Mirrored Heavens (Between Earth and Sky #3)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

On earth, in heaven, and within, Three wars to lose, three wars to win. Cut the path. Mark the days. Turn the tides. Three tasks before the season dies: Turn rotten fruit to flower, Slay the god-bride still unloved, Press the son to fell the sire. Victory then to the Carrion King who in winning loses everything. —Coyote song

The war on earth may have yet to start as the gods claimed their vessels and set their stakes, but the war in heaven had already begun. For what was earth but a mirror of heaven? And what was she but a thing caught in between?

Xiala had never forgiven her aunt for the part she played in driving her from Teek all those years ago, and her aunt had not forgotten how close Xiala had come to killing her own mother. So they tolerated each other on Mahina’s orders, but at a distance, and often with malice.

But was it fair? Was it just? What in life is fair or just? Nothing. You should know that best. And that is why the gods created revenge. So when events don’t go as they should, people like Iktan could do a little correcting.

Word of the slaughter had come on the tongues of traders bringing goods and news from Hokaia before the spearmaidens had closed the border. It had been so outrageous, so depraved, that at first the clans had not believed it. Those who studied at the war college were some of the most loved of the scions, children of the matrons’ extended families themselves. To slaughter them in their sleep. It did not seem a thing possible. And yet it had happened. Someone murdered every Sky Made scion as they slept, save Golden Eagle. Others had survived, children of Cuecola and Hokaia, Barach and Huecha. But no one who called Tova home.

Serapio felt Maaka shift beside him. Shame radiated from his hunched shoulders. Good. He would not make the mistake of underestimating even the seemingly harmless among their enemies again. Loyalty was good. Competence was better.

Naranpa walked among the bones of gods looking for godflesh.

Her younger daughter, Ziha was her name, perched beside her mother, attentive. Every so often, her nervous eyes would dart to the older woman, seeking her approval before she so much as plucked a nut from the bowl before her. Balam crudely wondered if Ziha consulted her mother before taking a shit, too. He would not doubt it.

Upon death, the selfish man asks how he will be remembered. While the generous man asks how he was loved.

“On earth, in heaven, and within, three wars to lose, three wars to win. Cut the path. Mark the days. Turn the tides. Three tasks before the season dies: turn rotten fruit to flower, slay the god-bride still unloved, press the son to fell the sire. Victory then to the Carrion King who in winning loses everything.”

“People misunderstand. Love is the most powerful force in the world. It can change minds, change hearts, reshape the heavens and the earth. That is why people condemn it, say a woman is stronger without it, but that’s their own fear talking. If you are lucky enough to find love, Xiala, you hold on to it with all you have. It is a rare thing.”

Saaya looked like she might argue, but instead she crawled to him on all fours, pressed him to the floor, and straddled his hips. His breath quickened as he hardened beneath her. His hands trembled as he reached for her hips. She kissed along his jawline. “Please,” she whispered, her mouth wet against his ear. “I want to tell them all our plan.”

“Let me live,” Balam coughed, blood spattering his lips, “and I will tell you where to find her.” Iktan lifted a blood-slicked hand and fumbled a necklace free from xir shirt. On the end was a pendant xe had fashioned from the winged serpent bone xe had found on the war college grounds. “I will find her myself.” Xe buried the bone in Balam’s throat. The last look on the jaguar lord’s face was one of complete surprise.

Coje mmgvo

This is a trick! he thought, wild fear making his heart gallop. He growled and pressed harder against the knife. “Stop talking!” he barked. But Serapio would not. “I know what it is to bear the weight of other people’s dreams, to be bound to realize their desires over your own. I see your struggle, as it is mine, too. Forgive me for adding to your pain. I never meant to divide you from family and clan, from yourself.” “You overestimate your importance to me,” he hissed, but it was a lie, and they both knew it. “I’m going to remove my hand,” Serapio said, voice a strained whisper, “and let the blade find its mark.” “What?” Okoa’s head felt light with shock, and his hands began to shake. “What are you saying?” “I will release you from this burden. It is my choice. You are not my murderer if the Crow God Reborn chooses to die.”

But now he felt lighter than the smallest feather. It was as if he had been washed clean of all that had stained him and been given a chance to become someone new. Someone who lived on his own terms and in his own way. He could become the wise man, the faithful son, the loyal friend. “I would very much like to ride,” he said. Serapio held out his hand. Again, he proffered the golden dagger. And this time, Okoa took it and reverently slipped the cord over his head. “Allies?” Serapio asked, tentative. “No.” Okoa pulled him into an embrace. “Brothers.”

“It may be bold of me to say, Odo Sedoh, but perhaps you will enjoy her company. I know this marriage may be only a duty in your mind, but pleasure can be found in obligation, too.” For all his terrible scheming, he could not hold back. “Are her eyes like rainbows?” “Pardon?” “Is her hair the color of plums? Does she smell of ocean magic? Then there is no pleasure for me in this. I will see it done”—for you, Xiala, to spare you—“but do not ask me to enjoy it.” “Yes, Odo Sedoh,” she murmured, and he dismissed her to go about her new assignment.

Alani was the first to catch her breath. “He’d shared a bed with half the village before he collapsed one day and died.” She cast a sly look at Xiala. “No sharks for him. We fucked him to death.” “It was the best month of his life, to be sure.” Teanni reached for another corn cake. “A small price to pay,” Alani agreed. The two women’s eyes met, and they both burst out into a fresh fit of laughter.

“I concede your point,” Balam said in his most gracious tone. “Let us move on.” But Powageh would not hear him. “I have as much right to call Serapio mine as any of our cohort, certainly more than you do, despite you and Saaya fucking every chance you—” Powageh cut off abruptly, eyes wide, mouth open. Something clenched in Balam’s gut, but he worked to relax it, to keep any stress from his face. “You’re right, Cousin,” he soothed, reassuring smile firmly in place. “Of course, you are right. Our boy. All of ours. You, Paadeh, Eedi, Saaya. Our creation.”

“Why are you so difficult? I thought your tutors taught you more self-discipline than this.” My tutors are dead, he wanted to shout. The crows helped me kill them. Paadeh hit me one too many times, and the crows harried Eedi off a cliff.

“Let’s stay here tonight,” she said. “Kupshu would not mind, and I’d like a roof over my head and a mattress for a night.” “A mattress?” Iktan’s arms slid around her waist. Xe kissed her neck as xir hands wandered. “A mattress has possibilities.” She closed her eyes and let herself fall into the feeling. At least I have this for another night, she told herself. And that would have to be enough.

Xe grinned, lazy and dangerous all at once. “The only thing I want beneath me is you.” She flushed at the innuendo, face hot, and fled before the ex-priest could say anything else to embarrass her. But even as she made her way to the animal pen, memories of what she and Iktan had done the night before in a borrowed bed flashed through her mind. “Damn you,” she muttered, realizing Iktan’s flirtation had not only smoothly gotten xir out of doing any chores but had also been a change of tactic. A not-so-subtle reminder of what she would be giving up if she pursued her suicidal plans. And while her resolve did not waver, it did sway a bit.

“Come tell me more about your poisons,” Iktan called. “And let us devise a plan to keep my future wife safe and returned back to me after she saves the world.” Naranpa startled. “Future wife?” “Yes. If I am going to stand aside and support this madness, I need something from you in return.” “Iktan, I—” “Marry me, Nara.” Xir voice was urgent, almost palpable with intensity. “Today. Before we go to the Graveyard. Kupshu can do it, or there must be some crusty local holy woman in the village who will be happy to hear our vows. I know it was forbidden for the priests of the tower to marry, but surely those rules no longer apply. And even if—” “Yes,” she said, cutting Iktan off. “Yes?” Xe grinned. It really was a perfect face. She nodded, and then Iktan was climbing over the table, knocking cups and bowls aside to pull Naranpa into xir arms and smother her with kisses. She laughed and held on, the whirlwind of xir affection making her giddy. “What’s going on?” Kupshu grumbled from the doorway. But Naranpa could hear a touch of sentiment in her tone. “We’re going on a suicide mission to trap a sorcerer in a magic realm and possibly fight the demon undead,” Iktan said around an unending stream of kisses that kept Naranpa laughing. “But first, we’re getting married.”

“Okoa, look out!” Xiala shouted as the spear left Terzha’s hand. She felt the weight lift behind her as man and spear launched skyward at the same time. Benundah dipped, and Xiala looked up, the world moving as if time had slowed. Okoa flew through the air, graceful as if he had been born to it. He caught the spear as it sailed toward him. The force of the throw turned his body, and he let it swing him back toward Terzha, now with the spear in his hands. He plunged the weapon into the eagle’s unprotected back. The eagle screamed and careened wildly. Terzha, not recovered from overextending in the saddle, scrambled to hold on. Xiala tried to watch as long as she could, but Benundah was moving away quickly, just as Okoa had commanded her to. She wanted to go back but doubted Benundah would do what Okoa had expressly forbidden.

I would know you in the dark, the reflection of my heart, the mirror to my soul. —The Obregi Book of Flowers

“You have already seen the place I love the most, the aerie. But if you would like, there is something else I’d like you to see instead.” It was the human part of him, the part that lingered when all else felt changed. And he wanted her to see it, to know that he was not simply destruction. That he could create, too. So he took her down the hall, past the Tuyon who stood guard at his door, and into the large private room beyond. “Your bed?” Her voice had a teasing lilt. “So forward, Serapio. You are indeed changed.” He felt his face grow hot. “I…” “Shhh… I’m teasing. Ahh…” Her quick footsteps crossed the room.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease.” She pulled his hands away, and then, to his surprise, she pressed her lips to his. She had kissed him before. Once, on the ship. But she had been drunk, and he had been focused on getting to Tova. Not that he had not wanted it, wanted her, but it had not been the time.

He wrapped his hands in the soft coils of her hair to pull her closer, and she made a small noise of surprise and pleasure. Desire roared to life within him. But so did shame. “I do not deserve your love,” he whispered, breath short, heart aching. He did not want to say it, but he would not mislead her. “You do not have to earn my love, Serapio.” Her breath was warm, her fingers gentle against his cheek. “Love is not a prize to be won or a sign of one’s merit. It is a gift freely given.”

He reached under the hem of her skirt, hands rubbing the insides of her thighs. The skin there was as smooth and pliant as new honey. “Oh,” she breathed, and moved against him. The friction as their hips came together left him stuttering and helpless. Home, he thought. This is my home. Not this palace made of dead things, not this city that I have forced to accept me at knifepoint, not even my god who takes and takes and will never stop taking. But this woman. This… love.

“Then let us assume you have miscalculated, and I am your bride. There is one sure way to defeat the prophecy.” He stuttered to a halt, hope so hot within him that it burned. “How?” “The prophecy called for a ‘bride unloved.’ ” He nodded, morose. “Then love me.” “I do love you.” “No.” She moved his hand to cup her breast, and her hand slid down to press against his groin. “Love me. And let fate do its damnedest to get around that.”

May your love be steadfast as the sea, Who kisses the shore eternal and never tires of the sand. —Teek wedding blessing A bed would have been nice, but Xiala had never been the type to worry about a bed. And the table in the war room was as big as a bed, even if it wasn’t as comfy. But she had waited so long for this, and it had seemed so impossible as the months stretched, that she did not want to wait any longer. Even for a bed.

“Are you…?” she began, before he pulled her tight and wrapped his hands in her hair and pressed his mouth against hers. “Yes,” he whispered against her lips after he had thoroughly kissed her. “You don’t know what I was going to ask,” she teased, relishing his touch, his taste. The faintest hint of honey on his breath. “The answer is yes, Xiala. Anything you wish. Anything at all. For you, the answer is always yes.”

She screamed as fire raced down the canyons, melting rock and setting the red sand ablaze. It spared no corner, no crevice. She felt the sparse grass in the hidden coves sizzle, the water in the creek turn to steam, the fish within wither to bone and then dust. And somewhere within it all, Iktan and Kupshu. Finally, starved of air, the fire ran its course and was extinguished. Naranpa collapsed to her knees. And all was silence again. No whispers of the undead, but no sounds of the living, either.

After all, keeping the beast airborne was keeping him alive. Terzha had not been so lucky. She had no doubt been shocked to find a madman flying toward her and had done nothing to counter Okoa’s leap beyond gape, mouth wide. It had been easy to wrench her from her unsteady seat in the saddle and fling her into the sky.

jejejejejej die bitch

He looked up, blinking, as Chela’s form faded in and out in the dark. He opened his mouth to speak, but only blood answered. He tried to move again and found himself facedown on the ground, dirt scraping his cheeks, body failing as the poison reached his heart, and it stuttered… and then stopped. And Okoa knew his luck had finally run out.

FUUUUUUUUCK. I LIKED THIS DUDE

But it was not Balam who destroyed Tova. It was her. Naranpa crumpled to the ground, her hair singed, the skin on her hands peeled away, charred bones showing through. “Iktan,” she whispered, tongue blackened to a rotten thing. “Show me a way back.” But xe could not. Xe had died. It is only a dream. Kupshu was right. Gods were greedy things, and now Naranpa’s god claimed her and everything that had been hers. It is only a dream. But Naranpa did not believe in dreams, not anymore.

I promise. Those were his last words. He had promised not to leave her, but here she was, alone. And she wept, the salty tears of the sea, her grief as wide and vast as the Mother could bear. He’s free, she told herself, and he promised. And it helped, but not enough. Not enough. It took her a moment to notice the change, lost as she was to sorrow. It began as the brush of a feather against her face. And then the soft cry of a crow.

On the palanquin was an almost transparent obsidian box the size of a human. Through the thin black glass, Zataya could just make out a figure dressed in gold that appeared to be sleeping. It was Naranpa. Beside the palanquin walked a lean figure in red. Sedaysa dipped her chin as the red-cloaked figure passed, and Zataya followed suit, but her surreptitious gaze was irresistibly drawn upward in curiosity. The stranger had an attractive and somewhat androgynous face marked by large, intelligent eyes and a long nose. Hair, midnight black, hung in soft waves to their shoulders, and, for no reason that she could discern, a shudder of alarm juddered through her body as those dark eyes focused on her. She quickly looked away, dropping her gaze to her feet, willing the stranger to look somewhere else. “The Priest of Knives,” Sedaysa murmured. “Iktan Winged Serpent. I have never had the pleasure, but xe was with Naranpa when the sun god claimed her. They say xe has not left her side.”

The three matrons of the Sky Made were dead. Peyana Winged Serpent and Ieyoue Water Strider perished in the Stillness fires, and Esa Carrion Crow was deposed in a coup that rocked her clan in the following days. The deaths in the fires were indeed a tragedy, but the coup was something else, something that portended a change to the fabric of the city. Chela Carrion Crow, a man, was matron now. He had returned from the Crow’s mission west with news of Okoa’s death and the decimation of the secret forces that had tried to attack Tova from the rear. Chela’s bravery had won him many followers, and when he had revealed that Esa had tricked her brother into killing Isel Winged Serpent on the day of her marriage to the Carrion King, the Crows had risen up and overthrown the sister, replacing her with the hero captain.

cojan putas

As they moved to follow the crowd into the celestial tower, Zataya thought she heard something. She paused to listen. At first, she thought it was the sound of a woman crying. But then she recognized the cry for what it was. The high-pitched yip of a coyote.

Iktan leaned forward to peer down at the cove. On the small, secluded beach were two figures: a woman and a child. Iktan knew for a fact that the child was a few months shy of his sixth birthday. And the woman was not the child’s mother but his caretaker. His mother, after all, was a very busy woman.

“It seems you have a new friend.” Xe gestured to the egg. “You will have to care for it. Can you do that?” Akona nodded with the weight of his new responsibility. “Very good. I will be your new friend, too. Is that all right with you?” Another solemn nod. “Then I will keep you both safe while your mother is away.” Iktan smiled. “Or better yet, I will teach you how to keep yourself safe. Did you know that I am very hard to kill? Would you like to be very hard to kill, too, Akona? Yes? Good. We will start your lessons tomorrow.”

I have saved a place for you, my love, In the quiet spaces between the stars. —The Obregi Book of Flowers

“The stew will take a while to cook,” he said softly. “Oh,” she said, smiling despite the tears. “Perhaps, while we wait, I can tell you a story. I know a great one, about a crow and a mermaid.” “How does it end?” “However we want,” she said, voice careful. “Pirates?” he asked, hopeful. Xiala laughed. “You want there to be pirates?” “I have always wanted to capture a ship.” “Then there will be pirates. Anything else?” “Stars?” “So many stars, Serapio. A night’s sky full of stars, and the darkness between them, too.” He took her in his arms and pressed his lips against her hair. “I very much like the way you tell a story, Xiala of the Teek.” “Then listen well, Serapio. This is only the beginning.”