Jessica Andersen - Dawnkeepers

“Drowning,” she said softly, looking around the chamber once again, this time seeing how similar it was to the sacrificial chamber beneath Chichén Itzá, not in size or shape, but in essence, and in the rising water. “The goddess didn’t let us drown before. Maybe this is the same thing. Maybe she wants me—or us—to have another near-death experience.”

Nate shot her a look. “You willing to bet on the ‘near’ part?”

She held his eyes for a moment, then shook her head. “No.”

He flicked the switch on his headlamp a couple of times, but the small blub was dead, forcing him to take the flashlight. “I’ll be right back.”

She wanted to tell him to be careful, wanted to say . . . hell, she didn’t know what she wanted to say, only that she wished so many things had been different between them, wished they’d been the people —the couple—the gods had meant for them to be. But none of those things really mattered just then, so she simply said, “Good luck.”

He nodded as though she’d said all those other things instead. “Yeah.” Then he was gone, slipping over the edge of the throne and wading across the short platform. He paused and looked back, and she raised a hand to give him a little finger wave.

Then he was gone, slipping into the water, leaving her alone.

She saw the light move down and away, diffusing in the murky water, which had gone nearly opaque from stirred-up silt. Soon the water glowed faintly, lit from beneath, but it was impossible for her to tell precisely where the light was coming from. Had the glow been still for too long? She didn’t know, told herself not to panic. Not yet, anyway.

A hint of motion drew her attention upward. The faint illumination just barely lit the carved figures of the serpent and the rainbow on the arching ceiling, and the rippling of the water made the figures seem to move. Or was that for real? The air whispered of magic, and the connection at the back of her brain kindled a faint rainbow glow. “What do you want me to see?” she whispered. “I don’t understand.”

There was no answer in the trickle of water, no sign of success or failure from down below. Needing to do something, anything, Alexis spoke the necessary words and jacked into the barrier’s power, finding it quickly in the holy place. Then, holding her palms cupped together, she called a small fireball.

It appeared immediately, and in the multicolored light she saw that the movement had been an illusion, that the serpent shape of Kulkulkan and the arching rainbow remained where they had been before. Or were they? She frowned, trying to decide if the serpent’s head had moved closer to the crack that was letting in the water from above. No, she decided. It was her imagination. Wishful thinking that the carvings meant something, that the power of the feathered serpent Kulkulkan, wielded by her king and queen, was somehow meant to be joined with the goddess’s rainbow, that together they’d be strong enough to fight Iago and the sons of Camazotz when the vernal equinox arrived. Because if that’s not the case, she thought with a flare of anger, then we’re shit out of luck .

She’d been raised to succeed, not fail. But what if the balance between success and failure wasn’t in her hands anymore? What if it was up to the gods, or fate, or destiny?

“Then it seriously sucks,” she said aloud, hearing her words echo in the chamber and thinking maybe she understood part of where Nate had been coming from all along.

She hadn’t minded following fate’s path up until now, because it’d pretty much led her where she’d wanted to go. She’d wanted power and position, had wanted to feel like she was part of something important. Finding out she was a Nightkeeper had more than fulfilled those needs, as had the training, and the way the magi had come together as a team during the fall equinox battle. But ever since then things had been different, seeming slightly skewed from where they’d been before. Or maybe she was the one who’d been changed, both by her experiences in battle and the failure of her relationship with Nate. She’d always thought it should’ve worked, would’ve worked if he could’ve been more flexible.

She’d put the failure on him; he’d been the one to break it off, after all, and he’d been the one unable to put into words what hadn’t been working for him.

Now, as the water crested over the top of the altar and wet her already sodden clothing, and her fist-

size rainbow fireball cast colors on the walls of the ceremonial chamber, she had to wonder whether she was the one who hadn’t tried hard enough. After so many failures with men like Nate—powerful and charismatic, big and strong enough to make her feel feminine, though not weak—maybe she’d been too ready to hide her feelings behind fate and destiny rather than claiming the emotions for herself. Maybe if she’d let him know how she’d felt about him as a person, rather than as a Nightkeeper or a stepping-stone to more power, he wouldn’t have bailed so quickly.

Or maybe not, said her practical self, the part of her that’d lived through too many breakups to think this one had been any different. Most likely he’s exactly what he seems, thinks exactly what he says and says what he thinks. Which was true enough. Nate was a guy’s guy, and not particularly subtle on the best of days. Or was that her seeing him through a lens crafted by the other men, the ones who’d thought she was good enough for a fun time, but not forever?

“Goddess help me to know what’s right,” she whispered, cupping the rainbow close to her heart and realizing that for the first time in a long time—maybe forever—she didn’t know what defined success.

Normally, Izzy would’ve told her what was right, because that was a winikin ’s job. But how could a winikin know the will of the gods better than a Godkeeper? She couldn’t, that was the answer, which meant the Godkeeper needed to look inside herself for the answer. Unfortunately, when Alexis did that, she saw nothing but a blank spot where certainty used to be, which left her feeling adrift, and so alone. Then the water moved in the center of the chamber, swirling around the few stalagmites still visible above the rising tide. The light brightened at that spot, and bubbles rose in a furious exhale as Nate kicked upward and broke the surface, holding not one, but both of the pony bottles aloft. “Found them!”

Finally some good news. “Way to go!” Alexis called, her words echoing in the filling chamber. “Do they both work?”

“Yep. The flashlight survived its dunking too, which is a bonus.” He swam toward her, creating ripples in the water that trailed after him, turning to colors in the light from her fireball. He’d ditched the broken headlamp and held the flashlight in one hand, the air canisters in the other.

When he reached the altar, though, he didn’t climb up to sit with her. He stayed in the water, his expression going grim when he said, “The main tunnel is completely blocked, as is the left-hand side of the loop.”

Which, of course, was the side that didn’t have the death glyph on it. Granted, that didn’t mean there weren’t booby traps, but still. She shivered involuntarily. “That leaves us with a lovely choice between braving the possible booby traps or sitting here until we run out of air and croak. Oh, joy.”

There was no real need for discussion. Of course they were forging onward—first because there wasn’t a better option, and second because they’d come to do a job. The earthquake hadn’t changed that. So she extinguished her fireball and secured her bedraggled knapsack, knowing that the satellite phone and autopistol could wind up being vital . . . or useless. There was no way of knowing what waited for them up ahead.