“The Supreme Lord proposes a contest, the girl serving as your proxy and this young man here representing Vucub-Kamé,” Zavala said, slapping Martín’s shoulder. Her cousin was not pleased with the physical contact, grimacing.
“What kind of contest?” she asked.
“In ancient times we might have had two mortals face with shield and bladed weapons. Or perhaps play the ball game, the loser to be sacrificed upon the sacred court. Alas, I don’t think it would be quite fair, seeing as neither of you are ball players, nor are you warriors.”
Casiopea almost chuckled. Martín could ride a horse, but little more than that. He had no interest in sports, and while the other children in their town might eagerly chase a ball across the street, he did nothing of the sort. At least Casiopea had the strength developed from going to and fro around the house; the constant scrubbing of floors and the carrying of boxes stuffed with fruits and vegetables into the kitchen had developed her muscles—though these days, she felt tired and spent.
“The Supreme Lord suggests a more appropriate game. Whoever walks the Black Road and reaches the World Tree in the heart of Xibalba first wins. It is elegantly simple.”
It did sound simple, and if she had not seen the Black Road in her sleep she might have readily agreed, but the dream of blood and death made her curl her hands in her lap, clutching a bit of the fabric of her dress between her fingers. She recalled her meeting with her cousin, the visions she’d had in the garden. She could not pretend these were mere dreams. She had felt the touch of magic; she’d seen portents.
Vucub-Kamé was warning her. Or threatening her. And though she tried to dismiss it all as tricks, as ridiculous attempts to intimidate her, Casiopea knew there was some truth in the words he’d spoken and the things he’d shown them.
“Now, there are rules,” Zavala said. “First of all, Hun-Kamé’s magic may not protect you in Xibalba. You will be vulnerable to the elements and the piercing kiss of the blade. The same will go for Martín. No assistance can be provided; you will walk the road alone with an obsidian knife to keep you company. We are fair, after all.”
“What happens if I get there first?” Casiopea asked.
“The Lord Vucub-Kamé will kneel before Hun-Kamé and let him lop off his head for his intransigence. But if you should lose, dear girl, then it is Hun-Kamé’s head that will roll, and you will face an unpleasant life and an even more unpleasant afterlife, shackled inside the Razor House.”
She recalled the story of the Hero Twins and their journey through the houses of Xibalba. The Razor House was filled with knives, which flew through the air and sliced the flesh, but the twins had offered the knives the bodies of animals. As a result, the knives did not cut their skin. But that was a story, likely told to comfort mortals, and Casiopea did not think she’d be granted such a respite.
“You look upset, darling,” Zavala said, his voice full of mock kindness. “Would you like more champagne?”
“I’m fine.”
Zavala ignored her words, instead filling her glass to the brim again. She did not touch it, watching as her cousin finished his drink and fidgeted with a napkin.
“Well, one must always bet to win the game, and this is an important game, Casiopea. Being the champion of a god is no easy task. Now, you two don’t need to accept the proposal right this instant. Vucub-Kamé wishes to speak to you. He has a more magnanimous idea.”
“He has some trap he wishes to spring on us,” Hun-Kamé replied. “A trick of his.”
“Tricks, tricks, what an unkind thing to say. It may be he wishes to make amends, hmmm?” Zavala said. “Whatever he wants, he cannot address you directly unless you allow it, Hun-Kamé. Therefore, will you speak to him? He will visit you, if you agree.”
“As if we have a choice.”
“You have a choice. That is the point,” Zavala said.
“If I said no, what would he do? Place notes under my door?” Hun-Kamé asked. “We are at the end of this journey, after all, and must greet each other at last. He may show his face, if he wishes it.”
“Then it is accepted and arranged. Go back to your rooms. He will be there.”
Though the words were uncomplicated and mundane, Casiopea knew by now that every sentence spoken might carry hidden, magical meanings, and so it was in this case.
Zavala raised a glass, as if toasting them, and smiled at her. “You must know, dear girl, that Vucub-Kamé can be kind. Up to a certain point. But if you two force his hand…then it’s the Black Road. Tell me, honestly, do you fear death?”
Her eyes darted away, and she took Hun-Kamé’s hand in one fluid motion, rising to her feet with the quickness of an arrow.
“I think we should dance,” she said. It was the first thing that popped into her head, the excuse so that she wouldn’t have to answer the question.
Casiopea guided him toward the people dancing without sparing Zavala a single look. She felt her conviction faltering when he placed a hand against her waist. She did not know the steps to the song, which was slow and sweet, like syrup. She wanted to look down at her feet, to make sure they were moving in a somewhat coordinated motion, but she knew this would seem clumsy. Not that he was looking at her: his head was raised, as if peering above her shoulder.
“Your brother made me an offer today,” she said, finding a rhythm. “He spoke, somehow, through my cousin, and promised glory or gold. And he showed me, too, what might happen to me. He showed me death and Xibalba.”
“He has the power of prophecy, but not all his visions come to pass,” Hun-Kamé said.
“But I had already dreamed it, before, during the journey.”
He’d not been worried before, but now a frown creased his brow. His mouth grew tight.
