by Lani Forbes
And perhaps that was the most terrifying thought of all.
They wandered the caves for several hours, steadily climbing upward through the mountain. The temperature started to drop the farther they went, and soon their breath rose in clouds before their faces. They were fortunate to have the shield. Without it, they would be wandering the caves in total darkness, feeling their way hopelessly forward. He wasn’t sure how common men could make it through such a test. No torch would last this long.
Spirits, and hopefully nothing worse, seemed to hover just outside of their bubble of light, waiting for the moment the light would be extinguished. Dark spirits feared the light, which was why the Chicome Empire imposed a strict curfew. No one ever went out after dark. Ahkin couldn’t see anything, but every so often a flicker of something in the corner of his vision would make him jump. For extra protection, Ahkin bent the light around them as well, hiding them from the view of watching eyes. His instinct told him something lurked inside these caves. He had no desire for whatever it was to find them.
Mayana had stopped speaking to him again, but it was probably for the best. He was too jumbled in his own thoughts to try to say anything back. He’d probably make her angrier if he tried. She stayed close, though, if only for the heat and light provided by the shield.
They eventually stopped for a meal of maize kernels and water from the amulet of Atlacoya, not acknowledging each other beyond what was necessary. Mayana went around a corner for a few minutes of privacy, so he bent the light of the shield toward where she had wandered so that she wouldn’t get lost. Ahkin realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that even if they did both survive this journey, they probably wouldn’t end up married after all. They were too different. Opposite dualities that couldn’t find harmony. He stared down at his mutilated hand. She wouldn’t even want to be married to someone that couldn’t protect her. He solidified his plan to be the one to die if necessary. The beast inside his chest stirred again, and he ordered it back to sleep. He didn’t want to feel anything right now. He couldn’t. He blinked back the burning that started behind his eyes.
But that was when Mayana screamed.
Chapter
12
Ochix was a prince of Miquitz. A descendant of the god of death. He was the antithesis of everything Yemania stood for. Death and decay, compared to life and healing. His power craved to control and destroy, while hers craved to free and rebuild.
Ochix gently got to his feet and collected the fish he had summoned using his ability to possess their life force. Yemania shrank back. Using such a power to ensure they had lunch was one thing, but that power could easily take over her soul—and force her to slice her own throat, if he chose.
He offered the fish to her, a half smile forming on his lips. But when he saw the look on her face, the smile faded.
“I’m sorry, but I’m sure you are as hungry as I am, and this really was the quickest way.”
“You’re . . . you’re a royal. A prince of Miquitz,” Yemania breathed, not taking the fish.
Ochix grimaced. “I guess there’s no point denying it.”
Yemania spread out her hands to him. “What are you doing here? Alone? Who stabbed you? Why don’t you want to go back?”
Ochix set the fish down and settled back onto the ground with his legs crossed. He rubbed his hands together and looked away from her as though he was nervous to explain. “I confronted my father on . . . on . . . something I didn’t agree with him on. He’s the head priest of Miquitz. The Father of Skulls. And you don’t really . . . challenge him. Or get in the way of his plans. He has this nasty habit of killing anyone who disagrees with him, which I imagine does not help us lose our ‘death demon’ description.” He smirked, but Yemania didn’t think it was remotely funny.
“Anyway, I confronted him, and he possessed me and . . . well, made me stab myself. I remember falling backward into the waterfall that flows behind our temple. I can’t remember anything past that.”
Yemania was silent for several heartbeats. “You stabbed yourself,” she repeated, her tone flat.
Ochix rolled his eyes. “Not by my own choice, I assure you.”
“Your father killed his own son?”
“Tried to kill,” Ochix corrected. “I obviously survived, thanks to you. But I am stronger than I look.”
Yemania let her gaze rove over the defined planes of his bare chest beneath the bone necklace, the thick bands of muscle that coated his arms. If he was stronger than he looked, then holy gods above.
“Well, my father tried to have me killed too, so I can relate.”
Ochix’s lips pressed so tightly she thought his mouth might disappear altogether. “Your father tried to have you killed?” His tone barely masked his disgust. “Why?”
“Not by his own hand.” Yemania shrugged. “When our emperor selects his wife, each of the city-states sends a daughter of godly descent to the capital for him to choose from. The daughters that aren’t chosen . . . well, their blood blesses the marriage to the daughter he picks and brings the favor of the gods upon his reign.”
“And you were sent as your city’s hope to be chosen?”
Yemania laughed bitterly. “No, I was not their hope. I was their chosen sacrifice. My father didn’t even tell me it was a selection ritual, that I had a chance of being named empress. He told me he was sending me as a sacrifice and that was that. I am nothing like the rest of my family. I never looked like my siblings, the epitome of fitness and health. I was more shy than outgoing. My mother couldn’t look at me without curling her lip in disgust. He chose me because I was the easiest to . . . the one he was most willing to . . . lose.” Her voice broke at the end. She absently ran a hand across her middle, her mother’s continual criticisms, suggestions of foods to eat or exercises to try stinging in the back of her mind.
Ochix closed his eyes as though he were in pain.
Yemania immediately leapt into action. “Are you all right? Is the pain getting worse? I can get you some—”
Ochix gave her an amused look. “My pain is for you, Yemania. It’s not my injuries.”
Yemania’s brows pulled together in confusion. “For me? Why would you hurt for me?”
“Do you really think so little of yourself?”
She frowned, but didn’t want to answer the question. “Wouldn’t your people say I should be honored to die in such a manner?” she countered.
“True, but I’d rather you not die before getting to experience what makes life so worth living.”
The memory of the poem he recited, about love being the reason for living, made her pulse flutter.
“Well, I never got much of that from my family, so—”
“You can find love in many places, trust me,” he said with a wink.
Yemania imagined that being a prince would let him find “love” in a variety of places. She didn’t even want to know how many girls he had trapped with those burning looks of his.
“I would like to think that love is more than that,” she said, absently adjusting her dress to make sure it covered her full chest. Her cheeks blazed.
Ochix chuckled and skewered the fish on a stick to start preparing their meal. “Yes, love is much more than that.”
“Have you ever been in love?” she asked, but immediately regretted such a forward question. What was she thinking, asking this enemy prince something so personal after having just met him? Even if it did surprise her how easy it seemed to talk with him, how comfortable she felt in his presence . . .
“Now that is finally an interesting question. Much better than ‘What’s your favorite food?’ ” he teased.
She narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t going to answer, are you?”
“I said it was an interesting question, not that I would answer it.”
Yemania felt the urge to slap him. “You’re infuriating.
”
“Obviously my father thought so too.” He smiled playfully and pointed to the newly healed skin on his abdomen. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have made me stab myself.”
Yemania rolled her eyes. “Would such a death have gotten you into a paradise? Someone forcing you to take your own life against your will?”
“Well, luckily, thanks to you I didn’t have to find out.” He saluted her with the roasted fish and then ripped off a bite with his teeth.
Yemania smiled despite herself and fiddled with the hem of her dress. A howler monkey screeched somewhere in the distance, surrounding them with his echoing call. It reminded her that they were still sitting in the middle of the jungle. “Are you going back to Miquitz?”
Ochix chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before answering. “I wasn’t planning on it, but to be honest, I haven’t given it much thought. I didn’t have time to map out a plan while I was bleeding and plummeting down the waterfall.”
Yemania laughed harder than she’d let herself before, and Ochix beamed a smile.
She finally gave in and ate some of the fish, even if she didn’t approve of the way he had caught them. She was incredibly hungry.
The Seventh Sun made its way across the brilliantly blue sky, and they continued to talk, hours slipping by, the conversation flowing as easily as the river during the rainy season. They discussed their religious practices, differences in the daily life of their respective empires, their dreams for the future.
Yemania told him about Pahtia, the jungle paradise filled with white stone temples and blooming with every kind of herb and flower imaginable. How their royal family mostly traveled to the other city-states to protect and heal the royal families descended from the different gods. How the blood of the Chicome royal families was essential for the ritual sacrifices they made to ensure continued protection from the various natural disasters that had destroyed their world in the past. Pahtia’s sacrifices protected them from plague.
Ochix described Miquitz’s capital of Omitl, a city built of stone and set high on the jagged ranges of the Miquitz Mountains. Precarious rope bridges spanned the gaps between the pointed peaks, dangling over canyons that never cleared of mist. They grew their food in terraced gardens and kept herds of alpacas and goats on the steep mountain slopes. A cave in the center of the city, the entrance protected by a temple and amphitheater built around it, led into Xibalba itself. Their legends said that at times when Cizin’s realm was underpopulated, he would emerge from the underworld to harvest more souls. This was only possible when the layers of creation were unstable, like during the Nemontemi or a solar eclipse. Cizin supposedly hadn’t appeared for more than a hundred years, but the Miquitz always had a selection of the finest sacrifices available, ready to appease his lust for souls. This would ensure he spared the city from total destruction should he ever choose to emerge again.
Yemania sat with her mouth open in wonder and horror at all he described. She couldn’t stop herself from asking question after question. He drank in all she described too, his eyes wide with amazement.
She hadn’t noticed that they had slowly scooted closer to each other the longer they talked, until they were sitting so close, she could reach out and touch him.
And part of her wanted to. Desperately. It felt so long since she had talked to someone without feeling like she was a burden, or that they had something more important to be doing. Mayana had been the only one since—well, since her aunt had left for the sea to serve the royal family of Ehecatl. Her heart had broken at losing such a caring mother figure. Coatl was always kind to her to a point, but then he left home to train in the capital, obviously caring more about himself than he cared about her. Yemania had seen only fifteen cycles of the calendar stone when he left. The gods above knew how cold and judgmental her mother was, not a shred of compassion to be found anywhere in her perfectly fit body, especially for a daughter who was never able to keep the shape her mother valued.
She told Ochix about her Aunt Temoa. How she had trained Yemania in the healing gifts offered by the earth itself, ways to heal commoners on whom they weren’t allowed to use their divine blood. Yemania had memorized all of her aunt’s recipes and remedies and had even started trying some of her own combinations.
“You are not allowed to use your healing gifts for those with common blood, yet you still try to find ways to help them?” Ochix said, his features crumpling in puzzlement.
Yemania explained how her instinct to heal was not limited to helping descendants of the gods. That the gods created all of humanity, and therefore, all had inherent worth and dignity. She shared her dream of someday creating a booth in her city’s marketplace to offer free remedies and medicines for those who needed it most.
“Your face lights up when you talk about healing,” he said, those eyes burning right to the core of her. “It’s beautiful.”
Her stomach didn’t just wriggle that time, it felt as though it turned itself completely inside out.
“Ochix, I know this probably sounds crazy, but—”
Ochix suddenly went as still as a predator. He held up a hand to silence her. Yemania clamped her hands over her mouth and inched herself closer to him.
To her surprise, Ochix wrapped a protective arm around her and pulled her against his chest, a knife in his hand pointed at the jungle’s underbrush.
“Shh . . .” he whispered in her ear. His eyes darted back and forth, assessing for the danger he obviously sensed was approaching.
Yemania tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. The sun above was tipping into sunset, the sky turning orange and gold. Had they really spent the whole day talking to each other? Her brother would be frantic—at least when he wasn’t distracted in Metzi’s arms.
Panic clenched her heart at the thought of Millacatl’s soldiers finding her here with Ochix. She imagined him tied to the platform used for gladiatorial sacrifices, saw his blood spilling into the sand, the intense fire that burned within his eyes snuffed and empty. She clenched her own eyes shut to dispel the image. No, she would not let that happen. Not if she had any choice in the matter.
But it was not soldiers from Millacatl that slinked out from between the trees and shrubs into their riverside clearing. These soldiers wore black costumes with vibrant splashes of pink, red, yellow, and blue. Some wore masks made from human skulls, while others pulled bows notched with arrows made of human arm bones. Some wore white paint across their eyes like Ochix, contrasting starkly with their black attire and tanned skin. Jewelry of bones or fangs dangled from some of their ears and clattered around their necks.
No, these soldiers were not from Millacatl.
They were a raiding party from Miquitz.
Chapter
13
Mayana needed to get away from Ahkin. His very presence was like wet sand rubbing into her raw skin. What was the Mother goddess thinking, sending them on a journey like this? Why hadn’t she taken them home? She had the power. Instead she was making Mayana suffer through challenge after challenge, all with an arrogant prince she longed to punch in the teeth.
Lying heretic. I should have chosen Teniza.
The words echoed in her head, painfully loud each time she thought of them, but then fading to throbbing pulses. Stupid, arrogant, son of a sun god . . .
It wasn’t like picking someone else would have made a difference anyway. He would have chosen to sacrifice himself regardless of which princess he took. They both knew that. He had only said those things to drive a barb into her heart, to tear her down. But why? What was going on inside that thick head of his? Was he really so afraid to let her in? To trust another person to lift some of the burden of responsibility off his shoulders? Perhaps if he could make himself think she couldn’t handle the responsibility, then he wouldn’t have to.
It all came back to control for him. Controlling the fate of the world through deciphering the stars o
r following the rituals. If he couldn’t let go of his control, it would destroy him.
She stomped through the darkness, slightly surprised that the light followed her as far as it did. Maybe Ahkin was shining the shield more brightly than he realized. She found a private corner to see to her needs. As she made her way back, a glimmer of light caught her eye. The light radiating from Ahkin’s shield illuminated some of the darker crevices of the cave, and it was within one of those crevices that a twinkling light shone. Mayana rubbed her arm nervously, but she stepped closer to peer inside.
And she screamed.
The glimmer had been a reflection off a golden necklace—a golden necklace hanging around the neck of a decaying corpse.
Mayana jumped back and screamed again as Ahkin and Ona scrambled toward her. When Ahkin rounded the corner, the obsidian shard was already in his uninjured hand, waiting and ready to meet any threat. Ona, hackles raised, scanned the empty cave.
Ahkin’s eyes roved over her. His brow creased in confusion. “What happened?”
Mayana pointed a shaking finger toward the dark crevice. Ahkin lifted his shield to project the light inside.
Two shriveled corpses sat huddled inside the small opening. Sagging, long-dead skin barely clung to their frames beneath dust-covered cloaks. What was left of their dark hair had become thin and brittle. Tiny worms wriggled in several places, scavenging what remains they could. One of the figures had a plated golden necklace hanging over a collapsed chest, the item that had caught the light and drawn Mayana’s attention. The skeletons’ hands appeared to be clenched together, as if they had died holding on to one another.
Mayana swallowed hard at the sight of their entwined fingers. “Who—who were they?”
Ona slowly padded forward and sniffed tentatively. The dog snorted in disgust before shaking his head and taking a seat beside her, ever the alert guard.
