Demonkeepers

teams could lose points as well as gain them, evenly matched games could last for days.

But in a twist that’s more billiards than volleyball, if a player got the sun ball through a vertical-set hoop high up on the ball court wall, it was an instant win. Eight ball, corner pocket. Game over; hit the showers.”

Sudden understanding lit Jade’s face. “The hoop represents the dark spot in the center of the Milky Way galaxy, which they thought was the entrance to Xibalba.”

“Exactly, which makes the symbolism twofold. In the context of the sun passing through the entrance to Xibalba, the game reenacts Kinich Ahau’s daily journey into and out of Xibalba, even as the arc of the ball itself symbolizes the sun traveling across the sky. From the perspective of the dark center of the Milky Way, putting the ball through the hoop represents the sun traveling through that dark center, which is the astronomical event that’s going to coincide with the winter solstice of 2012, precipitating the barrier’s collapse.”

There was a moment of silence before Brandt said sourly, “When you put it that way, seems kind of dumb we haven’t been playing the game all along.”

Lucius tipped his hand in a yes/no gesture. “I’m distilling out the points that relate to Kinich Ahau, but there are a ton of other connections within the game: to reptiles and birds, to harvest festivals, different gods and events, even to the class system itself. Chichen Itza had seven ball courts located at various positions relative to the different temples and neighborhoods, which were stratified by socioeconomic status. If you give me enough time, I could probably make an argument for tying the game to almost any god or prophecy you cared to throw at me.”

Brandt pressed, “But you think this connection is solid?”

He nodded. “I do. In fact, I think my subconscious has been trying to tell me about the connection for a while now. I kept gravitating toward ball game artifacts, when the game had never been that big a deal for me before. So, yeah. The connection is solid.”

The other man nodded. “Then I guess we’re playing. What are the rules?”

“In the ancient versions of the game, serves were typically made with the hands or forearms, returns with the hips, legs, and feet, which were protected with light armor, some of which got pretty elaborate. In addition to the shin and body protectors, there were hand stones, which worked on the same principle as brass knuckles, adding weight and force to the return hit, and yokes, which covered the hips, lowered the player’s center of gravity, and increased the power of a body hit.” Lucius sketched in the air as he spoke. “There were face masks and helmets, of course, because the balls were heavy enough to do some major damage. And there were other pieces that were largely decorative, which the players wore for the opening ceremonies and then stripped off for the actual game.”

Michael grinned. “Sounds like a cross between a WWF grudge match and the Super Bowl.”

“Mix in some major religious overtones, and you’re not far off,” Lucius agreed. “The ballplayers were the rock stars of their day. Even after retirement, they were revered for their wins, and some became the boon companions of their kings. To be buried with your ballplayers’ gear was a huge sign of power and respect.”

“How much of these raiments survived into modern day?”

“Of the original stuff, very little. Most of it was made of wood and leather, some of rubber itself.

None of that lasted long, given the climate. The artifacts we’ve got now are mostly pottery replicas, like the ones in the pictures I passed around.” He paused, grinning. “However, rumor has it that there’s a pile of modernized equipment in the back of one of the storerooms, along with a couple of experts who are going to show us how it’s done.”

That got him a few confused looks, until Jox, Carlos, and Shandi all rose from their places at the far end of the table and came around to its head. Carlos was carrying a banged-up cardboard box. All three winikin, it turned out, had played seriously before the massacre, and had been among those responsible for teaching the younger generation the moves of the ritual game. What has happened before will happen again, Lucius thought. Circles within circles, past, present, and future.

Jox stepped forward, with the other two behind him, looking grim, efficient, and suddenly very coach-like. “Everyone ready for the rules of the game the way your parents played it?”

Almost in synchrony, the magi turned and looked at the tall parallel walls of the ball court. “I guess I always thought of it as another artifact,” Brandt said. “It’s just always there, you know? Like it’s watching over us.”

“And now maybe it’s going to do more.” Jox nodded to the other two winikin; they dug into the box and started handing out thin booklets that were heavy on diagrams, light on text, and laid out the basics. Lucius had snagged one earlier and already had it memorized. He’d even run through some of the moves, which had come back to him with an ease that had surprised him. He’d never been much into sports before. Then again, that was before.

“We’re just going to study pictures?” Rabbit asked from the far end of the table. Lucius glanced over, surprised to see him and Myrinne at the outskirts of the group. He hadn’t noticed the young couple’s arrival, and he wasn’t used to Strike letting the girl sit in on meetings. More, it seemed, had changed than just Rabbit’s level of pyrokinesis.

“Only briefly.” The corners of Jox’s mouth kicked up. “Then we’re going to practice.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

June 20 Two years, six months, and one day to the zero date Jox’s idea of practice turned out to be two days of sweaty, hard-hitting, brutal play, without the benefit of helmets or arm and wrist guards, which he claimed were only for ceremonial use anyway. By the time the winikin declared them competent enough not to embarrass themselves in front of the gods, Rabbit’s nose was sore and swollen, and his knees and elbows were skinned to shit. They hurt badly enough to remind him of when he and his old man had lived briefly in a cheap apartment that would’ve been more of the same old, except that there had been a half-pipe down the street, and a couple of kids who’d taught him a few tricks on their boards. That had lasted until his old man had shown up in his penitent’s robes, with his head shaved and his eyes crazy-wild; that had been the end of Rabbit’s half-pipe friends, and they’d moved on soon after.

This isn’t about the old man, Rabbit reminded himself as he trailed after Jox, heading out of the ball court. Not directly, anyway.

He and Myrinne had done some digging on their own, but hadn’t come up with much info on the Order of Xibalba that wasn’t already common knowledge. Rabbit had negged the idea of hiring a PI, first because he’d thrown money in that direction once before with minimal results, and second because he might not agree with all of Strike’s tenets, but he had to believe it was better for the magi to stay well under the human radar. With his luck, he’d hire a PI, the guy would find something on the Xibalbans, and the next thing he knew, the Enquirer would have a headline like: Mayan Doomsday Cult Implicated in Black Magic Slaying! or some such shit. No freaking way. He was trying to be smart these days.

It seemed to be paying off too. Despite the knee-jerk piss-off of having Jade and Lucius break into his place and sniff around— hello, personal space—when he’d called Strike to bitch, the king had actually been pretty conciliatory about it. He’d even gone back on his keep Rabbit and Myrinne at UT through the solstice decree, and zapped out to get them. Then, when Jade’s panic button went off, Rabbit hadn’t just gotten to come along for the ride; he’d been front and center of the rescue when he’d said he thought he could crisp the makol without doing the head-and-heart thing. Strike hadn’t been too keen on his doing so much killing, but it wasn’t like they were people anymore. Once a makol was fully bound, the human host was dead one way or the other. Rabbit had just sped things up.

In the aftermath of the op he’d been pumped, even after the drag of twelve hours in the Jeep with Michael and Lucius, who weren’t bad guys, but had both been in pissy moods and had argued about every stop. Didn’t matter, though, because when he’d gotten back to Skywatch, Myrinne had been there, waiting for him with a smile and the bright idea to ask Jox about his mother. Not in so many words, of course, but that was the basic plan. If anyone living knew anything, it would be the winikin.