Fevered Star （Between Earth and Sky, #2）
Rebecca Roanhorse
You have arrived on earth where your relatives, your kin, suffer hardships, endure affliction, where it is hot, it is cold, it is windy.
It is a place of thirst, it is a place of hunger, a place without pleasure, a place without joy,
a place of suffering, a place of fatigue, a place of torment.
O my little one, perhaps, for a brief time, you shall shine as the sun!
—The Florentine Codex, Book VI, 128V–151R
CHAPTER 1
CITY OF CUECOLA
YEAR 1 OF THE CROW
I have done great deeds both good and evil, and who is to judge me but the gods, and what shall they say to me but that I dared?
—From The Manual of the Dreamwalkers, by Seuq, a spearmaiden
The sun had not yet risen on the first day after the new year’s winter solstice, and it felt not at all as if an age had ended, but Balam knew better.
He left his home well before dawn, a purse of cacao, a small clay cup, a mirror, and an obsidian knife on the belt at his waist, and he walked. Normally, he would bring servants with him. A man to carry his purchases home, another to guard his person, although there were very few things he feared. But today he went alone.
He traveled the wide, spotless avenue that ran the length of Cuecola, past the still-sleeping market, and through the city gates. He walked past the farming village of Kuharan with its oval houses and thatched roofs, past the jail where’d he found the Teek woman, and into the surrounding jungle.
It had rained all night, and the air here was heavy and wet. Water dripped from wide, notched leaves, and the ground was soft under his sandals. He had worn a long white cloak that fastened across his chest, and he had wrapped his hair in a matching white scarf. Jade hung from his ears and nose and encircled his wrists and ankles. He had also painted the top half of his face blue.
His destination was a small temple, one of many that had been abandoned after the Treaty of Hokaia had forbidden the worship of the jaguar god. The stone building had once been beautiful, colorfully painted and well-tended, but now it ran to decay. Cracks marred the wide steps, and the verdancy of the jungle had taken over much of its facade. He was careful not to disturb anything as he entered.
He made his way to the altar off the central courtyard. He was not a pious man, at least not in the way most people meant it, but he revered power, and here once had been a place of great power. He pressed his hands to the cold stone and bowed his head. He murmured a prayer that had not been heard in this place in three centuries. And then he sat on the steps, purse in hand, to wait.
It did not take long for the thief to arrive.
The man did not see Balam there, sitting so still in the shadows. The jaguar lord watched, curious, as the man walked the length of the courtyard, admiring the fading stone reliefs, the elegant decay. The thief carried a woven sack over one shoulder. He wore an unadorned white loincloth, and his black hair was cropped close to his head in an unfashionable bowl, but his face was handsome and young, and there was an intriguing audaciousness that glimmered in his eyes. It was that spark of impudence that had brought him to Balam’s attention to begin with, and then to learn that he had access to the royal library, well, it had come together nicely.
“Welcome,” he greeted the thief, standing to reveal himself.
The man startled. “Seven hells,” he swore, glaring. “What kind of person sneaks around in a place like this?”
Balam smiled as he always did, mouth closed to hide a predator’s teeth. “This is the house where my ancestors worshipped long ago.”
“Well, it’s eerie. I don’t see why we couldn’t have met in the city. Perhaps over a drink.”
Balam lifted an elegant brow. “I was clear that this endeavor required the utmost secrecy. You have not told anyone of our meeting, have you?”
“No,” the man said hastily. “I kept my word. Now you keep yours.”
Balam motioned for the thief to ascend the stairs and join him in front of the altar. He hesitated, so Balam shook the purse of cacao in his hand. That seemed to dislodge the man’s doubt, and he quickly climbed the steps.
“Did you have trouble entering the vault?” Balam asked.
“A few days of planning, a sweet word to the night guard. I don’t think anyone has tried to break in before.” The thief made a face as if he thought Balam a fool.
He ignored it. “May I see it?”
“This is the first time I’ve been hired to steal a book.” The man drew a large bound manuscript from his bag and set it on the altar. “Is there a market for it? Might you have some friends who need a man with quick hands and soft feet?”