“And disobey the orders of the Supreme Lord of Xibalba? You are not to have it back,” Juan said, shaking his head.
“Disobey the orders of the false Supreme Lord and please the righteous one.”
The Mam shrugged. “Those are such confusing terms. False? Righteous? I am not a betting man, cousin. Today Vucub-Kamé has the throne. Tomorrow you may have it, maybe not. I wouldn’t want to face your brother when he is angry. Conflict between us is tiresome and unnecessary.”
Despite his words, the god opened his mouth wide, the corner of his lips distended. He unleashed another gust of wind, stronger than before, which might have indeed broken Casiopea’s bones as he’d previously promised, except that in the blink of an eye Hun-Kamé had raised a hand and the shadows on the floor rose like a wave, a cocoon, against which the wind crashed and shattered.
The Mam coughed and opened his mouth again, but Hun-Kamé spoke.
“Don’t try that with me or I’ll think you uncivil,” he said.
The god smiled and shook his head, his voice hoarse. “I thought we were playing! We have a rope to skip, and your friend can be Doña Blanca and we’ll dance around her. I wouldn’t seriously—”
“Be quiet.”
Hun-Kamé’s face had the grimness of the grave. It rubbed the insolence off the other god’s smile, sobering him a tad.
“If you do not return what belongs to me, you will find yourself in a very unpleasant situation. The bonds, as you say, may not hold long, but they will hold long enough for me to ruin your merry week of feasting. And when I sit on my throne, I will make sure to sour your nights. No drumming down the river, no imbibing of spirits, no laughter for you and your brothers.”
“And what if you do not regain your throne?” Juan asked, with mock innocence.
“Would you like to chance it, cousin? Remember who I am, remember my magic and my might. Remember also that my brother has always been the weaker one,” Hun-Kamé said, speaking in a low voice.
Juan’s smile was eclipsed completely. Although the night had been warm, Casiopea felt a chill go down her spine and rubbed her arms. The coldness seeped up from the earth, as if the ground had frozen beneath their feet. In Xibalba it was said there was a House of Cold where it hailed, and the hail cut your hands as sharply as a blade, and she thought perhaps this was the cold they felt. Whatever its source, it was unnatural and had an immediate effect on the god.
“This…this chill. I like the nights warm, cousin,” Juan said, and his teeth chattered, a plume of smoke escaping from his lips.
“Oh? I feel nothing. Casiopea, do you feel anything?” Hun-Kamé asked smoothly.
She shook her head and the Mam chortled, but the tips of his fingers were turning white, a delicate frost lacing itself across them.
“I respect you, Hun-Kamé. You know as much,” Juan said.
“Truly? I was beginning to doubt it.”
“I would not wish you as my enemy.”
“Swear to return my property and I will consider you blameless.”
Although Casiopea had been awed by Hun-Kamé when he appeared before her, and although she had been frightened too, she had not understood the whole extent of him. It was only watching the gods speak that she realized the weather god was intimidated, and she began to wonder about Hun-Kamé’s nature and his might.
Death, she walked next to Death, and Death wore the face of a man. So she spoke to Death like a man, raised her voice to him, she might even defy him, but of course he was no man. She’d seen drawings of Death in dusty books. It was depicted as a skeleton, its vertebra exposed, black spots on its body symbolizing corruption. That Death and Hun-Kamé seemed entirely different from each other, but now she realized they could be the same.
She glimpsed, for the very first time, the naked skull beneath the flesh. And if a god feared Death, should she not fear him too, rather than share oranges and conversation with him?
“I swear by air and water, and by the earth and fire too, if need be. Let me go and I’ll hand it over,” Juan said.
The frost now covered his whole chest and had worked itself up to his neck, turning his voice into a whisper, but Hun-Kamé spoke a word and the ice crystals melted off, though a chill infected the air.
He loosened the rope around the Mam’s hands and the god, in turn, reached into his pocket and took out a wooden box, inlaid with iridescent mother of pearl. Hun-Kamé opened it. In it lay a human ear, perfectly preserved. Hun-Kamé pressed it against his head, cupping it in place, and when he drew away his hand the missing ear was attached to his flesh, as if it had not been cut off.
Hun-Kamé inclined his head at the other god, gracious.
“I will assume you remain my beloved cousin, then,” Juan said, rubbing his hands together, “and that I may be allowed to leave now.”
“Go. Enjoy the night.”
The Mam nodded, but now that the frost had melted he quirked a mischievous eyebrow at them.
