“It can be stopped?” Dez demanded. “I thought an itza’at’s visions were immutable.”
“That was what the kax and kohan wanted you to think, for they wanted to play with you, knowing that the itza’at were meant to be the voices of the True Gods here in the middle plane. And they wanted to prove their superiority by making our guardians—all of you—do as they wished, wanted to improve their chances now by weakening you, over and over again. So they sent corrupted visions to the seers . . . and even to the old king.”
“Father.” The word came out of Strike on a low groan, once again lining up with what they knew, what they believed . . . yet requiring a leap of faith like none they’d ever been asked to make before.
“They believe you are no longer a threat to them. We believe you can be.” Bastet’s blue eyes narrowed at Anna. “Are you willing to try, warrior?”
“I’m not . . .” she faltered and turned to Dez. “Help.”
The king’s face had gone to granite, gray-pallored and hard as stone. It was Reese who said, “What do you want us to do?”
Some of the others muttered darkly, and even Dez shot her a sidelong look. But Reese wasn’t just their ultra-practical, tough-girl queen; she was also human, like Lucius and Leah. They had already given up their religion in the face of evidence. They weren’t being asked to do it now on faith.
Which didn’t mean the Nightkeepers were going to. No way, Anna swore to herself, trying to ignore the twisting disquiet deep inside that kept whispering, What if it’s real? What then?
“Your godkeepers must break their bonds, and all of you must renounce your allegiance to your so-called sky gods on the morning of the Cardinal Day. Only then will you be free to fight for the middle plane.”
There was a moment of profoundly unhappy silence.
After a moment, a shaken Reese said, “How can the godkeeper bonds be broken?” It had taken near-death by drowning, along with devastating magic to link Strike, Leah, Alexis and Sasha with their gods.
Prophecy had said those bonds were crucial to the war . . . but those prophecies had come from the kohan.
Or had they?
“Cut your marks from your flesh and cast the blood in the fire, and the earth will reclaim its children.” Suddenly, Bastet’s magic dimmed, and the low throoming sound rose up once more, vibrating the stones beneath them. Eyes dimming, she said, “I must go.”
“When can we summon you again?” Anna said quickly, taking a step toward the apparition.
“You cannot. This is your war to fight, not ours.”
“Wait!” Anna cried as the light flickered, then faded. “Why—”
“The three planes must remain in balance. That is how we created them. If one falls, they all fall.” Then . . . flicker-flicker-FLASH! And the goddess disappeared.
Anna stood swaying, blinking into the amber eyes of the crystal skull.
Someone in the back muttered, “Fucking hell.”
“Well,” Lucius drawled, voice rough with emotion. “That was . . . unexpected.” He was still hanging on to Anna’s arm, but now he drew her toward the altar. “You should sit.”
“Not there.” She couldn’t handle seeing the ragged neck stump or the bloodred skull that had been inside the chac-mool’s head all along. She could only guess that one of her ancestors had put it there, that the women of the itza’at’s line had somehow known it was important to keep it a secret, but not why.
Or was this the trick, and the other the truth?
Her head spun and she leaned into Lucius for a moment, drawing strength from their long history together. They had been friends in the outside world and were friends now. And he was going to be a valuable voice of reason now, in a time when she could pretty much guarantee that the rest of them—Nightkeepers and winikin alike—were going to have a hard time being reasonable.
It had been bad enough when Rabbit had tried to convince them that the Nightkeepers had it wrong and the Banol Kax—or the kax, apparently—were somehow the good guys. That, at least, they had been able to ascribe to Rabbit’s flair for the dramatic, his mix of dark and light powers, and his constant quest to find a place where he felt like he fit in.
This, though . . . gods, she thought, and felt a twinge at the prayer, a quick spurt of fear that she’d been praying to the wrong entities all along.
“Then let’s get you out of here.” Lucius steered her toward the door, through a parting sea of shell-shocked teammates who stared at her, wide-eyed, as if seeking a reassurance that she couldn’t give. “Let’s everybody get out of here and take a breath, okay?”
“No!” Red-Boar put himself between her and the door, his earlier glower gone to a near-manic snarl. “This is bullshit! The demons are trying to trap you just like they trapped Rabbit, godsdamn it. And you’re fucking walking right into it!”
Anna snapped back, “Nobody’s walking into anything.”
“You bought it, though. Didn’t you?” Red-Boar grabbed her. “Didn’t you!”
Lucius stiff-armed him in the chest, sending him back a couple of steps. “Back off. Right fucking now.”
Red-Boar sneered. “Easy for a human to say.” The air cracked with sudden magic; it wreathed the senior mage, crisping the air with the threat of a fireball. “Especially one who’s been on the other side. Tell me, do you still dream of the things you did when you were a makol? Have you ever—”
“Enough!” Dez’s roar drowned out the rest of the question. The king got big and loomed over Red-Boar. “That’s enough. We’re not deciding a damn thing right now. We’ve got work to do before that. Research.”
The older mage sneered. “Research. Right. That’ll win the war.”
“A full-on frontal assault didn’t do your generation much good.”
Red-Boar flushed a dull, furious red. “You son of a bitch. You have no idea . . .” His eyes flicked to Reese. “Well, I guess you’re in line to find out, aren’t you?” He spat at the king’s feet. “Fuck this. What do I care? I’m already dead.” He spun and stalked out, leaving a crack of angry magic in his wake.
Nate started after him, but Dez waved him back. “Don’t. Let him be. This is . . . Shit. Just let him go.” He sent a look around the room. “In fact, I think Lucius is right. We all need to get out of here, clear our heads a little.”
Anna couldn’t help it. She looked back at the ruined altar, and the skull that sat atop it. “What do you want to do about that?”
The king’s eyes didn’t show a hint of his thoughts. “It’s your skull. You tell me.”
She winced, but then nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. I should work with it. Even if it can’t get through to . . . well, whatever that was, maybe I’ll finally get control of my visions.” Her attempt at a smile fell flat, though, as she pulled away from Lucius and forced her legs to carry her all the way to the altar.
Her heart tugged at the sight of the sledgehammer lying on the floor near a chunk of limestone that showed the curve of a cheek and one kind eye. She didn’t apologize to the chac-mool again, though, because she didn’t dare pray, not even to it. Not when she didn’t know who she was talking to anymore.
Where before the air had hummed with magic, now it was as flat and dead as the skull’s dull yellow eyes. Still, though, their facets seemed to watch her.
Do you dare? those eyes seemed to ask her.
“I already did,” she said softly. Then, steeling herself, she stuck a thumb in one ear hole and a finger in the nasal cavity, and lifted the skull from the last of the enclosing limestone, holding it like some sort of demented bowling ball.
Trying not to let the others see how much its cool, slick surface made her skin crawl, she tucked it under her arm and made for the door. And, as she headed down the hall toward the royal quarters and the childhood suite she’d redone as her own, she did her damnedest not to picture how the thing was going to be staring at her while she slept.
Then again, given what they’d just learned, nightmares were going to be the least of her problems.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
