Gods of Jade and Shadow

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  In the stories of the Hero Twins there had also been four roads that intersected, but they had different colors, green and red and black and white, one for each corner of the earth. This was not the case, and each path could lead to doom or her objective.

  “East lies the answer,” said one of the roads to her.

  “West is the city,” replied the other road.

  “North you should go,” cried the third.

  “Turn back, you go in the opposite direction,” concluded the fourth.

  Casiopea did not know how the roads spoke, but they did, in an insidious whisper, a bothersome buzzing, which made her grimace. Their voices came from inside her head, too, just like every other sound. She squinted, trying to discern which path was the appropriate one. The roads spoke.

  “I hear her heart beating in fear,” said one road.

  “I hear the blood in her veins, cold from the madness which assails her.”

  “I hear her breath catching in her throat.”

  The voices were like a steady drop of water falling on her skull, a form of clever torture, terribly distracting. One could not concentrate when they spoke, but it was even worse when they were silent, the quiet hitting her like a wall.

  “There are monsters in this land.”

  “There are places crafted with the sorrows of men.”

  “There are traps made of blood and bone.”

  She placed her hands against her ears, but the voices were within her, and they laughed at Casiopea, making jokes, telling her to follow each one of them.

  She spun in a circle and knelt down, tired and overwhelmed, her fingers aching again. Casiopea clutched her left hand, where the bone shard lay, and the silver bracelet Hun-Kamé had gifted her clinked against her wrist, a soft noise, which in the quiet of the land was like a note from a cymbal. She recalled then what he’d said: the road listens to you.

  Slowly she stood up and dusted her clothes, the rustle of the fabric like a knife that scratched the land, and the roads laughed louder, drawing echoes inside her head.

  Casiopea gritted her teeth and opened her mouth.

  “I am headed to the Jade Palace,” she told the roads. “You will show me the way.”

  The roads did not wish to comply, and they yelled terrible curses at her, promising to eat her bones and spit them out, but she held her left hand up, and she remembered how Hun-Kamé spoke, sure of himself at every turn, and her mouth reproduced his iron tone.

  “Show me the way,” she demanded.

  The roads wavered, physically shaking, making Casiopea almost lose her balance. Like tongues they wagged and went quiet all at the same time.

  She noticed then that the road to her right possessed a section with a slightly different coloring, not black like obsidian. Instead it was black like bone char, more velvet than silk.

  Casiopea stood upon this section of the road and, not knowing what to say, she simply repeated her destination.

  “The Jade Palace,” she said and took a step forward.

  For a second she was in a pocket of shadow, black the world above and below, and then she had stepped back onto the road, which was bordered by mounds of earth. More mounds in the distance. The land had changed: it was no longer the flat grayness she had walked through. The silence had broken too. There were weeds by the road, on the mounds, and animals there, crickets and snails, which made the dry plants rustle.

  She found another patch of shadow and then another, and she stepped through these, and with each leap she took, the land changed and she progressed in her journey until she was moving past pale stone pillars, a few of which stood proud and tall, while many had fallen by the side of the road, broken into two or three pieces, some missing large chunks, others almost intact.

  The pillars had faces on them, and she paused to look at them, thinking they represented warriors. But this was a wild guess. There might have been a hundred or a thousand pillars bordering the road. At one point she sat next to one of them, drinking from the gourd and massaging her feet, but she did not dally long.

  Then the road dipped. In the middle of the road there rose a pillar, but this one was made of dark stone, and when she looked at it more carefully she realized it…breathed. It was alive. It was not a pillar at all.

  * * *

  —

  Martín, due to his previous experience in the Underworld, was able to wander the Black Road with more ease than his cousin. Nevertheless, his previous travels had been conducted in the company of Zavala. Alone, he found the journey more taxing. He had begun the competition walking at a brisk speed, but he grew tired and slowed down. The path he followed felt sticky and warm. He was sweating and cursed under his breath.

  The sights around him were dispiriting. The road cut through a luxurious patch of jungle, the leaves of trees jade green. But the birds in the trees were fleshless, eyeless creatures that cawed angrily. Other animals stirred in the foliage, and the more Martín walked through the jungle, the more he felt disturbed, worried a jaguar would lunge out from the darkness and eat him.

  The road was like tar against his shoes, holding him back, until he could barely advance three paces without great effort. “Take me to the Jade Palace,” he told the road. “Take me to the Jade Palace fast.”

  But the road, malicious, smirked, and sweat dripped down Martín’s collar. He strained to move forward, and he was still entirely too slow.

  A loud rustling in the trees startled him, and Martín clutched his knife.

  Martín looked up and saw a monkey, staring at him.

  “Idiot thing,” he whispered, placing the knife back in its sheath. “Go off!”

  A second monkey peered at the man, then a third. A dozen pairs of bright yellow eyes stared at Martín. He began to walk away, slowly, since the road felt like tar.

  And then a monkey threw a stone at him. And another. Martín yelped; he raised his arms and shrieked as the stones rained on him. One cut his cheek and another hit him between the shoulder blades. The monkeys hollered, gleeful.

  “I’m headed to the Jade Palace!” Martín yelled. “I’m headed there by the will of Vucub-Kamé!”

  The monkeys continued tossing their stones, but the road released its hold on the man, and Martín was able to run away from the screeching creatures.

  * * *

  —

  In Middleworld, Vucub-Kamé rested his chin against the back of his hand and observed the shifting ashes on the floor, which rose and traced the contours of the Black Road, allowing them to witness the progress of both champions. Casiopea had lagged behind her cousin, but she was now moving at a decent speed. However, she had found a significant obstacle.

  Hun-Kamé shifted in his seat, leaning forward, as if to get a better look at the unfolding scene. He looked worried. As he should be. In a stroke of good luck Casiopea had gleaned one of the secrets of the Black Road and had learned how to navigate it, but her luck had run out.

  Xibalba counted many frightful creatures, obstacles, and snares. Casiopea had chanced upon one of the most imposing ones, and she quivered.

  “You should have taken my offer,” Vucub-Kamé told his brother. “There is no champion in her; she’s a scared girl.”

  Vucub-Kamé’s eyes had grown translucent, like a sastun, because in the ashes he divined his future and his triumph.

  It was not a stone pillar. It was a bat. Twice as tall as Casiopea, its wings were folded against its bony body. Its skin was very dark; it glimmered, as if it had been carved from a single stone. The bat’s face was crude, made of primordial, half-formed fears, and its eyes were closed. It did not dream, since no entity of Xibalba dreams, but it stood in a trance similar to sleep, awaiting wary pilgrims. These days there were not many, the road had grown dusty with disuse, but in centuries past it had gloried in chasing men through the dark lands, and sometimes, it
had flown to Middleworld, to drink from the armpits and the chests of mortals.

  Thus he roamed across Xibalba and waited, Kamazotz, who is the death bat that withers the crops.

  There was no way to avoid the creature. It blocked the narrow path Casiopea was on. If she followed the road, she’d find herself right next to it, and Casiopea did not think it was a good idea to approach the monstrous bat. In the tale of the Hero Twins a bat-god had ripped off the head of one of them. She was not interested in finding out whether he was fond of doing this.

  Casiopea watched the bat as it slept, its body rippling with its breathing. She took a step forward.

  “It will hear you if you go near it, and attack,” said a low voice. “It’s blind, but your movements will alert it to your presence.”

  Casiopea looked down in surprise and saw a bright green snake by the road. It had two heads and four eyes, which it fixed on her. She did not think it poisonous—she’d seen ones like this back home, though they obviously lacked the second head. She knelt down next to it and frowned. “What are you?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Only a snake,” said one head.

  “Oh,” Casiopea said. “How is it that you look…different from the snakes I know, and you speak?”

  “I speak because we are in Xibalba and because you are not an ordinary woman. I recognize you. You carry the seal of Hun-Kamé in your eyes,” replied the other snake head.

  “You know him?”

  The snake was offended by the question and proudly raised both of its flat heads.

  “He was our lord, and then he was betrayed. Vucub-Kamé has brought imbalance to Xibalba, and only the return of Hun-Kamé may restore the scales of duality. If you are here, bearing his invisible standard, then the lord must be nearby.”

  “I’m on a quest.”

  “As must be,” the snake said, looking prim. Snakes, after all, have a great sense of decorum and order.

  Casiopea glanced again at the bat that blocked her path. Hun-Kamé had told her to stay on the road, so she did not dare leave the path. Besides, even if she tried to put some distance between herself and the road, the bat might hear her.

  “You wouldn’t have any ideas about how to get past it, would you?” she asked the snake. “I need to reach the World Tree.”

  The snake thought for a minute. “My sisters and I could distract it. But you’d have to be fast.”

  “You’d help me?” Casiopea said. “That’s very generous of you.”

  “Yes, for we are both daughters of the earth,” the snake said loftily. “Besides, I like the silver bracelet you wear on your arm. You could give it to us, to seal the bargain. One must give, after all, in quests like this.”

  Casiopea touched her wrist, looking at the silver circle she wore. Hun-Kamé’s gift, the only piece of jewelry she’d ever owned, and the one item she’d expected to keep, a reminder of her journey. And of him. She bit her lip.

  “Here, then,” Casiopea said, shaking her head and setting the bracelet on the ground next to the snake.

  The snake looked happy. It blinked, rubbing both of its heads against Casiopea’s hand, like a cat. Then it called to its sisters. There were three of them, jade green, also possessing two heads each, and when they saw the silver bracelet they were pleased, since all snakes appreciate jewels, precious metals, and mirrors. Their vanity causes them to spend many minutes chasing their reflection in their surfaces, but one must not think poorly of snakes for this reason, since they are kind, thoughtful creatures.

  Once they had looked at the bracelet, the snakes turned their attention to Casiopea, whispering among themselves.

  “We will scatter in different directions,” the snake told her, “and when the road is clear, run away. But be quick about it.”

  “I have no desire to remain here,” Casiopea said. “Thank you.”

  She stood up and readied herself. The snakes slithered away, following the road. At first the bat paid them no heed. It slept on, its arms resting across its chest, its eyes closed. But as the snakes shifted sand and dirt, making the tufts of grass bordering the road shiver, the bat stirred. It raised its head and spread its wings with one thunderous movement that resembled the sound of a whip, and it pushed itself into the air, flapping it wings and attempting to find the source of the noise.

  It seemed to be even bigger in flight, and for a few startled heartbeats Casiopea did not move. Then, regaining her wits, she dashed forward.

  She ran, attempting to find the shadow gaps in the road, but there were none. The Black Road did not cease, no matter how hard she looked.

  The bat, which was chasing a snake, turned its massive head and changed its mind, deciding to follow instead this new sound. It flapped its wings, gaining speed, and Casiopea attempted to run faster. She’d had plenty of chances to go down and up stairs, run to and fro around her house, and she was a nimble girl, but the bat fast approached her.

  Casiopea began to run in a zigzag, hoping this might throw the creature off. She’d seen moths do this in the late hours of the day, to trick bats and avoid becoming their dinner, but although it bought her a few moments, Kamazotz loomed closer. She spotted two columns that had collapsed at an angle, tangling together, leaving a space beneath them. Casiopea threw herself to the ground and rolled under the columns.

  The bat dove down, attempting to snatch her head like it had snatched the heads of heroes in ages past, and instead it struck a column. The claws hit the column with such force they left gouges on the rock. The bat flew up and down, striking the column again and again. In her hiding place Casiopea felt the stone shiver as it was incessantly pummeled. She undid the cord of the gourd and waited until the bat rose, ready to come swooping down against the column, then she tossed the gourd away with all her might. The gourd rolled upon the road, the water inside it sloshing. The bat, attracted by the noise, moved in its direction.

  Casiopea stood up and began running. Again, the sound of her shoes hitting the road made the bat turn around and seek her out. In no time it had found her.

  The Black Road extended solid and firm before Casiopea, no chink in it, and behind her, above her, the bat flapped its wings, readying to snatch her head away with its razor-sharp claws.

  I’ll die, she thought. Horribly, I’ll die.

  But she shook her head, shook the thought away.

  She saw it then, wavering, the shadow that indicated a gap, and leaped forward.

  She did not name her destination—there was no time for a sound to leave her throat—and she tumbled into a perfect darkness and tumbled out onto the Black Road again.

  She raised her head, but above her there was nothing except the strange non-sky of the Underworld. Behind her the road was quiet. No columns, broken or intact, bordered the road. She’d left the bat behind.

  Casiopea lay on the ground until her heart had regained its regular rhythm. Then she stood up and began walking again.

  * * *

  —

  Martín reached a river filled with blood. The sight of it was disgusting, and he was forced to turn back, find another gap in the road, and jump forward again, because the trick in Xibalba was that although the road seemed a straight line, it branched and moved. It constantly changed. However, once Martín jumped forward again, he found himself by a river of pus, impassable.

  “Damn you!” he yelled. He turned back a third time and finally was able to keep moving forward. At this point the road was not sticky anymore, so he moved with more ease, but he had bruises on his arms from the monkeys, and although his cheek had stopped bleeding, it ached mightily. More than that, his pride had been injured, and he was disheveled, a scared miscreant stumbling down the Black Road.

  * * *

  —

  Bones protruded from the earth, like broken teeth. Some were white, some were yellow, and some were a rotting black,
with pale pink or vermillion meat clinging in strings to them. They varied in size, as small as a clump of daisies, and others as tall as a person. And they carried a foul stench that made Casiopea press her shawl against her face.

  The stench attracted black vultures, which perched atop the bones. Their wrinkled, featherless, dark heads turned in Casiopea’s direction, and their eyes, made of opals, reflected the young woman, but they left her alone and did not attempt to impede her path. More unpleasant were the flies, which swarmed around the bones. These came in greens of different shades, the delicate green of bottles and glasses, and the milky green of jade, and finally the dark green of the jungle. Clouds and clouds of flies flew up in the air when she walked by, buzzing noxiously. She pressed her shawl against her face and held her breath, the perfume of carrion making her eyes water, until the flies were thick against the bones, like a cloud. But then, slowly, the flies and the stench faded.

  The bones that greeted Casiopea were now pecked clean, pale, naked, rising very high. No longer did they clump like tiny daisies, the smallest bones reached her shoulder; they extended as tall as trees, and where before they had bordered the road, now bones erupted in the middle of the black path she followed. First it was a bone or two, until she was walking by four large bones, then five, all in a row.

  Casiopea drew the shawl from her face and looked ahead. A wall of bones greeted her. It gleamed under the sunless sky of Xibalba. Although tall, the wall was not impassable. There were gaps between the bones, large enough that someone might squeeze between them.

  Perched high above the bones, a few black vultures gazed at the woman.

  “Very well,” Casiopea said, a sigh punctuating the words.

  She walked through the gaps. Sometimes she had to duck her head, and her progress was slow. But otherwise all was fine. Until the vultures yelled suddenly and flew off. Casiopea raised her head. She could see nothing from where she was, the bones as thick as the canopy in the jungle.