Gods of Jade and Shadow - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,89
I hope.”
Aníbal inclined his head, a deferential nod. Vucub-Kamé began to walk again and the men trailed behind him, dogs waiting for scraps from their master. In the trees black birds stared at the trio but did not sing. The god had been irritable as of late, so they wisely kept their mournful melodies to themselves.
“Your brother is dead, Aníbal,” Vucub-Kamé said casually. “The problem with the old goat is he is always underestimating the difficulties of certain tasks.”
Vucub-Kamé turned around to stare the Zalazar man directly in the face. The god did not appear displeased, but the wind that had been tugging at his pale hair ceased, growing shy.
“Listen with care. Hun-Kamé and the girl will arrive in Tijuana soon. You, Leyva, will meet them there.”
“I?” Martín asked. “What for?”
“Because I set the tone from the very first step and because I want to offer certain terms to your cousin.”
“What terms?”
“The details don’t concern you. You’ll meet them and kindly escort them to Tierra Blanca. And you, Aníbal, will be polite too. No gnashing of the teeth or foolish revenges.”
“They killed my brother,” Anibal said.
“As if that was but a temporary condition.”
“It’s the principle, my lord, and you know precisely how—”
“I know precisely how much of an idiot you can be sometimes,” Vucub-Kamé replied, his voice harsh. “But I am not interested in stupid displays of pyrotechnics and whatever rough magic you command. Hun-Kamé and the girl will be received like honored guests. Especially the girl.”
Aníbal Zavala had assisted Vucub-Kamé in overseeing the construction of the structure in Tierra Blanca, as well as in the manufacture of the axe that had robbed Hun-Kamé of his head. Yet that did not mean the god would treat him kindly if he were to disobey.
“Casiopea?” Martín scoffed.
“Bind that tongue of yours. You may speak when I ask a question.”
Vucub-Kamé’s eyes were the color of ashes that have lain in the hearth for a long time, all warmth leached from them. Had Martín been paying more attention he might have noticed this before speaking, but he was not a man of subtleties. Now the eyes had grown colder, and Martín snapped his mouth shut.
“Your cousin will be like our dearest friend; she will be offered delicacies and gifts. You will speak kindly to her and attempt to make her see, once more, how much easier it would be to side with me. You understand now, boy?”
“Yes,” Martín said.
“Make sure that progress you spoke of turns to certainty,” Vucub-Kamé said, turning his gaze to Aníbal.
He did not even bother ordering them away. The men bowed and left of their own accord, the impatience of the lord encouraging them to flee like scared buzzards.
Vucub-Kamé stood by the lake, alone now, to weigh his worries. It had occurred to him that he had found the kink in his plans: Casiopea Tun.
She was the seed of all this trouble, having opened the chest in the first place. Despite this, Vucub-Kamé had considered her as a minor piece in the game—someone had to open the chest, it did not matter to him who did, nor when.
But Vucub-Kamé had begun to worry about the exact value of the mortal.
Symbols are of importance both to sorcerers and gods, and Vucub-Kamé ought to have identified this particular symbol before. Casiopea, like certain tiny, colorful frogs in the jungle, was more dangerous than one could imagine at first glance.
She was, after all, the maiden, and there is power in this symbol.
One time the Lords of Xibalba had executed two mortal men when the men challenged them to a game of ball. The bodies of the mortals were buried under the ball court in Xibalba, but the head of one of them was placed on a tree. A maiden approached the tree, and when she reached up toward it, the head of the dead man spat into her hand. Pregnant in this magical way, she gave birth to the Hero Twins who returned to avenge their dead father, and eventually succeeded in restoring him to life.
Although mortals mangled the story in the telling—for the tale concluded with the defeat of the Lords of Xibalba, and the gods persisted—there was a smidgen of truth to the myth. But what mattered was not the veracity of the story, but its power. The symbol. The hidden meaning. A woman and rebirth and the restoration of something lost. A vessel, a conduit through which everything is made anew.