by Lani Forbes
“No idea,” Ahkin said, bending lower to inspect them. He lifted their cloaks and examined the bodies. Mayana turned away, unable to stomach it any longer.
“They were injured; I can see broken ribs and hundreds of tiny slashes in what remains of the skin. There are dark stains all over the rocks beneath them. They lost a lot of blood. They were dying and must have taken shelter here. How fortunate.”
“Fortunate? That’s horrible!” She didn’t want to think about what in these caves could have sliced their skin to bits like that.
“Fortunate for us. Not them, obviously.”
Mayana turned back around to face him. “How is this fortunate for us?”
“We aren’t freezing because of the warmth my shield is omitting, but those cloaks will still come in handy.”
Mayana sucked in a breath with a hiss. “You would steal from the dead?”
“Well, they certainly don’t need them. Their spirits must have traveled on after their bodies failed.”
Mayana tried not to think about what would happen to their bodies if they failed at some point during this journey.
“And there are some weapons here, look.” Ahkin pulled out an obsidian blade from one of the skeleton’s belts. It was as long as her hand, with a simple carved wooden handle. The other body held a similar knife. Ahkin handed it to her, and Mayana reluctantly slipped it into her waistband. She didn’t like taking their possessions, but she couldn’t deny that having a real knife would be a blessing.
Ahkin eased their cloaks off, and Mayana tried not to gag at the crunching and snapping sounds the bodies made as Ahkin moved them. She had no idea how long they had been dead, tucked away inside these mountains. She was even more anxious to know how they had gotten those injuries, or how they had ended up in the underworld at all. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for their sacrifice so that she and Ahkin might continue.
“The fabric is thick wool. That should help us to stay warm. We might want to use some of their other clothes to wrap around our feet. I don’t think our sandals are going to be much use in the mountains.” Ahkin draped the heavy, dark-blue cloak across her shoulders. Tiny geometric patterns of yellow and gold embroidered the fabric.
Mayana tied the corner of the cloak into a knot at her shoulder to secure it. It was too big for her, but bigger would be better to wrap herself in. She tried not to notice the decayed smell of it, reminding herself that the warmth would be worth it. Ahkin threw the deep-green cloak with similar embroidery over his own shoulders. His ruined hand fumbled with the corners at his shoulder. Mayana got tired of watching him struggle and tied it for him. His mouth pursed into a thin line of frustration, but his “thank you” sounded gracious enough. His frustration was obviously with himself. She stubbornly ignored the way her hand warmed wherever it brushed his skin.
Mayana ripped the woven fabric of one of the tunic shirts into strips to wrap around their feet. She hadn’t realized how frozen her toes were until they were wrapped in the thick woolen fabric. A sigh of relief escaped her. She tied the strips around Ahkin’s feet too, a muscle in his jaw flickering as he watched her work. His fingers twitched toward her nimbly tied knots, as though they itched to be helping.
“Let’s keep going,” Ahkin said, standing up and testing his traction on the rock. He patted his leg and whistled for Ona to follow.
“Wait.” Mayana took a few tentative steps toward the stripped bodies. Her chest felt full of gratitude at these unknown strangers. They deserved her thanks.
“Mayana, we don’t have time to—”
But she held up a hand to silence him. Ona immediately trotted back to her, eying Ahkin with a mischievous curl to his lip.
She closed her eyes and began chanting a prayer her father had taught her, the prayer to bless those who had recently departed the land of the living. The same prayer she and each of her siblings had chanted over her mother’s earthly body before it was sealed in the royal tomb of Atl. It was a prayer of thanks for what they had been, for what their life had given to those around them. For the loan of their lives from the gods. We do not live for ourselves, her father had said. A life well lived is a life that has been used to bless others. Though she had not known these people when they were alive, their deaths had given her gifts that would help her and Ahkin survive. She would not leave them without showing her respect.
Ahkin worried his lower lip between his teeth, but when she finished, she noticed him bow his head in the direction of the crevice.
A warm sensation crept across her skin, as though a phantom hand of flame had rested against her cheek. She smiled slightly and continued her march into the steadily sloping passageways.
Their breath still rose in clouds of mist before their faces as they climbed. After several more hours, the darkness began to press in, suffocating her with its completeness. She had just begun to wonder if they’d ever escape the caves when they turned onto another sloping cave path. The first thing Mayana noticed was the sound—a violent screaming that sounded as though a thousand spirits were wailing all at once. Ahead of them, pale watery daylight trickled into the darkness. She raised her brows at Ahkin, who stepped closer, his blade held high. The screaming grew louder. Mayana wanted to cover her ears with her hands. Up they climbed until an opening grew larger, the light filling the tunnel enough to see without the shield.
Mayana ran ahead, craving the sight of the Seventh Sun after being trapped beneath the mountain for what felt like days. The light was so close, just through the mouth of the cave, but where there was light, there was an opening . . .
“Mayana, wait!” Ahkin ran to catch up.
Ona barked.
Mayana stopped dead in her tracks. Her arms flailed to catch her balance and she tipped precariously over the steep ledge. Ahkin grabbed her arm and yanked her back so hard that they both tumbled onto the rough stone floor.
Her breath came out as sharp, panicked gasps. She lay sprawled across Ahkin’s body, her hands on his muscled chest. His heart beat painfully hard beneath her palms. She laid her cheek against it, trying to calm her own.
His arms wrapped around her and held her. She didn’t even fight him. Instead, she savored the stability after almost tipping into nothingness. Ona whined with concern from somewhere nearby. The whistling cries of the spirits still made her eardrums throb. As she finally disentangled herself from him, she realized the screaming was not coming from ghosts. It was the sound of a powerful wind whipping up the side of the mountain, rushing across the opening of the cave like the breath of a musician across a reed flute. Tiny specks of white floated in the wind like bits of feathers, too soft to be called rain. It was something she had never seen in person, only heard stories of from merchants and travelers who had dared venture into the mountains of Miquitz and beyond.
“Is that—snow?” she asked, stepping carefully toward the ledge.
“Snow?” Ahkin repeated.
It seemed like such an impossibility, frozen water falling from the sky, like legends of star demons or talking deer.
She peered over the edge, down the steep sloping side of the mountain. Snow covered the ground completely, as though the cliff was coated in white rabbit furs. Far below them the snow blew through winding canyons in a whirlwind of white. The sight brought back memories of the storm princess Itza’s demonstration with flower petals at the beginning of the selection ritual.
Mayana yelped and drew herself back into the cave. For where her face had met the wind, tiny shards of ice pelted her, like bone needles piercing her skin. She lifted a hand to her cheek, expecting to withdraw it and find blood, but her hand was clear.
“Wind that cuts like knives,” she breathed. “The next level of hell indeed.”
Though as sharp as the ice was against her skin, it still didn’t compare to the damage Ahkin’s sharp words had done to her heart.
Chapter
&nb
sp; 14
“My prince?” One of the masked demons spoke in a raspy voice, tilting his head to the side as he considered Ochix. “What are you doing here in the jungles? Your father told the city you fell from the terrace waterfall.”
“Oh, right,” Ochix mumbled in Yemania’s ear. “I like how my father forgot to mention he made me stab myself first.”
“Did you wash up here?” the soldier continued.
Ochix cleared his throat. “Yes, I did. And fortunately, this young woman found me and healed me.”
“Then we will escort you back to Omitl. Your father was most grieved after the accident.”
Yemania heard Ochix snort softly behind her. “I’m sure he was. Fine. I will go back with you. Just let me ensure that this young woman finds her way to—”
But the Miquitz soldiers around them suddenly tensed, pointing spears and obsidian macana swords in her direction.
The closest death demon spoke with contempt as he assessed her head to foot. His painted eyes lingered on her red dress from behind his skull mask. “This woman is Chicome. And a royal healer at that. You mean to release her?”
Ochix tightened his arm around her ever so slightly as he pulled them both back a step. “She saved my life. I intend to repay the debt.”
“You know your father’s orders. We must collect as many as we can before the Nemontemi. If we can add the blood of a royal to the sacrifice . . . can you imagine!” The warrior let his skull-like smile widen as he leered at her. His eyes danced with bloodlust.
Ochix lifted his blade a little higher. “No. This one will not be taken to Omitl for the offering.” His voice thrummed with the power and authority of a prince.
The warriors exchanged nervous glances, but did not lower their weapons.
Yemania whimpered despite her best effort to remain silent. She had narrowly escaped being sacrificed once already, and she wasn’t about to go through that again. Having the blood of the gods had its benefits, but it certainly had its risks as well. Her gaze darted to the trees as she weighed her options. If she ran, they would hunt her down easily. But if she stayed, she would be dragged into the mountains and given to the god of death. She wished for a moment that she was descended from any other god but Ixtlilton, any deity that could give her the power to do something offensive. She could bind their hands with vines like Princess Teniza, turn a flock of birds against them like Zorrah, or whip them into a whirlwind like Itza. Her eyes caught the gleam of the setting sun against the ripples of the river, and her heart lurched with grief. Or even summon waters to drown them like Mayana.
But she couldn’t do anything the other Chicome princesses could do. She could heal. And that was the last thing she needed: to make them even stronger.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled to Ochix. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”
Ochix whispered against her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “Never apologize for being yourself, and like I said before, you have no idea the power you possess, daughter of healing. Now when I say to run, you run, understand? Do not look back. You run until you reach the gates of Millacatl.”
She shivered slightly but nodded.
Before she could ask what he was doing, there was a flash of obsidian. Ochix used his blade to cut the length of his palm and threw his hand out toward the gathered raiders. Yemania watched with horror as their eyes clouded with mist, weapons dropping to the dirt as their hands and mouths went slack.
She turned and looked up at Ochix, his own eyes clouded with mist. His teeth clenched in concentration.
“Go,” he ground out. Every muscle in his body seemed taut with the effort of restraining his companions.
“But what about you?” Yemania asked, tears building behind her eyes. “Come with me.”
But Ochix shook his head and let out a strangled laugh. “I can’t go to Millacatl. I’d end up on one of your sacrificial platforms faster than you could blink.”
“Then run somewhere else. Don’t let them take you back to your father. What if he tries to kill you again?”
One of the warrior’s faces tightened in anger as he let out a roar of frustration, his eyes clearing as he pushed against Ochix’s possession. Ochix gritted his teeth and groaned with the effort of holding him. The warrior’s eyes misted over again.
“I have to hold them, Yemania. To give you time to get back. I can’t hold this many for very long. If I’m taken back to Omitl, so be it. But I have to give you”—he grunted again—“the chance to escape. You saved my life, and now I give you yours.”
It shouldn’t be this way, not when they were just planting seeds that could bloom into something beautiful. Yemania drank in the sight of him—his tall, muscular body, the dark hair waving around his strong-jawed face. He intrigued her and confused her, and yet there was something about him she admired. And here he was risking himself to make sure she could escape.
She looked behind her, down the path that would take her back to Millacatl—back to Metzi and Coatl—torn over leaving him or finding a way to stay. Then her eyes instinctively went to the newly healed skin on his abdomen.
“But your injuries, I still need to—”
“go!” he yelled again. The warriors around her twitched and contorted their faces at the fight raging inside their souls.
Yemania leaned up and kissed him swiftly on the cheek. “Thank you, Ochix. For everything. I pray the Mother allows us to see each other again.” She wiped a single tear from her eye. For a moment, she wondered if she saw one in his as well.
“ ‘Because only for a short while have you loaned us to each other,’ ” Ochix quoted softly. She wasn’t sure she was meant to hear him.
Yemania swore the act of turning her back on him fractured a piece of her heart she would never get back. She would leave it here with him, a shard that could have eventually encompassed her whole heart if they had had the time. Like Mayana’s friendship, some things were too vivid and bright to last for long.
She did not turn around, didn’t watch him battle against holding the spirits of her would-be pursuers. Afraid that her conviction would falter if she did.
So she ran.
The tears flowed freely down her cheeks and her legs burned, but she kept pushing herself. She fell once, then twice, tripping over roots and branches strewn across the jungle floor. But she scrambled to her feet again, refusing to let Ochix’s sacrifice be for nothing.
The forest thinned and transitioned into the rolling foothill farms of Millacatl, but still Yemania did not stop running. She reached the stone gates carved with hieroglyphs, Chicome soldiers positioned at either side.
She threw herself into the arms of the closest soldier, gasping “Miquitz” and “raiders” with each panting breath. The soldier steadied her in his arms. Then he ordered his fellow to notify the palace.
“Are you Princess Yemania of Pahtia?” the older soldier asked, his eyes roving her face, assessing for injury. “We’ve been searching the jungles for you since yesterday!”
“Yes,” Yemania panted, clutching at a stitch in her side. “Yes, I ran into a raiding party from Miquitz. I barely escaped.”
He squeezed her tighter and growled. “Filthy death demons. Don’t be afraid. You are safe now, my lady.”
“What in the nine hells were you thinking, Yem?” Coatl’s temper could rival that of their father if he was pushed far enough. Her disappearance for an entire day and night had done just that.
He picked up a small clay pot of yarrow root and smashed it against the wall of his guest room. The tiny dried buds scattered across the floor mat like ants. Like the walls of Millacatl’s great hall, the walls of this room were one with the rocks, trees and vines, acting as much a part of the structure as the stones. Multicolored tiles inlaid into the stone reflected a rainbow of colors across the dark spaces between the leaves. Coatl kept his distance from
the trees, always afraid of the insects lurking within, as he continued to pace and rant. “You could have been captured, you could have been sacrificed!”
“Oh, now you’re worried about me being sacrificed?” Yemania crossed her arms and turned up her nose. Her nerves were still raw from the events of the day. Where was this concern during the selection ritual?
“I was always worried about you being sacrificed. You think I didn’t care that Father picked you as the tribute to the emperor?” Coatl’s nostrils flared as he stopped pacing to glare at her.
“You seemed a little distracted, wrapping your legs around Ahkin’s sister, to care much about your own.”
“I did what I could to save you. Metzi and I were carrying out our plan to make sure she wasn’t forced to marry the storm prince, and I was making sure that there wouldn’t need to be a selection ritual. Once Ahkin sacrificed himself, you were free, weren’t you?”
“You still killed your best friend,” Yemania snorted. She tried to hide her shock at the realization that part of his plan had been intended to save her.
“To save my sister and the woman I love! What would you do, Yem?”
She ran a hand through her hair. What would she have done? She wasn’t sure, especially with what she knew now about the rituals. Would she have found a way to fight against such an awful tradition? The past was the past and impossible to change. It did no good to dwell there.
“I’m sorry I scared you, Coatl. Believe me, I wasn’t planning on running into anyone from Miquitz.” Yemania closed her eyes at the pain of those words. No, she had not planned on encountering one of Miquitz’s death princes. Nor did she plan on caring for him as much as she did now.
Coatl sat beside her on the bed mat. “Why did you go into the jungles, anyway?” His tone was kinder now, more comforting than accusatory.
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was gathering herbs and fruits. That’s all. I wanted some time to myself. I was sick of watching you and Metzi and how much you seem to love each other. I hate feeling like I don’t matter to anyone.”
