She found another patch of shadow and then another, and she stepped through these, and with each leap she took, the land changed and she progressed in her journey until she was moving past pale stone pillars, a few of which stood proud and tall, while many had fallen by the side of the road, broken into two or three pieces, some missing large chunks, others almost intact.
The pillars had faces on them, and she paused to look at them, thinking they represented warriors. But this was a wild guess. There might have been a hundred or a thousand pillars bordering the road. At one point she sat next to one of them, drinking from the gourd and massaging her feet, but she did not dally long.
Then the road dipped. In the middle of the road there rose a pillar, but this one was made of dark stone, and when she looked at it more carefully she realized it…breathed. It was alive. It was not a pillar at all.
* * *
—
Martín, due to his previous experience in the Underworld, was able to wander the Black Road with more ease than his cousin. Nevertheless, his previous travels had been conducted in the company of Zavala. Alone, he found the journey more taxing. He had begun the competition walking at a brisk speed, but he grew tired and slowed down. The path he followed felt sticky and warm. He was sweating and cursed under his breath.
The sights around him were dispiriting. The road cut through a luxurious patch of jungle, the leaves of trees jade green. But the birds in the trees were fleshless, eyeless creatures that cawed angrily. Other animals stirred in the foliage, and the more Martín walked through the jungle, the more he felt disturbed, worried a jaguar would lunge out from the darkness and eat him.
The road was like tar against his shoes, holding him back, until he could barely advance three paces without great effort. “Take me to the Jade Palace,” he told the road. “Take me to the Jade Palace fast.”
But the road, malicious, smirked, and sweat dripped down Martín’s collar. He strained to move forward, and he was still entirely too slow.
A loud rustling in the trees startled him, and Martín clutched his knife.
Martín looked up and saw a monkey, staring at him.
“Idiot thing,” he whispered, placing the knife back in its sheath. “Go off!”
A second monkey peered at the man, then a third. A dozen pairs of bright yellow eyes stared at Martín. He began to walk away, slowly, since the road felt like tar.
And then a monkey threw a stone at him. And another. Martín yelped; he raised his arms and shrieked as the stones rained on him. One cut his cheek and another hit him between the shoulder blades. The monkeys hollered, gleeful.
“I’m headed to the Jade Palace!” Martín yelled. “I’m headed there by the will of Vucub-Kamé!”
The monkeys continued tossing their stones, but the road released its hold on the man, and Martín was able to run away from the screeching creatures.
* * *
—
In Middleworld, Vucub-Kamé rested his chin against the back of his hand and observed the shifting ashes on the floor, which rose and traced the contours of the Black Road, allowing them to witness the progress of both champions. Casiopea had lagged behind her cousin, but she was now moving at a decent speed. However, she had found a significant obstacle.
Hun-Kamé shifted in his seat, leaning forward, as if to get a better look at the unfolding scene. He looked worried. As he should be. In a stroke of good luck Casiopea had gleaned one of the secrets of the Black Road and had learned how to navigate it, but her luck had run out.
Xibalba counted many frightful creatures, obstacles, and snares. Casiopea had chanced upon one of the most imposing ones, and she quivered.
“You should have taken my offer,” Vucub-Kamé told his brother. “There is no champion in her; she’s a scared girl.”
Vucub-Kamé’s eyes had grown translucent, like a sastun, because in the ashes he divined his future and his triumph.
It was not a stone pillar. It was a bat. Twice as tall as Casiopea, its wings were folded against its bony body. Its skin was very dark; it glimmered, as if it had been carved from a single stone. The bat’s face was crude, made of primordial, half-formed fears, and its eyes were closed. It did not dream, since no entity of Xibalba dreams, but it stood in a trance similar to sleep, awaiting wary pilgrims. These days there were not many, the road had grown dusty with disuse, but in centuries past it had gloried in chasing men through the dark lands, and sometimes, it had flown to Middleworld, to drink from the armpits and the chests of mortals.
Thus he roamed across Xibalba and waited, Kamazotz, who is the death bat that withers the crops.
There was no way to avoid the creature. It blocked the narrow path Casiopea was on. If she followed the road, she’d find herself right next to it, and Casiopea did not think it was a good idea to approach the monstrous bat. In the tale of the Hero Twins a bat-god had ripped off the head of one of them. She was not interested in finding out whether he was fond of doing this.
Casiopea watched the bat as it slept, its body rippling with its breathing. She took a step forward.
“It will hear you if you go near it, and attack,” said a low voice. “It’s blind, but your movements will alert it to your presence.”
Casiopea looked down in surprise and saw a bright green snake by the road. It had two heads and four eyes, which it fixed on her. She did not think it poisonous—she’d seen ones like this back home, though they obviously lacked the second head. She knelt down next to it and frowned. “What are you?” she asked in a whisper.
“Only a snake,” said one head.
“Oh,” Casiopea said. “How is it that you look…different from the snakes I know, and you speak?”
“I speak because we are in Xibalba and because you are not an ordinary woman. I recognize you. You carry the seal of Hun-Kamé in your eyes,” replied the other snake head.
“You know him?”
The snake was offended by the question and proudly raised both of its flat heads.
“He was our lord, and then he was betrayed. Vucub-Kamé has brought imbalance to Xibalba, and only the return of Hun-Kamé may restore the scales of duality. If you are here, bearing his invisible standard, then the lord must be nearby.”
“I’m on a quest.”
“As must be,” the snake said, looking prim. Snakes, after all, have a great sense of decorum and order.
Casiopea glanced again at the bat that blocked her path. Hun-Kamé had told her to stay on the road, so she did not dare leave the path. Besides, even if she tried to put some distance between herself and the road, the bat might hear her.