The Return

The glow of the magical flowers had softened in the golden light of late afternoon. The air in the root-walled sanctuary was warm and still. Etalcaxi, feeling dazed and utterly, fundamentally satisfied, fastened the new, leafy loincloth Ixtic had fashioned for him. His body felt boneless, his mind a blissful, humming void. The experience had left him drunk with a pleasure so potent it felt like a form of enlightenment.

Ixtic watched him, a possessive, cat-like smile on her lips. She lay curled on the moss where they had been, her luminous skin seeming to drink in the warm light. She looked at him not as a lover looks at another, but as a craftsman looks upon a newly finished, and very pleasing, piece of work.

He finished tying the vine that held the leaves in place and took a deep, contented breath. And then, a sudden frown creased his blissed-out face. Through the fog of his satisfaction, a single, crucial, and very practical detail returned to his mind. His spear.

"My spear," he said, the words feeling heavy and strange in his mouth. "The bargain. You promised to help me find the spear."

Ixtic laughed softly, a warm, throaty sound that made his skin tingle in memory. She stretched languidly, her body a symphony of graceful curves. "The little warrior has had his mind on other things," she purred. "But a promise is a promise. I know where the mischief-makers have taken it."

She rose to her feet in a single, fluid motion. She placed two slender fingers to her lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle. It was a note so pure and high it seemed to make the very leaves on the great ceiba tree vibrate.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the canopy high above, which had been still and quiet, came alive with a sudden explosion of chattering and movement. The entire troop of spider monkeys, a cascade of black fur and long limbs, swung down from the higher branches, assembling on the lower boughs of the great tree. They no longer seemed menacing or mischievous. They were attentive, their dark eyes fixed on Ixtic, their postures respectful, like soldiers assembling.

Leading them, of course, was the formidable monkey with the white patch of fur. The big monkey shimmied down a thick vine and came to rest on a branch just above them. He looked down at Ixtic and gave a soft, questioning coo, a sound of deference and inquiry.

Ixtic smiled up at him, her expression one of fond authority. "Patch-Eye," she said, her voice musical and clear, carrying easily through the clearing. "Bring the champion his pointy stick. The one you borrowed. Now."

Patch-Eye let out a series of sharp, commanding barks to his troop. It was an order being relayed. The monkeys dispersed with a clear, coordinated purpose, vanishing back into the upper canopy. A minute passed. Etalcaxi stood watching, his mind struggling to process the scene. These were not the screeching demons who had tormented him.

They returned as a group. Four monkeys, working in perfect unison, carefully carried his obsidian-tipped spear horizontally through the branches. They held it with a strange reverence, taking care not to let the sharp tip or the carved butt bump against any branches. They descended to a low-hanging branch just over Etalcaxi's head. Patch-Eye took the spear from them. With a final, graceful swing, he dropped down, landing silently on the moss a few feet from Etalcaxi. He held the spear out, butt-first. The monkey's intelligent eyes were soft, his expression one of complete, unquestioning obedience.

Etalcaxi took his spear. The familiar weight of it in his hand was both a comfort and a deep source of confusion. He looked from the spear, to the now-docile monkey smiling at him, to the smiling Ixtic.

"Gods," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "I hate monkeys."

"You have your toy," Ixtic said, stepping closer. "Now you must return to your flock before they get lost or eaten." She reached up, her hands cupping his face, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. She gave him one last, lingering kiss. It was not the consuming, earth-shattering kiss from before. It was a soft, possessive press of her lips, a reminder. "Do not forget our bargain," she whispered against his mouth. Then, she stepped back toward the shadows of the great tree.

Etalcaxi walked in a blissful stupor. His mind and body still thrummed with a magic he did not understand. The path through the jungle, which had been a nightmarish, tangled obstacle course, now cleared before him. Thorns retracted, branches lifted, and roots smoothed themselves into the ground to grant him passage. The path sealed itself behind him with a soft sigh of leaves, but he barely noticed. His focus was on the sensations within his own skin.

A goofy, unfocused grin was plastered on his face. He felt... magnificent. He felt like the sun itself. Occasionally, he would stop, touch his own lips with his fingertips, and a dreamy, faraway look would enter his eyes as he relived the taste of her, the feel of her. He was so lost in the swirling, intoxicating memory of Ixtic that he almost walked face-first into a thick tree trunk, catching himself at the last second. He didn't feel foolish. He chuckled, a soft, happy sound, and patted the tree as if it were an old friend before continuing on his way.

He emerged from the trees into the clearing where he had left the caravan. The path behind him vanished, the jungle becoming a solid, impassable wall once more. Before him, the magical thorn wall that had blocked their way was gone, as if it had never existed. The way forward was clear.

His caravan was a knot of nervous energy. Ixa and Zolin were huddled together near the supply packs, their usual animosity forgotten in the face of shared terror. Coyotl was on his knees, frantically carving protective symbols onto the surface of a large, flat rock with a sharp piece of flint. Xochi, practical as ever, stood alert, a javelin in her hand, her eyes scanning the tree line for threats. And Citli... Citli was pacing back and forth like a caged jaguar, his hand on the hilt of his macana, his face a mask of worry.

Only Tlico seemed calm. The old merchant sat on a fallen log, away from the others, methodically sharpening a wicked-looking obsidian skinning knife. The rhythmic scrape of stone on stone was the only calm sound in the tense clearing.

Citli was the first to see him. The young warrior's head snapped up, his eyes widening. A huge cry of relief ripped from his throat. "Great Etalcaxi returns!"

Etalcaxi strolled into the camp, trying his best to look nonchalant. The attempt was completely undermined by his leafy attire, his dazed, love-struck expression, and the foolishly happy grin he couldn't seem to wipe from his face. He leaned on his restored spear, trying to strike a heroic, at-ease pose.

Tlico didn't get up. He didn't even look up at first. He finished one long, careful stroke with his sharpening stone, tested the blade with a calloused thumb, and only then did he fix Etalcaxi with a long, piercing, and utterly unimpressed stare. His eyes took in the goofy grin, and the leafy loincloth.

"Find a way, did you, warrior?" Tlico asked, his voice as dry as dust. "Or did the jungle simply decide it was done playing with its food?"

The old merchant's sarcastic words were a splash of cold water, snapping Etalcaxi out of his blissful haze. He was back with his caravan. He was their commander. He needed an explanation. An excuse. His mind, still foggy with pleasure, scrambled for a plausible story. Plausible was not his strong suit at the moment. His eyes darted around the clearing, and drawing on a deep well of ego and a complete lack of better ideas, he began to weave a tale. He straightened up, striking a heroic pose, his bliss replaced by theatrical gravitas.

"It was a trial!" he declared, his voice booming. "A test of strength and spirit, posed by the ancient guardian of this jungle!"

Citli rushed forward, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and excitement. "A guardian?"

"Yes!" Etalcaxi confirmed, warming to his theme. "A jaguar! But no mere beast. A jaguar-god, as large as this clearing, with fur like living shadow and eyes of burning amber!" He was rather pleased with that description. "It spoke, its voice a tremor in the very earth, and it challenged my right to pass through its sacred domain!"

Coyotl let out a small whimper from his rock and began carving his protective symbols with renewed, frantic energy.

"The beast was incredibly fast!" Etalcaxi continued, his voice full of dramatic fervor. He was a storyteller now, telling his own epic. "It was a formidable foe! It commanded its legion of monkey-demons to steal my spear, testing not my strength of arm, but my strength of spirit! A titanic battle ensued! For hours we fought, a blur of claw and Itzotec fury, a battle of wits and will against the primal power of the jungle itself!"

Citli was practically vibrating with excitement. "Did you slay the beast?"

Etalcaxi shook his head sagely, a look of immense wisdom on his face. "Slaying such a magnificent spirit would have been a crime against the gods themselves! No! I did not defeat the jaguar with brute force. I defeated it with respect!" He puffed out his chest. "The beast, seeing the purity of my warrior heart and my respect for the ancient powers of this land, yielded! It acknowledged me as a worthy champion. The magnificent creature returned my spear and, as a sign of its fealty, commanded the thorn wall to stand down!" He gestured with a grand sweep of his arm to the now-clear path, as if presenting a miracle he himself had wrought.

A moment of stunned silence hung over the group. Then, Tlico finally spoke again, his voice dripping with a sarcasm so dry it could have started a fire. He did not ask about the battle, or the talking jaguar, or the demon-monkeys. He simply nodded his head toward Etalcaxi's new leafy garment.

"And the jaguar-god has an eye for fashion, does it?" he asked, his tone deceptively mild. "Or did it merely disapprove of your previous attire?"

Etalcaxi's face flushed a brilliant crimson. He hadn't thought of that. The loincloth. His mind raced, grasping for a thread. "The... the original loincloth," he improvised badly, his voice suddenly an octave higher, "was shredded in the titanic struggle! The ferocity of the battle! Claws, you see! The grateful spirit of the jungle itself, seeing my... need... wove this replacement for its new champion!"

Another moment of silence. Citli looked as if he was about to ascend to a higher plane of existence. He clasped his hands together in a gesture of pure worship. "A talking jaguar-god! Tamed by the sheer will and noble spirit of Etalcaxi! This is a story that will be sung for a thousand years! I was here! I saw it!"

From her position by the trees, Xochi just raised a single, disbelieving eyebrow.

Tlico listened to all of this without a change in his stony expression. He looked from Etalcaxi's love-dazed, foolishly grinning face, to the warrior's shoulder, where an angry scratch had been clearly visible that morning, a scratch that was now completely gone. He let out a single, loud, dismissive SNORT. The sound cut through the air, clearly expressing his thoughts on the entire ridiculous tale. He said nothing more. He simply went back to sharpening his knife, the rhythmic scrape, scrape, scrape a clear indication that the matter was closed in his mind.

Etalcaxi, however, chose to hear only the validation he craved. He puffed out his chest, accepting the worshipful praise of Citli while pointedly ignoring the silent, stony judgment of the old merchant. He was convinced his lie was a work of genius, a heroic tale for the ages. He was the warrior who had tamed Coatl-Cuahuitl, and he had a beautiful, secret woman waiting for him within its depths. He was, he thought with a final, smug grin, having a very good afternoon.