Cece Rios and the Desert of Souls by Kaela Rivera (online e book reading .txt) 📕

of every god in every creation. Because they . . . made us together?”

As soon as I said it, it felt right. But I was standing with a Sun Priestess in the Sun Sanctuary, the building dedicated to our gratitude to the Sun god for making us. I flushed red and looked up at Dominga del Sol, hoping she wasn’t about to throw me out.

She didn’t. Instead, her mouth softened in a gentle smile, surrounded by thick wrinkles. “I think you’ve come to a very likely conclusion, Cece.”

“Really?” I gaped.

“Well, yes. All four gods had to sacrifice themselves for the world to begin. It only makes sense that they needed their combined powers to create life as well. Even if they each chose a particular one to design.”

That felt right too, as her words filled the space between us. We both looked up at the mosaic. The Sun god’s face looked so soft and warm here, even captured in square fire opal tiles. Maybe it wasn’t just because he was making us. Maybe it was because he was making everything, everyone, as part of a team with his sisters.

“If that’s true,” I whispered, “do you think the Sun god would be disappointed in me for having a soul like water instead of his fire, like everyone says?”

Dominga del Sol tilted her head as her eyes wandered over the deities. They paused on the Ocean goddess. I’d never paid much attention to her story, since we lived deep in the desert, far from her shores. Considering how much everyone hated the idea of a water soul so much, it seemed best to ignore her. But now, she caught my attention. She was dressed in turquoise rain clouds, and the hem of her dress turned into a river that faded into the ocean’s vast body.

“How could he be disappointed in water,” she said, her wrinkled fingers brushing over the stones, “when he placed us in the desert, where we would learn to need it?”

No one had ever spoken of water like that to me—like it was important.

“That’s something the curanderas used to teach.” Dominga del Sol lowered her voice. People didn’t like to hear curanderas mentioned publicly. “That every deity’s contribution was important, and that we should be grateful to each of them. Some even say that’s because curanderas were blessed by the gods—some blessed with the Sun god’s fire, others with the Moon goddess’s wisdom, a few with the Desert goddess’s voice, and others,” she said, looking pointedly at me, “with the Ocean goddess’s strength.”

My mouth opened. She spoke of water and the Ocean goddess the same way I’d always secretly believed Tzitzimitl’s words to be—a blessing. A good thing. Not something to be ashamed of.

I stared up at the Sun god and his sister, the Ocean goddess, and wondered if it was possible that they could both exist inside me.

Slowly, I reached toward the Ocean goddess’s depiction. As my fingers neared the stones, light flickered off them. I squinted, moving my head to try to angle away from whatever direction the sun was bouncing off them. Then I realized . . .

The light was coming from the stones. I went still, my hand hovering just over their smooth surfaces. Was I seeing things again? First the water last night and now this? Next to me, Dominga de Sol straightened up. Her mouth opened. But there was no way the turquoise mosaic could really be . . . glowing, right?

Footsteps resounded behind us. I pulled my hand back, and the stones’ light went out. Dominga del Sol’s shoulders slumped a bit as she turned to meet the approaching figure.

Yaotl del Sol stopped beside us and planted her hands on her hips. “Dominga del Sol, you have chores to attend to.”

The old woman looked exhausted. “That’s true, Yaotl del Sol. Just a moment.” She leaned down to take the tortillas I was still carrying. I loaded them into her arms, atop the shirts. “They don’t like me to talk to children,” she said. “They say I fill their heads with stories we don’t like to think are true anymore.”

Yaotl del Sol sighed. “It’s not that.” She looked down at me. “Understand, Cecelia, that Dominga del Sol’s stories are only recorded by curanderas—”

“Which are the oldest histories we have,” Dominga del Sol interjected.

Yaotl del Sol’s face tightened. “When we trusted the curanderas for our protection, dark criaturas nearly took over Tierra del Sol, and we almost died out. Since the curanderas perished, we’ve become stronger by embracing only the ferocity of the Sun god’s flame in our hearts. Clearly, it’s a better way.” Her eyes fell on me sharply. “We can’t afford weakness.”

I’d seen that look before, and I knew perfectly well what she meant.

Dominga del Sol placed a warm hand on my head. “If the Sun god, flame of our souls, were still alive to see us, I think he’d be sad to see us forget our history simply because we are afraid of being hurt again.”

Yaotl del Sol stiffened. “Well, he’s not here, is he? He sacrificed himself so that we could live. And it’s our duty to do just that.” She turned with a swirl of her yellow robes and disappeared out the entrance.

Dominga del Sol sighed as she watched her go. “She’s not completely wrong. The curanderas weren’t able to stop the flood of dark criaturas that nearly ended Tierra del Sol. But that doesn’t mean they were weak.” She poked the place over my heart and narrowly missed the two soul stones. My pulse fluttered.

I straightened up. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll figure it out, Cece.” She stroked my cheek with her free hand. “I have no doubt that you’ll be the one to figure it out.”

19

Hawk Hunting

“Well if it isn’t the pollo who became a hawk.”

I was on my way home from the Sun Sanctuary, taking a quieter route through the backstreets, when I heard the familiar voice. I whirled around, glancing across the barren street. A girl leaned against the nearest adobe house. I