Gods of Jade and Shadow(69)

His lips curled, his eyes grew lighter. He returned the smile. He hadn’t smiled at her before, or if he had it had not been like this, his face clumsy and unadorned. The artless shape of the smile endeared him to her. She chuckled despite all the aches in her body, which did not fade as quickly as the shape of the bruises.





They slept nearly a whole day as the train sped west, the most direct route to Baja California actually taking them across the United States rather than Mexico, following the border. Her sleep was dreamless and Casiopea was thankful. She did not wish the image of the dead sorcerer to haunt her, nor did she want to envision the Black Road and the gray soils of Xibalba. A deep sleep in her twin berth was a blessing.

When they awoke they sat by the window. The land and the sky and the cacti were bright streaks of color. An arid sight, so different from the lush jungles of the south, the blue pools of water where she’d cooled herself. Baja California was closer now and with it the feeling that something important would happen. Portents in the air, in the clouds, if she’d known to read the signs.

Hun-Kamé was quiet and kept his distance despite their narrow quarters. He had a sour look, and sat very firmly on the lounge chair that faced their berths. It made her nervous, this stasis, even if she knew his silences. It chafed Casiopea, making her want to spring up and pace around in counterpoint.

Something was amiss. Their triumph against the sorcerer should have brought them joy. Instead, he wallowed.

The sun burned the windows; the heat was a white heat, like a sheet. Back in Mérida she could hide in the cool patio of the house, but there was no hiding on this train, and despite all the niceties it contained, it was hot as an iron in there. She opened the window a bit—dirt and cinders would blow in, but she needed to cool herself—and looked at Hun-Kamé over her shoulder.

The train let out a long whistle.

His gaze was on a faraway point she could not reach.

“What is it?” she asked, unable to stand it any longer.

“He seeded the path for us, but now I wonder what will flower,” Hun-Kamé said. At least he’d spoken up, breaking the silence.

“I don’t understand.”

“My brother left behind all these pieces for me to retrieve, drawing me farther from the heart of my empire, from the Yucatán. A calculated game, which has not bothered me until this point, but now I wonder…if I’d first found the eye instead of the necklace, it might be better. This, around my neck. I thought it would be enough, I wanted it to be enough, but it’s not enough…My strength ebbs.”

He pressed a hand against his throat. He’d cast an illusion and the jade necklace now appeared an ordinary tie, but it was there. She perceived it without seeing it. “And you look weaker too, more frail,” he muttered.

He had not gazed out the window, the scenery did not concern him, but now he turned his gaze there, ignoring her. He spoke as if talking to the desert, the sand and the sky, not to her.

“I must return home. Every second away is unbearable. Xibalba needs me and I need it. At times I think if I spend much more time in this land I will not be able to return to where I was…to who I was.” He shook his head “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I do understand.”

“Please,” he said dismissively.

His poised indifference offended her. He was being rude, cruel, and rather than accepting this as the whim of a god she spoke, harsh and loud.

“You don’t realize it, do you?” she asked. “You don’t see the way you are turning my world upside down. I was someone in Uukumil, someone I may never be again.”

“I’ll remove the bone shard as soon as I have my throne back, I won’t waste a second,” he said, and the words were like a blow. She raised her head high.

Casiopea stood right in front of him, so that he could not glance out the window and ignore her. She almost felt like grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket to emphasize her point. “It’s not the bone shard,” she said “It’s everything. I have no idea where I’ll go after this, what I’ll do. Did you ever even wonder about that? You’ll return home, but I’ve forsaken mine. My family won’t take me back.”

“It is not the same.”

He stood up. The desert heat shrank the boundaries of their compartment, drawing him closer to her. She thought about a story Mother had told her one time when she was bad, about wicked girls combusting into balls of fire. She could swear she was about to be scorched, but she stared at him.

“I can feel the taint of your mortality in me, and I must scrub it off, soon,” he went on.

“You talk as if I’m poisonous,” Casiopea protested.

“You are,” he said, careless and cold. “And I’m poisonous to you, killing you with every breath you take. If you had any common sense you’d understand why I grow weary. If I had my eye back I might be stronger, if I was in Mérida…but I am here, incomplete. You are not foolish, you must have some idea…”

As he spoke, the words grew sharper, and she realized something, hearing him speak, something that ought to have been obvious from the moment they had woken up and he’d sat, morose, in his corner of the compartment. “You are afraid,” Casiopea said in wonder.

Afraid of death. Of life? How to define it. It was clear then, the nervousness, the way he stood, the timbre of his voice. And why wouldn’t he be? Immortal, suddenly faced with the possibility of mortality, of all his plans gone asunder. Casiopea was not able to summon much fear for herself, although she was aware that she was dying, that he was drawing her essence away, and when he was full she’d crumple, a wilted flower. For the moment she was more interested in his reaction.