Mayan Blood (8 page)

He exhaled, his shoulders slumped forward. “In time.”

Drina’s gaze lifted to the horizon. Streaks of yellow, orange and red streaked the sky. “The light has arrived, boy. It will guide you home. Follow it.”

Chapter Eight

Zanya

With everyone asleep, Zanya sat in her room, sorting through the massive stack of books Renato had given her. She promised she’d read them—anything to avoid that ‘straighten up’ glare he’d given her on the veranda.

She picked up a hand written journal and scanned the pages. A translation, from the look of it. The first half was written in a language she didn’t recognize. She skipped to the second half that was written in English, with what seemed to be an ink quill pen.

Entry 14: Sarian Pech, exact date of birth is unknown.

His mother, Aditya, birthed Sarian in her home with two midwives, who were later found dead. One had thrown herself from a cliff, the other had hanged herself near her home. Black magic is suspected to have influenced their suicides.

Sarian and his mother are unusually close. Aditya mentors him in the ways of dark magic, and he is growing in wizardly strength much quicker than we expected.

Entry 15: Several more villagers have vanished over the last month. The elders issued search parties, who returned with reports of Aditya walking alongside a beast in the jungle.

Entry 16: Our shaman received a vision during his worship. The gods are angry for allowing a witch to practice underworld magic in our village and have cursed us as punishment. They have ordered Atlacoya, the goddess of drought and barren land, to roam our village. As a greater punishment, they have exiled the goddess Chiconahui, who grants fertility and protects our families.

Entry 17: To my utmost despair, the last scribe has been found dead; her body was tied to a tree, disemboweled and decapitated. We will remember her bravery always.

It has been six months since rain last touched our soil. Our crops are dead, and our people are starving with no harvest. Most of our livestock have perished from dehydration as the lakes and rivers have dried up, leaving no oasis for them to quench their thirst.

Entry 18: A much worse curse has befallen our people. Without Chiconahui to bless our women, eight children have been stillborn. Our village grows angry. The people are becoming more fearful of the gods’ wrath than Aditya’s magic.

Entry 19: Our village has turned on Aditya. But the uprising was not without bloodshed. We knew Sarian was dark, but the cruelty of a boy should only extend to the limits of man.

What we witnessed today was far beyond that of man.

The boy is not human. Before our eyes his skin changed. His body changed. Splintered bones and a frail frame morphed into that of a beast, only thought to exist in Xibalba. And when the dark transformation was complete, he fed.

Now the bodies of our people are scattered through the village like ornaments. Their blood stains the earth red. Their terrified expressions are frozen in time. There is no returning from the hell we are living. There is no coming back.

Entry 20: We have successfully exiled Aditya and her demon son. It seems to be an effective victory. Banished for the remainder of their lives, the head shaman now prays through the night for forgiveness for our initial disobedience.

Entry 21: It has been three months since Aditya and Sarian have fled. The bodies of our fallen warriors have been laid to rest with the highest honors, maize wedged in their mouths and jade placed on their graves for the journey to their next lives. The tomb for the martyrs is now full. Since the burial, Atlacoya has returned with the rains and several of our women have conceived. The elders declared that we have regained the gods’ favor by casting the witch and her forsaken offspring from our village.

Zanya lowered the book to her lap. There was no doubt Sarian was dangerous, but until now, she hadn’t realize just what they were up against. Zanya leaned back with the book on her lap, her mouth suddenly so dry she could hardly swallow. If they were going to challenge him, they’d have to step up their game. That, or they might not make it out of this alive.

***

The next morning, Zanya entered the kitchen to find Peter at the stove.

He waved the spatula in his hand. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” Her tone was flat, but she couldn’t help it. The morning was good until she ran into him—the guy trying to steal her best friend’s heart. She sat at the breakfast bar, inhaling the sweet scent of freshly made pancakes.

The pan sizzled; globs of half-cooked batter clung to the spatula. Peter smiled, awkward but still charming, even though she hated to admit it to herself. “I’m glad you made it.”

Yawning, she rubbed her eyes. “Made what?”

“Made it for breakfast.” He tossed a hot flapjack on a plate and set it in front of her. “I’m glad you came.”

“Oh.” The deformed pancake was burned around the edges. “Thanks. You didn’t have to make me breakfast, though. I can feed myself.”

“I don’t mind.” He dropped another dollop into the hot pan. “But I’m sorry to have to tell you this is about the only thing I can make. That and instant mashed potatoes.” He paused, in thought. “Coffee. I can make coffee, too.”

“Have you seen Tara today?”

“Yeah. She’s still in her room. I just left there about fifteen minutes ago.” She tensed. He was in her room. Peter shoved a huge bite in his mouth. “You want to eat? I bet you’re hungry.”

“No. Thanks.” She padded toward the hall, and then paused. “Hey, where’s Tara’s room? I haven’t been there yet.”

He pointed with his butter knife. “She’s in the main wing.” His words enveloped by a full mouth of pancake. “The last door on the left. But—”

Zanya deserted Peter in the kitchen. She wasn’t usually so rude, but who the hell did he think he was, anyway? Why would he have been in Tara’s room? The most logical explanation made her stomach tighten. A moment later she was up the stairs and down the hall, standing in front of Tara’s room. Zanya knocked, and Tara opened the door and peeked out.

“Hey!” She smiled. “Come on in.” Tara swung open the door and stepped aside. “Come on, come on.” She excitedly waved her in.

Zanya strode in and paused. “Wow.” She scanned the space. “Nice room.” The Moroccan-inspired decor was bright and festive with colors splashed over every surface. Silk pillows, an elaborate throw rug, and a plush duvet drenched in every imaginable shade of blue, red, and green.

“It’s nice, right? Check this out.” Tara walked to the other side of the room and flung her curtains open, allowing sunlight to pour in through the wall of windows. The colorful decor instantly brightened and sparkled with silk accents and gold threads. “You can’t beat waking up to that every morning, huh?” Tara drew in a deep breath with a satisfied smile, admiring the view.

Zanya joined her, and Tara rested her head on Zanya's shoulder. They stood together in silence, taking in the amazing scenery of acres of gardens and low-lying stone walls caring pathways among the flowers.

“It’s beautiful,” Zanya said.

“Definitely better the view of the cement walls and bars on the windows.”

Zanya's heart ached. They’d spent so many days wishing they were somewhere else. Anywhere, just to escape that place. “How are you coping with that, by the way?”

“With what?”

“No anti-depression meds. Are you…okay?”

Tara shrugged. “Surprisingly, yeah. I feel great. I have clarity for the first time in a long time.” Tara slid her arm around Zanya's waist. “I guess I owe all of that to you. If you didn’t agree to stay, I’d be back there. Alone.”

“I wouldn’t have left you. Even if that meant me staying too.”

Tara wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled. “I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.” She walked to her bed and sat. Her toes barely touched the floor. “So, what’s up?”

The moment of peace vanished when Zanya remembered why she came. “I wanted to have some breakfast with you, but when I went into the kitchen, you weren’t there, and I didn’t know where your room was.” She paused, waiting for Tara to say something. “Peter was in the kitchen, so he told me.” She stood quiet for another moment. Still, Tara had no reaction.

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Well, that’s good. I’m glad you found me. Now we can eat.” Tara hopped off her bed and rummaged through a drawer of clothes.

A streak of annoyance wove through her. They’d been friends for a long time. Being blown off wasn’t something Zanya took very well, even from Tara. “So, how does Peter know where your room is?”

“What do you mean, how?” Tara flung socks and folded T-shirts onto the floor. “He was here.”

“And…” Zanya scratched a nervous itch on her arm. “Why exactly would Peter be in your room?”

With a shirt in her hand, Tara froze, and slowly pivoted. She pushed to her feet, dropping the garment onto the floor. “Depends.” Her lips pursed. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

Zanya suddenly regretted prying. The expression on her friend’s face told her she’d gone too far. “For your information, he was here to invite us to breakfast.” She gestured to both of them with a sharp jab of her finger. “But he was too shy to knock on your door, so I told him I’d get you.” With a moment of silence, the agitation in her features subsided. “I thought that’s why you came here.” She tilted her head. “You don’t need to worry about me. Peter’s a nice guy. He’s not like that. And I wish you’d have a little faith in me.” Her cheeks blazed red. “What you’re thinking about…it’s something I’m just not ready for yet. So, let’s drop it, all right?”

Zanya mentally kicked herself. Repeatedly. “It’s just that I know how guys can be. I don’t want to see you get your heart broken. A boy will like you one minute, he may even say he loves you, and the next minute, he just…doesn’t anymore.” Tears stung Zanya's eyes.

Tara sighed, her gaze filled with a sense of empathy Zanya hated to be the recipient of. She didn’t want anyone to feel bad for her. Tara snorted. “We’ve been friends for a long time. I know you. You can stop trying to be so tough.” She hugged Zanya tightly. “Not all boys are like him. I know getting past that has been hard for you, but Peter really is different. If you get to know him, you’ll see for yourself.”

Zanya hugged Tara back. What had she been thinking? Tara may have been a lot of things, but a slut wasn’t one of them.

“Now come on.” In a sudden movement, Tara stepped back and grabbed her hand, then dragged her toward the door. “I’m so hungry, I’m about to eat my own arm.”

Zanya grinned. “We wouldn’t want that. Peter would be awfully disappointed during your make-out sessions…or if he decided to take up juggling and needed a partner.”

Tara shot her a threatening sideways glare, then smirked and quickly left the room.

When they arrived at the kitchen, Tara’s attention was immediately on Peter. Little pink hearts may as well have risen from her head and popped like little soap bubbles. It was that painfully obvious.

While Tara took a seat at the kitchen bar, Zanya leaned against the archway, observing them. Peter tugged gently on one of Tara’s curls and let it go, and watched as it sprung up and bounced off her shoulder. Tara giggled and laced her fingers between his.

Zanya sighed. She’d give him credit. The boy knew how to charm. Problem was, she couldn’t tell if he was trying to charm his way into Tara’s heart, or into her bed.

“
Dios mío
.” Arwan walked up from behind her with his arms crossed, staring into the kitchen. “How much longer is this going to last? We need to train.”

She shrugged. “I think he’s gone forever.”

He settled beside her and brushed his shoulder against hers. He didn’t seem to notice, but she did, and the butterflies in her stomach prompted her to move away. “If he’s gone, I’ll have a lot of free time on my hands and nobody to spend it with.” The corner of his mouth curled in a grin.

She mirrored his amused expression, and then remembered the tragic downfalls to a guy’s charm. With a few mind-clearing blinks and a mental pep-talk, she renewed her oath. No guys. That was the deal she made with herself, and she would stick to it. “That’s not entirely true. You have Hawa.”

Arwan crinkled his nose.

“What? You don’t like her? She’s so warm and inviting.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her, but she and Peter have some history. When they broke up it jaded her. She hasn’t really been the same since.”

Tara giggled and blushed over Peter twining his finger around her curls. Zanya decided to leave well enough alone for the moment. Maybe she’d talk to Tara about it later and give her a heads-up.

“Well,” Arwan said. “I guess practice is canceled for today. I should make my rounds.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Rounds?”

“I walk the perimeter at least once a day. I can show you around the grounds, unless you’d rather watch this.” He gestured to Tara and Peter.

Zanya smirked. He may have been a stranger, but nothing about him seemed strange. In fact, he felt all too familiar—something in his eyes. “Okay. I guess I can handle a walk.”