Gods of Jade and Shadow(65)

“Welcome to my home. I suppose proper introductions are not necessary,” the man said.

“Yet introductions are always proper,” Hun-Kamé replied.

The old man’s steps proclaimed his identity as loudly as if he had yelled it at the door. For there could be no denying that this was the Uay Chivo. His gait was odd, and there were the eyes too, with a strange spark in them, the tilt of the head, and all about him this…stench: tobacco and ashes, covered up with a cloying cologne.

“You behave improperly, riffling through my things. I doubt you found anything worth your while.”

One of the men helped the Uay Chivo out of his coat and placed it on a chair.

“Maybe you were looking for this?” he asked.

The old man pointed to the necklace he was wearing, now revealed after the removal of the coat. It looked heavy and was made of jade beads and a spiny oyster shell. “The boxes were for show. I carry it around my neck.”

Hun-Kamé did not seem perturbed by this revelation. “We are indeed looking for my property,” the god replied simply.

“And did you think it would be that easy to get your claws on it?”

“I was hoping it wouldn’t be too complicated.”

The sorcerer grinned at them, pointing the head of his walking stick at Hun-Kamé, shaking it as he walked slowly toward them.

“Then you’ll be sorely disappointed,” the Uay Chivo said. “I’ve been expecting you. Only a fool would not have guessed this fact.”

“A wise man would choose the words he uses with me.”

“Wisdom! And yet you, dear lord, have been most unwise, or I wouldn’t be wearing the necklace of a Death Lord. I’m afraid I won’t bow to the likes of you.”

“No, you bow your head low before my brother,” Hun-Kamé replied. “Kiss the dust he steps on, I suspect.”

“I do the will of the Supreme Lord of Xibalba,” said the Uay Chivo, and so confident he must have been in the support of Vucub-Kamé that he stepped forward and pressed the tip of the cane against the god’s chest, a threat and the stamp of his authority.

He reminded Casiopea of her grandfather.

“My younger brother is a usurper, gaining his throne with deceit. You do the will of a liar,” Hun-Kamé said.

“Does it matter? Power is power.”

Hun-Kamé slid the cane away with one hand, a gentle motion, as if he were removing a piece of lint from his well-tailored suit.

“I know you, Uay Chivo. You are one of the Zavalas. Carnival magicians with delusions of grandeur,” Hun-Kamé said casually.

The god was all quiet elegant contempt and his words held no threat. It was as if threats would be beneath him at that moment, as if he would not waste his breath on a creature as humble as the sorcerer. The Uay Chivo must wave his cane and snarl, but Hun-Kamé would not. It was a double humiliation, in words and gesture, the mark of the deepest scorn. And the old man knew it. He stepped back, gripping his cane tightly with one hand, his face red.

He handed his cane to one of the young men who stood next to him and took a deep drag from his cigarette.

“Carnival magicians, huh?” the Uay Chivo repeated.

The sorcerer inspected his cigarette with great care. Flames curled out from his mouth, resting there, hot against his lips, before he spat them out and pushed them away with a wrinkled hand, tossing a fireball against Hun-Kamé. The impact of it sent the god crashing against the floor, toppling a side table and a vase in the process.

Casiopea leaned over him.

“Does that seem like the work of a carnival magician?” the sorcerer said triumphantly.

“Hun-Kamé,” Casiopea whispered urgently, touching his neck, his chest, his brow. The fireball had not ignited his clothes, yet his skin felt feverish to her touch. His eyes were closed. She shook him a little.

The sorcerer’s assistants were holding knives in their hands, cutting their palms, and the Uay Chivo had started speaking, weaving words and a spell together. Casiopea, not knowing what to do, held Hun-Kamé in her arms and watched as the men pressed their bloodied hands against the floor, tracing a circle around them, the blood bubbling and sizzling, as if water had hit a hot pan.

Despite her fear, which was real and alive, sharp enough to make her fingers tingle, Casiopea chased away panic. It would do no good to cry or scream. She knew no magic, she realized that she could not undo this spell; therefore she merely drew Hun-Kamé closer to her, as if she might protect him with her touch. She clutched him and stared at the men who circled them not with her face deformed by terror but with a more distant look.

A wall of fire rose from the spot where the blood had fallen. It was a fire born of a strange flame, blue in its cast. One moment it was solid, the next as flimsy as a spider web, yet it shivered as a flame would. The sorcerer tossed a handful of ash against it, and the fire acquired an almost violet hue.

The old man and the young ones were pleased with themselves; they chuckled and yelled a few obscenities in their triumph.

Casiopea, knowing nothing, unable to understand the nature of the spell, extended an arm, intending to touch the wall of fire.

“Don’t,” Hun-Kamé said, grabbing her arm.

He had finally opened his dark eye and stared at her. Casiopea felt such stupid joy in this, in the realization that he was not grievously injured—although he couldn’t have died of such an injury, immortal as he was—that she almost spoke an inane term of endearment before she was cut off by the laughter of the sorcerer.