My chest tightened.
“We haven’t even asked the question yet,” Ren said, frowning. “How do you know our mission is futile?”
“Such limited thinkers.”
“What did you say about fate?” I drew in a sharp breath. “Are you saying the gods knew they would be devoured?”
“Not all fates are revealed, son of fire.”
Our destiny ribbons floated a few inches closer to each of us—so close to our faces that we had to step back.
Louie nudged my arm. “She knows who you are. That can’t be good.”
“I know who you are, too, son of Chaac,” she said. “And you, Alana, daughter of Ixtab. I see all.”
“Eep,” Louie chirped.
If she could see all, why hadn’t she detected Itzamna? And why didn’t he want her to see him?
Ren lifted her chin and said, “Then you know my mom is Pacific, the great goddess of time and fate. The one who hid you here.”
“Ah, yes. You look like your mother—in the eyes. Maybe the cheekbones, too. But you are here to ask a question, to discover what you cannot see on your own. And I am growing weary. So, let’s get on with it, shall we?”
We all nodded. I had just started to open my mouth, when K’iin said, “And before you speak, I must make you aware of the fine print. Knowledge is expensive. Your question will cost you. Nothing is free. And sacrifice is the price for all things worthy. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Ren said even before K’iin’s question mark hung in the air.
I jerked a Storm Runner chocolate bar out of my pocket, and the second I held it out, I knew I’d made a mistake.
“That will not do,” K’iin said. “Do you wish to proceed, or shall I carve you an exit?”
The four of us shared a worried glance. Everyone nodded, except Louie. He kept his head down and whispered to me, “Can I have the chocolate?”
“We want to proceed,” I said as my gut clenched.
“I will choose who asks the question,” K’iin said. “And who will pay for the answer.”
Ren snapped her hand up, careful to avoid her destiny ribbon. “It should be me. My mom is Pacific and—”
“Yes, we have established your bloodline.”
“I’m the one who saw your image in the labyrinth,” I said. “I should pay.”
Silence. A long silence. Like a something-is-broken silence.
“Hello?” Alana’s voice echoed across the chamber.
The mirrors shimmered pink, purple, green, and blue. “I’m processing. Looking across time, weighing consequences,” K’iin shot back. “Ah, yes. I have chosen.”
I held my breath.
“Renata Santiago,” K’iin said, “I choose you to ask the question.”
Ren’s expression was total shock at first, but then she managed a small triumphant smile.
“Wait!” I started to argue, when K’iin added:
“And you, Zane Obispo, will pay the price.”
“What?!” Ren cried, her smile gone. “No! That isn’t fair.”
My legs almost liquefied right onto old Orion/Turtle Star.
K’iin was silent for a couple of heartbeats and then said, “Nothing in this life is fair. Only death. Now get on with it. You are wasting my energy.”
Ren’s blue eyes met mine. They were filled with regret or sadness or maybe just an apology that I was the one who would have to sacrifice something. I was praying super hard it wouldn’t be a body’s worth of blood.
“Hang on,” I said. “Shouldn’t we know what it’s going to cost first?”
K’iin said, “I must know the question before I can determine the value of the answer.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I gave Ren the go-ahead with a curt nod.
She shook out her hands, took a couple of deep breaths, and closed her eyes. “O Great K’iin, where are the Maya gods?”
Again there was silence. I figured K’iin was looking across dimensions, or thinking, or both. The mirrors glimmered. “Well,” she finally said, “the answer to your question is of incredible value.”
My heart pounded with the force of a charging bull. “How much?”
“The blood of a godborn is very powerful,” K’iin said.
I felt so queasy I gripped my stomach. “How much blood?” I asked again.
“All of it.”
The ground dropped away, and I felt like I was plummeting into a dark chasm.
“I have something better than blood!” Ren shrieked. She held up the watch with a trembling hand.
The air went still. Our destiny strands stopped moving.
“Why would I want your watch?” K’iin asked.
“It is made of the same time strands you’re made of,” Ren said, looking offended.
“Ren,” I said, grabbing hold of her arm so I could talk to her telepathically. We need that to stop time when we rescue the gods!
I will only give her a single strand, she said. That will leave us enough.
We all held our breath.
Alana’s eyes flicked in my direction. “What if—”
“What-ifs are wasted energy,” K’iin said. “I have made my decision, and the answer is no.”
Louie looked like someone had just slugged his dog in the jaw. “No?” he echoed.
Both my legs threatened to give out.
“But I’m not going to take the blood, either,” K’iin said. “I am going to give you what you seek for the sole purpose of entertainment.”
What was she, Itzamna’s long-lost twin? No way could it be that easy.
“And also a promise,” she went on, “that you will repay me with a favor someday, Renata Santiago.”
Boom! There was the fine print.
Ren nodded before I could warn her not to trust the ancient calendar.
K’iin went on to say, “You will only receive a single answer. Is this your final question?”
Why did I feel like a contestant on a really bad game show? Just then, I wiped more sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, and in doing so my fingers accidentally hooked my destiny thread. When I tried to pull them free, they got more entangled in it.
“Don’t tug!” Ren shouted.
“What do I do?” The words just barely got past the gran lump in my throat. If I moved my hand, I might mess up my destiny. But I couldn’t stand like that forever….
I wondered why I wasn’t feeling heat in my veins, and then I remembered that I had no fire power in this place. It was for the best. If it came out, I could’ve accidentally sent my future up in flames.
“Can you let go slowly?” Ren suggested.
Gingerly, I reached out with my other hand, which was quivering like mad, and unwound the single thread that had ensnared two of my fingers.
Everyone exhaled with relief.
But when I tried to let go of the thread, it stayed glued to my fingertips. As I struggled to get it off, the thread pulled the destiny ribbon, squinching it in the middle. Finally, the string separated from my skin, but when it did, it snapped back to the ribbon and made a knot the size of a cherry seed.
I bent over, completely winded.
“At least the ribbon didn’t unravel,” Alana said. “That’s good, right?”