by Lani Forbes
Well, despite how angry he was at her, Ahkin refused to leave Mayana alone in this place, so he would fight until he couldn’t fight anymore.
After a while the crunch of shifting sand announced her return.
“Did … you find … anything?” His words were now stretched between his shallow panting breaths. Ahkin knew better than to hope, but he asked anyway. A dry cough ripped through his throat.
“Other than sand and rocks? No. I think there’s a path leading up the cliff face, but I’m not leaving you here defenseless while I explore.”
“I can … defend myself.” Ahkin tried to reach for his knife before he realized it was gone. He must have lost it when he fell into the sea. His fingers groped at his empty waistband and his hand flopped pathetically back onto the sand like a dead fish.
“Clearly.” Mayana huffed.
“Look, I’m sorry … for being so angry … it just wasn’t … supposed to be … like this.”
“Stop talking so much. You don’t have enough energy.” Her voice softened, and she pressed her fists into her eyes. “But I know what you mean. Nothing turned out like it was supposed to.”
“My father … should still be alive. My mother never should have taken her own life.” Maybe it was because he was dying that he didn’t have the strength left, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from burning. Hopelessness hovered over them like a shadow. “I wasn’t even supposed … to be emperor … yet.”
“You didn’t want to be emperor?” Mayana settled down beside him, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them tight.
“Not yet … I wasn’t ready.”
Mayana gave a hollow laugh. She probably related—her entire life shifted course with his father’s death too.
“I really cared about you, you know.” She turned her head to face away from him, but he was sure her cheeks were flushed.
Ahkin’s heart swelled. “I meant … what I said … before I fell. I still … would have chosen … you.”
“Except that no one in the empire would have let you.” She still wasn’t facing him.
“It still … doesn’t matter.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t matter because you still would have tried to kill yourself, even if you had chosen me.”
“I don’t … want to fight … right now, Mayana.” Ahkin inched his hand toward her. “Please … I just want you to know … how much …”
“You can’t leave me. Please. Ahkin, don’t leave me here alone.” She closed the distance between their hands and squeezed his fingers, as though she could hold his spirit back. It shattered his heart to hear the desperation and fear in her voice, and it only strengthened his resolve to hold on as long as he could.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear, he won’t.”
Ahkin’s stomach shot into his throat and Mayana shrieked before scrambling toward him like a sand crab.
“Who is—?” he started to ask before Mayana let out another scream.
“Yoco?”
Yoco? That name meant nothing to him. He tried to turn his head to get a look at the new apparition on the beach. His first impression was of a withered old owl. He took in the form of a hunched woman with wrinkled skin hanging off her bones like dried animal hides. She was dressed in swirling patterns of white and black, with hair to match. The faint smell of incense teased his nose.
Yoco was sitting cross-legged on a large rock behind them, her fingers working furiously with some small colorful bundle of fabric. Ahkin recognized it as a worry doll like the one Mayana had given him. In fact, there were hundreds of worry dolls spread around her on the rock, as though she had decided to take up shop here on this beach on the edge of Xibalba.
“You … know her?” Ahkin breathed toward Mayana.
“I—she—that’s where I got your worry doll from,” Mayana said distractedly as she continued to stare dumbstruck at the old woman.
“Yoco—how did you get here?” Mayana asked, her eyes as wide as the full moon.
“I can go anywhere I want, dear child.” The shriveled figure lifted the doll to her craggy, broken teeth and gnashed at a dangling thread before spitting it out onto the ground and holding up the finished doll to survey her work.
“Perfect. Relatively.” She picked up another bundle of fabric and started fiddling with it.
Ahkin furrowed his brow, his head pounding from working so hard to make sense of what he was seeing.
“Who … are you?” he finally managed to ask.
“I am the duality, son of the sun. The light and the dark, joy and pain, the Mother and the Father in one.” She gestured to her swirling white-and-black tunic dress. He recognized the colors of white and black from a symbol in the codex sheets …
“The duality? You mean … you are—?”
“You know me as Ometeotl, Mother of the gods, although technically I am the Father of the gods as well, you know. Everyone seems to forget that part …”
“But you’re an old woman,” Mayana said, pursing her lips.
“To your eyes, perhaps. I am whatever I need to be, and right now, you are both sorely in need of the Mother’s guidance and stern hand.” She chucked the latest doll onto the surface of the rock with the others, not even looking at Mayana and Ahkin.
Ahkin’s chest tightened at the mention of needing a mother.
“What … do you mean … stern hand?”
“We’ll get to that.” Ometeotl waved an impatient, wrinkled hand. “For now, let’s take care of these injuries, shall we? Before I need to pluck your spirit from the air and bring it back to your body.”
With two fingers between her withered lips, she gave an ear-splittingly loud whistle. A distant bark answered, echoing toward them. A bark? She was summoning a dog?
Mayana cocked her head to the side, a deep frown upon her face, and Ahkin tried to shift to see what she was looking at.
Bounding toward them came a black dog, smooth and sleek with a tuft of shaggy hair atop its thick head. Its large ears protruded upward, with the ear on the left slightly bent out at an awkward angle. A giant pink tongue flopped out of its mouth as it frolicked toward them across the sand.
“Ona?” Mayana’s hands flew to her mouth, and Ahkin frowned a little. How did she know the names of everyone they were meeting down here?
Tears glistened in her eyes as the dog leapt toward her, knocking her onto the sand and dragging its pink tongue across every inch of her face and arms and hands. Mayana was sobbing now, tears streaming down her cheeks as she attempted to embrace the erratically wiggling form, which seemed too excited to hold still for very long. Its whiplike tail lashed across Ahkin’s arm and he drew it back with a hiss. Who was this dog?
Ometeotl gave another sharp whistle and both of Ona’s ears perked upright. He sat patiently on the sand beside Mayana, facing the Mother goddess as though waiting for instructions.
“Yes, I am gifting Ona to you to help on this journey. Every spirit needs a guide through Xibalba, and dogs usually make the best companions, don’t you think?” Ometeotl clapped her hands together and held them against her chest in a loving gesture.
“Thank you,” Mayana managed to choke the words out through her shuddering breaths as she tried to calm herself.
“He’ll also come in handy for another reason.” Ometeotl snapped her fingers several times and motioned toward Ahkin.
The dog—Ona, he heard Mayana call him—sauntered lazily toward him. He bent his smooth black head toward the wound on Ahkin’s stomach and began to lick. The warm, rough tongue pulled at the skin, and Ahkin cried out in pain before trying unsuccessfully to move his body away from the dog.
The moment the dog lifted his head, Ahkin peered down at his stomach—at the wound—but the wound was gone. There was nothing but the tanned, muscled plane of his abdomen. Ahkin had seen dogs lick their own wounds to promote healin
g, but never anything like this.
“I might have given him a few gifts of his own for the journey.” The Mother goddess smiled with a proud gleam in her eye.
Ahkin sat up, running a hand over the newly healed skin. His head still swam with dizziness from the loss of blood, but his body could now slowly replenish it without losing more.
He lifted his awed gaze to Mayana, who was staring at the healed skin on her own hands and arm, twisting them around and flexing her fingers.
They were still trapped on the shores of the underworld, but now they were no longer bleeding to death, and they certainly were no longer alone and without hope.
Chapter
53
Mayana could not believe that Ona was here, or that her beloved dog had just healed the gashes on her hands and arm. As if she needed any other reason to feel overwhelmed with joy at seeing her long-lost friend.
“I have a feeling his gifts will come in handy. Ah, speaking of gifts …” Ometeotl rummaged in the folds of her dress and withdrew a long golden chain. A small jade skull no bigger than Mayana’s palm dangled from the end. Glittering blue sapphires filled the skull’s eye sockets, but its little mouth gaped open and empty. It was beautiful, yet something about it sent a cool shiver across her skin.
“This, Mayana, is the Amulet of Atlacoya. It was a gift I gave to my daughter to end the flood that destroyed your first sun. I now gift it to you.”
Mayana took the gift with shaking hands and secured it around her neck. The skull felt cold against her skin.
“In addition to the amulet, I want to give you something else that will prove essential.” Ometeotl lifted one of the tiny dolls off the rock and tossed it gently toward her.
Mayana caught the thumb-sized doll in her newly healed hand and opened her fingers to study it. It wore a little yellow dress, embroidered along with edges with tiny green reeds.
“What does this do?” she asked.
Ometeotl looked at her over her beaklike nose. “It’s a doll. It doesn’t do anything.”
“Oh.” Mayana flushed and tucked the doll into the fabric around her chest. Really? How could a simple tiny doll “prove essential”?
“I have gifts for you too, prince of light.”
Ahkin sat up straighter and swayed a little.
“Give it some time. Ona has the power to heal flesh wounds, but nothing more. Your body will recover its blood soon enough. And you’re going to need it.” The Mother goddess waved a shriveled hand, and a shield materialized on the sand. The wooden disk was sanded smooth and had a thick leather handle, but its most prominent feature was a carved golden sun inlaid with hieroglyphs and a skull staring up from its center. The golden symbol shone with a subtle hue, almost as if the carved sun radiated its own light like its true-life counterpart.
Ahkin leaned forward and fitted the shield to his arm, thrusting it outward to take out an imaginary enemy. He flexed his fingers with an impressed smile upon his face.
“That is the shield of my son Huitzilopochtli. It has seen many battles and will protect you well.”
“Thank you, great Mother.” Ahkin’s face shone with boyish excitement as he studied the detailed surface of the carved golden sun.
“And your second gift”—she withdrew what looked to Mayana like a large walnut from her dress—“will also be essential to your survival.”
The Mother goddess gently handed the walnut to Ahkin. His shrewd eyes studied the shell with skepticism.
“You humans can be so narrow-minded.” Ometeotl threw her hands in the air in frustration.
Ahkin’s cheeks reddened and he muttered an apology.
“Thank you for the gift,” he said, bowing his head.
Ometeotl clicked her tongue impatiently and motioned toward the shell. “Look inside, child.”
The color in his cheeks deepened, and Mayana recognized a flicker of pain across his face at being called a child. With a thumb and forefinger, he eased the shells apart and shook it over his palm.
A tiny white worm, no larger than Mayana’s smallest finger, wriggled out from between the two halves and landed in Ahkin’s outstretched hand.
He immediately hissed as the worm bit him, leaving a perfect tiny circle of blood. His hand jerked, and the worm dropped into the sand.
“No, idiot boy, leave it in the shell. I just told you to look at it.” The Mother goddess snatched the shell back and scooped up the worm from the dark sand. She returned the worm to its confinement and handed it back to Ahkin with suspicious eyes, as though she wasn’t sure whether giving him the worm was the smartest idea after all.
“Why a worm?” Mayana asked, thoroughly confused as to how it could possibly be essential to their survival.
“It is time you learned to stop questioning the gods at every turn and trust that sometimes I might know better than you.” Ometeotl pressed her mouth into a thin line, deepening the creases in her chin.
Mayana sucked in a breath, and tears stung her eyes at the reprimand.
“I do not mean that unkindly, my dear. You understand far more than most of your people.” She shot a sideways glance at Ahkin, whose spine went rigid. “But you both still have much to learn.”
“I am sorry, Mother Ometeotl.” Mayana dipped her head respectfully and Ometeotl’s face softened.
“You remind me of her.” The goddess’s eyes suddenly shone bright in the pale gray light surrounding them. “Such stubbornness, yet such softness at the same time. That is the power of water within you, persistent enough to destroy mountains, yet gentle as tears from the heavens.”
Mayana didn’t know how to respond, but luckily the goddess seemed too lost in thought to notice.
Ona trotted over to Ahkin and licked the wound on his hand from the worm, leaving behind freshly healed pink skin. Ahkin ran his healed hand across the dog’s head in thanks.
Ometeotl finally heaved a sigh and steadied her shoulders.
“Water, doll, shield, worm, and—oh, yes.” She clapped her gnarled hands together and an animal-hide bag overflowing with dried corn and maize kernels appeared on the ground at her feet. “You will also need sustenance for the next few days. You have exactly five days until the end of the Nemontemi. The last days of the calendar are considered so unlucky because they are. The spirits and evils of the underworld are able to escape as the entrances between the layers of creation are opened. Once the new calendar year starts, the layers will close, and I’m afraid the price to escape would be too great for either of you to pay.”
“So we have to escape in five days or we will be trapped here?” Ahkin repeated, as though reciting battle plans.
“And die, yes,” Ometeotl said matter-of-factly. “That’s why I’m not giving you more than enough food for five days. If you do not escape before the end of the year, well, you won’t be needing the food much longer anyway.”
Mayana let out a terrified squeak, and the Mother focused her eyes back on her.
“Can’t you just … send us back to our world? Can’t you just save us?” Mayana knew what the answer would be before the goddess answered.
“Of course not. I have many purposes for the journey you are about to undertake. You will learn most of them as you go, but there is one reason in particular I need you to make this journey.”
A thrill of foreboding snaked up Mayana’s spine, and a clever smile pulled at the goddess’s mouth.
“Remember, my dear, how you paid for the doll you gave to your prince?”
The thrill solidified into pure fear in the pit of her stomach. She nodded.
“You owe me a favor, and I am now calling upon you to honor that favor.”
Mayana clenched her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “How may I serve you, Mother of creation?”
“You will retrieve the bones of my son, Quetzalcoatl, from Cizin. I want you to retu
rn them to me at any cost. I will use them to resurrect him in the caves of creation.” Her eyes bore into Mayana’s with such intensity that Mayana blinked and looked away.
“Who is Cizin?” Mayana racked her brain for any memory of his legends.
“The Dark Lord of Xibalba. His throne is made from the jade bones of my children.” Ometeotl’s voice trembled with emotion at the mention of the sacrificed gods.
“We will get them,” Mayana whispered to her feet.
“Very well.” The Mother looked satisfied. “That takes care of that. Now to the part every mother dreads.” Her eyes were full of pity, not anger, but it still chilled Mayana to her core. What did she mean by “the part every mother dreads”? Were they about to be punished for something?
Ahkin moved closer to Mayana and gripped her elbow tightly, angling himself in front of her as though hoping to take the brunt of whatever was coming.
“Well, since you volunteered, Ahkin, let’s start with you, shall we?”
Ahkin took in a sharp breath beside her, as if he was bracing himself.
“You, Ahkin, along with the majority of your empire, have come to care more for the rituals than for the gods themselves. More than for me.”
Ahkin opened his mouth to argue, but the goddess silenced him with a look.
“Rules do not honor the gods. They honor yourselves. You put your faith more in your own ability to be holy than in the love and sacrifice I made for you. I suffered the pain of losing my children, and you continue to offer me more pain and suffering.”
Ahkin rubbed the back of his neck. “I—am sorry. How can we best honor you and the other gods?”
“You know, what I want more than anything … is your hearts.”
Ahkin’s hand shot to his chest.
Ometeotl ducked her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Not your literal hearts. Humans …” She sighed and mumbled to herself for several moments.
“I want your love, your adoration. I do not want you to honor me with death. I have had enough of death and loss. Honor me with singing, with dancing, with your gifts. Honor me with life.”