Birthright (The Stone Legacy Series Book 5)

by Theresa Dalayne

  When they reached the top, Arwan leaned on one of the arched entrances, the stone cool and textured beneath his skin.

  “Do we go inside?” Zanya asked between heavy breaths. Her normally flushed cheeks were drained of color, only accentuating the shadows that had formed under her eyes.

  “I know you’re exhausted, but we need light. Do you think you can provide some?”

  “I don’t know. I’m done in.” She unclasped the pouch on her wrist and slipped out her stone. “But we can ask for a little help.”

  “Good enough.”

  She must have noticed the quiet hesitation in his voice. “Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.” She set her fingers over her stone. “Some light, please.” It gleamed, and she looked up at him. “After you.”

  Arwan turned and faced the dark void. The glyphs could tell him anything, and he’d have to be willing to accept the truth—whatever that may be.

  He stepped inside, followed by Zanya, who held the stone in front of her. It filled the room with a soft, white light.

  He skimmed his fingers along the etchings in the large tablets, snapping fragile cobwebs and coating his hands in dust. The stories this temple held were thousands of years old, passed down by the elders of his people.

  “My mother once told me the name of this temple means House of the Nine Sharpened Spears.” His voice echoed in the space, bouncing off the stone walls. It had been many years since he'd read the language of the Maya, and even longer since he'd spoken it aloud.

  “Can you understand any of this?” Zanya paused and held the stone closer to the wall, examining the markings.

  Thankfully, the skill of reading his language hadn’t faded completely. He peered at the symbols, one after the other, sounding out the words in his head before translating to Zanya. “This speaks of the creation of the middleworld. It says, ‘Here is the story of the beginning, when there was not a single bird, nor a single fish, or a single mountain. There is only sky. It is lonely. There is the sea. It too is alone. There is nothing more. No sound, no movement. Only the sky and the sea, lonely and silent. The three, known collectively as Heart-of-Sky, existed. And these are their names: Modeler, Star, and Hurricane.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The gods of Tamoanchan—the heaven gods. The creation gods.” He continued reading. “Then Heart-of-Sky says, ‘Who is there to speak our name? How shall I create the dawn?’ Heart-of-Sky only speaks the word, ‘Earth,’ and the earth rises, like a fog from the sea. They simply think of it, and it appears. They ponder on mountains, and they come. They ponder on trees, and they come as well, sprouting from the land. And so Heart-of-Sky says, ‘Our work is good.’ Then they paint creatures in the forest—deer, birds, snakes, and such. And each is given a home. But Heart-of-Sky is not satisfied. The creatures cannot pray or speak their name, so Heart-of-Sky tries again. They form a new creation with the ability to respect and give praise. Their new creation is made of mud and earth. It was pleasing to the eye, and it reproduced. So Heart-of-Sky allowed them to live and flourish on earth.’” He moved to the next column of glyphs. “‘When Heart-of-Sky was pleased, they allowed their creation to populate the middleworld. But there was a flaw in their design. Mankind had the hearts of lions and were capable of love, but their flesh was weak. They perish from injury. They perish from famine. They perish from disease. Middleworld gods, those deemed to guard earth, pleaded with Heart-of-Sky to grant mankind a defense. They recognized the dark realm envied them, desiring the middleworld for themselves. Out of pity for mankind, Heart-of-Sky created a…” He smirked and looked at Zanya. “You’ll like this part.” Zanya leaned in closer, waiting silently for him to continue. “‘Heart-of-Sky created a stone, and in it poured the blood from Heart-of-Sky, giving it life and power.’”

  Zanya’s stone pulsed with light, as if it knew he was reading about it. Perhaps it did.

  “What next?” Zanya’s eyes widened like a child.

  “Heart-of-Sky delivered the stone to a keeper, who was tasked with guarding it. Though man was stronger in brute strength, Heart-of-Sky agreed woman would be the guardian. Her passion, love, and fierce protectiveness far outweighed man, making her superior.”

  “Well, look at that.” Zanya rocked back on her heels with her chest puffed out. “It says it right there. Women are superior.”

  “Who am I to argue with Heart-of-Sky?”

  She glared playfully at him. “Smooth.”

  He winked and took her hand. “Come on. We have to go to the central tablet. There’s more.” Once in front of the new slab of glyphs, he examined the symbol of a star etched at the top. “‘While Modeler and Hurricane admired their creation, Star’s soul was stricken with grief. Rather than linger in a haze of glory, she saw the truth. Mankind was doomed. Even with their blood in the stone, and a guardian to harness its power, it was not enough. Star watched for generations. Dark forces from the underworld grew in strength, striking at their fragile creation. Man’s delicate nature could not be changed. Even with the guardian…’” Arwan touched the next column of glyphs. “There had to be more.”

  “More?”

  “This section is titled something different—it’s written differently too.” He tilted his head examining it. “A premonition…”

  “From the creation gods?”

  He nodded. “Exactly. A premonition of the future. ‘Star showed Modeler and Hurricane, whose pride was too great to agree. Star’s heart bled. Guilt consumed her. She pleaded with Modeler and Hurricane to grant her release and allow her to protect man in the middleworld. They agreed, but with one condition—her reign as Star in Heart-of-Sky would be complete. She would be stripped of her crown. She would become mortal.’”

  “Whoa. Talk about generous,” Zanya said. “That’s a big sacrifice in the name of being noble.”

  He stepped back. “I don’t understand how any of this can help.” He dropped his gaze. “Maybe she was giving me false hope.”

  “There’s one more tablet.” She nudged him playfully. “Come on.” She took his hand and pulled him aside. “We came all this way. We can’t stop now.”

  He followed, and lingered in front of the final tablet before he continued reading. “‘Star conceded to their condition. Her crown was torn from her head. She fell from the heavens, landing in the sea. Many days she lived hungry, cold, and afraid.’”

  “A good deed never goes unpunished,” Zanya mumbled. When he looked at her, she bit her lip. “Sorry. Keep going.”

  “‘But Star was clever. There was a quality to being mortal she did not have as part of Heart-of-Sky. Now, as woman, she could become…’” Arwan tilted his head. “‘Pregnant.’” The word slipped from his lips as the heat in his body spiked. “My gods,” he whispered. He continued reading. “‘Star walked day and night to a dark corner of the earth. There she found Yaxche, and journeyed to the underworld.’”

  “So she gave up her place as a creation goddess, all to be cold and hungry, and then go down to hell? For what? And how, if she wasn’t underworld herself?”

  “She must have had help…”

  “Help?” Zanya paused. “But…why?”

  The darkness inside of him clawed at his chest, reminding him who he was. Though his legs began to feel weak, he forced himself to read on. “‘The king of the underworld gazed upon Star’s beauty. She…’” He blinked, his voice quivering as he read on. “‘She seduced him and…lay with him.’” He swallowed the sick heat collecting under his tongue. “‘She gave her body to the king, and in that union…became pregnant.’” A single tear streaked down his face. “‘The child was born under a full moon, unaware his creation was a union of heaven and hell. The son…’” He gulped in a breath. His legs quivered. “‘The son of both Star and beast, a bloodline of royalty weaving together two realms, uniting powers of good and evil.’”

  With a rush of nausea, he turned and dropped to his knees, then vomited on the stone floor.

  “Arwan!” Zanya knel
t beside him, her hands set on his back. “My god. You’re shaking.”

  “This can’t be—” The beast inside plowed into his heart, forcing him to collapse onto the cold ground. Heat drained from his face and the tips of his fingers chilled. Sweat slicked his skin.

  “What’s wrong?” She ran her hands over his body. “I can’t sense anything.”

  He couldn’t find the breath to respond.

  “Come on, sit up. You have to sit up.” She hooked her arms around him and hauled him upright, propping his back against the wall. She knelt in front of him, panic streaking her features. “I can heal you if you just tell me what’s wrong. I don’t know how to sense illnesses yet. I…” She cupped his face in her hands and searched his eyes. “Please.”

  He blinked, streaking a tear down his cheek. “Don’t you see? How can you not see?”

  “See what?” She ran her hands around his ribs as if searching for a wound. “I don’t see anything.”

  He seized her hand, holding it tight. Too tight. “I am that boy.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Zanya

  “‘That boy?’” Zanya sat back on the cold stone floor. “As in, you’re the son of Star and the underworld king? Like, some kind of half—” She choked on the word, and then parted her lips. “Oh my…” That must have been what Cualli had meant. He was special. A miracle, even.

  And Cualli knew the whole time.

  Her stone buzzed wildly against her skin, sending her into full-on alarm. She tightened her jaw and turned, searching the open entrance of the ruin. They were being watched. Whether it was Cualli and Balam, or Contessa doing the watching, she couldn’t be sure.

  “Come on.” She draped Arwan’s arm over her neck and held him against her hip. “You need to get up. We have to go home.”

  Arwan didn’t move.

  She pursed her lips. “Arwan. Come on.” Her stone buzzed louder, making her heart race. “Something’s wrong. Someone’s here. We have to go.”

  “What?” He dragged his gaze to her face with a blank stare, as if he hadn’t heard anything she’d said.

  If they were going to get out of there without risking a toe-to-toe confrontation, she had to snap him out of it. “Sorry about this.” She rubbed her fingers together, building an electrical current over her skin. Energy buzzed over her fingertips, and she thwacked him on the ribs.

  He gasped and his muscles stiffened. She secured her arm around him to make sure he didn’t fall. He flinched, and the emptiness in his eyes vanished.

  He blinked and looked at her—really looked at her. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Now come on.” She ground her teeth and pushed with her legs, hauling him to his feet. He slumped against her at first, but gradually gained his own footing until he stood without her help. “I don’t know who it is or how close they are, but my stone is totally freaking out. We have to—”

  Soft, padded steps silently carried Balam into the ruin.

  Zanya let out a heavy breath. “Oh, thank God.” She pushed strands of hair away from her face. Though she was happy to see him, she couldn’t find it in herself to smile. If Cualli knew about Arwan’s heritage, Balam most certainly knew as well, and that meant both of them had kept it from her.

  Though…as a cat, it was impossible for him to say so. She rolled her eyes. Okay, he had a good enough excuse.

  The goddess, on the other hand…

  Zanya glanced at the empty entrance. “Where’s Cualli?”

  Balam paused and peered at her with those familiar yellow eyes. Zanya stilled. “Is something wrong?”

  The jaguar god quickly slunk out of the ruin. She looked at Arwan. “I have a feeling we should follow him.”

  “I think so.”

  Zanya traced Balam’s path out of the temple and down hundreds of narrow steps, where the jaguar waited. Once they’d caught up, Balam continued down the path of destruction made by Zanya’s storm.

  She and Arwan exchanged a skeptical glance before pushing forward. Balam’s tail swished and twitched, and every few yards he paused and shook off his paws, flicking mud and murky water into the air.

  Finally, they rounded a curve in the path. Zanya slowed to a stop at the sight of Cualli in the distance.

  The goddess’s porcelain skin shimmered in the sun as she knelt on the churned soil, hunched over a tangled mess of uprooted plants. The tips of her golden strands skimmed over the ground, sprouting new, green ferns still in tiny spiraled balls.

  Cualli reached out and touched the tattered leaf of a jungle palm. It fell off the plant into her hand. The goddess allowed it to slip through her fingers to the ground.

  Cualli’s statuesque figure stilled while she stared at the fallen leaf.

  Zanya wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of anything that would make it right. Under the circumstances, they needed a quick path to the temple, but now, seeing the goddess mourn over the very plants and flowers she was destined to protect, Zanya would have gladly hiked days to avoid the destruction she’d caused.

  Balam stalked around Cualli and sat in front of her. The goddess turned, set her gaze on Zanya, and frowned. When she stood, Zanya took a cautious step back.

  “What have you done to my jungle?” Her normally euphoric voice seemed sharp and dangerous.

  “I’m so, so sorry.” Zanya bit her bottom lip, searching for something more to say. “We had to get to the Temple of Inscriptions, and—”

  “You found it necessary to destroy my jungle to find your way there?” She extended her hand down the path of wreckage. “As if you could not clearly see the temple from this very place, towering over the trees I have cared for, for generations.”

  “I…” Zanya swallowed. Every time she’d seen Cualli, the goddess had always been at peace. This was the first time she’d witnessed the pissed off version, and she was on the receiving end of the crap-o-meter.

  After all, Renato had tried to give her a lesson in the consequences of using abilities once before—in his office—when she conjured a windstorm inside. He told her not to use her powers unless she was willing to clean up after them. At the time she thought he was playing the role of overbearing uncle. But now she understood.

  “I did destroy your jungle.” She stepped forward, looking Cualli in the eyes. “And I take full responsibility. It was an urgent situation. There was a tree—”

  “Yes.” Cualli glared, and Zanya could have sworn she felt the ground tremble beneath her. “There were many.”

  Zanya swallowed. “No. Not the ones I…” She wiped a tingle of sweat from her brow with her fingers. There was no good way to word it. “Not the ones I destroyed. There’s another tree. Yaxche.”

  Cualli’s features softened and her tightly pursed lips parted. “Yaxche?” The heat around the goddess seemed to fade, returning her to the familiar, gentle deity Zanya had always known.

  Zanya’s tense muscles eased. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.” Zanya closed her eyes and hung her head—resisting the urge to palm her forehead. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She exhaled and raise her gaze, then tried again. “I mean, it consumed a group of birds near our home, and then animals. A lot of them. It was as if they were—”

  “Drained of blood.”

  Zanya nodded.

  Cualli extended her hand, and Balam obeyed her gesture by walking to her side. Balam had always been her protector. The goddess calling on him to stay close wasn’t a promising sign. “Then there are greater worries we must address. Yaxche is feeding on middleworld life.” Cualli shifted her gaze to Arwan. “And you, half-breed. Have you found the answers you seek?”

  Arwan watched her without a response. He may have found answers, but they weren’t what either of them had expected.

  “I don’t know what we should do,” Zanya said, finally breaking the silence. “Contessa is definitely responsible for Yaxche reaching into the middleworld. That much we know. But how to fight it—fight her—is still a bridge we haven’t crossed.”


  “The tree will destroy everything,” Arwan said. “Animals, plants, humans. Once Contessa grants it permission, it will consume our world, allowing the underworlders to break through, and our realms will merge.”

  Zanya bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t considered that as an option. But if Yaxche was used as a bridge—the way it was intended—that was exactly what would happen.

  They’d fight a losing battle.

  Cualli dragged her fingers between Balam’s ears. “Then we must call on all of our strengths to be sure that does not come to pass.” She trained her sights on Balam and gave a single, subtle nod.

  A deep growl grew from inside his chest.

  Balam bared his teeth, his ears pinned, and the fur on the back of his neck standing on edge.

  Cualli looked at Zanya. “I suggest using your gift to call any reinforcements you may have.”

  Balam snarled and leapt forward, forcing Zanya to stumble back.

  His legs quivered beneath him, and all at once, his jaguar form morphed into a towering man with bronze skin and bright yellow eyes. His face was adorned with streaks of blue paint, and bone earrings—what looked like animal teeth—hung from his lobes. A leopard loincloth covered the space between his lean, muscular legs.

  It was the first time Zanya had ever seen Balam in his human form.

  High, sharp cheek bones. Mocha skin. Dark lashes. Long, black hair hung down his back, tied with a thread of leather. No shoes, pants, or a shirt.

  He was Cualli’s guardian and friend, and he was glorious.

  Balam must have sensed her fascination and looked away. He was obviously uncomfortable, so she’d do the best she could to not stare.

  Cualli settled her hand on Balam’s muscular neck. “While you ready yourself, Balam will stay by your side, in whatever form you need him.”