Yollotl-Cuahuitl

Etalcaxi stood, dazed and dripping, on the sun-warmed rock, his mind in a potent state of confusion and a desire. Ixtic rose gracefully to her feet, the water sluicing from her luminescent skin. Her green eyes, heavy with a satisfaction that made his stomach clench, drifted down his body, taking in his nakedness, his general state of disarray. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the tattered, muddy pelt that was once his loincloth, and a mischievous smile played on her lips.

"The great warrior cannot wander my jungle like this," she said, her voice a low, musical hum that seemed to harmonize with the very air.

Before he could form a response, before he could even decide if he should be offended or grateful, she turned away. She moved to a nearby plant that grew in the damp soil at the base of the cenote wall, a plant with huge, broad leaves that were as supple and tough as well-oiled leather. With an expert twist of her wrist, she plucked several of the largest leaves. Then, from a vine that snaked down the rock face, she stripped a few long, fibrous strands. Her hands moved with a deft, practiced speed. She folded the leaves, wove the vines, her fingers a blur of efficient motion. It was the work of moments. What emerged was a temporary, surprisingly well-fitting loincloth, a functional garment of deep, living green. It was a practical, simple solution to a simple problem, yet the way she had crafted it for him, the way she now held it out, felt deeply, unnervingly intimate.

"A temporary solution," she said, presenting the leafy garment. "Now, come. I will show you the way."

He took the loincloth, his fingers brushing against hers, sending another jolt through his system. He fumbled with the vine tie, his hands, which could expertly bind a captive or haft a spearhead, now clumsy and slow. She watched him, a patient and amused glimmer in her eyes. Once he was covered, she stepped closer and offered him a hand. He took it. Her grip was cool and strong. She helped the still-reeling warrior to his feet, her touch lingering on his arm for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

She led him not toward the opening high above, but toward the largest of the waterfalls, the one that cascaded down the far wall in a thick, roaring sheet. Hidden behind the curtain of water, almost completely obscured by the spray, was a narrow, winding stone path. It was a staircase carved into the rock, slick with moss and age, a secret way he never would have found on his own. She was not guiding him out; she was leading him deeper in.

They emerged from the damp chill behind the waterfall back into the dim, humming twilight of Coatl-Cuahuitl. Ahead of them, the path ended abruptly. A solid wall of the same thorny, impassable jungle that had blocked his caravan stood before them, a living, breathing barricade of writhing vines and gnarled roots. A flicker of his earlier frustration returned.

"This way is also blocked," he stated, the words coming out flatter than he intended.

Ixtic, who stood just ahead of him, turned her head slightly, a knowing smile touching her lips. "For you, perhaps," she said, her voice full of a calm, unshakable confidence. "Not for me. Watch."

She walked toward the wall of thorns. She did not slow. She did not prepare a spell or chant a word of power. She simply walked, her bare feet silent on the mossy ground. As she came within a few feet of it, a ripple ran through the vegetation, a silent shudder, as if the entire jungle had inhaled sharply. The thick, thorny vines, hard as jade, recoiled as if from a fire, pulling back into the larger mass. The gnarled roots that had burst from the ground retreated, sinking back into the earth with a soft, grinding sound. An archway-shaped path opened in the barricade, a perfect, welcoming tunnel in the living wall. It had opened just for her.

Etalcaxi stared, his mouth agape. The casual, effortless nature of the magic was more stunning than any bolt of lightning or clap of thunder.

Ixtic looked over her shoulder and beckoned for him to follow, her green eyes dancing with mischief. He hesitated for only a second before walking through the magical opening. The air inside the passage was still and cool. As soon as he was clear, he heard a soft, rustling sigh behind him. He turned just in time to see the vines and roots snap back into place, the archway sealing itself as if it had never existed. He was inside. Trapped with her.

They walked in silence for a time, through the corridor. The path cleared before them and sealed behind them with every step they took. It was like walking through the belly of a great, green beast. Etalcaxi's mind, finally refocusing from the kiss, began to race, to grasp for explanations, for categories, for anything that could allow him a foundation back to the things he understood.

"How did you do that?" he finally asked, his voice hushed with awe. "What is this power? Is this the magic of your tribe? Where is this tribe hidden? I have never heard of a people with such command over the wood."

Ixtic laughed softly, a sound like distant wind chimes. She did not look back at him, her gaze fixed on the path that unfolded before her. She answered his questions with riddles, her voice a playful murmur.

"The wood is polite to its friends," she said in answer to his first question. "It knows when to step aside."

"And this power?" he pressed, his fascination overriding his caution.

"This," she said, her voice taking on a deeper, resonant quality, "is the power of being home."

"Your home?" he asked, his mind picturing a hidden city, a village of powerful sorcerers concealed within the jungle. "Your tribe?"

Ixtic reached out as they walked and patted the trunk of a massive, ancient tree, a gesture as affectionate and familiar as one might give to a beloved pet. "My family is very old," she said softly. "And very quiet." She trailed her fingers along the rough bark. "And has very, very deep roots."

Her cryptic answers only deepened the mystery, and with it, his captivation. He was walking with a riddle wrapped in beauty, a creature whose power was as natural and effortless as breathing. He had thought himself a great warrior for conquering men. She conquered the land itself with a smile and a whisper.

The moving corridor of jungle opened suddenly into a huge, circular clearing. The change was abrupt. The air here felt different—thicker, ancient, a deep, resonant power. It was not the high, musical humming he had heard earlier, but a bass note, a giant, contented purr that seemed to emanate from the very soil.

In the center of the clearing stood a tree.

To call it a tree was to call a mountain a rock. It was a colossal ceiba, so ancient and vast it beggared belief. Its trunk, wider than any two of the great houses in Elpantepetl put together, was an environment of its own, its bark like the wrinkled, gray hide of some primordial beast. Great curtains of moss and flowering vines hung from its boughs. Its canopy, a mass of green far above, was so immense that it created a permanent twilight in the clearing below, pierced here and there by shafts of light that looked like solid pillars. Massive, wall-like buttress roots, each one as thick as a temple wall, snaked out from the base, creating natural, secluded chambers around the trunk.

Etalcaxi, who had grown up in the shadow of the great pyramids, who had seen architectural wonders that had taken generations to build, was struck silent with a reverence that bordered on religious fear. The pyramids were mighty works of man. This tree... this tree felt like a god. A living, breathing, sleeping deity.

Ixtic walked toward the giant ceiba with the comfortable, easy reverence of someone returning home. Her earlier playfulness had subsided, replaced by a quiet serenity. She belonged here. She was a part of this place.

"This is the Yollotl-Cuahuitl," she said, her voice soft with affection. "The First Tree. My... favorite resting spot."

She led him toward the base of the colossal trunk, to a space created by two enormous, curving buttress roots. The roots rose high over their heads, forming a perfect, private chamber, sheltered from all sides. The ground inside was not dirt or leaves, but a thick, living carpet of incredibly soft, deep green moss that seemed to invite one to lie upon it. The air in this root-walled room was warm and still, and it smelled of rich earth, sweet ceiba sap, and the intoxicating, personal scent of Ixtic herself.

Inside the root-walled room, she turned to face him. The last of her playful, teasing demeanor was gone, stripped away to reveal the raw, direct hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface all along. The pretense of guiding him to his lost spear, of leading him back to his caravan, was gone. This was the destination. This was her purpose.

Her voice was a low, husky whisper that sent a shiver down his spine. "The journey has been long. The little warrior is tired." Her eyes held his, green and deep and full of promises. "You must rest now. And... pay the remainder of the price."

Before he could even form a response, before his racing mind could catch up with the sudden, intense shift in her demeanor, she reached out with both hands. She did not touch his body. Her fingers, cool and deft, found the tough vine that secured the leafy loincloth at his hip. Her gaze never left his, her intent clear, thrilling.

With a gentle but firm tug, the knot on the vine came undone. The large, supple leaves, no longer held in place, fell away from his body, pooling in a soft, silent pile on the mossy ground.

He was once again naked before her. But this time, it was not a moment of humiliation or surprise. It was an offering. An acceptance. He stood before her, his body thrumming with the echo of her kiss, his mind finally silent, his pride forgotten. He had made a bargain. He had been healed. And now, payment was due.