Gods of Jade and Shadow - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,75
the blue pool of water, creating ripples upon its surface. Casiopea held up her wrists, realizing the blood emanated from there, two slashes like bracelets decorating her arms. The blood welled thicker, faster, and as it fell the lake turned red.
She stepped away from the pool of water, hurrying back to the black road, but the black road had disappeared. Instead, a path of the deepest crimson branded the land, like a hot iron. When she stepped on it, she began to sink, as if she’d stepped in quicksand. Down she went, and even though she tried to crawl her way out, she could find no purchase, and as the road closed above her head she tasted the copper flavor of blood in her mouth. There was nothing but the beating of her heart, fear clawing at it, in the depths of Xibalba. And high above in the land of men, a king sat on an obsidian throne upon a pile of bones as tall as a mountain, and his eyes were gray as smoke and she knew him as Vucub-Kamé.
Casiopea gasped, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, and she could hardly see anything. Then came the click of a light.
She turned her head and saw Hun-Kamé sitting by her bed in a chair. Casiopea pushed herself up on her elbows. Her throat was parched and she struggled to find her tongue.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You fell asleep,” he replied simply.
“At the shop?”
“Of course.”
“How long did I sleep?”
“Seven hours, as promised. Night has fallen.”
He had tucked her under the covers and Casiopea attempted to shove them away so she could stand and take a look out the window, as if to confirm this fact, but as soon as she pulled the covers and made to move, a shiver went through her body.
“Wait,” he said, stilling her, his hand on her shoulder. “Do you need anything?”
“Water,” she croaked.
He returned with a glass, pressing it into her hands as he sat down on the bed. Casiopea drank it. It hurt going down her throat, but she was very thirsty. She gave him back the glass, and he set it aside on the night table. Casiopea rubbed her wrists, almost expecting to find gashes along them, but the only thing adorning them was her silver bracelet.
“Was your dream unpleasant?” he asked.
“I…I dreamed of Xibalba,” she said. She did not speak of the blood, nor the road that turned red, superstitious fear holding her tongue, as if by describing this incident she might bring misfortune to herself—and her luck, it was black! Somehow she identified the dream as a portent, and her heart knew not to tempt fate by solidifying it with words. He must have sensed this too; instinct made him frown, an uncomfortable silence extending between them
“Did you get what you needed from the witch?” she asked, wishing to dissipate the fear that clung to her body.
“Indeed. I have the Uay Chivo’s address and the assurance that he keeps what I seek in his studio, behind a safe with three locks.”
“But you can open the locks.”
“Yes.”
“Do we go now then?” she asked, already squaring her shoulders.
“Why don’t you rest?” he replied.
“I slept for hours,” she protested.
“But you did not rest.”
“I say we go now.”
She made a motion as if to stand up, but he shook his head, his hand bidding her to halt in her efforts.
“He will be there tomorrow, no need to leave tonight,” he told her.
“Tomorrow I might be dead,” she countered, unable to conceal the edge of panic on which she danced. The dream had brought with it the whiff of the grave, the undeniable reminder that the sands of her life were being spent, that she needed to dislodge the bone shard.
“Not tomorrow,” he assured her.
“Would you even tell me if it was tomorrow?” she asked. “Or would you keep quiet?”
“I have not lied to you. Why should I deceive you now?”
“You didn’t tell me all. You didn’t say your brother means to rule and have offerings brought to him and…and all that.”
“I might have said it sooner, but I’ve said it now. You can trust me.”
Casiopea tried to grab the glass again, fumbled the job, and he lifted it instead and pressed it against her hands. There wasn’t much water left, so when she’d taken a couple of sips he dutifully filled it again, ensuring her thirst would be sated. She settled the glass on the night table.