The Jade Bones

by Lani Forbes

  At the far end of the room on a raised dais, Metzi sat upon the golden throne that once belonged to her twin brother. Behind the tall-backed chair, sharp points shot out from the center like rays of the sun.

  To her left sat members of the royal council, including the ancient head priest, Toani. Yemania’s lip curled as she remembered the last time she had seen the man. He had tried to humiliate Mayana and then stop her from following Ahkin into Xibalba. He looked like an aged turkey, deeply creased skin surrounded by a feathered headdress bigger than any Yemania had ever seen before. His bloodred robes swept to the tiled floor, and the many gemstones strung around his neck rattled as he leaned over to talk to one of the generals of the elite Jaguar warriors. The general himself was a mountain of a man, with a face that looked to be carved from stone. The skin of an actual jaguar was draped across his expansive shoulders. Yemania did not envy those who faced him on the battlefield. Behind them, other generals and religious leaders from the temple watched Metzi with expressions that ranged from bored to suspicious.

  But it was the guests seated to Metzi’s right that drew not only Yemania’s eye, but almost every gaze in the room. The delegation from Miquitz was six men, all but one clearly warriors, judging from their builds and postures. To Metzi’s right sat a man in long black robes, a necklace of tiny bones around his neck and a single fang hanging from one of his earlobes. The man wore a strip of black paint across his eyes as Ochix had, but his head was entirely smooth, like a polished tree nut. He had not a single strand of hair. His frame was thinner than those of the warriors sitting beside him, more willowy and graceful than brawny.

  Yemania worried for a moment that he might be the Father of Skulls, high priest of the Miquitz, but he looked far too young to be Ochix’s father. A lower-level priest, perhaps.

  Her eyes raked along the other warriors seated beside the death priest, but when they landed on a certain young man, Yemania swore the earth below her swayed.

  Coatl caught her as she stumbled. “Yem, are you all right?”

  No. She was not all right. He was here. He was here.

  Her heart beat a frantic tattoo within her chest as she took in his defined jawline, the dark intensity with which he surveyed the room.

  Ochix had come to Tollan.

  Chapter

  21

  Mayana had no desire to swim across a river of blood. She prayed there was another way. Ona bounded forward to the sandy shoreline, sniffing carefully. The moment his nose touched the surface he snorted and withdrew, scampering back as though the river had stung him. On the other side of the river, a forest of dark trees stretched into the distance. Mist hung thick between the trunks, making it impossible to see how far the forest spread.

  Or what lurked inside.

  Ahkin stumbled toward the riverbank and collapsed onto the smooth black sand. He mopped the sweat off his face, leaving behind dark trails of sand like bruises. “Can we rest for a while?”

  Her stomach ached with hunger, and the haunted look in his eyes made her feel even more uneasy. He couldn’t seem to shake the effect of seeing the dead bodies. Perhaps a break would be a good idea. For both of them. “How many days have we been down here?” she asked, plopping herself down on the sand beside him. Ona, of course, snuggled in between them. Ahkin gave an exasperated sigh but didn’t say anything. Ona snorted, as if he was proud.

  For a moment, she could pretend they were enjoying a lovely evening on a riverbank with her squirrelly pup. Not that they were trapped within the realm of the dead, camped out beside a river of rushing blood. She fished out several maize kernels from her bag to fill her stomach. She handed a few to Ahkin as well.

  “Overworld days, I am not sure. But here in Xibalba, I think this will be our third night. So, there are two more left before the end of Xibalba’s Nemontemi.”

  Mayana groaned. “How many more layers are there until the City of the Dead?”

  Ahkin leaned back on his elbows. “We passed through where bodies hang like banners. So next should be the place where”—he coughed and lowered his voice—“beasts devour your heart.”

  Mayana felt her jaw drop. Beasts? What kind of beasts? And how did they “devour” your heart? Mayana flopped back onto the sand beside him. “I love how specific the descriptions are.”

  Ahkin laughed, but without real humor. “I know. After that, we have the final river and then the City of the Dead. I think the passage back will likely be there in Cizin’s palace. We can retrieve the bones from him and go home. At least we don’t have to go to the place where smoke has no outlet, the final resting place of souls that do not enter a paradise.”

  Mayana threw her arm across her eyes and let her sarcasm deepen. “At least we have that.”

  “I’m proud of us, Mayana. We’ve made it this far, which is a miracle itself. If we weren’t descended from the gods, I don’t know how we would have survived.”

  He was right. Mayana had been thinking about that since the cave. How many times had her ability to manipulate water lifted them or cleared the way? And they’d still be stumbling around the caves without his ability to light the way through total darkness.

  Mayana grabbed another maize kernel from the bag, her hand brushing against the doll the Mother goddess had given her. So much for the other “helpful” gifts. Mayana slammed the pouch closed. She knew Ahkin believed the Mother had a purpose, but what if she didn’t? Or worse, what if she was using them and didn’t care about them at all?

  “I think it would be safer to rest here for the night instead of waiting until we cross into a layer where beasts are waiting to eat our hearts. Would you agree?” Ahkin flashed her a crooked smile that made her stomach flip. Last night, he’d kept a careful distance from her, respecting her anger and need for space. But since his apology, she was starting to feel that familiar ache to close the distance between them.

  Mayana studied the prince of light as he lay back against the volcanic sand, his hands behind his head. His eyes were closed. Deep crescents of darkness swept beneath each eye, and his lips were dried and cracked from the stale desert air. He tried to hide it, but Mayana could tell how exhausted he was. Had he slept at all since they arrived here? She was exhausted too. This journey had already pushed them so hard. They’d tasted death so many times, only to spit it back out. And that didn’t count the emotional exhaustion she felt. And it had been only three Xibalban days.

  Ahkin’s chest lightly rose and fell, and Mayana took in the defined muscles of his stomach, which moved with each of his breaths. Even battered and bruised, he was beautiful. He always looked so serious. His breathing slowed and steadied as he slipped into sleep, and as he did, the tension in his jaw lessened. His features softened. It lightened the burden on her own chest to see him find a moment’s peace.

  “What do you think, Ona?” She ran her hand down the dog’s back several times. His short dark fur was soft and comforting. “Should I forgive him?”

  Ona growled low in this throat in way that sounded like no. Mayana giggled and nuzzled the dog’s face with her own. “He’s getting closer though, right?”

  Ona grunted again, this time sounding doubtful.

  She wrapped an arm around the dog, snuggling into him to let herself find a little rest too. “Bark if there’s any danger, all right, boy?”

  Ona yipped once, which she took as a yes.

  A warm breeze off the desert dunes behind them swept across her face, like the gentle caress of a hand. Her eyes had barely started to slide shut when she heard it.

  The sound of a woman crying.

  She was getting used to the occasional wail or scream of agony in the distance. Wayward spirits were trapped and lost all over the layers of Xibalba, but something about the crying tugged her away from sleep. It was an anguished cry of heartbreak. Of loss. After losing her mother, it was a cry of grief that Mayana was all too familiar with.
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  She sat up. Ona immediately sat up too. “It’s okay, Ona. Stay here.”

  The dog whined after her, but she motioned at him to stay. He lay down and lowered his head to the sand, ears flat against his head. After she had gone several yards, he rose to his feet and trotted along behind her anyway. It wasn’t worth the fight, and perhaps it was safer to have him with her. The crying was coming from somewhere close by. She couldn’t explain it, but she needed to find this spirit. She knew it could be another trap like the demon children in the mountains, but some instinct deep within her told her that was not the case. The warm caress of the wind pressed against her back, as though it was encouraging her to go.

  Maybe it was a sign from Ometeotl. But maybe she was just a fool.

  She climbed down the low sand dune, Ona creeping along behind her. There, at its base, the silvery, semitransparent outline of a middle-aged woman sat hunched on the sands of another little crescent beach along the river’s bloody bank. The spirit wore a simple dress woven with a pattern of rushes. Something about that pattern tugged at Mayana’s memory, but she couldn’t quite place it. The woman was on her knees, long braid hanging over her shoulder, gripping at the sand as if her grief were causing her physical pain.

  “Are you lost?” Mayana asked, cautiously taking small steps down the dune. She didn’t want to get too close yet. The light around them was fading, casting an ominous shadow over the landscape.

  The spirit ignored her and continued to wail. Mayana’s heart twinged, and she put a hand to her chest to soothe the ache. She cursed her ability to feel what others felt. She took several steps closer. Could she put her hand on the spirit’s shoulder? Would it go right through her ethereal form?

  “Are you all right?” she asked a little louder.

  The woman took several shuddering breaths but stopped. She raised herself to sitting and turned to look at Mayana with mournful eyes.

  “I’ve lost her,” the woman said. “My baby. She’s gone. I thought I would find her spirit here, but children don’t come to Xibalba. They ascend to the paradise with Itzpapalotl. Now I am separated from her forever.” Her lip began to quiver, and she let out another anguished wail.

  “Can you see her again if you complete your journey? Can you earn your way to a paradise?”

  The spirit sniffed. “I’m trying to earn my way! That’s how I became trapped here!” She threw herself face-first into the sand, beating her fists against the ground.

  Mayana’s arms itched to embrace her. There had to be something she could say, something she could do to help. She closed the distance between them, Ona sticking close to her heels. “How are you trapped here?”

  “I am the Weeping Woman, the guardian of the River of Blood,” she cried. “The Lord of the Dead told me that to earn my place, I had to serve. So now I am serving, protecting the bones of the mothers who perished before their time.”

  Mayana’s heart lurched. The bones of the mothers who perished before their time?

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Many spirits become trapped here. Many mothers like me who anguish over their lost children, children left behind in the overworld. They wait. They wait for them to join us here. But mine never will, because she did not get the chance to grow up. I will not see her again until—”

  “Until you earn your way to the paradise,” Mayana said to herself. She curled her legs beneath her and sat down beside the Weeping Woman. Tears built and began to fall from her own eyes. She knew the pain of being separated from her mother . . .

  Mayana sat beside her as she cried. Ona whined and forced his nose beneath her arm until he was almost curled in her lap. She wished there was something she could do. Her eyes roved the poor woman’s sloped, defeated shoulders, her clawed hands digging into the sand, the pattern of bulrushes on her tunic dress . . .

  The warm wind caressed her face again like a loving hand. She’d definitely seen that pattern of rushes somewhere before. Mayana suddenly gasped with understanding. “I have something for you,” she said. How could she not have realized it before?

  The spirit hiccuped and sat up again, her expression now dubious, as though she thought Mayana might be fooling her somehow. “You have something for me?”

  Ona sat up, ears erect, and Mayana reached over and opened the flap of her bag. She dug inside and withdrew the tiny doll the Mother goddess had given her on the beach—the tiny doll with braided hair—and a white dress with a pattern of bulrushes.

  “I think this is meant for you,” Mayana said, holding the doll out in her hand.

  “Meant for—for me?”

  “Yes, I think the Mother goddess intended me to give it to you.”

  The woman sucked in a breath, awe and wonder filling her silver eyes as she appraised the doll. She reached out and grabbed it, bringing it to her see-through chest and cradling it as though it were a real child. The woman’s eyes swam with some unreadable emotion.

  “The great Mother has not forgotten me. She hears my prayers and blesses me. For she knows the pain of losing her children, and she has taken pity on my broken soul.” She rocked back and forth as she cradled the small doll in her hands. “I will reach my paradise and see my daughter again. The doll is a symbol of her promise to me.”

  Mayana’s eyes again burned with tears—but this time, tears of aching joy. “No, of course she hasn’t forgotten you.”

  “Nor has she forgotten you, daughter of water.” The spirit appraised her with a knowing gleam in her eye.

  Mayana blinked. “You know me?”

  “You are Mayana of Atl. I can feel the power of water within you.”

  “I—I am.” This meeting had not been by chance. Mayana knew that now; she felt it deep within her bones. She had been meant to find the weeping spirit that guarded the River of Blood.

  “I have seen your mother, daughter of water. Her spirit called to you.”

  At first, it took a moment for the words to sink in. Then Mayana felt as though her heart might burst through her chest. Her words came out in a torrent swifter than the river beside them. “What? You met my mother?”

  The spirit nodded slowly and rose to her feet. “She waited for you here. She knew you would come for her someday.”

  A sob built in her throat, and Mayana looked around as though expecting to see her mother’s ghost walking toward her. “Where is she?”

  “Her bones are here.” The woman motioned to the sand beneath her feet. “Waiting for you to retrieve them.”

  Mayana knew the legends that said once a body’s bones were buried in the earth or thrown into a sacred cenote, they sank into Xibalba. The bones of all of humanity, from every age before them, rested somewhere beneath her feet. Broken remains of empty vessels, their souls either trapped or resting in a paradise.

  “Her bones? What about her spirit? I want to talk to her.” As quickly as her heart had soared, it plummeted back to the ground.

  “Her spirit has moved on. But she left her bones for you to find. She said that you would know what to do with them.”

  Mayana’s body felt heavy with grief, as if she had lost her mother all over again. She had been foolish to think the Mother goddess would allow her to see her mother again. Bitterness settled onto her tongue. No, the goddess’s plan was for them to retrieve the bones of her son Quetzalcoatl, not for Mayana to see her mother again, even for a brief moment. They had to retrieve his bones so that—

  Mayana’s hands flew to her mouth as realization washed over her. The Mother goddess intended to bring her son back, to resurrect Quetzalcoatl from his bones. That was how the legends said humanity was resurrected after each apocalypse. Their bones were rescued from the underworld and taken to the caves of creation, where they were brought back to life with the blood of the gods.

  The Weeping Woman said that Mayana’s mother had told her to take her bones. Her bones!
The very thing that would allow her to be brought back if Mayana could get them to the caves of creation! That had to be it. The Mother goddess didn’t want her to see her mother’s spirit for a fleeting moment; she was giving her the gift of bringing her mother back from the dead!

  That must have been the reason she was given the doll—so that she could give Mayana back the thing she wanted most in this world.

  Her mother.

  The woman who showed her what love truly looked like.

  The woman taken away from her far too soon.

  Mayana could bring her back!

  Chapter

  22

  “Yemania, are you sure you’re okay?” Coatl asked again.

  She fanned herself with her hand. “Yes, I’m—I’m fine. I’m just a little nervous to meet the—uh—death demons, I guess.”

  Coatl narrowed his eyes toward the dais. “I don’t blame you.”

  His hand remained a steady source of comfort on her arm as she followed him to some empty cushions along the side of the room. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Ochix’s face. His dark eyes seemed to smolder with something like anger, and there was a certain rigidity to his jaw, as though he was irritated to be here. She wondered what he might do if he noticed her. Would he acknowledge her? Or pretend they had never met? Her stomach went sour at the very thought.

  During the selection ritual, she had sat on the dais with Ahkin and the other princesses who were competing for his hand. She much preferred to be down among the crowd, not worrying about how many days she had left to live. Her only regret now was that Ochix might not notice her among the throngs of nobles. However, the moment she settled down beside Coatl, a servant dressed in white and gold materialized beside her so quickly she started.