fallen to ruins. But it was far from ruins now. It was magnificent.
Four men holding drums made of wood and stretched hide stood in a row on the ledge around the pyramid's top. Their tanned faces were painted with strokes of red, yellow, and blue to look like masks. Their drums beat in unison, faster and faster until someone emerged from the doorway.
The man was taller than the drummers; beneath a towering red-and-white-feathered headdress, his entire face was painted with mazelike turquoise designs. His neck, wrists, ankles, and earlobes were adorned with the same kind of bone jewelry Bill had given Luce to wear. He was carrying something--a long stick decorated with painted feathers and shiny shards of white. At one end, something silver gleamed.
When he faced the people, the crowd fell silent, almost as if by magic.
Who is that man? Luce whispered to Bill. What's he doing?
That's the tribal leader, Zotz. Pretty haggard, right? Times are tough when your people haven't seen rain for three hundred and sixty-four days. Not that they're counting on that stone calendar over there or anything. He pointed at a gray slab of rock marked with hundreds of sooty black lines.
Not one drop of water for almost an entire year? Luce could almost feel the thirst coming off the crowd. They're dying, she said.
They hope not. That's where you come in, Bill said. You and a few other unfortunate wretches. Daniel, too--he's got a minor role. Chaat's very hungry by now, so it's really all hands on deck.
Chaat?
The rain god. The Mayans have this absurd belief that a wrathful god's favorite food is blood. See where I'm going with this?
Human sacrifice, Luce said slowly.
Yep. This is the beginning of a long day of 'em. More skulls to add to the racks. Exciting, isn't it?
Where's Lucinda? I mean, Ix Cuat?
Bill pointed at the temple. She's locked up in there, along with the other sacrificees, waiting for the ball game to be over.
The ball game?
That's what this crowd is on their way to watch. See, the tribal leader likes to host a ball game before a big sacrifice. Bill coughed and brushed his wings back. It's kind of a cross between basketball and soccer, if each team had only two players, and the ball weighed a ton, and the losers got their heads cut off and their blood fed to Chaat.
To the court! Zotz bellowed from the top step of the temple. The Mayan words sounded strangely guttural and yet were still comprehensible to Luce. She wondered how they made Ix Cuat feel, locked up in the room behind Zotz.
A great cheer erupted from the crowd. As a group, the Mayans rose and broke into a run toward what looked like a large stone amphitheater at the far side of the plain. It was oblong and low--a brown dirt playing field ringed by tiered stone bleachers.
Ah--there's our boy! Bill pointed at the head of the crowd as they neared the stadium.
A lean, muscular boy was running, faster than the others, his back to Luce. His hair was dark brown and shiny, his shoulders deeply tanned and painted with intersecting red-and-black bands. When he turned his head slightly to the left, Luce caught a quick glimpse of his profile. He was nothing like the Daniel she had left in her parents' backyard. And yet--
Daniel! Luce said. He looks--
Different and also precisely the same? Bill asked.
Yes.
That's his soul you recognize. Regardless of how you two may look on the outside, you'll always know each other's souls.
It hadn't occurred to Luce until now how remarkable it was that she recognized Daniel in every life. Her soul found his. That's ... beautiful.
Bill scratched at a scab on his arm with a gnarly claw. If you say so.
You said Daniel was involved in the sacrifice somehow. He's a ballplayer, isn't he? Luce said, craning her neck toward the crowd just as Daniel disappeared inside the amphitheater.
He is, Bill said. There's a lovely little ceremony--he raised a stone eyebrow--in which the winners guide the sacrifices into their next life.
The winners kill the prisoners? Luce said quietly.
They watched the crowd as it funneled into the amphitheater. Drumbeats sounded from within. The game was about to begin.
Not kill. They're not common murderers. Sacrifice. First they chop off the heads. Heads go back there. Bill nodded over his shoulder at the palisade of heads. Bodies get tossed into a skuzzy--pardon me, holy--limestone sinkhole out in the jungle. He sniffed. Me? I don't see how that's