Path of Blood
Page 44
When she woke, it was dark. The coals of the fire gleamed red. Her eyes were gritty and her mouth dry and sticky. Hilis wriggled and began to cry.
“In a moment, little man. Let me stir up the fire and see if I can find a candle.”
She piled more wood in the hearth and set it alight. On the corner of a shelf, she found a candle. She lit it and went to pick up Hilis.
Shock glued her feet to the floor. She dropped the candle and it rolled away. Now only the light of the fire lit the room.
“This is a dream,” she said.
The man standing by the window walked slowly forward, as if afraid to frighten her.
“It’s not a dream,” Yohuac said softly. His eyes were molten gold, just like his son’s. His skin glowed faintly. He lifted a hand to brush his knuckles against her cheek, but stopped before he touched her.
“You’re dead. They were going to sacrifice you today.”
Yohuac smiled lopsidedly. “They did.”
“Then . . . how? Are you even real?” she whispered, her fingers lacing together as she stepped back.
He shrugged, his expression wary. “Yes and no. I am not what I was.”
He held out his hand. Reisil slowly reached out to take it. Her hand closed on heat. There was no feel of flesh. But neither was he shadow. It was akin to holding the moon rinda.
She frowned, looking questioningly at him.
“When the sacrifice was complete, Ilhuicatl called me to his throne. I was to stand by his side through eternity, like his chosen sons who have come before. But I could find no joy in that. He saw my unhappiness and asked why I grieved. I told him I longed to come home. To you. He was not surprised. He said the strings that bound us together in life had not severed with my death. They remained as strong as ever.”
The mention of the word strings triggered a memory for Reisil. Of dreaming in Atli Cihua, of listening to the gods speak in the dark. What had they said? Strings on her soul. One binding her to Saljane, the other to Yohuac—in life, and in death.
“Ilhuicatl granted me my desire, as a reward for saving Cemanahuatl. But he could not bring me back; he could not make me whole. I am no longer a man. This is all I am, all I ever will be. It is the best I can offer you. It is not what you deserve. I will go if you choose.” His voice went hoarse with the last.
Reisil stared, chewing her lips. He sounded so normal, so alive. Just like himself. But he was dead. A ghost. Or something like it. Did she still want him this way? But she already knew the answer. Not a night went by that her dreams weren’t haunted by his face, when she didn’t wake up with his name on her lips. Since losing him, she had come to feel like a ghost herself, only half-alive.
He was watching her. Reisil stepped forward, pressing her hand to his chest, allowing herself to believe at last. There was no heartbeat. Only the fire of power and spirit. It was enough. It was more than she dreamed.
“Welcome home.”