Skywatch
As the sun hit its zenith overhead, Anna stood facing the chac-mool with a sledgehammer in her hands. The statue seemed to be looking straight at her, like it was asking, “What are you doing with that big-ass hammer? You’re not doing what I think you’re doing, are you?” And although she was the one who’d gotten the message about the true gods, the one who needed the magic that’d been promised, she couldn’t bring herself to take the first whack.
Her hands shook. What if the skull wasn’t inside the altar? What if she’d gotten the message wrong?
Gods knew she’d done it before—she’d sent the Nightkeepers after the resurrection skull with the promise of the First Father’s return, only to have the spell bring back Red-Boar in all his assholic glory. At the moment, he was over in the corner, arms crossed, glowering at Rabbit, who was ignoring him while darting glances at Myrinne, who shifted and looked away. They weren’t the only ones there, of course—the small room and the hallways beyond were crammed with bodies—but the three-way vibe was a bad sign. Then again, so was the tension that was strung bitterly tight throughout the sacred chamber.
The Nightkeepers needed to go into the final week as a united force, yet here she was, about to bust up their ancestors.
“I still think we should try some sort of imaging,” she said to Dez. “There are times when high tech is called for.”
But he shook his head. “I think this is a time for faith.”
Then why am I the one with the sledgehammer? She didn’t say it, though. Instead, she leaned forward, touched the chac-mool’s forehead with her free hand, and whispered, “Please forgive me.”
Then, not looking back to see her own nerves and horror reflected in the faces of her teammates, she hefted the sledge over her head and brought it down right on the place she’d just touched. Metal met stone with a sickening CRACK that reverberated up the wooden handle to her hands, which stung as if she’d just opened a dozen sacrificial cuts.
A jagged fissure slashed lightning-like down across one carved eye and then to the corner of the deity’s mouth, tracking like a tear.
Somebody moaned; Anna didn’t think it was her, but she wasn’t sure.
“I’m sorry.” She lifted the weapon again. “Sorry, sorry.” Another swing, another CRACK, another shot of burning pain, this time reaching up her wrists and singeing her marks. The fissure widened and one side of the chac-mool’s face slid down slightly, turning its beatific smile into a leer.
Please gods, she whispered in her soul, but felt nothing—no lift of hope, no connection to the other side of the barrier, as if they had turned away from her.
She couldn’t stop now, though, so she said the prayer aloud, heard it echo behind her, and swung with every ounce of her strength, both physical and magical. The sledge hit with a crunch, a different sound, a different reverb, and limestone fragmented, clattering to the stone floor as the side of the chac-mool’s face crumbled away.
Where it had been, bloodred crystal gleamed in the sunlight that streamed through the glass ceiling.
“Oh,” Anna breathed, letting the sledge droop in her hands as she stared. The smooth ruby surface was huge and curved, and amber gleamed from the depths of a socket, a glowing yellow eye partially revealed.
A ripple of shock ran through the crowd. It wasn’t an amulet at all; it was a life-sized crystal skull. And somehow, it had been there all along, hidden beneath a limestone shell.
“Holy crap,” Dez said, voice low and reverent.
Anna sucked in a rattling breath that burned in her lungs. “Okay, then. Crystal skull. Check.”
The chac-mool looked decidedly Terminator-esque, with half its face still normal stone, the other gleaming red crystal, its glare not saying “What are you doing” anymore, but instead demanding “Get on with it.”
She pulverized the other side with two well-aimed smashes. Chips of stone stung her face and arms, and clattered to the floor around her, but she didn’t stop, didn’t look back, just kept going as the other side of the skull emerged from the rubble, as if she’d stripped away the deity’s flesh to find the bones beneath.
Then, hands burning with a strange mix of numbness and pain, she let the sledgehammer thud on the stone floor, and moved toward the ruby skull. Sitting atop the ragged neck stump it was macabre, grotesque, but it was the eyes that held her transfixed. The amber pulsed with a strange inner light, drawing her closer and closer.
And suddenly, as if the knowledge had been inside her all along, she knew what she needed to do.
“Tzo’o’keen,” she said softly. I am ready.
Her magic closed around her, brushing along her skin and making her blood hum. It suddenly didn’t matter that she’d just desecrated the shrine where she’d been named, where her parents and her parents’ parents had been mated. For the first time in a long, long time, she felt like she was in the right place at the right time, that she was doing what she was meant to do.
The skull glowed—red crystal, amber eyes. Was that power or sunlight? She couldn’t tell, but she also couldn’t look away. Tugging at her chain, she pulled the smaller yellow quartz skull free and cupped it in her hands, feeling it throb with a beat that wasn’t quite in synch with her pulse.
“Anna,” Dez said, voice low and warning.
“I’m fine. It’s fine.” She hoped. Deep inside her, though, fear sparked at the thought that she was about to break through the barrier inside her, the one that had blocked her talents all these years. But she couldn’t keep going on like this, blind and not good for much except transportation. So, not letting herself hesitate further, she whispered, “Tz’a teen ich.” Give me eyes.
Throom! Twin beams of yellow light speared from the skull and straight for her. She jerked at the noise and flash, but held her ground as the air around her turned golden and strange.
“Jesus,” Strike grated. “Back up, Anna. Back up and look!”
For a second it was as if she was standing inside a ghost that was half again as large as she. She could see its head far above hers, its shoulders on either side of her. Then, shaking, she fell back another few steps, aware that the others backpedaled, too, keeping her front and center before the huge figure that was suddenly revealed.
Awe raced through Anna as she faced an entity, a goddess who glowed golden from the tips of her feline ears to the edges of her long white robe. Her head was that of a golden-furred lioness, her body that of a voluptuous woman, and her vivid blue eyes had the slitted irises and soul-searing stare of a huge cat. She didn’t blink, didn’t move; she looked alive, yet stood statue-still; looked real, yet was translucent. She was there, yet she wasn’t. She was a holograph. A projection. Something.
Behind Anna, Lucius said, “Holy shit, it’s Bastet.” He said it like he was greeting an old friend, not an ancient goddess of the wrong religion. But that was exactly what they were looking at: Bastet, the cat-headed goddess who had protected the kings and the land of the living . . . in ancient freaking Egypt.
There was a connection, of course—the Nightkeepers had lived alongside the ancient Egyptians for thousands of years until the pharaoh Akhenaton had outlawed the old gods and slaughtered their priests, including the Nightkeepers. The few survivors had escaped to Mesoamerica, where they discovered a land with far stronger magic and a much closer connection to their gods. There, they helped create the Mayan Empire, with pyramids and writing, and a religion that was so much closer to what their ancestors had believed.
The Egyptian deities had come along millennia before the Mayan gods, it was true. But the Mayan gods belonged to the Nightkeepers.
So why the hell was Bastet’s image coming from the ruby skull?
“Say something, Anna.” The hiss came from Lucius, as did the poke in her ribs. He was crowded close behind her, breathing down the back of her neck like he used to when they did fieldwork together for the university, and she uncovered something strange and wonderful. That was Lucius, though. He loved information, discovery, and the sheer fucked-uppedness of life.
Anna couldn’t share his enthusiasm, though, because she already knew that whatever happened next, it wasn’t going to affect just her. This was bigger than her. It was going to be freaking huge.
“I . . .” She stopped, swallowing hard. “I don’t know enough of the language.” Hell, the ancient Egyptian tongue was even deader than ancient Mayan—so many of the sounds were guesstimates, with filled-in vowels and pronunciations that changed from decade to decade.
“Rosa gave you the message in ancient Mayan,” Lucius whispered. “Go with that.”
“Okay. I . . . okay.” Stop stalling. She took a deep breath, found the words, and said formally, “Oolah yuum
