Birthright (The Stone Legacy Series Book 5) (18 page)

Chapter Thirty

Zanya

“Get away from it,” her mother screamed. She yanked Zanya back several steps.

“It’s okay. Don’t be scared.”

Beigarth stomped forward, a small ax clutched in his hand. “I’ll do away with the beast.”

Zanya braced her hand on his chest. “No.”

“We need to get out of here,” Jayden shouted from behind. “It’s not attacking. Maybe we can—”

“Stop calling him
it!
” Zanya shifted her feet over the damp earth, her focus on Arwan. He was massive, with onyx fur and a gold tuft on his chest. But she still saw him—the glint of humanity in his eyes proved he was still in there.

“Him?” her mother said in a near whisper. Her brow rose while her gaze darted between them. “Him, as in,
him—
him?”

“Yes, but something’s wrong.”

“No shit, something’s wrong!” Her mother’s face flushed with color. “That,” she jabbed her finger at Arwan, “is the father of my grandchild! That is definitely wrong!”

“Shut up!” Zanya clenched her jaw. “Don’t you ever know when to just…
shut up
?”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Beigarth murmured. “What on the god-lovin’ green earth is that?”

Zanya looked back to Arwan, her attention split between him and a lighted figure walking toward them—Cualli.

With every stride, newly sprouted grass sprang from the earth, hosting an array of wildflowers in a rainbow of colors.

Her mother stepped to Zanya’s side. “What is she doing?”

Zanya smiled. “She’s greeting him.”

Cualli walked to the entrance of the underworld and sprinkled a handful of soil into the gaping hole, then blew the remaining bits from her palm. A cluster of trees and bushes bloomed and sealed the hole, making it as if it were never there.

She turned to Arwan and gave a slight bow. “Welcome, half-breed.” This time the term didn’t sound so terrible. In fact, it carried an air of prestige in the goddess’s tone. “I welcome you to my realm.”

Arwan stopped pacing and watched the goddess.

His breathing calmed, and his fur lay flat and smooth.

He bowed his head.

“I don’t believe me own eyes,” Beigarth said.

“That is bad-
ass,
” Jayden whispered.

“I don’t understand.” Her mother shifted forward, as if investigating the situation. “Why are you welcoming him?” She spoke to the goddess as if they were good friends. Her mother was probably in shock. It was the first time she’d seem him in his beastly form.

Cualli glided toward Arwan and settled her hand on his head. Her delicate fingers sank into his fur. “Forgive them,” she said in a gentle tone. “They know not who you are.”

Arwan tilted his head and inspected the goddess.

“You must find it within yourself to return to us. Find it within yourself to return to
her
.” She looked back at Zanya.

Arwan bared his teeth and gaped his jaw—this time in more of a yawn. He shook his body like a wet wolf, then lay down and curled into a ball on the ground.

He let out a high-pitched whine when the change began.

There was a thud after Beigarth’s ax slipped out of his grasp.

By now, Arwan was already half-morphed. His muscles convulsed. Paws leaned out into fleshy fingers, his fur retracting into smooth, mocha skin.

His snout crumpled down, bones snapping and joints popping into place. When his beautiful face finally shone from beneath layers of teeth and fur, he was back.

Cualli removed the feathered garment covering her body. The goddess’s hair hung down her back, shrouding her nude curves. She covered Arwan and ran her fingers through his hair. “Wake.”

Zanya walked to Cualli’s side and looked down at the feather garment, shimmering in the moonlight. She thought standing beside a nude goddess would be awkward, but it wasn’t so much. It was like standing beside a live form of The Birth of Venus—a truly timeless piece of art.

“Perhaps he is in need of a familiar voice,” Cualli said, gesturing to Arwan. “Speak to him. Bring him back.”

Zanya crouched beside him and cupped her hands on either side of his face. She hovered her lips beside his ear before speaking softly. “Come back to me.”

Arwan twitched and gasped. His eyes flew open and he grabbed hold of Zanya’s throat, his fingers clamped around her airway.

“Hey!” Her mother’s footsteps grew louder until she was beside them. She snatched a stick from the ground and struck him once, twice…but Arwan didn’t seem to feel the blows. “Let her go!”

Jayden and Beigarth were there within seconds. The stout Viking clenched Arwan’s arm and strained to loosen his grasp, but even his efforts were in vain.

Zanya searched his face, but the man she knew was not there.

She grabbed hold of his forearm, her lungs burning for air. She raised her other hand and sparked electricity between her fingers.

Cualli covered Zanya’s hand with hers, extinguishing the pulse of energy. She leaned down and placed a kiss on Arwan’s forehead. When she pulled away, his grip softened, and Zanya was able to pull in a breath. She slipped out of his hold and touched her throat, staring at Arwan as his eyes fluttered shut and his cheek fell against the cool earth.

In mere moments, he was asleep.

***

Arwan

The long, curved blade gleamed under hell’s sun. Arwan lay on the ground, gulping in breaths like a landed fish. Life was slipping from his body and spilling onto the burned soil.

His heartbeat thumped in his ears.

Slower…slower…

The King of the Underworld vanished from sight, too far for him to follow. His vision blurred. His lips turned cold, even in the scorching realm.

“Be still,” the king ordered from the distance.

Arwan fought to open his eyes. When he did, the sun nearly blinded him. A distant shadow was all he could see, cast by a large, looming figure—that of his father.

“I have fulfilled my destiny,” said a familiar voice. A voice that had educated him, comforted him, and scolded him, sometimes all at once.

“Your sacrifice will allow him to live,” the king said.

There was a short pause. “I will not plead for my life, nor will I fight you.”

Arwan dragged his arms closer to his body and tried to push himself up, but had no strength to spare.

Fatigue wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

He could close his eyes and sleep so easily…

“You would give your life for the boy?” the king said.

No, Renato. You can’t—

“I would. He is my son.”

“There is only room for one father. He is my right by blood.”

Arwan’s fingers and toes tingled. Darkness took over his vision.

“Perhaps,” Renato said in a steady voice, “but he is my right by heart.”

After a moment of silence, blood spattered over the ground and a stream of blood flowed toward him.

Arwan bolted into a sitting position, his stomach slithering with nausea. He touched his mouth and ran his fingers over the tip of his tongue. It took everything he had not to vomit the remnants in his stomach, fearful of what he might find.

“Hey, there.”

He jumped and looked to the far side of the room.

Zanya leaned against the doorway with a mug of tea cupped in her hands. “How are you feeling?” She walked inside and set the tea on the bedside table, then sat beside him. She lifted her hand to touch his forehead.

He caught her wrist. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, what?”

“Don’t touch me.” He slowly released his grip.

She propped her hands in her lap and twirled a string pulled from the seam of her sleeve. She pinched her bottom lip in her teeth, probably wondering what had happened in the underworld. She had the right to know, but he couldn’t say it aloud.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Those were the words he managed to push out. The only thing he could say to her after everything that had happened.

“Then why did you come back?”

He closed his eyes, unable to block the memory. “I had no choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

Those were the same words Renato echoed his entire life.
“You always have a choice.”

As a boy, he believed it. Then, when his dark side grew stronger, hope slipped away. Now there was none to be found.

A metallic flood pooled under his tongue. He curled his top lip. “The king wanted me to stay. I left against his will.”

“You mean your father.”

“
No
.” Arwan swallowed, his throat still raw and sore from the ordeal. “Renato was my father.” A spike of bile crawled up his throat. He pushed it down and drew in a shaky breath.

Zanya pressed her fingers over her quivering lips. A tear slipped down her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut, clearly trapping in a sob.

Losing Renato had all but punched a hole in his chest. But Arwan had been so entangled in his own grief that he didn’t recognize—until now—how deeply hers ran.

She wiped away a tear and composed herself. “Then he’s really gone.”

Arwan nodded. “If it weren’t for me, he would still be here.”

“You know that’s not true.”

It was true. As much as neither of them wanted to believe it, Renato would still be alive if Arwan had died at his father’s feet.

“Did he suffer? Was it fast, at least?”

Arwan turned his face away from her. If she only knew what the king had forced him to do, while he was half-dead, lying on the ground like a cooling corpse.

He fisted his hand and pressed it against his mouth, fighting the urge to gag. He could still feel the warmth of Renato’s blood sliding down his throat, and the salty coating it left over his tongue.

He would never tell her.

He would tell no one.

Hobbled footsteps grew louder until
Tia
Drina’s stout form lingered in the doorway. Her small brown eyes and wrinkled skin crinkled with a smile. “I am glad to see you have returned to us, you foolish boy.” But the smile lasted only a moment, and a blanket of silence covered the room once again.

Drina hobbled through the room and reached with her crooked fingers to touch his face. Arwan pulled away, but Drina pressed her palm to his forehead anyway. The old woman’s features softened and she nodded. “Good. No fever.”

He examined her empty hands. “No stick this time?”

She offered a crooked smirk. “Not t’is time.” She reached in her pouch and pulled out a handful of crumpled herbs. “Keep t’is close. It will help you sleep.” She piled the offering beside the mug of tea Zanya had brought in. “And t’is.” She held up the wooden mask from his old bedroom. “It will do as your mot’er promised. It will keep t’e nightmares away.”

He stared into the wooden carving, as if it would speak to him. As if it would tell him all of this was a bad dream, and now it would all go away.

But as he watched the mask, it said nothing.

Deep in his soul he knew, not even his mother’s magic would help him forget.

Drina handed the mask to Zanya with a nod. “Now I must go with Eleuia, Cualli, and Balam. We have much preparation to do.”

Arwan lifted his head. “For what?”

“We must prepare to guide Renato’s soul to his next life. T’ere is no body to rest in a tomb. We will gat’er offerings, and send him wit’
maíz
, jade, and fire.” Drina left the room, closing the door behind her.

Zanya set her hand over the blanket covering his legs. “I’ll help them with whatever they need.” She stood and hung the mask on an old, crooked nail sticking out of the wall. “There.” She stepped back and gave a half-smile. “Now try to get some more sleep.”

“I should be involved.”

“You will be, but if you’re not rested, you’ll barely be able to stand during the ceremony. You’re lucky you made it back at all. Don’t push it.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Arwan

Arwan coughed, nearly drowning on the dose of hot, metallic liquid. His mind hazed over, his senses confused and weak. The sun continued to pour down, blinding him every time he opened his eyes. He pulled in a breath and rolled onto his side, his entire body trembling. “What did you do to me?”

“I spared your life.” The king grabbed Arwan’s face with one hand and squeezed his cheeks, forcing his lips to part. More warm liquid filled his mouth and leaked down his throat.

Arwan heaved and pushed the king away. “What is that?”

“Drink.” The king grabbed him again, but this time his hold was more powerful. Arwan tried to escape, but there was no strength left to fight. “Drink until your belly is full with life.” Arwan’s eyes rolled in the back of his head. He did as he was told, taking one deep gulp after another until the bowl that was pressed to his lips was empty. “Good.” The king moved away, his shadow providing relief from the unrelenting sun. “You will heal. You will live.”

Arwan rolled onto his belly. Liquid sloshed in his gut. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, streaks of red painted his knuckles. “What is this?” The ache in his back where Contessa had torn into his flesh began to ease. “What did you give me?” The veins, cartilage, and skin on his neck burned as they knitted together. Strength returned to his muscles. Arwan pushed onto all fours, staring at the puddle of blood spilled on the ground. Arwan ground his teeth. “What have you done?”

“A life for a life. That is the cost.”

Arwan narrowed his eyes, still trying to collect his thoughts. He turned his head, his gaze landing on a pile of half-eaten organs on the ground. He scaled up Contessa’s body that was propped upright by the tree in a morbid display of death. Roots wound in and out of every orifice, still squirming as they fed.

Arwan blinked and shook his head, casting the sight out of his mind.

The beast inside him woke, providing the energy he needed to stand. He swayed on his feet and shielded his eyes, peering at the underworld realm. For a moment he had forgotten where he was.

“Welcome back from the dead, my son.” The king stood beside the limp body of a man wrapped in roots.

A man in a pressed suit, with thick, black hair. Displaced strands hung in his face.

Arwan’s chest restricted. “Renato?” Arwan stumbled toward him. “What did you do?” He braced his hands on Renato’s shoulders, then tilted up his mentor’s head to find his pale, dusky complexion, and a gaping wound in his throat.

“It was a small sacrifice for the greater good.”

“No.” Arwan’s stomach clenched and his head spun, blurring the world around him.

“Now you will take your rightful place, my son, as the prince of this realm.”

“We had an agreement.” Arwan balled his fists, his body shaking. “You broke it.”

For his entire life he had chained his beast deep inside him, never allowing it to see the light of day. But with Renato lying limp in front of him, there was nothing left to hold him back.

Arwan dropped to his knees and raised his face to hell’s sky, then let out a massive scream. The beast tore through him in an instant. His entire body seemed to ignite as the monster took over, tearing cartilage and bending bone into odd, ungodly shapes.

When it was over, Arwan faced the king and bared his teeth.

“Do you believe you will kill me?” The king stood his ground. “Take my realm prematurely, perhaps?” He withdrew a blade from its sheath attached to his belt—likely the same blade used to slash Renato’s throat. The king’s eyes flashed red.

Arwan leapt forward and swiped the blade out of his hand, tearing deep wounds in the king’s arm. The knife clattered to the ground and skidded over the soil until it hit the base of a rock.

The wound on the king’s hand healed immediately. “You are confused. Mourning. These are mortal emotions you have adopted. You must release them. Release these humanistic weaknesses, and you will be set free.”

Arwan gasped and sat up in bed, clutching the blankets. Sweat drizzled down the back of his neck, his body coursing with so much heat he could barely breathe. It was as if the sun of the underworld never left him, even after he woke from his dream.

He threw off the covers, walked into the bathroom, and flipped on the shower. Standing under some cool water could help calm his nerves. When he was finished, he slipped on some clothes and combed his hair back with his fingers.

Zanya cracked open the door and walked into the bedroom, her eyes red—likely from crying. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be up.” Her voice was cracked and hollow. “Drina sent me to wake you and tell you to get ready.”

“For what?”

Zanya’s bottom lip trembled. “Renato’s funeral.”

He paused, and then sat on the bed. “So fast?”

“Drina said it’s tonight at sunset. She says it’s a sign of disrespect to wait, even with no body.” She pursed her lips as if a bitter taste were on her tongue. “Anyway…” She cleared her throat and walked to the dresser, where she pulled open several drawers and rummaged through them. She threw a handful of clothes back in the pile and exhaled. “I don’t have anything nice to wear. No little black dress.” She turned toward him and crossed her arms. “I can’t do much about that, but I’m sure I could find some flowers. Maybe some of the blue ones from out back.” Her tone built in intensity with each passing word. “Or maybe Cualli could grow us some. Maybe some red ones…” A tear streaked down her cheek. “Or maybe orange…” She pressed her hand over her mouth. A sob broke through the cracks of her fingers.

Arwan walked to her and wrapped his arms around her. “Shhh.” He carefully propped his chin on top of her head and cradled her against his chest. “Just breathe. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“No.” She hugged him and twisted her fingers around his shirt. “None of us is ever going to be okay again.”

Arwan clenched his jaw. As much as he wanted to comfort her—tell her there was a reason Renato was taken from them too soon—even
he
didn’t believe it. Renato was his one constant in his life before Zanya. The first person besides his mother he had trusted, and now he was gone.

“I’ll make it right.” He pulled her closer. “I’ll make this right.”

***

Zanya

They’d send his soul to rest with water for ease of transition, and fire to light the way.

Drina said normally they would make him a tomb and bury him with
maíz
in his mouth, pottery around him, and valuable kernels of jade scattered in the catacomb. But as there was no body to adorn in farewell gifts, they would send his spirit instead.

Cualli walked in front, holding a torch overhead. Her golden hair glowed under the flickering, warm light. Each of the goddess’s steps sprouted beautiful wildflowers, leaving a carpet of colors for the burial procession.

Zanya walked beside her mother, Arwan, and Marzena, who had been Renato’s long-time friend. It should have been Drina in her place, but the Mayan elder insisted. It was the seemingly young dreamwalker who had kept Renato company during his lonely years—after her mother had left and while he was raising Arwan on his own. Marzena was there, giving the fallen hero what no one else could—friendship.

They walked down a thin path toward the river while the evening sky prepared its display of orange and red, and the sort of bright rays only shown just before sundown.

Zanya balanced a clay tray in her hands, holding neat stacks of shucked corn—or
maíz
, as the Maya called it. From what Drina had told her, the
maíz
was the most valuable of the burial items.

Her mother carried strings of beaded jade around her neck.

Marzena marched with a mirror. The sun reflected from its surface, shooting flashes of light back into the sky as if they were communicating with the gods.

Arwan walked beside her with a basket in his arms. Tucked inside were pieces of marble, mushroom figures, and a sack of vermillion red dust made from ground cinnabar.

All of these items carried a heavy significance in a traditional Mayan burial.

Zanya glanced over at the rest of the group.

If Renato only knew how many people loved him…Perhaps he did. She had to believe he knew…

Zanya heard the roaring of the river before she could see it. The air became more humid. A chill rolled down her arms.

When the group broke out of the jungle thicket, they stood at the river bank. The water was clearly powerful, yet there were very few white rapids. It was a flowing vein of life through the jungle. Perhaps that was why the ancient Maya showed so much adoration for water. It gave life to the earth and everything on it.

Cualli stilled by the edge of the bank and continued to hold the torch overhead. As the rest of the group gathered, Zanya’s gaze was pulled upstream. There was movement in the bushes—flashes of figures darting between trees.

Zanya glanced at Arwan. “Is someone else here?”

“I think so.” He searched the tree line. “It looks like villagers.”

“I thought they all left.”

“Not all,” her mother said. “Some of the men—probably those who were ill or injured—led the women and children to new lands before the battle reached their homes. The rest are here. They’re here for him.”

Drina hobbled through the group and stopped by the edge of the river. The priestess raised her hands, as if greeting them. “
Kíimak 'oolal.
”

Zanya had heard the Yucatec language enough to know that Drina was greeting the villagers.

As Drina continued to shout in the foreign language, the natives emerged from the tree line with leather straps over their shoulders and a pouch cradled against their bare chests.

All of them were men, wearing nothing but loincloths adorned in feathers or strips of fur. Smears of blue, white, and red ointment were streaked over their faces. Some had on headdresses. Others wore thick bracelets made of black stone and large rings through their noses and ears. Their chests were painted in elaborate patterns of black dots and colorful highlights.

When Drina finished speaking, she turned to the group and signaled for Zanya, her mother, Marzena, and Arwan to step forward.

The four of them did as they were told.

Drina looked to the sky. “T’e sun sets in t’e west. T’e time has come.”