Jessica Andersen - Skykeepers

Iago stepped closer to Sasha, glancing between her Michael. “To sacrifice the ch’ulel and Mictlan, together, during the triad threshold. Amazing. The power is going to be . . . incalculable.”

“Good,” Michael said, his voice a dangerous purr. “That should give me plenty to work with when I take you out.”

Iago shrugged. “Big talk for a guy who’s racked and tied.”

“So untie me. I’ll fight you fair.”

Iago ignored that offer and leaned in, so his face was very near Sasha’s when he breathed, “You and he are explosive together, muk and ch’ul , matter and antimatter. Your dual sacrifice will give me enough magic not only to call the Prophet, but also to raise the last true emperor of the Aztec.”

Anticipation lit his face with unholy glee. “Imagine it . . . Moctezuma himself as an ajaw-makol , at my right hand as we complete the conquest begun five hundred years ago.” He turned away, gesturing for the makol and two of the red-robes to stay behind. “Watch them while the rest of us prepare.

We’ve got ten minutes until the solstice enters its peak. We’ll be back in five.”

Sasha’s breath escaped her in a hiss of dismay. So soon .

As Iago strode off, the red-robes and the makol took up guard positions on the dais. The red-robes gave the makol a wide berth, standing far away. The makol , though, took up its guard post very near Sasha; it stood looking at her with a faintly superior sneer on its otherwise expressionless face, its eyes glittering luminous green. Incongruously, though, Sasha caught a thread of music coming from it, borne on the magic of the coming solstice.

She turned her head so the makol couldn’t see her mouth as she whispered, “Lucius is in there. And whatever sort of ward Iago’s got fouling our magic, either the makol is standing inside it, or ch’ul is immune . . . because I’ve got his song. It’s faint, but it’s there.”

“Son of a bitch,” Michael whispered back with fierce satisfaction. “He made it out of the river.” He paused. “Can you feed him ch’ul without the makol figuring out what’s going on?”

“I can damn well try.” Concentrating on her fledgling ch’ulel skills, trying to block out the knowledge that this could be one of her last acts on earth, she opened herself to the song. She found it, touched it, tried to follow it to its source, but the thread was tenuous and inconstant. Still, she channeled ch’ul to the point of mental contact, giving up her own because she wasn’t linked to any other source.

Th e makol ’s head jerked in response—apparently she wasn’t so much on the stealthy side. It narrowed its eyes at her, but it seemed more amused than annoyed when it said, “Your human isn’t here, Nightkeeper. He’s in the in-between.”

No, he’s not , Sasha thought, but apparently the makol couldn’t tell that Lucius had made it back.

Maybe because the link connecting him to the makol had been severed in the Scorpion River? That would be a lucky break. Or the work of the gods. Hope spurted, and she sent even more ch’ul along Lucius’s song. The moment she did, the makol went suddenly rigid, its eyes flickering, going from luminous to normal and back.

“Got him,” Michael said on a quiet hiss of triumph. Standing some distance away, the red-robed guards were oblivious.

“Almost.” Sasha concentrated as the eyes did their trick. Luminous. Hazel. Luminous. Then they finally stayed hazel. Lucius’s expression animated, becoming that of a human who was wretched and disoriented, but determined to break through. He shuddered for a moment, caught in transition, unable to speak.

“Hurry,” Michael ordered. “Get the guards.”

Lucius nodded raggedly and lurched toward the red-robes, pulling the makol ’s long, wickedly sharp combat knife from his belt. He was low on stealth, though; one of the red-robes turned and spotted him. Shouting a warning, the pilli went for his weapon. Lucius suddenly accelerated to an inhuman blur, swiping the knife across the first guard’s throat, then jamming it to the hilt in the second man’s chest.

Retrieving his weapon, he returned to Michael and Sasha, flowing across the space with the makol ’s lethal grace. But his eyes remained human. He’d regained full control of his body, and apparently commanded the makol ’s strength and coordination, as well.

He cut down Sasha first, slashing through the ties binding her ankles first, then her wrists. As he turned away, she dropped to the dais and nearly went down in a heap when her rubbery legs gave way.

But she braced herself and stayed up by force of will, while Lucius cut Michael down.

“Damn glad to have you back.” Michael gripped the other man’s shoulder briefly, then turned and held out a hand to Sasha. “Come on. We’ve got to move. If we can get the scroll and get down that tunnel to open air, Strike should be able to get ’port lock on the three of us.” They dropped down from the dais and headed for the prefab building, where Iago and the red-robes had gone. But Lucius warned, “N-not the tunnel.” He stuttered slightly as his speech centers came back online. “It’s wired to blow. Motion sensors and C-4. Iago doesn’t want the Nightkeepers disturbing another of his rituals.”

Sasha shuddered as claustrophobia had the walls suddenly seeming very near, but Michael said only, “We need to get that scroll first. Then we’ll worry about an exit strategy.”

They crept up beside the steel structure. One door was barred and padlocked on the outside; the other was cracked partway open, its padlock hanging unlatched, the bar swung off to the side. Michael took the open side, Sasha the closed side, with Lucius behind her, breathing down her neck. She felt the seconds ticking away like the throb of her pulse. The murmur of voices came from within; footsteps approached the door.

A sudden flare of Nightkeeper magic lit Sasha up, startling a gasp from her. She met Michael’s eyes from his position on the other side of the door, saw his confusion. Then the stone surface beneath them gave a convulsive jerk, nearly flinging her off her feet. A deep throated rumble sounded from the entrance tunnel, and a huge gout of dust spewed from the tunnel mouth.

Sasha’s throat locked. “No,” she whispered. She would have screamed, would have run to the tunnel mouth, but her warrior’s talent locked her in place, and Lucius’s hand fell on her shoulder, gripping tightly.

So she held her position, tears leaking down her cheeks as the door swung open. Iago’s voice came clear as he boasted, “I made sure of it—put the ’port image into the kid’s mind before I kicked him back to the others. He would’ve landed them right outside the tunnel mouth. From there, they would’ve walked right into the tripline.”

Iago descended the three short steps, with the red-robes a few feet behind him. Michael attacked in silence, eyes lethal, tackling the Xibalban waist-high and driving him away from the door. Sasha leaped up and slammed the door on the red-robes, flipping the bar into place.

Michael and Iago struggled for possession of the library scroll. Michael landed a heavy punch with a meaty thud and Iago went limp, dazed. Roaring triumph, Michael grabbed the scroll and lunged to his feet. But before Sasha could race to join him, hard hands clamped on her and spun her around in a vicious choke hold. She gurgled and scraped at her captor’s forearm, but the bloody furrows she created healed almost immediately. Lucius! she thought. Godsdamn makol just won’t pick a side! But behind the frustration, fear flared hard and hot. The emotion brought a kick of solstice magic, but the power stayed ill-defined. She couldn’t call a shield or fireball, couldn’t do anything useful. But she could and did feel the distant touch of Nightkeeper magic, coming from outside the mountain.