Page 59 of Corvus and the Broken God

Oh yeah, what’s that?

They mate for life.

He spread his bright green wings and took to the sky. I followed, grateful he didn’t expect a response.

Parrot wings and feathers didn’t work as well for long, soaring flights, unlike the lithe seagull body I had last inhabited, but eventually, we came to a small village. Camazotz kept us low, hovering near the top of the tree line. At least our feathers blended well with the dense forest. He led us around the village and then up a small hill. At the top perched an old manor house with a high-walled garden. We roosted down for the night just outside the garden wall, tucked tightly against each other in the crook of a branch. It was so thick, I had no fear of falling to the ground. And there, nestled up against the soft, feathered body of my Monster, I slept.

I woke to the screeching of parrots much earlier than I wanted. In fact, it felt like the middle of the night, the wisps of a dream still swirling around me. I tried to reach for what I had been dreaming. It seemed important, but I couldn’t catch it. A loud squawk sounded right next to my head, my Monster ensuring I was truly awake.

I replied, just because I could, and then noticed the pieces of fruit at my feet. My fellow parrot had brought me breakfast. As a thank you, I butted my head into his chest and then proceeded to eat as much of the soft, juicy flesh as I could fit in my bird stomach. We hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast the day before, and I was famished. Transforming usually left me hungry.

He still hadn’t said anything to me, and for a bad moment, I wondered if the life-sized bird next to me was a different bird. I caught his eye and knew him instantly.

Thank you for breakfast.

You’re welcome. Now, eat up. There are people in the garden.

That got me moving. I grabbed the last few chunks of fruit, gobbled them down, and looked toward the garden. I couldn’t make out anything happening due to the high wall, and the squawking parrots surrounding us were so loud it was impossible to hear anything but their cries.

I flew after my Monster over the wall to a tree branch at the opposite end. We could still hear our fellow parrots, but the noise wasn’t as overwhelming. Finally, framed in a lush, green tangle of leaves, I turned my attention to the people lounging in chairs below us.

Seeing Chaac in person made it real for the first time after weeks of preparation. The thick man sat easily on an old wrought-iron chair. He wore dark slacks and a button-down shirt that looked out of place in the tropical setting, even with his sleeves rolled up. His ridiculous wingtip leather shoes made me feel warm just looking at them. He held a newspaper loosely, alternating between reading it and joking with his companions.

To his left sat another man, taller and darker than Chaac. His swarthy features looked more European than the indigenous features of the locals, but what did I know? At least he wore more appropriate clothing: a light linen shirt and gray linen pants, thick leather sandals showing off long, narrow feet. He gesticulated when he spoke, but while the rumble of his deep voice carried, it wasn’t loud enough to understand.

A tiny woman sat a few feet away, her long dark hair reaching the middle of her back. She wore a shirt with oversized red flowers and a deep blue skirt barely covering her knees. She sat barefoot, with one leg crossed over the other, casual yet effortlessly elegant. While the two men chatted, she was engrossed with her phone.

The fourth person swam laps in the swimming pool. A woman, strong and lean, she moved through the water with powerful strokes. I fluffed my feathers and looked at my partner.

Do you know the other three people?

Yes, he replied after a long pause.

Now would be a good time to tell me about them.

The second pause was even longer, but the men spoke too quietly for us to catch more than a few words, and the women were occupied with their tasks. My Monster spoke eventually.

Micheline and Rune are the husband and wife you’ll recognize loosely from your readings as Ixchel and Itzamna. And the swimmer is Ixtab.

My eyes went to Ixtab, the Mayan goddess of honorable suicide. She was considered a fallen goddess, known for trapping men under the ceiba tree, seducing them, and then strangling them with thorny vines. Many Mayans still believed in her. She wore her tall body with confidence, as if she considered herself royalty.

This is her manor house.

Ixtab’s?

Yes.

Does she go by another name?

She changes it so often, I don’t know what it is now.

Why are you troubled?

He looked at me.

Okay, more troubled than normal. And yes, I can sense it. It’s practically radiating off you.

Micheline and Rune have always been supporters of the arts and the closest of my kind to my way of thinking. It is troubling to see them in conference with Chaac. I had hoped for an ally or two.