Gods of Jade and Shadow - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,79

quite enough.”

“Hmmm. But not why.”

Aníbal rested his back against the desk, carefully holding his cigar between his fingers, as if examining the wrapper.

“Gods move pieces across boards, young man. That is what you are now. Your grandfather was one piece, one move, in a series of moves. It’s your turn now, and it is an honor.”

“It sounds like bullshit to me,” Martín said acidly, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. He had had quite enough for a single evening. His old instinct to bully someone whom he perceived frailer than him, for Aníbal at least looked frailer, an old man, an unpleasant authority figure, was rising.

“Such language. Besides, you haven’t even asked what you are playing for.”

“What?” Martín asked.

Martín noticed that the cigar had now developed a head of ash on the tip and needed to be rolled against an ashtray, but Aníbal did not seem in a hurry.

“To the world outside I simply built and own this hotel. Do you think me an ordinary businessman?”

“I guess not.”

“How am I different?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Martín shot back.

Aníbal opened his mouth, and out curled the cigar’s smoke, rising as high as the ceiling, twisting, and expanding, acquiring a shape. It danced above Aníbal’s head, alive, vital, its shape that of a four-legged animal.

“I’m a sorcerer, but more than that, a priest. A loving servant of the Lord of Xibalba.”

Aníbal flicked his finger against the cigar, and the accumulated ash rose, combining with the smoke, to further define the animal above him. It was a dog, and when Aníbal flicked his finger again, the smoke and ash rained on the old man, settling like a mantle on his shoulders. Aníbal then opened his left hand and ash fell on the floor, the labyrinth that had been contained on the page now reproduced there, its lines spreading and dancing around Martín’s feet. He took two steps back, but the ash rose knee-high and he realized he could not move back or forward.

“Xibalba, it is here and it is there, the Black Road reaches far and wide. Mortals stand, breathe, walk upon Xibalba and do not even know it, having forgotten their allegiance to the Place of Fright. But we will change that. They will know the name of their Supreme Lord.”

“All right, I get the point,” Martín replied. Now his tone was mellowing as he realized the old man was more dangerous than he’d thought.

“Do you?”

Beneath his mild-mannered face, Aníbal hid a bleak interior, and his eyes were two prick points of glowing red, as if someone had lit them with a match.

“You are playing the one game that matters, Martín. It’s the game of creation,” Aníbal said. “Temples will rise for Vucub-Kamé and there will be rejoicing and there will be sacrifice.”

The ash and smoke came together, forming a dark temple, and then another, until there were dozens of them surrounding Martín. Even someone as obtuse as he could understand the meaning of such an apparition. He bowed his head, afraid, but also aware there was no escaping this fate, that he’d walk the road and he’d somehow ensure Vucub-Kamé’s victory, and with it the world would change.

The old man carelessly let his cigar fall on a silver ashtray and yawned.

“Well, we should begin now. Don’t you think? After all, your cousin will be here soon,” Aníbal said.

Martín shivered. Any living man who will face the Land of the Dead will shiver, but he nodded his head too.

Aníbal closed his fist, and the ash and the smoke formed a wide circle, onto which he stepped and motioned for Martín to join him. Martín obeyed, watching as the gray ash turned black. Beneath them the floor melted, as if it were made of tar, and Martín closed his eyes. He was afraid, like when he’d been a small child and thought monsters lurked under his bed; only now they did, and he assisted them.

The outside of the Uay Chivo’s house was unassuming; its pale blue paint had peeled and the potted plants at the windows were wilting. The inside was a different story. First of all, Casiopea was certain the interior was too spacious, as if extra rooms could exist within the limits of this home, breaking all laws of physics. Second, it was filled with peculiar, unsettling items. The studio they wandered into had two large stone statues of goats, fitting considering the name of the sorcerer who owned the place, and creepy since the