“It will be harder for you to convince the humans to allow me about during the day. That is why under cover of night would be best.”
“I’ll come up with a plan.”
Ah, she might indeed. Intrigued more than he cared to admit, he moved to a chair and sat down. “Tell me of your accident, lady. It might help to talk about it.”
She sighed heavily. “Jaid, not lady. Just Jaid.”
As you wish, Lady Jaid. Every honor and pride he’d possessed as high priest of Chi’Ch’ul had been destroyed long ago, but he could still honor this woman for her courage.
She shifted the leather strap off her shoulder. Good, she had decided to stay instead of flee. He would not care to risk a chase that would provoke the jaguar. Pulling out various papers, she frowned and bit at her lip.
He found himself entranced by her absentminded worry, the flash of her white teeth, the glimpse of her tongue. The rain-rich scent of magic hung about her. Her regret and arrogance made for a curious mixture of attraction and frustration in his heart.
Ruthlessly, he wiped such thoughts from his head. He could not be distracted from his duty. If the gods decreed her death, he would be the executioner. No matter how much she reminded him of what it meant to be alive. No matter how much she reminded him of what it felt like to be a man, only a man, breathing the warm, rich scent of a woman who wasn’t afraid of his magic.
“My father and mother met on a spring break trip to Mexico. Well, my mother was on spring break; my father was on a dig. They had a small wedding and went tramping right back into the jungles. Mom didn’t even finish college. Dad headed to work a dig in the Yucatan, I can’t remember which, and she went with him. The story goes that I was conceived on a dig, almost born on a dig, and definitely raised on a dig. When I was five, Dad had a hot lead on the true place of creation and moved us further south to Guatemala.”
“Tikal,” Ruin said flatly. It was the largest known ruin in Guatemala, and the only other well-researched place that he knew had mentioned the existence of the Mouth of Creation.
“Yes. He spent several years at Tikal, researching a small panel that no one else deemed important. From there, we went deep into the jungle to a small insignificant ruin of crumbling stone. No grand pyramids, just small temples, just a hint of what the city might have been before the Spaniards had destroyed it.”
“Iximche.”
She blinked, surprised he’d figured out the path. Oh, if she’d only known how many times he’d made the endless circuit of these ruins through the Gates, watching and guarding the secrets mostly buried beneath jungle and rock and age.
“At first, he didn’t find much at Iximche. According to the family photograph albums, we came and went several seasons. My first memory of Guatemala is that dig. I was just starting to understand my parents’ work. I loved it, actually, the stacks of rocks, the pictures etched in stone, the lovely paintings.”
Her hands shifted the papers and books aimlessly; he wasn’t sure that she actually saw or read what she sorted. Her fingers trembled and sweat beaded on her upper lip.
“I was five. It was raining yet again, so everyone had stayed in camp. It was my favorite time of the day because I knew Dad was stuck in our tent. If I was very good and asked the right questions, he would sit with me for hours, teaching me everything he knew. That day, though, he was short with me. He didn’t want to sit and explain how to count in Maya. He was frustrated, flipping through map after map and his old journals. The lines around his mouth were deep, so I knew not to bother him.
“Mom was taking a nap, so I crept outside. I didn’t mind the rain.” She looked up, her large eyes haunted. “I thought I could solve his problem. I would find something and make him happy, and he would be so proud of me. I climbed the ruins, trailing my fingers over the rocks. I could already recognize basic glyphs. I made up stories for what I found. The whole city was one great big fairytale that only I could see and read.”
She sighed tremulously, a smile shaking through the tears glimmering in her eyes. “I wandered for at least an hour, maybe longer. The rain came harder, and I got cold and hungry. I decided to find a place to hide until the worst of the showers stopped. There’s a huge ditch around Iximche.”
“I know it,” Ruin replied softly. “The barranca runs on three sides to protect it from other tribes.” Especially my own.
Nodding, she continued her story. “I found a crack in the ditch, which turned into a cavern. I probably wouldn’t have been brave enough to go inside if it hadn’t been raining. It was dark, deep, and I was afraid of snakes, but the rain stung my skin and I wanted shelter. I huddled there for awhile, but I got bored. I wanted to find that great discovery for Dad. I ran my hands along the walls, tracing the carvings. Later Dad asked me why I’d kept going in the dark, and I tried to explain that the swirls and pictures had led me deeper. I had to follow.”
Although he believed her, he didn’t understand how it could be possible. The hidden temple was surrounded by powerful spells. She should have been repelled, not compelled to explore.
“In the darkness, I missed a hole and dislocated my knee. I clung to the side of the tunnel, inching my way ahead. There wasn’t any light to guide me back to the crack. Finally, I heard my mom calling above. I hobbled ahead and found a patch of light shining down on me. The rain had stopped. I called for her, and within a few minutes, she looked down at me.”
She laughed shakily, and his heart flipped over. “I’ll never forget the look on her face. Relief. Love. Her cheeks were tear streaked. She’d been worried about me. I felt horrible, but wickedly pleased, too. She’d come for me. She reached down, but I was still too far away, so she climbed inside with me. She dropped into the cavern, effortless and graceful and beautiful. I loved her so much. She hugged me, and her scent of lavender took away all my fear and guilt. Until Dad yelled down.”
Her face tightened, pale, her jaw tensed. “He was angry, yelling. Mom held me up, pushing me higher so he could grab me. He yanked me out, set me aside, and leaned back for her. That’s when the earth moved. I thought it was thunder at first, but it didn’t come from above. It was below. The ground rocked and rumbled like a beast. Dad screamed and reached deeper. I leaned over and saw her looking up at me.”
She made a low, soft cry that quivered in his stomach.
“She smiled with so much love on her face as the rocks tumbled down. Then she disappeared.” Jaid swiped at the tears, her movements jerky. “She died to save me and my father never forgot it. Ironically, that tunnel was his largest find to date and led to a new underground temple.”
He watched her pull herself back together, letting her put on her armor once more. “The Temple of Days beneath Skull Place.”
“He’d never searched so deeply until I stumbled onto it. I made the great discovery I’d hoped for him.” Slowly, she raised her gaze to his, her eyes raw with pain. “But it cost my mother’s life.”
Jaid stared at the man sitting across from her, trying to reconcile everything she’d seen, his own explanation, and her research. Her brain felt numb and swollen. Maybe her head would simply detach and float away like a balloon. “I saw you die, Xbalanque,” she stumbled a bit over his name. “You said Blood Gatherer killed you, too. Yet I know I felt your heart beating.”
“If I must call you Jaid, then you must call me Ruin.” His mouth twitched briefly with amusement at her grumbled assent, but quickly firmed into a grim slash. “My body dies, but I never die. The gods always send me back until my debt is met.”
Everything made perfect, horrible sense. The books and stories she’d read all her life, everything from the Popul Vuh to the Chilam Balam and every translated glyph she could get her hands on were not simply the fables a primitive people had made up to explain events they couldn’t explain. The codex wasn’t a fairytale to decipher.
The demons were real. People were dying.
“What do we do now?”
“If you can find a way to excuse my presence to your gu
ards tomorrow, I’ll take you to my temple. I’ll show you why the Gate opened to Xibalba and what warnings were clearly marked in the temple and on the altar itself. Then I want you to give me the codex so I may destroy it.”
She flinched. She couldn’t help it. The Bloodgate Codex was a piece of irreplaceable art. She’d translated mysterious glyphs that had never been seen before, let alone understood. Destroying the codex would be like cutting off her arm.
“If my brother gets his hands on that codex, he’ll cause much more damage than your father did accidentally. Wrack will deliberately open a Gate to Xibalba, and if all the Lords of Death escape, all the better for his purpose.”
“Why?”
“Blood Gatherer told me that Butterfly Star still suffers in the lowest level of Xibalba. He might be lying. I hope he is. But if not, Wrack will risk anything to help her. Dying will be going home for him, and nothing can keep him from her.”
“Nothing but you.”
Ruin’s face looked carved from stone, proud, arrogant and painfully untouchable. Only when he stood and moved away did she wonder if she’d hurt him.
She stood and tried to pace while she worked on the puzzle of how to explain his presence to the guards, but her knee ached worse than ever. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll go into the village. Since my knee’s bothering me, I’ll ask for a driver. While I’m there, walk up to me openly. The story I’ll give to anyone later is that you offered to sell me information because you knew something about the glyphs in Chi’Ch’ul. Dress normally, like this, and don’t carry any weapons. Then we’ll drive through the front gate and go to your temple. Will that work?”
Her stomach clenched at the thought of the dig itself, but she forced herself to ignore it. Too much was at stake for her old fears to conquer her.
“That might indeed.”
Weariness dragged at her. She rubbed her eyes, trying to decide what to do first. Review Dad’s notes? Review hers? Compile the differences? Where had they gone so miserably wrong?
“You should rest, lady. Tomorrow will be a difficult day. You’ve been injured and traveled a long distance.”
Did she dare rest with a murderer on the loose, her father missing in Xibalba, and a priceless codex in danger? Not to mention a man who could shapeshift into a jaguar. She shook her head. She had too much work to do.
“My brother might come back. I’ll stand guard if you want to rest.”
“You already died tonight. There’s no need for you to risk yourself again.”
He took her arm and gently tugged her toward the back room. She stumbled, so tired she could barely think. It was hard to remember that she’d only known this man a matter of hours, let alone that he was supposed to kill her. “Dying is easy. Thinking when you’re so weary that you can’t remember your name is not. Rest. I’ll stay until right before dawn and then slip away.”
She should have protested more, but the white cotton sheets and fluffy bed called her name. It felt weird to have a man in her room, though, especially a stranger. This man could die and live again. He could walk as a jaguar. Was she already asleep?
Her eyes felt so heavy. “You are alive?”
“You felt my heart beating.”
Warily, she lay on her side to keep him in her sights as he made a pallet on the floor between her and the door. “It’s not very comfortable down there.”
“It’s more comfortable than Xibalba. It’s more comfortable than lying in a pool of my blood on stone. Don’t worry about me, lady.” Stretching out on the floor, he hesitated and stared up at her. His eyes flashed liquid gold, sending shivers down her spine. His voice lowered with a hint of the jaguar growl. “This is First Five Sky compared to most of my life.”
Heaven.
Within moments, she was sound asleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The streets of Santiago Atitlan were as charming and inviting as Sam had promised. Colonial-style Spanish mansions and smaller houses lined the streets, painted in colorful pastels, and a sixteenth-century Catholic church took her breath away. She caught a glimpse of a tourist entering the columned entry who looked remarkably like Sam. Can’t be, she reminded herself, because he’d left for Antigua this morning.
Many people wore handwoven materials and traditional Maya clothing. Roaming the quaint streets, Jaid found a marketplace and paused for a closer look. The gorgeous patterns in the textiles took her breath away. They were like living glyphs woven from threads of magic.
She lingered over one tapestry of a large tree with sweeping branches. Tracing the sweeping branches, she didn’t know what she’d do with such a vivid tapestry, but she was sorely tempted. With its Victorian décor, Gillian’s Garden was much too formal for such a piece, but it called to her.
Through art and color, it told a story, even if she couldn’t read it.
“The white,” Ruin spoke behind her, “represents the World Tree. See how it goes from top to bottom, its branches east and west? These are the four corners of the world and the balam who guard: red to the east, white to the north, black to the west, and yellow to the south. There are thirteen stripes across the top to represent the levels of heaven; nine stripes across the bottom, representing hell.”
She traced darkened spots hidden in the roots of the tree. “Seven Caves, Seven Canyons.”
“I could also argue that these are the Gates that lead through the World Tree to the other worlds.”
“It’s amazing. I’ve never seen a story of creation so completely explained so beautifully.” Jaid smiled at the old woman, who smiled and nodded her head. Her face was heavily lined, her hands gnarled with age, but the brightness in her eyes told of joy for life.
When was the last time her eyes had sparkled with excitement like that? Probably the first time she’d held the codex in her hands, although she’d already been memorizing each visible glyph, cataloguing them to begin the translation.
Had she ever looked at the codex and simply appreciated it as art?
She gladly pulled several American bills out of her leather carryall and paid for the lovely tapestry. She’d hang it in the library to constantly remind herself of art, joy and the real Maya woman who’d created it with her own hands.
Ruin carried it for her back to the car where the driver waited. Dressed in jeans and a plain blue T-shirt, he didn’t even raise an eyebrow as he slid into the back with her. “Are you sure the guards won’t shoot me on sight?”
She forced a laugh. “From what I’ve seen, they don’t shoot anybody, even marauding jaguars and murderers.”
The cold, stiff mask of the mysterious and powerful priest settled over his face.
“I’m talking about your brother. He murdered a friend of mine back in the States.”
A small crack softened his face. “My brother has killed many people, but so have I.”
“If you had known where I live and that I had the codex, would you have killed me before any of this started?”
“I cannot roam far from the Gates; my curse prevents it.” He gazed at her unflinchingly. “However, if you attempt to open the Gate, I must do my duty to the gods. I failed once. I broke my solemn oath, and my people were destroyed. My life, my brother’s life, destroyed, ruined as my name. I cannot fail again.”
Her pulse jumped so hard she could feel it. Solemn promise darkened his gaze, and his jaw was a grim, hard line carved from granite. She understood, and respected, duty. Despite his resolve, she couldn’t bring herself to be afraid, not like she’d felt staring up into his brother’s cold, flat eyes.
The car slowed at the gate. A guard she didn’t recognize stepped forward, speaking Spanish to the driver. He glanced in the back and saw the stranger. “Dr. Merritt, is this man your guest?”
“Yes.”
“You are responsible for him.”
“Of course.”
The guard stepped back and the gate opened. “Sign him in at the front desk, Dr. Merritt.”
Ruin made a disgusted noise beside her.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “If only all Gates were so easy to open.”
The car pulled to a halt in front of the main house and the concierge offered to take her bag for her. Gripping it closer, she gave him the tapestry instead. He promised to have it taken to her room.
Settling her hat on her head, she fiddled with her boot and then sorted through her bag, although she didn’t know what she was looking for. Her stomach felt like it’d been twisted into a giant pretzel.
“What do you expect?” Ruin asked softly. His gaze moved constantly around the area, scanning for threats. “What are your expectations about stepping into my ruined city?”
“Danger. Making a mistake, and causing someone to get hurt.” She shrugged casually, but her stomach rolled harder. Her hands shook so badly she gripped the leather strap with both hands to keep from dropping it. “Getting hurt myself.”
“The only person with you cannot die.” He smiled and she shut her mouth, unable to argue. “I won’t allow you to be injured. I need you alive and well to help me retrieve the codex so I may destroy it before anyone else translates my magic. Change your expectations, and remove the pressure from your mind.”
He made it sound so easy. How, exactly, did she tell herself not to worry?
“You are the one putting this pressure on your mind, which causes your panic. Remove the pressure. Remove the panic. You’re doing this deliberately, whether you know it or not. This panic doesn’t serve your father. It doesn’t serve your research.”
He was right. But she wasn’t sure how to get the memories out of her head. She’d been building them up and reliving them for twenty years. “Do you know what they call me in the archaeology circles? The Un-Indiana Jones.”
Head tilted, he studied her, a small smile flickering on his face. “I have no idea what that means, but it amuses you.”
“Yeah,” she admitted, nodding. “But it’s embarrassing, too. Indiana Jones is a movie archaeologist, an action-adventure hero. I’ve built up ruins and archaeology in my mind, believing I had to be a great risk-taker, an action-adventure heroine of my own.”
The Bloodgate Guardian Page 9