking with more and more confidence. Clack. Clack. Clack.
Finally, a wisp of smoke appeared and the end of a scrap of bark glowed with white-orange light. This time, Yemania was ready. She bent down and used her hands to lovingly shelter the fledgling flame. She blew, watching the ember grow brighter. She carefully added another piece of kindling, blowing and watching her labor finally come to fruition. A tongue of orange flame licked up the side of the bark. She added bigger and bigger pieces until the small, hollowed-out pit was filled with life-giving fire.
Sweat drenched her back and dripped into her eyes, but when she leaned back, arms spread wide with success, she knew she had fed the ember inside herself as well. Pride filled her and warmed her, and she sat up a little taller than she had before. She did it! She had made this fire completely on her own.
She turned to Ochix, joy bubbling out of her so much that she couldn’t contain her squeal of excitement. “I did it!”
Ochix gave her a smile unlike any she’d ever received. It was a smile that said, I see you. “Never doubted you could, daughter of healing. Anyone with enough courage to heal a wounded enemy alone in the jungle, enough of a mind to question and discuss life as you do, and enough of a heart to appreciate a poem like that, I knew you’d get that fire made eventually.”
Something wriggled inside her stomach, and Yemania couldn’t decide if she wanted to cry or laugh. She settled for a meek “Thank you” whispered at the ground. “I wish I could catch some fish or something to help you get your strength back. Meat would be so much better than fruit.”
“Don’t change the subject away from your own success so quickly. Enjoy it for a moment.” He winked. “Besides, I can handle the fish.”
Yemania blanched and perched her hands on her hips. “You do not have the strength to go fishing. As your healer, I insist—”
But Ochix rolled his eyes and waved her down. “Keep your dress on, sun worshipper.”
Yemania’s cheeks blazed at his comment, but that wriggling in her stomach started again.
“And how exactly are you going to fish in your state?”
Ochix’s mouth curved into a wickedly teasing smile as he reached for one of the blades she had left in the dirt. His jaw tightened slightly as he moved, the only sign of pain he allowed to show. Yemania’s heart flickered in fear for the briefest of moments, but before he could do anything else with the knife, he sliced a small cut along the edge of his thumb and held it toward the river.
His coal-black gaze, which was already so intense they made Yemania’s toes curl, focused on the churning current. A ghostly mist seemed to cloud over his eyes.
Her flicker of fear solidified into something closer to terror as two fish leapt from the eddies and threw themselves onto the shore. The fish did not flop and fight as she expected them to. Instead, they lay obediently on the muddy bank, their mouths gaping in suffocation.
Their eyes were clouded with the same misty sheen that shone in Ochix’s. Ghostly. Otherworldly.
Yemania had heard only rumors of that power, a power that grabbed hold of a creature’s life force and bent it to the will of the wielder. It was the power contained in the blood of the descendants of Cizin, god of death. There were horror stories of death priests in Miquitz using their gift to control sacrifice victims, causing people to walk themselves right into the pit of the underworld. Or stab themselves in the heart. For Ochix to use such an ability could mean only one thing . . .
Ochix was not just a soldier of Miquitz.
He was a prince.
Chapter
11
Ahkin knew he’d gone too far the moment the words escaped his mouth. He didn’t even believe those horrible things he had said, that he should have chosen Teniza instead of Mayana. That she was a lying heretic. That everything was her fault.
It was the furthest thing from the truth, and he knew it. He was in pai
n and he’d lashed out at the one person who didn’t deserve it. This was all his fault. Everything. He never saw Metzi’s plan, fell right into her trap. He let his own insecurities lead him to plunge that knife into his own stomach. It was his fault they ended up in the underworld.
Mayana never told him about her aversion for the rituals, but how could she have, with her life depending on his opinion of her? No princess in her right mind would have willingly told him something so damning. She tried to keep her true self hidden—until she couldn’t any longer. Then she had been brave enough to stand up for what she believed in. When he was challenged, he hadn’t had that much faith in himself. He was so ready to believe that his blood wasn’t enough to keep the sun fed in its journey across the sky. That he wasn’t enough. That his self-sacrifice was necessary to save his people.
He still wasn’t enough. Strong enough. Clever enough. All the things a legendary emperor was supposed to be. What his father had been. He looked down at his hand, his lip curling in disgust. The one area where he had actually felt confidence—and now he couldn’t even fight anymore. How was he supposed to defend his people from the Miquitz if he couldn’t even hold a weapon? The truth was as cold and decisive as the edge of a blade. He couldn’t save anyone.
He stretched out his fingers the best he could, but lightning bolts of pain shot down the tendons. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the wounds to muscle and bone could not be fixed by Ona. He needed a healer. But by the time they got to a healer, the scar tissue and damage might already be done. Would there be anything left to fix?
He couldn’t entertain the thought right now. Not if he wanted to find the strength to continue. To follow Mayana into the depths of this cave.
He pulled himself to his feet using his good hand. The cave’s roof stretched high above his head. At least, he assumed it did. He actually couldn’t see it. The walls seemed to reach up into gaping nothingness, like the maw of a beast waiting to swallow him. The wide passageway wound into the mountain itself, and if they wandered too far away from the cave’s opening, darkness would envelop them entirely.
Mayana must have realized this too, because when he cleared the first bend, he found her waiting for him, half turned away and arms crossed tightly across her chest. The look in her eyes cut him deeper than a macana sword. Ona stood beside her with his hackles raised, growls echoing off the stone. He certainly hadn’t earned any favor with the dog.
“You’ll need to summon light for us to continue.” Her tone was as cold as her eyes.
Ahkin rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand.
“I don’t know how far I can bend the light into the caves. I could try starting a fire. Can we find something to use as a torch?” His eyes swept the floor of the cave for any scrap of wood.
Mayana, however, narrowed her eyes at his shield. “I wonder . . .” She stepped toward him and inspected the sun carved into the golden metal surface. The back of it was made of wood, but surely she didn’t expect him to burn the shield.
“Cut your finger,” she commanded.
Ahkin stiffened, feeling defensive. “Why?”
Mayana made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. “I want to see something.”
Ahkin debated whether or not it was worth it to argue, but his curiosity got the better of him. He used his obsidian shard and pricked the finger of his ruined hand, not wanting to damage the only good one he had left. “Now what?”
Mayana fingered the jade skull pendant around her neck. “The Mother goddess gave me this necklace. I didn’t understand why at first, but it’s the amulet Atlacoya used to capture the flood waters that destroyed the first sun. I can summon the waters with my divine blood. Your shield is the Shield of Huitzilopochtli. I’m wondering if you can summon the light of the sun with it.”
Ahkin’s eyes went wide at the possibility. Holding his hand over the carved, golden sun, Ahkin called the light to him, urging it to obey his will. Almost immediately, the image of the sun began to glow, surrounding them in brilliant sunlight and illuminating the passageway. A little surge of pride swelled through him at the thought that his light would allow them to keep moving. Finally, he could contribute something of worth.
Mayana shielded her eyes. “I’d say it works. Can you dim it a bit?”
Ahkin obliged, willing the bright light to fade to a glow just bright enough to let them see the path ahead.
“Let’s keep going.” Mayana turned away from him without another word and marched forward.
Ahkin reached for her arm. She yanked it away.
“Mayana . . .” he pleaded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”
At first she said nothing. He wondered if he should repeat himself, but then she finally found her voice.
“And why wouldn’t you? If that’s how you truly feel, then by all means express it. Better than letting those thoughts fester inside you.”
“I don’t actually think those things.”
“Don’t you, though? From the moment we ended up on that beach, you’ve fought me every time I tried to do something to help. You think you know so much better than me, Ahkin. Your arrogance astounds me.”
That word felt bitter on his tongue. Arrogant? How could he be arrogant when he was so insecure? When every waking second, he worried about how he was never enough? “No, I don’t think I know what’s better than you do. I just think more logically and—”
“Arrogance!” Mayana turned back to face him and stomped her foot. “You are so convinced that because I feel things, because I actually have a heart, that it is somehow inferior to your logic. Do you know how I’ve learned the truth, Ahkin? Through following my heart and not only listening to my head. The rituals are a creation of man, not the gods. My heart knew the truth all along, and I let my family, people like you, constantly tell me how wrong I was. You all tried to control what I thought and felt, to drown me with duty and rules and ‘knowledge.’ But guess who was right in the end? So don’t you dare pretend that your way is better than mine.”
The silence that hung between them was dry and crackling. It felt like tinder ready to catch—the right words would ignite the tension between them. Ahkin blew through his nose in heavy bursts, his good hand curling into a fist at his side. She had no idea. No idea the burden he carried on his shoulders, the pressure he felt to make sure everything and everyone in the empire was safe. He was a soldier. This is how he had been trained from the time he was little. Assess all possible scenarios. Study and know your enemy. The more you know, the more prepared you will be. On the battlefield, there is no place for feeling anything. Those who did were the first to fall, the fellow soldiers who didn’t make it home. That was why he loved to study the stars as he did, because the gods communicated through the signs in the heavens. The more you knew, if you could know what to expect . . . it gave you a greater chance of success. Of survival.
“Making decisions based off emotions never ends well. To blindly run into something without a well-thought-out strategy—”
Mayana stuck out her hip. “And how well has that worked out for you so far, Your Highness? Did you plan to end up trapped in the underworld?”
Ahkin’s face flared with heat, and he stumbled over his tongue for a response.
“Arrogance,” Mayana repeated, resuming her trek into the darkness. “You think you can control the outcome of something simply by thinking it through. But someday, Ahkin, you are going to realize you don’t have a shred of the control you think you do. And when that day comes, you will be a terrified little boy with no idea which way to turn. All the people who tried to help you, that you shrugged off because you thought you knew better, will be gone.”
Ahkin tried to open his mouth to argue, but Ona growled. He took a step back, fearing the beast might lunge at him. He lifted his hands in surrender and settled to seethe in silence. Let her think what she wanted.
She had no idea that inside his heart, he was a frightened little boy. All the time. It’s why he tried so hard to make up for it.
Her words stirred something deep within him. He fought back against the beast that slowly roused to wakefulness, knowing that if it did, it would devour him whole. It would make him have to face the truth.
If he had followed his heart that fateful morning, he would have ripped the dagger out of his mother’s hand. He would have told her to forget the rituals that demanded she take her life simply because her husband had died. She would still be alive. Instead, he did as he was always taught. Turn off all emotions, turn off all thought. Trust. Trust in the rituals. Trust in what he knew as opposed to how he felt.
And then the Mother goddess told them on the beach that the rituals were not what the gods demanded. They didn’t want to be honored with more suffering and death, but to be honored and worshiped with love and life. Ahkin hadn’t wanted to face the truth of that, either—that his mother’s death hadn’t been necessary. The rituals had been his security. His way to avoid the unpleasantness of what he was feeling and do what he knew he had to. Life was a lot safer when the heart had no place in it.
And then he thought of Metzi. His sister. His twin. His blazing anger dimmed slightly. How miserable had she been when she was betrothed to the storm prince of Ehecatl? How intensely had her heart raged against their father’s decision, a decision made out of duty and logic? It was the right political move to secure the loyalty of the rebellious city-state. He had sensed it in her every time her marriage was discussed—the anger, the bitterness. He himself had lectured her over and over about the importance of following through with her duty, no matter how she felt. He essentially told her to divorce her own heart. Did that create the very monster he now faced? A sister willing to trick her own brother into killing himself so that she could take her life back? If he had listened to her heart from the beginning, would he have ended up in Xibalba?
He didn’t know what to think anymore. He didn’t know what to feel. If he acknowledged the truth of what Mayana said, he would have to admit that he had no control over anything.
