"Look at this!” Elizabeth shoved the silent-auction certificate in front of her camera lens.

"We're here to take pictures of the dog show, not shop,” Keiranne said, pushing aside the paper, and then sweeping her honey-blond hair behind her ear. As she re-adjusted the camera's aperture, her cerulean blue eyes narrowed, focusing intently. At the perfect moment, she snapped the shutter and captured the winning Akita's yawn.

"It's a Trek of the Spirit tour to Teotihuacán, Mexico,” said Elizabeth, reading. “Hey, it's a fifteen-hundred-dollar value, and the opening bid's only fifty bucks. Oh...” her voice dropped slightly. “That's why it's so cheap—the date. The flight leaves Sunday morning, just in time for your birthday."

"Thank you...” Keiranne did not need reminding that, besides entering her thirties, she had just broken off her engagement and was not looking forward to celebrating her birthday solo.

"Any birthday ending in zero stinks, especially the big three-oh, but you're starting a new life, remember?"

"On a spiritual trek...” Not bothering to conceal her skepticism, Keiranne wrapped the camera's strap around her wrist and snapped a sequence of Dachshund pictures. “Who would I meet? Flying-saucer fanatics and shaman groupies smoking peace pipes?"

"What better way to start over,” Elizabeth persisted, ignoring her friend's sarcasm, “than in a new place surrounded by new people?"

"Gee.” As Keiranne disentangled the camera strap from her mother's silver and turquoise bracelet, something occurred to her.

"What?"

"This was my mother's bracelet,” she said, tenderly adjusting the wristlet. “She gave it to me just before she died on her thirtieth birthday."

"Yikes! How old were you?"

"Five, and now I'm going to be thirty.” She paused, embarrassed, and then confided in a whisper, “This probably sounds crazy, but because my mother died at thirty, I imagined somehow I would, too."

"Hey, Suzy Sunshine. One, you're not your mother, and two, you look pretty darned healthy to me."

"I know how weird it sounds.” She tried to laugh it off. “But five is an impressionable age. My thirtieth birthday is something I've dreaded for twenty-five years."

"You need to get out more!” Elizabeth handed her a pen. “Go ahead. Bid on the tour. Fifty bucks is a cheap getaway to Mexico. Besides, maybe you can do a series of photographs while you're there."

Keiranne wondered what her mother would have done if she knew she had a week to live.

Seize the day. She inhaled sharply, took the pen, and filled out the form.

The phone was ringing as Keiranne walked in the door. “Hello."

"Is this KWEST ... or ... K. WEST?"

"Yes, this is Keiranne West."

"Congratulations! You've won the bid on the Trek of the Spirit tour to Teotihuacán.” The caller chuckled. “Looks like you'll be having a kwest of your own."

Keiranne listened halfheartedly as she scribbled down the address for the tickets, but, as she replaced the receiver, she felt as if she had thrown away fifty dollars. I'll never use those tickets. She sighed. Better to waste the money than waste the time on a wild goose chase.

The phone rang again. Caller ID indicated it was Sam, so Keiranne steeled herself to the four rings and let the answering machine pick up.

"Keiranne, I know this is soon. I mean, we just broke off the engagement, but, well, your birthday is coming up, and I thought maybe we could spend it together."

Hearing his voice was too much to resist, so against her better judgment, she picked up. “Hi."

"Oh, you are there."

"Yeah, I just got back."

"Back from where? Why didn't you call when you got in?"

Frustrated that she had answered, she chewed her lip to restrain her irritation. “Sam, this is why I broke off the engagement. You're a control freak. Where I go or what I do is none of your business."

"It's only that I'm concerned about you. Keiranne, I love you. Just because the engagement's off doesn't mean my feelings have changed. Look, I just wanted to be with you on your birthday. Scratch that, want to be with you."

Keiranne could feel herself falling into the familiar pattern of agreeing to meet him just once more. “I suppose—"

"It's a milestone,” he interrupted. “You only turn thirty once. I know exactly what we'll do. First, we'll go to..."

As she looked at her mother's bracelet and then at the scribbled address, she made up her mind. “No, Sam, I have other plans."

"What do you mean? Are you seeing someone else?"

"Goodbye, Sam."

During the flight, Keiranne read Carlos Arizpe's book, trying to prepare for the Trek of the Spirit tour or at least be open minded about it. After customs and baggage pickup at Mexico City's Benito Juárez International Airport, Keiranne saw a man holding up a paddle sign that read Carlos Arizpe group, Teotihuacán. Their group boarded a tour bus that drove through the outskirts of Mexico City, entered the countryside, and maneuvered into the mountains. An hour later, Keiranne arrived at the hotel, pleasantly surprised to find it was located just outside the pyramids’ perimeter.

Her hotel room was all Mediterranean alcoves and arches. Handmade, red Mexican tiles lined the floor. Small niches in the walls contained Mexican pottery and hand-blown glassware.

Once she had unpacked, she and several others from the group walked to a one hundred-year-old restaurant located in an ancient cave the Aztecs had used for food storage. It incandesced with vivacious reds, yellows, oranges, indigos, and chartreuse. Multicolored tablecloths, napkins, brightly painted, high-backed chairs, and flickering candles brought the cave to life.

"It's a cavern tavern,” quipped one of their group as he ordered a margarita. The trim, attractive man in his early thirties introduced himself as Dorian.

A trio of guitarists and a harpist strolled over and strummed Guantanamera and Besame Mucho as the waiter brought the drinks and a salad made with quelite.

"How do you pronounce this?” a member of their group asked the waiter, trying to read from the menu. “Che ... quel ... light?"

"Kay-lee-tay,” he answered phonetically, “it's an Aztec word for this green herb."

"It's either lamb's quarters or pigweed,” said Lynn, another of the group who prided herself on her herbal knowledge.

Tossed with a dressing made from tuna, the prickly-pear cactus fruit, the salad looked like discarded weeds, but Keiranne found its taste surprisingly appetizing.

As their group shared a platter of squash-blossom and mushroom quesadillas smothered with melted cheese, the strolling musicians broke into a rendition of Happy Birthday for a man at the next table.

"Can't escape it,” Keiranne muttered under her breath.

"What?” asked Dorian.

The sound of his voice jolted her. Surprised he had overheard her, she said, “Just coincidental, it's almost my birthday."

"Really?” He pulled a pocket-sized book from his jacket. “What date were you born?"

"The twentieth."

"And what year?” She reluctantly told him, wondering if this were some what-sign-are-you pick up line. He consulted several charts, muttered as he multiplied and added the numbers, and then pronounced, “Two hundred sixty.” His dark eyes opened wide, drilling into hers as if trying to read her thoughts.

"So?” She struggled to be polite.

"In the Sacred Calendar count, Ahau is the culminating sign of completion,” he said. “The number two hundred and sixty resonates with the two-hundred-sixty-day Tzolkin Calendar, which is based on thirteen and twenty. Your cosmic tone is thirteen, which represents the supreme god and, again, completion."

"Tzolkin, Ahau,” said Lynn. “How do you know all that Mayan-calendar stuff?"

He shrugged. “Numbers just fascinate me."

"What's my sign? I was born on—” Lynn interrupted. But before Lynn could pursue her request, the waiter asked if anyone wanted dessert. Full from the quesadillas, their group only groaned, and Dorian hastily put his book away as they got up to leave.

They strolled back along the cobblestone road as it began to drizzle. Stray dogs dozed or played in front of the souvenir stands lining the way. Under one shop's eaves, a man wove a vibrant tablecloth on a handloom, the shuttle clacking as it raced back and forth. Their group stopped to watch and inspect the fabric. Then they turned and saw an exquisite double rainbow, the colors more brilliant than the loom's tablecloth.

It filled the sky from horizon to horizon, one end touching the ground just in front of one of the pyramids, a translucent fan of color through which Keiranne could see the ancient structure. A sign if ever I saw one, she thought, mesmerized, determining to visit that site the next day since it was like a semi-aura, shining over all, emanating from that pyramid.

"According to Mayan mythology, Ix Chel,” said Dorian, “the moon goddess, was also known as Lady Rainbow. She must be blessing our visit.” Although he wore a tongue-in-cheek smile, he closely watched Keiranne's reaction.

The rain progressed from light to steady, and they ducked into a souvenir stand to wait it out. Keiranne saw a small, white dog sitting cock-eared at the entrance, watching her as if it recognized her. Its tail slowly wagging, the dog approached, dipping its head, inviting Keiranne to scratch it. She laughed, and, as she petted the dog, the two bonded.

The rain let up a few minutes later, and their group resumed their trek back to the hotel, the white dog following at a distance. As they walked, the group looked up in awe at the enormous double diadem still vibrant above them. Like a multicolored tiara crowning the heavens. The only regret Keiranne felt at the moment was she hadn't brought her camera.

The next morning, a brood of swallow fledglings that had been nesting on the hotel's adobe walls tried their wings for the first time. Keiranne watched them teeter on the edge of their now outgrown nest, then flutter to a perch and back to their nest several times before flying off to the courtyard's gurgling fountain.

Songs of birds filled the courtyard as she gazed at the patio's topographical map of the Zona Archeologica de Teotihuacán, trying to locate the pyramid the rainbow had indicated. The only place that corresponded on the map was the Temple of Quetzalcoatl located in the Citadel.

Over coffee, she finished reading the last pages of Arizpe's book about starting a new life. A death of the old self has to occur before a new self can emerge. She likened his description of the old self to a word-processing document that has been saved so often it becomes too unwieldy to be saved one last time, and the file becomes corrupted. The solution was to save it as a new document. The file reduced to a fraction of its former size-no baggage-and started all over as a fresh document. A new life.

Her deduced moral was to quit holding onto the past. Let the pálido muerte or pale death, as the author called it, remove the burden of the past. With her thirtieth birthday approaching, she pondered this in relation to her mother. No matter how irrational, it was a day she had dreaded for twenty-five years. Perhaps this death of the old self will be my symbolic death.

Keiranne tucked the book under her arm as she left for Carlos Arizpe's introductory lecture and the guided tour of the ruins. She made a silent pledge to die to her old way of life, to be free of her past memories and fears.

The meeting took place in a salon just off the garden. Outside, it was a glorious, sunny day. The previous night's shower had freshened the air, and violet-green swallows swooped and sang loudly outside the open door and windows. Gentle, floral-scented breezes rustled the leaves of the ancient elm trees.

Inside, Carlos sat cross-legged on a leather armchair, barefoot, resting his chin on hand. Roughly thirty barefoot followers sat lotus fashion at his feet, their shoes neatly stacked against the wall. Another fifteen to twenty skeptics sat in chairs, ringing the perimeter, some with and some without their shoes. Several sat arms akimbo, their body language projecting their opinions.

"The pálido muerte," he mumbled into his hand, his words barely audible to the outer ring as he whispered to his inner circle of followers, “or pale death comes swiftly to spirit you away, remove you from everyone, everything you love. But its gift is that all worries are left behind."

Those closest to him listened intently, their faces rapt. Lynn sat entranced, eyes closed, fingers in Gyaan Mudra position, legs crossed, thumbs pressed to index fingers.

"That position increases brain power,” whispered Dorian, nodding toward the intent groupie. “It also helps relieve anger, tension, headaches, and dish-detergent hands.” His eyes twinkled mischievously.

"What about dandruff,” Keiranne whispered, swallowing a smile.

Because she had arrived moments before the meeting started, she left her shoes on and found a chair in the outer ring. Even without the banter, she had to strain to hear Arizpe's words, catching only fragments of his message.

Arizpe continued in an intimate whisper to his inner group. “The pale death is a metaphor. You must leave everything behind. Your old self must die, so you can be truly alive. The pale death removes the past, so you're free to live in the present, unfettered by chains of old habits, old thought patterns. The pale death shows you the way out of whatever personal hell you've created."

A sniffle escaped from Lynn, and Arizpe motioned for her to sit beside him.

"Surrender. Surrender to the pale death and live fully in the present. Die to yourself that you may be reborn into freedom from the shackles of your old self. Be brave. The pale death teaches you to die, so that you may be you, not the person who looks to others for acceptance, not the obedient child or good student, looking for approval, not the person who's afraid to express what she wants for fear of rejection, but the freedom to be you."

Sobs and sniffles from the inner circle of followers competed with Arizpe's words. Keiranne struggled less to hear, beginning to tune out. Reading the crowd, Arizpe spoke louder, addressing the entire congregation. “Today the pale death will take you. Today you will die. Meet outside in the garden for a group hug. Then the leaders will guide you from your private hell to heaven itself."

As the students scrambled for their shoes, Keiranne walked outside into the cacophony of bird songs. Dorian called to her, “This way."

"I'm going to walk to the pyramids and get an early start,” she called back, choosing to follow her own path through the palm trees—instead of any leader. “See you later."

The walk to the hotel's gated entrance took her past thick adobe walls painted in pastel shades of aqua and lilac. A grassy, treed area enclosed the back perimeter, while floral gardens cascaded with alyssum, Shasta daisies, honeysuckle, and hot pink bougainvillea. Cactus gardens of agave, barrel cacti, and Spanish dagger dotted the grounds. A private Toltec ruins had been excavated in the front, while a regal row of organ cacti lined the front perimeter like spiny sentinels, keeping intruders and locals out of the gated grounds as austerely as the uniformed entrance guards.

Keiranne walked along the cobblestone road to the pyramids, intending to start at the end of the Calzada de los Muertos or Avenue of the Dead and work her way back to the main entrance. Along the way, she purchased an obsidian necklace from a vendor, a diminutive carving of Quetzalcoatl. Slipping it over her head, she climbed the Pyramid of the Moon, scrambling over the sharp, rocky top. At the peak, she surveyed the mountain behind her.

"That's Cerro Gordo, or Fat Hill,” said another climber on his descent. “It's considered a sacred mountain to the Teotihuacán people. Some say this temple is the embodiment of that mountain. Others say it's dedicated to Chalchiutlicue, the water goddess of springs, lakes, and rivers. Since Cerro Gordo was the Teotihuacános’ primary source of fresh spring water, both make sense."

"Thanks for the info.” Then, she noticed the speaker was Dorian and smiled as he passed, vaguely wondering how he had gotten there so quickly. Her puzzlement was lost as she savored the beauty of the pyramid through the lens of her camera before she climbed down.

Then leaving the Plaza of the Moon, she visited the Quetzalpapálotl, the Palace of the Plumed Butterfly. She balanced on the wide staircase, leaning as far to the right as possible, balancing the camera, straining to capture a close-up of the stone face. Just as she was about to click, two schoolboys ran in front of her, scrambled under the chain, stood on the crumbling ruins, and snapped a perfect frontal shot of the stone head.

"What a coup,” laughed a familiar voice. She turned around to see Dorian again. “Ignore the barriers. Don't follow the rules” he added.

"Just to get the best pictures?"

"Just to get the best of whatever life offers,” he said over his shoulder, joining the people who were entering the antechamber. The boys jumped down, just missing Keiranne, forcing her to regain her balance.

"Sure, destroy walls that have stood for twenty-eight hundred years just to get a picture,” she muttered under her breath, arching her body to compensate for the chain. Besides, I can airbrush that chain out. She looked admiringly at the big-toothed monolith and then entered the antechamber to the courtyard.

Square columns carved with the Quetzalpapálotl motif lined the sunken patio. She digitally captured figures that looked like stylized butterflies and birds with black obsidian eyes. She snapped pictures of the tablero-frieze, painted in shades of pink and red that crowned the pillars and supported thin, stone merlons. Where flashes were not allowed in the dark porticoes, she kneeled, closed down the lens aperture, and braced her elbows against her thighs to steady the camera, using the sunlight in lieu of a flash.

Keiranne looked at her watch. It was eleven thirty. If she wanted to reach the Pyramid of the Sun by noon, to avoid shadows in her pictures, she would have to get moving. She raced across the Avenue of the Dead and, at seven thousand feet above sea level, felt herself panting before she approached the base of the stairs.

Catching her breath, she began the series of ascents. At each of the five levels, the view changed significantly. She wanted to stop and record the sights from the changing heights and perspectives, but the single file of people behind her spurred her forward. She promised herself to photograph the scenes from each tier on the way down.

When she reached the penultimate tier, she noticed two members of the group sitting on the rim of the pyramid, their feet hanging over the ledge, gazing at the Pyramid of the Moon. Although ready for a respite herself, she saw it was five minutes to twelve. Instead of stopping, she took a deep breath and began climbing over the broken stones until she reached the top, just as the sun reached its zenith. Not to miss a moment of the bright, white light, she began snapping pictures, the views more astounding in each direction.

From the crest of the pyramid, she could see the layout of Teotihuacán. The Avenue of the Dead, what had once been the city's main street, extended for more than a mile on a north-south axis, although, as she gazed southward, she could make out half-buried bits and pieces of it beyond the Citadel.

"Look, there's our hotel,” pointed out someone she recognized from her group.

Keiranne's eyes followed the half-hidden, half-imaginary continuation of the avenue, and their hotel was directly in line with it. Right along the archaeological zone, I'll bet the excavated ruins on the grounds were part of this complex.

She looked though her lens, but the camera did not do the long shot justice. She continued circling the top tier of the pyramid, taking pictures from all four cardinal points. Capturing various vignettes on film, she was mindless of the time, heat, or altitude as the sun's delicate descent angled and cast subtle shadows.

When she stopped to catch her breath, she noted an hour had passed, and the heat of the day had apparently dissuaded climbers. The crowd had definitely thinned. She sat down on one of the rounder rocks, facing the Pyramid of the Moon, and took a long drink from her water bottle. Tangerine-colored Monarch butterflies, outlined in black lace, floated by in a breezeless dance. She tried to capture them on film, but they swung away in a do-si-do, square dancers following a soundless caller's directions.

Taking a protein bar from her backpack, she noticed the white dog at her side. She looked around, but no other person was on the pyramid. At over two hundred feet above the ground, the dog had made an astounding climb—apparently unguided.

"You're the one I met last night,” she said, affectionately scratching the dog's head and neck, feeling the soft bristles of the glossy coat. “Are you thirsty, girl?"

Keiranne poured some water into her hand, and the dog gently lapped it up. “Are you lost?” she asked, pouring more water into her hand for the dog to drink. The dog just lapped with a pink tongue as soft as goose feathers until it had had enough. Then Keiranne fed her bits of her protein bar, as they looked north at the Pyramid of the Moon, sharing the view.

"Did you know the Toltecs believed a white dog symbolized faithfulness and fortitude on spiritual journeys?” asked a voice behind her.

Before turning around, she recognized the voice as Dorian's. When she looked up at him, the glaring sunlight behind him blinded her. Shielding her eyes, she saw orange and saffron-yellow butterflies sashay between them, seeming to enjoy the white heat.

"I didn't,” she answered, “and what about these butterflies? I suppose the Toltecs thought them symbolic, too?"

"Oh, yes, indeed,” he said, sitting beside her, “to them, butterflies symbolized transformation, metamorphosis, as they moved from the realm of the earth to that of the sky."

"Is that so?” she asked, absently petting the dog lying contentedly beside her.

Dorian nodded. “They believed butterflies symbolized souls, here to remind us life is a fleeting source of pleasure and shouldn't be taken too seriously."

She looked at him skeptically. “Too seriously?"

"Except for when you sat down with the dog, you've only viewed Teo through your lens.” He turned to look at her. “Would you call that taking life too seriously?"

She breathed in sharply, casting him a that's-not-fair look. “This is my job. I'm a freelance photographer. I see things—people, landscapes—through the camera's eye."

"And you don't call that vicarious?"

"I see life in frames. I catch the nuances and capture the vignettes. That's how I support myself."

"But do you experience or only photocopy life?"

She bit her tongue to keep from retorting sarcastically and, ignoring him, stared hard at the Pyramid of the Moon, the dog curled beside her.

As if sensing her annoyance, he changed the subject. “Do you realize you're looking north?” When she didn't respond, Dorian went on. “To the Toltecs, white represented the energy of the north, considering it a purifying energy."

"So?"

"The dog is white. You're facing north. Butterflies are circling above.” He stopped, considering his next words. “Do you sense anything?"

"Only that, at seven thousand feet above sea level and the two hundred plus feet of this pyramid, we're above seventy-five percent of the earth's atmosphere. With the ozone layer this thin, I can feel the ultraviolet rays scorching the back of my neck."

He sucked in his breath when he saw her neck. “It really is getting red. You wouldn't want to get heat stroke up here. Maybe you should climb down and get in the shade?"

A glint in her eye, she asked, “You're not prejudiced, are you?"

To his blank stare, she added, “Are you sure you don't judge people by the color of their ... necks?"

He grinned. “Watch your step on the way down. Some of those stairways are pitched so steeply, they're nearly vertical. I'll lead, so I can break your fall if you slip."

Keiranne started after him but saw the dog was not following. She turned back and called, “Come on, girl."

"Are you coming?” Dorian's voice hailed her from the next level down.

"Be with you in a minute. Just want to make sure this dog gets down safely.” She patted her thigh and called again to the dog, but it whined and whimpered. “Great, no collar or leash, how am I going to get you down?"

She tried coaxing the dog a few steps at a time, reassuring her, praising her, whistling, and continuously talking to her. Finally, the dog trusted Keiranne enough to follow her down the first level of steps and then the second. They made progress until the third stairway, which was nearly perpendicular to the ground, just as Dorian had warned. She looked around, but he was nowhere in sight.

"That's strange,” she said to the dog, trying her best to coax her down the steep flight of steps. “Looks like it's just you and me, girl,” she said. “Come on, you can do it."

The dog whimpered, but then, in a burst of trust or suspended disbelief, Keiranne was unsure which, the dog licked her hand, stepped off the landing onto the nearly vertical stairway, and followed her down the third, fourth, and fifth flights of stairs.

"Good girl!” Back on the ground, Keiranne ruffled the dog's head, petting her, praising her.

The dog followed her to the Avenue of the Dead but then abandoned her for a family carrying a large bag of popcorn. Keiranne shook her head, laughing, and started off for the Temple of Quetzalcoatl at the southern end of the avenue.

Checking her tour book, she noted a second short, wide walkway, running east and west, intersected the Avenue of the Dead, creating the Teotihuacán cross. Reading on, she saw these crossroads represented the four cardinal points. She turned, looking in each direction. Mountains rose majestically in the distance of three of the four points.

She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what this intersection had looked like two thousand eight hundred years earlier. For a brief moment, she could imagine the hustle and bustle of a city's center. For an instant, she could almost see a marketplace lined with stalls of hawkers selling fresh corn, tomatoes, avocadoes, brightly dyed cotton textiles, obsidian and jade jewelry, and hand-thrown pottery.

"Buy mascara? I make you good price.” The sound of a modern-day hawker approaching her with a satchel of stone masks woke her from her reverie.

"No, gracias,” she said, moving away quickly, not stopping until she had climbed the wall surrounding the Temple of Quetzalcoatl and surveyed the sunken plaza. She saw that what had appeared to be a wall were actually two superimposed tiers of steps surrounding the temple. The second tier had been built over the first.

Checking that no vendors were nearby, she consulted her tour book again, noting the Spanish conquistadors had called this area the Citadel because of the tiers. They had mistaken the platforms for fortifications and misnamed the pyramid, calling it a castle.

As she crossed the courtyard, the hairs began to stand up on her forearms. She chaffed her arms to dispel the chill. Wondering why she was suddenly cold on a hot June afternoon, she climbed the temple's steps two at a time, hoping the exercise would warm her.

At the top, she noted a second, grander temple with talud-tablero architecture behind the building. Again referring to her guidebook, she read that the Temple of Quetzalcoatl had belonged to two eras, with two buildings. The structure she stood on had been built more recently and had covered over the ornate building, which had been built during the Tzacualli-Miccaotli period.

She peered over the railing at the feathered serpent and earth monster gargoyles, strangely attracted yet repelled by the sight. Compelled to get closer, she climbed back down the steps, trying to find a path to the older building, but the area was chained off. Only archaeologists were allowed within the area, read one sign. Debajo de investigación read another.

She retraced her steps and began walking the perimeter of the Quetzalcoatl Temple. Just beyond the wall and fences, she saw the souvenir shop she had ducked into the night before. Getting her bearings, it dawned on her. She turned to look back at the temple and realized this was the building the rainbow had indicated. Shivers ran up her spine.

Again she climbed to the top of the temple and felt peculiarly fascinated by it, drawn to it. She had taken only two photos of the gargoyles and cantilevered panels of the talud-tablero architecture when she heard a boisterous group of schoolboys running up the steps. She closed the lens of her camera, deciding to wait for a more private moment, and followed the path to the museum.

The museum was quiet, deserted except for a few lethargic guards. Glad for the opportunity to collect her thoughts, she gazed at the compilation of pottery shards, incense burners, braziers, and other assorted artifacts. She stopped in front of the collections of turquoise, shell, and serpentine jewelry, admiring the intricacy of the ancient works of art.

One particular piece caught her eye: a turquoise necklace with an onyx pendent. A relief carving of the planet Venus, read the sign. The stylized star pattern caught her imagination, and she decided to capture its image digitally. Using the thin camera she carried in her pocket, she turned the flash off, and snapped the picture.

After replacing the credit-card sized camera in her pocket, she stepped into a two-story, glass-walled room and was confronted with the Pyramid of the Sun. Its breathtaking view filled the entire window. She crossed the room's clear, Plexiglas floor, gazing at the miniature diorama of Teotihuacán below her feet that allowed her to traverse the ancient city's perimeter in seconds rather than hours. Again, she was compelled toward the diminutive Quetzalcoatl Temple.

Lost in thought, she stood there, wondering why it attracted her so, until she heard the shrill trill of a dozen whistles being blown, a sure sign of an approaching tour of local school children. Reluctantly, she moved on, deciding she could return after the group left, so she could follow her thoughts.

From the sunlit room with its imposing view of the Pyramid of the Sun, she walked into a dark chamber lit sparingly by red lights. As her eyes adjusted to the low light levels, she felt more than saw a burial chamber of nine skeletons with flexed knees and arms perpetually tied behind their backs. Transfixed, she stared and stumbled toward the area, open except for a low Plexiglas wall with signs reading No Tocar—Don't touch!

A lump rose in her throat, and she gasped. Inexplicably, she began trembling. The plaque read that the skeletons were a burial offering, a human sacrifice found at the Temple of Quetzalcoatl. She couldn't comprehend why, but she was drawn closer and closer until she was leaning over the low, Plexiglas barrier. Almost in a trance, she reached to touch, to gently commune with the skeletal remains. Suddenly she heard the dozen shrill pipes being blown loudly, heard the thud of children running, and felt herself being pushed over the foot-high barrier, straight into the skeletons’ sandy interment.

She screamed and felt herself falling ... falling farther than a foot or two. She tumbled down through the sandy level via a translucent cornucopia, wide at the top that narrowed until it was a dimly lit, crystal clear tunnel. She felt herself dropping, dropping, like an endless roller coaster, the inertia of her fall forcing her faster and faster through this tapered cylinder. Finally, she landed with a bone-crunching thud that knocked the breath out of her.

When she awoke, she found it was dark except for the starlight.

Where am I? She looked around, thinking how closely the edifice resembled something she had seen but could not remember.

Huge gargoyles loomed in front of her, their eyes fitted with discs of black obsidian. She touched the volcanic glass eyes, feeling their cool smoothness. A wide stairway led to the top of the pyramid, rising seven stories high. Even in the gloom, she could see the rock and mortar were covered with brightly painted plaster in aqua, blue, and red shades.

Is this is the Temple of Quetzalcoatl? As she watched, Venus rose from the horizon. How did I get here?

A low woof alerted her of a white dog at her feet. It sniffed her warily and then began wagging its tail.

"How are you doing, girl?” she said, kneeling down. As she petted the dog, she turned her attention to the talud-tablero temple, wondering why the colors were so vivid.

"It was pale and faded.” She almost remembered this building, but in her elusive memory the paint had been weathered off, and the exterior was crumbling. She tentatively touched the temple's lowest image of Quetzalcoatl, looking freshly plastered and painted, to see if it were still wet. “And metal rods had propped up the weakened gargoyles,” she muttered to herself.

The dog whined and rubbed against her leg. “What's going on here, girl?” She sighed and sat in the long shadows of the steps, leaning against the tablero. Before her thoughts could focus, she drifted into a deep but uneasy sleep.

Long before the sun's first rays broke the horizon, Tlalocelot threw back the linens and jumped from his petate, a twilled sleeping mat. Hastily fastening a loincloth, slipping into sandals, and grabbing a leather pouch, he padded across the grass mats as swiftly and silently as a jaguar.

If I'm to lead my people, I need a sign. He hurried through the vaulted chambers of his father's home to the temple. In the courtyard, without the faintest glimmer of the sun, the vibrancy of the starlight caught his attention. Focusing on Venus, he relaxed his stride briefly and silently pleaded, Quetzalcoatl, you became this heavenly body. Give me a sign.

He continued to the temple, climbing the steep, narrow steps with an agility that came from constant physical exertion. At the top, he undid the leather pouch and removed its contents: a thin strip of black obsidian, as sharp as a scalpel, a small alabaster bowl, flint, and a long, thin strip of fig-bark paper.

Reaching inside his loincloth, he tied the paper shred to his penis, took the obsidian strip in his hand, and again focused his eyes on Venus. He pierced his foreskin with the sharp black splinter, allowing the sacrifice of his own blood to drip onto the paper as he danced like a whirling dervish. As the blood drenched the paper strip, he danced more wildly to increase the blood flow, entering into a semi-trance state. When the paper was saturated, he stopped dancing, created a fire in the alabaster bowl with the flint, and, feeding the paper to the flames, made a blood offering to his gods.

Vision Serpent, Quetzalcoatl, let my ancestors guide me. You know my dilemma. Am I to be my father's successor or is my half brother? He raised his head to the heavens, spotted Venus, and shouted, “Give me a sign."

A dog yelped and howled, and he heard a woman's startled scream.

"Who dares intrude?” demanded Tlalocelot, racing down the steps toward the figure still shrouded in darkness.

A voice spoke from the shadows. “My name is...” The voice trailed off. “That is, I'm ... My name is ... Kwest is all ... all I remember."

Not until that moment did he see her. When she appeared suddenly, it seemed as if she had materialized from thin air. The starlight shot her blond hair with silver, making the strands look like spun white gold. In the icy light, her pale skin seemed translucent, and her cerulean blue eyes shone with a silvery iridescence.

The gods have answered! He fell to his knees in front of her, thinking her an apparition or a goddess—a sign.

"My lady, excuse me, but did you say Quetzal?"

"Kwest is all I...” Her voice faded She distractedly fingered the obsidian necklace around her neck.

He caught his breath when he saw a diminutive carving of Quetzalcoatl. “Of course, Quetzal, the iridescent, turquoise-feathered bird of the forests.” He blinked, beginning to comprehend. “Your name is synonymous with treasure, linked to the god who sent you. You are my prophecy come to life."

She nodded numbly, as if not yet awake. “And your name is?"

"Forgive me again, Lady Quetzal. I meant no discourtesy.” He rose to one knee. “I'm Tlalocelot, the Field Tiger, son of Jaguar Paws. My father will be anxious to meet you.” He stood and gestured with his arm. “This way."

Although the billowing clouds reflected the sun's rays beneath the horizon, the light was diffused, and she faltered as she navigated the uneven stone blocks. He offered her his arm, and she accepted it naturally, as if sensing this was a person she could trust. She turned and whistled for the dog, who bounded to her side.

Silently thanking the gods, Tlalocelot could not believe his good fortune. The ethereal creature on his arm seemed like a goddess come to life. She felt delicate and otherworldly. As the sun's first rays crossed the horizon, they lit up her hair like golden tendrils, curling as softly as corn silk. She appeared so luminous he could hardly take his eyes from her.

A servant approached, nervously glancing at Keiranne, bowing low to his master, while keeping one eye on her.

"Balon,” said Tlalocelot, “run ahead and tell the king the gods have blessed us with a celestial visitor, an omen.” A daughter, a wife. He mutely thanked the gods not only for sending this beautiful creature as a sign, but for choosing this goddess to be his royal consort, as well.

"Ask him if we may have an audience."

Nodding, the servant bowed again and ran up a wide stairway. He ducked out of sight as he entered a low door, but his shouts could be heard amid the excited cries of those he woke in his wake. An entourage tumbled out of a series of low doorways to greet the couple as they approached the stairway. Tlalocelot led Keiranne up the wide set of stairs like a beloved trophy, the morning rays reflecting off her tresses and fair complexion, encompassing her in a golden glow.

With the rising sun, she was able to view her escort in detail. His long dark hair flowed behind him in a ponytail secured with a thin leather strip. His strong, bronzed face, etched in the early light, profiled his finely chiseled features. His muscles rippled in the silver dawn, highlighting his taut physique

Although his loincloth was made of darkly dyed cotton that had concealed the stain in the early morning gloom, a crimson stain now spread out from his crotch. She noted with horror that his hands were oxblood red, encrusted with drying blood. For the first time, she tasted fear and her mouth felt like cotton. Her hand began trembling as it rested on her attendant's elbow.

"Do not be afraid,” he said, reacting to her tremulous fingers. His warm brown eyes sought hers and seemed to note her silent panic.

Shuddering when his bloodstained hand touched hers, she relaxed when he then placed his arm around her shoulders protectively and drew her to him. His innate strength passed to her with the tingling sensation of an electric arc. “You have nothing to fear. You're safe here."

Despite his bloodied appearance, his compassion lessened her apprehension. She had never met so compelling a man, or one who had such a potent impact on her. His nearness made her pulse race. Deeply aware of his masculinity, she felt her skin warm and her body flush. She swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and silently accepted his words with a nod of her head.

She looked about her as they climbed. A palace? At the top of the stairs, a pillared portico shaded the series of low doorways. Wide beams with a grid of crossbeams supported the flat roof. Canes filled the gaps like chinking, while a whitewash of stucco waterproofed the exterior. Thin, flat pieces of carved stone were anchored atop the stucco facade, making the portico a grand entranceway to the doors beyond.

Women in the cool shadows of the anteroom, wearing cotton tunics over underskirts, watched her in wide-eyed wonder. Children shouted, giggled, and hid behind their mothers. Men in loincloths and sashes, some wearing capes and armbands, nodded or bowed as they approached.

One raven-haired beauty shoved another woman aside and then forced her way to the front of the crowd. Glaring venomously at Tlalocelot, the dark-haired woman cast narrow slits of scrutinizing eyes toward her.

Keiranne noticed Tlalocelot ignored the aggressive woman, instead gently leading her to the mystery beyond. They entered the doorway crowned with the most ornately painted lintel in shades of pink, crimson, and scarlet.

For the first time, she became aware of the clothes she was wearing: faded jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt covered with a tucked-in denim shirt for a jacket. No wonder everyone is looking at me as if I were from outer space. Besides the clothes, all the heads of hair were black, almost Asian blue-black, thick and straight, while hers was a tangle of baby-fine, blond waves and loose curls. Everyone's complexion was bronzed to ruddy, while hers was a porcelain cream and rosebud blush. The women's lips seemed outlined in cocoa, and their eyelids were dark, as if smudged with kohl. Keiranne's own eyes were bluer than the turquoise in her bracelet, closer in hue to the luminous azure skies above.

How could they not gape? Although uncomfortable, Keiranne was strangely unafraid. She felt it was a dream from which she would awaken. She neither questioned how they could communicate nor felt threatened, though she was keenly aware of being the object of curiosity. She could recall neither how she got there, nor her history or loved ones—if she even had any. For the present, her mainstays were Tlalocelot, his powerful arm still leading her, and the white dog at her heels. For now, they were enough.

Tlalocelot led her through the ornate doorway to an open courtyard garden. A woman greeted them and bowed.

"This is your maidservant, Mila,” said Tlalocelot. “She will help you bathe and dress, so you'll be refreshed for the audience with the king.” His eyes never left her face while he spoke, and Keiranne noticed the concerned intensity of his eyes. “You must be tired from your journey. Perhaps you would prefer to rest first?"

"No, I don't need to rest.” She spoke languidly, as if dozing in and out of a pleasant dream. “Everything sounds fine. A bath and a change of clothes, and I'll feel like a new woman.” Even in her confused state, the irony occurred to her. A new woman? Is that who am I now?

"My lady, you are not a woman but a goddess come down from the heavens,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You honor us with your presence.” His sincerity shone in his eyes like sheen obsidian.

She shot him a grateful smile, the glance lingering a beat longer than necessary. His eyes caught hers and held until she turned away. As she followed the maid, his eyes tracked her until she was out of sight. Even then he watched, recalling her lithe body, the short walk from the temple having raised his curiosity and libido.

"Where did you find her, my lord,” demanded the sloe-eyed girl, leaping from behind a column.

"Nene,” Tlalocelot said, controlling his irritation, “have you stooped to spying?"

"Who is she?” she insisted.

"Who she is, or where she comes from, is none of your concern.” He turned to walk away.

"How quickly you forget all I have meant to you,” she said, intercepting his path.

"You mean nothing to me.” Curbing his annoyance, he said gently, “Nene, why do you persist in this fantasy? You know there has never been anything between us."

"How can you say that?” She approached him until she stood chest to chest. Putting his hand on her breast, she looked up into his eyes. “Nothing?"

"There is nothing between us other than what lives in your imagination,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

"Who is this white one?” she demanded shrilly. “Who is she?"

"She is a prayer answered, a gift from the gods.” He looked at her sharply and then strode away, leaving the woman to puzzle it out for herself.

Taking in every detail, Keiranne followed the handmaiden through the corridor into her quarters. Rattan tables were topped with coiled baskets of fresh fruit and painted pottery urns of what appeared to be fruit juice. She poured a small amount into a cup and drank sparingly, only enough to taste it. Papaya juice. Licking her lips, she filled the cup and sipped the nectar as she toured the room. Pottery vases filled with calla lilies topped other tables.

Low couches, plumped with pillows, lined the large stucco room. A twilled sleeping mat lay on the floor against the far wall, piled high with tanned animal hides and fabrics. She touched the fabrics, feeling the natural fiber of the cotton linen. The floors were covered in woven mats that retained the aroma of freshly mown grass. A loom filled a corner of the room. Tapestries of colorful, geometric designs covered the corner's two converging walls.

Like the ... For an instant, she almost remembered what the tapestries reminded her of, but as quickly as it came, her memory faded, leaving her in a disturbed frame of mind. She struggled to recall, hoping a clue would jog her recollection. Like walking back into a room when I've forgotten what it was I'd set out for.

"First I'll help you with the temazcal, the steam bath, and then we'll return to your chamber,” said Mila. “You can leave your things here, if you like, my lady.” Taking a step forward, her handmaiden asked, “May I?"

At Keiranne's confused expression, she again asked, “May I help my lady undress?"

Keiranne set down her cup and self-consciously turned away from the girl as she began removing her outer shirt. She pulled the contents out of her pants pockets and found a small tin of aspirins and a strange, thin, silver and black object. Almost gleefully, she remembered aspirins were for headaches, and she took one, washing it down with the last of the juice. Something told her to conceal the silver and black object, and she surreptitiously slipped it under a decorative pot. Mila then wrapped Keiranne in a large linen towel to allow her privacy.

"Follow me, my lady."

Mila led her to a round, mortared, two-chambered building separate from the other interconnected rooms and buildings of the complex. It was composed of a fire room and a steam room. Between these compartments was an opening where porous lava rocks were piled high.

The steam room had a sunken channel or drain below floor level, but it had no ventilation. Smoke from the fire room escaped through the passageway. Its doorway was so small Keiranne and Mila had to crouch to enter. Other servants handed Mila more linens, tied bundles of herbs, and bowls of scented water.

"Leave us,” said Mila to the servants, and they closed the tiny door securely. The white dog waited just outside the door. Immediately the temperature started to rise in the enclosed steam room. The handmaiden made a cushion of linens on the long bench.

"Lie down on your stomach, my lady, for the most benefit.” Once Keiranne had stretched out, the girl dipped an herbal bunch into the water and used it to gently slap her back and thighs. “This hastens the purification, my lady."

Although the process smarted at first, lightly stinging her skin, its effect was relaxing. Keiranne languished in the steamy room, unwinding, lulled by the steam and gentle thwacking of the herbs. On a sliding scale of solace, however, as her muscles relaxed, her mind became more chaotic, struggling to remember who she was, where she was, and how she had gotten there.

It was no use. The harder she tried to recall, the more elusive the fragments of memories. Just out of reach, they seemed to float away like gossamer milkweed seeds in the wind.

Mila then rinsed her with the scented water and wrapped her in a clean linen towel. She called to the other servants, and they opened the small door. Keiranne emerged physically refreshed but confused, confounded by all she saw. Then the handmaiden escorted Keiranne and the dog back to her chamber, where Mila laid several garments on the sleeping mat.

"When my lady is ready, here are your fresh clothes.” With that, she bobbed her head and left Keiranne in privacy.

The dog crossed the room and lay beside Keiranne, her head resting on her crossed paws.

"What do you think of all this, girl?” asked Keiranne.

The white dog raised her head and whimpered. Keiranne reached over and petted her, glad for the company. Words were unnecessary. The dog lent comfort just by being there.

She regarded the underskirt and loose tunic of thin, white cotton. The borders were embroidered with colorful geometric needlework and stitched flowers. She stepped into the skirt, tying the drawstring waistband, and then slipped on the tunic. She dropped the aspirin tin into her pocket, the one relic she recalled of her former life.

Wishing she had a mirror, she ran her fingers through her blond tangles.

Instantly the handmaiden appeared. “Would my lady like me to dress her hair?” Out of sight, the woman had merely waited discreetly until needed.

Her senses heightened, Keiranne felt watched, vulnerable, like a pampered but caged animal. She accepted the woman's skillful ministrations with a curt nod, but she was wary.

As Mila finished dressing her hair, Balon appeared at the doorway. With a bow, he said, “My lady, the king, Lord Jaguar Paws, wishes your presence. Please follow me."

He led her, with the white dog at her side, through a long corridor flanked by open courtyards and a myriad of doorways. The enclosed hall sometimes became an airy portico linking one building to the next. As they approached a large antechamber, Tlalocelot greeted them.

She noted he had bathed and changed clothes. No longer bloodstained but regal, Tlalocelot wore a bright green, feathered cape over his white hip cloth. His long dark ponytail cascaded down his back under an elaborate, feathered headdress.

"You look beautiful in the white cotton huipilli.” His gentle eyes smiled his sincerity.

"So that's what it's called, a huipilli.” Looking down at her outfit, she pretended to smooth its bodice with her delicate hands. Actually she took a deep breath, trying to quell her rapidly beating heart. She was unsure whether her pulse quickened at the sight of Tlalocelot or at the fear of being presented to the king of a place she did not know.

"My family's anxious to meet you, but first we must meet publicly in an audience with my father."

"I thought we were to be presented to the king,” she said, unsure not only of her past and whereabouts, but also of what she had heard.

"My father is the king.” He smiled, his calm presence helping to put her at ease. “This is my father's house, and you are safe here. I promise you.” Although still frightened by her lack of control, whether of the unfolding events or her memory of past events, she paused only momentarily before lightly placing her hand on his elbow and her fate in his hands.

At Tlalocelot's cue, Balon nodded to the two door guards, and they swung open the heavy wooden doors. A large, crowded room beckoned as all eyes turned expectantly toward the newcomers. An excited murmur suddenly filled the room, rising in crescendo until the high priest banged his feathered staff on the floor for silence.

Keiranne saw people five-deep lining the walls of the room, crowding forward, straining for a better look, and leaving only a narrow path for their entrance. The entire floor sparkled with flat, asymmetrical surfaces of inlaid mica. Two people were seated on beautifully carved wooden thrones mounted on a raised dais. Jaguar skins covered the dais and floor surrounding it. An aging but imperial man sat on the larger throne. An older woman, draped with many strands of amber, sat beside him on the smaller one. Beside her stood a chubby young man, a paunch just beginning around his middle. Both men on the dais wore headdresses rivaling Tlalocelot's in splendor.

Tlalocelot bowed before them. Watching him, Keiranne did her best to imitate. “Lord Jaguar Paws, may I present Lady Quetzal to you, our gift from the Vision Serpent,” he said, leading her toward the dais. “My lady, this is my father, Jaguar Paws, and the queen, my stepmother, Lady Black Wing."

Keiranne bowed stiffly with her head as she was presented to each, unsure how she should react.

"Where are your manners, my son,” said the queen, gesturing to the young man beside her. “Are you not forgetting your brother?"

Tlalocelot acquiesced with a nod. “This is my half brother, Black Macaw."

"Lord Black Macaw,” corrected the queen, raising an eyebrow.

As if annoyed at her interruption, the king waved her to silence, stepped down from the dais, and studied Keiranne close up. “So this is the gift from the Vision Serpent?” he stated more than asked.

Involuntarily, Keiranne took a step backward. The king's persona demanded a wider personal space. She felt the dog at her side and took solace. Swallowing hard, she struggled to exert more control over her behavior. She forced herself not to avert her eyes, but instead to meet his frank stare evenly. When he lifted her necklace to view the tiny image of Quetzalcoatl more closely, she steeled herself and stood erect.

After taking in each detail, the king released her necklace and declared, “With hair the color of maize and eyes as deep as cenotes, those blue pools to the underworld, truly she has been sent by the gods.” He put his hand on Tlalocelot's shoulder. “You have been blessed by Quetzalcoatl himself, my son."

Now that the king had turned his attention to his son, Keiranne looked past his shoulder and watched the queen and her son exchange quick glances. When Black Macaw moved forward to speak, the woman stopped him with a warning scowl. They didn't appear very happy with the king's statement.

However, Tlalocelot gratefully acknowledged his father's pronouncement with a nod of his head, his feathered headdress bobbing gracefully.

Continuing, the king said to his son, “It is you who are the chosen one."

He turned to look at his sharp-featured wife and then back to the assembly. “Not I, but the gods themselves have chosen Tlalocelot to be the next ruler."

"But, my lord,” started Lady Black Wing.

"Silence,” said Jaguar Paws. “I have spoken."

Lady Black Wing pursed her trembling lips tightly. She remained stiffly at attention until the king resumed his throne, only then taking her place beside him. Keiranne sensed the woman was miffed but knew when it was advantageous to keep still.

At a nod from the king, the high priest again banged his feathered staff twice, and the assembly began to exit. Keiranne watched until the room had cleared of all but the six of them.

"Let's adjourn to our quarters,” said the king, the queen on his right, followed by her son and the high priest. Tlalocelot and Keiranne formed the final pair as they repaired to the royal couple's private rooms, with the white dog close behind.

As Keiranne reached for Tlalocelot's elbow, she sensed the transfer of energy. More than any electric charge or tingle, it was his inherent force she felt pass through their touch. Goosebumps rose on her arms, causing the pale blond hairs to stand on end. She shivered.

It seemed to Keiranne that Tlalocelot felt the attraction, as well.

In Jaguar Paws’ quarters, servants had set out a feast of roasted wild turkey, lightly browned tortillas, guacamole, stewed pumpkin, sliced red tomatoes, assorted chili peppers, a platter of fresh fruit, and hot chocolate. Buffet style, at Jaguar Paws’ urging, they helped themselves to the repast and sat on skin-covered couches lining the wall. Keiranne was ravenous.

Tlalocelot sat across from her on a low couch, watching her. “Are you enjoying the food?"

"Honestly, I can't remember the last time I ate. Either I'm famished, or this is the best meal I've ever tasted.” Feeling fortified, she felt her tension giving way, and she smiled at him.

Tlalocelot watched the worried creases disappear from her otherwise perfect features, and he smiled back, as if nodding his approval. “You belong here,” he said. “Although you come from a different plane, you deign to join us here and accept our ways."

Again, Keiranne was unsure how to respond to his words. She found herself becoming more attracted. She trusted him intuitively and gained strength from his touch. He seemed vaguely familiar, as if she had met him before. Still, it concerned her that she did not know who he was, or who she was, let alone where she was, where she came from, or how she had gotten there. For the moment, the food satisfied her immediate physical needs, and she determined to accept that without complicating it by analysis.

Keiranne filled a pottery bowl with water for the dog and slipped the canine pieces of turkey. The dog's expressive eyes, ever vigilant of Keiranne, intently surveyed their company, alert, as if anticipating an aggressive move.

"Where did you get that dog?” demanded the high priest, approaching quickly.

Silent until then, the dog began emitting a low, warning growl that increased in intensity as the high priest advanced. When the high priest reached out to pet it, the dog snarled viciously, snapping at the extended hand and nicking the skin with her teeth.

"Girl, no,” scolded Keiranne, placing her hand over the dog's snout in an attempt to quiet her.

The decibel level of the growl diminished, but it did not stop until the high priest had taken a step backward.

"Guards, remove that dog,” ordered the high priest. A drop of blood appeared at the wound.

"She's very protective of me,” said Keiranne quickly, defending the dog.

"Guards, remain as you were.” Tlalocelot stood abruptly, towering over the more portly priest. “Chac Mool, this dog is the lady's companion and is welcome wherever she chooses to go."

"My lord,” patronized the priest, “this dog is a menace, a mangy—"

"Do not test my authority so soon,” warned Tlalocelot. “My father may have just named me his heir, but never mistake inexperience for weakness."

"The royal quarters are no place for a diseased bitch,” said the priest, his eyes calculating Tlalocelot's response.

Planting his legs firmly, Tlalocelot crossed his arms. “I have spoken."

Although the priest's raised eyebrow indicated both his surprise and irritation, he smiled tightly and bowed his head. “As my lord wishes."

Raising his head, he turned to Keiranne. “Welcome, my lady. May you enjoy your visit to this plane of existence, no matter how brief for you and your dog."

Keiranne tried to smile and hoped it didn't look like a grimace. She recognized an adversary when she met one, and placed her arm protectively around the dog.

"My lady, my lord,” said Chac Mool, bowing to each, and he took his leave.

"Don't let his words disturb you,” said Tlalocelot. “That man is too arrogant for his own good."

"What does he have against dogs?” she asked, watching the high priest join the queen and her son.

"Nothing, he just resents your arrival, or, more to the point, your role in my appointment as my father's heir."

Keiranne jumped at the chance to ask what had been on her mind since the king's pronouncement. “Can you explain?"

"It is decreed that a king must choose a successor from his sons. Normally it falls to the eldest son, but my half brother and I were born six months apart."

"Who's the older?” she interrupted.

"I am, but my stepmother is a very persuasive woman. Court gossip predicted my father would choose Black Macaw as the future king."

"So Chac Mool and the priests backed the wrong horse,” she said, grasping the intrigue.

"Backed the wrong what? Horse? What's a horse?” Tlalocelot asked, struggling with the r sound, a perplexed V appearing between his dark eyebrows.

"They supported the wrong prince,” she amended, wondering why he was unfamiliar with horses. “Well, what about your mother? Where is she?” Keiranne asked, absentmindedly petting the dog.

His adam's apple bobbed before he spoke. “She died giving birth to me."

Tactfully avoiding the issue of the six-month interval between birthdays, she asked, “And the king remarried?"

"The following evening.” Tlalocelot looked into the distance, gathering his thoughts.

Although Keiranne wondered at the extent of the court intrigue surrounding his father's hasty marriage to Lady Black Wing, her heart went out to the man in front of her. Instinctively, she reached for his hand.

Her touch seemed to bring Tlalocelot back to the present. His eyes met hers with a bright intensity.

"Enough of this,” he said, his handsome features relaxing into a warm smile that engulfed her. “What of you? Tell me about yourself."

She struggled to recall any wisp of information, but she could not catch those elusive memories that flitted into her mind and then vanished. Shaking her head, she shrugged. “I can't remember anything before I met you."

"And neither can I,” he said, misreading her truth for a metaphor. “Until you were sent to me, I was never truly alive."

"No, really, I can't remember anything.” She looked into his dark eyes that seemed to devour her with their intensity. “Until I met you, it's as if I never existed."

His hand still surrounding hers, he grasped it more tightly. He felt the urgent call of his body to press closer to hers. “My lady, that's because you are a goddess come down from the stars. You are my light, my life."

"You seem human enough to me,” said Lady Black Wing with a loud sniff, interrupting their reverie.

The trance broken, Keiranne snapped her head toward the intruder, inadvertently pulling slightly away. Tlalocelot said, “My queen, how astute you are. Lady Quetzal is indeed human.” A smile playing at the corner of his lips, he glanced at Keiranne, and she realized just how human he found her.

Keiranne met his eyes briefly and then looked down demurely, her lashes veiling the heightened interest that flashed from her eyes. Eyes narrowed, Lady Black Wing watched the exchange and then motioned for servants to pull up two low couches for her son and herself.

"Tell us of your parents,” said Lady Black Wing.

"I can't remember,” Keiranne said. “Until I saw Tlalocelot at the temple, I can remember nothing.” Then a memory gleamed in her mind, “Except this dog, I remember this dog,” she finished triumphantly, grateful for the first link to her former life. A deep sigh escaped her.

"So you are related to a pack of dogs?” inquired Lady Black Wing with saccharine sweetness.

"If that were the case,” said Tlalocelot, rushing to her defense, “she must be descended from Ah-Tzul, the dog god of scorpions, or Pek, or Nahua Xolotl, the dog gods of lightning and death."

Lady Black Wing pursed her mouth tightly, as if annoyed at any voiced connection of Keiranne to the gods.

She leaned over as if to straighten her son's headdress and whispered something.

Black Macaw had watched and listened silently until that moment. As if his mother's words had wakened him from a trance, he spoke suddenly. “Lady Quetzal, what is your dog's name?"

Caught off-guard, Keiranne thought for a moment, looked at the dog, and glanced at Tlalocelot, remembering his words. Catching on to the game of establishing her position by relation to the gods, she said, “Pek, and she's my constant companion."

"A beautiful dog,” Black Macaw said, reaching to pet her. Pek emitted a low growl, and the prince recoiled his hand. He swallowed.

"Lady Quetzal, will you be visiting us long?"

His mother slyly smiled her approval.

"As long as she deigns,” said Tlalocelot, again coming to Keiranne's defense. His emotionally laden eyes flashed as they sought hers. “It is my hope she'll stay indefinitely."

She read his thoughts and flushed. As she met the dark intensity of his gaze, she felt her heart quicken in her chest.

"Lady Quetzal, this must all be so new to you,” said the queen, empathetically.

"Yes,” said Keiranne, “it—"

Interrupting, the queen continued, “Perhaps if you had a tour of the city, you would feel more comfortable.” Not pausing for an answer, she turned to her son. “Black Macaw, where are your manners? Invite Lady Quetzal to join you for a day's outing."

"Of ... of course,” he said, catching on, “I'd be delighted if you'd join me in the morning for a tour."

Keiranne looked to Tlalocelot. “I would enjoy that if we could make it a threesome with Tlalocelot."

"That would be nice,” the queen said, “but Tlalocelot must attend his father's court tomorrow. Duties of state.” She all but sneered. “He'll soon learn the obligations of office take precedence over personal pleasures."

"What's this of obligations?” asked the king, joining their group.

"My lord,” cooed the queen, “now that Tlalocelot has been named your successor, is it not his duty to assume the demands of court?” Her tone took on a sharp edge. “Would my lord not wish it so?"

Jaguar Paws spoke prudently. “I'm proud for my son to assume his rightful place at my side,” he said, clasping Tlalocelot's shoulder.

Tlalocelot grabbed his father's hand tenderly, and they shared a smile reflecting their love.

"Good, then it's decided,” said the queen, sharing a sly smile with her son. “Lady Quetzal will accompany Lord Black Macaw tomorrow."

"I'll arrange the chaperones myself,” Tlalocelot added quickly.

"And Pek will accompany us,” added Keiranne, sensing the undercurrent.

The king removed his headdress and sat down stiffly. He ran his hand through his coarse, graying hair and rubbed his forehead.

"What is it, my lord,” asked Tlalocelot.

"Nothing, a headache,” Jaguar Paws said, massaging his temples.

Speaking before she thought, Keiranne reached into her pocket and pulled out a small tin. “Here,” she said, offering him the tin's contents, “an aspirin should help."

The assemblage regarded the white tablets suspiciously and then looked from one to another.

"What's this?” asked the king.

Keiranne found herself wondering the same thing. “Honestly, I can only recall that these pills relieve pain.” A thought scurried through the synapses of her brain and then fled. “You need to drink it with water or juice."

Tlalocelot poured his father a cup of water, and king bravely swallowed the pill.

"It isn't often I receive medicine from a goddess,” Jaguar Paws said. The group began dinner. Fifteen minutes later, wearing a surprised look, he declared, “My headache's gone. What astounding medicine."

"Perhaps this is the goddess Ix Chel,” said Tlalocelot with a wry smile, “patroness of medicine and childbirth."

"Take this,” Keiranne said, wondering if his comment were tongue-in-cheek or serious. Tlalocelot's words had given her an idea, and she handed him the tin of aspirins. “Save these for any women in labor. They need it more than I."

Lady Black Wing's eyebrows knitted together. Taking her leave, she drew her son along with her. In the doorway she paused. Keiranne saw her whispering furiously to Black Macaw and knew, from the queen's frequent glances in her direction, that she was the topic of conversation.

She'd have to be very careful tomorrow...

The next morning, Black Macaw appeared at her doorway, followed closely by Balon.

"Good morning, my lady,” said Black Macaw. Balon nodded discreetly from behind his charge, a subdued smile indicating he well understood his role of chaperone.

"Good morning,” said Keiranne, stifling a chuckle. “We're ready.” She indicated Pek, who dogged her every step.

With no memories to cloud her mind, Keiranne felt she was grasping the culture, morés, and intrigue at lightning speed. However, outside the residential area, she learned that her newly acquired comfort zone ended. A palanquin awaited, the bearers standing at attention. She looked to Black Macaw for direction.

"Climb in, my lady,” he said, offering her a hand up.

"Girl,” she called, patting the seat beside her. Pek needed no further coaxing.

With the seat beside her filled, Black Macaw had no choice but to motion for a second litter. Doing his best to hide a scowl, he climbed into his own chair. At Black Macaw's command, the bearers lifted the palanquins, four men per chair, and steadied the wooden poles on their shoulders. Guards carrying spears surrounded their group. Even with Balon's presence, Keiranne lost all sense of self-assurance or security. At Black Macaw's order, the litter-bearers set off toward the market, jouncing the riders.

Although the ride was far from comfortable in any sense, Keiranne enjoyed the view. Carried at shoulder-level height, she was several heads above the crowd, which commanded a panoramic view of the entire city.

As they left the temple compound and entered the marketplace, curious eyes watched from all directions. Inquisitive children immediately formed an outer ring around the guards. As adults joined in, their entourage continued to grow, with the crowds jostling and pressing ever closer for better views. Now she was glad for the breathing space the palanquins and guards afforded.

Despite the lack of privacy, Keiranne thought the experience well worth any minor inconvenience. The marketplace was a kaleidoscope of colors, scents, and sounds. The first merchants had stacked bolts of multi-colored cloth, one tumbling over another. At Black Macaw's motion, the litter-bearers set her down. When she approached the merchandise, the guards parted the throngs, allowing her space to touch the fabrics.

"Would my lady like to see this material?” asked the merchant. He unrolled a russet-colored bolt of woven cotton, adeptly tossing it over one shoulder, and then unrolled a beige, weft-patterned cotton fabric over his other shoulder.

She shook her head politely and moved on to the next shopkeeper, who displayed her wares on a grass mat. With Pek at her side, Keiranne inspected a painted ceramic bowl, running her finger over the geometric design, replacing it, and then picking up an earthenware goblet, noting its skillful craftsmanship.

"What are these bar-and-dot patterns?” she asked.

"They're used to number the days and indicate time,” replied Black Macaw.

"You mean a calendar.” For a moment, she wondered about the importance of time in this culture. Had she heard something about that, sometime? Before she could reflect on it further, the merchant held up a three-legged earthenware pot.

"Would my lady like to see this?"

Taking it gently in her hands, Keiranne fingered it wistfully. Awakening memories tugged at her mind.

"It's a brazier,” said Black Macaw, “for incense.” He moved closer, until their shoulders touched, but Pek squeezed between them.

"See, my lady, it's been engraved after firing with a motif of water flowers,” said the potter. “Isn't it beautiful?"

Distracted by the rising memories, Keiranne absentmindedly agreed. “Thank you,” she said, then replaced it on the grass mat before moving on to the next stall.

Pek ever at her side, Black Macaw struggling to steal closer to her, the train of litter-bearers and guards surrounding her, and the crowds following closely created quite an entourage as she made her way through the busy marketplace.

Keiranne stopped in front of the next merchant. Seamstresses embroidered the underskirts and tunics of the huipilli in a myriad of colors, the vivid spools of thread jumbled before them. Bone needles and bodkins were strewn about their blanket. She watched momentarily and then moved on to the next merchant.

Here, artisans wove brightly colored feathers into the billowing headdresses she had seen at court. Hundreds if not thousands of feathers were worked into each headdress, making the plumage appear to grow as naturally as on the birds themselves.

At the next merchant's stall, craftsmen sat on mats, chipping black, green, and sheen obsidian, the gold mica shimmering in the sun and capturing her attention. She saw the artisans chip all manner and sizes of spear and dart points, as well as tiny effigies and razor-sharp blades.

Moving on to a group of potters, Keiranne saw delicate, cylindrical vases of pottery set on three legs. Most contained fitted lids with handles in the shapes of birds. Other merchants displayed vases shaped like flowers. Still other potters sold ceramics decorated in carved relief. Another merchant carried bowls and boxes with lids that appeared to be of a finer quality. Pausing too long, she felt the merchant press the effigy of a tiny dog into her hands.

"Would my lady care to see other Thin Orange figurines?” he asked.

"No, thank you,” she said, shaking her head, returning the effigy, and quickly moving on. Although she admired the figure, it had just occurred to her she had no money.

She passed by blanket after blanket of fresh produce, noting the many varieties of red, white, blue, yellow, orange, and black corn. Squash in many sizes, shapes, and colors abounded. Coiled baskets overflowed with potatoes of many sizes and varieties, and piles of tomatoes in yellows, reds, and greens formed miniature pyramids of their own. Combined with an infinite variety of peppers, the produce created a vibrant scene.

As if zoned, the next line of merchants sold only jewelry. Keiranne was impressed by the intricate workmanship of the silver. Green serpentine and jade competed with the blue turquoise for her attention. And then a white onyx pendent suspended on a chain of turquoise beads caught her eye.

Mesmerized, Keiranne reached for it. Thinking aloud, she said, “I recognize this."

"Excuse me, my lady, but I just finished carving it last night,” said the jeweler, not wishing to disagree. “Begging your pardon, but the world has never seen the likes of this. It's one of a kind.” He paused, his eyes keenly noting her interest. “And fit for a goddess,” he added.

Black Macaw scowled and sharply drew in his breath.

The jeweler pressed the sale. “I made this relief carving of Venus in honor of Quetzalcoatl. What they say must be true. You recognize your heavenly home."

Keiranne turned the white disc over, feeling the cool smoothness of the stone. Turning it back again, she traced the carving with her fingertip, almost remembering, almost recalling the circumstances of when she had last seen it.

Black Macaw's voice burst into her reverie. “It's yours. Let me put it on for you.” Taking it from her hands, he lifted it over her head. Only Pek's warning growl stopped him from placing it around her neck.

Keiranne said, “Thank you, but I really couldn't accept it. I'm sure it's much too valuable.” With a wry grin, she added, “Besides, I wouldn't want to upset Pek."

"Nonsense,” he said tersely, his temper suddenly as dark as his name. “Keep it."

When he threw the shopkeeper a bag, its contents brought a wide smile to the merchant's face despite the sour look on Black Macaw's.

Suspicious of his sudden mood swing, Keiranne wondered if his generosity had been a tactic to gain her favor. He brusquely tossed her the necklace as if in answer, but, the moment she touched the stone, her thoughts returned to an elusive memory. Why did it look so familiar? Could this contain the key to her memory? If I could spend some time studying it, maybe I could remember where I saw this. Placing it around her neck, she smiled her gratitude for this tangible link to her past. “Thank you."

"Wear it close to your heart to remember this day,” he said, returning to his previous persona, “and me."

Although annoyed with his insinuations that strings were attached to the gift, Keiranne still treasured it, believing the pendent could unlock her memories. Without her past, it was difficult for her to gather strength enough to deal with her unfamiliar present.

Eager now to return to the privacy of her quarters, she fibbed, “I feel more tired than I'd realized. Would you mind if we ended our tour?"

"But the sun has not yet reached the zenith,” he argued. “Let me show you the basalt sculptures. You've got to see them."

"No, thank you, I really would like to leave now,” she repeated, irked that he was being manipulative. He reminded her of someone, some time, although she could not recall whom or when. Not waiting for a response, she returned to her palanquin, Pek close at her heels.

Left no choice, Black Macaw irately motioned to the attendants.

"Lord Black Macaw, over here.” The hoarse whisper sounded loud and pierced through the sounds of the market place. He turned.

"Nene, what are you doing here?"

Then, he craned his neck to determine if Keiranne could see their exchange. She was still admiring her necklace, so for the moment they were unobserved.

"My lord,” Nene seemed to be struggling to appear demure and coquettish, “I understand your father has named Tlalocelot as his successor."

"Then why waste your time with me?” snapped Black Macaw. He knew her ambitions. She wanted to be queen. “Why not pursue my half-brother?"

"My lord, your words hurt me,” she said, her cunning eyes belying her words.

Black Macaw began walking away, but she intercepted him. “My lord, I know a way to regain your rightful place as your father's successor."

He stopped but did not turn around. His interest was piqued, but he did not want to let her know.

"If you're interested, meet me behind the temple in an hour."

"And what would be your price?” he asked, turning toward her, but she was gone. By the time he returned to the palanquins, he was surprised to see Keiranne perched in the litter, which had already been hoisted high onto the litter-bearers’ shoulders.

"Ah, I see you were able to climb into the palanquin unattended."

Keiranne regarded him suspiciously from her advantaged viewpoint, confirming his fear that she'd witnessed his exchange with Nene, perhaps even partially overheard their conversation. He tried to keep the panic he felt out of his expression.

"Yes, I'm able to do a good many things unassisted,” she said, motioning for her litter-bearers to take her back to the palace.

Black Macaw took his place on his own palanquin, his mind whirling with suspicions and plans of his own.

An hour later, in the shade of the willow and alder trees behind the temple, Black Macaw waited impatiently for Nene. When the sloe-eyed girl appeared, he loosed his irritation on her.

"Who do you think you are keeping a royal prince waiting?"

"The one who would make him king,” she said, standing up to his bluster.

"And how would you do that?” he demanded sarcastically.

"I would start by exacting courtesy from him,” she said, jerking her chin.

He rolled his eyes but in a less imperious tone asked, “And what then?"

Moving closer, she whispered, “I know your rival's innermost thoughts."

"So?"

"I know his political vulnerability.” She paused. “I know how to turn the priesthood and nobles against him. Even your father would not dare to defy them..."

"Go on,” he said, feeling her eyes on him.

"Better yet, I know how you, as the rightful heir, could unify those groups, stand at their head, and become their leader ... with or without your father's support.” Again she paused.

"Go on,” he commanded, aware she was gauging his reaction.

Coyly hesitating, she asked, “And what would I get out of the bargain?"

"Royalty does not bargain, even with a noblewoman.” He crossed his arms, indicating his non-cooperation.

"Then why should I help you?” She turned and started toward the path.

"Nene,” he called, “what is it you want?"

Smiling, she returned to his side. “To be queen."

He sneered. “That's not news. You've wanted to be my half-brother's wife for as long as I can remember."

"No, my lord,” she said, tracing her index finger over his lips. “I have wanted to be queen for as long as you remember, believing Tlalocelot to be the chosen son.” She touched his cheek, drawing nearer to him, placing her lips closer with each word. “What you have not known is that I wanted to be your wife."

Unable to withstand her sensuous proximity, he covered her mouth with his and tasted victory in her kiss.

When his lips left hers, Black Macaw asked in a hoarse whisper, “What is this information you have that would make me king?"

She countered, “You mean, what is the information I have that will make me queen?” Still in his embrace, she tilted her head back to better watch his reaction. “Announce your engagement to me, and I'll show you how to become king."

He let go of her with a push, forcing her to take a step backward to regain her balance. “Don't presume,” he warned.

"You need me and my knowledge to be king. I need you to be queen,” she said evenly. “It would seem we have mutual interests."

Another thought occurred to him. “And why come to me now? Tlalocelot has not chosen a wife yet. Why not turn your devious mind toward attracting the chosen son, now that he's officially been named our father's successor?"

She shook her head. “Are you blinded by her, too? Haven't you seen the way he looks at the white one? He has eyes only for Lady Quetzal."

When he turned away, her shoulders sagged in a defeated slump. However, he was oblivious to her apprehension. As she anxiously watched him, he mentally reviewed her words, finally realizing their truth. He did not see the glimmer of hope in her eyes when he returned, nodding.

"I'll take you to discuss this with my mother, but you have to share every bit of knowledge you have about Tlalocelot and his political vulnerabilities,” he said.

"And what is my proof that you'll announce your engagement to me if I do?"

"If this information is half as important as you say, and you can convince the queen of its value, you have my word that I'll announce our engagement.” His eyes met hers squarely. “Do we have a deal?"

Alone in her compartment with Pek, Keiranne removed the necklace and stared at the onyx pendant. Something about this reminds me of somewhere. She fingered the carved surface of the pendent as she concentrated. Somewhere. A museum! Her eyes lit up as she remembered where she had seen it. A museum? Wait a minute, it was right behind the Pyramid of the Sun.

Needing visual confirmation that this was a memory and not a random thought, she ran outside her apartment. Pek tagged along at her heels as she raced to the outside of the compound where no walls would obscure her view of the city. She looked to the north, hoping to see the imposing Pyramid of the Sun, but no tall building appeared on the horizon.

She looked south, thinking she may have confused her directions, then east and west, but no building compared in height to the Temple of Quetzalcoatl. She began to question her newly dredged up memories.

She climbed to the top of the temple for a better view, but all she saw were rows of small, one-story dwellings and altars, none of which matched the majesty of the Temple of Quetzalcoatl, let alone the elevation of the Pyramid of the Sun.

Am I going insane? The necklace still in her hands, she rubbed the pendant's relief carving as she would a worry stone, her finger tracing round and round the stylized star. She searched the cityscape again for the Pyramid of the Sun, beginning to recall more and more of her memories, yet the altered landscape she viewed did little to confirm her memories were anything but an overactive imagination in her struggle to recall her heritage.

As Pek nuzzled her face into Keiranne's hands, she began petting the dog, remembering more with each stroke. Lemon-yellow butterflies soared and wheeled around them. “But I met you on top of the Pyramid of the Sun,” she said aloud. “You were there, and now you're here.” I must be going crazy.

Despondent as she looked down upon the compound, hoping for a clue, she listlessly noticed Black Macaw and the sloe-eyed girl cross to the royal quarters. Then more memories flooded her mind, pushing away their image.

"The tripod incense burner,” she said to Pek, remembering the pottery she had handled earlier that morning in the marketplace. “That was part of the museum's collection."

She thought back to what she had said to Tlalocelot about backing the wrong horse. More cells fired in her brain. She recalled the horse was not established in Meso-America until the conquistadors’ arrival. Of course, that's why he didn't understand. The horse hasn't been introduced yet.

The magnitude of the concepts frightened her. She whispered to Pek, “It's not where I am, but when. I must be in Pre-Columbian Meso-America."

The impact of the thought sent her reeling. Suddenly the steep steps just below her aroused an eerie feeling of vertigo, an irrational fear that she would fall. Dizzy, she leaned against the wall for support, away from the ledge and hidden in the temple's cool shadows.

Wondering how she had traveled back twenty-eight centuries in time, she gazed upon the ancient cityscape, her eyes dull and unseeing, only casually observing the scene before her. Except for the temple, all structures were single-storied. Most of the architecture consisted of clusters of windowless buildings encircling porticoes and open courtyards. Freestanding columns supported the roofs. Smaller complexes contained central atriums or small, sunken courts, often with raised altars. Doorways were covered only with cloth curtains.

Then Black Macaw, his mother, and the sloe-eyed girl came into focus as they emerged from the royal quarters. From her hidden vantage point behind the temple's steps, Keiranne overheard them.

"Yes, my lady,” said the girl's shrill voice, echoing off the stone temple. “I know Tlalocelot's vulnerability. I swear to you, this information will not only convince Chac Mool, but it will turn the nobles against Tlalocelot, and your son will rightfully be declared the true—"

"Silence, fool!” said Lady Black Wing, shushing the girl and looking around nervously.

When they detected no one's presence, they slipped into the priests’ quarters. Although she could not know the full nature of their plotting, she had heard enough to guess. Instinctively, she sensed Tlalocelot's safety was being compromised.

Pek growled, and Keiranne hugged her. “You feel it, too, girl?” Rubbing the dog's head, Keiranne added, “Come on, we need to talk to Tlalocelot."

She pulled the pendant over her head and hurried to find the prince. Her fear of vertigo now past, she raced down the steeply pitched steps. Running headlong into Chac Mool, she nearly knocked over the portly priest and his companion.

"How dare a woman touch the high priest?” demanded his companion priest.

"How dare a novice address a goddess in such a tone of voice?” demanded Tlalocelot, suddenly appearing at the temple's steps.

"My lord,” groveled the priest, bowing low, “I did not see you. A thousand pardons."

"It's up to the lady to pardon your insolence,” said Tlalocelot.

The novitiate bowed even lower to Keiranne.

"And you, Chac Mool,” Tlalocelot continued, “is this the sort of behavior you encourage among your novitiates?"

Chac Mool spread out his arms as he stood before his next king. “I'm your humble servant,” he said, bowing with an oily grace. “Tell me your bidding, and it shall be done."

"You fool no one, except my father,” said Tlalocelot not bothering to conceal the contempt in his voice. “When my reign begins, yours ends."

The high priest and his novitiate exchanged glances.

"However, for the interim,” Tlalocelot continued, “ask your lady's pardon."

Chac Mool bowed as low as his corpulent body would allow. “Forgive my novitiate, Caquiz, and me, my lady. We did not realize it was your eminence.” As he took a step forward to kneel before her, Pek growled, warning him away.

Although Keiranne could not grasp the reason for her disdain of the high priest, she did her best to respond civilly. “Apologies accepted,” she said curtly, anxious to speak privately with Tlalocelot. Remembering the courtly dismissal, she added, “Now leave us."

Bowing low as they backed away, both priests took their leave, impertinence aimed at Tlalocelot barely audible under their breaths. Once out of sight, they hastened away.

"Lady Quetzal, I've missed you today.” Tlalocelot's sincerity was obvious in his expression. His eyes flashed their rapidly growing attraction to her, and he impulsively lifted her fingers to his lips.

Touched by his show of affection, Keiranne said, “And you have been on my mind."

"Did you...” he began.

"Do you...” she started simultaneously.

They laughed.

"You first,” he insisted.

Was it only yesterday we met? She felt she had known this caring man all her life, and she ached to touch him.

Where do I begin? “To start with, I've begun to remember my past."

"Gods be praised,” he said. “I'd hoped you'd regain your memory before—” He stopped abruptly.

"Before what?” she asked, intensely aware of his nearness.

"Before,” he hesitated, “we got to know each other better."

Keiranne noted the pause, wondering what he was holding back.

Suddenly, she felt his long, dark hair brushing against her forehead, felt his heat in his nearness. With a gasp, she looked up, and, breathing in his scent, she felt his lips lightly brush hers.

Again Keiranne sensed he was asking an unspoken question.

"I'm sorry, my lady,” he said, staring down into the depths of her azure blue eyes, as if seeking an answer.

She tilted back her head, lifting her face to his. Silently but potently responding, she offered him her yielding lips. He took her in his arms, and her pulse quickened. Her eyelids fluttering, she closed her eyes, savoring his touch.

His wrist brushed ever so lightly against her, hardening the tips of her nipples, sensitizing them. She felt a lovely chill and ache spread through her body. Opening her eyelids, she looked into his dark brown eyes and saw her own smoldering fervor reflected in his. His face drew ever closer, and he kissed her lips, tasting a passion she had not known until that very moment.

He kissed her again, this time parting his lips and pressing with a consistency that gently pried her own lips apart. She felt his nimble tongue, skillful and seductive. She relished the light flicking of his tongue's tip, tantalizing her, teasing her, tormenting her until she wanted more.

His hand ever so slowly found the firm rounds of her breasts through her thin cotton top. He gently caressed their fullness and stroked them to their tapered points, encircling the areolas swelling beneath her shift.

She sighed his name, and their kiss deepened. She moaned as he crushed her to his strong chest, and his tongue searched deeper and deeper into her soul. She felt adrift, disembodied, not of this time or place, just anchored to him in his kiss. She breathed in the scents of his skin and hair, embraced within his muscular arms, encircled by his masculine presence, and felt a contentment she had never known.

When they stopped to catch their breath, Keiranne held him close, not caring if she understood how time had contrived to introduce them. All she cared about was staying with him, not ever being separated from him.

"We've been brought together somehow,” she started. “I don't want to lose you.” For an inexplicable reason, she almost added, again. She felt more like they had been reunited than introduced.

"You can never lose me,” he promised solemnly, tasting her lips again.

His words wrenched her back to the present. Recalling her mission, she said, “No, you don't understand. You may be in danger."

She held him at arm's length, hesitating to blame Black Macaw without evidence. Wishing the situation were not so serious, she took a deep breath and began, “Do you realize, at this moment, Chac Mool is in his quarters, most likely meeting with Black Macaw, your stepmother, and a young woman I noticed you speaking with yesterday?"

Tlalocelot's eyebrows furrowed. “What do you know?"

"It's nothing I know,” she said, shaking her head. “From what I overheard, I have a strong feeling they're conspiring to turn the nobles against you."

"Can you prove this accusation?” His voice took on a steely tone. The cold intensity of his dark eyes sent a chill up her spine.

She shook her head. “Again, I only heard snippets of conversations, but enough to feel they're plotting something. Call it woman's intuition."

"Come with me,” he said abruptly, walking off at a brisk pace.

Pek at her heels, Keiranne followed him up the stairway, entering the temple through a hidden, narrow passageway at the top. The dank air assaulted her nostrils. Tlalocelot pressed his body against one of the building blocks, and it gave way, opening to an even narrower passage.

"This is the route to the sacred cave where the kings have offered blood sacrifices for centuries,” he said. “Until today, I didn't know its location."

"Lucky thing you attended court,” she said, trying not to sound flippant.

"The passageway winds behind the priests’ quarters.” As they approached the sound of muffled voices, he held his finger to his lips, indicating silence.

"Listen,” he mouthed more than whispered as they crept ahead through the hollowed-out channel.

Nene's shrill voice penetrated even the stone vault. “I've watched him,” she shrieked, “followed him to a clearing by the storage caves. There, he speaks to the gods."

"So he prays. Of what significance is that?” Chac Mool's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"He has sworn to abolish human sacrifice once he's entitled to wear the king's headdress,” Nene answered.

"Blasphemy,” shouted what sounded like the priest's novitiate, Caquiz. “Without human sacrifice to feed Tlaloc, how will the crops be watered? How will the rain god be appeased?"

"He plans to offer fruit and flowers, believing that will suffice,” said Nene smugly.

"Without human sacrifice, the priesthood serves no purpose,” said Caquiz.

Keiranne snorted. Worried about his job security, was he?

"Silence,” hissed Chac Mool, “this is not about personal gain. My lord, no throne can be maintained without the priesthood's intercession. Monthly sacrifice is the minimum tribute to pay the gods, but daily human sacrifice would ensure your rise to power."

"And ensure the priesthood's continued influence?” asked Black Macaw.

"Perhaps the benefits are mutual,” agreed Chac Mool. “Your father has forgotten the importance of sacrifice, having reduced it to monthly affairs, and Tlalocelot threatens to abolish the old ways, bringing drought and destruction to our people."

"My son, for the good of your subjects.” Lady Black Wing's voice was full of syrupy sweetness. “You must listen to your high priest. He will guide you well.” Then the tone of her voice changed, and she hissed, “Besides, you saw the growing admiration for the new woman in the eyes of the present and proposed kings. This visitor is dangerous. The more respect she earns, the more power she seizes. The more power she wields, the more difficult it will be to dispose of her. Now is the time to take your rightful place as the leader of your people before she and your brother rise to power."

"If I were to rule, that is, dedicate my life to helping my subjects,” said Black Macaw, “how would I begin?"

"First I would speak to the heads of the noble families, gathering their support for you, the rightful heir to the throne,” Chac Mool said.

"What did I tell you?” said the younger woman's voice. “Hm?"

"Then I would assure the nobles that only their support of you will enable them to maintain their own powerful positions. Without you to decree the daily sacrifices, and me to intercede with the gods, the rains will stop, the drought will come, and the noble families will wither like the maize in the fields."

"My son,” said Lady Black Wing, “who better than you, as the true heir, to unify the nobles?"

"And become their king,” added Chac Mool.

"What did I tell you, my lord?” said the young woman. “Is it not as I predicted?"

"If it's what my subjects demand of me, I am but their humble servant,” Black Macaw murmured.

"It's for the good of the people.” There was a significant pause, and then Lady Black Wing continued, her tone becoming callused, “for the good of us all."

"It's your birthright to be king,” said Chac Mool.

"It's your destiny to be king,” said the younger woman, “and mine to be queen."

Inhaling sharply, Tlalocelot motioned for Keiranne to follow. Pek followed silently at her heels. They retraced their path through the narrow, stone-walled corridor, returned through the stone-block entrance, and followed the hidden passageway down the stairway. Once they were safely in the temple's antechamber, he turned to face her. She caught her breath. His strong masculine presence had a potent effect on her.

Seating her beside him on a bench behind the massive limestone altar, he clasped her hand. “Your instincts were right. How could I have doubted you? You are truly a goddess."

Shaking her head, she said, “Not a goddess, just a woman with ears and good sense. Also, I'm beginning to remember my former life.” Her free hand touched her necklace. “I've seen this pendant before in a museum's collection."

"A museum?” he asked, wearing a quizzical expression.

"Yes,” she said, nodding, sighing. She took such a deep breath, her chest heaved, a subtly sensuous gesture. “This is going to be difficult to believe, but I come from a different time, not a different place. My time is in the future. In fact, it's so far in the future, this pendant is considered a relic, a historical artifact, and it's displayed in a,” she paused, seeking a suitable word to describe a museum, “storehouse."

"The future?” He scratched his head, trying to put her words into context.

She synopsized her way of life, trying her best to describe her world. “I was visiting this very spot. In fact, yesterday I saw this temple, but it was so old it was in ruins. The paint had faded, and the plaster had worn away, exposing the building stones."

He looked at the smoothly cut stone altar and the freshly painted frescoes on the walls, shaking his head.

"Tell me more about your world,” he said.

"People ride in cars,” she said, not sure where to begin, “Um, that's like palanquins that don't need men to carry them about. People can fly through the air in jets and travel underwater in submarines."

"Did you use these forms of transportation to get here?"

She shook her head. “I fell through some substance that allowed me to enter your time. That was while I was in the museum, looking at—” She stopped, strangely reluctant to tell him about the skeletons she'd seen.

"At what?"

"Looking at a display, I fell or was pushed into it."

"Then how did you get here?” he asked, gazing attentively at her, his eyes capturing hers.

"I think I must have fallen through time,” she said, shivering, powerfully aware of his proximity. “There's no other way to explain it."

"It doesn't matter how it happened,” he said, taking her in his arms, breathing the scent of her hair, “but I thank the gods for bringing us together."

He kissed her with a passion that crossed centuries. Cultures, political intrigue, royal regimes, and generations seemed to propagate and pass. Yet, secure in their embrace, they were aware only of the cocoon in which the wisps of time had wrapped them.

He explored her mouth with his tongue. She ran her white fingertips through his thick, dark hair, drawing him ever closer. Their breath became ragged as their bodies yearned to entwine.

He traced the swell of her breast through her thin cotton top, gently pinching her nipples. His hand slid down her torso, pausing just below her trim tummy, as his lips and darting tongue seemed to silently seek her approval.

Keiranne's answer was to thrust her pelvis closer to his reach and press her body closer to his until she molded against him. She felt light-headed, languid, addicted to his featherlike, exploratory caresses. Her body yearned for him with a delicious ache that only his touch could heal.

Their kiss intensified, his lips pressing harder, his tongue exploring, until he covered her mouth with his. His hand slid lower and lower until he encountered her mound. She moaned softly, then writhed against him, wishing they were free of their clothes.

Lost in each other, they forgot about time. Pek whined, but they did not hear. Finally, she yelped to draw their attention, until, startled, they drew apart.

"What is it, girl?” Keiranne asked, gathering her composure.

Tlalocelot signaled for silence, gently putting his finger to her lips. Keiranne motioned for Pek to sit at her feet, hiding her behind the altar with them.

"It's safe,” said Chac Mool, his voice echoing in the empty antechamber. “No one's here."

"It's dangerous,” replied Lady Black Wing. “If anyone found us, it would be treason."

Keiranne longed to see them and peeked around the altar's edge.

"My queen,” said Chac Mool, “it's been many years since we last met alone. Surely a stolen five minutes will be neither missed nor discovered."

To Keiranne's surprise, Chac Mool attempted to kiss the queen.

"Stop it, you old fool,” said Lady Black Wing, pushing him away. “Get to the point. What is it you wanted to discuss?"

Recovering his official demeanor, he said, “The seeds of ambition we planted so long ago are finally coming to fruition."

"Your point,” she said coldly.

"Our son is about to rise to power. With Black Macaw as king, our futures are secure.” Chac Mool paused. “As allies, if not parents, might we not reacquaint ourselves on friendlier terms?"

Blinking, Keiranne glanced at Tlalocelot. His face, red with anger, otherwise appeared impassive.

"Don't forget yourself, priest,” said Lady Black Wing haughtily. “Our indiscretion years ago cost me untold pain. Never think for a minute I have forgiven you, no matter what winds fortune blows our way."

"Do you think you were the only one who grieved we couldn't be together?” asked Chac Mool.

Ignoring him, Lady Black Wing continued, “It's a miracle the king believed Black Macaw was his son. Had his wife not died in childbirth, I would have been ostracized."

"And do you really think it so providential that his healthy, young wife died in childbirth?” he asked. “There was nothing miraculous or mysterious about it."

"What are you implying?” asked Lady Black Wing.

"Had you deigned to speak with me privately before this, you would have learned."

"Learned what?” she demanded, her tone icy.

"Midwives can be bribed,” he said, pausing dramatically, “and sleeping queens pose no match for muscular initiates and bribed guards."

Lady Black Wing gasped. “I never suspected..."

"No one did,” Chac Mool said.

This time, when Keiranne glanced at Tlalocelot, she saw his hand grasped tightly around the obsidian knife at his cummerbund. His face ashen, he was poised to jump from behind the altar and attack his mother's murderer. Keiranne placed a cool hand on his arm. Her bracelet, reflecting in the light, reminded her of her own mother. Her heart went out to Tlalocelot, but she continued to restrain him, endeavoring to curb his anger.

"So you see, my queen,” continued Chac Mool, “we have more in common than you'd suspected."

"So it would seem,” said the queen, “so it would seem.” She paused, her tone bitter. “Then I have only one regret."

"And that is, my lady?” asked Chac Mool.

"That Tlalocelot's mother was smothered after labor and not before."

"I see your point, my lady. It would have made a straighter path for our son. However, it's a situation that can yet be rectified."

The two shared a malevolent laugh.

"Perhaps we could leave the past behind us,” suggested Chac Mool, “and renew our friendship?"

Lady Black Wing coyly sidestepped his approach. “I thought priests were not allowed to touch women?"

"But you are a queen,” he said, reaching for her.

"My lord,” shouted Caquiz from the anteroom's threshold.

Lady Black Wing and Chac Mool jumped apart at the sound. “How dare you disturb the queen and me while making offerings to the gods?"

There were no bloodied paper offerings, no incense. However, if the novitiate's suspicion was aroused, he displayed no sign of it.

"Forgive me, my lord, my lady,” he said with a bow to each of them. “But the nobles are urgently requesting your presence at Lord Coqui Xee's quarters.” He bowed as he backed away. “Again, a thousand pardons for the intrusion."

When assured Caquiz was out of hearing, Lady Black Wing hissed, “See what you have done? Now the entire court will learn of us meeting in secret."

"Don't worry, he's loyal and none too ambitious. We have nothing to fear,” said Chac Mool.

"Nevertheless, it would be wise if we departed separately.” Lady Black paused. “And soon.” Her voice resumed its imperious tone. “I'll leave first."

"As you wish,” said Chac Mool, bowing as gallantly as his corpulent frame would allow.

Thinking himself alone, Chac Mool knelt before the monolithic altar, unaware that Keiranne, Tlalocelot, and Pek listened at the opposite side. Keiranne saw Tlalocelot reach for the knife at his side. Sensing his desire to kill the high priest, she seized his powerful arm. She felt the tension, the tautness of his muscles, the throbbing of his veins. His head snapped toward her as he stared at her, puzzled, yet he remained frozen.

Chac Mool whispered his prayer. “Hear me, Tlaloc, if you are the power behind this mystery. By my serving you, you serve me well. What I do, I do in your name. With Black Macaw as king, I can be assured of daily sacrifices. Make way my paths through time."

Keiranne's ears perked at his words.

Then Chac Mool rose and exited, the tap of his shoes on the floor indicating his discomposure.

"I should have killed him and avenged my mother's murder while I had the chance,” said Tlalocelot.

"No, he may have a future role to play,” whispered Keiranne, her mind whirling. “Does Chac Mool know of the time travel?"

"I don't know,” said Tlalocelot shrugging his shoulders, “but he's been high priest since before I was born. It's believed his powers are vast, surpassing those of ordinary temple priests."

A thought occurred to Keiranne. “You say he's been high priest since before you were born. Is it possible...” She paused, seeking the right way to put her jumbled thoughts into words.

"What?” he asked.

"It sounds too fantastic to be true, but then somehow I traveled through time, and that's no fantasy.” Ending her reverie, she took a deep breath. “Do you think he's aged during this time?"

Tlalocelot looked perplexed. “Now that you ask, he does seem younger in comparison to his peers. From the size of his belly, he eats too well, but his face doesn't seem to have aged nearly as rapidly as my father's or Lady Black Wing's."

"Could it be possible he's traveled back or forward in time, enough so that it may have altered his aging process?"

"After meeting you, I believe anything's possible.” His dark eyes smiled with the warmth of melted chocolate.

Not noticing the change in Tlalocelot, she continued, “Then he may be the key to finding my way back in time."

"You'd want to leave our time and return to your own?” he asked, disappointed.

His tone drew her attention, and Keiranne realized her blunder. A sudden ache behind her breast propelled her into his arms. Abruptly aware of the depth of her feelings for Tlalocelot, she realized getting back to her own time was not the hardest thing she had to do.

Her face buried against his bare chest, she said, “Not knowing who I was these past days has been stressful. I've learned knowing yourself is as essential to life as any survival instinct or sexual urge. Self-knowledge is a person's basis. Without knowing who I was, how could I truly respect myself, love myself, let alone love anyone else?” She pulled just far enough away to peer into his face. “How could anyone love me instead of their idea of me?"

"It's true, I thought you were a goddess,” he said wryly, his arms still tightly around her. “When I first met you, I loved my mental image of you, but that was before I got to know you, or, rather, before we were reacquainted. I feel as if I've known you before or somehow known you all along. Not an image now, I love you."

"Even with all my human foibles and eccentricities?” Her eyes smiled into his, and he laughed.

"Although it's only a few hours since you told me of your travel through time, I feel I know your spirit, your timeless self, Quetzal."

She started at the name, remembering more of her past. “Quetzal isn't my real name. It's Keiranne."

He rolled the strange word over his tongue, struggling with the r sound. “It's a good name,” he said politely, “but I like Quetzal. Which do you prefer?"

"My full name is Keiranne West. The part I'd remembered was Kwest.” She thought a moment. “When you say it, I choose Quetzal."

"Then I have a question for you, Quetzal. If it comes to a choice, would you return to your own time, or would you stay here with me?"

Chac Mool's novitiate met him just outside Lord Coqui Xee's quarters. “The nobles have been eagerly awaiting you, my lord."

"How much do they know?” asked Chac Mool, gathering information for the meeting but also prodding the man for clues as to how much he had witnessed in the temple.

Caquiz read between the lines. “What I know, my lord, is only what you deem necessary to share with me."

Chac Mool nodded at the man's perception and wisdom. “As it should be. Never forget, even though you belong to the brotherhood's calendrical order, all priests of all the orders keep a sacred trust. No confidentiality ever leaves the priesthood. Is that understood?"

Caquiz bowed, his face impassive. “Perfectly."

Despite the novitiate having responded appropriately to the threat, Chac Mool still probed for any hint of betrayal. “And what of the nobles? What have you told them?"

"The nobles have been told nothing, my lord, except that you have exciting news for them.” The man kept his eyes lowered and his head slightly bowed in deference to his high priest.

Suspicions assuaged for the moment, Chac Mool entered the nobleman's quarters, his novitiate close at his heels. Like a coat of arms, the emblem of Coqui Xee's house was painted on the door's lintel. Chac Mool ducked as he entered through the low doorway, forced by the architecture to show his respect for the noble.

"Chac Mool,” said Lord Coqui Xee, rising from his couch at the far end of his great room. Greetings and questions came from all sides of the room as other nobles hailed Chac Mool, and Lord Coqui Xee continued, “What is this mysterious news you have for us?"

"All in good time, my lords,” said the high priest. “But first, I must have your word that whatever is spoken in this room never goes beyond its walls."

Consenting murmurs rose from all corners.

Nodding, he continued, “And second, I need pulque."

Good-natured laughter met his request. As he had intended, Chac Mool managed to create suspense and put them at ease with his opening words.

Lord Coqui Xee motioned to his servant to bring them the fermented agave drink. “I speak for us all,” he said, addressing the high priest, “when I ask if this meeting has anything to do with the white goddess and Jaguar Paws’ choice of Tlalocelot as his successor."

"You are astute, my lords,” said the priest, acknowledging the gathering with his slight bow. “It does have something to do with them, but it has everything to do with you.” He paused, accepting a cup of pulque from the servant, and then raised it, saying, “To Quia Belagayo, the god of pleasure!"

"Please continue,” said Lord Coqui Xee.

"Although I'm loyal to the king,” said Chac Mool, “I cannot in all good conscience stand by in silence when I see the nobility being misled. The king is old. He knew choosing an heir as his successor was imminent. However, it is the criterion for his choice to which I object."

"What is your point?” asked Lord Coqui Xee.

"Gentlemen, I would not be performing my duty to the loyal subjects of the king if I did not voice my concerns. Admit it, the king chose Tlalocelot based on his perception that Lady Quetzal is a goddess. Am I not correct?"

"It was obvious at the appointment,” said Lord Coqui Xee. “But who would have chosen otherwise when Quetzalcoatl sent a goddess as his personal messenger to indicate his preference?"

"That is my point, gentlemen. We all presumed she was a goddess sent by Quetzalcoatl.” He paused, looking at each nobleman's face as his eyes swept the room. “What would you say if I had proof that Lady Quetzal is not a goddess,” he paused dramatically before finishing, “but a demon?"

Mayhem ensued with each lord expressing his outrage. Finally Lord Coqui Xee held up his arms for silence. “What proof do you have?"

From his red-feathered cloak, Chac Mool brought out Keiranne's camera. “This, my lords!"

"What is it?” Lord Coqui Xee asked, examining the sleek black and silver metal case.

"A hideous tool of the wicked gods of the underworld,” said the priest.

"It looks strange but harmless enough,” said Lord Coqui Xee.

"Ah, but appearances deceive, my lord. Were we not all enchanted by the loveliness of the Lady Quetzal?"

Murmured agreements met his ears.

"When I show you the depth of the evil to which this tool is used, you'll know why I say she is a demon."

"Show us, priest,” commanded Lord Coqui Xee.

A cunning look glinting from his eyes, Chac Mool made a quick decision. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

"My lords, my protégé will demonstrate for us.” Motioning to the novitiate to come closer, Chac Mool saw the fear gather in his eyes as he pointed the camera at the cringing man, zoomed in, focused, set the flash, and snapped a picture.

Caquiz gasped when he heard the click and saw the flash. He surreptitiously checked himself for injuries. Not feeling any pain or seeing any blood, he released his tension with a relieved laugh. The assembly joined in the laughter, thinking the priest had made a joke.

Chac Mool pressed the digital camera's review button, bringing the novitiate's picture into view, and showed Lord Coqui Xee.

The man screamed, bringing immediate silence to the room.

Caquiz screwed up his courage and, in a barely audible voice, asked, “What have you done, my lord?"

Chac Mool's calculating eyes pierced those of his novitiate. Then he showed the shaking man his photograph, its digital display emitting an eerie green glow. The novitiate swallowed hard and slumped into a half-seated position on the floor, breathing jaggedly.

"Explain this evil tool,” said Lord Coqui Xee, struggling to overcome his embarrassment for having displayed fear.

Chac Mool held the camera high for every lord to see. “This instrument is more loathsome, more fearsome than any that has ever been."

Now curiosity overtook the nobles. A flurry of requests to see the object that emitted light and struck fear even into Lord Coqui Xee met Chac Mool's ears.

The priest shook his head. “This instrument is too evil to bandy about. It is enough that Lord Coqui Xee and Caquiz have seen.” He coldly regarded his novitiate. “Tell the lords what you have observed."

Caquiz swallowed hard but quickly obeyed. “I saw my own image,” he said “surrounded by light.” Grasping Chac Mool by his knees, he added, “Explain what it is, my lord, please, I beg you."

Chac Mool addressed the novitiate. “You saw your likeness, but what I took is your soul, to do with as I choose..."

The man fainted.

Continuing, Chac Mool addressed the lords. “Whoever holds this instrument and uses it correctly, captures the souls of the unsuspecting victims. Lady Quetzal is no goddess, as we had been led to believe. She is a demon sent here by the underworld gods of Xibalba to capture souls for her own fiendish purposes."

"What can we do, Lord Chac Mool?” asked Lord Quecholli.

Lord Chac Mool. The high priest smiled inwardly at the use of the appellation so rarely attributed to him. Although he enjoyed more prestigious titles in other times, he preferred this one. “It would appear Jaguar Paws and Tlalocelot are both under her spell. As much as it grieves me, it is my duty to the citizenry to recommend we remove Jaguar Paws and Tlalocelot from office in order to eradicate this demon Quetzal from our midst."

A silence fell over the populace. The lords looked among themselves, silently expressing each other's thoughts. Maintaining their titled positions was one thing. Treason was another matter altogether. The price for keeping their noble rank was preserving the status quo, upholding the king, and maintaining the present state of affairs. What Chac Mool was suggesting was nothing short of sedition. From the grave looks exchanged, it appeared no one wished to risk his title or his head.

Skilled tactician that Chac Mool was, he said, “Has it occurred to you that with Jaguar Paws and Tlalocelot both under the demon's power, you'll be giving allegiance to the she-demon Quetzal? Have you not considered that you'll be bowing to a she-devil from Xibalba?” He paused, letting the misogyny penetrate.

One of the more daring lords disagreed. “We don't know that to be a fact."

Chac Mool chose another line of argument. “We also don't know whether she will continue to favor these noble households with her support, do we? For all we know, she may enslave your families and sacrifice you, my illustrious lords, after having first captured your souls with this tool of torture!” He held the camera high, its neckband waving like a banner, calling them to action.

"What would you suggest, Lord Chac Mool?” asked Lord Quecholli.

"We need to place another worthy person upon the throne,” said Chac Mool.

"Who?” asked the daring young lord, “You?"

Several snickers sounded from the back of the room.

"No, my lord, I'm unworthy,” said Chac Mool, bowing peremptorily. “As we know, a king must be of royal blood."

"That leaves Lord Black Macaw,” said Lord Coqui Xee.

Playing the devil's advocate, Chac Mool said, “Perhaps, perhaps, but our candidate needs to ensure our cause will succeed."

"How can we know that?” asked Lord Quecholli.

"To ensure our success, we need sacrificial blood,” he answered.

"But the king has curtailed it to one human sacrifice a month,” said Lord Coqui Xee. “We're limited as to what we can sacrifice."

Saving the best for last, Chac Mool said, “My lords, I have it on the best of authority that Tlalocelot has just decreed an end to all blood offerings, perhaps even auto sacrifice."

Pandemonium broke out as the lords simultaneously voiced their concerns and outrage.

"The rains will end."

"The maize will parch and die."

"The sun won't have the strength to battle its nightly foes and return again in the morning."

"Our families will starve."

"Our families will be sold into slavery."

"We'll lose our lives."

"We'll lose our way of life."

"We'll lose,” stated Chac Mool. “It's as simple as that. Without human sacrifice, my lords, you'll lose everything you have named, as well as your titles, your lands, your families, and your positions."

"Then what can we do?” asked Lord Quecholli.

"We need a king with an impeccable royal bloodline who understands the importance, and upholds the tradition, of sacrificial blood,” said Chac Mool.

"That leaves Lord Black Macaw,” said Lord Coqui Xee, grinning.

"My lord,” said Chac Mool, bowing low, “as I have said before, you are astute."

"I see a distortion in the calendar, my lord,” said Cuetzpallin. “Actually, several have come to my attention recently."

"Go on, priest,” said Jaguar Paws.

"As you know, my lord,” said Cuetzpallin, “the sacred calendar is connected to the path of Venus, and Lady Quetzal appeared on one Ahau, the Sacred Day of Venus, a very auspicious day. I know. I carefully mapped and recorded the event two days ago, yet since that time, the stars have inverted their positions in the heavens. It's as if time had stopped or reversed itself for a day."

"Do you mean to tell me today is yesterday?” asked the king, trying to comprehend.

"Celestially, yes, that's what the star charts indicate. However, as we know, two days have passed,” said Cuetzpallin. “This discrepancy in time is most disturbing."

"You must have misread the stars or misinterpreted the calendar, priest,” said Jaguar Paws, dismissing him with a wave. “Those can be the only possible explanations. Go recalculate your computations."

"Anticipating your wishes, my lord, I have,” said Cuetzpallin, bowing humbly. “I've seen this same phenomenon several times a month during the past years. There's simply no accounting for it. Entire blocks of time have repeated themselves."

"Of course, they have,” said the king, “time is cyclical. It all repeats itself."

"That's true, my lord,” said Cuetzpallin, “but, as you said yourself, time recurs within a certain cycle, not randomly, as it's doing now."

"Refresh my memory,” said Jaguar Paws, who had always found the subject of calendars tedious and, as a result, had little patience for their intricacies. “What difference do a few days make over the course of millennia?"

Dzahui and Cuetzpallin exchanged glances.

"As you are well aware, my lord,” said Dzahui, “time is divine. The king of the gods is Hunab Ku. He resides in the center of the galaxy, that starry birth canal of the Great Cosmic Mother, from whom all life is born. He communicates his intent to us through the heavens. It is there, in that celestial womb that the motion of the heavenly bodies begins and disperses."

"Galactic time affects solar time, which, in turn, influences our natural rhythms,” added Cuetzpallin. “It's what we feel in our bodies, waking at dawn, or sleeping through the night."

"Cuetzpallin and I, as well as our other calendrical brothers, are Hunab Ku's emissaries. We're in charge of monitoring and calculating the movements of time as they interact with our world. It's our duty to watch time's harmonic relationship with the galactic core."

"We synchronize the calendar with the heavens,” said Cuetzpallin, “but something is disrupting the sequence of time."

"It is of the utmost importance that we address..."

"May it please my lord,” said Lady Black Wing, interrupting the court, bowing prettily before the king, “but there is an urgent matter we need to discuss."

"Approach the throne, my lady, and please be seated,” the king said warmly, pleased by her public show of homage. “What is it that troubles you so?"

"This can only be said privately,” she whispered, seated upon her throne's jaguar skins.

"Leave us,” the king said to his ministers, relieved to be excused from the astronomer priests’ ranting. The attending priest, Cuetzpallin, banged his feathered staff twice, and the assembly began to exit.

Lady Black Wing watched until the room had cleared of all but Cuetzpallin. “To you alone, my lord."

The king motioned the priest away. “My lady, what is this urgent matter?” He leaned toward her, reaching for her hand.

"Something occurred today,” she started. “I wanted you to hear it from my lips first."

"Proceed."

"The high priest Chac Mool has placed me in a compromised position."

"How so?” he asked, his grasp on her fingers tightening.

"In two ways, first, he lured me to the temple on the pretext of an urgent matter. That would have been little cause for worry, but Caquiz found us alone. Only the gods know what lies he'll spread."

"You were wise to come to me before the court gossip reached my ears,” he said, patting her hand. He took a deep breath and leaned back. “Let this suffice, and I'll have a word with Chac Mool. You needn't worry. Just put this behind you."

"But, my lord, there is more.” Even at this last moment, she hesitated telling him. “My lord, Chac Mool implied I owe him my position."

The king dismissed her words with a wave. “Only I could have and did make you my queen. Forget Chac Mool's foolish prattle."

"But, my lord, he, well, he implied he had, that he had heard someone was paid to smother your first wife after giving birth to Tlalocelot."

"He what!” The king shot from his throne like a hurled spear. “By the gods, I'll have him eviscerated."

His fury was aimed at himself, having never forgiven himself for his affair with Lady Black Wing while his first queen had been in confinement. Although his hormones had raged then with a youth's fervor, often times, as now, he regretted his hasty marriage to his present wife. But this he could not share with Lady Black Wing.

Instead, he said, “You'll hold his beating heart in your hands within the hour.” He turned and strode to the door.

"My lord, wait,” she shouted, running after him, decorum forgotten. “Let's not be hasty. He only said he had heard rumors that someone had murdered her. He never told me who, in fact, he may not even know who. Or it may all be false rumors."

"Then what would you have me do, my lady?” Pausing at the door, both frustrated and stymied by her change of heart, he repeated, “What would you have me do?"

"Bide your time,” she advised. Her eyes darted one way and then the other, finally contracting into narrow slits. “Watch and wait, but never take your eye off Chac Mool."

Keiranne thought over his words. If it comes to a choice, would you return to your own time, or would you stay here with me?

"I don't know the answer,” she said, “but I do know I love you.” With that, she pressed her lips to his, staving off thoughts of choices or partings.

His mouth answered hers with a sweet, velvety intensity that pushed firmly against her lips, gently forcing them apart. He thrust in his tongue, exploring, tasting, and drawing ever closer to her soul.

They caressed each other, learning the nuances of each other's bodies. She felt the strength of his arms, the ripples of his hard muscles, and the depth of his ardor. He caressed her soft hollows and curves.

Without a watch or clock, Keiranne had no idea how much time passed in his embrace, but when they left the dimly lit anteroom of the temple and walked outside, it was twilight, and the stars were just beginning to shine.

They walked hand-in-hand, murmuring their thoughts, sharing a joke, their laughter like clear bells on a crisp autumn evening. As they reached the palace, Keiranne turned to him.

"I have a partial answer to your question,” she whispered. “I don't want tonight to end. I can't bear spending it apart from you."

He looked into her eyes as if reading her thoughts, and drew her to him, kissing her in the privacy of the palace's long shadows. “Nor do I wish to spend tonight without knowing your embrace,” he said, feeling her body melt against his. “You intoxicate me, Lady Quetzal."

Arms around each other's waists, they slipped into the palace and hurried toward the haven of Tlalocelot's bed.

Unseen and unheard behind the wide stone column, Nene licked the tears that streamed down her cheeks onto her lips, their saltiness tasting like blood.

Tlalocelot picked Keiranne up, carried her through the curtain that passed for a door, and lowered her onto his sleeping mat. As she knelt, he buried his fingers into her curly, blond tendrils. She lifted her face up to meet his in a searing kiss.

He raised her shimmy over her breasts and fell to his knees in front of her, kissing, caressing, and suckling at her white exposed breasts. With a moan, she succumbed to his caresses, reclining on his sleeping mat, the surface yielding but firm. She writhed as he licked her breasts, a groan escaping deep in her throat.

He untied her waistband. She arched her back and lifted her hips seductively. He slipped her underskirt over her slim hips, exposing her essence to him.

Naked beneath her nearly transparent cotton top, she stretched out on his mat, unashamedly, invitingly. With feathery lightness, he ran his fingertips over her breasts, up her shoulders, and out to the tips of her fingers, deftly removing her shimmy, the last barrier between them.

When he let go her fingertips, she ran her fingers through his dark mat of chest hair, combing it with her nails as she lightly grazed him. Then she reached out for his masculinity beneath his loincloth. She fondled his scrotum, tickling his curly dark pubic hairs, and felt his erection materialize at her touch. He stripped off his loincloth and knelt before her in his stunning virility.

Gently grazing her femininity with his lips, lapping at her essence, he traced her taut stomach with his tongue, past her navel, following the indentation up to her breasts, where he again kneaded, suckled, and licked her firm, rosy nipples. With every tugging action of his lips, desire coursed through her veins like adrenalin.

She squirmed beneath his touch, reveling in each new tier of sensuality, feeling her essence melt at his caresses. When she could not bear to be separate from his body, she pulled him toward her, on top of her, thrusting her hips up to meet his, until they were one inseparable being, body and spirit, writhing in unison.

She felt the delicious heat rise up her spine as he slid inside her, and she slipped into that creamy state of bliss somewhere between dream and reality. She felt the waves of tremors swell and rise, sweeping her closer and closer toward ecstasy, until their yin and yang fused into one groaning blaze.

Spent, she lay in his arms, gasping, awed at the singularity of the experience. As their breathing subsided, she looked into his eyes, caught the glint in the moonlight, felt the heat, and began their next frenzied excursion into bliss.

Before dawn, Keiranne woke to the sound of Pek pacing. Gently cradled against Tlalocelot, inhaling his scent, she traced the strawberry birthmark just below his bellybutton and wished she could stay in his embrace until daylight.

"What is it, girl?” Pek nuzzled her hand, panting, and then began pacing again. “Do you have to go out?"

She traced her fingers over Tlalocelot's body, and he turned toward her, half-opening sleepy eyes.

"I have to let Pek out,” she whispered. “And it might be prudent if the servants found me in my own bed, not yours."

He groaned, reached for her hand, and promptly fell back to sleep.

Kissing him lightly on the forehead, she whispered, “I'll see you after breakfast.” With that, she dressed quickly and took Pek for a walk.

Just outside the palace, the stars shone more brightly than she had ever seen them. Why not? There's no light scatter to interfere. She walked with Pek, enjoying the cool breezes playing in her hair, smiling, remembering the heat of the previous hours with Tlalocelot. She grabbed her arms and hugged herself, glad to be alive, ecstatic to be in love.

Pek growled a low, warning sound. Then she snarled, her white teeth flashing the starlight.

"What is it?” Keiranne stopped and looked around but saw nothing suspicious. Still Pek's snarl persisted. “What do you hear, girl?"

Soundlessly, two men jumped out of the shadows, pulled a tight gag around Keiranne's mouth, and threw a dark cape over her head. She screamed and fought, kneeing one of her assailants in the groin. He cursed and let go of the cape, doubling over, gasping for air. She pulled the cape off her head in time to see Pek sink her white teeth into the back of the other assailant's calf, and she heard the ripping skin, as the man's muscle tore from his bone.

Pulling the gag down, Keiranne let go a blood-curdling scream, waking the other dogs of the city and bringing Tlalocelot running, three guards close behind him. Before they could reach the scene, Keiranne kicked the crouched man under his chin, sending him backwards in a dazed slump. The second man tried to run, but Pek kept her teeth firmly planted in the man's Achilles heel, forcing him to his knees and then onto his belly.

Tlalocelot surveyed the sight, noting the offenders’ insignia. Taking her in his arms, he asked, “Are you all right?"

Breathless, she grunted, “Uh-huh. Just got to catch my breath...” She slid out of his embrace, gasping, to sit on the ground.

Tlalocelot grabbed the first man's hair, jerking him to his feet. “What kind of man are you?” he demanded, “Attacking an unarmed woman with an accomplice.” Tlalocelot threw him to the ground.

As the man fell, his loincloth exposed his thighs, revealing a small tattoo.

Pek's teeth still in the prostrate man's calf, the man pleaded, “Call this dog off me for the love of Xipe Totec."

"How ironic. You beg mercy in the name of the flayed one, the god of torture,” said Tlalocelot. “You've named your own punishment."

Turning to the guards, he ordered, “See that these mercenaries identify the persons responsible for this attack. Torture them, if necessary, but don't kill them. They'll be skinned alive by the priests, and their skins will be worn in tlahuahuanaliztli, the gladiatorial sacrifice."

Still shaking, yet concerned for the man, Keiranne called, “Girl, let go."

Pek instantly let go her hold on the man. The assailant tried to stand, but Pek had chewed through his Achilles heel, and he was unable to rise to his feet.

"Tlalocelot,” Keiranne asked, grimacing at the man's obvious pain, “punish them, yes, but is torture necessary?” The sight of the bloodied man banished any thoughts of revenge.

"Are you asking mercy for them after they attacked you?” Tlalocelot shook his head. “Ask me anything else, and it shall be given to you, but for what they did, they will pay, and pay dearly."

Motioning to the guards, he said, “Take them away."

Keiranne, still shaky, stood at her full height. “I'm all right. They didn't hurt me, thanks to Pek.” She reached down and petted her guardian friend.

Tlalocelot drew her to him. “And thanks to you, my brave lady.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “You are a formidable warrior, and I'm proud of you.” Then his face returned to its former stony expression. “But if those cowards had harmed a golden hair of your head, I'd have pulled their beating hearts from their bodies with my bare hands."

"But since they didn't hurt me, can't you spare their lives?” she asked.

"I thank the gods you're safe, and I respect your courage, especially when you ask for their mercy. When I'm king, I'll abolish human sacrifice, but that time has not yet come. While my father rules, these are our customs, and they must be honored.” Glancing at the retreating figures, he added bitterly, “Those mercenaries have sealed their own fate."

"But torture and death? The punishment doesn't befit the crime. Can't you discipline them some other way?” she asked.

"Quetzal, you're dearer to me than life itself, but, on this, I cannot budge. These men are hired thugs. They must have been watching, waiting for a moment to catch you unguarded. Please never ask this of me again."

Subdued for the moment, she changed her tactic. “I, too, feel as if I've been watched. Most of it I've shrugged off attributing it to harmless curiosity. Other times, it's felt like downright surveillance, as if someone is spying on me."

An involuntary shiver ran down her spine. Kneeling to hug Pek, she scratched the dog's furry neck affectionately. “Thank God, Pek has always been at my side."

"The two of you are fearsome fighters,” said Tlalocelot with a wry smile. “You needed no one's assistance. This time.” His expression became serious. “Whoever sent these thugs will try again, and next time you may not fare as well.” Taking her in his arms, he whispered intently, “Promise me you'll never leave the compound unattended again."

She nodded in agreement. “Strange how the human condition doesn't seem to change. People act the same in all time periods."

Kneeling before him, the guard said, “My lord, one of the prisoner's has confessed and named the person who hired them."

Motioning him to rise, Tlalocelot asked, “Who?"

The guard lowered his voice. “Lord Coqui Xee."

Tlalocelot sucked in his breath, realizing he had insurrection on his hands. Lord Coqui Xee was the most outspoken of the nobles. Tlalocelot wondered how many other less-overt nobles were involved. “Was anyone else implicated?"

The guard hesitated. “Both prisoners begged to see the high priest, Chac Mool."

Tlalocelot nodded, clasped him by the shoulder, and handed him a small leather pouch. “He'll see the high priest soon enough. Bring Chac Mool to the court. The king and I require his presence."

At Tlalocelot's cue, two door guards swung open the heavy wooden doors. All eyes turned expectantly toward the high priest. Although the room was still and no cue was needed, a priest banged his feathered staff on the floor for silence, its sound reverberating in the hush.

Keiranne and Pek stood on the raised dais beside Tlalocelot, who was seated on the smaller throne next to his father. Both seated men wore their ceremonial headdresses indicating the importance of the royal audience.

Chac Mool swallowed as he approached the dais. “My lords,” he said, bowing to each, “my lady."

"Clear the throne room,” said Tlalocelot to the attending priest, Caquiz, who promptly banged his feathered staff twice on the floor, stole a glance at Chac Mool, and, bowing, backed out of the room. When the two door guards had swung shut the heavy wooden doors, Tlalocelot continued. “Early this morning, Lady Quetzal was attacked."

The high priest started at the direct confrontation, quickly recovered, and said, “May the gods be thanked she is unharmed!"

Tlalocelot nodded grimly. “Yes, indeed. Would you recommend a sacrifice be offered in thanksgiving?"

"Your wish is my command, my lord,” said the priest, bowing. Then he raised his eyes, seemingly surprised. “But I thought my lord opposed sacrifice."

"While I rule, sacrifice will continue,” said the king, dourly, mindful of the queen's charges against the priest.

Chac Mool bowed again. “I'm your humble servant, my lords. What would you have me do?"

"It has been some time since we have practiced tlahuahuanaliztli. Do you recall the ceremony?” asked Tlalocelot.

The high priest nodded. “Yes, the gladiatorial sacrifice."

"Then you remember your role?” asked the king.

Chac Mool nodded again. “Priests will skin the captured warriors alive and wear their skins for twenty days."

Tlalocelot turned to Keiranne. “For the lady's benefit, explain what will happen to the victims’ souls."

Chac Mool said, “Death by sacrifice is considered honorable, almost as much so as dying on the battlefield."

"Might you even call it spiritual liberation?” asked Tlalocelot. At the priest's nod, he continued, “Guards, bring in Lord Coqui Xee."

Chac Mool averted his eyes, so they could not see his fear. His hands bound before him, Lord Coqui Xee was led in by a tether. One guard led him, two others flanked him.

"Lord Coqui Xee,” said the king imperiously, “you have been accused of treason. What have you to say for yourself?"

Lord Coqui Xee's head snapped to look at the high priest. Then his eyes narrowed, wondering if this were a trick. Filling his chest, he stood proudly. “What evidence do you have of this accusation?” he said.

A sigh of relief escaped the high priest.

Tlalocelot motioned to the guards waiting at the doorway. “Bring in the prisoners,” he said.

The guards led in the bound prisoners, bloodied and broken. The one's leg dangled, his Achilles’ tendon severed.

"Who hired you?” demanded Tlalocelot.

Both men stared at the high priest, but pointed to Lord Coqui Xee.

"This is ridiculous,” said Lord Coqui Xee. “You've obviously tortured these men. They'll say anything. What proof do you have?"

Tlalocelot motioned to the guard to rip off the first prisoner's loincloth. On the back of the man's right thigh, they saw a tattooed emblem.

"Is this evidence enough, Lord Coqui Xee?” asked Tlalocelot. From the man's stony silence, he was sure of the noble's guilt, but he continued for Keiranne's benefit. “Is this not the emblem of the house of Coqui Xee?"

Lord Coqui Xee remained silent.

Turning to the high priest, Tlalocelot asked, “Chac Mool, is this not the emblem of the house of Coqui Xee?"

"I, I wouldn't know, my lord,” said the high priest, beginning to perspire.

"But surely you've seen the emblem of the house of Coqui Xee before, haven't you?” Tlalocelot asked pointedly.

"I don't recall, my lord,” said the high priest.

"Spare us the deceit,” said Tlalocelot. “We know of your visit to Lord Coqui Xee's quarters yesterday."

"Yesterday? Oh, yes, that's right, I believe I did stop by Lord Coqui Xee's for a cup of pulque.” The high priest's eyes swept the room as if searching for someone.

"But you don't recall seeing any emblem? Not even above the door?” asked the king, his eyes narrowing as he watched the priest's response.

"No, I can't say I do,” the high priest repeated nervously.

"Lord Coqui Xee, have you anything to say for yourself?” demanded Tlalocelot. Answered only by the noble's stony glare, Tlalocelot continued, “Then I have no choice but to offer a sacrifice in thanksgiving for Lady Quetzal's safety from the harm of your hired attackers."

"I have been led to believe my lord opposes sacrifice,” said Lord Coqui Xee, glaring at Chac Mool.

"Really,” said Tlalocelot, “and who would have told you such a fabrication?"

Again Lord Coqui Xee stared silently ahead.

"Very well, Chac Mool, prepare Lord Coqui Xee for tlahuahuanaliztli."

Chac Mool bowed again. “I'm your humble servant, my lords. I'll instruct my priests."

"You haven't been listening, Chac Mool,” said Tlalocelot, “it is you who will skin Lord Coqui Xee alive, and it is you who will wear his skin for twenty days. Your priests will dispatch the two attackers."

At this, Lord Coqui Xee turned to the high priest, shouting, “You son of a dog! You'll pay for this! My family will wreak their revenge."

Turning to Tlalocelot, he pointed to Chac Mool. “He's your instigator, my lord. He's trying to raise the nobles against you and your father."

Chac Mool started backing away toward the door.

"Stop him!” shouted Keiranne.

In a single leap, Pek jumped down from the dais and bit the high priest in the leg. Chac Mool tripped, fell to his knees with a thud, and then lay prostrate on his fat belly.

"Good girl,” Keiranne praised the dog.

Tlalocelot motioned the guards to take the four men away.

"No, wait,” called Chac Mool, as the guards began dragging him from the great hall. “Wait! I know how Lady Quetzal can return to her time. Only I can help her."

Lord Jaguar Paws said, “Away with this madman, return to her time, indeed."

Tlalocelot looked over at Keiranne and noted her shocked look. “Father, would it be possible for Lady Quetzal and me to question Chac Mool privately?"

The king shrugged. “As you wish, my son.” He then motioned to the guards to remove the other three men. As he left the throne room, the king warned the door guards. “Keep a close watch on the high priest."

The doors securely bolted, Keiranne, Tlalocelot, and Chac Mool studied each other. The priest began, “My lady, I know you are not from the gods but from the future."

"What would make you suggest such a preposterous thing?” asked Keiranne, arms akimbo.

From his cape, the high priest pulled the small camera and handed it to her. “This, my lady."

"What is it?” asked Tlalocelot.

"My digital camera,” she said, checking the battery status. Severely depleted, the battery charge indicated it was on its last bar. “About thirty minutes left,” she said out loud, showing Tlalocelot the display.

Although disturbed by the eerie light, Tlalocelot peered at the image. “That's the novitiate,” he said, dumbfounded.

"It's a tool, nothing more.” said Keiranne, “Like polished obsidian, it reflects your image, but it also holds the image for as long as this battery is charged."

"Battery?” asked Tlalocelot.

"See these lines?” said Keiranne, showing him the indicator bars. “As long as these appear, the images will remain in this tool."

"How do you know of this tool,” Tlalocelot asked the high priest.

"I also have traveled in time,” Choc Mool replied, his eyes steady.

"I suspected as much,” Keiranne said, a note of victory in her voice. “To where, I mean, when have you traveled?"

"I've seen the conquistadors on their fine horses sweep across this land. I've seen super V8 cars equipped with standard three hundred and ninety-horsepower replace the Spanish horses. I've traveled eighteen, even twenty-eight centuries into the future,” he said, pausing. Then with a sneer, he added, “To what you call the twenty-first century."

"And how have you managed these feats?” she asked.

"Ah, that's the sixty-four thousand dollar question.” He studied his fingernails, and then focused his attention on them. “For me to answer, I'll need assurance that I'll be unharmed."

"Watch your tone of voice, priest,” said Tlalocelot. “I'd just as soon see your heartless body roll down the temple steps."

"Then your lady would never learn the secret of time travel,” said the high priest snidely, a simper on his lips.

Tlalocelot grabbed the priest by his throat. “Take that tone of voice again, and it will be the last time your vocal cords function."

"Forgive me, my lord,” he grunted, gasping for air, “I meant no disrespect."

Still holding him by the throat, Tlalocelot said, “Keep in mind, priest, my lady may not want to leave, in which case, your knowledge is useless to us. Don't assume you know anything we don't already know, or wish to learn. Tell us everything you know, and Lady Quetzal will determine whether your information is worthy of your life."

The high priest's lips were taking on a blue tinge. Sweating profusely, he gasped, “Please, my lord, I beg you, please, let me breathe. I swear I'll tell you all I know."

"Leave out a detail, one insignificant element,” said Tlalocelot, “and I'll wring your neck like a wild turkey's."

"Yes,” Choc Mool gasped, his voice barely a whisper. “I swear."

Tlalocelot dropped him, and the priest crumpled, choking and gasping for air.

"Speak!” shouted Tlalocelot.

"I'll show you,” he said quickly, struggling to his feet. “This way."

"Guards,” ordered Tlalocelot, “follow us."

"No, my lord,” begged the gasping man. “No, this is only for your and your lady's eyes. Please, my lord,” he asked, cringing. Keiranne turned to her little white dog. “Girl, if this man makes one false move, attack him."

Pek barked and, growling, nipped the priest's ankle. Keiranne covertly tucked the camera in the throne's crevice. Tlalocelot motioned for the guards to maintain their posts, and the group followed the priest's lead to the temple.

Pek at her heels, Keiranne and Tlalocelot followed Chac Mool out of the compound, up the same stairway they had climbed the day before, entering the temple through the hidden, narrow passageway at the top. The priest pressed his body against one of the building blocks, and it gave way, opening to the narrower passage.

"This is the route to the sacred cave where the kings offer blood sacrifices,” said Tlalocelot. “This is nothing unknown to us. If you're trying to trick us..."

"No, my lord, I swear you'll not be disappointed. Please, follow me just a bit more,” begged the high priest, grabbing a burning torch.

Keiranne recalled it was from this location they had heard Nene's shrill voice penetrating the stone vault yesterday.

"I have watched him,” Nene's voice echoed in her mind, “followed him..."

So she's the spy. Keiranne tucked away that piece of information, hoping it would be of use later.

Chac Mool pressed his body against another of the building blocks, this time opening a doorway leading to a secret passage. The lit torch in his hands, the high priest led the way.

"This is still nothing new,” said Tlalocelot. “I recognize this passage. You're simply taking us to the sacred cave."

"You are correct, my lord,” said Chac Mool, “but there is a third passage beyond this."

Pek nipped the priest's heels, reminding him she was still in charge. The high priest yelped and cursed, threatening Pek with the torch.

Tlalocelot grabbed the lit torch from the man's hands and punched him. “Try something like that again,” he said, “and I'll set fire to your cape."

With those words, Tlalocelot took the lead, holding aloft the torch, while a subdued Chac Mool followed him with Pek close at his heels. Keiranne brought up the rear.

She realized the passageway was descending, feeling the slope underfoot as her feet stumbled on the loose gravel, and she nearly tripped. Instead of the air becoming danker, closer, she felt a draft. As they descended farther, she felt a breeze.

"Stop here,” said the high priest, pausing before more nondescript stone blocks, each looking like the rest. He reached above his head, wedged his fingers between nearly perfectly fitted blocks, and, grasping the stone, pulled with all his strength. The stone pivoted in the high priest's hands. A creaking sound gave way to a rush of air, and the stone block beneath them yawned wide.

Keiranne let loose a bloodcurdling scream and jumped back. Tlalocelot lost his footing and dropped the torch as he tried to hold on to the rock ledge with his fingertips, his body dangling over the dark chasm. Chac Mool, suspended above as he grasped the pivoting stone, slowly let it return to its original position as he jumped safely to the other side of the chasm. As he did so, the floor below started to re-close, threatening to sever Tlalocelot at his wrists.

Holding on with one hand, Tlalocelot threw the end of his cummerbund to Keiranne. For an instant, she stood motionless, frozen with terror and disbelief, but Pek grabbed it with her teeth. The sight brought Keiranne out of her stupor, and she sprang into action. Pulling with all their strength, the two of them began gradually inching him out of the rapidly closing hole. When they had drawn Tlalocelot far enough out for him to hoist himself the remaining distance, the floor slammed shut with a sickening thud, just missing him.

Incensed at how close Tlalocelot had come to falling to his death, Keiranne grabbed the torch and pushed it in the high priest's face, singeing his hair and forcing a high-pitched scream to his lips. As the high priest struggled to catch his breath, she held the torch to his cape; the beautifully threaded feathers smoked and then caught fire. The man howled, tore off his flaming cape, stomped out the flames, and started to run back the passageway.

"Sic him,” Keiranne called, and Pek tackled him by the ankle, forcing him onto a prone position. Keiranne approached the priest from behind and held the torch millimeters from his scalp, ready to set fire to the man's hair.

"Please, please,” Chac Mool screamed. “Please don't kill me, please, please."

His screams for mercy roused her from her rage. The stench of his singed hair burning in her nostrils, she waited for her wrath to subside. Still shaking, she was alarmed at what she had almost done, was still tempted to do. Never had she felt such intense fury. Never had she wanted to kill anyone—until she saw how callously he had nearly destroyed the only person she loved.

"Tlalocelot,” she gasped between gulped breaths, “are you all right?"

"I'm fine,” he said. “I just wanted to see the extent of your anger. Between you and Pek, I don't have anything to worry about."

Tying the priest's hands behind his back with his cummerbund, Tlalocelot said, “Lead the way, priest, while you still have eyes to see.” Tlalocelot took the torch from Keiranne's shaking hand and held it so close to the priest's face that the man turned away. “I ought to poach your eyes as they roll in their sockets."

Sweating profusely, the priest led them farther into the mouth of the cave. Except for the torch's flame, blackness surrounded them in their descent. Forward the priest led them, until suddenly he veered toward the left. Instinct told them to follow his footsteps, but Pek pushed past them on the left, forcing them into the rock wall on the right.

"What the...?” said Tlalocelot, stumbling.

As he held the torch aloft, they saw the reason for Pek's maneuver. The tunnel, which had been enclosed by stone walls, like a giant tube, suddenly gave way to a precipice. Had they veered an inch farther to the left, they would have fallen over the ledge into an inky grave. Once again Pek had helped them by shoving them to safety. A pebble kicked loose during the scramble finally hit a pool of water below, thirty seconds after it dropped.

"Good girl,” said Keiranne, scratching the dog's neck.

"You son of a bitch,” said Tlalocelot, grabbing the priest by his bound arms. “I ought to throw you over the side now and save us all a lot of trouble."

"Go ahead,” said Chac Mool, unusually brazen, “and you'll never find the slip in time.” Sooty and sweating, he pulled himself to his full height. “I'm the only one who can show you the fissure in time."

Tlalocelot yanked the priest by his tied wrists, pulling him forward, rather than letting him lead. Keiranne held the torch above them, dimly lighting their rocky path. Pek brought up the rear. The narrow path hugged the wall on the right, while the left side dropped abruptly into the abyss. Down they spiraled, feeling the temperature dropping until their sweaty bodies felt chilled and clammy.

After what seemed an hour, the path leveled out to a broad, flat surface. A burbling pool lapped their sandals on the left, and the roof of the cave seemed to close over their heads in what appeared to be a dead end.

"Is this the bottom of the cave?” Keiranne asked.

The priest grunted until Tlalocelot yanked his bound wrists, none too gently.

"Yes,” he finally hissed.

She held the torch aloft and, turning in a circle, saw no path, no chasm, and no tunnel, not even a fracture in the stone. Yet, the torch burned brightly, the flame flickering, as if blowing from a faint breeze.

"There must be a vent or a hidden exit,” she said.

Tlalocelot and Keiranne examined every inch of the grotto. With Pek blocking the path, Chac Mool was trapped, and Tlalocelot let go the cummerbund tether. At the sound of splashing steps, they turned and saw Pek pursuing the high priest into the black, rushing water.

Keiranne held the torch as high as the cave ceiling permitted, but the dark water seemed to absorb the light. Nothing was visible except Tlalocelot's shallow dive and breaststrokes, his arms momentarily reflecting glimmers from the torch's flame. About ten feet out, all objects appeared to be swallowed by the low, dark ceiling and rushing black water.

"Tlalocelot?” she called, listening. When she heard no response, she called, “Pek?"

The dog's yowl answered, followed by splashes that Keiranne was unsure were due to the rampant water, Pek, Tlalocelot, or Chac Mool.

"Tlalocelot?” she called again, this time the pitch higher and definitely frightened. “Tlalocelot, can you hear me?"

Only the raging water answered.

"Tlalocelot!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, but the water absorbed the sound, its gurgling reverberation mocking her in answer.

Holding the torch as high as she could, she began wading into the dark water. Swirling eddies engulfed her calves, pulling at her skirt's cotton hemline, sucking at her sandals. Slowly she inched forward, scuffing along the slippery rock bottom, afraid to lift her foot, sensing the water would tear away her sandal.

When she had shuffled out no more than three feet from the water's edge, the dim light hid its shoreline from her view. She saw only black, raging water in every direction, as far as her eyes could see. Icy water churned around her knees, its weight slowing her movements, pulling her with an increasing force deeper into the turbid pool. She realized that unless she lifted her feet, she could not progress, nor could she stand up long against the force of the water.

"Tlalocelot!” she screamed. “Pek!"

She thought she heard a faint woof and called again. This time it was unmistakable. It was Pek, but so distant, almost as if she were beneath Keiranne. The sound of the dog's bark apparently echoed and bounced off the cave's low, flat ceiling. She looked up and saw only a solid, stone roof inches above her head. Still, Keiranne inched her way farther out from shore. The deeper the water, the harder it was to maintain her footing, let alone shuffle forward against the water's pulling action.

She kept calling, but only the distant, nearly imperceptible sound of Pek's bark kept her plodding farther into the murky, rampant water. She looked back towards what she believed to be the shoreline. Nothing was visible, and she wondered if she had lost her sense of direction. Another faint bark, and she inched her way toward the sound, the water now surrounding her up to her breast. She felt a distinct undertow, sucking at her sandals and skirt. The temperature of the water was becoming unbearable.

I can't swim or even lift my feet. If I do, the undertow could make me lose my balance. If I fall into the water, the torch will go out, and we'll never find our way.

"Tlalocelot!” The icy water made her shiver uncontrollably. The cold temperature squeezed her lungs. She panted, trying to breathe, but the water assaulted her mouth and nose, choking her. Keiranne's hands shook so much the torchlight jumped over the swirling water's surface. As she progressed deeper yet, inching her way, the water splashed her face and sizzled as its droplets met the torch's flame.

"Tlalocelot!” For the first time it occurred to her that he might have drowned. A sob escaped her chattering lips. The water, now up to her chin, splattered into her mouth.

Pek's bark sounded almost as if she were barking under the water.

"Quetzal,” she imagined she heard Tlalocelot call, “let go."

"What?” She thought she was beginning to hallucinate.

"Let go!” His voice was unmistakable.

"I can't let go. If I lose the torch, it'll be pitch dark. We'll never find our way,” she sputtered, the water swirling around her chin and splashing her lips and nostrils.

"Trust me, let go,” he called.

"I can't. If I lift my feet, the undertow will suck me under,” she called, trying to stand on tiptoes to keep her mouth above water.

"The water will bring you to me."

"What?” Despite her fear, she kept inching closer to his voice. Suddenly her feet touched a stone obstruction just ahead of her. She tried to stand on tiptoe to see what was ahead, but the water was so high, she had no overview. “I feel something, a wall, some kind of barrier,” she sputtered, her lips numb from the cold.

"Ignore it,” he called. “Just let go! I promise you, you'll be safe!"

Ignore the barrier. Where had she heard that before? The cold was freezing her memory, but then she recalled. The words echoed Dorian's. Whether she meant to or not, by standing on tiptoe, she lost enough contact with her footing that the water swept her off her feet. Tumbling her through its icy swirls, it swept her up over the barricade and forced her down, down through a small opening, head over heels.

She didn't know how long she was under water, but it seemed interminable. Cold and deprived of oxygen, she nearly lost consciousness as she was propelled through the aperture. When she emerged, she felt like a fetus being expelled through a birth canal.

Choking and sputtering, gasping for breath, she dropped into his arms amidst a steady stream of cascading water. She wiped her dripping curls from her eyes, trying to see, but everything was black. Just short of panicking, she cried, “Tlalocelot?"

"You'd better hope so,” came back his voice in the dark, as he carried her away from the constant, icy shower.

Shivering, struggling to fill her contracted lungs with air, she felt miserable—and yet ecstatic. It was as if she had died and been reborn.

She hugged him, feeling his body heat, his strength. “I thought I'd lost you,” she said, her lips next to his. “I thought I'd never see you again.” She gripped him like life itself as their lips met, their souls reuniting once again. His fervor revived her.

"Nothing will ever part us again,” he said, carrying her close to his chest.

His words tore at her heart, both from their near loss and from their uncertain future. The idea of losing him, of leaving him, was too overwhelming. She forced herself to focus on the present.

"I lost the torch,” she finally gasped. “How are we going to find our way out?"

"Patience,” he said, gently setting her down. “Let your eyes get accustomed to this light level."

"What light level?” she asked, feeling herself being deposited onto a boulder, missing the warmth of his arms and chest. “It's pitch black in here."

"Is it?” His tone made her turn toward the sound of his voice. For an instant, Keiranne thought she saw something but determined it was just cells firing in her brain or her eyes adjusting to the inky blackness.

She felt him sit beside her, cradling her in his arms to warm her. Then she felt Pek nuzzle against her.

"Girl,” she said ruffling the dog's soggy coat. “If it weren't for your bark, I never would have found either of you."

"I kept calling constantly,” said Tlalocelot, “but it took Pek's bark to penetrate the water and second rock level."

"Thank God,” she said, reaching for him in the gloom. When he caught her outstretched hand, she asked, “How did you know I was reaching for you?"

"Simple,” he said, his smile coming through his voice, “I can see you."

"What?” None of this was making sense to her.

"Just be patient a moment. When your eyes adjust, you'll see quite a sight."

She held her hand in front of her face, waving it, testing whether she could see in the gloom. Gradually, she could make out a dim outline of her fingers.

"Where are we?” she asked, squinting, straining to see.

"I'm not sure, but I think we've slipped through the first level of the cave, into an underground river."

"Will it lead us out of here?” she asked, afraid to voice the alternative.

"It's flowing somewhere,” he said, with a shrug. “A steady stream spills over the same breach you fell through."

"So that's what you meant when you said to let go.” More than her vision was becoming clearer.

"Sometimes you have to let go to get the best of what life offers,” he said.

His words echoed in her subconscious, reminding her of another time she had heard something similar. But where? When?

Then specks of green light caught her eye. She blinked. Thinking aloud, she asked, “Am I seeing spots in front of my eyes?"

"Do those spots look like half-circles of green dots?” he asked, humor tingeing his words.

"Yes!” Looking toward the direction of his voice, she could just distinguish the outline of his face. “What is it?"

"Glowworms!"

"Glowworms?” she repeated in disbelief, reaching toward several crescents just inches away. As she leaned closer, she saw the half-circles were curled-up worms resembling caterpillars with luminescent green bands.

"Are your eyes adjusting?"

"Yes, I can see the glowworms’ pin-pricks of light and your profile, but not much else."

"In a moment, you'll begin to see a faint, pale light in the distance,” he said. “This stream appears to lead to it. My guess is this underground river surfaces."

"Like an artesian well,” she said, grasping the situation. “So we only have to follow this aquifer's shoreline to escape."

"As long as we follow its flow,” he warned.

"I wonder where it leads in the other direction?” she asked, curiosity piquing as fear subsided.

"Only part of the water comes from the level above,” he said. “The source of this aquifer seems to originate farther upstream on this level."

"Could it be springs?” she asked, thinking aloud. “Springs were always considered sacred. Temples were often built above them."

"What?"

"Sorry, I'm thinking historically. Do you know the origin of this temple?” she asked. “Do you know why this temple was built at this particular site?"

"It's been here so long no one remembers. This has always been a hallowed site,” he said, then added an afterthought. “It is believed this cave leads to Xibalba, the underworld."

"Xibalba, we call it hell. Oh, Chac Mool,” she said, suddenly remembering their nemesis. “He got away. Could he be hiding down here?"

"It's possible. Either that or he's already escaped from the cave. He's obviously been here before."

"Yeah, we should have known better than to follow him.” In a rush of emotion, she crushed her body against his, burying her head in his neck.

"We're just lucky we didn't drown finding this entrance to the aquifer,” he said, holding her tightly, as if protecting her against the currents of time.

An unnatural sound upstream caught their attention. Craning her neck, she asked, “What was that?"

Straining to hear, they both held their breath. Keiranne heard only the echo of the water falling and the beating of their hearts.

They heard the sound again, this time unmistakable. Then Pek barked, confirming their suspicions. The sound of metal on stone hammered against their ears.

"Chac Mool,” said Tlalocelot. “So do we follow this aquifer deeper into the earth to catch him or find our way out?"

"He said the secret to getting ba—to time travel is in this cave,” she said, revising her choice of words. After their narrow escape, she could not consider leaving Tlalocelot for the twenty-first century, yet knowing the route could prove invaluable.

"So do we go back or forward?” he asked, sensing her inner struggle.

"I vote we search him out. If he does know the secret, this may be our only chance to learn it, that is, if we can believe him.” Her eyes, now accustomed to the gloom, could see well enough to maneuver. In the dim twilight of the glowworms, they began inching their way silently upstream, towards the river's source.

A sharp strike, as from a hammer against stone, reached their ears. Pek's ears perked, but she padded silently alongside them. The pathway rose at a slight incline and wound to the right, like a clock spring. At one point the path narrowed to a small stone opening. To pass through, they had to wade in icy water up to Keiranne's hips and duck beneath the overhanging stone ceiling. Still the path spiraled upward.

The acrid stench of burning hair assaulted their nostrils. Finally, a glimmer of light shone ahead. As they turned the corner, they saw Chac Mool working by the light of a candle, the scorched sash beside him. Approaching silently, they saw he had burned off his bonds, singeing his wrists in the process.

Yellow metal globules were stacked along the walls of the small room. Gold nuggets, Keiranne realized. The walls glistened with hollow crystal growths, reflecting the one candle-watt glow several thousand times, creating the effect of a colossal chandelier. What looked like thick hoarfrost covered every square centimeter, every crevice of the walls, making the whole grotto appear like a sparkling, shimmering fairyland.

Clear water spouted, bubbled, and gurgled from a hundred fissures—the sacred springs. Keiranne nodded imperceptibly toward them as they hid in the shadows of the cavern, straining to see what Chac Mool was up to.

They heard the extraordinary sound again. From their vantage point, they could now see it was not a metal tool striking stone, but Chac Mool's hand hitting a serpentine rock projectile, that produced the sound of a hollow metal drum.

The vibrations seemed to grow in intensity with a piercing musicality to it. They watched him slap the rock projectile sharply three times, and the vibrations sounded like a tuning fork. They felt the tension in the air and felt the sound waves vibrating around them, through them, settling in their solar plexus. They saw what appeared to be a heat mirage, the air apparently melting before them. The vibration's pitch rose ever higher, and Pek starting howling. The sound startled Chac Mool. He looked up at them and smiled malevolently. Before they could blink, he was gone. Except for the vibration's diminishing echo, the grotto was silent.

"What the hell was that?” Keiranne asked.

They walked to where Chac Mool had disappeared. There was nothing. The candle still burned, the grotto flashing and shimmering in its light. She picked up the candle and peered in every direction.

"There's no other way out,” said Tlalocelot, voicing her thoughts. Staring at the rock projectile, he continued, “This must be how he pierces the veil of time."

They looked at each other warily. “Should we try it?” she asked.

"Are you so anxious to leave this time?” he parried.

Running into his arms, she kissed him, whispering, “No, it's enough that we know where, and hopefully how, to travel through time. Should the need ever arise."

As they held on to one another, she treasured the moment, feeling as if time had brought them together for some as yet unforeseen reason. What that was, Keiranne did not care. Glad to be in Tlalocelot's embrace, she thanked God they had found each other. They found a patch of white-powder sand and sat down, looking around the shimmering room in awed wonder.

"Have you ever seen such beauty?” asked Tlalocelot.

Keiranne answered his question with her lips, begging questions of her own. Entwined in each other's arms, she sensed the timelessness of the moment. The intensity of their kiss sparked a deeper passion, and they surrendered to their primordial needs.

The sand more yielding than a downy quilt, Tlalocelot eased Keiranne onto her back, this time untying her drawstring skirt and slipping it off her trim hips. But before he could pull her shimmy over her head, Keiranne turned onto her side, gently forcing Tlalocelot onto his back.

She leaned over him, her firm breasts swaying with each movement, her nipples hard and swollen as their tips brushed against him. She kissed and caressed his manhood, running her fingers through his pubic hairs, tickling him, teasing him, until his member stood proud and erect. Still wearing her wet, now transparent shimmy but nothing else, she lapped at his dark nipples, tormenting him with her body, pressing forward, ever closer, rubbing seductively against his manhood, until neither could stand the interminable wait.

Then she covered his body with hers, feeling him pierce her soul with a searing torch, feeling herself mold around him. Made malleable by the heat of his body's urgent demands, she engulfed him and was swept higher and higher into the rarified domain of delight, crying out as their souls met and joined on yet another plane.

In the pristine beauty of the crystal grotto, they made love tenderly, slowly, relishing the precious gifts of life and love. How or why were no longer words in their vocabulary. Purpose was no longer a question. They knew why they had been created and reunited.

When they were spent and lying in each other's arms, Keiranne removed her white onyx pendent. She placed it over Tlalocelot's head, its turquoise-beaded chain molding against his strong, muscular neck. He clasped the pendent, holding it against his heart. Then she caressed his chest until, her hand touching his solar plexus, she felt his heartbeat. They lay in each other's embrace, feeling their hearts beat as one.

Again the heat engulfed them. He lightly encircled her breast with his fingertips, and then his hands slid down her firm hips. His fingers searched for her essence and found a cache of creaminess between her athletic thighs.

She wove her fingers together and encircled her arms around his neck, pulling him closer until he hovered inches above her. He reached for her lips with his own, and, as their lips touched, static electricity coursed through their bodies. He levered himself onto her, his sex, hard and penetrating, channeling into her, plumbing her depths, and raising her to heights previously only imagined.

Exhausted, panting, hearts racing, they fell back into each other's arms, enveloped in the afterglow of their magical lovemaking. As the candle burned down, they clung to each other, not wanting the moment to end. They talked tentatively of the future. Swathed in unknowns, their only surety was their love. Eager to share more than just her body, Keiranne told Tlalocelot what she recalled of her previous life.

"Is anyone waiting for you in the other time?” he finally asked.

"Not anymore,” she said, taking a long, cleansing breath, “although I'd been betrothed until several weeks ago.” She felt his body stiffen against hers.

"What happened?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could.

She turned to watch his expression. “I'd like to say I knew we were going to meet, but, the truth is, I couldn't tolerate his manipulation anymore. He always had to be in charge, in control. Our relationship wasn't a partnership. It was a power struggle. He simply wouldn't allow me to be me."

"Quetzal, you're the most unique person I've ever known. To stifle that inimitable spirit would be an offense against the gods."

She grabbed his wrist tightly, silently communicating the solidarity she felt with him. Finally she asked, “And what of you, my love? Was there anyone before you met me?"

He shrugged. “Nene imagined there was, but, no. No one has seized my heart the way you have."

He lifted his wrist, bringing her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingertips. Both reserved private thoughts, wondering how their adventure in time would work out. Keiranne sighed.

As if reading her mind, Tlalocelot said, “Yes, it is time we started back."

"We don't even know for certain whether this aquifer rises to the surface or continues underground,” she said. Finding another candle, she added, “At least we can make faster time with the light from this candle."

Pek leading the way, they retraced their steps to the cascading water from the level above.

"Here's where we explore uncharted territory,” Tlalocelot said, nodding to the river's course. “In the darkness, I had seen a faint light ahead."

"We can't return the way we came,” she said, looking at the force of the rushing water and the small aperture, shaking her head. “We couldn't fight that water pressure. It's a miracle we survived the plunge."

"Unless we try Chac Mool's time travel, we have no choice but to continue along the river's path. Are you ready?” Tlalocelot asked

She put her hand in his, and they started following the river's current, keeping to the shoreline. Except for the glowworms, they saw no other sign of life in the cave. After they had walked a half-mile, Keiranne paused.

"Cover the candle's flame a moment, would you?” she asked. Tlalocelot turned around and hid the flame with his hand. “Yes,” she said gleefully, “I do see light ahead. Look!"

"It's faint, but it's there. I didn't imagine it. Maybe we don't need the candle anymore,” he said, ready to blow it out.

"Let's wait a bit,” she said, restraining his arm, “just to be sure."

Although the light appeared to be relatively close, even after what seemed another mile, it appeared no brighter than it had before. They continued to walk along the increasingly narrow shoreline until the river lapped only rock walls. Keiranne placed her foot in the water, feeling the current.

"It's swift,” she said, feeling a sandy bottom only an inch beneath the water's surface, “but not deep."

"At least, not yet,” he added, his expression relaying his apprehension.

"Let's try it single file,” she said. “If we stay as close to the wall as possible, hopefully the water will remain shallow until the passage widens, and we reach another shoreline."

Within the first few feet, it became obvious the channel was narrow and deep. Icy water rose to Keiranne's chest. If it weren't for Tlalocelot in front of her, the swift current would have swept her off her feet and carried her downstream. Pek dog-paddled alongside Keiranne in the deeper water.

The water suddenly rose over Keiranne's head, reaching to Tlalocelot's chin. As Keiranne felt her footing leave the river bottom, she grabbed hold of Pek with her left arm, and the dog acted as a buoyant life preserver, supporting her head above the racing water.

"Are you all right?” shouted Tlalocelot, over the increasing roar of the river.

"Yes,” she sputtered, “thanks to Pek, but the current is definitely picking up speed, and the water's rising quickly."

A white foam appeared on top of the water, gurgling in small eddies and whirlpools.

"I don't like the look of this,” he said.

"I don't, either, but what alternative do we have?"

"We could go back and try to climb through the aperture, back into the cave's upper level,” he suggested.

"No,” she said, shaking her head, “Pek wouldn't be able to climb up even if we could.” Spitting out a mouthful of water, she sputtered, “No, let's keep going. The light can't be much farther ahead."

Just then, Tlalocelot's head bobbed under the water, submerging his body and dousing the candle. Pek and Keiranne shot ahead, bobbing on the suddenly raging current.

Keiranne screamed as panic gripped her. “Tlalocelot!

Without the candlelight, the cave's gloom was nearly total, and she couldn't see him. Within moments, Pek and Keiranne had traveled several hundred feet, and still the speed of the current increased. Despite the gloom, Keiranne could see the cave's dark walls outlined against the water's white flume, and the speed at which they passed the walls frightened her.

"Tlalocelot!” she called again. Only the sound of the raging water roared in her ears.

Within two minutes’ time, Keiranne estimated she and Pek had traveled a half-mile downstream, and still the current swept them along. She tried to grab hold of the smooth and slippery cave walls to slow their progress and try to find Tlalocelot, but there were no edges to grip. She kept calling his name, but the water's roar drowned out any other sound.

Only the fast approaching light, which truly was getting brighter, sustained her hope. No optical illusion, the light ahead was real, but, as it began illuminating the channel, Keiranne's heart sank. The light of day shone from above. She could see the blue sky for a fraction of a second, but then it was past. The current was picking up speed and beginning a steep descent. Keiranne tried to keep hold of Pek, but the force of the water separated them.

She screamed as she saw the gaping drop-off, the water pounding over its edge, plummeting into darkness. Before she had time to take a deep breath, the current carried her over the edge, down, down. The drop seemed endless. Surrounded only by darkness, she could see nothing. Her only hope was to somehow miss the rocks she knew waited at the bottom of the falls.

She crashed into the pool of water with a bone-jarring crunch. Any remaining air in her lungs was knocked out. Her last memory was colliding against a series of boulders, each one bruising and propelling her to the next, as if she were a human pinball.

When she awoke, Pek was licking her face. Although Keiranne's body was still in the icy pool of water, her head was on a sandy shoreline. She raised an exhausted arm and ruffled Pek's soggy coat.

"Good girl,” she whispered. She hauled herself out of the water and fell asleep on the shore. Pek curled beside her, and the two huddled for warmth.

Hours later, Keiranne awoke and instantly knew where she was. The bruises and contusions left no question in her mind.

"Tlalocelot,” she called over and over until she was hoarse. Pek joined her, barking, but there was no answer. Too exhausted to move, Keiranne fell back asleep in the total darkness.

When she woke the next time, Keiranne saw a faint corona of light around a rock ledge in the water beneath her.

"That light. Pek,” she called, “come on, girl, this light has to come from the surface. This may be our way out. We have to dive down. Come on!"

Putting her arm around Pek's neck, Keiranne tried to coax her, but Pek continued to dog-paddle, intent only on keeping both their heads above water.

Finally, Keiranne dove alone. She could see the light roughly two feet below the surface, shining from under a rock ledge protrusion. She forced herself to push beneath the ledge and saw a well-lit cave. She went back for Pek.

"Come on, girl,” she coaxed. “This is our only way out.” Keiranne took off her tattered skirt, tied it around Pek's neck, and said, “Come on, girl, you have to trust me."

With that she climbed on top of Pek, using her weight to force the dog to dive. When they reached the rock ledge, she dismounted and half pulled, half pushed Pek under the ledge. Following right behind her, Keiranne propelled the dog, and they both surfaced in a dry cave, sunlight shining from a small opening nearby.

"We did it, girl!” They climbed out of the water and sat on the warm rocks. Hugging Pek, Keiranne undid her skirt from around the dog's neck. “All right,” she told Pek, removing her blouse and laying it with the skirt on the rocks to dry. “That's two of us. I have to believe Tlalocelot is alive and right behind us."

And then it occurred to her: pálido muerte, or pale death. This was a near-death experience, and I survived! What day is this? I wonder if—it must be my thirtieth birthday. A deep sigh escaped her. Then, like my mother before me, I died on my thirtieth birthday, but with one exception. I broke the cycle, the jinx. I survived!

After she caught her breath, she looked at the dimensions of the small opening. “We can squeeze through there,” she thought aloud. Peering through the hole, she saw the entrance to the tiny cave had been covered with brush and appeared to be in a depression. It's a sinkhole, she realized.

"Girl, wait here for me,” said Keiranne. “I have to go back in for Tlalocelot. Stay!"

With that, Keiranne lowered herself under the rock ledge, swam up through the pool's icy water, and waited on the shoreline for Tlalocelot, praying he was still alive. The constant rush of water over the falls had a lulling effect. Between the physical exertion and lack of food, it wasn't long before Keiranne dozed off.

She awoke to a pleasant sensation between her legs. Before she opened her eyes, she felt Tlalocelot caressing her, pleasing her. As her eyelids fluttered open, she smiled, sat up, threw her arms around him, and kissed him.

"It isn't often I find a naked woman waiting for me so receptively,” he said with his endearingly sweet smile.

"Tlalocelot! Thank God you're alive!"

"Very much so,” he said, lowering himself onto her.

They celebrated survival in the best of ways, in each other's embrace. Keiranne felt the transcendence of time and space sweep over her as Tlalocelot's hard muscles pressed into her, through her, mingling their bodies with the essence of their souls. In a ritual as old as existence, they renewed themselves in each other, rejoicing in life.

When spent, they dozed in each other's arms, delighting in their intimacy, savoring their spiritual closeness. When Keiranne drowsily opened her eyes, Tlalocelot was watching her, a gentle smile playing at his lips. He lifted her to a sitting position and pressed her against his chest, their hearts communing without words. Finally they shared their experiences riding the current.

"What happened to you after the current submerged you?” she asked.

"I was caught in an eddy, swirling round and round. The whirlpool kept spinning me faster and faster, disorienting me, nauseating me. It was difficult to keep my head above water, but the current finally won out, carrying me with it like a piece of driftwood."

Listening to him describe his experiences, Keiranne's eyes grew wider, watching him intently. “Pek and I must have gotten here an hour or two before you arrived. How long were you caught in that whirlpool?"

"It seemed like forever, but most probably was only several minutes,” he said. “What accounted for most of the time was my climb. As the current approached the light, I saw a ledge and grabbed for it. Luckily, I found a toehold, braced myself against the current, and gradually pulled my body out of the racing water. The sides were steep and slick from the water and algae, but I managed to find just enough tiny protrusions and toeholds to slowly ascend."

"Why didn't you climb out?” she asked.

"The opening was too small. I'm not sure even your thin body could have squeezed through. I had no choice but to drop into the current and let it carry me back to you."

"We seem to be doing a lot of that, dropping into the current of life and being led back to each other,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

He smiled and then asked, “Where's Pek?"

"She's safe,” said Keiranne, pointing to the escape route, “just on the other side of this rock ledge. See the light shining beneath?"

"No,” he said, perplexed.

"It must have gotten dark outside,” she said, smiling contentedly. “I've lost all track of time.” Taking him by the hand, she explained, “We have to dive down about two feet and then crawl beneath a foot-wide rock ledge. Then we'll come up in a small cave's pool that leads outside. Give me your hand, and take a deep breath."

With that, she dove in, Tlalocelot an arm's length away. When they surfaced, Pek was there to greet them with wet kisses.

"Pek,” Tlalocelot said, scratching her head, “it's good to see you, girl."

Dressing in her dry clothing, Keiranne asked, “Do you want to see the escape route?"

"After you."

Tying her skirt's drawstring, she said, “Follow me. Come on, girl!” Leading them out of the tiny cave's entrance, she pushed aside the brush and stood in the moonlight. “Do you know where we are?” she asked.

Tlalocelot noted the mountains in the distance. Then he looked at the constellations above. “Yes,” he said with a grin, “we're about a half-mile from our town.” Re-covering the entrance with the brush, he added, “I've played and hunted in this area all my life, but I had no idea this site led to an underground river."

Within ten minutes, the three of them climbed the steps to Tlalocelot's father's house. Balon met them at the main door.

"My lord,” said the servant, bowing low, “thank the gods you're safe!"

"What's happened?” asked Tlalocelot.

"My lord, I don't know where to begin,” said Balon. “The high priest is nowhere to be found.” Keiranne and Tlalocelot glanced at each other. “The nobles are enraged at Lord Coqui Xee's imprisonment and are demanding the king release him."

"How is my father?” asked Tlalocelot.

"Not well,” said Balon, shaking his head. “Your disappearance and the nobles’ anger have taken a great toll on him."

"Where is he?” Tlalocelot asked.

"In his quarters with Lady Black Wing, my lord,” said Balon.

Despite their disheveled appearance, Tlalocelot and Keiranne rushed to the king's chambers with Pek close at their heels. Balon hurried ahead to announce them.

"What happened?” asked Jaguar Paws when he met them at the door.

Tlalocelot summarized the events for his father and then turned to Balon. “Bring us food and pulque,” he said. Turning to his father, he added, “I don't remember how long it's been since we last ate. How long have we been gone?"

"It's been a day and a half,” said Jaguar Paws, concerned at his son's appearance. “I have pulque here,” he said, pouring a cup for each of them. “You look as if you could use it."

Keiranne sipped the drink cautiously and found the fermented agave like a cross between strong beer and tequila. “Would you have any limes?” she asked with a smile.

The king sliced a lime for her, using his obsidian knife. When she squeezed its juice into her pulque, Jaguar Paws and Tlalocelot followed suit. By the time Balon arrived with the food, the atmosphere had become relaxed, even festive.

"Where is Lady Black Wing?” asked Keiranne, wondering why the queen was not in attendance.

"I've seen little of my wife since Lord Coqui Xee was imprisoned. The nobles are currying her favor, hoping she can persuade me to release Lord Coqui Xee,” said Jaguar Paws.

Tlalocelot caught Keiranne's eye. “And where is my brother, Black Macaw?” asked Tlalocelot.

"He's been assisting his mother,” said Jaguar Paws.

Keiranne and Tlalocelot glanced at each other. “Perhaps we should share what we've learned with your father?” suggested Keiranne.

Tlalocelot nodded. “My lord, Chac Mool, Nene, Black Macaw,” he paused theatrically, “and Lady Black Wing have been plotting with the nobles to overthrow you and replace me with Black Macaw on the throne."

"What? But why?” asked the king.

"In a word, jealousy,” said Tlalocelot, who then summarized what they knew about the foursome. Tlalocelot did not divulge Lady Black Wing's private discussion with Chac Mool. When he finished, the king was silent, his face drawn and suddenly older. When he spoke, the words came slowly, painfully.

"You're sure Lady Black Wing is involved?” At Tlalocelot's grave nod, the king continued, “The day before yesterday, Lady Black Wing implicated Chac Mool, saying he had had your mother murdered after giving birth to you."

Again Keiranne and Tlalocelot glanced at each other. “What else did she tell you, my lord?” asked Tlalocelot.

"Only that Chac Mool had placed her in compromised circumstances and had made advances toward her,” said the king.

"Perhaps we should share all we've learned with your father?” suggested Keiranne, her eyebrow raised.

When Tlalocelot had finished summarizing Lady Black Wing's complicity, the king looked ashen. After Tlalocelot disclosed the secret of Black Macaw's father, the king closed his eyes as if that act could shut out more words.

"This is all my doing,” said the king finally. Gray whiskers punctuated the deepening lines around his jowls.

"How so?” asked Tlalocelot.

"This is painful,” started Jaguar Paws. “It's a secret I've harbored since you were in your mother's womb. I foolishly had an affair with Lady Black Wing while your mother was in confinement. Had I not done that, none of this would ever have happened. Many times have I regretted my hasty marriage to Lady Black Wing, but never more than at this moment.” He hung his head.

"What's past is past,” said Tlalocelot. “The thing to do now is deal with the circumstances at hand. We need to evaluate the size of our force. Are the guards loyal to you, my lord?"

"You mean loyal to us,” said Jaguar Paws, a wry smile at his lips. “Yes, I believe so."

Returning his father's smile, Tlalocelot continued. “Good, how many nobles would you say are behind us?"

With Pek asleep at their feet, they discussed logistics long into the night, planning, plotting, and calculating the odds.

When Lady Black Wing returned, they were deep in conversation. “Am I interrupting?” she asked, as the guards opened the royal quarters’ door for her. A hushed silence ensued.

"And where is our son, Black Macaw?” inquired the king.

His tone alerted the queen. Turning on heel, she said, “I'll bring him to you, my lord."

Signaling the guards, he said, “That won't be necessary."

As one guard nodded and left to fetch the prince, another closed the door, trapping the queen. “Please, be seated,” said Jaguar Paws.

"As my lord wishes,” she said demurely, sitting across from the others, her distance denoting her correct perception of the situation.

"And how are the nobles faring tonight?” inquired the king.

"They are well, my lord,” she replied warily.

The doors opened. “My lord,” said the guard, delivering Black Macaw.

Lady Black Wing stood up and crossed to Black Macaw. “My son, you look so pale,” she said, putting her palm to his cheek, “let us get you a cup of water."

Signaling the guard to close the door, Jaguar Paws said, “No need, there's water here.” His tone harsh, he added, “Now, be seated."

"As you wish,” said the queen, exchanging a glance with her son.

"Does either of you have anything to tell me?” asked Jaguar Paws.

Neither the queen nor Black Macaw spoke.

"I see,” he continued. “It has come to my attention that you plan to take control of the throne."

Keiranne and Tlalocelot glanced at each other. Quick to observe, Lady Black Wing said, “What kind of lies is this demon spreading, my lord? Do you take the word of a she-devil from Xibalba over that of your queen?” Standing up, she crossed to Keiranne. “How dare you come into my home and make these accusations, you demon?"

She raised her hand to slap Keiranne. Pek growled, ready to lunge, but Tlalocelot caught the woman's hand midair.

"Sit down,” said Tlalocelot through clenched teeth, “while you're still able."

"Take you hands off my mother,” shouted Black Macaw, rising and swinging at Tlalocelot.

Tlalocelot parried his punch with a right and knocked him out with a left.

"Guards,” called the king. When they entered, he continued, “Place Lady Black Wing and Lord Black Macaw under arrest. See that they can't escape, and fetch the priest, Caquiz."

At the crack of dawn, Caquiz, as newly appointed high priest, banged his feathered staff twice, and the audience began. Nobles and priests filled the court to capacity. The king and Tlalocelot sat upon their thrones. Keiranne stood behind Tlalocelot on the dais, with Pek at her feet.

The atmosphere was tense as supporters from both factions waited to hear the king's announcement. Never in their memories had they been summoned in their entirety to attend such a tribunal, nor at such an early hour. Party lines had been drawn the evening before, although numerous splinter groups, blocs, and divisions still remained undecided.

The question on everyone's lips was: Where is Chac Mool?

The next questions were: Where are Lady Black Wing and Lord Black Macaw? What's become of Lord Coqui Xee?

The room hummed with intrigue.

Caquiz banged his feathered staff twice again, and the buzz subsided. All eyes turned to Jaguar Paws. When Tlalocelot rose to address them instead of his father, an excited murmur swept the room.

"Distinguished nobles and priests, many disturbing rumors have reached our ears of dissension and sedition,” said Tlalocelot. “It distresses us that our loyal friends have not come to us with questions, but have instead conspired behind our backs."

He paused, surveying the assemblage, one by one, catching the eye of everyone courageous enough to meet his stare.

"It is said Chac Mool has cast aspersions on Lady Quetzal, calling her a demon and a she-devil sent here by the underworld gods of Xibalba, inspiring hatred with lies,” Tlalocelot continued.

"Two bitches on the royal dais,” whispered Lord Quecholli, to which those around him snickered.

"Do you wish to address the court, Lord Quecholli?” asked Tlalocelot. As the man shook his head no, Tlalocelot continued, “Then show respect for this royal audience."

One of the more daring lords hissed, “She has already captured Jaguar Paws’ and your souls for her own evil purposes. You're both under her gruesome spell. The fact that she stands on the royal dais is proof enough. Next the demon will capture our souls with her instrument of torture."

Unobserved, Keiranne extracted the camera from the throne's crevice. “Do you mean this?” she asked, holding the credit-card sized camera above her head.

The assemblage gasped. Keiranne opened the lens and focused on the man. He dropped to his knees.

"Forgive me, my lady,” he said, his perspiration demonstrating his sincerity. “I meant no disrespect."

"So that there is no question later as to your loyalty, I'll record your pledge,” she said, as she snapped a wide-angle picture.

Except for the man's moan, the room was silent.

"Is anyone here disloyal to Lord Tlalocelot or Lord Jaguar Paws?” she asked, her finger still touching the camera's button. “If so, please step forward."

Those at the front visibly retreated, stepping on the toes of those immediately behind them.

"Thank you for your allegiance,” she said, trying to stay in character. When her eyes met Tlalocelot's, she struggled to suppress a smile. She replaced the camera in her pocket.

"High priest,” said Tlalocelot, addressing Caquiz, “address the court."

The assemblage buzzed at Caquiz’ promotion. Where is Chac Mool?

"My lord,” Caquiz said, bowing low. He relished his new position of authority and willingly gave Lord Tlalocelot and Lord Jaguar Paws his loyalty.

"Repeat to the nobles and priests what you witnessed with your own eyes,” said Tlalocelot.

"I found Chac Mool alone in the temple with Lady Black Wing,” said Caquiz. No love was lost between him and the former high priest, Chac Mool, and he felt no compunction to protect his tormenter.

Again the assemblage buzzed. Where is Lady Black Wing?

"Continue,” said Tlalocelot.

"I happened to overhear Chac Mool and Lady Black Wing discussing Lord Black Macaw,” Caquiz said, pausing, realizing the impact of what he was about to say.

"Continue,” prompted Tlalocelot, losing patience.

"And Chac Mool admitted Lord Black Macaw is not the prince, but that he is his illegitimate son with Lady Black Wing,” said Caquiz.

The assemblage exploded. Treason! Where is Lady Black Wing? All eyes turned to the king, and again tongues wagged, the general chaos punctuated by snickers.

"Did Chac Mool say anything else?” said Tlalocelot, demanding silence from the assembly.

"He said that, well, he said, ‘Midwives can be bribed, and sleeping queens pose no match for muscular initiates,'” repeated Caquiz. “He admitted to murdering Lord Jaguar Paws’ first queen."

The assembly gasped and watched Jaguar Paws. The king remained stoic, his face frozen.

"Did Lady Black Wing say anything?” asked Tlalocelot.

The high priest nodded. “She said she had only one regret. That Tlalocelot's mother was smothered after labor, and not before,” said Caquiz.

"Was there anything else you wished to say?” asked Tlalocelot, taking his cue from his father and showing no emotion.

"Yes,” said Caquiz, “there is something I need to say. As we know, priests are not allowed to touch women. That he has demeaned his vows of the brotherhood is unpardonable."

"And why does that particularly offend you?” asked Tlalocelot. “This alleged affair with Lady Black Wing took place decades ago."

"Chac Mool said ... and I repeat verbatim,” stated Caquiz loudly, his revulsion evident in his expression, “'our son is about to rise to power. With Black Macaw as king, our futures are secure. As allies, if not parents, might we not reacquaint ourselves on friendlier terms?'” His lip curling in distaste, Caquiz paused before adding, “This is heresy."

"Where is Chac Mool?” asked Lord Quecholli.

The assemblage of lords and priests took up his cry: Where is Chac Mool?

Tlalocelot held up his hands for silence. “Chac Mool has disappeared,” he said, unwilling to share the details.

"Then where is Lady Black Wing?” demanded Lord Quecholli.

Again the assemblage of lords and priests repeated his question fifty times from fifty different lips.

Tlalocelot signaled the guard to fetch the queen. When she appeared moments later, Tlalocelot said, “My lady, the court has convened to judge whether or not Chac Mool is guilty of treason."

The assembly murmured at his fib, and it roused Lady Black Wing's suspicions.

Tlalocelot continued, “My lady, please repeat what you told my father."

Surveying the court, her eyes resting on Keiranne and then Tlalocelot, Lady Black Wing hesitated. She looked to the king, as if for a clue, but his eyes were blank and his face expressionless.

"My son,” she started, as if playing the maternal role, “of course it pains me to speak ill of anyone before such an esteemed group, particularly of one so distinguished as Chac Mool, but..."

She paused, as if trying to read the crowd.

"Please continue,” Tlalocelot commanded.

Lady Black Wing licked her lips and began, “It's unlike me to speak ill of anyone, but Chac Mool did place me in a compromised position."

"How so?” asked Tlalocelot.

"In two ways,” Lady Black Wing replied. “First, Chac Mool lured me to the temple on the pretext of an urgent matter. That would have been bad enough, but then Chac Mool implied I owe him my position as wife of Jaguar Paws."

"Could you explain such an implication?” Tlalocelot asked.

"Yes,” she said, seeming to draw confidence from the silence of the crowd, “he implied he had paid someone to smother Jaguar Paws’ first wife after giving birth to you, my son.” She paused and bestowed a forced kindly smile toward Tlalocelot. “You have always been like a son to me. Why, I'm the only mother you've ever known."

"Did Chac Mool say anything else?” Tlalocelot's eyes narrowed.

"No, no, I don't believe I recall Chac Mool saying anything else."

"Did Chac Mool say why he had paid someone to kill my mother?"

"I believe he was simply trying to curry my favor, make me feel indebted to him,” she said smoothly, adding, “for reasons of his own."

"I see,” said Tlalocelot, “and he had no other motives that you know of?"

"That I know of?” she repeated. “No."

"And Chac Mool said nothing else?"

"No,” Lady Black Wing said, “nothing."

"How dare...” Caquiz started to say, but Tlalocelot motioned him to be silent.

"Nothing, that is,” Lady Black Wing began, “except..."

"Except what, my lady?” Tlalocelot clenched his jaws so tightly, his lips seemed not to move.

"Except Chac Mool did make an outlandish remark, one so ridiculous I had forgotten it.” She simpered. “He, uh, he must have been drinking too much pulque and said the king's son was his own."

"The king's son,” repeated Tlalocelot. “Do you mean me?"

"Why, no,” she said with a high-pitched laugh, “Chac Mool tried to say Lord Black Macaw was his son."

"And is he?” asked Tlalocelot.

Her eyes glanced nervously at the king. “Certainly not!"

"Liar,” said Caquiz, scowling. “Harlot! I heard you. I saw you enticing Chac Mool in the temple! No woman dares touch the high priest. It is forbidden, and disgusting."

"Silence!” ordered the king, uttering his first words at the tribunal. Then he slumped back into his throne, his face drawn, a corner of his mouth twitching.

Going to his knees before him, Caquiz said, “No, my lord, forgive me, but I must say what needs to be said."

Lady Black Wing fainted. One of the guards helped her up and brought a low couch for her.

Caquiz stood and addressed the assemblage. “My lords, some of you were at Lord Coqui Xee's quarters. You heard Chac Mool's impassioned pleas for Lord Black Macaw to ascend the throne. Think! Why would a high priest sponsor such a rebellion if not for self gain?"

The nobles murmured their assent.

Treason, shouted someone.

Subversion, shouted another.

"Why?” Caquiz continued, “Because Chac Mool is not a man of the gods, but a blasphemer!” He pointed toward Lady Black Wing. “And she, she is despicable before men and gods!"

The priests began loudly condemning the queen, calling for her death.

"Enough!” Tlalocelot held up his hands for silence. When the chaos subsided, the king rose from the throne and stood before her.

"Lady Black Wing, what do you have to say for yourself?” the king asked.

Shaking, she held on to the couch for support as she stood to address the assembly. “My lord, I...” She dropped her head.

"Is Lord Black Macaw my son, or isn't he?” asked the king.

She struggled to control her trembling lips. “I'm unable to say."

"Because you do not know?” asked the king, his mouth twitching.

She lifted her eyes to the king as if imploring. However, he only repeated the question. “Is Lord Black Macaw my heir, or is he not?"

"No, my lord,” she whispered, “he is not."

The assemblage exploded, each man screaming his opinion. Kill her. Cut out her heart. Throw her down the temple's steps.

"Silence!” Tlalocelot grabbed Caquiz’ staff, banged it on the floor, and then hurled it across the room. Immediately, the chaos subsided as the men looked from Tlalocelot to the king.

"Banish her,” the king declared.

Turning to the captain of the guards, he added, “Take her two days’ journey and leave her in the desert. Tell no one of your destination or her location. Leave no food. No water."

"And what of Chac Mool's spawn, Lord Black Macaw? As long as he lives, he's dangerous,” advised Caquiz.

Tlahuahuanaliztli, shouted one of the priests.

Yes, the gladiatorial sacrifice, shouted others.

Kill him, chanted the same nobles, who, the previous night, had eagerly wished him king.

"Banish him, as well,” said Jaguar Paws. “Leave this evening under cover of darkness,” he ordered the captain of the guards.

"And Lord Coqui Xee,” shouted Lord Quecholli, “will he be released?"

The assemblage went silent, as if holding its collective breath.

"I'd advise against it, my lord,” whispered Caquiz.

"Chac Mool has disappeared. Black Macaw will be banished,” said the king, crossing to the dais and slumping into his throne. “Lord Coqui Xee can rub sticks together, but without the flame and the fuel, there is no fire. Release him."

As Keiranne, Pek, and Tlalocelot left the courtroom, the calendrical priests Dzahui and Cuetzpallin intercepted them, bowing.

"My lord, my lady,” said Cuetzpallin, “a thousand pardons for interrupting you at a time like this, but may we have a word?"

"Perhaps another time. As you can imagine, my father is distressed,” said Tlalocelot. “I must go to him now."

With a curt bow, he and Keiranne began walking quickly, trying to catch up with Jaguar Paws.

"My lord,” Dzahui called, “we're sympathetic to your father's grief, but we must speak with you about a matter of utmost urgency. Time."

Keiranne and Tlalocelot stopped and looked at each other.

"Did you say time?” Tlalocelot whirled around.

"Yes, my lord,” said Cuetzpallin, “blocks of time are repeating themselves. It's most disturbing. Lady Quetzal appeared three days ago, on one Ahau, the Sacred Day of Venus, which occurs only once every one hundred and four years. However, since that time the stars have inverted their positions in the heavens. It's as if time had stopped or reversed itself for a day."

"You said blocks of time, didn't you?” asked Keiranne.

"Yes, my lady."

"Then this isn't the first time this has occurred?” Keiranne murmured.

"No, my lady,” said Cuetzpallin, “I've seen this same phenomenon several times a month during the past years. Time is repeating itself, but randomly, not cyclically."

"As you may know, my lady, time is cyclical,” said Dzahui, “Each of the sacred calendar's twenty days, on each of its thirteen months, is associated with a different god and unique omens. It is upon this premise and precision of time that it's possible to predict future events and guide people's destinies."

"But if the calculations are imperfect, or if somehow time has arbitrarily changed,” said Cuetzpallin, “everyone and all future events will be affected, until the end of time, which, as you know, is the thirteenth baktun, twenty-eight centuries into the future."

"Twenty-eight centuries into the future,” she repeated, looking into Tlalocelot's eyes. “Why that's what Chac..."

"Perhaps this is the best time to discuss this, after all,” Tlalocelot interrupted.

Taking her hand in his, Tlalocelot retraced his steps toward the courtroom, Pek and the two calendrical priests following. When the guards had shut the doors and the five were alone, Dzahui eagerly turned to them.

"Recently, someone asked what difference it makes if a few days are lost or repeated over the course of millennia."

"Meticulous time-keeping is important to my people,” explained Tlalocelot to Keiranne. “You see, priests link the king's actions to historic and legendary events, so calendrical priests are careful to calculate the dates accurately."

"Exactly, my lord,” said Cuetzpallin, nodding emphatically. “Hunab Ku, the First Father, communicates his intent to us through the heavens’ motions to keep our people better aligned with his plans."

"Everything is written in the calendars,” said Dzahui. “It isn't magical. It's mathematical."

"Plural?” asked Keiranne. “There's more than one calendar?"

"There are two calendars,” said Tlalocelot, “the tzolkin, or two hundred sixty-day Sacred Round, which is connected to the path of Venus, and the haab, or three hundred sixty-five-day Vague Year."

"The Sacred Round is comprised of two cycles: thirteen and twenty,” said Cuetzpallin, drawing pictures with his hands, as if to distill a complex subject into its basic concepts. “There are thirteen months and twenty days."

"Sometimes these thirteen months are called frequencies or harmonic tones,” added Dzahui.

"Each of these months,” said Cuetzpallin, “has twenty days."

"Time is an endless circle,” said Tlalocelot, “like a serpent swallowing its tail."

"Or like a spiral,” said Dzahui, “where the cycles of thirteen and twenty meet and repeat to infinity. Do you see?"

"I think so,” she said, struggling to grasp the concept.

"By understanding and interpreting the twenty hieroglyphs and how they interact with the thirteen sacred tones,” said Dzahui, “the past can be symbolically recreated, the future may be foretold, and the divine may be perceived in the mundane."

"The haab has eighteen twenty-day months, instead of thirteen months like the tzolkin,” said Tlalocelot. “Those two calendars coincide about every fifty-two years."

"In addition to the eighteen twenty-day months called Uinal, there's another five-day period called Wayeb,” said Dzahui. “The combined days of the nineteen months total three hundred and sixty-five days."

Now it's making sense, she thought, associating that information to the western calendar.

"Hunab Ku communicates to us through galactic time, which affects solar time, which, in turn, influences our natural rhythms,” added Cuetzpallin.

Like circadian rhythms or internal body clocks.

"Cuetzpallin and I are part of a brotherhood of calendrical priests,” said Dzahui. “We monitor and calculate the movements of stars as they interact with time and our world."

"A priesthood of timekeepers,” she said, nodding.

"The goal of day keepers,” said Cuetzpallin, gesturing melodramatically with his hands, as if acting it out, “is to align and resonate the world with Hunab Ku through the sacred calendar."

"Yes,” said Dzahui, “but something is disrupting the sequence of time."

"Why do you come to me?” asked Tlalocelot, arms akimbo. “What do you want me to do about this disruption?"

"For the interim,” said Dzahui, with a polite bow, “it's enough that you're aware of this time disorder."

"But as time passes and these disruptions compound the errors,” said Cuetzpallin, his eyes widening until the whites showed, “these disturbances will affect each of us, for all time."

"You've mentioned the planet Venus several times,” Keiranne said. “What has Venus to do with your calendar?"

"In the beginning,” said Dzahui, “the morning star was but a visitor to our world, traveling here twice a year."

"A visitor,” Keiranne said, “do you mean a person?"

"No, it was a celestial entity with a long tail that swept across the heavens,” said Cuetzpallin.

"A long tail,” Keiranne repeated, “do you mean a comet?"

The priests nodded. “It was a fearful time,” said Cuetzpallin, almost whirling in his frenzy to explain. “Tidal waves flooded every coast. Volcanoes erupted. Lightning and meteorites struck our world almost continuously. Red dust, ashes, gravel, and poisonous gases, sometimes raining down as fire, covered the land. The sights were fearsome, and the sounds were deafening."

"Finally, the skies cleared,” said Dzahui, “and when they did, a new star shone in the heavens. Venus."

"It's no wonder Venus is so important,” Keiranne said, “after a birth so devastating."

"Yes,” added Cuetzpallin, in his excitement almost singing the words, “as you can see, hear, harmony is intrinsic to the cosmos’ natural order—time itself."

"So when you use the word harmony,” asked Keiranne, “are you referring to music?"

"It could definitely be characterized as music,” said Cuetzpallin.

"Although a better definition might be repetitive patterns at consecutive levels,” interjected Dzahui. “You can see harmony's recurring design in snail shells, pine cones, and, of course, the calendar. But now something is interfering with time, disrupting its sequence."

"Do you know what that is?” asked Keiranne, catching Tlalocelot's eye. Her conscience was needling her.

"No,” said Cuetzpallin, “but the cumulative effects of these disruptions, compounded over the centuries, will shape our world until the thirteenth baktun, the very end of time."

"Twenty-eight centuries into the future,” said Keiranne, adding under her breath, “the twenty-first century."

Chac Mool was back, and with force. A semi-automatic pistol tucked in his belt, he appeared just in front of the temple. Six bullets filled his sidearm's magazine, and he carried an arsenal of forty rounds in his backpack.

Lord Quecholli blinked. One moment he was alone, the next, Chac Mool was standing next to him. Only a strange refraction of light, wavy currents of air, like he had seen over the hot desert, seemed out of the ordinary.

"Where did you come from?” Lord Quecholli asked.

"Around the corner. Didn't you see me approach?” parried Chac Mool.

"Where have you been?” Lord Quecholli asked.

"Why do you ask?” said Chac Mool, countering. “What's been going on?"

"A lot!” Lord Quecholli filled him in on the morning's tribunal, Caquiz's promotion to high priest, Lord Coqui Xee's release, and the forthcoming banishment of Lady Black Wing and Lord Black Macaw.

Chac Mool raised his eyebrows. “Good thing I returned when I did."

"But it's all over,” said Lord Quecholli. “The king has squelched the movement.” The noble hesitated before adding, “He has disowned Lord Black Macaw since Lady Black Wing has admitted that, as your son, he is not the royal prince and not the rightful heir to the throne."

"Nonsense,” said Chac Mool. “Lady Black Wing has been tricked into saying such shameful words.” He paused, anticipating the noble's reaction. Like the dust, Quecholli followed the prevailing wind.

"But...” sputtered Lord Quecholli.

"Lady Black Wing must have been under great stress,” continued Chac Mool, gauging the man's response. “May the gods give her strength against the malevolent powers of this she-devil from Xibalba!"

"Yes,” repeated Lord Quecholli, raising his fist angrily, “against the she-devil from Xibalba!"

"Now, let's find Lord Coqui Xee,” said Chac Mool, patting his belt. “I have something he'll find most interesting."

Within the hour, the nobles were again assembled at Lord Coqui Xee's quarters.

"But I've already told you,” said Lord Quecholli, “the king has banished Lord Black Macaw."

"Even if we wanted to, we couldn't back him,” said Lord Coqui Xee, still bristling at his imprisonment.

"Bring the captain of the guards,” said Chac Mool, addressing his new initiate.

"And according to Lady Black Wing, Lord Black Macaw is your bastard,” said another nobleman, “not the heir to the throne."

"The she-devil must have used her evil tool against Lady Black Wing,” said Chac Mool, sadly shaking his head. “There is no other reason for the queen to speak these lies. No doubt Lady Black Wing's soul has been stolen."

"Like the she-devil stole ours,” said Lord Quecholli.

"We don't dare rise up against the king,” wailed another. “The she-devil will kill us."

Through the doorway, Chac Mool saw his former novitiate, Caquiz, talking with one of the calendrical priests in the courtyard. His eyes narrowed. Turning back to the nobles, he addressed their fears.

"You are wise to fear the she-devil's tool. Her images are powerful. Since she possesses your souls, you are correct, she has the power of life and death over you,” Chac Mool said.

"Then how can we resist Lady Quetzal, Tlalocelot, and the king?” asked Lord Coqui Xee.

"You can't,” said Chac Mool, pausing. “That is, you can't without my help, and this,” he said, pulling the semi-automatic pistol from his belt. The metal gleamed in the filtered light as he adjusted the pistol's silencer.

"What is it?” Lord Coqui Xee asked suspiciously.

"Watch,” said Chac Mool, pointing his weapon at Caquiz. He pulled the trigger, and Caquiz fell to the ground, a splattering of blood apparent on Cuetzpallin's white tunic.

Mayhem broke out in the courtyard. People screamed and ran in all directions. Cuetzpallin picked up Caquiz's lifeless body, and blood oozed onto his tunic. He screamed for help, and several other calendrical priests ran to his aid.

Inside Lord Coqui Xee's quarters, the nobles looked from one to the other, their eyes wide and frightened.

"What is that?” Lord Coqui Xee asked again, trying to control the tremble in his voice.

"This, my lords, is the most powerful weapon ever devised.” Reading the question in their eyes, he added, “More powerful even than the she-devil's tool."

"Is,” whispered Lord Quecholli, “is Caquiz dead?"

"What do you think?” said Chac Mool, nodding toward the courtyard.

Several priests were helping Cuetzpallin remove Caquiz's body. A crowd had gathered at the sight. Women were crying, men implored the heavens, and children stood wide-eyed, inching closer for a better look. The novitiate and captain of the guards stopped, inquired what had happened, crossed the courtyard, and then entered Lord Coqui Xee's quarters.

"Do you know anything about Caquiz's death?” the captain asked.

"What did they tell you outside?” countered Chac Mool.

"That the gods sent a silent thunderbolt to kill Caquiz,” replied the captain, the novitiate nodding in agreement.

"And is that what you believe?” asked Chac Mool, correctly appraising the captain.

He smiled unpleasantly. “I believe only what my coffers hold."

Chac Mool handed him a heavy pouch. “Look in here,” he said, “and you'll believe a great many things."

When the captain had checked the pouch's contents and given his approving nod, Chac Mool continued. “Where are you planning to take Lady Black Wing and the next king, Lord Black Macaw?"

When news of Caquiz's death reached the palace, Keiranne said, “Chac Mool is back.” “From the description, it sounds like Caquiz died from a gunshot wound."

"A what?” asked Tlalocelot.

After explaining the concept, she suggested seeing the body. “If we find a bullet, it's our proof that not only did Chac Mool return, but he has traveled through time and back again."

Tlalocelot ordered the guards to bring the body. “And fetch the captain of the guards,” he added.

Minutes later, two priests carried in Caquiz's body. Keiranne cringed when she saw Caquiz's bloodstained tunic. Despite her distaste, she inspected the body closer. Noting the bullet had entered through his chest, she anticipated seeing a gaping wound where it had exited through his back. None existed.

"The bullet must have lodged in him,” she whispered to Tlalocelot. “I need to look more closely."

"Leave us,” Tlalocelot told the priests. “And where is the captain of the guards?” he asked the attending guard.

"My lord, I'm sorry, but he is nowhere to be found."

"Keep looking. Bring him to us the moment you locate him. Leave us,” Tlalocelot commanded.

Keiranne was unsure where to begin. The idea of finding the bullet had seemed simple enough, but touching a cadaver was repulsive. She peered at the bullet's entry point, tried to determine its angle of entry, and with her finger traced along his tunic the most likely path for the bullet to have taken.

"Here, I think,” she said, pointing under his left arm.

They pulled the tunic over the body's shoulder and lifted the stiffening arm. An ugly purple welt protruded just below his pectoral muscles. She touched the welt, and, unlike skin, it felt solid.

"This is it,” she said. “Feel here."

"I feel something round and hard, about the size of a pebble,” Tlalocelot said. “Is that it?"

At her nod, he nicked the skin with his obsidian blade and extracted the bullet. They both stared at it in wonder. Neither had seen a spent, flattened bullet that had killed a man. Then Tlalocelot called the priests to take away the body.

"My lord,” said the guard, entering, “the captain has left with both prisoners."

Keiranne and Tlalocelot caught each other's eye. “Caquiz was right,” she said. “We should've listened to his advice."

"He's disobeying orders. He was told to wait until nightfall,” said Tlalocelot. “Do you know in which direction he took them?"

The man shook his head. “No, my lord."

"Find them,” said Tlalocelot. “Search in every direction. Don't return without the captain and the prisoners! And bring Lord Coqui Xee back for questioning."

"It's time we told Jaguar Paws,” Keiranne said.

At Tlalocelot's nod, they took the bullet to the king's quarters. As always, Pek followed along behind them.

When Keiranne and Tlalocelot had finished summarizing the concept of time travel and Chac Mool's return with a weapon from the future, and had shown the king the bullet, it was evening, nearly dusk. Only then did they realize they had missed dinner.

"Just let me freshen up,” Keiranne said, excusing herself, Pek at her heels. She wanted to wash before eating. Humming to herself, she heard Tlalocelot calling to Balon for their dinner, but, instead of the rushed steps, bobbed head, and the reply she expected, she heard only silence.

"That's odd,” muttered Keiranne, slowing her pace, her ears cocked.

"Guards,” she heard the king call.

When only silence met her ears, she did an abrupt about-face, hurrying back to Tlalocelot. Just before she turned the corner, she heard Chac Mool's voice.

"Perhaps I could help you, my lords,” he said.

Peeking around the stone column, she saw Chac Mool, wearing the high priest's red cape and ceremonial headdress. Lord Black Macaw, beside him, wore the king's cape and headdress.

"How dare you wear the king's attire?” Tlalocelot demanded.

"That's simple, my poor, bewitched son,” said Lady Black Wing with a simper. “He is the king."

"Guards,” said Black Macaw, “imprison them."

As two guards approached him, Tlalocelot pulled out his obsidian blade. He sliced one guard's arm and wounded the second in the stomach. At Black Macaw's motion, six more guards overpowered Tlalocelot and his father and forced them from the room.

"Where's the she-demon?” asked Nene.

"Find her and bring her here at once!” ordered Black Macaw.

For the sake of the noble entourage, Chac Mool added, “The king will begin his reign of sacrificial thanksgiving with the she-demon, the evil one who has bewitched Lords Tlalocelot and Jaguar Paws. As long as she remains alive, she holds your souls, your very lives within her power."

Keiranne grabbed Pek and hid in the alcove until the throng of guards and nobles leading Tlalocelot and the king passed. Backtracking through a rear exit, she and Pek escaped to the temple and hid in the secret passageway.

By morning, the guards had still not found Keiranne.

"Don't worry, my lord,” whispered Chac Mool as he opened the morning court. “I know where she is."

With Lady Black Wing sitting in the queen's throne and Nene standing behind the king's throne on the dais, Chac Mool banged his feathered staff twice, announcing the first audience of King Black Macaw.

"Bring in the prisoners,” commanded Black Macaw.

Immediately Tlalocelot and Jaguar Paws were led in and strong-armed into kneeling positions. The attending court of nobles jeered. Tlalocelot was breathing heavily. Jaguar Paws, gray stubble on his chin, looked disheveled and confused. A watery veil shrouded his eyes’ vacant stare.

"Do you plead guilty or innocent?” demanded Black Macaw.

"To what charge?” answered Tlalocelot, his eyes roving the gallery for a sign of Keiranne.

"Fraternizing with she-devils to bewitch the nobles and citizenry,” said Chac Mool, reveling in his newly restored position as high priest.

Tlalocelot hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully.

"Speak up,” ordered Black Macaw, “or can you only let the she-demon and her diabolical tool talk for you."

"Lady Quetzal was a gift from the gods."

"A she-devil sent from the underworld gods of Xibalba, you mean,” countered Chac Mool, speaking to the assemblage. “A she-devil that bewitched you, poisoned your father, and captured the souls of these good nobles,” he ended, bowing low to the gallery. “She is a menace."

"And do the women who took Lady Quetzal's potion after childbirth agree?” asked Tlalocelot.

"More black magic to steal their souls and the souls of their new-born sons,” said Chac Mool venomously, his eyes glancing at the all-male assemblage.

"Yes,” said Lady Black Wing, “I saw the she-devil give the poison to Jaguar Paws and Tlalocelot myself."

"That was medication,” said Jaguar Paws, rousing from his stupor. “It made my headache disappear."

"See!” said Chac Mool, triumphantly. “Jaguar Paws admits the she-devil made his headache disappear.” His eyes swept the room, resting on Tlalocelot. “Did it disappear into thin air the same way she magically appeared?"

"You should know,” said Tlalocelot dryly.

"Indeed I do know,” hooted Chac Mool. “I know the she-devil has bewitched both you and your crazed father, who has been rendered unable to continue his royal duties."

"She bewitched us all,” added Lady Black Wing, still bristling at her former humiliation. “It was the she-devil who made even me speak vile, treacherous lies in this very room. I graciously accepted her into our home, and how did the she-devil repay my hospitality? By stealing my husband's soul."

"And wasn't it the she-demon's idea to eliminate sacrifice to the gods?” demanded Chac Mool, addressing Tlalocelot.

"It was. It was!” confirmed Nene in her shrill voice. Coming out from behind the thrones, she added, “I heard Tlalocelot denounce the gods and swear to abolish sacrifice with my own ears. I'm sure it happened after the she-demon's arrival."

"You've always lived inside your imagination,” said Tlalocelot. “Nene, why do you persist in fantasy?"

"Let's see if it is fantasy,” said Black Macaw. “Brother, do you or do you not believe in sacrificing to the gods?"

"Of course I believe in sacrifice,” said Tlalocelot, struggling not to lose his temper. “Give the gods their due, but I see no need to enforce human sacrifice. The god Quetzalcoatl forbid blood sacrifice. Blood is not necessary to show our respect."

Chac Mool's eyes roved the gallery, seeming to read the nobles’ mood before he spoke. “You want an end to all blood offerings, even auto sacrifice?"

"Auto sacrifice is one thing,” said Tlalocelot, “but, as I stated, Quetzalcoatl himself forbid killing."

Pandemonium broke out in the court as the lords simultaneously voiced their concerns and outrage.

"Without human sacrifice,” shouted Chac Mool over the chaos, “everything these nobles own will pass into oblivion."

"And all this is the white she-devil's doing,” said Nene, rage burning in her eyes, her shrill voice penetrating the din like an obsidian blade slicing a potato.

"Sacrifice Tlalocelot,” shouted one of the nobles.

"Kill him,” shouted another noble, the call taken up by another and another, until it seemed the entire assembly was chanting for Tlalocelot's death.

Kill him, kill him.

Despite his eyes’ vacant stare, tears ran down the otherwise immobile face of Jaguar Paws. Unkempt and befuddled, he looked like a defeated old man, not a king.

Tlalocelot focused his eyes on Chac Mool. “Fine,” he shouted. “If you need a scapegoat for your self-serving rebellion, let it be me!"

The raucous chanting ceased. The room was so still and quiet that everyone clearly heard Chac Mool's large stomach growl.

"Grant my father and Lady Quetzal full pardon,” continued Tlalocelot, “and I'll admit that I, and I alone, am responsible for whatever charges you press."

"For fraternizing with she-devils to bewitch the nobles and citizenry,” said Chac Mool, reminding the assemblage of the charge

"Fine, grant my father and Lady Quetzal complete freedom,” said Tlalocelot, “and I'll confess whatever you like."

"So be it,” said Black Macaw smugly. “Now admit you alone are responsible."

Tlalocelot repeated the words verbatim.

"Release Lord Jaguar Paws,” said Black Macaw, motioning to the guards, “and prepare Tlalocelot for sacrifice."

A deafening roar filled the room as the nobles congratulated themselves on their success.

While the guards strong-armed Tlalocelot, Chac Mool shouted above the din.

"My lord,” said Chac Mool, addressing Black Macaw, “don't forget that in order to fraternize with a she-devil, a she-devil must exist."

"Speak plainly, priest,” said Black Macaw, annoyed that his royal word was already being questioned publicly.

"Forgive my impudence, my lord,” said Chac Mool with oily grace, “but you pardoned the she-devil for fraternization only. She is still guilty of being a she-demon from Xibalba."

Again the room erupted with hoots and whistles. Tlalocelot struggled to free himself from the guards’ hold.

"And as a she-demon, she merits being sacrificed,” continued Chac Mool.

"Kill her,” shouted a noble, the call taken up by another and another, until the entire gallery took up the mantra for Keiranne's death.

"No!” shouted Tlalocelot. “You agreed to release her."

"You are obviously under her spell yet,” said Chac Mool. Then pointing to Black Macaw, he added, “The king has said..."

"The king is my father,” shouted Tlalocelot. “None other."

"King Black Macaw,” continued Chac Mool, “has pardoned the she-demon for fraternizing with you, as agreed."

"The bitch,” hissed one noble, as more joined in with other pejoratives.

The high priest raised his hands and paused, letting the jeers and catcalls subside.

"However,” continued Chac Mool, “as sovereign, it is King Black Macaw's duty to protect his subjects from cavorting demons that capture souls for the evil gods of the underworld."

"Divine blood doesn't run through her veins. Kill the lowly slave,” commanded Black Macaw.

"She's no goddess. Make her an offering to the gods,” echoed Nene, eyes narrowing as she scrutinized Tlalocelot's face.

For the sake of the assembly, Chac Mool added, “King Black Macaw will begin his reign by sacrificing the she-demon. As long as she remains alive, she holds your souls, your very lives within her hands."

Again the gallery took up the chant. Kill her, kill her.

This time Chac Mool did not quiet them. Seeming to glory in his triumph, he simply watched as Tlalocelot was bullied from the room.

Keiranne and Pek hid deep within the temple's passage. Having no torch, she expected the passageway to be in total darkness, but she found the glowworms existed nearly to the temple's secret door. After her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she discovered a clear, bubbling spring nearby.

"All we need now is food,” she said to Pek, ruffling the dog's head affectionately.

Within minutes, Pek dropped something damp into her hands. Afraid it might be a mouse or bat, Keiranne dreaded having to feel it with her fingers to identify it. First she felt a stalk, and then she felt velvety membranes.

"A mushroom,” she said, smelling its earthy scent, wondering if it were edible or poisonous.

In answer, Pek began to eat.

"If you say so, girl,” said Keiranne, following suit. “Where did you find these?"

Pek turned and sniffed her way under an overhanging ledge, through a diminutive slit in the cave's wall. Both Pek and Keiranne had to struggle to squeeze through. It led to a narrow, damp room that curved into a U shape. As Keiranne followed Pek around the bend to the far end, she saw a pinprick of light. Under that tiny light grew hundreds of mushrooms.

"Girl, you're a genius!"

The two ate mushrooms until their stomachs were full. Only then did Keiranne explore the infinitesimal spot of light. It seemed to be coming from a fissure in the cave's wall. She tried to peer through it, but the opening was only a hairbreadth wide.

She put her finger in her mouth to dampen it and held it against the crack. “A breeze!” she told Pek. “This must lead outside. If it were only wider."

She ran her finger over the crack, noting it seemed to have fractured along a straight line. By tracing its edge with her finger, she sensed more than felt an outline.

A door?

She pressed her hands along its perimeters, remembering how Tlalocelot and Chac Mool had opened the secret entries. If it were a door, she hoped to discover its spring latch. After fifteen minutes of unproductive pressing and pushing at each point along the fracture's boundary, she was about to give up the search. She decided to sit down and rethink the options.

Turning too quickly in the enclosed space, her foot caught under a low, protruding, serpentine stone, and she tripped, stumbling against the stone wall. It gave beneath her weight. Light flooded through the yawning crack, seeming to shimmer, dance, and undulate before her eyes. Heat waves her mind told her, yet as she peered through the doorway's widening rift, she saw the ruins on her hotel's grounds, a tour group in the background descending from a minibus. High-pitched sounds, unrelated to the grinding of the stone door over serpentine rock, filled their ears. She gasped. Pek began barking.

Shaking her head to clear it, she jumped back, and the door slammed shut, immersing them once more in the cave's darkness and stillness. Keiranne sat down on the cool rock floor, her arm wound around Pek's neck, making sure they had not gotten separated by time.

"Girl, that was weird,” said Keiranne, voicing her thoughts. “Okay, we know how to get back to the twenty-first century. What we don't know is how we're going to get Tlalocelot back with us."

Muffled voices resounded in the cave. At first Keiranne thought the rift had not closed completely and perhaps she was hearing the twenty-first century tour group. But the sound echoed from behind them, from the cave's passageway, not from beyond the door.

She held Pek close, hoping no one had heard her, hoping no one would discover the hidden alcove. The voices came closer. Finally, she could make out Chac Mool's voice.

"She's here,” said the high priest. “I know she's here. I can smell her mangy dog. You three guards, continue to the end of the tunnel,” he ordered. “You three, backtrack to the entrance. Put your torches into every nook and cranny. Root her out."

For an hour, Keiranne and Pek heard the muffled voices and footsteps echo from the passageway. She held her breath when the sounds came closer. Once they saw a slight reflection of light, as if one of the guards had put his torch close to the overhanging ledge, near the small entrance to their alcove. Keiranne drew Pek closer and silently prayed. But the light disappeared, and eventually the voices subsided until there was silence.

Still Keiranne did not move a muscle or make a sound. She knew the diabolical bent of Chac Mool's mind, believing him capable of anything. Waiting silently for them in the dark would be a simple task for him. Finding them would be a jubilant prelude to the atrocities he had planned for them.

She used the time to plan how they might release Tlalocelot from prison. First they would have to find where he was being held. As unfamiliar as she was with the city, she realized her disadvantage. She would have to find an ally who knew the terrain.

Too wary to venture from their alcove and too cramped in the tiny space to move, Keiranne dozed, slipping in and out of consciousness. Her mind slid between time zones and centuries in unsettling dreams that verged on nightmares.

When she surmised several hours had passed, she and Pek stretched noiselessly. Although she had no watch, the crack of light no longer shone through the rift's doorway, and she presumed darkness had fallen. They silently ate their fill of mushrooms and decided to brave a peek through their tiny exit to the cave's main corridor.

Just as they were about to turn the corner of their U-shaped alcove, they heard a noise. Footsteps sounded from the corridor. Although the sound was no louder than a cat walking on padded paws, in the stillness of the cave, it was clearly audible. Keiranne froze against the alcove's walls, her hand lightly resting on Pek's muzzle.

She heard a match being struck and saw a slight reflection of its flame. Chac Mool! In a moment he had lit his torch, its stronger light casting shadows into their alcove.

She heard him scratching at the small entryway, poking the torch through, most likely hoping to glimpse a clue as to their whereabouts. Keiranne knew his obese frame could never squeeze through the diminutive slit, but his suspicions were obviously aroused. She held her breath, praying Pek would neither pant nor move.

It was a waiting game. Keiranne had only time on her side. Time. She knew they were trapped. Even if Chac Mool left the cave, he would undoubtedly post guards at its entrance into the temple. Finally, she knew what she had to do.

The three of them waited for what seemed an interminable time to Keiranne. Finally, Chac Mool appeared to give up. She heard the retreating footsteps and saw the diminished reflection from his torch grow dimmer and dimmer until once again she and Pek were engulfed by the dark.

Now that Chac Mool could not hear, she felt her way to the rift's doorway, pressed her foot against the low, protruding stone, and pushed against the stone wall. Like before, it gave beneath her weight. Instead of streaming sunlight, dim starlight flowed through the yawning crack, but it began its familiar undulation. Again, as she peered through the doorway's widening rift, she saw the ruins on her hotel's grounds. High-pitched sounds filled their ears, and Pek howled painfully.

Keiranne knew she could not leave Pek behind. Chac Mool would kill her out of spite. She put her arm around the dog's neck, half pushing, half dragging, and made sure they slipped into the present time together.

Once they had passed through the rift, they found themselves in the excavated pit of the hotel's ruins. As they climbed out and walked toward the hotel's entrance, Keiranne wondered how disheveled she looked. Thank God it's dark, and they can't see any details.

"Pek, wait here a minute. They might not allow pets, and I don't want them to see you.” Keiranne hid Pek behind the wall of bougainvillea and walked as nonchalantly as possible toward the hotel desk.

"Good evening,” she said, hoping her twenty-eight-century jaunt was not detectable from her appearance.

What day is this? Not knowing how much time had passed on this plane, she prayed her room was still available ... or that it was even the same year.

"Good evening,” said the clerk, closely observing her huipilli.

"I seem to have misplaced my key,” said Keiranne with a self-conscious smile. “Would you have a spare for room 203?"

"Certainly, Ms. West,” he said, checking his register. “Your friend missed you at dinner."

Dinner? Then only a few hours must have passed here. But what friend?

"I ran a bit late,” she said, wondering why he kept regarding her outfit.

"Here's your key,” he said, “and a note."

"Thank you.” She took both, wondering who would have left her a note. As she started to turn away, the clerk called.

"That's a very unusual dress,” he said. “Did you get it here in Teotihuacán?"

"Why, yes, actually, I did,” she said. “Why do you ask?"

"Because the man who left the note didn't know your name, but he described your dress to a T, and he said to be sure to call him at that number."

She opened the note and saw a local phone number scrawled across it. “Did the man leave his name?"

"Charles."

"No last name?” she asked.

The man shrugged his shoulders. “Just Charles."

"Thanks,” she said, adding, “and could room service send up two hamburgers and two bottles of water?"

"Sure thing. Want anything on that? Cheese, onions, sautéed mushrooms?"

Keiranne laughed. “Definitely not mushrooms! Just plain is fine, thanks."

She retrieved Pek and snuck her into her room before anyone saw them. When room service delivered the food, Keiranne whispered to Pek, “Wait in the bathroom, and don't bark.” Only after she had signed for the food and double-bolted the door did she call Pek.

"Dinner, girl,” she said, unwrapping the first hamburger, breaking it into pieces, and putting it in a container for Pek. She found another container for Pek's water, and the two of them hungrily ate their dinner.

Now that she and Pek were safe, Keiranne worried how she would get back to help Tlalocelot. The tears smarted, but she blinked them back. I'll find a way. I've got to!

She decided to shower while she thought it through. The soap and hot water felt good, helping to relieve the stiff muscles and calm her mind. She wondered if the ruins on the hotel property were a two-way passage through time, or only a one-way escape from the past.

Or should she stick to her original plan of returning to the museum and jumping into the display again?

Sneaking Pek into the museum would be a challenge.

And how do I know I'll transport back to the same date? And what if there's only a certain season or millisecond of time to travel through this time rift? And what if I'm too late to help Tlalocelot?

The task was overwhelming. The odds of her returning to exactly the same era, place, and precise moment were astronomical. This time she did not try to control the tears, letting them mingle with the warm shower.

As she was drying off, the phone rang.

Who knows I'm here? Tying a towel around her, she answered the phone hesitantly.

"Your ride is here, Ms. West,” said the hotel clerk.

"My what? Are you sure you have the right room?"

"Yes, room 203, Keiranne West, right? Dr. Charles Mull is waiting for you at the reception area."

"Dr. Charles Mull.” she asked, rolling the name over her tongue, “the same Charles who left the note?"

"Yes, ma'am, I believe so."

Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, she decided to meet the man. “Tell him I'll be down in fifteen minutes."

Keiranne took Pek around the back way, depositing her behind the bougainvillea again. She used the opportunity to peek at the only person sitting in the reception area. Nope, never saw him before. Gathering her courage, she walked up to the man.

"Dr. Mull?” she asked tentatively.

The man stood and tipped his hat. “No, ma'am. I'm Dr. Mull's driver. If you'll follow me, Dr. Mull is waiting for you."

"I don't think that would be a wise move,” she said, involuntarily taking a step back.

"Dr. Mull said you'd say that.” The corner of his mouth rose in a smile. “Actually, Dr. Mull is waiting at the restaurant next door. If you'd prefer to walk, I'll show you the way."

She decided a public place within walking distance would be safe. Then she remembered Pek. “Does it have tables outside?"

"Dr. Mull said you'd ask that, too.” This time he smiled widely. “Yes, he's waiting for you as we speak at a courtyard table."

"After you.” As Keiranne followed the man outside, she whistled, and Pek fell into step beside her.

Good to his word, the driver escorted her next door and into the restaurant's courtyard. The hostess escorted her and Pek to the table.

"Dr. Mull, your guest has arrived,” the hostess said.

The man, who had been reading the oversized menu, looked up. “Thank you,” he said to the retreating hostess. “How nice of you to join me, Ms. West. Or should I say, Lady Quetzal?"

Keiranne would have screamed had it not been a public place. Sitting there, in a sports jacket, silk shirt, and well-cut trousers, sat Chac Mool.

"You bastard,’ she said, turning on heel, nearly tripping over Pek.

"I wouldn't be so hasty if I were you,” he said, swinging the white onyx pendent by its turquoise-beaded chain.

"Where did you get that?” asked Keiranne, her lips white with anger.

"Where do you think?” he asked smugly, jumping to his feet, politely pulling out the chair for her. “From our mutual friend, Tlalocelot."

She stood rooted to the spot, debating whether to leave or stay.

"Oh, do be seated. You only live next door. You can leave at any time,” he said. “Besides, how else will you learn about Tlalocelot?"

Glaring, she sat on the proffered chair. He slid the chair in for her, playing the role of gentleman. Pek sat at her feet, touching her ankles, giving moral support.

"Where did you come up with the phony name, Doctor Charles Mull?” she asked, sarcastically emphasizing Doctor.

"That's my name,” he said innocently.

"Then what about Chac Mool? I suppose that's your name, too?"

"Actually, my friends don't call me doctor or Charles Mull,” he said, pausing dramatically. “They call me Chuck, Chuck Mull. I suppose something gets lost in the translation, but Chac Mool is close enough."

She shook her head, exasperated with him. “What kind of sick game are you playing?"

"Game?” His eye took on a serious glower. “I'm saving lives, by the thousands if you believe what you read."

"What kind of nonsense are you babbling now?"

"Can I get you anything from the bar?” asked their mustachioed waiter, sporting a well-worn tuxedo. He placed homemade tortilla chips and spicy salsa on the table, lit the candle in the hurricane lamp, set small plates in front of each, and opened Keiranne's napkin for her with a flourish.

"You must try their prickly-rita margaritas,” said Chuck Mull. “Made from the cactus fruit, it's the house specialty and infinitely better than pulque.” Without waiting for her answer, he said to the waiter, “Two jumbo prickly-ritas, on the rocks, no salt."

The waiter nodded with a polite smile and sauntered off while Keiranne fumed.

"Never presume to order for me, or to order me about, for that matter,” she said.

Chuck Mull's behavior reminded her less of the heavy-handed high priest, Chac Mool's, than of her ex-fiancé, Sam's.

Control freaks, both of them.

Her thoughts returned to Tlalocelot, the comparison leaving her feeling bereft, empty. Just thinking of him tore at her heart, especially when the man responsible for his imprisonment sat across the table from her.

"You never answered what kind of sick game you were playing,” she said.

"But I did. Don't you read Time Magazine?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow. “Don't tell me you haven't heard of the legendary oncologist, Dr. Charles Mull, who has single-handedly discovered the cure for cancer?"

Keiranne stopped to think. “Now that you mention it, I have,” she said, her eyes widening. “Was that you on the cover last month?"

"One and the same,” he said with a pompous leer.

"Who did you kill, excuse me, sacrifice to accomplish that?” His conceit irked her.

"What an insightful question,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

The waiter set the margaritas in front of them, giving Chuck Mull time to phrase his answer.

"To your health,” he said, raising his glass.

Not touching her drink, she repeated, “Who did you kill to gain your reputation?"

Sizing her up, he said, “Beauty and brains. A potent combination in a woman."

"Quit skirting the issue."

"You'll make such a formidable consort,” he said, leaning forward, leering at her.

"Answer me!"

"Are you so sure you want to hear?"

"Answer me, or I'm leaving,” she said, pushing back her chair.

"Those human sacrifices to the gods,” he said, “are alive in my lab."

"What kind of insanity are you talking about?"

He eyes lit up as he began to share his secret. “Taheebo is the common name for the Red Lapacho tree's inner bark. For millennia it's been used to fight cancer."

"So?"

"So, quite by accident, I discovered the people of Jaguar Paws’ kingdom have ingested so much of this taheebo through their diet that they've acquired immunity to cancer,” he said. “Their blood contains antibodies that work miraculous cures for cancer patients."

Not wanting to jump to a conclusion, she thought it best to ask. “Are you telling me you harvest their blood somehow?"

"Very astute,” he replied. “You're not far from the mark. Actually, each unit of blood, technically called whole blood, is separated into various components: red blood cells, plasma, platelets, and cryoprecipitated AHF, otherwise known as the antihemophilic factor. Each component is then transfused into a different individual, each with different needs."

"I don't need a medical report,” she said, losing patience. “What does this have to do with cancer?"

"Everything,” he said. “Five years ago—the most recent comprehensive statistics are five years old—almost twenty-nine million units of blood components were used in transfusions. In addition to trauma victims from accidents and burns needing blood, people receiving organ transplants, surgery, and treatment for other diseases, such as sickle cell disease and thalassemia, leukemia and cancer victims require enormous amounts of blood. An average of thirty-eight thousand units of red blood cells are needed daily, and, as I stated, those stats are five years old. With an aging population and medical advances, the demand for blood is spiraling."

She took a deep breath, trying one last time to get a straight answer. “What does this have to do with cancer and the people of Jaguar Paws’ kingdom?"

"Blood donors,” he said, synopsizing. “Our society needs more blood than present donors can provide. Since the people of Jaguar Paws’ time are immune to cancer, transfusing their blood into cancer patients transfers that immunity."

"Is donor the correct term?” she asked cynically.

"Loosely applied,” he said.

"So you're telling me people from Jaguar Paws’ time are living in this age, willingly donating pints of blood?” she asked.

"You could say that."

"Willingly,” she stressed.

"They ... reside ... in the lab and, well, let's just say they don't cause any problems."

"You used the word sacrifice earlier,” she said. “Now you're saying these people reside in your lab. Are they dead or alive?"

"In which era?” he countered with a sinister smile.

"Let's keep this simple. Are they alive in this time?” she asked. “Yes or no?"

"No."

"Are they alive in the old era?” she asked. “Yes or no?"

"Are you speaking historically or in time-travel terms?"

His snide question irked her. “If we traveled back tonight, would they be alive? Yes or no?"

"No."

She threw up her hands. “Ok, I'm thoroughly confused. If you want to play games, I'm leaving. If you want to tell me what's going on, explain it."

"To repeat myself, are you so sure you want to hear?” His eyes lit up with a cold intensity that grabbed her heart.

She swallowed hard and nodded, undetectably curling her ankles around Pek for moral support.

"Why do you think Chac Mool is so adamant about human sacrifice?"

She shook her head and picked up the margarita, suddenly feeling the need for a stiff drink.

"The more human sacrifices in the old era, the more blood donors today.” He watched her take a drink before he continued. “After the people are sacrificed, they're presumed dead, not missing. What I do, actually, what Chac Mool does, is transport the people to another time."

"So first you kill them, and then you return to an earlier moment to transport them, so they're still alive. Am I hearing you right?” she asked. At his nod, she added, “You ghoul!"

He shrugged. “The cost of doing business,” he said.

"What do you mean doing business?"

"These people are milked, like cows,” he said nonchalantly. They're fed and kept in stanchions, so their caloric intake and expenses are minimal, and their daily production is optimum."

"Production? But you're talking blood, not milk."

He nodded.

"So you're bleeding them dry? Slowly killing them?” she asked. “You sick bastard! You're crazy!"

She hit a nerve. Very coolly, he grabbed her hand holding the margarita and squeezed until she let go of the glass for fear of it splintering in her hand.

"Never say that again, do you hear me?” he said, still clenching her hand, his fat, florid cheeks, bright red.

"Take your hand off me, or I'll have you arrested,” she said between clenched teeth.

In control of himself again, he smiled, releasing her hand with such force that he knocked over her margarita. The fuchsia drink spilled across the white linen tablecloth, looking like a pool of blood.

He motioned to the waiter, who hurried over with a fresh white tablecloth. The mess was removed before the next table even realized the mishap.

"Two more of the same,” he said to the waiter, ordering for her. His eyes coldly watched hers, aware of her disdain.

"Don't presume,” she warned, despising his heavy-handed manipulation.

"Did you know the tuna, the fruit of the prickly-pear cactus used in these drinks, is considered symbolic of the heart in Tlalocelot's era?” he asked. When she showed no response, he continued, “The color is of blood, and the shape is vaguely reminiscent of the heart, wouldn't you agree?"

"Enough of this bullshit,” she said. “Tell me what's happened to Tlalocelot."

"It's not complicated, my dear,” he said. “Play nice, and Tlalocelot lives. Don't, and he dies, not once, but daily until his body is unable to regenerate blood cells at a competitive price."

"You disgusting fiend!” she said, her lips curling in revulsion.

"Play very nice, and Tlalocelot can be king in his era. And you can be his queen, living happily ever after."

"What do you mean?” She squinted her eyes, trying to understand.

"Now that I have your attention, I'll explain,” he said. “You may have noticed that very little time is lost here, in this era, by traveling back to the other era."

She nodded. “It seemed I was only gone several hours."

"Right,” he said, “less than an hour is lost in this time for each day's time spent on the other plane."

"Why is that?” she asked.

"I'm an oncologist, not a physicist,” he said, shaking his head, “so I'm not completely sure, but, as near as I can tell, there's a space-time differential."

"Which means?"

"Time seems to be speeding up,” he said. “We know the tilt of the earth on its axis has changed over time. Apparently time itself is increasing in velocity."

"You mean the time flow has been altered?” she asked.

"It's so good to be able to discuss my theories with someone” he said, with a nearly undetectable sigh. “Exactly."

"How can that be?"

"Again, I'm no physicist, but it seems to point to a magnetic pole shift. We know polar wander is accelerating at a rate of nearly six years every three hundred ninety-four years or four hundred tuns. Over the course of a millennium, the inner core spins an extra time."

"So that extra spin could be what generates the magnetic field, right?” she asked.

"Right,” he said. “It seems there's an interaction between magnetic fields that's caused by fluids moving in the earth's outer core of molten iron and the earth's inner, solid-iron core."

"So you're saying earth's liquid center is flowing over earth's solid, inner core, and this is causing the poles to move?” she asked.

"More precisely, the magnetic north has been moving over time, although the physical pole of the planet also wobbles."

"So the core spins faster than either the liquid surrounding it or the earth's crust,” she said, “which causes the time differential to accelerate over the centuries."

"Yes, my dear,” he said. Leaning toward her, he licked his lips and added, “You're a consort fit for a king."

Pek sensed the undercurrent and growled. Keiranne sat up straight and appraised him through narrowed eyes.

"Despite your long-winded scientific lecture,” she said, “you still haven't explained how I could be with Tlalocelot in his era."

"Time,” he said. “You can live a full live in the other era, live with Tlalocelot until he grows old and dies, yet live a parallel life on this plane, only losing a little more than two weeks per year."

"But if you'll recall,” she said dryly, “Tlalocelot was captured, and I don't know whether he's still alive."

"Even if he weren't, my dear, the solution would be to return to that era a day earlier. That way, the entire timeline, as well as its series of events, would change."

"Basically you're saying I could live simultaneously on both planes,” she said. “That I could have my cake and eat it, too."

"Exactly."

"And just what would I have to do to warrant that?” she asked with a sarcastic moue.

"You can be Tlalocelot's queen, living happily into his old age,” he said, “by playing very nice to me."

"You're revolting!"

"And you're being offered the opportunity of a lifetime. Several, actually,” he said smiling unpleasantly. “Notice I said Tlalocelot would age, but you would retain your youthful beauty throughout his lifetime, and throughout many other lifetimes on that plane, if you so chose."

"So you're offering me Tlalocelot's life, a full lifetime with him during that era, a second full life here on earth, and relatively eternal youth on the other plane."

Smiling, he said, “Substantial benefits, wouldn't you agree?"

"And playing nice would entail just what precisely?” she asked.

"Becoming the wife of the world's foremost oncologist, living a life of ease.” He smiled magnanimously.

"And what about the human herds you bleed to death?” she asked. “Am I supposed to let them suffer and forget about them?"

"They'd be dead, anyway,” he said. “Besides, they're sedated. They're unaware of what's happening to them."

"And what if I went to the authorities?” she asked.

"Go ahead,” he said. “Nothing would happen. For one thing, this human herd, as you put it, exists in another time. The authorities would never find any such ludicrous laboratory since none exists in the present. For another thing, you and your mangy mutt just might meet with tragic accidents,” he added, kicking Pek under the table.

Pek yelped, drawing everyone's attention.

Keiranne pushed back her chair and stood up. “You bastard,” she said, throwing her drink in his face. “You ever hurt my dog again, and you'll regret it."

All other conversation having ceased, Chuck Mull was the unwilling center of attention. As the sugary, fuchsia margarita dripped from his chin, he calmly wiped it off his face and sports jacket.

"You have one hour to think it over,” he said through gritted teeth.

"Or what,” she said sarcastically, responding to his threatening tone.

"Meet me at the hotel's ruins in exactly sixty minutes, or live with the knowledge that Tlalocelot will, shall we say, sacrifice his life in order to save hundreds of cancer victims. Put more graphically, my dear, meet me, or live every day knowing Tlalocelot is no better off than a lab rat, his life is ebbing away, and his veins being milked dry. All in the interest of medical advancement."

Seething, she turned and walked out, Pek at her heels.

"Your choice,” he called after her.

As soon as they were out of hearing distance, Keiranne said, “Girl, what are we going to do?"

Within five minutes they were back on the hotel's grounds. On a hunch, Keiranne stopped by the ruins. For ten minutes, she tried to pull or push against the stones near the site where they had materialized, but none of the stones budged. No doorway yawned into another time dimension.

"The museum's closed at this hour. We can't get back that way. Girl, I'm out of ideas."

They took the back way to the hotel room to avoid meeting anyone.

"Apparently you do know the Toltecs thought a white dog symbolized faithfulness and fortitude on spiritual journeys,” said a familiar voice from the unlit pool area.

"What?” she gasped, startled, turning toward the voice.

The only light was moonlight reflecting off the pool's lapping surface. When the stranger emerged from the shadows, Keiranne recognized him from the Carlos Arizpe group and breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad you have her help,” said Dorian.

"Me, too,” she answered, giving Pek's head a friendly ruffle.

"You missed the lecture tonight over dinner,” said Dorian, his tone non-judgmental but incisive.

"Oh, did I? Did Carlos have anything interesting to say?” Feeling uncomfortable at the mention of time, she tried to cover it by being dismissive.

Dorian shrugged, seeming to weigh the lecture's merits. “Would you like a synopsis?” When she hesitated, he added, “Am I interrupting anything? You weren't on your way to something, were you?"

"No, not at all,” she said, wondering why she was lying to this person, when time was ripping past her, and she had a decision to make within the hour.

"Well, the nickel-and-dime version is that he asked if we had recently felt the need to change or evolve. If we felt as if our current lives no longer fit what we desired in our heart of hearts."

"Hmm, sounds interesting,” she said, seeing this as an exit cue. “Well, thanks for..."

"Then he asked,” Dorian continued, as if he hadn't heard her tone, “if we were willing to embark upon the most important adventure of our lives. Because, he said, if we were ready, the answers to our questions would be revealed. We had come to the right place. Teotihuacán."

"Yeah, well, guess he's right, there,” she said, chuckling politely, making ready to leave.

Apparently oblivious to her tone and body language, Dorian continued, “So he asked us, what is the most important adventure of all? Of course, we all had different answers, but..."

Keiranne was mentally willing him to conclude his synopsis, forcing herself to refrain from making the rotary, wind it up gesture.

"Since it was a rhetorical question, Carlos answered for us. The most important adventure of all is the path to self-actualization. He said so many of us have lived our lives according to what is projected onto us, what is expected of us. You know, the good student, good child, good neighbor, and punctual employee projections."

She nodded politely and would have referred to her watch as a cue, if she had been wearing one.

Dorian swallowed a smile and continued. “Clarity. He said we're seeking clarity."

She snapped to attention.

"He said we're looking for direction to make choices that aren't rooted in guilt, judgment, or conditional love. He told us there comes a moment in our lives when we have to ask ourselves if this is really who we are or if we're happy being this person in this life."

Keiranne stood at rapt attention as Pek sat quietly at her heels.

"He told us that to be happy in this world, we must first be happy with ourselves. We have to develop our own sureness of who we are. Teotihuacán is a sacred site that mirrors all the limitations and illusions society, family, and culture have shoved on us."

Engrossed, she nodded involuntarily.

"Teo's a revered journey,” said Dorian. “Carlos told us we should use this time to create a setting of unconditional love that's free from our early judgmental and deceptive training."

"That makes sense,” she said.

"He said to consider Teo a reflection, not only of the inhibitions society has placed on us, but also of the limitations in our own minds. Self-awareness is a gift. He said Teo offers us the opportunity to meet our true selves, to find our purpose in life."

"Mmh-huh,” she mumbled, nodding. “Well, thanks..."

"Carlos said if we're ready to change the way we think, this is the time, and this is the place to create our own realities."

She stopped and thought. Then looking into space, remembering, Keiranne repeated by rote, as if reciting a poem, “If you continue to think the way you've always thought, you'll continue to get what you've always got."

"What?” Dorian asked, perplexed.

She chuckled. “It's something I heard once at a pyramid meeting."

Looking puzzled, Dorian repeated, “A pyramid meeting? You mean for Teotihuacán?"

"No, it was a sales recruitment meeting for a shampoo and cosmetics company. You know, a pyramid scheme where you persuade others to sell products for you, and they convince more people to sell for them, so you have a wide base of income, or so the sales pitch goes.” She laughed, but then her expression grew thoughtful. “But the inverted message is the same as Arizpe's."

"What's that?"

"If you want to get more than you've always got, you've got to think differently than you've always thought.” She searched Dorian's face. “That's basically what Arizpe said, isn't it?"

His eyes met hers on a deep level of recognition. Only a slight glimmer of a smile softened his solemn, studious features. “That's a pretty close approximation."

"Thanks for the synopsis."

"Hope it helped.” He gave Pek's head a friendly ruffle. “Happy trails,” he said with a wave, and then he walked away.

Keiranne stared after him, deep in thought. Why does he seem so familiar, as if I've known him for far longer than the Trek of the Spirit tour? Perplexed, Keiranne and Pek finally turned and continued up to the room.

"That talk was well-timed,” she thought out loud, looking at the bedside alarm clock. “Thirty minutes to go, girl. What are we going to do?"

Pek scratched at the door.

"Is someone there?” Keiranne called more loudly, “Is anyone there?"

No answer, yet Pek scratched again, whining.

"Do you have to go out, girl?” she asked, opening the door.

No sooner had she opened it than she felt someone was waiting, watching her. She looked around nervously but saw no one. Pek continued to whine, starting toward the stairs.

"What, girl?” she asked, closing the door behind her. “All right, lead on."

Pek led her to the ruins. The air currents began to weave around them. What looked like super-heated airwaves danced about. A high-pitched whine shrieked in her ears. Pek howled.

"Girl,” she screamed, grabbing hold of Pek with both arms. Inadvertently or not, she had let Pek guide her on this part of the journey.

The next moment they were both standing outside the Temple of Quetzalcoatl. Chac Mool stood in front of them, wearing his red-feathered cape over his serpentine breastplate, its multicolored stones glistening in the moonlight.

"Good, I'm glad you decided to join me,” he said.

"How do you do that?” she asked. “And how can you be sure you're choosing the correct time period?"

"All in good time.” He snickered at his own joke. “No pun intended."

Although she despised the man and had not reached any decisions, she realized any information she could learn from Chac Mool would put her just that much farther ahead.

"What night is it here?” she asked.

"The same as when you left."

"And Tlalocelot, where is he?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could, but the subtle lilt in her voice betrayed her deep concern.

"Safe for the moment,” he answered with a sneer. “Keep in mind, his wellbeing depends entirely on you.” Grabbing her by her wrist, he said the two words she had recently come to detest. “Play nice!"

She slapped him as Pek sank her teeth into his calf, and the high priest yowled in pain. Letting go Keiranne, he shouted twenty-first-century obscenities.

"Priests don't touch women in this culture,” she reminded him. “Never make that mistake again! And if I should decide to accept your offer, it would only be valid in the alternate time period.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Don't ever take me for granted!"

His shouts brought the guards running. As they encircled Keiranne, Chac Mool held up his hands, addressing them.

"Stand down,” he said. “She poses no threat at the present. Escort Lady Quetzal back to her quarters.” As an afterthought, he added, “Post two guards at her door. She's free to come and go, but never let her out unescorted. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my lord.” Bowing, the guards started to escort her back to her room.

Keiranne planted her feet firmly. “This was not part of the deal."

"Take it or leave it,” Chac Mool said.

"Then the deal's off.” She stared him down.

The high priest took a deep breath. “Leave us,” he ordered the guards. Turning to her, he added, “Never use that tone of voice to me."

"I'm tired of warning you. You just don't seem to get it. Don't take me for granted. Don't presume. Have you ever heard these phrases before?"

"Habit,” he said, shrugging, “slips of the tongue."

"I don't think so,” she said, shaking her head. “One more slip of the tongue, and there's no deal."

"All right,” he said quietly, as if negotiating in a boardroom, “Since you're setting the ground rules here, let me set the ground rules for the alternate time."

She nodded. “If, and I do mean if you adhere to the rules here.” She paused.

"Yes,” he said, suppressing a sigh.

"And if you stick to the rules we set at the restaurant,” she said, “I'll marry you."

"When?"

"When we discussed,” she said, “after I spend a full life with Tlalocelot, and after he succumbs to old age."

"Agreed,” he said. “But, after that span of time, if you wish to remain here part of the time, you must visit the alternate time weekly, commuting, so to speak."

"And Tlalocelot must be released immediately,” thinking quickly, she added, “as well as placed on the throne and allowed to rule with no more attempts to replace him with Black Macaw or anyone else."

"Agreed,” he said.

"Once Tlalocelot is king, and I'm his wife. Then, and only then, is it a deal."

He thrust out his hand, a move meant to manipulate her to take it, but she recoiled. “What, you can't shake on our deal?” Chac Mool asked with a forced laugh. Withdrawing his hand, he continued in a controlled voice, “Very well, then when do you want to set this event in motion?"

"The sooner Tlalocelot is freed, the better,” she said evenly. “And how do you propose to do this?"

"First we'll return to the alternate time period, and then we'll travel back here to a point in time forty-eight hours earlier than this morning,” he said.

"Why two days?"

"Because that is when the timeline last changed.” He regarded her closely. “Without that change, history will follow its natural course. Tlalocelot will reign as the next king, and you'll be his queen. Agreed?” he asked.

"Agreed."

She watched Chac Mool stroke and pat the central stones of his breastplate. She grabbed hold of Pek as the air shimmered and danced around them. When the high-pitched wail rang in their ears, Keiranne and Pek were ready for the twenty-eight-century jump through time.

As soon as their party materialized in the hotel's ruins, she carefully observed Chac Mool count the stones. He selected the fifteenth from the northwest corner, third from the bottom, a dull, weathered stone, but she could still make out its yellowish green color.

"How can you predict what day we'll arrive,” she asked, curious to learn.

"Never mind,” he answered, stroking certain of his breastplate's central green stones twice with his free hand, “time enough for that later.” He snorted.

Again the air currents wove and danced. With the sound of the high-pitched wail and Pek's howl in their ears, they made the jump back through time.

Looking about her, Keiranne thought nothing seemed different. She petted Pek, calming her after the two jaunts.

"How do you know it's forty-eight hours earlier?” she asked, suspecting he was either guessing or lying.

"Return to where you were two days ago,” he said, “and see for yourself."

"One more thing,” she asked, suddenly uncomfortable. “How are we supposed to act around each other?"

"Professionally,” he said, walking away. “Remember you're to be the next queen, and..."

Without finishing his sentence, he stalked off. Pek growled a low, warning sound, her white teeth flashing in the starlight.

"What is it?” Keiranne stopped and looked around but saw nothing suspicious. Still Pek's low growl persisted. “What do you hear, girl?"

Soundlessly, two men jumped out of the shadows, pulled a tight gag around Keiranne's mouth, and threw a dark cape over her head. She screamed and fought, kneeing one of her assailants in the groin. He cursed and let go of the cape, doubling over, gasping for air. She pulled the cape off her head in time to see Pek sink her white teeth into the back of the other assailant's calf, and she heard the ripping skin, as the man's muscle tore from his bone.

Pulling the gag down, off her jaw, Keiranne let go a blood-curdling scream, waking the other dogs of the city and bringing Tlalocelot running, three guards close behind him. Before they could reach the scene, Keiranne kicked the crouched man under his chin, sending him backwards in a dazed slump. The second man tried to run, but Pek kept her teeth firmly planted in the man's Achilles heel, forcing him to his knees and then onto his belly.

This has all happened before, she thought, forty-eight hours ago.

Tlalocelot surveyed the sight, noting the offenders’ insignia. Taking her in his arms, he asked, “Are you all right?"

Breathless, she grunted, “Uh-huh. Just got to catch my breath...” She grasped him tightly, clinging to him, whispering his name over and over. “Tlalocelot, I thought I'd never see you again. Nothing, nothing must ever part us.” Afraid she had said too much, she let go their embrace, gasping, sitting down on the ground.

As Tlalocelot grabbed the first man's hair and jerked him to his feet, Keiranne looked on, disconnected, as if watching a rerun on television, yet hoping for a different ending. When the man fell, he exposed his tattoo. The second man asked that Pek be called off for the love of Xipe Totec, and again Tlalocelot told him he had named his own punishment.

Keiranne called off Pek and then, exasperated at the repeat of events, interrupted the scene's play-back. “Tlalocelot, could I have a word with you? Over here?” She led him out of the guards’ hearing distance.

"Are you going to ask for mercy for them after they attacked you?” Tlalocelot shook his head. “Ask me anything else, and it shall be given to you, but, for what they did, they will pay, and pay dearly."

Before he motioned to the guards to take them away again, Keiranne said, “Actually, that would happen,” she said, “if we continue to play out the scene as we did the first time."

"The first time?” he asked.

She told him a synopsized, partial story of what had happened. To protect the man she loved from his certain death, and to save herself the humiliation of describing her consequences, she neglected to mention her bargain with Chac Mool.

"But they attacked you,” he persisted.

"I'm all right.” Although still shaky, Keiranne stood at her full height. “They didn't hurt me, thanks to Pek.” She reached down and petted her guardian friend.

Tlalocelot drew Keiranne to him. “And thanks to you, my brave lady.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “You're a formidable warrior, and I'm proud of you.” Then his face returned to its former stony expression. “But if those cowards had harmed a golden hair of your head, I'd have pulled their beating hearts from their bodies with my bare hands."

Keiranne seethed with impatience. She had thought her first interruption would immediately change the course of history, but it kept floating determinedly back to the way it had happened previously. “But they didn't hurt me,” she insisted, again trying to shift the course of events. “That's the point, and it's important you release them."

"I thank the gods you're safe, and I respect your courage, especially when you ask for their mercy. When I'm king, I'll abolish human sacrifice, but that time has not yet come. While my father rules, these are our customs, and—"

She folded her arms akimbo. “No, the punishment doesn't fit the crime. Can't you discipline them some other way? Please,” she asked, “for me?"

"Keiranne, you're dearer to me than life itself, but I can't free these hired thugs. They must have been watching, waiting for a moment to catch you unguarded."

An involuntary shiver ran down her spine. Kneeling to hug Pek, she scratched the girl's furry neck affectionately. “Thank God, Pek has always been at my side."

"The two of you are fearsome fighters,” said Tlalocelot with a wry smile. “You needed no one's assistance. This time."

"I'm fine!” she said almost by rote. She felt uncomfortable mouthing the words, knowing they were caught in a time loop and desperately trying to run tangential to its course.

"Whoever sent these thugs will try again, and next time you may not fare as well."

"As long as we respond differently, we'll change the outcome, and there won't be a next time,” she said. But would there? She wasn't so sure, but she had to try. “Please let them go."

Taking her in his arms, he whispered intently, “If that's what you want."

"It is,” she said with a decisive nod. “If the human condition doesn't improve, sometimes it's our responsibility to force change."

Tlalocelot called to the guards, “Release the prisoners."

The three guards looked from one to the other. “My lord?” one asked, walking closer to hear the instructions more clearly.

Keiranne smiled at the man she loved, certain they had set a new outcome into motion.

Tlalocelot started repeating his words, “Release..."

At that moment, the first prisoner stabbed one of the guards in the chest with his obsidian knife and then ran away from the scene, leaving his accomplice behind. The remaining two guards started after him but were no match for the man's speed.

"Girl,” called Keiranne, “get him!"

Within fifteen seconds, Pek had torn into the back of the assailant's leg. The guards took the man into custody and relieved him of his knife.

Tlalocelot held the third guard as the man bled to death in his arms. He gently closed the man's eyelids and, turning to the remaining guards, and issued new orders that were deep-rooted in the past.

"See that these mercenaries identify the persons responsible for this attack,” Tlalocelot said. “Torture them, if necessary, but don't kill them. They'll be skinned alive by the priests, and their skins will be worn in tlahuahuanaliztli, the gladiatorial sacrifice."

Keiranne slumped against Tlalocelot, weeping for the slain guard, for whose death she blamed herself, and weeping for the course of events she knew would follow. Perhaps the human condition doesn't ever change.

She whispered to Tlalocelot, “We need to speak."

Kneeling before him, the guard said, “My lord, one of the prisoner's has confessed and named the person who hired them."

Motioning him to rise, Tlalocelot asked, “Who?"

The guard lowered his voice, “Lord Coqui Xee."

Tlalocelot asked, “Was anyone else implicated?"

The guard hesitated. “Both prisoners begged to see the high priest, Chac Mool..."

Tlalocelot nodded, clasped him by the shoulder, and handed him a small leather pouch. “He'll see the high priest soon enough. Bring Chac Mool to the court. The king and I require his presence."

At Tlalocelot's cue, two door guards swung open the heavy wooden doors. All eyes turned expectantly toward the high priest. Although the room was still and no cue was needed, a priest banged his feathered staff on the floor for silence, its sound reverberating in the hush.

Keiranne and Pek stood beside Tlalocelot on the raised dais, who was seated on the smaller throne beside his father. Both seated men wore their ceremonial headdresses indicating the importance of the royal audience.

Wearing his serpentine breastplate, Chac Mool approached the dais. “My lords,” he said, bowing to each, and then catching Keiranne's eye, “my lady."

"Clear the throne room,” said Tlalocelot to the attending priest, Caquiz, who promptly banged his feathered staff twice on the floor, glanced at Chac Mool, and, bowing, backed out of the room. When the two door guards had swung shut the heavy wooden doors, Tlalocelot continued. “Early this morning, Lady Quetzal was attacked."

The high priest said, “May the gods be thanked she's unharmed!"

Tlalocelot nodded grimly. “Yes, indeed. Although Lady Quetzal had convinced me to pardon the offenders, they also killed one of my guards.” The priest stole another glance at Keiranne, as if trying to read her thoughts. “Would you recommend the culprits be sacrificed,” asked Tlalocelot, “especially in light of the latest occurrences?"

"Circumstances would seem to warrant it, my lord,” said the priest, bowing. “Give the order, and it's done, but it's rumored you oppose human sacrifice.” He raised his eyes, watching Keiranne's reaction to his next question. “Have recent events changed your mind, my lord?"

"Perhaps,” said Tlalocelot, exchanging glances with Keiranne before addressing the king. “Father, would it be possible for Lady Quetzal and me to question Chac Mool privately?"

The king shrugged. “As you wish, my son. As my successor, you don't need my permission."

Unobserved, Keiranne extracted the camera from the throne's crevice. After the king had left and the guards had shut the doors, Keiranne, Tlalocelot, and Chac Mool studied each other. The priest began, “My lord, how much do you know of the future?"

"The past is more complex than I'd thought, and we have fewer jurisdictions over the present than we'd like to believe,” said Tlalocelot.

"By fewer jurisdictions, do you think we have less affect on the future?” asked Chac Mool. “Why?"

"This morning, Lady Quetzal and I deliberately altered the course of the events. Despite our intervention, the events occurred in nearly the same sequence,” said Tlalocelot.

"Fate,” said Keiranne, “destiny, call it what you will, but even with our knowledge of the future, the events played out much the same as they had the previous time. Our interference had little impact on the outcome."

"This suggests either a natural or divine order,” said Tlalocelot, “that can't be manipulated."

"Why are you telling me this?” asked Chac Mool, curious as to the extent of Tlalocelot's knowledge. Staring at Keiranne, it seemed as if he were trying to intuit her thoughts.

"We may have tapped into time travel,” Keiranne said, petting Pek, “but we know nothing of the flow of time. We're playing a dangerous game."

"Are you concerned with time's role in the human condition?"Chac Mool paused, as if suspicious, “Or are you reneging on our agreement?"

"What agreement?” asked Tlalocelot.

"Ah, then you haven't told him everything,” said Chac Mool, a cynical smile lifting his lip in an ugly sneer.

"What's he talking about?” Tlalocelot asked Keiranne.

"Nothing, my love.” She glared at Chac Mool, willing him to be silent. As if sensing her distress, Pek nuzzled Keiranne's ankle, lending moral support.

"Nothing except the bargain she's made for your safety,” said Chac Mool, realizing the charade was quickly coming to an end.

"Which is?” asked Tlalocelot, having lost patience.

"Why not tell him, my dear?” Chac Mool asked Keiranne. At her silence, he continued, “After her life with you here, she'll marry me in the future."

Tlalocelot's lips curled in disgust. “Guards!” he shouted, lunging for Chac Mool.

Anticipating his response, Chac Mool sidestepped Tlalocelot, touched his serpentine breastplate, and the air currents began shifting and shimmering about him. As the familiar, high-pitched shriek began, Pek howled, and Chac Mool was gone.

Materializing among the shadows of the temple, Chac Mool rushed to Lord Coqui Xee's quarters. He ducked as he entered through the low doorway, noting the emblem painted above its lintel.

"Chac Mool,” said Lord Coqui Xee, rising from his couch at the far end of his great room, “What's become of the abductors?"

"They've been captured. Their tattoos identified you as the man who hired them, my lord. You must hide at once. Come with me."

They fled to a small building at the edge of the town. Using it as their headquarters, the two men plotted Black Macaw's rise to power.

"Give this to the captain of the guards,” said Chac Mool, handing his new novitiate a pouch. “Tell him it's only a small token of our confidence in him."

"Tell him that amount will be doubled at this time tomorrow,” added Lord Coqui Xee, “if he succeeds."

"Take this message to Lord Black Macaw,” said Chac Mool to another messenger. “Bring him back here, but be certain no one sees you."

"Lord Quecholli,” said Coqui Xee, “you're in charge of assembling the nobles."

"Yes, my lord,” said Quecholli. “When do you want them to meet?"

"Have them assemble in front of the temple at dusk,” said Chac Mool, taking charge. “In case of any resistance, make sure they bring their private guards and that they're armed."

"It's time we told Jaguar Paws,” said Keiranne. At Tlalocelot's nod, they hurried to the king's quarters, Pek following.

When Keiranne and Tlalocelot had finished summarizing the concept of time travel and Chac Mool's ability to travel to and from the future, it was evening, nearly dusk. Only then did they realize they had missed dinner.

Although it seemed like déjà vu, Keiranne excused herself, Pek at her heels. She wanted to freshen up, yet she worried events might revert to their previous consequences. She compromised, hurrying off, but listening for any recurrence of events. Nearly out of earshot, she heard Tlalocelot call to Balon for their dinner. She slowed her pace, ears cocked, eavesdropping, but she heard only silence.

"Not again,” muttered Keiranne, deflated, retracing her steps.

"Guards,” she heard the king call.

Running as quickly as possible without making any sound, she hoped to get back in time to warn Tlalocelot. Then hearing Chac Mool's voice, she realized she was too late.

"Perhaps I could help you, my lords,” he said.

Peeking around the stone column, she again saw Chac Mool wearing the high priest's red cape and ceremonial headdress, with Lord Black Macaw, beside him in the king's cape and headdress.

"How dare you wear the king's attire?” Tlalocelot demanded.

"That's simple, my poor, bewitched son,” said Lady Black Wing with a simper. “He is the king."

Not again. With a sinking heart, she realized what had happened and felt sickened that she had not foreseen it. This time, knowing how to escape, Keiranne grabbed Pek and hid in the alcove until the mob passed. Backtracking through a rear exit, she and Pek escaped to the temple and hid in the secret passageway.

By morning, the guards had still not found Keiranne.

"Don't worry, my lord,” whispered Chac Mool as he opened the morning court. “I know exactly where to find her."

With Lady Black Wing sitting in the queen's throne and Nene standing behind the king's throne on the dais, Chac Mool, resplendent in his serpentine breastplate, banged his feathered staff twice, announcing the first audience of King Black Macaw.

"Bring in the prisoners,” commanded Black Macaw.

Immediately Tlalocelot and Jaguar Paws were led in and strong-armed into kneeling positions. The attending court of nobles jeered. Tlalocelot breathed heavily but kept silent. Jaguar Paws, gray stubble at his chin, looked disheveled and confused. A watery veil shrouded his eyes’ vacant stare.

Unobserved, Balon bribed the door guards, leaving their posts vulnerable.

"Do you plead guilty or innocent?” demanded Black Macaw.

One of the more daring lords hissed, “The she-devil's already captured their souls. Look at Jaguar Paws, isn't that proof enough? Next the demon will capture our souls with her instrument of torture."

Keiranne and Pek strode through the doorway. “Do you mean this?” she asked, holding the credit-card sized camera above her head.

The assemblage gasped. Keiranne opened the lens and focused on the lord. The man dropped to his knees.

"Forgive me, my lady,” he said, his perspiration indicating his sincerity. “I meant no disrespect."

"So that there's no question later as to your loyalty, I'll record your pledge,” she said, snapping a wide-angle group picture.

Except for the man's moan, the room was silent.

"Is anyone here disloyal to Lord Tlalocelot or Lord Jaguar Paw?” she asked, her finger still touching the camera's button. “If so, please step forward."

Those at the front visibly retreated, stepping on the toes of those immediately behind them.

"Thank you for your allegiance,” she said by rote, re-playing the same scene, but with another plot. When her eyes met Tlalocelot's, she smiled mischievously.

"Guards, arrest her!” shouted Black Macaw to the deserted doors.

When no move was made toward Keiranne, Lady Black Wing shouted to the assembly, “My lords, don't let one tiny woman intimidate you. Seize her!"

The nobles looked among themselves, each waiting for the next to make the move. When it became apparent that none wished to challenge Keiranne's powerful tool, Chac Mool drew the pistol from his cummerbund, cocked it, and pointed its barrel at her.

"Lady Quetzal,” he said, “you've chosen the wrong time and place to challenge this court.” Smiling insidiously, he added for the assembly's sake, “Put down your weapon and hand it over to me."

In answer, she clicked the camera's button, capturing his pose on film. The crowd collectively gasped.

"Don't be foolish,” Chac Mool said derisively. “You know this is futile. I've won. Now put down the camera."

In answer, she aimed at Lord Black Macaw, his mother, and Nene, and snapped the shutter. Nene ran from the room, screaming. Lady Black Wing crouched on the dais, her hands protectively shielding her head, and Lord Black Wing fainted in his throne.

"You see,” she said, addressing the court, “I possess the false king's soul.” Eyeing each nobleman, one by one, she shouted, “I possess your soul, and your soul, and your soul, in fact, everyone's soul in this room! Leave quietly, or I'll kill each of you, starting with Lord Black Macaw."

"This is ridiculous,” said Chac Mool, addressing the crowd, dropping the gun's aim momentarily. “She has a toy, not a weapon."

A wave of resentment, disbelief, and fear shot through the assemblage. Shouts rang out. You called it a weapon. You showed us its strength. You said it was deadly.

During the tumult, Keiranne silently motioned to Pek. The dog jumped Chac Mool, knocking him over and sending the gun flying. Keiranne retrieved the gun and aimed it at the high priest.

"Good girl!’ she called to Pek.

"Don't move a muscle,” said Tlalocelot and then tackled Chac Mool. Knocked prone, the priest's arms spread out at his sides under Tlalocelot's weight.

"Now I have both weapons,” she announced for the crowd's benefit.

To display the pistol's power to the assembly, she shot the leg out from under the king's throne, destroying the wooden structure. As it collapsed beneath him, Lord Black Macaw landed on his rump, waking him from his stupor. Pale, dazed, and crouching on the dais, he clung to his mother.

Chac Mool struggled to touch his serpentine breastplate and escape.

"Oh, no, you don't,” said Tlalocelot, wrestling him to a kneeling position, with his arms pinned behind his back.

"Balon,” called Keiranne, “remove the high priest's breastplate and give it to me."

While Tlalocelot held Chac Mool's arms, Balon untied it from around the priest's neck and handed it over to Keiranne.

With the delivery of the heavy, multi-colored stone breastplate into her hands, she sensed the transfer of power. Although she didn't know how to control it, she knew she possessed the means to move through time.

During the excitement, Lord Jaguar Paws regained his clarity. Striding up to the dais, he pushed Black Macaw off, sending him tumbling.

"Get out of my sight,” he shouted to Black Macaw. “Go join your whelp, madam,” he said to his wife. “Neither of you has the authority to set foot on this throne."

"Guards,” called Tlalocelot to the loyal door guards, “place Chac Mool under arrest.” Twisting the priest's arm, he propelled him into the guards’ custody. “Tie his hands behind his back, and see he is never left alone."

More of the guards showed at the doorway, sheepishly watching the events. The king motioned them to approach. “Whom do you serve?” he shouted. In response, they kneeled, indicating their allegiance to him.

"Where's the captain of the guards?” asked Tlalocelot.

"He's fled, my lord,” said the guards, “along with the officers loyal to Black Macaw and Chac Mool."

Addressing the nobles, Tlalocelot said, “Do you see what's become of your coup?” The assemblage collectively refused to meet his eyes. Turning to his father, he asked, “What should we do with Black Macaw and Lady Black Wing?"

"Banish them,” said the king. Addressing the guards, he added, “Take them two days’ journey and leave them in the desert. Tell no one of your destination or their location. Leave them no food, no water."

Seeing a pattern emerge, Keiranne interrupted, “My lord, for the time being, it might be more prudent to imprison them than to release them."

Tlalocelot nodded. “Agreed, they're too much of a threat to remain free.” Regarding the assemblage, he spotted Coqui Xee and Quecholli standing to the right of the throne, a section reserved for high-ranking advisors. “Guards, arrest Lords Coqui Xee and Quecholli for sedition."

"Sacrifice them at the full moon, confiscate their property, paint over their houses’ emblems, and banish their families,” added Jaguar Paws. “They'll never again pose a danger to this throne."

He turned to address the assembly. “Let this be a warning to any who would dare commit treason."

Surveying the assembled nobles, Tlalocelot motioned for one at the forefront to come closer. “You, act as the group's witness and share what you are about to see, so all may know."

"Yes, my lord,” the man barely whispered, approaching apprehensively, small beads of sweat breaking out on his upper lip.

"Lady Quetzal, would you show this member of the court the proof that you do, indeed, control their souls?” asked Tlalocelot.

Praying the battery would last, Keiranne brought into view the image of the nobles. There, in the photograph's foreground, stood the young noble. Wincing, his shoulders drooping, he slumped when he saw his picture, his body language proof to the assembly that they had been captured on film.

"As you can see, your pledge has been recorded,” said Tlalocelot. “Speak now if you support Black Macaw or Chac Mool. This will be your only opportunity to leave this room or the kingdom in safety."

Except for the shuffle of the man's sandals as he returned to his place, the room was silent. The nobles looked from one to another, but, without their coup's leaders, they were submissive and frightened.

"Is there anyone present who does not fully support Tlalocelot's and my regime?” demanded Jaguar Paws.

Stony silence filled the room.

"Thank you for your allegiance,” said Tlalocelot. Unable to suppress the grin he shared with Keiranne, he turned his back to the nobles.

"Leave us,” said Jaguar Paws, and the room cleared instantly.

Pek following close behind, they walked hand-in-hand to Tlalocelot's quarters. Alone in the privacy of his room, Keiranne fell into his arms, holding onto him as tightly as a dream from which she never wanted to wake. Even if Tlalocelot were blissfully unaware of the diverse timelines, she was not. Keiranne knew how perilously close they had come to being parted time and again. She wanted to hold onto him, this era, this moment, and never let go. Raising up on his hip and fondling her breast with a singularity of purpose, Tlalocelot moved his fingers in a circular pattern, tracing round and round her areolas as if they were satin ribbons wound about her nipples. Gently kneading her breasts at first, he then laved them with his soft tongue, leaving his fervent, inquiring hands free to explore the soft clefts and curves of her body. They followed her hips and thighs, seeking the heat between her legs.

She caught a jagged breath as his fingers then searched out her creamy source and aroused her to orgasm. As she moaned softly with delight, he entered her, their bodies pressing closer and closer against each other until they became one. Slowly, ever so gradually, he brought her to a higher and higher ascendancy until she piqued, and they climaxed together, sealing their love with a bond surpassing time.

Keiranne knew their separations and the uncertainty of their future sweetened their moments together. With time either leaping ahead or hurtling into the past, but always looming, always threatening to split them apart, they made love tenderly, slowly. Keiranne relished their fleeting interludes, never sure when or if they would share each other again. Never the same, never taken for granted, it seemed as if their lovemaking was always fresh, as electric and imaginative as the first time.

Lying in Tlalocelot's arms, she traced his physique with her fingertips, running her fingers down his well-defined chest, enjoying the symmetry of his body after feeling its force. She sighed, reaching to his downy pubic hairs, playfully entwining them in her fingers, lightly stroking his masculinity with absentminded nonchalance, remembering the urgency of their caresses only minutes before. Again she sighed with satisfaction as she turned on her side to watch him. Exhausted, a smile playing at her lips, Keiranne fell asleep in Tlalocelot's muscular arms.

She woke with a start. Pek's low growl became louder and fiercer. Instinctively, she reached for Tlalocelot, but the bed was empty. Stifling a cry, she jumped out of bed, crouched on the stone and mortar floor near Pek, and grabbed the only weapon within reach. A clay pot.

Instinct told her the serpentine breastplate was in jeopardy. Remembering the urgency of their passion, she recalled that she'd thoughtlessly tossed it on the bedside table with her clothes. Now, she regretted not having hidden it. As she devised hasty plans to defend it, she saw a shadow fill the doorway and then advance toward the bed.

At Pek's incessant growl, Tlalocelot's voice whispered, “Quiet, girl, or you'll wake Lady Quetzal."

"Too late,” Keiranne called from the floor, laughing with relief, rising from a crouched to a kneeling position.

Now it was Tlalocelot's turn to jump. He gasped, and then he laughed with her, holding open his arms for Keiranne to join him.

Still, Pek's growl persisted. Instead of joining Tlalocelot, Keiranne whispered, “Take cover!” She grabbed the serpentine breastplate from the bedside table, pulled it on, and threw a loose shimmy over it all. Pek's growl amplified to ferocious snarls, her white teeth snapping and reflecting in the light filtering through the doorway. As Keiranne protectively placed her arm around Pek, she felt the dog's hair rise on the back of her neck.

Three shadowy figures crowded at the doorway, brushing back the cloth that served as a door.

Tentatively, then with force, Keiranne called for the guards. Instead more shadows appeared behind those. Wondering why the guards weren't coming, she screamed as the figures flowed into the room. Pek barked and snarled, flecks of white foam showing at her mouth. Keiranne grabbed the clay pot again. Too bad it was the only weapon within reach.

"Show your faces!” shouted Tlalocelot. When no one answered, and the figures kept approaching, he picked up a stone vase and threw it at the first figure's head.

The man moaned and stumbled. As if it were the signal, the men streamed into the room, parting at the foot of the bed, half the mob attacking Tlalocelot, and the other half assaulting Pek and Keiranne.

Pek snarled and snapped, keeping the hoard at bay, while Keiranne broke the clay pot over one man's head and used a shard to slice at another's eyes.

"Girl,” Keiranne screamed, “get up on the bed. Jump on the bed!"

As Pek leaped up, so did Keiranne, praying her idea would work. The move bought her and Pek a few moments time. She used them to slide one hand down her neckline, so she could make contact with the serpentine breastplate. Rubbing the multicolored stones, she touched Pek with her leg and reached out for Tlalocelot with her free hand.

As she had hoped, the air began to dance. Shrill, high-pitched sounds filled the room as Pek howled. Half the men screamed and ran from the room. The rest, all but one, halted the attack and stared in wonder. But the one intent thug picked up the broken stone vase and cracked it against Tlalocelot's skull.

As Keiranne and Pek began to dematerialize, Tlalocelot slid to the floor, losing contact with Keiranne's hand and losing consciousness.

"Tlalocelot!” she screamed, her voice still ringing in the room after her body had vanished.

With Keiranne still screaming and Pek howling, they emerged in the sunken ruins of her hotel. Except for the chirping of birds, the hotel grounds had been silent in the pre-dawn's blue gloom. Keiranne and Pek's commotion woke the dozing guard at the gate.

The man poked his head out the guardhouse door, running his hand through his rumpled hair, and stared at Keiranne in her shimmy.

"Sorry,” she called. “I, I saw a scorpion while I was out, taking, um, the dog...” Realizing he probably could not hear her, anyway, Keiranne just smiled and waved, and the man's head popped back into the guardhouse.

Sick with worry over Tlalocelot, she forced herself to be pragmatic. She would have to look after Pek and herself until she could figure a way to return to the past and help Tlalocelot.

"Now, how to get back into the room?” she whispered to Pek. “I can't ask the desk for another key."

They quietly padded to her room through the back garden entrance. The only person in sight being the cleaning woman on the other side of the courtyard, Keiranne tentatively tried the door, but it was locked.

"Hide over here,” she whispered to Pek, leading her to the stairwell. Then Keiranne walked over to the cleaning woman. “I'm sorry, I seem to have locked myself out,” she said, glad she had thought to put on a shimmy that passed for a nightshirt.

"No problemo,” the woman said, graciously walking back and letting her into the room.

As soon as the woman had left, Keiranne propped open the door and called Pek in a whisper. The dog scurried into the room. She locked the door and took her first deep breath.

"Thank God we're safe,” she said, petting Pek. “I only hope Tlalocelot will be all right until we can get back to help him, if we can get back.” She fought the urge to cry, sinking her face into Pek's soft fur. “We'll do this, girl. We'll make it!"

She took a quick shower, ordered room service, and, after hiding Pek in the bathroom, got dressed just in time to answer the door. After breakfast and a cup of strong coffee, Keiranne turned to Pek.

"Are you ready to try it again, girl? Just hope we can return through time and arrive where—and when—we want.” She touched the serpentine breastplate through her shirt and shook her head. “Something tells me we were just plain lucky this last time."

Thinking positively, Keiranne took the key with her as she and Pek headed back to the hotel's sunken ruins. Counting stones as she had observed Chac Mool doing, she selected the fifteenth stone from the northwest corner, third from the bottom, the yellowish green one. Making sure Pek touched her leg, she rubbed the breastplate with one hand as she touched the stone with the other.

Again the air currents wove and danced. With the high-pitched wail and Pek's howl in her ears, they made the jump back through time.

This time when they materialized, Keiranne saw immediately that something was wrong. Although they appeared in front of the Quetzalcoatl Temple, the structure looked time-worn, almost dilapidated. The mortar and facing were crumbling. The paint had weathered, faded, and flaked off. Looking north, Keiranne could see an early rendition of the Pyramid of the Sun.

"Pek,” she whispered, “I don't think I have the hang of this yet.” Taking a deep breath, she said a silent prayer, held on to Pek with one hand, and reached under her shirt to rub the serpentine breastplate with her other hand. This time, she was careful to rub only the multicolored, central serpentine stones, not touching any of the surrounding stones.

Amidst the dancing airwaves and shrieking wail, they departed from that time period and materialized in familiar, yet unfamiliar, surroundings. For the first time in her travels, they appeared inside a building, not outside. They quickly walked outside its walls, afraid of trespassing and being found.

Getting her bearings, Keiranne spotted the Quetzalcoatl Temple in the distance, rising above the hundreds, if not thousands, of squat, one-story buildings. She looked back and forth from the temple to the building in which they had materialized until it dawned on her.

"Pek, this building,” she said, touching it for emphasis, “is the sunken ruins from our hotel, but the structure is built on, not under, the earth. God knows how many centuries of soil it took to bury it.” Collapsing against the wall's exterior, she said, “I know where we are, but I don't have a clue as to when it is."

Tears started at the corner of her eyes, but she wiped them away with the heel of her hand. “Come on, girl,” she said. “Sorry for all this noise, but we have to try to get back to either the present or Tlalocelot's time."

Peeking into the structure to make sure no one was there, she and Pek tiptoed in. Although plaster covered the stones, she estimated the location of the fifteenth stone from the northwest corner, third from the bottom, touched Pek with her leg, rubbed the breastplate with one hand, and touched the plaster-covered stone with the other.

The best way she could describe it was a brown out. The air danced but only slightly. No wail, no shriek, no sound of any kind reached their ears. Certainly, they had not traveled through time. Swallowing hard, she tried again, this time not just touching the plaster-covered stone, but pressing her whole body against it, as she touched Pek with her leg and rubbed the breastplate with her other hand.

The air swam. It rushed and poured and swirled until Keiranne fell forward, dizzy and unable to stand. She sank to her haunches and caught her breath.

"Wait a minute, girl, if the magnetic poles have changed over time, as Chac Mool said, north was in a different spot than it would be in the present day."

She stood up and tried the same posture, but touching the sixteenth stone from the northwest corner, third from the bottom. Nothing happened. She tried the fourteenth stone from the northwest corner, third from the bottom.

As a precaution, she fixed the memory of Tlalocelot's era in her mind. Holding only that thought, she excluded prying negative thoughts or images. This time she laughed for joy when the air danced and the shrieking began.

The next moment, she and Pek were standing in front of the Quetzalcoatl Temple. She surveyed it cautiously. The paint and plaster appeared to be fresh. She breathed shallowly, withholding judgment until she stepped back and saw there was no Pyramid of the Sun. Only then did she breathe a deep sigh of relief.

"I think we made it, girl! I believe we traveled back to Tlalocelot's time!"

Keiranne spotted a procession approaching. “Come on, girl, over here,” she said, hiding around the far corner of the temple. Crouching, she watched the parade of people advance toward the temple's wide, central stairway.

From all the feathered headdresses and colorful capes, she surmised it must be some important public event. Six warriors, two abreast, in a column of three, all wore the same bright yellow loincloths with matching cummerbunds that tied in front. Red circles with green and blue dots decorated their loincloths.

The six men wore identical, yellow, cone-shaped headdresses, through which they tied their ponytails. Geometric patterns were painted on their headdresses’ outer bands, and two layers of feathers shot out from them—first a shorter layer of red feathers, and then the long, draping blue quetzal feathers. The effect gave the backs of their heads the appearance of birds’ tail feathers.

In their ears, they sported large earplugs that coordinated with their headdresses. On their feet, they wore matching moccasins dyed and painted to complement their bright maize-colored loincloths and cummerbunds.

Proudly, reverently, each man carried a beautifully painted, covered pot at chin level. When they progressed up the stairs in unison, they respectfully raised the pots to forehead level.

Behind these six men marched many nobles, some of whom Keiranne recognized. Everyone appeared to be wearing their best vestments, as if competing in finery. Each wore a bright cape with complementing loincloth, cummerbund and breastplate. Painted armbands, beaded wristbands, ankle bands, and moccasins coordinated with their loincloths.

At one-and-a-half to two-feet high, the nobles’ dazzling headdresses seemed as if hundreds of birds had alighted on the procession. Ornate faces of gods or mythical animals decorated the fronts of these headdresses, while immense, carved wooden earplugs appeared to be continuations of them, reaching down to the nobles’ shoulders. In their hands, each carried an intricately painted or carved, covered container at chin level. As they progressed up the stairs, they also raised the containers to forehead level, apparently as a sign of respect.

Behind the nobles marched dozens of guards, all wearing the finest garments, freshly feathered headdresses, and new armbands, wristbands, ankle bands, and moccasins.

In the center of the guards, strode Tlalocelot and Nene. Directly preceding them was Chac Mool.

Keiranne began to hyperventilate realizing she had either reached the wrong era or had somehow altered the chain of events. From the magnificence of the entourage, she could only surmise that Tlalocelot and Nene were about to be wed, and Chac Mool would officiate.

Pek barked and drew Chac Mool's attention. Under his elaborate headdress, he smiled an evil grimace, curling one corner of his mouth menacingly.

"Stop the procession” he shouted, thumping his feathered staff on the stone and mortared path.

Magnificent in his turquoise-beaded breastplate and wristbands, Tlalocelot turned to look in her direction. His bronzed skin showed only at his face, shaded beneath his luxuriant headdress, and at his muscular shoulders and thighs beneath his multicolored cape and loincloth.

Keiranne's heart stopping, she held her breath. This is the man I love. Should I show myself and go running into his arms, fight for him in this timeline, if necessary, or escape and try to return to a different timeline? Although only moments passed, she felt it was hours.

"This is the demon that has entered my nightmares, my lord Tlalocelot,” shrieked Nene. She turned to Chac Mool. “This is the she-devil who killed Lord Black Macaw."

"Seize her!” shouted Chac Mool to the guards.

Just as Keiranne was about to rub the breastplate and escape, Tlalocelot stared at her, his gaze penetrating, as if he saw more in her than met anyone else's eyes.

"No,” Tlalocelot said, his imperious voice stopped the guards in their tracks. “This one has been sent by the gods as an omen to consecrate my marriage to Lady Nene."

The choice had been made for her. Keiranne could not bear to witness this. Holding Pek with one arm, she rubbed the central stone of her breastplate with the other hand. Although her mind was on the events at hand, she forced herself to focus only on getting back to her own era.

The air danced and wailed and then she and Pek dissolved, rematerialized in the familiar sunken ruins of her hotel.

"Good girl,” she said to Pek, tousling her fur. “Looks like you're getting used to this form of travel."

Keiranne's eyes swept the scene, determining whether they had reached her own era or whether the altered chain of events had created a distorted timeline. Everything appeared all right.

"And why not?” she thought aloud. “It's only minutes since we left."

Then she scanned the area to see if anyone had seen them materialize. Breathing a sigh, she saw no one in the stillness of the early morning.

"And this time, I have the room key,” she said triumphantly to Pek.

They took the familiar back way to her room, and Keiranne turned the key in the lock, opening the door.

"What the hell?” shouted a man from the bed. A woman's head peered above the sheets, her eyes sleepy and squinting.

"Ooops, sorry,” she said, checking her key against the room number on the door. “Must have gotten the wrong room. My apologies!” She hastily shut the door and ran out of the courtyard through the garden, Pek at her heels, not stopping until they reached the sunken ruins.

"Oh, girl, I'm afraid we really did it this time,” she said. “I don't know whether we altered the chain of events or somehow changed time, but this era sure isn't the same one we just left a couple minutes ago."

She sat down on the ruins’ floor, planning her strategy. “We could stay here. It's possible that only a few days have passed, and I could claim amnesia.” She shook her head. “But then we'd never see Tlalocelot again. We could try time travel again, but there's no guarantee I'll ever find the right era, let alone the right moment in time. We also have to face the possibility that the timeline might have been irreversibly changed, and there's no going back to either the past or the present era, as we knew it."

No! I can't let negative thoughts cloud my mind. I have to think clearly, or we really will be lost.

She tried to mentally recreate every detail she had witnessed of Chac Mool traveling through time. “How can you predict what day we'll arrive,” she had asked.

"Never mind,” he had answered, stroking the central green stones of his breastplate twice with his free hand.

Stroking, she thought, not rubbing, but stroking the breastplate twice. “That's it, girl! Stand close to me."

She counted the stones, selecting the fifteenth from the northwest corner, third from the bottom. Holding on with one of her hands, she stroked the central green stones of her breastplate twice with her free hand, focusing her thoughts, forcing out any doubts or fears from her mind.

The air currents wove and danced. With the sound of the high-pitched wail screeching in their ears, they jumped back through time.

Looking about her, Keiranne thought the Temple of Quetzalcoatl appeared to be of the right era. She petted Pek, praying they had miraculously happened upon the right time and timeline. She saw no sign of pyramids being built. Neither did she see any procession, but she did spot Tlalocelot's servant.

"Balon,” she called with a wave. “Over here!” She motioned him to join her in the shadows of the temple's stairway.

"Yes, my lady?” he said, bobbing his head in a bow. “What can I do for you?"

This can't be right, she thought. Deciding to test him, she asked, “Where's Tlalocelot?"

"He's in court with the king, my lady."

She wondered, Could this be another timeline, or did I simply slip back a day or two early?

He waited for further instructions, and when none were forthcoming, he finally asked, “Will there be anything else, my lady?"

Brought back from her reverie, she said, “No, no, thank you."

Pek at her side, she walked slowly around the royal compound. Everything appeared exactly as she remembered.

"Girl,” she whispered, “we must be early. Good! This time we'll be ready for anything Chac Mool can spring on us."

But as she mentally replayed the previous days’ events, she recalled no moment that they had been alone. During the mornings, they had been escorted or in attendance at court functions.

"That's odd, girl. I wonder what day this is. I wonder what time it is,” she whispered, wishing she had a watch, speculating when Tlalocelot would be finished with court.

Bored, she wandered back to her room, where she found a wimple. She had seen other people wearing the white cotton turbans, and it gave her an idea.

"Girl, if I hide my blond hair, maybe we can walk around the marketplace without an escort or entourage,” she said, ruffling Pek's head.

She arranged the wimple over her hair, tucking every errant blond strand underneath, and pulling the turban as far down her forehead as she could, hoping to avoid detection. Then she and Pek slipped out of the compound, toward the open market, on their own for the first time.

They walked through rows of modular, residential compounds, each nearly two hundred feet long. One structure was in the process of being built. She stopped to watch the workmen, peering at the construction more closely. She saw they used small stones as the basic material, mortared together with clay. Broken volcanic stones were arranged almost artistically between the rocks and all was covered with a smooth coat of lime plaster.

They followed the city's grid, first in one direction, then in another. It seemed to Keiranne that the city was laid out in quarters, with the Teotihuacán cross at the epicenter. She noted differences in dress and decoration between the city's four quarters, wondering if they were wards or districts for different ethnic or merchant groups of people. One group sported elaborately braided hairstyles that looked like baskets or hats but which were fashioned from braided hair. Another group was marked by facial tattoos and scarification. A third group decorated themselves with chains looped through their noses or small bones piercing their upper lips or chins.

She marveled at the layout's geometry. Millennia ahead of its time, it looked as if any twenty-first-century urban planner could have mapped out the city. The avenues were so straight it seemed as if surveyors had measured them. She was glad since it made finding their way easy.

With this opportunity to walk the streets, Keiranne had a better perspective of the city. Mentally superimposing the old and the new, she could see the king's palace and compound were situated in the modern-day Ciudadela complex. It was immense and at the metropolis’ center. No wonder the ancient people had identified it with the center of the universe, she thought. But as the sun rose to its zenith, the temperature climbed. Pek was panting, and Keiranne realized she was tired.

"I've had enough walking for one day,” she whispered to Pek. “Let's sit down."

They retraced their way to the compound and sat on the temple's base, waiting for Tlalocelot. Keiranne removed the wimple and finger-combed the blond tendrils that had been held snugly against her scalp, allowing the curls to unwind.

"What are you doing here, my lady?” asked Tlalocelot, approaching them with a relaxed smile.

Her heart leapt. Seeing him again, so handsome and untroubled, took her breath away. Until that moment, she had been unsure if this were the right timeline or not.

"Waiting for you,” she said, standing up to greet him with an exuberant kiss. She lifted her lips to his, catching him off-guard.

"You're rather bold, my lady,” he said, looking quickly about them to see if her kiss had been noticed. “It isn't appropriate.” He placed her hand politely on his elbow the way he had the day they met.

"I've missed you so much,” she said, squeezing his arm affectionately.

Noting the turban still in her hand, he asked, “Why were you wearing a wimple?"

"I didn't want anyone to recognize me. Pek and I went for a walk in the marketplace, so I thought it best to hide my blond hair."

He stopped and faced her, his expression stern. “You went into the market? Unescorted? You took a terrible chance,” he said. “You must never do that again."

Subdued, she said, “Pek was with me. It seemed safe.” Then she laughed, cajoling him. “Come on, nothing's that serious. Smile. We've been through worse."

His somber expression softened. “All right.” Putting her hand back on his elbow, he resumed their walk. “How would you like to have lunch with my father?"

"I'd love it. Come on, girl,” she called to Pek, feeling more at home in that era than ever before, except for one nagging question.

Why don't I recall any previous moment like this?

They climbed the stairway, entered through the portico, and approached the royal chambers. Tlalocelot drew back the curtain at the door for her, and Keiranne walked into the royal sitting area. Expecting to see only the king, she was astonished to see Lady Black Wing and Black Macaw.

I must have come back earlier in time than I first realized.

"Lady Quetzal, how good to see you again,” said the king, looking his robust old self.

Recovering, she said warmly, “And good to see you. You're looking much better!"

"Better?” asked Lady Black Wing, surprised, turning to her husband. “My lord, have you been ill?"

Jaguar Paws thought for a moment, searching for a response that would not embarrass Keiranne. “Lady Quetzal must be recalling my headache. I'm fine now,” he said with a smile.

"Why were you wearing a wimple?” asked Black Macaw, noting the turban still in her hand.

"I ... Well, I went for a walk,” she stammered, hesitant now to mention the marketplace.

"Why cover your golden hair? You've been kissed by the gods,” said Black Macaw, looking at her curls admiringly. “Don't hide your beauty.” He reached out and swept a tendril into place behind her ear.

Keiranne stared numbly at him, forcing herself not to flinch at his touch, until Lady Black Wing intervened.

"Please sit down,” said Lady Black Wing graciously, motioning to the servants to bring food.

"Thank you,” Keiranne said, sitting on one of the cushioned rattan benches. Pek sat beneath it, resting her muzzle on Keiranne's feet.

"Lady Quetzal,” asked Black Macaw, squeezing beside her on the narrow bench, “where have you been this morning?"

His attentiveness unnerved her. Forcing a stiff smile, she edged away, creating an inch buffer between their bodies. With her knowledge of future events, she struggled to be civil to the queen and her son.

"I just took a short stroll..."

"She went to the marketplace,” interrupted Tlalocelot, “unescorted."

"What?” His expression one of shocked concern, Black Macaw said, “It's much too dangerous for you to venture into the market alone."

"This must all be so new to you,” said the queen empathetically. “You're not yet familiar with our ways, but it's risky for noblewomen to venture into the marketplace alone."

"But,” said Keiranne, “Pek..."

Interrupting, the queen continued, “Perhaps if you had a tour of the city, you'd feel less inclined to investigate on your own.” Not pausing for an answer, she turned to her son. “Lord Black Macaw, where are your manners? Invite Lady Quetzal to join you for an outing."

"Of course,” he said genuinely, his eyes lighting up, “I'd be delighted to escort you if you'd join me in the morning."

He looked expectantly into her blue eyes. She found his obvious interest in her disconcerting, and she looked away.

"I'd enjoy that,” mumbled Keiranne, confused, turning toward Tlalocelot, “if we could make it a threesome with Tlalocelot..."

"That would be nice,” interrupted the queen, “but Tlalocelot must attend his father's court tomorrow ... duties of state. Obligations of office take precedence over personal pleasures."

"This way, Lady Quetzal,” said Balon's voice from the doorway.

The group turned toward the entrance as Balon lifted the curtain, and an exact replica of herself stepped into the room.

Keiranne gasped, “Oh, my God.” There can't be two of us. This isn't physically possible.

The women's eyes locked momentarily before the duplicate's eyelids fluttered, and she collapsed on the stone floor. Black Macaw jumped up from his seat beside Keiranne as if a snake had struck. Looking from one woman to the other, he hesitated only a moment and then crossed to the replica slumped on the floor. He tenderly lifted her into a sitting position and cradled her in his arms.

"Who are you?” demanded Tlalocelot in a steely voice.

"Girl,” whispered Keiranne, reaching for her with one hand, and stroking the serpentine breastplate twice with the other, “we're not in Kansas anymore.” She struggled to focus her thoughts, blotting out the sights and sounds around her, clearing all fears from her mind.

"Guards,” shouted the king, pointing at her, “seize this woman!"

The air currents wove and danced as the door guards pushed past her duplicate self, and lunged for her. Catching her by her wrist, they crushed her mother's silver bracelet into her arm, the ends gouging her skin. The sound of the high-pitched wail mingled with her own shriek of pain, and the king's words, “seize her,” corrupted and reverberated as “seize the day, seize the day."

Keiranne wrenched away as she and Pek jumped through time.

Ugly, red welts formed on her grazed wrist where the bracelet had dug into her skin. Removing the turquoise and silver bracelet, Keiranne fondled it as memories of her mother flooded her mind. Pek's expressive brown eyes watched her intently as her velvet tongue gently licked the wounds on Keiranne's wrist.

They materialized inside an old-fashioned house that looked vaguely familiar to Keiranne. Although daytime, the tiny room was dark, lit only by one narrow window covered with tired chintz curtains. She parted the curtains and peered through the glass to see gently rolling fields beyond a grassy yard. The view was eerily familiar, yet she could not identify it. She let the limp curtains fall back to their original positions and studied the room.

The narrow window and a battered bureau filled one wall. A cross-stitched, rectangular linen covered its cigarette-burned top. A single bed was shoved against the opposite wall, its foot adjacent to an open door with a glass doorknob. There was space for nothing else in the cramped room. A second closed door filled the wall around the corner from the bureau. Without understanding how she knew it, Keiranne turned the glass doorknob, assured she would find a closet that connected to the adjacent bedroom. She walked into it, ducking beneath the two metal rods filled with empty hangers. Then it came to her.

"Girl, this is the closet I had as a child. This was my bedroom."

She stepped back into the room, looking wonderingly at the wide, dark molding at the ceiling, and the scuffed and scarred woodwork along the dark oak floor. She gasped as full recognition filled her mind.

"This is the house where my mother died when I was five,” she whispered, her tone awed, hushed, as if she might wake the dead.

She tried one last litmus test. She stepped to the open door, knowing, if her suspicions were correct, she would see a pot-bellied, wood-burning stove and a round table with unmatched chairs. She peered out and nodded in recognition at the once-familiar sight.

"How many times I remember my parents sitting at that table, drinking coffee, talking, and playing pinochle.” A faint smile lifted the corner of her mouth, as she chuckled and shook her head at the memories.

The clicking sound of Pek's toenails tapping the hardwood floor as she padded into the dining room woke Keiranne from her reverie. She thought of calling Pek back, not wanting another confrontation with an alternate self. Then she listened. Except for the sound of Pek's toenails, the house was silent, deserted.

"You're right, girl, when will I ever get this opportunity to visit the past."

She pressed her hand around her mother's silver and turquoise bracelet, grasping it, as if holding onto her mother's wrist somehow. She took a deep breath and followed Pek into the dining room, noting the two windows facing the barn. She remembered the barn cats and Holstein calves and dogs. She recalled the hours she had slid down mountains of freshly cut hay in the haymow. She looked beyond the oxblood-red barn and saw the chicken coop, the double corncrib, and the silo.

She turned away from the window with a sigh and walked into the narrow kitchen. Seeing the linoleum-topped counters, she recalled the time her mother had made a pumpkin pie but had forgotten to add the chopped pumpkin. She smiled to herself, remembering how her mother had renamed it a custard pie, and it had tasted delicious.

She walked into what had been her parent's bedroom, noting the large-flower-print wallpaper. Busy by today's standards, the wallpaper's repeating patterns of red roses and green leaves were entertaining to her when she was five. She had never tired of staring at them during the hours she had visited her ill mother in this room.

"Use your imagination,” her mother had urged. “What do you see inside those flower patterns?"

It was a game they had played: who could see the most imaginative pictures inside other pictures. Before her mother had gotten ill, they played the same game outside, using clouds as the basis for their imaginations.

She smiled, but it quickly faded as she recalled that it was in this very room her mother had given her the bracelet. Remembering, she grasped it so tightly that it pressed even deeper into her wrist.

"This is for you,” her mother had said, removing the bracelet from her own wrist and placing it on her daughter.

"It's too big,” her childish voice had said.

When she lifted her arm, the bracelet had fallen off her hand. Her mother had chuckled, slipped the bracelet up her daughter's thin arm until it wrapped around her bicep, and then pressed the bracelet's silver ends together to form a snug fit.

"This will make you strong,” she had said. “When you feel this against your arm, you'll know I'm holding you, and there's nothing you can't do."

"Nothing, Mama?” asked the little voice.

"There's nothing you can't do,” her mother had said. “Seize the day. Take every day, and make the most of it."

Keiranne took a deep breath to release the constriction in her throat. She remembered it was to this room that she had fled after her mother's funeral, somehow expecting to see her mother waiting for her. She could not believe the cold, waxen figure in the coffin was her mother. She had leapt out of the old Nash Rambler before her father had brought it to a stop, and she had run directly into this room, calling, “Mama?"

Tears burned at her eyes, and Keiranne angrily brushed them away. That was twenty-five years ago. Let it go.

Just then she heard a car-door slam. Without seeing the scene, she knew the sounds. She heard the screen door bang shut and then the front door slam. She heard tiny steps racing through the kitchen toward the dining room and ultimately to this room.

"Girl,” she whispered hoarsely, “over here."

They slipped into the connecting closet only a moment before the tiny footsteps slowed and then entered the room.

"Mama?” cried a tiny voice.

Keiranne watched from the cracked closet door as her younger self approached the bed. She heard the springs creak as the little girl climbed on top of the sagging mattress.

"Mama?” asked the incredulous voice, hoping yet knowing her mother would never appear again. “Mama,” said the small voice, as the girl lay down on her mother's side of the bed, pressed the over-sized silver and turquoise bracelet tightly against her small bicep, and sobbed.

Keiranne could not stand it. She wanted to comfort the girl, herself, but she knew that could not be. As it was, she was trespassing on a sacred moment, but to enter the scene would be to distort time. Still holding Pek with one hand, she stroked her breastplate with her free hand, focusing her thoughts, forcing out the sights, sounds, and the raw memories from her mind.

She forced herself to focus on Tlalocelot, mentally chanting, Tlalocelot, Tlalocelot, Tlalocelot. She closed her eyes, willing herself back to his time.

The air currents wove and danced. With the sound of the high-pitched wail screeching in their ears, mingling with the cries of the five-year-old girl, they jumped through time.

Keiranne blinked back the tears clinging to her lashes and forced herself to be fully in the present moment. No looking back. Looking about her instead, she thought the Temple of Quetzalcoatl appeared to be of the right era.

As I make the jump, maybe it's the thought I hold that guides me. She petted Pek, contemplating that idea, praying they had miraculously happened upon the right timeline. With a sigh of relief, she saw no sign of pyramids being built. Neither did she see any procession, but she did spot Tlalocelot's servant.

"Balon,” she called, waving to him. “Over here!” She motioned him to join her in the shadows of the temple's stairway.

"Lady Quetzal,” he said, “I'm so glad you're safe!"

"Then you know me?” she asked gleefully, proof that they had returned to the right time and timeline. “You recognize me?"

"Of course,” he said, wearing a perplexed expression.

"Do you know where Tlalocelot is being kept prisoner?” She felt her mother's bracelet and remembered her words. ‘There's nothing you can't do.'

If I've gotten this far, what's to stop me from saving him?

"Yes, my lady,” he said, his perplexed squint deepening into a scowl. “But he's heavily guarded."

"Maybe it would be better to wait until dark,” she suggested.

"That would be too late."

"Too late for what?” she asked.

"He's going to be sacrificed when the sun is high,” Balon said.

"Noon,” she muttered, estimating they had roughly three hours.

"And Black Macaw will ascend the throne as the next king since Chac Mool, the priesthood, nobles, and guards support him."

"Wait a minute,” she said, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to understand. “Last night Chac Mool and Black Macaw were in custody, and the king and Tlalocelot had everyone's tacit support.” She wondered if the timeline had changed, after all.

"That's right,” said Balon, nodding his head.

"Then what have I missed?"

"Priests loyal to Chac Mool helped him escape,” he said, hesitating, trying to find the words to describe his thoughts.

"And then?"

"Chac Mool used a ... a stick that blew thunder."

"A gun,” she muttered under her breath.

"Chac Mool killed several of the loyal guards and nobles and frightened the rest. His faction freed Black Macaw and took Tlalocelot prisoner,” he said.

"And what about Jaguar Paws?” she asked.

"At dawn, he passed away in his sleep."

She hung her head, sorry for the benign king's passing. “Of natural causes?” she asked dubiously.

"Whether they killed the king, or he died of a broken spirit, I don't know,” said Balon, slumping, speaking almost into his chest. “But two things are certain,” he continued, raising his head, imploring her with his eyes, “if we don't do something soon, my lord Tlalocelot will be killed as part of the new temple's dedication, and Black Macaw will illegitimately take the throne."

"I can see why they'd want to kill Tlalocelot as soon as possible for political purposes,” she said, “but why sacrifice Tlalocelot as part of the dedication?"

"A new superimposition of the temple must be started as a sign of Black Macaw's power,” he said. “It will cover this temple, making people forget about the coup and Jaguar Paws’ sudden death."

"I can understand that part,” said Keiranne, nodding, “but how would Tlalocelot's death be a part of the temple's dedication?"

"I overheard them talking,” said Balon. “They plan to sacrifice nine men at each of the temple's four corners to appease the gods of the four cardinal points. The more imposing the temple, the more respect Black Macaw gains. Prince Tlalocelot's royal blood multiplies the value of the sacrifice."

The museum! Chills ran up Keiranne's spine. She recalled the museum's plaque had read that the skeletons were a human offering found at the Temple of Quetzalcoatl.

Now she knew why she had been drawn to the skeletal remains—to save Tlalocelot.

As if in a flashback, she could almost hear the shrill pipes being blown loudly, the thud of children running, and feel herself being pushed again over the foot-high barrier, straight into the skeletons’ sandy interment.

She shuddered. “We have to work fast. Is there any way to speak to Tlalocelot?"

"He's too heavily guarded, my lady."

"What about loyal nobles and guards?” she asked. “Could we raise enough men to free him?"

"The nobles and guards are terrified,” he said, shaking his head. “That stick of Chac Mool is black magic. No one will challenge him."

Thinking for a moment, she asked, “Can you get me in to see him?"

"He sits on the throne,” Balon said bitterly.

"How can that be?"

It shouldn't be,” he said, “but since Jaguar Paws is dead, Tlalocelot is imprisoned, Black Macaw hasn't yet ascended, and no one will challenge him, there Chac Mool sits."

"Chac Mool killed Jaguar Paws and plans to sacrifice Tlalocelot. Now he's only one person away from sitting on the throne permanently."

"But Chac Mool is not royal,” said Balon. “He can never reign."

Then it occurred to her. The question is, is Black Macaw royal, or is he Chac Mool's illegitimate son in this timeline? Too bad DNA testing hasn't been discovered.

"Balon, you, of all people, would know if the royal line had any distinguishing birthmarks. Can you think of anything that would prove or disprove a person's claim of royal blood?"

"Yes,” he said, “Lord Tlalocelot, Jaguar Paws, his father, and his father before him each had a strawberry birthmark just below his bellybutton."

The image catapulted her back to her last night with Tlalocelot. She remembered cradling against him and tracing his birthmark with her finger. Inhaling deeply, she forced herself from her reverie.

"What about Black Macaw? Does he have any such mark?"

Balon shook his head. “I've never seen it if he does,” he said. “Black Macaw always covers that area with wide cummerbunds. Even as a child, Lady Black Wing never allowed him to go naked, as did other boys his age. Why?"

"If we could prove Black Macaw has no right to ascend the throne, it would be clear that he and Chac Mool were attempting not merely a coup, but a complete collapse of the kingdom."

"Sorry, my lady, but I'm not following,” he said.

"What if we could prove Black Macaw is Chac Mool's son, not Jaguar Paws'?"

Balon gasped. “What would happen, my lady, is that they and Lady Black Wing would be sacrificed for treason, and Tlalocelot would be released as king."

"Caquiz,” said Keiranne, “we need to speak with Caquiz. Can you bring him here?"

"Yes, my lady,” he said.

"I'll wait inside the temple for you,” she said, “but hurry!"

Keiranne was unsure of the extent of Chac Mool's treachery in this timeline. Hearing Caquiz's rendition would help delineate this era's truth.

She hid behind the altar, as she and Tlalocelot had done. Within moments, Balon brought Caquiz to Keiranne.

"My lady,” said Caquiz, bowing low, “it's good to see you."

"And you, Caquiz,” she said. “Would you please repeat what you witnessed here between Chac Mool and Lady Black Wing?"

"How did you know about that?” he asked, astounded by her question. “That conversation is something I've never mentioned to anyone."

"I heard it, as well,” Keiranne said simply, “from behind this altar."

"I overheard them discussing Lord Black Macaw,” said Caquiz. “Chac Mool admitted Black Macaw is not the royal heir, but instead he is his and Lady Black Wing's illegitimate son."

This was news to Balon. “Treason!"

"Did Chac Mool say anything else?” asked Keiranne, relieved that this truth was consistent in this timeline.

"He also said midwives could be bribed, and sleeping queens posed no match for muscular initiates. He admitted to murdering Lord Jaguar Paws’ first queen."

"And did Lady Black Wing have anything to say?” asked Keiranne.

The priest nodded. “She had only one regret, that Tlalocelot's mother was smothered after labor and not before."

Balon was white with anger. Shaking, he said, “We must see these traitors punished!"

"But first we have to free Tlalocelot,” Keiranne reminded him. “Caquiz, are you with us?"

"Yes, my lady!” said Caquiz. “I have no allegiance to either Chac Mool or his bastard son, Black Macaw."

"Balon, it's up to you to find us a way into court,” she said.

"It should be no problem getting Caquiz in since he's a priest,” said Balon, “but getting you inside will be a challenge, unless..."

"Unless what?” she asked.

"Unless you pose as a noble, dress as a man, and wear a wimple on your head to cover your golden hair,” Balon said.

"What about my fair skin?"

"Black walnut juice will darken it,” suggested Caquiz, already headed out the door.

"And my blue eyes?"

"Keep your eyes down. Focus only on the floor,” Balon cautioned, following Caquiz. “We'll be right back."

A half hour later, Keiranne's face, neck, arms, and legs were the deep tobacco color of Balon's. As soon as the black walnut juice had dried on her skin, she pulled the long, white tunic of the nobles over her shimmy and serpentine breastplate. Then she pushed her hair back behind her ears and covered it all with her white wimple, pulling the cotton turban as far over her forehead as possible.

"Remember to keep your eyes down, my lady,” said Balon approvingly, “and you'll pass for a young nobleman."

"What about Pek?” she said, suddenly wondering how they could disguise her.

"Her presence would give you away,” said Caquiz. “She'll have to stay here."

Pek's brown eyes watched thoughtfully as if following the conversation. Her eyes met Keiranne's.

"No, we're partners,” Keiranne insisted, having come to rely on Pek's company. “There has to be a way for Pek to be with me."

"Perhaps she could wait outside the court's large doors,” suggested Balon. “As long as the doors remain open, she could hide behind them, and yet run out if you called her."

"Ingenious,” she said, petting Pek, “I want you near, just in case we have to make a quick exit."

Feeling magnanimous, Chac Mool had left the great doors to the throne room open all morning, welcoming the well wishers, sycophants, and upwardly mobile brownnosers. A steady stream of men had come, bowed, flattered him, and left. He was enjoying his day in the sun.

Lolling on the newly carved and painted throne, he reveled in the power he wielded over the local people. Although it was minuscule compared to the global adulation he received as the world's foremost oncologist in his own era, he relished this hands-on micro-management, in fact, in many ways preferred it.

Yes, give me the concrete over the theoretical any day of the week. Perhaps he might like to retire to this era some day, particularly if Lady Quetzal were his consort. I could get used to this way of life.

"Pulque,” he said to the servant at his side. “Bring pulque for this noble assemblage.” Despite the early hour, the day's victory was definite cause for celebration. “But first refill my cup,” he ordered, his words slightly slurred.

It was after the third round of pulque that Balon brought in Keiranne amidst a rowdy knot of noble well-wishers. Her eyes downcast throughout the greeting, she accepted a bowl of pulque and stood in the shadows near Balon.

Another hour and Tlalocelot will be dead. Then it's child's play for Black Macaw to ascend the throne.

Looking around the room at the fawning nobles, Chac Mool had second thoughts. Why let that immature boy enjoy this adulation, when it might be mine? I could easily live a dual life, here as king, and in my own era as an oncologist.

"Where's Tlalocelot?” called out one lord, his cry picked up and repeated by a dozen others.

"Let's see how proud he is now,” shouted another lord.

"Is it right to torture the man with words when he has so little time to live?” pleaded Balon, his empathy meeting a cacophony of jeers.

"Bring him,” said Chac Mool, holding out his cup for a refill, “so he may see what he's losing and know the extent of his loss."

Keiranne seethed in silence. Her shoulders heaving, she kept her eyes focused on the floor, determined to save Tlalocelot.

Within moments, guards led Tlalocelot into the throne room by a tether. His hands were tied before him with a leather strip. Wearing nothing but a low-riding loincloth, his strawberry birthmark was visible for all to see. The gallery hooted and jeered, the sound worse than the shrieking of the time travel.

Keiranne's heart broke for this man, but she forced herself to focus on saving him, not losing him because of her emotions. Amid the chaos, she called in her lowest, most masculine voice, “See the royal birthmark? It's not so noble now!"

Balon picked up her cry, and others followed suit, hooting at Tlalocelot's fall from power.

Again Keiranne called in her lowest, most mannish voice, “Let's see Black Macaw's royal birthmark!"

Balon echoed her cry, and the others mimicked him, but with the intent of seeing Tlalocelot's pride precede his fall.

To Keiranne's astonishment, Chac Mool ordered the guards. “Send for Lord Black Macaw, that all may see the future king's royal mark of distinction.” He then whispered to his servant, who bowed and left.

Could it be that Chac Mool doesn't know of Black Macaw's deficient birthmark?

Maybe three is the lucky charm, she thought, shouting in her deepest voice, “And where's the Lady Black Wing?"

Balon chimed in, and the others repeated the cry.

"Bring in the queen mother,” another shouted.

"We want the queen. We want the queen,” others chanted.

"The royals want to see their queen,” Chac Mool said to the guards. “Bring in the queen!"

The servant returned and, bowing, handed Chac Mool a small pouch. Chac Mool turned away from the assemblage as he removed a plastic applicator and tiny foam sponge.

Within minutes Black Macaw stood before his father. The ostensible brothers regarded each other with the warmth of two male scorpions.

Keiranne called again, “Where's Black Macaw's royal birthmark?"

Balon picked up her cry, and the others followed suit, chanting, “Black Macaw's birthmark! Black Macaw's birthmark!"

"Show them your royal birthmark,” said Chac Mool addressing his son, “my lord."

Lady Black Wing appeared at the doors in time to hear Chac Mool's request. “No, my lord,” she cried, rushing into the throne room, curtseying prettily, “it isn't seemly for the next king to disrobe publicly."

Balon shouted, “Black Macaw's birthmark!"

The others picked up the chant.

One of the more daring lords rushed up to Black Macaw and, in a moment of drunken revelry, yanked down his loincloth.

There, for everyone to see, was Black Macaw's pale skin that had rarely seen the light of day, but no strawberry birthmark.

"Behold the harlot's bastard,” shouted Caquiz from the doorway. “Black Macaw is no more royal than his father, Chac Mool!"

Lady Black Wing blinked and sputtered, and then, feigning outrage, turned on her heel, attempting to leave the throne room.

The milieu his cover, Chac Mool used his body to block the assembly's view and whispered to Black Macaw, “Don't wince or make a sound.” With that, Chac Mool applied the smoking foam sponge to Black Macaw's groin for five seconds.

In a disguised voice, Keiranne shouted, “Where's Black Macaw's birthmark?"

Balon and the others picked up the chant.

"Lower your loincloth,” said Chac Mool, stepping back for the throng to see, “and proudly display your royal birthmark."

There, where none had existed, rose an ugly red welt. The jeering crowd fell silent. Lady Black Wing audibly gasped but recovered and attempted to regain her dignity.

"What have you to say now, Caquiz?” asked Chac Mool.

Caquiz fell to his knees. “My lord, I..."

"Your lies have earned you an important position in Black Macaw's temple,” said Chac Mool, “supporting the foundation. Guards, bind his wrists!"

"But I heard you,” started Caquiz, “you admitted..."

"Who else dares challenge the royal lineage of Black Macaw?” Chac Mool interrupted, as his eyes searched the crowd and rested on Balon. “You're so devoted to Tlalocelot that you can join him in sacrifice. Guards, seize him."

"He's committed no crime,” shouted Tlalocelot. “Free him."

Chac Mool regarded him with a benevolent smile, enjoying the moment. “All right, I'm in a generous mood. Guards, release him.” Then pointing at Keiranne, he added “Seize this one instead."

Two guards grabbed Keiranne by the arms. Chac Mool approached, smiled, and pulled off her wimple. As her blond hair tumbled softly about her stained face, he could not resist fondling the silky tendrils.

"Take your bloody hands off me,” she said, her blue eyes flashing against her darkened complexion.

"That stain will take some time to wear off,” Chac Mool whispered, “even longer than Black Macaw's cryotherapy."

"You bastard!” Addressing the crowd, she said, “He's tricked you. That welt on Black Macaw is no birthmark. It's only a small wound that will disappear in a few days."

"Posing as a noble, posing as a man, posing as a goddess. You're in no position to accuse anyone of deception,” said Chac Mool, chuckling evilly.

"Release her,” shouted Tlalocelot. “You have the throne. Isn't that enough?"

Chac Mool regarded him, weighing his options, and finally with a beatific smile, whispered, “No.” Addressing the guards in a thunderous voice, he ordered, “Clear the court! I wish to question these two privately."

As the great doors began closing, Keiranne whistled for Pek. She focused her thoughts and moved toward the doors to call her dog. In the process she passed close to Tlalocelot. Pek came running and took her place at Keiranne's side, rubbing against her leg. Grabbing Tlalocelot's tether with one hand, Keiranne stroked her breastplate with her free hand. The air currents wove and danced.

Too late, Chac Mool realized what was happening. His men were out of reach. His tipsy body wobbled toward Keiranne, but he saw it was futile. Since reaching her was not viable, his only alternative was to stare her down. His eyes willed her to desist, submit. She sneered, returning his stare with an insouciant scowl that spoke volumes.

With the sounds of Chac Mool cursing and the high-pitched wail screeching in their ears, Keiranne, Tlalocelot, and Pek made the jump back through time.

For the third time in her time travels, they materialized inside a building. As Tlalocelot caught his breath and peered at his surroundings in wonder, Keiranne wriggled beneath the tether binding his wrists and kissed him.

"I love you,” she murmured in between kisses, feeling his arms around her.

"I thought I'd never hear you say those words again.” Hugging her tightly to him, he added, “And I love you.” He nuzzled her nose and returned her kisses. “But where are we?"

"More like ‘when,'” she said. “I recognize this place. Pek and I stumbled here once before. It's only about a mile from the throne room, but I'm not sure of the timeline."

Keiranne slipped out from under his bound hands and untied his wrists. Then they hurried outside to get their bearings.

"I see the temple in the distance,” he said, looking between the buildings, above the rows of one-story structures.

"I don't see any pyramids,” she said, looking north, “so this era might be close to your own."

"Pyramids..."

She turned to face him, reminded of his scant time-travel knowledge. “Your people erected some spectacular buildings called pyramids after the Quetzalcoatl Temple was completed,” she said. “Does anything look familiar to you?"

"Yes and no,” he said, scanning the horizon. “Some of it does, but something..."

"Has changed?” she filled in for him.

He nodded, and she continued, “It could be a timeline change, too."

"What do you mean?” he asked.

"I don't pretend to understand this, but it seems traveling between times can change history, so, even if it's the same moment, if the timeline's been altered, things can appear—and be—different."

"What makes you think that might have happened?” he asked.

"Pek and I found events in both your era and mine that had changed on several jumps, and this time period sure isn't my era."

"Why? What's different?"

"For one thing,” she said, patting the structure, “in my time period, this building had been buried and excavated, but here the structure is new and on top of the earth."

"And what was different in my era?” he asked.

"You were about to marry Nene."

Chuckling derisively, he said, “That proves this is serious."

She nodded. “For one thing, I don't know how to control the forces in this serpentine breastplate,” she said, placing his hand inside her tunic and on the stone necklace, “and, for another, it's possible these jumps in time have changed our timelines permanently."

"In which case,” he said, seeming to grasp the situation, “we can never go back to either of our eras."

"At least, not as we remember them."

Tlalocelot put his arms around her. “It doesn't matter what era. As long as we're together, I'm content.” He tenderly kissed her. “I promise to do everything earthly possible to make you happy."

She fought the tears that welled up. “Being with you makes me happy. If Pek and I were alone, the thought of never going home would frighten me. But wherever we are, whenever we are, with you, I am home.” She kissed him through the tears slowly trickling down her face.

"You frightened? Never,” he said, holding her tighter. “We'll be fine as long as we're together.” Then seeing Pek, he added, “The three of us.” Wagging her tail, Pek nuzzled them and enthusiastically barked her agreement.

Keiranne chuckled as she brushed away the tears. “Before Pek gives us away, let's find out if this is your timeline or one that's close.” She smiled through her wet eyelashes. “Maybe we can remain in this time."

"It's a good plan, or a great adventure."

Forcing herself to break the gaze, she said, “Come on, girl! Let's go for a walk."

Pek led the way as they set out on the main avenue to Quetzalcoatl Temple, the quadrangle their destination. Ahead of them on both sides of the street stretched a mile-long row of talud-tablero structures. Many were painted in geometric designs, and some sported creative murals of various animals. Wide stairways led to several structures, and some of the buildings seemed interconnected with open courtyards visible through the vestibules.

They passed people dyeing cotton fabric in large terra cotta vats, using sturdy wooden branches as paddles. Row upon row of drying fabric hung on lines in vivid reds and earth tones. They passed ghostly looking people, covered in a white powder, who appeared to be cooking rocks over a hot fire.

"They're making lime for the mortar,” Tlalocelot said to Keiranne's questioning gaze. They stopped and watched for a moment as the men superheated the limestone. Then, after the stone disintegrated, the ashen men crushed the fine pebbles into a white powder.

They passed women in white cotton tunics, carrying babies in what looked like large cotton slings flung over one shoulder. Other women supported the same slings with their foreheads, using them instead of baskets to carry fruit and vegetables. Still others tied baskets to their backs with long strips of material, the fabric encircling the baskets and tying in front of their chests.

The men they passed dressed in loincloths, longer hip cloths, and lightweight cotton capes tied over one shoulder, similar to the women's baby slings, but longer. Men and women alike wore earplugs and jewelry. Several waved feather fans in the late morning heat.

"Do the clothes look like current styles in your era?” she asked.

"I can't speak for women's fashion, but the classic tunics and white cotton huipilli look the same,” he said.

"Does anyone look familiar?"

"No, I haven't recognized anyone, nor has anyone seemed to know me, but this is a large city,” he said. “It's possible we just haven't met anyone I know."

"How about these buildings? Do any look familiar?

He shook his head. “No."

"Are you beginning to feel that we're not in your time period?” she asked lightly, struggling to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"Let's wait until we get to the marketplace and see the temple. That's the city center. If we don't recognize anything or anyone there, it's proof we're in another era or an altered timeline."

"Keep your eyes open for buildings that may look new here but that you recall as being older. It's possible this timeline is earlier than yours."

"Good point.” When they were within several blocks of the quadrangle, Tlalocelot squinted, scrutinizing first one and then another building.

"What is it?"

"Not sure,” he said, “but I think I recall several of these buildings as not being here. My guess is they're newly constructed."

"The paint doesn't look fresh,” she said, noting the faded color, “and flecks of mortar have chipped off. These buildings look like they've been here a while."

"Maybe this timeline isn't earlier, but later than my era.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I'll know better when we get to the quadrangle."

As they approached the marketplace, Tlalocelot, nodded. “Yes, see that building on the corner?"

"You mean the one with the serpent ramp bordering the staircase?” She pointed to what resembled a low railing in the shape of a serpent, its head overhanging the bottom step like a gargoyle's.

"Yes, I'm sure that was an open area in my time,” he said. “And two doors down, that was a small vegetable garden."

"How old would you guess these structures to be?” she asked.

"Six, eight years old,” he said, appraising them.

"We don't know how long the lots had stood vacant before the structures were built,” she said, “but at least this gives us a point of reference.” She looked toward the temple and palace. “Let's see if you recognize anyone who looks older than you recall."

They strolled around the produce market, past the stalls of blue corn, runner beans, pumpkins, husk tomatoes, bright red tomatoes, avocadoes, amaranth, and variegated green squash. They watched a wizened old woman sit cross-legged on a blanket, grinding a handful of corn with a stone mortar and pestle. A young woman beside her rolled out the tortilla dough with a stone rolling pin on a flat, rectangular stone base. A third woman fashioned tortillas by hand, starting with small dough balls that she patted and flattened into round corn cakes.

Then they caught the scent of tortillas cooking on an open grill. They watched another woman kneeling over a clay, three-pronged brazier filled with charcoal. She fried the corn tortillas on its flat surface, adding hot, spiced meat and vegetable fillings. The aroma was overwhelming.

"How long has it been since you ate?” she asked, her stomach growling.

"Not sure, but too long. How about you?"

"Technically, only a few hours have passed, but as but as far as my body clock is concerned, I think it's closer to a day,” she said. “The only thing I'm sure of is that I'm starving."

"That presents a problem,” he said. “How are we going to pay for food?"

Since neither had any money, Keiranne had to think quickly. “Would that woman barter?"

"What do we have to trade?” He looked down at his nearly naked body. “All I'm wearing is this loincloth."

"Other than the breastplate and my mother's bracelet, which aren't options, all I have is this long tunic, or,” she said, opening its bodice to display the undergarment, “a light shimmy."

"Definitely, the tunic,” he said, grinning. “The less you're wearing, the better I like it."

She repaid him with a bright smile as they walked to the tortilla stall and started bargaining. Within ten minutes, the three of them had had their fill of spicy venison and habanera tortillas and were starting their third cup of tea.

"What is this stuff?” she asked, sipping the reddish brown liquid.

"Taheebo tea,” he said, “it's made from the inner bark of the Red Lapacho tree."

"I've heard that name somewhere before,” she said. “What exactly is it?"

"It's a common tea people drink to heal skin ailments and small wounds. With all my cuts and scrapes as a child, I grew up on it,” he said, smiling at the memory.

"That's where I heard it!” she said. “Chac Mool, or Dr. Charles Mull, as he's called in my era, told me how he's harvesting blood from your people to become the world's foremost oncologist in my era."

His incredulous expression stopped her. “Did you just say Chac Mool lives in two eras?"

She nodded.

"And he's killing my people?"

"I'd told you the short version,” she said, taking a deep breath, blushing, still hesitant to share the details of her pact with Chac Mool, “but it's a long story."

His eyes focused on her intently, he said, “You've shared your body with me. Why not share your heart?"

Her chest suddenly felt constricted. As she grappled with her conscience, his words left her silent. They found a grassy spot a block off the main avenue under a gently soughing pine tree. Pek located a half-buried bone and amused herself, while Keiranne summarized.

"You know, in my era, there are few if any pine trees here.” She looked up at the deep green boughs and at the surrounding trees. “Instead of pine, cedar, cypress, or oak trees here, in my era there are agave, cactus, and yucca."

"Very interesting,” he said, “but why do I feel you're delaying this story?"

"You already know me too well,” she said with a sheepish grin. “I'm not sure where to start, but, through time travel, Chac Mool leads two lives simultaneously. One here, and one in my era. He's a, well, a medicine man in my time period, where a disease called cancer is killing many people. He's found a cure for it in this era and, as a result, has been saving many lives in my era."

"Although it doesn't sound like the Chac Mool I know, it does sound as if he's performing a service to the people,” said Tlalocelot.

"That's what many believe,” she said, grimacing. “He discovered your people drink so much taheebo that their blood cures people with this disease."

"How does he get their blood to cure these people,” asked Tlalocelot.

"He uses human sacrifices from your era to get the blood,” she said, watching his response.

"That would explain why Chac Mool is so eager for human sacrifice,” Tlalocelot said.

"Yes,” she said, “after he kills the sacrificial victims, he returns to an earlier moment in your era and transports their live bodies to another time."

"So,” Tlalocelot said, comprehending the chain of events, “because they're already dead, no one looks for them or suspects any wrongdoing. What about the timeline?"

"He must be wreaking havoc with time chronology,” she said, shaking her head. “It's no wonder these alternate timelines are appearing."

"But you still haven't explained how he uses my people's blood to cure your people,” said Tlalocelot.

"Transfusions.” To his stare, she added, “He places their blood directly into the veins of cancer patients,” she said, “and it strengthens those people."

"And what does he do with my people?"

"He slowly bleeds them to death."

"The fiend!” said Tlalocelot. “He tortures them and then denies them an afterlife."

"What do you mean, ‘denies them an afterlife?’”

"In our religion, many people consider sacrifice a noble death, nearly equal to a warrior's death in battle,” said Tlalocelot. “Not that I agree with this, but many believe sacrificed souls dwell with the gods. According to those beliefs, by his killing these people in a dishonorable way, Chac Mool is not only robbing them of life, but depriving them of an afterlife."

"Worse,” she added, “he sells their blood for profit."

"What a burden you've carried,” said Tlalocelot. “Is this why you've kept this information from me?"

"There's more.” She took a deep breath. “I'm ashamed to tell you the details."

"We're one,” he said, taking her hand. “Don't ever be afraid to share your thoughts with me."

"After you were imprisoned, I tumbled back into my time,” she said, “as accidentally as I'd initially stumbled into yours. I knew you could die at Chac Mool's hands if I didn't return to help you, but I didn't know how.” She paused, wincing.

"Go on,” he urged.

"I'm embarrassed to describe my bargain with Chac Mool,” she said, unable to meet his eyes.

His hand stiffened in hers, but he said gently, “I'm in no position to judge you or your actions. Whatever you've done, I know was for the right reasons."

Flashing him a grateful smile, she continued. “Chac Mool offered an exchange. He'd take me back to your time, and you'd be released immediately, placed on the throne, and allowed to rule without any more trouble from him or Black Macaw. Then once you were king, we'd marry, and I'd spend a full life with you until you died of old age."

Chuckling, he said, “So far, it sounds like a very good deal.” Then his brow furrowed. “Why did you say until I died of old age? Not that I wish your life shortened, but I hope to outlive you, sparing you an old age of loneliness."

She looked at him with renewed admiration. “According to Chac Mool, I won't age here. As you grow old, I'll look pretty much the same as I do now."

"It still sounds like a very good deal,” he said. “Obviously, there's more to this, or you wouldn't call it an exchange. What's the disadvantage?"

"When you die of old age, I must return to my time, where I'll only have aged about an hour per day, and...” she said, faltering.

"Go on,” he said.

"I'd have to marry Chac Mool, I mean, Chuck Mull, his name in my time."

Tlalocelot took her in his arms. “That will never happen,” he said, drawing her close to him. “Not only is it unacceptable, but he's broken the agreement and so forfeited any pact."

Keiranne could feel the negative energy draining from her body. Nothing eased the ache in her chest except Tlalocelot. His touch, his words, and his deep understanding soothed whatever troubled her. She threw her arms around him and held him close. She actually felt lighter, like the adage about a great weight being lifted, and she took a deep breath.

"Thank you,” she said. “You are my breath, my life. You fill my lungs. You fill my soul, and yet you take my breath away. I love you."

He held her close, gently rocking her in his arms, until the ache left her body and spirit.

"It seems to me,” he said, still clasping her in his muscular arms, “that you and I have a mission."

"Which is?"

"We have to find the people Chac Mool's torturing,” he said solemnly, “and release them.” His eyes met hers. “My only concern is that the cancer patients of your era will suffer."

"I know little about medical science or antibodies,” she said, “but I'm sure the properties found in your people's blood could be synthesized, um, recreated, or else people from my era could drink the taheebo extract themselves and develop their own immunities. What's important is that your people be released from Chac Mool's living hell."

"Do you know where—or when—he keeps them?"

She shook her head. “All he told me was that they reside in a lab, and it's not located in my timeline."

"What's a lab?” he asked.

"It should be an evolved place of medical progress, not a torture chamber for sentient beings."

"Not to offend you,” Tlalocelot said, “but, from what you're telling me, your era does not sound very advanced. Progress should be compassionate."

"Chac Mool is offensive, both he and what he's doing.” Standing up, she said, “You're right, we have to begin this quest somewhere. Are you ready?"

They walked back to the quadrangle through the produce market and headed toward the temple, Pek at their heels. Tlalocelot commented on the city's growth, noting more buildings that had been vacant lots during his time.

"Doesn't it seem strange that no one seems to recognize you?” Keiranne asked. “Even if you don't know them, shouldn't citizens recognize their prince?"

He chuckled, spreading his arms wide to show her his outfit. “All I'm wearing is a loincloth. Do I look like a royal prince to you?"

"To me? Yes. But to anyone else ... I see your point.” Then she giggled, realizing the truth of his words.

As they neared the temple, the marketplace became increasingly crowded. Vendors lined the paths on both sides, their wares displayed on colorful blankets. People were buying, selling, looking, talking, walking, nursing babies, disciplining children, and leading the frail. It was loud and fast-paced, with a certain excitement in the air, thought Keiranne, getting caught up in the stimulating sights, sounds, and scents.

Attire in the marketplace ran the gamut from men wearing meager loincloths, and bare-breasted women wearing only skirts, to opulently attired noblemen and intricately-coiffed women wearing jewels, headdresses, and sumptuous clothing.

At the end of their avenue lay the temple. Looming ahead, it seemed immense compared to the squat buildings they had passed on the avenue and particularly impressive in contrast to the flat, open-air market. No wonder it awed the people of this era, she thought. And then she noticed the wide red streak down its stairways. Blood.

Suddenly Tlalocelot stopped, as if rooted to the ground. Keiranne followed his line of vision and saw an older version of Balon walking toward them, tears in his eyes. His hair had grayed, and the smile lines around his eyes had deepened. He walked with a slight limp, but it was Balon.

"My lord,” he said, dropping to his knees on the crowded path. “I truly thought you were dead."

"It's good to see you, Balon.” Lifting him up, Tlalocelot put his arms around his shoulders and hugged him like a brother.

"My lord, I have a thousand questions for you,” Balon said, “but it's not safe here in the market. Come with me."

They followed him to a little-used side entrance to the palace, one Keiranne had not noticed previously. Once inside, Balon led them through a cramped passage to a back storeroom.

"Why this secrecy, Balon?” asked Tlalocelot.

With a deep sigh, he answered, “Many things have changed since you left, my lord. Black Macaw is said to rule, but Chac Mool dictates the orders. The palace is an unhappy place. Petty arguments lead to battles. Battles lead to wars. The nobles are divided, and the kingdom is crumbling."

"What's being done about it?” asked Tlalocelot.

"Chac Mool and his priests offer daily sacrifices,” said Balon, “but the gods are never appeased, never satisfied. Always more and more people are sacrificed. The rains have stopped, and the maize production is too low to support our people. My lord, we need you to rule. Where have you been? If you weren't dead as I'd come to believe, why have you stayed away so long?"

"How long have we been gone?” he asked.

"Seven years, my lord.” Balon was puzzled by the question. “Have you forgotten us?"

"It's not that we've forgotten. It just doesn't seem that long ago,” said Tlalocelot, smiling wanly at Keiranne. “In fact, it seems like only this morning that we left."

"Out of curiosity,” she asked, “what did Chac Mool say happened to us?"

"He said your dog attacked him, and you escaped by bribing the guards.” said Balon, “All the guards that had been loyal to you were suspected. Twenty were accused of treason and sacrificed, one each day for a month."

"How did you escape that fate, my friend?” asked Tlalocelot.

Hanging his head on his chest, he said, “My only option was to loudly denounce you, my lord, and offer Chac Mool and Black Macaw my allegiance."

"You had no choice,” said Tlalocelot, placing his arm on his shoulder. “You did the right thing, surviving to fight another day."

"Now that you've returned, will you assume your rightful place on the throne?” asked Balon. “Many believe you're the only one of royal blood, the only rightful heir, no matter what lies Chac Mool tells. These nobles would follow you at a moment's notice. Will you lead the kingdom again, my lord?"

"Patience, Balon, let me first discover what's happened in my absence,” said Tlalocelot. “And keep Lady Quetzal's and my return our secret until the time is right."

Balon nodded with a small bow. “Where are you staying, my lord?"

"I was hoping you could hide us somewhere safely for several days,” Tlalocelot said, “until we can devise a strategy."

"Yes, my lord,” said Balon, “I know just the place."

Balon led them through the city's back alleys to a small building not far from what would become the hotel's location twenty-eight hundred years in the future.

"You may not recognize this area, my lord,” said Balon. “In the seven years since you've been gone, this entire district has been purchased and rebuilt by Chac Mool, all, that is, except for this property."

"What's Chac Mool using it for?” asked Keiranne.

"No one's certain, my lady,” said Balon, “but the laborers said there's a huge cave beneath the land, and Chac Mool has had a large complex built over its entrance."

"Has anyone been inside the structure since it was built?"

"No, my lady, many people make deliveries at the front gate, but Chac Mool's new priestly order does not allow anyone inside. What this building is for remains a mystery, although people walking by at night report having seen strange lights and heard odd sounds."

Keiranne caught Tlalocelot's eye. “Could this be the lab?"

"The what, my lady?” asked Balon.

"A building Chac Mool mentioned,” she said.

"There are clothes and linens in the other room,” said Balon, showing them the way, “and I'll return this evening with food."

"We're indebted to you,” said Tlalocelot.

"My lord,” he said, his eyes bright with held-back tears, “I thought you'd passed to the afterlife. This is the least I can do now you've returned to salvage the kingdom."

When Balon left, Keiranne toured the two-room dwelling. “Our first home,” she said, grinning.

"That's definite cause to celebrate,” said Tlalocelot, checking the shelves. “Didn't Balon say there were linens?"

They made a comfortable bed out of the stacked blankets. Settling on top of them, Tlalocelot took her in his arms, kissing the hollows of her neck and nibbling her ears. His breath tickled her and sent delicious icy chills down her spine.

He brushed against her nipples with his lips, and she involuntarily arched her back. As she thrust her breasts closer to his maddening, soft tongue, he licked and caressed them. His lips followed the V between her breasts down to her bellybutton, then traveled further south to delve ever so delectably to the V between her legs.

They both moaned with the sweet ache of desire. He caressed and teased her to the brink of orgasm. Her fingertips slid down his throat and over his collarbone, combing through his luxuriant chest hair, feeling his muscular chest. Her hands skated over his torso to his back, finding the hollow of his spine, caressing his hips, thighs, and lean buttocks. Then responding to his insistent caresses, she raked her nails across his back as she drew him closer, in the process leaving red welts, the unmistakable signature of her passion.

Luxuriating in his touch, she squirmed beneath him and returned his kisses with moist, parted lips. Lifting her against him, he scorched her lips with a deep, tongue-thrusting kiss. She arched her back and tilted her pelvis forward to meet his manhood. Enclosing him with her arms, she wrapped her legs around him.

"Welcome home,” she murmured, as her body gave way to the delicious tingling that started at the base of her spine and catapulted her into blissful ecstasy.

That night Balon returned with food enough for several days, including a bone for Pek, and he promised to return again the following evening with more supplies. Before he left, Balon paused at the door, surveying the humble dwelling, noting the blankets on the floor.

"It grieves me to see you here, when your rightful place is the palace."

To hide the sudden color in her checks, Keiranne bent down to pet Pek.

After he left, she said, “Poor Balon. We may have embarrassed him."

"He's a good man,” said Tlalocelot, taking her into his arms, “as loyal as they come."

"He only wishes to serve his king,” Keiranne said, lifting a lock of his hair off his face. “Will you resume the throne, in this timeline?’”

"I believe we could help the people of this time,” he said. “What do you think?"

"First and foremost,” she said, “I don't know how to control time travel. I'm not sure we could get any closer to your time than we are now, so this timeline may be your best chance to help your people."

"But?"

"I'm concerned about the people Chac Mool is harvesting.” She looked deep into his eyes. “I can't just go on about life, now that I know there are people suffering every moment of every day and every night at Chac Mool's hands—all under the guise of science—but actually for his profit."

"From what Balon tells us, it's possible his lab is in this timeline,” he said. “I'm willing to explore this strange structure if you are."

"Maybe we can accomplish both goals,” she said, “find and release his human lab rats and remain in this timeline to reunite your people."

"Both goals involve ending Chac Mool's barbarism,” he said. “Remove him from power, and we remove the evil he's wrought upon this land and its people."

They set out after the crescent moon rose. Balon had been right. No one seemed to live in the area, and, after sunset, no one crossed through it. The streets were dark and strangely devoid of people.

"I wish we had a flashlight,” Keiranne said, tripping over a rock.

"A what?"

"A flashlight,” she said, trying to explain. “It's as bright as a torch but has no flame or heat."

"You come from strange times,” he said, a smile in his voice. “I'd like to see your era one day."

"Be careful what you wish for."

Within minutes, the three of them came upon an immense building. One-story tall, its size was not obvious except when standing directly in front of it. It filled the entire block. Walking its length, they saw only one stairway, one entrance.

"This must be the place,” Tlalocelot said, scouting the area. “It's odd. I don't see any guards posted."

"Good, that means we can at least climb the stairs and peek inside,” she said.

They padded quietly up the steps, hiding among the shadows. At the top, they could look down into a courtyard. Something glassy and cylindrical reflected in the moonlight.

"I think I know what that is,” said Keiranne. “Let's get a closer look."

They stepped down into the sunken courtyard, hugging the walls to keep in the shadows. As they walked around a jutting ramp, a red light flashed from an object mounted on the opposite column. Immediately, an alarm sounded and a white light turned on. Her first impulse was to run, but Keiranne saw an iguana scurry in the light. With one hand, she held Pek's neck, and with the other she grasped Tlalocelot's wrist.

"Don't move!"

"What is that?” he whispered.

"A motion detector. It senses movement."

They saw a red light mounted on top of a merlon turn on and rotate toward the movement.

"What's that?” he asked.

"A camera,” she said, “something like the one I had."

He started to move forward, but she restrained him.

"Careful, it may be using infrared to record."

"What?"

"Don't move from behind these pylons,” she warned, “in case it can see in the dark with a special light."

After thirty seconds, both lights extinguished, plunging them back into darkness.

"If anyone's monitoring the camera,” she said, “they must have assumed the iguana set off the motion detector.” Keiranne breathed a sigh of relief. “We're safe for now, but we have to be careful to move slowly and stay close to the wall."

"I can see why people fear this place,” said Tlalocelot.

"There's no question about it. We've found Chac Mool's laboratory,” said Keiranne. “This is twenty-first century technology."

"You come from very strange times,” he said, “and I'm not as sure that I'd like to visit your era anymore."

"Maybe I'll just have to remain in your world, then.” She leaned over and kissed him. “But for now, we've got to get inside that complex. If Chac Mool is keeping his human guinea pigs here, we have to free them."

They crept along the wall until they found a doorway. Pushing gently, they learned it was barred or locked from the inside. They continued slowly around the courtyard, hugging the wall, until they came to another door directly across the courtyard from the stairway. Pressing his entire weight against it, Tlalocelot felt it give way, and he stumbled inside.

Shrugging, Keiranne whispered, “Guess they thought no one could reach this door without the motion detector spotting them."

"What did you call it? Technology?” He snorted indignantly. “They should have posted guards."

"I'm glad they didn't!” said Keiranne, looking up at the camera and motion detector. Although the camera was mounted on the merlon several feet above their heads, the motion detector was just within Tlalocelot's grasp.

"What are you thinking?"

"If we only had something sticky,” she said, “we could cover that eye, so it couldn't detect our movement."

Then she stepped inside the yawning door, closing but not barring it behind her. Without the door's light, the corridor was pitch dark. Pek's eyes adjusted first, and she padded softly ahead, with Keiranne and Tlalocelot following. Feeling their way along the walls with their hands, they passed several doors, but none opened. At the end of the long hall, they saw a faint light outlining another door.

When Keiranne gently pressed against this one, it gave. She opened it very gradually, both to escape detection and allow her eyes time to adjust to the light. She heard distant sounds, but nothing coming directly from behind the door, so she pushed it open and walked in.

"What is this place?” asked Tlalocelot, eyeing the Formica countertops and cupboards. Microscopes, glass vials, bottles, rubber gloves, needles, clear tubing, plastic collection bags, autoclaves, a centrifuge, electronic scales, computers, and printers littered the counter. Bottles of alcohol, packages of cotton swabs, and rolls of adhesive tape lined the shelves. Unopened cardboard boxes were stacked along the floor. An immense, double-door refrigerator stood against one wall. Its doors were glass, and its contents were visible on the shelves—row upon row of labeled vials of blood.

"A lab,” she said, listening to the familiar electric hum, “that uses battery-generated power. They've got everything they need here for blood work."

"And what are those?” he asked, eyeing the wooden gun rack mounted on the wall.

"Powerful weapons,” she said, “semi-automatic pistols that have no business being in this time frame."

Although the rack had a glass and wrought iron door that locked, she saw its key dangling, and she turned it, helping herself to one of the pistols and two boxes of shells.

"Just in case,” she said.

"Do you know how to use that thing?” he asked.

"I can shoot more than pictures.” She chuckled as she checked the pistol's full barrel. To his blank stare, she added, “Sorry, cultural humor."

"It's not wise to stay here too long,” he said, glancing around suspiciously. “Let's either push on and find the prisoners or leave and come back another time."

"You're right,” she said, nodding. “You lead."

They cracked open the door on the opposite wall of the lab. Again they heard a mechanical hum but no voices directly behind the door, so they cautiously walked through. This room was lit by night-lights, but even in the dimness, they saw several deep freezers lining the walls. The freezers’ electric hum created white noise, counteracting any other sounds. They closed the door and progressed to the opposite side of the room.

This doorknob locked from their side. Tlalocelot regarded it cautiously, and then pushed against it. Keiranne leaned past him, turned the knob, and felt it open. Again they proceeded slowly, listening for any sounds. They heard nothing, but they smelled food, their growling stomachs reminding them they had not eaten dinner.

Inching the door open, they saw the small room was deserted, but it was a kitchen of some sort. A microwave sat on a wall-mounted shelf above the countertop. An electric griddle lay beneath it, fresh tortilla dough in a bowl alongside it. A freezer stood against the wall. Two tables filled the floor space, one for eating, and one for extracting blood.

At the first table, a steaming bowl of beans and a stack of tortillas sat in front of a bench, the food's aroma wafting through the air. The second table held glass vials, a bottle of alcohol, rubber gloves, needles, clear tubing, plastic collection bags, cotton swabs, and a roll of adhesive tape: everything necessary to extract blood.

They looked at each other somberly and pressed on to the next door. This door also had a knob that locked from this side. Tlalocelot turned the knob, and it gave in his hand. Listening, they heard nothing nearby, so they stepped through warily, looking around them. They found they had entered another long hall lit by night-lights. At the end, light outlined yet another door. This time they heard voices as they approached.

Keiranne squeezed Tlalocelot's arm, silently warning him to be careful. They waited in the gloom, the three of them behind the door, holding their breath, Keiranne holding Pek, listening.

"You, number one-fifty-three, step forward,” said a deep male voice.

They heard metal clanking and grating, as well as shuffling feet and a gaggle of voices speaking at once.

"Get back!” warned the same deep voice, as they heard a metallic thump and a man's scream. “I said number one-fifty-three, step forward! The rest of you stay back!"

They heard more scuffling and then what sounded like a metal gate being closed or lowered into place, metal screeching against metal.

"Are you hungry yet?” asked a rasping male voice, sniggering.

"You know the routine,” said the first deep voice. “First we extract the blood, and then you eat. Got it?"

A third voice grunted something unintelligible.

"Move it!” ordered the rasping voice.

Keiranne and Tlalocelot heard more scuffling and then footsteps coming closer to the door. They turned and scurried soundlessly down the hall to the kitchen area, closing the door just as the unseen trio entered the hallway. Keiranne pressed the push button to lock the door and grabbed a handful of tortilla dough before they scooted through the next door and locked it.

"What the hell?” said the first deep voice. “Did you accidentally lock that door again?"

"No, besides you were the last one out,” said the rasping voice.

"Shut up and just open the damned door, will ya'?” shouted the first deep voice.

"I ain't got the keys! What the hell do you think I am, a locksmith or something?” said the rasping voice.

"Well, go get ‘em,” shouted the first deep voice. “Now!"

Keiranne and Tlalocelot heard the heavy footsteps and looked at each other, wondering if the man would come looking in their direction and cut off their escape route.

"We'd better leave,” said Keiranne.

Leading the way, Keiranne hastily retraced their steps through the freezer room, the lab, and the long corridor to the exit. She opened the door only wide enough for the three of them to squeeze through.

"We don't want to set off the motion detector again,” she whispered. When they were outside, she placed the tacky dough in Tlalocelot's hand.

"What is this?” he whispered, flexing his hand, feeling the sticky substance.

"Tortilla dough,” she answered, pointing to the motion detector's glass eye. “Try to cover that eye with it, but do it in one quick motion. If it senses you moving first, it'll set off its light and alarm and activate the camera."

Tlalocelot rolled the dough in his hands to approximately the same shape and size of the eye. Then in one fluid movement he reached up and pressed the dough into the motion detector's lens.

"Like that?” he asked with a smile.

Despite having incapacitated the motion detector, they crept along the courtyard's shadows, hugging the wall. They wanted to make certain there was no second motion detector or hidden sentry. Within five minutes they were safely back out onto the deserted avenue, where Keiranne took a deep breath. Another five minutes, and they were back home. Only then did they speak.

"We need reinforcements,” said Tlalocelot, uncovering one of the jugs Balon had brought.

"It only sounded like two guards,” Keiranne said, “but there could have been more, even another shift of off-duty guards."

"We can't afford to underestimate enemy forces even if we have the advantage of surprise."

"What do you suggest?” she asked, petting Pek.

"Tomorrow, we'll get Balon to organize a small group of loyal guards,” he said, pouring a dark, foamy liquid into two terracotta cups. He handed her one.

"What is this stuff?” she asked, sniffing the brown liquid, its slight effervescence tickling her nostrils.

"Balche,” he said, taking a long draught. “Try it. It will help you relax, my lady."

She took a small, tentative sip, rolling it over her tongue. “We call it beer,” she announced with a smile, “and it's delicious."

"It's unfortunate we weren't able to see the prisoners’ conditions,” he said, “but they're definitely being held against their will."

"Obviously they're being coerced into giving blood,” she said. “No blood, no food."

"Tomorrow night, we'll release them from their misery,” he said, shaking his head. “What kind of monster is Chac Mool?"

Good to his word, at sunset the next night, Balon produced a group of loyal guards.

"My lord,” said the first guard, sinking to his knees at the sight of Tlalocelot.

As if on cue, the remaining five guards also bowed low, remaining on their knees until Tlalocelot spoke.

"Men, there's no need to bow,” said Tlalocelot. “That you're here proves your loyalty and valor. Get up!"

The men stood and wished Tlalocelot well. Balon passed around cups of balche, and the guards drank toasts, both to Tlalocelot's return and their success in the night's raid ahead. Tlalocelot then briefed them on the mission's logistics without going into detail on the concepts of either time travel or blood transfusions.

When it was dark, Pek, Tlalocelot, Keiranne, and the guards started toward the lab. Over her huipilli, Keiranne wore a cummerbund that she used as a holster. She carried the extra rounds of bullets in a drawstring bag of Balon's, and as a precaution she wrapped a ball of wet tortilla dough in a cloth square. They were prepared.

As they approached the building, they padded quietly up the steps, again hiding among the shadows. They saw no signs of sentries, but Keiranne warned them about the need to hug the walls and keep to the shadows.

Wishing she had binoculars, Keiranne strained her eyes to see whether the tortilla dough was still adhering to the motion detector's glass eye. It was too far away. No one could see with any certainty.

Again as they walked around a jutting ramp, a red light flashed from the motion detector. An alarm sounded, and a white light turned on.

"Stay in the shadows!” ordered Tlalocelot in a whisper.

She held Pek's neck with one arm, and, with the other, blocked the guards from moving.

"Don't move!” she whispered. “Either the dough fell off, or they discovered it and pulled it off, but the motion detector is working tonight."

Again a red light mounted on top of a merlon turned on and rotated toward the movement, but they remained motionless. Keiranne held her breath. After thirty seconds, both lights extinguished, plunging them back into darkness.

Keiranne breathed a sigh of relief. “We're safe for now, but move slowly and stay close to the wall.” When they reached the door on the other side of the courtyard, Keiranne saw the previous night's dough had apparently dried and fallen off. She pressed the tacky ball of dough into Tlalocelot's hand. “You know what to do."

Again he rolled the dough in his hands to the approximate the shape and size of the eye. In one flowing motion he reached up and under the apparatus, pressing the substance into the motion detector's lens. Keiranne held her breath again, praying his action was faster than the motion sensor. When no light or siren went on, she resumed breathing.

Tlalocelot pushed against the door as he had the night before, but it would not budge.

"Try it again,” she said. Her heart sank. To be so close, and to fail...

This time Tlalocelot and two guards rammed the door with their shoulders, and it gave. Although the wooden peg splintered, it made little noise as its slivers showered onto the floor.

Leading the way, Keiranne hastily retraced their steps to the lab. While the guards stared at the technology about them, Keiranne collected the pistols and ammunition from the gun rack and placed them in a plastic bin.

Their group cracked open the next door and heard the freezers’ electric hum, but no voices, so they cautiously entered the storage room and progressed to the next door. Twisting the doorknob soundlessly, Tlalocelot inched it open. Again they proceeded slowly, listening for any sounds, but the small kitchen was deserted.

Under one of the tables, Keiranne found several jugs of water. She poured the water into the plastic bin, submerging the guns and bullets. Then she carried the bin back to the freezer room and placed it in one of the large utility freezers.

They pressed on to the next door. Tlalocelot turned the knob and listened. They heard nothing, so they stepped into the hallway warily. At the hall's end, light outlined another door. This time they heard muffled voices as they approached.

The hairs rising on the back of her neck, Keiranne took the pistol from her cummerbund. She and Tlalocelot exchanged glances, not knowing what awaited them on the other side of the bolted door. When they drew back the bolt, a metallic click echoed through the hallway. Their group collectively held its breath, but they heard no further sound. Apparently no one outside the locked room had heard, but the voices within ceased. All became silent, waiting for the next move.

Tlalocelot entered first, followed by Keiranne and Pek, the guards bringing up the rear. The smell of human waste was overwhelming. What they saw were emaciated skeletons of men in soiled loincloths, living in squalid conditions in a windowless jail cell, no sleeping mats, no benches, and no toilets. A tiny holding cell acted as a barrier between the main cell and the door, where apparently the prisoners were let out one at a time to give blood and eat.

At first there was an anxious hush, but as soon as the prisoners recognized Tlalocelot and some of the others, they broke out in a cacophony of cheers.

"Quiet!” Tlalocelot held up his hands for silence. “We're not free yet. Save your enthusiasm until we're safely out of the building."

But his admonition came too late. An alarm sounded.

"Keep that outer door open,” shouted Keiranne over the buzzer. “Don't let them lock us in here."

In the meantime, Tlalocelot and another guard began experimenting with the cell locks, discovering how they worked. Normally the prisoners were let out one at a time to keep order. Each passed through the second cell, which locked behind him before it opened to the outside, effectively keeping the others at bay.

Like feral cat traps but with nothing humane about it.

Tlalocelot and the other guard rigged both cell doors open so the prisoners could escape. As the last man left the cell, they heard Chac Mool's men shouting and running toward them.

"Get the guns!” a voice called out.

"They're gone!” shouted a second voice.

Within moments, a dozen of Chac Mool's men, dressed as a special order of priests, barged through the door with obsidian knives and sticks. Although the weapons were primitive, the gore was appalling as the knives slashed skin and the sticks crushed skulls.

The room was a solid sea of bloodied arms and legs, where it was impossible to tell friend from foe. Keiranne knew firing a warning shot into the air could ricochet and kill someone. Finally, she fired into a wooden beam, knowing the bullet would lodge safely, but hoping the noise would halt the battle.

For an instant, it worked. The sound captured everyone's attention, giving Tlalocelot and his men time enough to each take one of the pseudo-priests captive. The freed prisoners mobbed the remaining priests, using whatever weapons they could find.

Tlalocelot and his guards strong-armed the priests out into the hall. Keiranne emerged just in time to see Chac Mool run down another dimly lit corridor. Although his escape was undetected by the guards, Keiranne called to Tlalocelot as she ran after Chac Mool, Pek at her heels.

Hoping she carried the only functional pistol, Keiranne anticipated an advantage. In pursuit, she caught a glimpse of Chac Mool running through the dimly lit hall directly into a cylindrical cave passage. This time, emergency lights blazed from occasional points along the passageway. The effect created an alternate reality of gloom and glare, manifesting as ever-changing shadows. In the poor lighting, travel was difficult.

The path was slippery and uneven, particularly for Keiranne, who was unfamiliar with it, and Pek, who struggled to maintain her footing along the cave's floor. Its surface was slick from seeps and interspersed with sharp obsidian ridges.

Keiranne was surprised. For a corpulent man, Chac Mool moved quickly. Fear and adrenalin must be quickening his pace.

Then she heard the sound of rushing water. Next she saw where a stone wall had been recently excavated. Within moments, the chamber intersected another, and she realized where she was. She turned to her right, knowing it would lead them to the crystal room.

Chac Mool must have connected another of the lava tubes, so there's a corridor linking his complex to the crystal room—no more falling through the river into the aquifer. This must be how he's traveling through time—he's been using the crystal room.

When she and Pek reached the crystal room, she was shocked. The room no longer gleamed and twinkled like an enormous chandelier. Plunder replaced pristine. Soot and muddy grime covered the millions of tiny, hollow crystal growths. Instead of resembling a fairyland of glistening, fresh-fallen snow and icicles, the grotto looked like a pigsty, muddied and trampled. Heavy traffic had taken its toll.

She regarded the man who had caused this transgression against nature, debating whether to use the pistol in her hand. The stolen white onyx pendent dangling from his neck only fueled her anger. She and Pek watched Chac Mool's hand sharply strike the rock projectile the third time, heard the singing stone's piercing musicality, and felt the tension in the air.

"Stop,” she shouted, “I have a gun."

She aimed, but before they could stop him, they saw the air melt before them and heard the vibration's pitch rise higher. Pek howled, and Chac Mool laughed fiendishly. Then he was gone, like the grotto's virginal beauty.

Mourning for the crystal room's lost beauty, she and Pek retraced their steps through the cave's passageways and the complex's corridors. By the time they rejoined Tlalocelot, he and his guards had taken Chac Mool's special order of priests into custody.

"Where are Chac Mool's prisoners?” asked Keiranne.

"They escaped during the battle,” said Tlalocelot.

"What will become of those men in this shifted timeline?” asked Keiranne.

"They were understandably anxious to escape and too numerous to stop, possibly a hundred men.” Tlalocelot shrugged. “Perhaps we can locate them later, but first we have to take these false priests back to the palace."

They retraced their steps through the kitchen, freezer room, lab, and corridors, their bound prisoners in tow. However, when they walked out of the buildings, the motion detector activated, the lights came on, the siren blared, and the camera began recording.

"Don't worry,” said Keiranne, surmising the tortilla dough had fallen out again, “there's no one here to stop us."

With the alarm is still sounding, they crossed the courtyard. When they reached the stairway, Chac Mool, Black Macaw, and guards loyal to them were waiting.

"Guards,” commanded Black Macaw, “release the priests and arrest these treacherous heretics. How dare they defile the priesthood."

"You escaped once,” said Chac Mool for the gathering, “but be assured you won't escape a second time."

The royal guards tied Tlalocelot's and his guards’ hands behind their backs, pulling the leather tongs so tight, they cut into their wrists. When a guard tried to tie Keiranne's hands behind her back, Pek ripped into his hand, and the man screamed, releasing her.

Keiranne reached under her clothes to stroke and then pat her breastplate twice with her free hand, while she held Pek with the other hand. She focused her thoughts, forcing out any doubts or fears from her mind. Through sheer will, she and Pek escaped amid dancing, weaving air currents and the welcome, high-pitched screech.

They arrived in what appeared to be her era, in the excavated hotel's ruins. As they watched from the seclusion of their de facto bunker, Keiranne saw her bus from the Benito Juárez International Airport drive up. She watched Carlos Arizpe's group descend. Mesmerized, Keiranne waited to see her earlier self alight, wondering if the present timeline could support two of her, but the bus drove away without her other self emerging.

She stared after it, wondering about the implications. Do I exist? Where do I belong? Will the timeline ever be reconciled? Will I ever see Tlalocelot again—in any era?

The prospects were too limited in this timeline. She could not bear it. Holding Pek, she patted her breastplate twice with her free hand, focused her thoughts, and jumped again.

This time she found herself on top of the Pyramid of the Sun, where she had first met Pek. Dorian was telling her other self about the Toltec myths of the butterflies symbolizing metamorphosis as they move between the realms of the earth and sky.

Once again the prospects were too frightening. Not knowing the ultimate consequences of all their jumps, not knowing if they would ever reach Tlalocelot in any timeline, Keiranne had to chance it once more. Holding Pek, holding her breath, she patted her breastplate twice, suspended her disbelief, and jumped through time.

This time they arrived in the temple's secret corridor, near where they had found the mushrooms in what seemed a previous lifetime. She removed the munitions cartridge from the gun, scattering the shells behind loose rocks. She did not have enough time to destroy the gun, but she hid it in the tiny crevice where Chac Mool could not fit.

She and Pek crept along the passageway, snuck through the secret entrance, slipped inside the temple, made their way to the front, and joined the throngs. There they watched as royal guards, carrying spears with razor-edged obsidian points, strong-armed Tlalocelot, his guards, and other bound victims, thirty-six in all, into pits at the four corners of what would become the temple's next superimposition. She and Pek arrived in time to hear Chac Mool give his closing comments in an oratory to their gods.

"As you know,” said Chac Mool, turning to address the assembly, “the recent droughts are a sign the gods have turned their backs on us. Increased human offerings have not been enough. Only royal blood will ensure the gods’ blessing on this temple's dedication. Only Tlalocelot's blood will satisfy the gods."

Chac Mool pointed to the south, east, and west corners with his feathered staff. “Three corners of the temple have already been dedicated this day. You've seen them place chains of human teeth and jawbones around their necks. You've witnessed the priests spear the prisoners. This pleases the gods."

"Look!” He pointed to the sky with his staff. “Do you see the gathering clouds? Rain is imminent,” he cried. “The gods approve. Here's proof that the gods smile upon this sacrifice, this new temple, and King Black Macaw's reign!"

As if on cue, the sky rumbled with thunder. A murmur shot through the crowd like lightning.

"Listen to the gods’ endorsement!” shouted Chac Mool, wearing the white onyx pendent suspended on its chain of turquoise beads.

Keiranne's stomach roiled at the sight. Of all Chac Mool's transgressions, false teachings, misleading the masses, profit at others’ expense, murder, and torture, it was Tlalocelot's necklace around Chac Mool's neck that disgusted her the most. It symbolized Chac Mool's self-proclaimed right to take whatever he wanted. Now he was about to take Tlalocelot's life, and that she could not allow.

"Kneel,” Chac Mool commanded the remaining prisoners.

Tlalocelot and his guards, bound hand and foot, stood in a shallow pit at the north corner of the temple. Priests with obsidian-tipped spears prodded Tlalocelot and his men, holding the spears to their necks. Keiranne steeled herself when she saw droplets of blood trickle from Tlalocelot's throat. Pek whimpered and lurched, ready to go to Tlalocelot's defense.

"Wait,” she whispered, grabbing Pek's neck, “wait until the moment he kneels."

One by one, his men were forced to the ground, until only Tlalocelot remained standing. Looking at their formation, Keiranne shuddered, recognizing the scene. Their knees flexed, the men were arranged in a semi-circle. Twenty-eight centuries passed before her eyes. Their flesh gone, these were the skulls and skeletons she had fallen into at the museum. She remembered the sensation. Their agony had seized her as she fell through their remains, as she fell through time. It was their frozen horror of that suspended moment that had caused her to cross millennia. That and the need to save Tlalocelot.

The priest pressed the pointed tip of his spear into Tlalocelot's throat. Blood spurted, and a trickle ran down his neck. That act sharply brought her thoughts into focus. Every muscle in her body twitched, ready to leap to Tlalocelot's defense. Pek whined, and her muscles tightened as she poised herself to attack the guard.

"Patience,” Keiranne whispered to Pek, restraining her.

"This royal prince is descended from the gods. His regal blood will ensure the gods’ pleasure and satisfaction,” said Chac Mool, motioning to the priest. “Force Tlalocelot to kneel."

To Keiranne, the next few moments seemed like hours. Every movement occurred in slow motion.

At his cue, the priest pulled Tlalocelot's tether, effectively pulling his feet out from under him since he was bound hand and foot. Tlalocelot stumbled forward. The priest then balanced his obsidian-tipped lance over Tlalocelot, waiting for him to kneel, waiting for the order to drive the lance through his heart.

Chac Mool held up his hand. The other eight priests standing above their eight bound prisoners raised their spears, pointed their tips at their prisoner's hearts, and waited for Chac Mool to drop his hand, the sign to plunge their obsidian tips into the prisoners’ hearts.

Tlalocelot fell hard, landing on his knees. The moment his knees touched the ground, Keiranne screamed.

"Now!"

Pek tackled the priest, sending him backwards into the other priests and prisoners. Keiranne dove on top of Tlalocelot, rubbing her serpentine breastplate and screaming for Pek. But the air wove and danced around only Keiranne and Tlalocelot.

They saw Pek bound toward them, but too late. Unable to reach them in time, Pek turned and raced away before the priests could catch her. They watched Chac Mool's face go purple with rage and heard the ubiquitous shrill screech merge with his order.

"Kill them!"

From screech to silence, sound was the most obvious difference. Keiranne was still lying on top of Tlalocelot when they arrived. It was quiet except for the trill of a distant bird, and they were in the exact location they had just left—the north corner of the temple.

However, the temple was in ruins. Keiranne was unsure of the timeline, but the ruins looked as they had in her own era. She breathed a tentative sigh as she noted the barriers and signs reading No Tocar-Don't touch! and Keep off!

"My darling,” she said, kissing him, feeling his light breath on her cheek, “I think we're home.” As her body pressed against his muscular chest, she felt his strong heartbeat keep time with her own. “Thank God you're alive."

They said little, each lost in their own thoughts. Keiranne untied his wrists and ankles, marveling they were together again. She pondered the forces that had propelled her back in time to rescue this man.

Have I lived before? Had we known each other in that time?

Looking about him like any twenty-first-century tourist, Tlalocelot was entranced, amazed at the sudden aging of the temple. Twenty-eight hundred years had passed in the time it took him to catch his breath. He touched the crumbling talud-tablero architecture, in awe of its ability to withstand the onslaughts of time. He traced the faded ochre paintings that had been so vibrantly blood red just moments before.

"What timeline is this?” he asked, his voice sounding far away, as if echoing the displaced sentiments of his lost soul.

"I'm guessing,” she said, also dazed and feeling out of sync, “but I think it's my own, or close to it."

"And Pek?” he asked.

"She couldn't reach us in time.” Keiranne choked back a sob. “That's the only thing keeping this moment from being perfect."

He took her in his arms and held her close. Exulting in escaping death and grateful to be together, she missed being a trio. She missed Pek. It was a bittersweet triumph. They stood alone in the Teotihuacán quadrangle, listening to the wind howl through the avenue. A mournful sound, it seemed as if the ruins also grieved for Pek.

Still in Tlalocelot's arms, Keiranne heard gravel scrape beneath an approaching footstep. Thinking they were alone, she jumped when a figure emerged from behind the ruins. Keiranne knew no one but archaeologists were allowed there. Any others, including Tlalocelot and herself, were intruders.

She gasped. “Could Chac Mool have followed us here?"

"Welcome back,” said the disembodied voice. Then the man stepped into the moonlight, and she recognized him as Dorian.

"What are you doing here?” she asked.

"Setting time back on course,” he said simply.

"Then you know...” At his nod, she rephrased her question. “You knew the last time we spoke?"

"I've known since the moon goddess, Lady Rainbow, pointed you out our first night in Teotihuacán,” he said.

Reeling from his answer, Keiranne was unable to respond. Luckily, she remembered her manners and began introductions.

"Tlalocelot, I'd like you to meet someone from my own time, Dorian..."

"Actually, my name is Ndozin,” he said, “but Dorian was as good a modern-day homonym as any, and, although I'm in your time, I'm not of it."

She was unsure how to respond.

"Ndozin,” said Tlalocelot, “is one of the nine lords of the night, as well as the god of death and justice. How did you earn the right to carry his name?"

Ndozin smiled. “You've read me well, Tlalocelot. I'm but a humble calendar priest, a day keeper, whose task it is to calculate time."

"Accurately fixing dates in time is, was, one of the primary tasks of the priesthood,” said Tlalocelot for Keiranne's sake.

"You were right the first time,” said Ndozin. “Correcting and correlating the calendar is an ongoing process, every bit as important today as it was in ages past since the calendar indicates past and future occurrences. Some monuments to time recorded the dates of events ninety million years ago, yet others predicted events that would take place three thousand years into the future,” said Ndozin.

"Three thousand years into your future,” repeated Keiranne to Tlalocelot, “roughly translates to this era.” She turned back to Ndozin. “Doesn't it?"

Ndozin nodded. “Yes, it's for just that reason the ancient cycle still survives in parts of southern Mexico and the highlands. Calendrical priests organize cycles of time and calculate their correspondence. Do you see?"

"I think so,” said Keiranne, “but this calendar certainly can't be based on the sun or the moon's movements, or it would have twelve months."

"You're right,” said Ndozin. “Instead of the twelve-to-sixty ratio of hours to minutes, this ratio is thirteen-to-twenty.

"The two hundred sixty-day cycle is connected to the path of Venus, which is why your appearance was so auspicious,” said Tlalocelot, his eyes glowing softly. “You arrived with the morning star."

"Exactly,” said Ndozin, “you appeared on one Ahau, the Sacred Day of Venus. You see, each of the twenty days..."

"Is associated with unique omens,” said Keiranne, “so it's possible to predict future events. Yes, I understand."

"But only if a priest reads the portents correctly. Chac Mool was never adept,” said Tlalocelot, “yet he fooled many people."

"More than that,” said Ndozin, “he disrupted the flow of time. He's caused it to double back on itself. Now time is twisted, looping in an endless, degrading cycle instead of in the Sacred Round."

"Why did, do you have this preoccupation with time?” she asked.

"Priests link royal actions to historic and legendary events, as well as predict future events,” said Ndozin. “Everything is interconnected, our futures, our pasts. Time is an endless stream, or it should be. But Chac Mool has changed that."

"Chac Mool was aware of this,” she said, “but he believed time was speeding up. He thought it had to do with the tilt of the earth's axis and the shift of the magnetic poles."

"He wasn't entirely wrong,” said Ndozin, shrugging, “just misinformed. He was describing the precession of the equinoxes, which is caused by the wobbling of the earth's polar axis. In this era, the axis at the North Pole points to Polaris, but five thousand years ago it pointed to Alpha Draconis, and eight thousand years from now it'll point to Vega."

"The earth wobbles erratically?” she asked.

"Not erratically. There's a cycle, a sequence to it called precession,” said Ndozin. “Precession changes equinoxes’ positions in relation to the stars at the rate of about one degree every seventy-two years. These gradual movements make the equinox sun appear to slip backwards."

"So is Chac Mool responsible for these shifts?” she asked.

"Precession and polar alignment, no, but his actions caused the stream of time to corrupt in the first place,” said Ndozin. “Every time he jumped forward or backward in time, he caused a wider rift between a harmonious reality and a discordant time distortion."

Keiranne squirmed uncomfortably. “What about my actions?” she asked. “Have I also corrupted the timeline?"

Ndozin regarded her kindly, as he would a penitent child. “Yes, however unintentional it may have been, each time you jumped, you also changed the correlation between time and reality."

"What can I do to correct that?” she asked.

"You could start by surrendering the serpentine breastplate,” he said.

It was a request, not an edict. She knew she could refuse him, and there would be no consequences, at least not from him. Although time, no doubt, would catch up with her. She reached under her clothes, loosened the breastplate, lifted it over her head, and relinquished it.

"I never did understand how it worked, or why I was able to travel through time to find my love.” She grasped Tlalocelot's hand, smiling.

"Did you find him,” asked Ndozin, “or were you reunited?"

"I suppose if time is circular like a snake swallowing its own tail, the question is metaphysical,” she said. “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"

"Or is it a straightforward question?” Ndozin asked, his mischievous smile an indication he was playing the devil's advocate.

"I don't know,” she said, in no mood for games. “You tell me."

"How did you happen to be in Teotihuacán on one Ahau, the Sacred Day of Venus?"

"Just a bizarre set of circumstances—tickets at a silent auction, a broken engagement, my birthday.” She shrugged.

"What about the pálido muerte, or pale death? Was it sheer coincidence you grasped its tenets in relation to your mother's death?” Ndozin asked.

"How did you know about my mother?” she asked, her pupils widening.

Ndozin raised his eyebrow knowingly but only asked, “And how did you happen to fall through time at precisely the right moment?"

"I was pushed,” she said. “Little school boys."

"Did you see them? More circumstances? More coincidences?” Ndozin asked. “Are you so sure? Or could it have been preordained?"

"You're suggesting it might have been inevitable,” she said.

"Or predictable. The calendrical priesthood, among other things, has been struggling to reconcile the Long Count calendar against the Gregorian calendar for centuries. The determining factor is to locate the point in time relative to the Gregorian calendar that coincides with the Long Count's date of origin."

"The beginning of time according to the Long Count calendar,” said Tlalocelot, “is expressed as zero.zero.zero.zero.zero."

"That sounds like an IP address,” Keiranne said. Only Ndozin chuckled.

"Sorry,” she added for Tlalocelot's sake, “more cultural humor."

"Although there's argument as to the exact Gregorian date, most calendrical priests and academics agree it corresponds at roughly three thousand years before Christ."

"So you're saying that once the Long-count starting date is synchronized to the Gregorian calendar, we could use Long-count calculations to determine our future?” she asked. At Ndozin's nod, she added, “That shouldn't be too difficult."

"You wouldn't think so,” said Ndozin, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “but the Gregorian calendar is more convoluted than it appears. It evolved from the Julian calendar, which occasionally had the lengths of months readjusted, adding or removing days, very few of which were recorded. The Gregorian calendar was introduced in fifteen eighty-two. It lost ten days during its first month and still adds a day every four years."

"Leap year. I can see why it's not as easy as I first thought to synchronize the calendars,” Keiranne said. “Still, I wish we could use Long-count computations to determine our future."

Ndozin nodded soberly. “It could prove useful in the days to come."

"You make the future sound ominous,” she said, an eerie shudder running down her spine.

"According to calculations, the winter solstice of twenty twelve coincides with the end of the Long-count calendar, the end of the Fifth Sun. The total number of years of this era, combined with the other four eras, approximates the twenty-six-thousand-year cycle of the precession of the equinoxes."

"So what happens then?” she asked.

"A new cycle begins. On the last day of the Fifth Sun, the Long-count date will be thirteen.zero.zero.zero.zero. Then like the odometer of a car, the galactic clock will metaphorically roll over to zero.zero.zero.zero.zero.” Ndozin used his hands in a winding gesture and then pointed to the Milky Way.

"The calendrical priests taught that the Milky Way was the Great Cosmic Mother from whom all life was born,” said Tlalocelot. “The central bulge was her womb, and the dark cleft was the birth canal."

"A cosmic womb ... not a bad analogy.” Keiranne looked at the river of stars, absorbing the information, synthesizing the scientific with the romantic.

"Like the earth's equator, dividing the planet into northern and southern hemispheres, the galactic equator divides the Milky Way. When the sun crosses this equator, the new cycle begins.” Ndozin spoke as the trio gazed at the stars. “Although it'll take twenty years to complete since the sun is so large, it will be the birth of a new era."

"So you're saying when the winter solstice sun crosses the Milky Way, it marks the dawning of a new age? Tongue in cheek, Keiranne started humming the Age of Aquarius.

"Right.” Ndozin chuckled. “When those positions intersect, we enter a new twenty-six-thousand-year cycle."

"What about Chac Mool's role in all this?” asked Tlalocelot. “Has he changed all those calculations?"

"Chac Mool has caused many anomalies in time, but his damage is not yet irreparable."

"How did Chac Mool, or should I say, Chuck Mull, begin his time travel?” asked Tlalocelot.

"Quite by accident,” said Ndozin.

"What?” Keiranne asked with a wink, “No coincidences?"

"Dr. Charles Mull bought this breastplate while in Mexico, purchasing taheebo from his supplier.” Ndozin held it up for them to see. “As the story goes, the man's burro kicked loose a rock enclosure, exposing a crypt or small cave. The man hammered away at the rock barrier with a mallet until he had a large enough opening to peer inside, and he saw the remains of a human skeleton. He kept hammering until he had a space large enough to crawl through. With the sun setting, he saw he had stumbled upon an ancient burial site. The skeleton was arranged in a flexed position, this breastplate still attached to its spine."

Ndozin held up the breastplate Keiranne could not resist reaching out and one last time caressing its stones that sparkled in the starlight.

"When the man brought the breastplate home to examine it, he washed it, scrubbing and polishing the stones. Suddenly, he vanished before his family's eyes. When he returned an hour later, he told of this wondrous place that existed in the past. His mother crossed herself, swore the breastplate was a tool of the devil, and insisted her son sell it. As luck would have it, Dr. Charles Mull happened by the next day."

"Whose burial site was it?” Tlalocelot asked.

"A very powerful priest from before your era named Ollin. It's he that we calendrical priests most revere. He'd deciphered the secrets of time and codified them in this very breastplate."

Again Keiranne reached out to feel it, but Ndozin subtly turned away, bringing the breastplate just beyond her fingertips.

"Then why was this miracle buried for millennia?"

Ndozin smiled wanly. “Even Ollin knew it was too powerful for human use. Absolute power corrupts—absolutely."

"Why is this breastplate supernatural?” Keiranne fought the urge to touch its cool, smooth stones once more. “What's so magical about it?"

"Each of the serpentine breastplate's central stones has special meanings.” Ndozin eyed her suspiciously before he pointed out the stones. “The feldspar, jade, moonstone, green jasper, and red jasper all correspond with winter and early spring. Chrysolite, lapis lazuli, agate, and cornelian all relate to late spring and early summer. Sardonyx, garnet, turquoise, and topaz all correspond with the autumn and early winter."

"Are they in harmony with, or do they symbolize anything besides the seasons?"

"Yes, these stones correlate with the thirteen months, the thirteen constellations, and the four cardinal points. Millennia of prayers and incantations reinforced those enchanted qualities. However, legend states that a stranger, a dark man with thick lips and a wide nose, gave this breastplate to Ollin's forebears. It's said he was divine. Some say he was Quetzalcoatl himself."

"But I still don't understand how this breastplate works,” she said.

"These stones are the bearers of potent supernatural forces. They're imbued with extraordinary powers.” Ndozin pointed out the central banded and crystal stones. “Just as Chac Mool led the nobles to believe your camera contained their souls, these stones truly can possess people's souls. They're potent amulets capable of performing either black or white magic. Like fire, they're tools wielded for evil or good, depending on the user's intent. These stones are of galactic origin, under the aegis of the thirteen zodiacal totems."

Keiranne and Tlalocelot shared a mutual sigh of relief that the breastplate was no longer in their possession.

"Intent, I did grasp that part of it. It was only when I focused, concentrated so hard that I shut out all negative thoughts, that I was able to jump to the era I wanted."

"Then you were on your way to understanding its basic concept,” said Ndozin.

"What will become of this breastplate now?” Tlalocelot asked.

"The calendrical priests will secrete it once more. Hopefully many millennia will pass before it's discovered again."

"What I don't understand is why Dr. Charles Mull was in Mexico buying taheebo in the first place,” Keiranne said. “He told me Tlalocelot's people had ingested so much of that herb, they were immune to cancer, and their transfused blood contained antibodies that cured cancer patients. He sold blood, not taheebo."

"Originally, he sold the herb, using a mixture of dried peppermint leaves and a smidgen of taheebo. He sold his bogus herbal cancer cures on late-night television infomercials. Of course, that tiny amount of taheebo did nothing to boost people's immunities. Sales were slow. The state of California brought a lawsuit against him for fraud, and his medical practice crumbled. He needed a more potent product."

"So what caused him to start using my people's blood?” Tlalocelot clenched his jaw.

"A hunch,” said Ndozin. “When he visited your era the first time, before he knew how to control the breastplate and return to his own era, he realized he had a cancerous growth on his arm. Using blood transfusions from newly sacrificed victims, his growth shrank and disappeared within a week."

"Maybe his theories work.” Keiranne's lip curled in disgust. “But his methods are sadistic."

"I worry about the people we released from his clinic last night.” Tlalocelot shook his head. “What will become of them?"

"Once I restore the timeline, everything will return to its ordered sequence in time,” Ndozin answered, “including the original destinies of your people. And you."

Ndozin removed his shirt and slipped the serpentine breastplate over his chest. He touched the breastplate and began mumbling an incantation under his breath. As he fingered each stone, he appeared to start a new invocation.

Immediately, the stars began to fade from the dark sky, and the deep blue velvet of night gave way to twilight, and then dusk. The sun seemed to rise in the west and more quickly than Keiranne or Tlalocelot could ever recall. Clouds rolled in and dissipated to be replaced with a sun setting in the east and a glorious dawn giving way to a deeper and deeper blue sky. The moon rose, the stars twinkled and faded, followed by sunset and sunrise. The sequence began speeding up, going ever faster until the sunset and sunrise rhythm seemed like an enormous strobe light, flashing on and off at a rate too fast for the human eye to detect.

Keiranne felt dizzy from the effect and closed her eyes to keep from becoming nauseated. Still the strobe light show continued. Time was reversing itself. Eventually, she grabbed Tlalocelot's hand, the motions of their arms appearing detached in the strobe effect. She pulled him down onto the temple's tablero and rested her head on his shoulder before finally drifting into a disturbed slumber. The strobe effect in the background, behind her closed eyelids, reminded her of napping in front of a muted television.

Suddenly they heard what sounded like a sonic boom. The strobe effect stopped as if a switch had been thrown. A garish white light filled the sky, waking them to an unearthly scene. With blue overtones, the white light seemed almost metallic, filling the sky with a silvery color instead of the familiar gold and yellow tones of sunlight or pale moonlight.

Keiranne's head was still nestled against Tlalocelot's shoulder when her eyelids flew open. Ndozin's hand dropped from the breastplate. When he took a step, his first movement since he began the incantation, he staggered and slumped into a sitting position.

"What just happened?” asked Keiranne, sitting up.

"Give me a moment,” said Ndozin, panting, putting his hand to his chest. When he took his hand away from his shirt, he saw it was covered with blood. “I think I've been shot."

Keiranne gently took the breastplate off Ndozin's chest, wrapped it in his shirt, placed it under his head, and helped him into a reclining position. Tlalocelot rose to his knees, looking in all directions, but he saw no one.

Another shot rang out. This time, Tlalocelot fell backwards, propelled by the bullet's inertia.

"Tlalocelot!” she screamed, running toward him in a crouched position.

Still not seeing any intruder, she covered his body with her own, hoping to protect him from any other invisible bullets.

Then he appeared inches away from them. She recognized the gun as the one she had hidden in the cave.

"Chac Mool,” she said, “You sonofabitch! I should have destroyed that gun."

"Hindsight, my dear,” he said, jerking the breastplate out from under Ndozin's head.

She grabbed his wrist, forcing Chac Mool to drop the breastplate. Livid, Chac Mool tried to hit her with the pistol as she screamed and scrambled to pull it out of his grip. During the struggle, the gun went off, the bullet ricocheting off the crumbling stone and striking Tlalocelot in the stomach.

"No!” she cried, dropping to her knees in front of him.

But Chac Mool used the moment to his advantage, grabbing the breastplate as he pressed his leg against Keiranne's back.

The air danced and shrieked, and the two of them jumped through time. When they arrived, Keiranne was still on her knees.

"How accommodating,” he said, “on your knees, where a woman belongs."

Screaming with rage, she grabbed his knee, pulling his leg out from under him. The pistol flew in one direction, and the breastplate flew in another. She hesitated, debating which to retrieve first.

As he tried to crawl toward the breastplate, she bit his thigh and kicked the gun closer to her. Her teeth still gripping his thigh, he tried to kick her off and reach the breastplate, but she maneuvered the gun into range. Stretching as far as she could, she was half an inch from reaching the pistol with her fingertips, but to grasp it, she had to let go his thigh. As she did, he kicked her in the teeth, but she triumphantly grabbed the gun.

"Now,” she said, wiping blood from her mouth, “get up! Stand up!"

He took his time. Wearing a smug grin, he slowly rose to his feet and started ambling toward the breastplate.

"Don't move, you bastard!” she said. “I'll shoot you. I swear to God, I'll kill you!"

He kept slowly moving toward the breastplate. She cocked the gun.

"I'm warning you! Stay where you are, or I'll shoot!"

"No you won't,” he said, smiling, still inching toward the breastplate.

When he picked up the breastplate, she pulled the trigger at point blank range, expecting an explosion and recoil. All she heard was the click of an empty chamber. What she felt was Chac Mool wrestling the gun out of her hand.

They struggled, falling to the ground, the breastplate between them. In the scuffle, they must have rubbed the breastplate because the air began dancing and shrieking around them, and they rematerialized in another time. Too busy grappling with Chac Mool for the breastplate, Keiranne did not notice which timeline.

Suddenly she saw Tlalocelot grab the man by his throat, choking him. Chac Mool screamed in pain but hung onto the breastplate tenaciously, his screams turning into gagging sounds. Finally Chac Mool's lips turned blue, his struggling stopped, and he slumped. Tlalocelot let him fall to the ground, unconscious.

"What?” Keiranne said, sputtering, “What—How are ... You were just shot. I saw you lying there."

Tears started at her eyes. Tlalocelot first gently wiped away the tears and then tenderly wiped the smeared blood from her bruised mouth.

"You jumped back in time,” Tlalocelot said, “materializing a minute before Chac Mool appeared the last time."

"Then you're all right,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time. She turned to look at Ndozin's wounded body, but she saw he was unharmed. He had already retrieved the breastplate and now began restoring the timeline a second time.

"We can't afford to waste any more time.” Ndozin said. “Because those last several jumps occurred in the midst of the time restoration, they may have rendered time reversal impossible. I need to restore time to its ordered sequence now."

He touched the breastplate's stones and began mumbling incantation after incantation under his breath. Again the stars began to fade, clouds rolled in and out. Daylight followed twilight, and sunrise followed sunset. The sequence sped up, going ever faster until the sunset and sunrise rhythm created the strobe light effect.

Again Keiranne felt dizzy and closed her eyes. Still the strobe light show continued. Time was reversing itself. Finally Keiranne felt, rather than saw, the strobe effect slow. She opened her eyes.

Ndozin's hand dropped from the breastplate. When he took a step, his first movement since he began the incantation, he staggered and slumped into a sitting position.

"What just happened?” Keiranne shivered.

Déjà vu.

"Give me a moment,” said Ndozin, catching his breath. When he regained his strength, he answered, “The timeline has been re-established."

She breathed a sigh that time had not repeated itself, and Chac Mool had not shot Ndozin. “What about him and his role in all this?” she asked, looking at Chac Mool, still lying unconscious. “What's going to happen to him?"

"Read this,” Ndozin said, handing her a plastic bottle.

"Chac Mool's Toltec Cancer Cure: Treat cancer the natural way,” she read off the label.

"In this timeline, Dr. Charles Mull has been selling this bogus herbal mixture, not blood or platelets. Instead of being the world's foremost oncologist, he'll be indicted for malpractice, mail fraud, and grand larceny. He'll lose his license to practice medicine, be sentenced to twenty-five years in a federal penitentiary, be paroled in fifteen, and finally be released to an insane asylum because of his insistence that he can travel through time."

"Chac Mool was sensitive about being called crazy, but how do you know all this?” she asked. “Who are you?"

"As I mentioned, I'm a calendrical priest, a day keeper,” he said with an enigmatic smile. “Let's leave it at that."

She looked back at the temple. “There's only one thing I regret."

"What's that?” Ndozin asked.

"Pek, I'll never see her again."

"No?” he asked, as Pek came running from behind the temple.

"Pek!” She gasped, petting her, as Pek kissed her face. “How did you get here, girl? You are Pek, aren't you?” she asked, checking the dog for details. “Yes!"

Then Keiranne turned to Ndozin. “How is it that she's here?"

"Remember how I told you the Toltecs thought a white dog symbolized faithfulness and fortitude on spiritual journeys?"

"Yes,” she said, hugging and petting Pek.

"She's been with you in both worlds,” said Ndozin.

"How is she able to do that?” Keiranne asked.

"Her mission was to help you set this timeline right,” said Ndozin.

"So Pek can travel through time and not upset the timeline?” Keiranne asked. At Ndozin's nod, she continued, “What about Tlalocelot and me? What's to become of us?"

"Your original destiny has been returned,” Ndozin said. “It's up to you to make it materialize."

"Tlalocelot is here in my time,” said Keiranne, trying to formulate her thoughts into words, “What if he, or we, wanted to return to his era?"

"That brings us full circle to my original question. Did you find Tlalocelot,” asked Ndozin, “or were you reunited?"

She peered at Tlalocelot and thought for a moment. “It feels as if we've always been together. That we somehow belonged together."

"Maybe that's your answer,” said Ndozin, shrugging, “or perhaps not."

"But if we wanted to return to Tlalocelot's era, could we?” she asked, petting Pek. “Would we be able to travel through time without upsetting the timeline?"

"If Pek traveled with you, it would be possible for one last time. A caveat. If you decide to travel back to that era, you'll be bound to that timeline and that destiny. There'll be no returning, not even through the caves."

"I've been to Tlalocelot's era, and I know I could live there, but Tlalocelot has not yet experienced this timeline. What if he,” she turned to look at Tlalocelot, trying to read his thoughts, “what if you were unhappy here?"

"As long as I'm with you, I'll be happy,” he said, restating his earlier words. “You are my home."

His gaze passed from her to Ndozin.

She took a deep breath and made up her mind. “All right, Ndozin, I'd like..."

Ndozin lifted his right hand as an orchestra conductor would lift a baton. The horizon began to spin like a dreidal or squared top. Unlike a smooth transition, it felt as if the earth were spinning in quarters, like an image being redrawn on a slow computer. It seemed to speed through a quarter of a turn and then slow to a stop. It sped through another quarter and then braked in chugging, jerky movements.

Keiranne began to feel dizzy and fell against Tlalocelot's arms. Tlalocelot held Keiranne as the squared, circular rotation of the earth gradually sped up and began spinning around them slickly, seamlessly, faster and faster. Pek seemed riveted to them, thrown against them through inertia, as if riding a vast Tilt-a-Whirl. Then, without warning, the jarring cycle lost momentum and slowed to an irregular spin again. Finally, it came to a halt.

When they regained their equilibrium, they looked about them. They were still in front of the Quetzalcoatl Temple, but it was new, not in ruins. At first glance, everything appeared to belong to Tlalocelot's time.

Still in each other's arms, Keiranne pulled back, keeping just one arm about Tlalocelot's waist, to better view the locale in the opposite direction. She saw Jaguar Paws and tapped Tlalocelot.

"Look who's here,” she said, nodding toward his father.

Tlalocelot smiled as the king approached. Letting go of Keiranne, he caught his father in a bear hug.

"It's good to see you again."

Jaguar Paws heartily returned the hug although he seemed surprised by his son's show of affection. “You'd think you hadn't seen me in a month,” he said, thumping him on the back good-naturedly.

"The separation seemed longer,” said Tlalocelot, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"What have you two got planned for this morning?” asked Jaguar Paws, his eyes taking in Keiranne with a warm smile and then twinkling as he added, “last-minute wedding preparations?"

Her face lit up at his unexpected question. “Why do you ask?” she said.

"Isn't that what you and Lady Ikal have been doing every day for the past gods-know-how-many weeks?"

Keiranne and Tlalocelot shared a perplexed look. “Lady who?” she asked.

Now it was Jaguar Paws’ turn to look confused. “Why, the queen, Lady Ikal."

Again Keiranne and Tlalocelot shared a perplexed look.

"Young love.” Jaguar Paws chuckled. “Are you so smitten with each other that you've forgotten your mother's name, Tlalocelot?"

At their blank stare, he continued, “Let her remind you herself."

"Good morning, my lord,” said an attractive middle-aged woman, kissing Jaguar Paws’ cheek.

Keiranne thought the woman must have been stunning once. Her luxurious black hair, shot with silver, was coiled charmingly around her head. Her fine bone structure lent her features an air of regal beauty.

The woman took Tlalocelot's between her hands. “Good morning, my son. Did you sleep well?"

As her hands dropped from his face, Tlalocelot grabbed one and held it against his cheek, feeling his mother's first caress. His eyes were riveted to her face.

"What, my son? Is anything wrong?” she asked.

He let go her hand. “No, no, I, uh, I just wanted to tell you how beautiful you are. This morning,” he quickly added.

Chuckling, she patted his face lovingly. “Flatterer, you take after your father more each day.” She turned to Keiranne and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you, my dear?"

Instead of feeling they were being introduced, Keiranne had a sense of being reunited with this woman, also. Somehow Lady Ikal seemed familiar. In fact, the whole situation seemed eerily familiar—yet different.

Had they passed through this timeline before?

"I'm fine,” Keiranne said, warmly kissing Lady Ikal's opposite cheek. “In fact, I'm better than I've been in a long while."

"And this afternoon, you'll feel better yet after you become Tlalocelot's wife,” promised Lady Ikal. “Then you'll become our daughter in name, as well as in fact.” The older woman smiled affectionately and gave Pek a friendly pat.

Feeling dazed yet surprisingly comfortable in her new surroundings, Keiranne reached for Tlalocelot. Linking fingers, she squeezed his hand, privately indicating her happiness in her newfound family. Only one thing gnawed at the back of her mind.

"My lady,” she asked as casually as possible, “how's Chac Mool doing?"

"Who?"

"The high priest, Chac Mool."

"You mean Caquiz?” said Lady Ikal, her brow furrowing. “Has he taken ill?"

"I meant Caquiz,” she quickly fibbed, “Just enquiring after his health."

Tlalocelot squeezed her hand reassuringly and shared a private smile with her.

"Let's pray he's in fine health since he'll preside over your wedding ceremonies,” Lady Ikal took Keiranne's other hand in hers and gently pulled her from Tlalocelot. “But now it's time to dress for this afternoon's festivities. Let her go, my son. The next time you see Lady Quetzal, she'll become your wife."

"Come with me, Tlalocelot.” Jaguar Paws took his son aside. “Let's drink to Patécatl and Mayáhuel, the god and goddess of pulque. May we drink their nectar until they bless your marriage with the same happiness with which they've blessed your mother's and mine!"

His words rang discordantly in Keiranne's ears. With her knowledge of other timeline scenarios, and after the many separations and timeline glitches, she was reluctant to let go Tlalocelot's hand. However, she could see no polite excuse for refusing Lady Ikal's company.

"No need to look so forlorn.” Lady Ikal noted Keiranne's expression. “Just an hour or two apart, and you'll have a lifetime together."

"First you'll need a temazcal, a steam bath.” Lady Ikal lead her to a round, domed, mud-brick building, separated from the other interconnected rooms and buildings of the complex, where Mila attended.

This building differed from the two-chambered steam room, where Keiranne had first experienced the temazcal. It had a low door for its entrance and an opening at the top of a thatched roof. A huge bonfire blazed in front of the building in a circular fire pit, dispelling the morning chill.

"This steam bath can heal you, as well as restore you,” Mila said. “Sometimes, the temazcal can inspire visions of what's to come. As your temazcalero, I'm here to guide you through this experience, but it is you who will make your own inward journeys."

"This sounds wonderful,” Keiranne said, suddenly hopeful she would see her future, her new future.

"This is also a purifying ritual. First, I'll lead you through the various phases of this process, and then we'll enter the temazcal where you'll experience these rites."

On that note, Mila motioned them to follow her to the circular fire pit, approaching from the right of the fire and walking partially around the pit.

"After we recognize the cardinal directions, we'll enter the temazcal. When we've concluded all the rites, we'll complete the circle.” She then picked up a large conch shell. “Face the north and close your eyes.” She blew into the conch shell. It produced a long, melodic but mournful sound. “North is the color of white. It represents the air, eagle, cold, arid, and lord Tezcatlipoca. Acknowledge the masculine side of you.” Again she blew into the conch shell.

"Face east."

Keiranne peeked to see which way Lady Ikal had turned.

"East is the color of red, the color of fire, of the rising sun. It represents fire, flowers, the jaguar, and Quetzalcoatl. Honor the wisdom that is within you. Ask that wisdom may be given to you.” Again she blew into the conch shell.

"Face south. South is the color of blue, the color of cleansing water. It represents water, prosperity, rain, the dolphin, and Tlaloc, the storm god.” Again she blew into the conch shell.

"Face west. West is the color of yellow, symbolized by Huitzilopochtli, god of the underworld. It represents earth and the serpent. Acknowledge the feminine side of you.” “Face the fire. Face center. The fifth direction, the center, is symbolized by Temazcalteci, the goddess of medicine and steam baths."

At the mention of the fifth direction, Keiranne opened her eyes. She had never thought of the concept of a fifth direction before—a kind of you-are-here sign on the map of life.

As if in answer to Keiranne's perplexed expression, Lady Ikal said, “The universe is a cross of the four cardinal points. The intersection of these two axes, the midpoint where they cross is the center, the fifth direction."

Keiranne nodded and then closed her eyes.

"Temazcalteci has no animal totem. The sun is her symbol, representing the heat of the fire. Fire and water create steam—air. This curative steam of Temazcalteci will purify you, healing your body, mind, and spirit.” Then Mila began chanting, “Water is my blood. Earth is my body. Air is my breath, and fire is my spirit. Keeping your eyes closed, spread your arms out wide with your palms up."

Keiranne again peeked, watching as Mila placed something into a carved wooden bowl. It hissed and began billowing plumes of smoke. She abruptly closed her eyes as the woman approached her with the smoking bowl.

"This is copal, a pine resin, placed on a heated rock to release its purifying properties. Its smoke will cleanse you.” Mila seemed to bless her with the smoke, moving the smoldering bowl over every part of Keiranne's torso, head, arms, and legs, as if washing her with the vapors. The pungent fumes of the incense took Keiranne's breath away, and she coughed.

"Turn around, my lady.” Mila again passed the billowing bowl of smoke over the back of Keiranne's torso, head, arms, and legs.

After Mila had likewise purified Lady Ikal with the smoke, she said, “Next, we enter the temazcal, the warm, moist womb of the goddess Temazcalteci. Here, the energies of water and fire produce steam. Like the life-giving and renewing powers of a mother's womb, the temazcal recalls the past, as well as recognizes that which is beyond death, which is only another birth. Open your eyes and follow me."

Mila silently led them to the round building. She instructed them to crawl on their hands and knees to pass through the opening. As they crossed the threshold, Mila said, “To honor your ancestors, say, ‘for my relationships.’”

"For my relationships,” said Lady Ikal.

"For my relationships,” repeated Keiranne.

Other servants handed Mila piles of linens, bundles of herbs, and jugs of scented water.

"Leave us,” said Mila to the servants. The white dog waited just outside the entrance. Immediately the temperature started to rise in the steam room, and the handmaiden made cushions of linens.

The circular room was dimly lit. Only a little light entered through the top, and nearly no light penetrated the low doorway. The hard floor was covered with woven rugs, with a fire pit in the center.

"You have symbolically re-entered the womb to rid yourselves of the weight you carry within you. Look inside to find yourself again. My ladies, what are your intentions? What do you wish to accomplish?"

"To see the life Tlalocelot and my daughter will have together,” said Lady Ikal, turning to smile at Keiranne.

Keiranne took a deep breath. “I, too, wish to see the future."

Mila then handed them each a bowl. “These hollowed jicama bowls contain water flavored with mint and other herbs to cleanse and refresh you. Drink as much as you like since you'll perspire any impurities. You may feel overcome with the steam and heat, especially in the beginning. This is natural and will pass.” She described the four parts of the ritual, the time prior to birth until the tenth year of life, youth, midlife, old age and after.

"At the beginning of each of the four parts, call for The Man of The Fire, who carries in shovelfuls of large, red-hot lava rocks and places them in the fire pit. Do it now, my ladies. Call ‘The Man of The Fire!’”

A bit self-conscious, Keiranne called, “The Man of The Fire,” her voice chiming in with those of Lady Ikal and Mila.

A burly man appeared at the entrance with a shovelful of red-hot lava rocks. He crossed to the center, deposited them in the pit, and left, covering first the entrance and then the hole in the roof with thickly woven rugs. Now, except for the dull red glow of the rocks, they were plunged into darkness.

"Next, I'll add a special tea to the heated rocks."

"Why not plain water?” asked Keiranne.

"Water would create steam, but the herbs have medicinal qualities,” explained Lady Ikal. “Rosemary, cinnamon, chamomile, mint, and other herbs have been steeped for hours, releasing their precious oils and essence."

With that, Mila scooped a ladleful of tea and threw it on the rocks. A hiss rose with the steam, releasing a pleasant but pungent scent. She added another and another ladleful, and each time, the steam became denser until it was impossible to see anything but a faint red glow in the pit. The scent, which had been pleasing to begin with, became heady and then overpowering. Keiranne dropped from a sitting position onto her stomach, keeping her head lower, escaping the worst of the fumes, almost panting, so she could breathe.

"Breathe slowly, deeply, my ladies, relax. In this first of four parts, honor your ancestors. Out loud or silently, speak the names of your parents and both grandparents. Thank them or give them a message, if you wish."

Keiranne prudently kept silent, while Lady Ikal recited a litany of her ancestors.

"Think of your origins. Contemplate the time before you were born. Consider your ancestors. Recall your childhood."

After several minutes of adapting, Keiranne found the steam had a relaxing effect, but as her muscles relaxed, her mind became more chaotic. She struggled to remember if she had asked Ndozin to send them to this timeline, or if she and Tlalocelot belonged in her own timeline.

It was no use. The harder she tried to recall, the more confused she became. Finally, she quit struggling, and a procession of otherwise faceless people began parading before her.

Faintly, she heard the voice of Mila, as if from far away, entering into her vision. “It's time again to call ‘The Man of The Fire!’”

Unsure how much time had passed or whether she dreamt or imagined the parade, Keiranne drowsily called, “The Man of The Fire."

The thickly woven rug covering the entrance snapped back, allowing a shaft of light to penetrate their steam bath. Again the burly man brought in a shovelful of red-hot lava rocks, deposited them in the pit, left, and recovered the entrance. Again, except for the rocks’ dull red glow, they were plunged into darkness.

"When I add the tea to the rocks this time,” said Mila, “think of your youth. My ladies, recall all you can of your past and visualize what's to come."

Again the rocks hissed when the ladlefuls of tea were thrown on them, but this time the steam became far denser, almost suffocating. As the super saturated air squeezed out the oxygen, the herbs seemed intoxicating. Instead of panicking, Keiranne gave her body up to the sensation and felt herself drifting. A nomad in time, she floated by scenes of herself as a student, a pre-teen, a teen. Then the scenario changed.

She floated by the same procession of faceless people, but this time she could distinguish more. She saw her grandparents, parents, and herself, passing them by, and then, surprisingly, floating past Tlalocelot and a stream of more faceless people.

Mila's voice interrupted her journey. “It's time once more to call for ‘The Man of The Fire.’”

Chiming in with Lady Ikal, Keiranne drowsily called, “The Man of The Fire."

The rug over the entrance snapped back, allowing a ray of light to infuse their steam bath. Again the muscular man brought in a shovelful of red-hot lava rocks, deposited them in the pit, left, and recovered the entrance. Again they sank into a darkness backlit by the rocks’ red glow. Keiranne felt, rather than saw, a piece of twine being given to her.

"This hemp twine represents the men you have slept with. For each man with whom you have joined and not conceived, make a knot, and then put this aside until later. When I add the tea to the rocks this time, my ladies,” said Mila, “try to recall what your midlife has been or envision what it will be."

Once more the rocks hissed, and the steam enveloped them, nearly smothering them with the vapors, the herbs inducing a mind-altering state. Keiranne gave up her body, mind, and spirit to the sensation and felt herself gliding. Sagebrush blowing in the wind, she felt giddy, dizzy, drunk. Entering what seemed like a recurrent dream, she wafted past the same procession of faceless people, passing her grandparents, parents, and herself, and then screeching to a stop. She saw herself pregnant, in labor, giving birth, raising a family, and tending grandchildren, but she saw no man. Who was the father?

The guide's voice interrupted. “For the last time, call for ‘The Man of The Fire.’”

Keiranne groggily called, “The Man of The Fire,” unaware of Lady Ikal or Mila.

A dull shaft of light glowed in the steam like moonlit mist. The lava rocks burned hotter with a white intensity, and, when the opening was recovered, the women merged with the shadows.

"This time,” intoned Mila, “imagine old age and beyond.” Keiranne felt as much as heard a tom-tom being given to her but saw nothing. “For the pent-up rage, unrealized dreams, restricted conduct, unexpressed emotions you have felt in your life, beat on this drum and sing, cry, or howl. Release all inhibitions, disappointments, hostility, and regrets you've had in your life, release."

Mila began shaking a rattle. Lady Ikal joined in with another rattle. As if with disembodied hands, she felt herself begin to beat the tom-tom. The decibel level and tempo increased until the sounds merged into one—a rattling, offbeat heartbeat, like a massive heart murmur heard through a gigantic stethoscope.

Spent, Keiranne put down the tom-tom. Her mind drifted, and she was lulled into a hypnotic stupor by the intense, aromatic heat. She envisioned Tlalocelot, then saw his image fade, being superimposed, merging with...

She screamed one long, keening howl. The image in her mind's eye instantly woke her to the present, and the scream persisted.

Mila threw back the rug covering the entrance, and the light poured in.

"What is it, my daughter?” Lady Ikal asked.

"Nothing,” lied Keiranne, shivering uncontrollably, despite sweating profusely from the heat and steam. “I must have fallen asleep and had a nightmare."

"In that case,” said Mila, tactfully honoring her privacy, “it's time to leave the warm womb of the goddess Temazcalteci and return to the present. Allow me to rinse you."

The cool, scented water was refreshing after the intense heat. Keiranne felt herself returning to the present, for better or worse. The stress of her mind and spirit were at odds with her body, which felt languid, depleted, aloofly detached.

After Mila had rinsed them and wrapped them in clean linen towels, they crawled through the small door. The white dog licked Keiranne's face, happy to see her. Keiranne petted the dog absent mindedly, emerging physically refreshed but confused, confounded by all she had envisioned.

"It's time we completed the circle,” said Mila, leading them back to the circular fire pit where they had begun their internal journey. By now, the logs had burned down to cinders.

"As the logs released their energy,” said Mila, stirring the ashes with a stick to ignite the embers, “they transformed into fire. Energy must be discharged, so the released energy can be replaced. This creative cycle must not be blocked. Let go the heat of your passion that failed to complete the circle of life. You are a conductor, not a container. Let the energy of the universe flow through you. Throw your knotted twines into the fire."

With that, Lady Ikal and Keiranne tossed their lengths of twine and watched them ignite. Mila blew into the conch shell one last time.

"You have been reborn,” she said solemnly.

Reborn: the word reminded Keiranne of Arizpe's pálido muerte, the pale death, of being reborn into freedom from the shackles of her old fears. She recalled slipping through the underground river's aperture, like a fetus through a birth canal.

Reborn: it reminded her of Dorian ... Ndozin, she corrected herself, of his uncanny appearance at critical moments, of his advice. Ignore the barriers. Don't follow the rules. Life is fleeting. Don't take like too seriously. As a butterfly danced in front of her, she could almost hear him say, ‘Butterflies symbolize transformation, metamorphosis: rebirth.'

Reborn: it reminded her of Tlalocelot, his strength, his body heat as he pulled her from the icy river. In his arms, she felt reborn. Her mind replayed his words. ‘Nothing will ever part us again.'

"As you finish the circular path around the fire pit,” said Mila, her words breaking into Keiranne's reverie, “you symbolically complete the circle of life. You are free from the past to create your future."

Create your future, thought Keiranne wistfully, as Lady Ikal accompanied her back to her room. Under Lady Ikal's watchful eye, Mila wound jade-studded leather bands around tufts of Keiranne's hair, skillfully weaving them with Keiranne's own fine curls to create coils of hair. Using this as the base, Mila then added a tiara of iridescent-green feathers, interweaving it with the coils to create a stunning headdress.

Next, Lady Ikal presented Keiranne with a finely woven cotton huipilli, so sheer that Keiranne nearly blushed when she tried it on. The skirt acted as a slip for the tunic-like top, but her breasts were clearly visible beneath the thin top.

Smiling at her modesty, Lady Ikal said, “You might prefer to wear this over it,” and she presented her with a green turquoise, jade, and green obsidian breastplate.

"These gifts are magnificent,” said Keiranne, touched by the woman's generosity. “How can I ever thank you?"

"Just be good to my son,” she said, smiling, reaching out and gently cupping Keiranne's cheek with her scented palm. Then scrutinizing her appearance, she added, “Something's missing."

Keiranne looked down at herself and said, “Oh, sandals."

Lady Ikal motioned to her servant, and the girl produced a pair of sandals dyed and painted to match her iridescent-green headdress. Keiranne slipped them on, testing their fit by pointing and flexing her toes.

"A perfect fit, and a perfect match,” she said, admiring them. “Thank you so much!"

Her finger to her mouth, Lady Ikal studied Keiranne. ‘No, no, something's still missing.” She motioned to another servant, and the girl produced a bracelet to match the breastplate. When Mila had fastened the bracelet for her, Lady Ikal smiled.

"Now you look like a queen,” she said, her satisfaction evident in her tone and the nod of her regal head.

Keiranne put her arms around Lady Ikal and hugged her. “The words thank you don't express how I feel. These gifts are..."

"Are fit for a queen? When you marry Tlalocelot, you become the next queen,” she said with a haunting smile. “I've always wanted a daughter. Please accept these small tokens of Lord Jaguar Paws’ and my love for you.” She returned the hug and then held Keiranne at arm's length. “Now, are you ready to accept your destiny?"

She looked at her mother's turquoise bracelet on one wrist and Lady Ikal's turquoise, jade, and obsidian bracelet on the other. Bright-eyed as she struggled to withhold the tears that brimmed at her eyelids, Keiranne looked at Lady Ikal and nodded. She felt armed and ready for anything.

From the vantage point of the royal platform, Keiranne, Pek, and Lady Ikal watched the parade of people advance toward the temple's wide, central stairway. Something about the scene's feathered headdresses and colorful capes seemed familiar to Keiranne.

Déjà vu. Had she passed through this timeline before? New thoughts were forming. Could it be that this was the correct timeline? Could all the other timelines, including what she had thought was the original, her own, be time corruptions caused by Chac Mool?

The incessant beating of drums filled the air like a gigantic heartbeat, drawing people through the avenues as blood cells through veins, pulling people to the temple, the city's heart. Anklets of bells and rattles shook with each footstep until the city throbbed and reverberated with sound.

The shrill notes of children's clay whistles pierced her thoughts, reminding her of the fateful moment she had plummeted through the skeletons of the museum's display ... fallen through time. Pek's ears perked at the screeching sounds.

Brought back to the present, Keiranne watched as six warriors, two abreast, in a column of three, all wore the same bright yellow hip cloths with matching cummerbunds tied in front. She saw their identical, yellow, cone-shaped headdresses, through which spouted their long, black ponytails. Two layers of feathers shot out from their headdresses’ bands: first a shorter layer of red feathers, and then the long, draping blue quetzal feathers. She thought the backs of their heads looked like birds’ tail feathers. Déjà vu.

Proudly, reverently, each man carried a beautifully painted, covered pot or platter at chin level. When they progressed up the stairs in unison, they respectfully raised the pots and platters to forehead level.

"Lady Ikal, what are those?” she asked, pointing to the platters.

"Zac lac,” she said, “platters filled with offerings for the gods."

From her lookout, Keiranne could see the offerings were of traded shells, stingray spines, and coral. Two platters contained obsidian spear points and darts, their chipped edges refracting the light. Another contained a hematite and jade mosaic mirror that flashed in the sunlight.

The nobles’ dazzling headdresses seemed as if hundreds of birds had perched atop the procession. Graceful feathers bobbed and danced in time with their pace. Ornate, matching earplugs fluttered against the nobles’ shoulders. They carried intricately painted or carved platters at chin level, which they raised to forehead level as they continued up the stairs. Above the pageantry, multicolored butterflies swooped and drifted.

Magnificent in his turquoise-beaded breastplate and wristbands, Tlalocelot joined Keiranne, Pek, and Lady Ikal on the royal platform. His bronzed skin showed only at his face, shaded beneath his luxuriant headdress, and at his muscular shoulders and thighs beneath his multicolored cape and hip cloth. He was in his element.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him in all his splendor. Yet this procession seemed so disturbingly dark but familiar that she was distracted by half-memories. Tlalocelot placed her hand on his elbow as he had the first time they met, and they strode into the center of the guards. Caquiz met them wearing an elaborate headdress. As they joined the ranks, more guards closed behind them.

Then Pek barked and drew Caquiz's attention. Under his elaborate headdress, he smiled. Was it her imagination, or was Caquiz's smile an evil, menacingly grimace?

She had witnessed this wedding procession before, but it had been Tlalocelot and Nene who were about to be wed and Chac Mool who had officiated. Keiranne began hyperventilating, wondering if they had reached another wrong era, altered the chain of events, or gotten caught in yet another time loop.

She half expected Caquiz to shout, ‘Stop this procession,’ and thump his feathered staff on the stone and mortared path, but he did not. Instead, they progressed up the many, narrow steps of the Quetzalcoatl Temple.

When they reached the altar room, they saw the assemblage of nobles lining the walls. The gift-bearers waited off to one side. Lesser priests gathered in front of the huge altar. As Tlalocelot and Keiranne took their places of honor at the center, Caquiz gave the signal. One by one, the gift-bearers came forward, bowed, and presented the platter or container to the priests. In turn, the priests removed the offerings and spread them on squares of beaten-bark cloth.

The drums’ beat penetrated the temple. The distant rattling of the people's bell-encircled anklets was but a remote jingling, while the outlying whistles, instead of jarring, lent disembodied high notes to the festivities. The priests sang throaty creation stories as they arranged the offerings. The overall cacophony was captivating, surreal, almost mind-altering to Keiranne.

Next the nobles came forward, one by one, bowed, and presented the platter or container to the priests. The priests removed the offerings and spread them on squares of beaten-bark cloth. Then the family heads dusted red powder over the gifts.

"What's that?” she whispered into Tlalocelot's ear, although, speaking over the clamor, the decibel level was closer to a shout.

"Red ochre,” he shouted back, “symbolizing blood."

Next, the nobles pulled out their jade and spondylus-shell earplugs. They pulverized them like corn with a stone mortar and pestle and then sprinkled the flakes across the red ochre.

Caquiz drew a pouch from his cummerbund and emptied its contents onto another square of beaten-bark cloth. Incised flakes of sheen obsidian tumbled onto the cloth.

Keiranne tugged at Tlalocelot's elbow. “What's that?"

He looked intently into Keiranne's eyes and very gently extricated her hand from his elbow. “It's time to let go,” he whispered.

Sensing an imminent loss, she clung to his arm as she would a life preserver.

"There's something I must do,” he said solemnly.

A quality in his voice reminded her of when she had stood in the swirling, dark waters of the cave, afraid to move forward, and he had called to her, Let go. Instinctively trusting him, she nonetheless gingerly withdrew her hand, fearful of another separation.

With a parting smile, Tlalocelot boldly approached the altar, fully understanding the significance of what he was about to do. Caquiz offered him a platter heaped with paper shreds made of beaten bark. Tlalocelot chose one, reached inside his hip cloth, and tied the broad paper strip to his penis. Caquiz then offered him a platter heaped with thin shards of black obsidian, each as sharp as a scalpel.

Tlalocelot pierced his foreskin with the sharp black splinter, allowing the sacrifice of his own blood to drip onto the paper while he danced like a whirling dervish. As the blood drenched the paper strip, he danced more wildly to increase the blood flow.

The beat of the drums pounded in Keiranne's ears, increasing in intensity until she thought her eardrums would burst. She watched helplessly while Tlalocelot entered into a semi-trance state. Still he danced, not stopping until the thick paper was saturated.

Caquiz created a fire in an immense alabaster bowl by spinning a fire drill with a bow. He dropped the paper into the flames, dusted it with mounds of incense, and fed the blood offering to the gods.

As the priests chanted, Tlalocelot raised his head to the heavens and shouted, “Vision Serpent, Quetzalcoatl, let my ancestors bless this union."

As the smoke rose and the pungent fumes filled her lungs, Keiranne wondered if she were hallucinating. She could almost see the faces of ancient gods in the ascending smoky swirls. She tried to peer through the acrid plumes, blinking, but certain she saw Ndozin's face, Dorian's face, superimpose itself on Tlalocelot's. Then Dorian's features seemed to morph with Tlalocelot's until it was impossible to tell whose features were whose.

The smoke became thicker, denser, reminding her of the steamy temazcal—and her vision of Tlalocelot. Déjà vu. Gasping, light-headed, she struggled to catch her breath. Suddenly everything went black.

Pek yelped and howled, waking Keiranne from a nightmare of skulls, skeletons, smoke, and sacrifice. She screamed, as much from the unfamiliar reality as from the dream, and grappled with the restraining arms, the hairs standing on the back of her neck in a fight-or-flight syndrome.

"Easy, easy,” said a disembodied male voice, its owner's face shrouded in shadows, as he leaned over her.

The glaring sunlight behind him blinded her, forcing her to squint to see the man's face. She struggled again to rise from the stone path, but Pek intervened, licking her face, reassuring her that she was safe. “Girl,” Keiranne said softly, smiling wanly, ruffling the dog's glistening coat. Although she stopped struggling, she could not relax. Between Pek's head and the intense sun, she was unable to see the man hovering above her.

"That's better,” the voice said. “Don't get up too quickly. You've fallen and banged your head. Just rest a moment."

"Who are you?” she asked, squinting into the dazzling sunlight. She felt something caught around her neck. Untangling the leather string, she was surprised to see the sheen obsidian, Quetzalcoatl necklace hanging against her t-shirt. Following her gaze downward, she saw she was wearing her favorite pair of jeans and sneakers. “What the ... Where am I?"

"Teotihuacán,” he said, “just outside the museum."

"Museum?” She struggled to get up again, almost made it, and then stumbled under the blinding force of the headache.

"Slow down,” said the voice, as the man helped her to a sitting position just under the Goddess of Fertility statue at the entrance. Pek sat down beside her, nuzzling her until Keiranne affectionately ruffled her neck.

She recognized his voice, but still she could not see the man's face with the sun glaring behind him. Butterflies drifted and waltzed around them. “Dorian?” she asked, squinting into the sun to see his features, unsure if it were he. “What happened?"

"From what the guards tell me, you fell against the Plexiglas barrier surrounding the burial offering from the Temple of Quetzalcoatl."

"I didn't fall, I was...” And then it all came back to her. Looking about wildly, she said, “Where are the ... Where's...” Groaning, she pressed against her temples. “How did I get here?"

"The guards carried you out..."

"No, I mean, how did I get here ... in this time?"

Although she realized how ridiculous her words sounded, she instinctively trusted him to understand. Her eyes implored him, asking answers to unspoken questions that most would think insane. He stared back compassionately, biting his lip, mentally debating whether to share it.

"Ohmigod,” she said, staring at her wrist.

"What?"

She held up her wrists. There, on one wrist, was her mother's turquoise bracelet and, on the other was the turquoise, jade, and obsidian bracelet. She caressed Lady Ikal's wristlet unconsciously.

"Now tell me again I fell against the Plexiglas barrier,” she said.

He moved out of the sun's glare, the light now illuminating his face, and his eyes smiled back at hers from deep within. Beyond his facial features, past his dark pupils, it was as if she could see into his soul. Recognition flickered in her eyes.

"No, my lady,” he said softly, “I won't tell you that."

"Tlalocelot?” She looped her arms around his neck and drew him closer. Peering into his eyes, she asked, “Is it really you?” She remembered seeing Ndozin's face morph with Tlalocelot's through the billowing plumes of incense—and before that in the steamy temazcal. “Or is it Ndozin? Are you Dorian? Who are you?"

In answer, he kissed her.

"Tlalocelot!” She smiled and kissed him back, oblivious to everything around her but Tlalocelot and Pek. “But how ... Who..."

"If it weren't clear to you, it was to me."

"What was?"

"That you found some of the rituals ... uncomfortable,” he said. “Even if you could have survived in my era, you wouldn't have thrived."

"Not necessarily,” she said, weighing his words thoughtfully. “I loved the last timeline we were in. Your mother was wonderful.” Again she unconsciously stroked Lady Ikal's wristlet.

"But aspects of my era disturbed you, and once the novelty of the adventure wore off, the culture shock might have become too great to bear.” He kissed her fingertips. “I couldn't allow you to sacrifice your happiness."

"But I knew I could live in your era,” she said, her knotted eyebrows expressing her concern. “I'm worried you'll be unhappy here."

"I've said it before. As long as I'm with you, I'm happy. No matter where, no matter when, you are my home."

"What if you can't adjust to this culture?” She shook her head, enumerating the reasons on her fingers. “You'll have to learn to read, learn to drive, find a career...” His enigmatic smile stopped her. “What?"

"That's the beauty of it,” he said, subtly switching to Dorian's persona. “I can read. I can drive. I'm familiar with this culture. That's why Tlalocelot and I metamorphosed."

"So whose spirit inhabits your body?” she asked pointedly, wondering whether to relate to this person as friend, lover, or total stranger.

"Both,” he said. “Our spirits share this body, so that we're both able to thrive in this era."

"But won't that upset the timeline again?"

"It's nothing I can't fix,” he said with a shrug and self-deprecating smile. “Remember, I'm a calendrical priest, a day keeper."

She became thoughtful. “What are you ... really?” she asked, as Pek climbed on her lap, unaware she was not a lap dog.

"A physicist, what else?” he asked, chuckling. “Who better to calculate time and reset atomic clocks?"

"Then what were you doing poking around Teo with Carlos Arizpe's group?” she asked, regarding him closely, sizing up this symbiotic person, this synthesis of the man she loved and the guide she had met along life's way. “You weren't searching for the pálido muerte or pale death, removing some burden of the past, were you?"

"In a way, I was. When starting a new life,” he said, quoting Arizpe, “a death of the old self has to occur before a new self can emerge."

"So you were searching for something, lacking something, when you came to Teotihuacán?” she asked.

"I had a career, several, actually, being part of the calendrical brotherhood, as well as a geek with a physics degree,” he said with a grin, “but I had no personal life."

She nodded, comprehending. “So Tlalocelot's strengths made up for your deficits, and vice versa?” She searched his eyes. “When you came here, were you actively seeking a change, a new start?"

"I was ready to exchange the old for the new,” he said, “to accept the death of my old self for my rebirth."

"So you had sensed it,” she said. “In other words, you just let go."

"It's timeless advice,” he said, staring into her azure eyes.

"So what was the burden of your past?” she asked, unconsciously leaning toward him. “What did you want to let go?"

"You spotted it right away when you asked why I had such a preoccupation with time. I've been much too concerned with the months and years,” he answered, looking meaningfully into her eyes, “to notice life's moments."

"It's true,” she said. “Life is much more than an online calendar to schedule or a time clock to punch."

"Even if time is circular, there comes a point when you have to strike off on a tangent, take a new direction...” he said, leaning closer.

"...and just let go,” she finished, leaning toward him.

"No clocks,” he said, leaning closer.

"No circadian rhythms or internal body clocks,” she said, leaning closer.

"No calendars,” he said, millimeters from her lips.

"No viewing life through camera lenses,” she whispered, as he rubbed noses with her.

"Some things you just have to let go.” He gently brushed her lips in a tentative kiss, a nonverbal question, asking if she could let go her doubts, suspend her disbelief.

A Monarch butterfly swooped and lit upon his shoulder. As Keiranne gently held out her index finger, the butterfly climbed on its new perch, regarded her, and then soared away.

"Some things have to be believed to be seen.” She closed her eyes the better to see and kissed him. He tasted like, felt like Tlalocelot. Opening her eyes, she looked deeply into his and knew without a doubt. This was Tlalocelot.

"There's only one thing that's timeless, that's worth holding on to,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck, “love."

Born to rolling-stone parents who moved annually, Karen Hulene Bartell's earliest playmates were fictional friends in books. Paperbacks became her portable pals. Ghost stories kept her up at night—reading feverishly. The paranormal was her passion. Wanderlust inherent, she enjoyed traveling, although loathed changing schools. Time-travel novels offered imaginative escape.

An only child, she began her first novel at the age of nine, learning the joy of creating her own happy endings—usually consisting of large families. The day she read Angelique, she entered puberty. Result? She internalized romance.

Avid about romance and time-travel, Karen naturally progressed to authoring paranormal romances.

Karen and her husband Peter are transplanted Texans, living in the Hill Country with four rescued cats.