21 #3
They are not the words of a priestess. They are the words of a mother. The one we called Mamá before she left.
I remember the smell of her hair and tugging at her skirts when I needed her. And I remember when I realized I’d never see, or smell, or be comforted by her again.
Fresh tears well in my eyes and spill down my cheeks when I blink.
I have hated her for so long.
“I knew the moment I was called that you would need me. I just didn’t know then that it would be for this.”
The moment I was called.
She’s been waiting for this moment since the day she left us. Did she expect to meet a broken young woman where a whole one ought to be? Is she disappointed in the girl she’s waited for all this time?
Did we not need her as children? Did Carina not need her when Ares was killing her? Could she have stopped him and saved her?
I can almost hear Abuela’s voice in my head saying, It’s not her fault.
She lost her, too. Always defending her.
Burning copal for her, knowing we resented her for honoring our mother with it.
Copal isn’t easy to come by. It’s an expense we didn’t need, but our grandmother insisted because she knew what Mamá had sacrificed and why.
Abuela knew where our mother was all along.
“Abuela knew and never told us.” I am weary and defeated again, and this time the sword striking me down is forged from secrets and lies.
My mother starts to reach for me and stops herself, clearing her throat. “She wasn’t allowed to reveal her role or mine. If other gods knew who the wise woman and priestess were, they would hunt and kill us to cut our people’s ties to Aztlan for good. To strand them.”
A shiver skitters up my spine. “Apollo’s oracle called Abuela a wise woman just now, before she sent me here.”
Mamá’s eyes snap in the direction of the door I had taken, the one that’s now gone.
“She made a doorway that led to you. Does that mean she knows who you are?” I ask.
“The Pythia didn’t make that door. I felt your distress echo through my blood and opened the pathway for you,” she growls. She regards the smoke as it tumbles and coils from the floor, like it might hold the answer. “And then she tried to stop you from entering it so she could peer in and see me.”
That’s why she left her perch, spilled her cup of blood, and rushed after me. That’s why she invoked Carina’s name. She lied about having access to her. Carina is safe, able to move between Lugh’s meadows and, oh gods, Mictlan. The Mexica underworld.
I should have drowned the oracle when I had the chance.
“How can Carina move between resting worlds? Abuela said Mictlan has nine levels and the journey through them is perilous,” I rasp.
“It is a gift from our gods to Abuela and me. As a reward for our sacrifices, our spirits and those of our children will not be subject to the usual expectations.” She stares toward the hallway and door she made for me.
I grit my teeth. “If the Pythia knows who she is, then Apollo also knows. Can you get to Abuela before they do?”
Her eyes, soil brown with striations of gold, cut to mine.
“I can’t.” She takes the longest shard of obsidian, cuts the hem of her shirt, and binds the cloth around its end.
“And neither can you.” On the red wall, she scratches the outline of a door and hands the blade to me.
“Cillian is at the arena with his master. Find him when the trial is over and have him contact Morrigan. For you, the goddess will harbor her. Do not go to Morrigan on her behalf. You cannot ask for her help without breaking the rules.”
I absently nod, watching a wooden door form in the wall in the shape she’d outlined.
She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Callalie, please do not approach Morrigan yourself. Ares will kill you for it.”
“What if he hurts her?” I croak.
Tears shimmer in her eyes. She bares her teeth.
“Then he will be made to regret ever having touched her, the way he will soon regret what he did to my children.” She pushes me toward the made door.
“Don’t lose yourself to your past or to your grief, Callalie, as difficult and heavy as they are.
If you do, Ares will win. You must keep looking ahead.
Don’t look back.” She sticks a small round tin in my hand.
“Steep this tea for Koda as soon as you can. Have him drink every petal and leaf.”
Every petal? Is this Abuela’s tea? I push the tin into a small pocket on my outer thigh and thank her.
Before I go, she clasps my wrist. She takes two quetzal feathers from a leather pouch on her belt and places them in my hand. “One for Carina. Burn the other one if you ever need to reach me.”
She doesn’t let go when I start to pull away.
“You were born for this moment, Callalie, and those that come after. Don’t doubt yourself for even one of them.”
Her grip loosens.
I tuck the feathers into the same pocket, then leave her in the hidden room and hope that if she’s real, none of the other gods can retrace my steps to her.
For the first time since childhood, I don’t feel bitter hatred for my mother.
I walk through the doorway.