Beautiful Salvation (11 page)

Aiyana pressed her lips into a thin line. “Fine. Hearing you out won’t hurt anything, I suppose.”

She placed her hand in his arm and the power between them rose again, less intense than the last time, but still there. Saamal noted the tension that sang though Aiyana’s body and wondered if feeling the power inside her rise like that was disturbing for her. “Perhaps we should start with your point of view,” he suggested, wanting to take her mind off any unpleasantness she might be feeling. “Tell me, what has you so convinced that the power within you is evil?”

“My mother and father never believed in sacrificing our people,” she started carefully. “They didn’t believe anyone should have to die to make the land fertile, not if the people were good to the land and grateful for the bounty it produced. They’d gone along with it out of fear of what the Black God might do if they refused, but after what he did to me… They told me they finally decided to stand up to him. They stopped the sacrifices and worshiped the White God instead. I’d never even heard of the Black God until my powers started growing and my mother finally had no choice but to tell me about what the Black God had done.”

Saamal fought to keep his body from tensing with shock. The sting of betrayal stabbed deep, twisting his insides until it was difficult to breathe. All this time he had trusted the monarchs, believed that they had faith in him, that they trusted him to do what was best for the kingdom. All the while he’d been gone, trying to survive after saving their daughter’s life by sacrificing his own power, they’d been working to weaken him further. Ceasing the sacrifices, worshiping his brother, the White God.

“Her parents simply let you claim her?”

Patricio’s voice came back to him now. He’d brushed the question off at the time, confident that he’d been within his rights to claim Aiyana’s hand in marriage. Now, though, he wondered if he’d been wrong. Had the king and queen been angry with him? Had they been too frightened to speak to him? Saamal stared off into the distance, his mind wandering. He’d always been so focused on making his people as strong, as vibrant as he could, doing whatever was necessary to accomplish that goal. Had he been too single-minded? Had focusing on the larger picture rendered him blind to the people he tried to serve?

His mind skittered around, searching for something else to focus on, and he truly noticed for the first time what Aiyana had been pointing out from the beginning.

The land. The land here was lush and green, a far cry from the barren wasteland the earth had become in…reality. Saamal cursed himself for being so foolish. He’d forgotten he was on the astral plane, that these people were all…dreaming, for lack of a better word. Adonis had been clear that the astral plane was less about reality and more about feelings. The land here was healthy because that is how everyone here wished it to be. How could he convince Aiyana of the necessity of the sacrifices that disturbed her so if he couldn’t show her proof of the damage ceasing them had caused?

Saamal ran a hand through his hair, tugging gently at the strands. “It weighs heavy on my heart to hear such things.”

“You feel sorry for the Black God?” Aiyana glanced at him, one eyebrow arched.

“I feel sorry for any man or being who is so summarily written off, so easily judged.” Saamal tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but failed. He cleared his throat. “Let me ask you this, Aiyana. Do you approve of hunting?”

“Of course. Our people need food.”

“Indeed. And do you honor the animals that give their lives so that you and your people might eat?”

“Of course!” Aiyana glared at him, indignation shining in her eyes. “I am not one to take from the world without gratitude.”

“And after you take the wool from the sheep, do you leave them to starve after you’ve gotten what you needed? Leave their corpses in the meadows to rot?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Aiyana pulled her hand from his arm, scowling.

Saamal stopped and met her eyes. “Of course you don’t. Not only because that would be selfish and insulting to the creatures who give of themselves so you can live, but because to let them die because you would not give them food would mean they had nothing to give you next year. And so it is with the land. When the Black God created the world, when he took the monster Cipactli, ended her reign of terror, and formed her body into the land of his people, he did not simply turn his back on the sacrifice that Cipactli made. He thanked her for her sacrifice, and he spoke to her. They shared a blood oath, bonding together so that her pain would be his pain. He promised her that she would not be forgotten, she would not be left to suffer in hunger. She continues to provide a fertile land for the people to live on, to get food and shelter from. And in return we
do not let her starve.
”

“Look around you,” Aiyana seethed. “We have not been offering a sacrifice for years. Does the land appear to be
rotting away
to you?” She crossed her arms. “Your comparison is flawed.”

The muscle in Saamal’s jaw twitched. How satisfying it would be to tell Aiyana the truth of her circumstances, the truth of her plan for her kingdom. Here on the astral plane, where the astral projections of herself and her parents had been ignoring the sacrifice for years, the land may be rich and fertile, but in the physical world, in reality, the land was dying. Cipactli was dying. He was dying.

“Just because the royal family has ignored the needs of their land, ignored their duties, does not necessarily mean the people have as well,” he spoke up, reaching for some alternative reason to explain away her false evidence. “What makes you think no one is carrying out the sacrifices in secret?”

The words had come to him in a flash of inspiration, and the grimace on Aiyana’s face made him offer a prayer to whatever spirit had given him such insight.

“Are you telling me that there is someone among my subjects who is going around killing people?”

Saamal’s mouth moved and no words came out, stolen by shock. How could Aiyana be so blind, so completely misguided? “Still you don’t understand.” He fought to swallow past the lump in his throat, a weight on his heart that she saw him as such a monster. “No, Aiyana, I am not talking of murder. What I’m saying is that perhaps there are those among your subjects who are offering
themselves
up. Who think that dying for the good of their people, for giving their life in gratitude to Cipactli the same way we ask animals to give their lives for us, is a cause worth dying for.” He shrugged and started off in the direction of the lake again, leading Aiyana on. “Who knows? Now that the sacrifice is not being regulated by the royal family, perhaps there are several people offering such sacrifices…not knowing that a sacrifice has already been offered.”

Aiyana hissed and rushed to catch up with him, jabbing a finger in his chest. “You’re only saying that to horrify me.”

She halted in front of him, eyes flashing, and Saamal stopped to face her. “If your people are giving their lives for something they believe in, giving themselves up for their people of their own free will, then why are you horrified?” Saamal demanded. “Tell me, Aiyana, how much time have
you
spent out among your people?”

Aiyana reared back as if he’d slapped her. “I…” She pressed her lips into a tight line and crossed her arms. “I am the princess, guarded within an inch of my life. I am not allowed—”

“Ah, so you would be the monarch sitting in her castle—separated from her people—deciding that you know better than they what is best for them? You would forbid them from doing with their lives what they would—even if that meant ending it for the good of their people? Do you hold yourself so superior to them?”

Aiyana paled. “I do not hold myself superior.”

“You believe you are superior to animals. It is fine for animals to give their lives so your people can eat, but it is unthinkable for you that a human would give his life so that an animal—even an animal that has sacrificed itself to provide for your entire kingdom—can eat.”

Aiyana dropped her arms to her sides and stumbled back. “You’re twisting everything around.”

“No.” Saamal stepped closer, pressing his advantage. “I am offering you a different point of view.” He took a deep breath, relaxing his body and trying to calm his voice. He wanted to make his point, but he didn’t want to scare her. “Aiyana, I understand where you are coming from. No one wants to see a life end. But life is a cycle, there can be no birth without death. To let yourself view death as evil is to close yourself off to half of life.” He took a step closer to her. “You will be queen one day. You must allow yourself to consider every facet. Not just the parts that are pleasant.”

Conflict twisted Aiyana’s beautiful features. She was silent, searching his eyes as if trying to find some sign of weakness, some sign that he was lying. Saamal remained calm and let her scrutinize him, willing her to see how earnest he was.

“Oh what a pretty face you put on your reign of death and terror,” a ghostly voice whispered.

The spell between them shattered and Aiyana and Saamal whirled simultaneously toward the source of the eerie voice. At first Saamal saw nothing, heard no pulse, no breathing. Something wavered beside a towering mahogany tree, a mist that shivered and shifted. Saamal tensed, ready to leap in front of Aiyana if whatever was appearing tried to attack. The fog coalesced into a humanoid form. It floated closer, and the nearer it came, the more details Saamal could make out.

It was a young man, tall and proud, but still with the leanness of youth. His body was painted around his ribcage with jaguar rosettes, and his face was painted with three thick horizontal stripes of black and green. He wore a loincloth low on his hips and the headdress of a god, the arch formed from solid gold and long elegant feathers dyed a deep turquoise fanning around it, backed by even longer pitch-colored feathers plucked from a pheasant. His neck plate was a beautifully worked sheet of gold with gold chainmail hanging from it in a three inch fringe. Gold bands circled his biceps and his forearms were covered with matching gauntlets. Its eyes glowed with a stark white emptiness that drained the warmth from the air. Saamal’s stomach dropped. He recognized the ceremonial garb. He couldn’t help looking at Aiyana, wishing he could hide her from the approaching specter.

“Why don’t you tell the princess the truth?” Malice dripped from every word the ghost spoke, an undertone of satisfaction giving them power. “The
whole
truth?”

Saamal noted the scars on the figure’s chest visible underneath the neck plate. There was more scarring down his stomach, over his sides. More scarring than there should have been. Scars that spoke of resistance that should have seen him immediately removed from the altar. Scars that spoke of Saamal’s greatest failure.

“Tenoch.” The name fell from Saamal’s lips like a heavy stone plunging into a still lake, a dreadful finality to every syllable.

“Yes,” the ghost hissed. “The unwilling sacrifice that you would like so very much to forget.”

“I would never forget you, would never try to forget you. I failed you. Your life should never have been taken without your consent.”

“But it was!” the ghost screamed. “It was and you did
nothing
. Your priests held me to that altar and took my heart, ignored my screams.” He paused, chest heaving as if he were breathing hard, even though a ghost had no reason to breathe. “And now you go on and on to the princess about the honor of sacrifice, the necessity of it. You expound upon your people’s willingness to die, suggest that there are people all over the kingdom sacrificing themselves for the land even though you know very well that is a lie. You mock her concerns—”

“I do not mock her concerns,” Saamal corrected him, the warmth of anger beginning to color his guilt. “I have nothing but admiration for a future queen who is not too timid to question anything that doesn’t sit well with her.”

Tenoch sneered, painted face twisting with disgust. “You can paint yourself in a flattering light if you want, but she’ll know the truth soon enough.”

Aiyana stepped closer to Saamal, her eyes still on Tenoch as she spoke. “Saamal, what is he talking about?”

The ghost’s eyebrows shot up. “Saamal, is it?” He peered at Aiyana, floating closer until he hovered only a few feet away. “Oh, what an honor has been bestowed on you, princess. To be permitted to call the Black God, Lord of Near and Nigh, by such a common name. I was not even aware he had a lowly human name.”