The journey to Cayocan (Part 7)

A current section of my story. Set in an ancient Mesoamerica world.

The trail sloped gently upward, roots crossing it like old scars. Overhead, the canopy thinned, letting shafts of gold pierce through and stripe the forest floor. Ahead, the silhouette of the Teocalli began to rise—stone shoulders jutting out of the jungle like the back of some ancient beast.

Renzo filled the silence with one of his grand tales—half boasting, half lie—about the time he fought a wild boar barehanded. Tezca walked a little ahead, his expression unreadable, still carrying the weight of what he and Izel had shared moments ago.

Xochi wasn't listening. Her gaze kept drifting sideways to Izel, who trudged along with her sketchbook hugged tight to her chest. Quiet, steady, always watching.

With a sharp exhale, Xochi suddenly grabbed her arm. "Hey—!" Izel blinked, startled.

"Come on." Xochi tugged her forward, pulling her a few strides ahead of the group. Renzo's voice faded behind them, and Tezca, noticing, only raised a brow but said nothing.

When they were out of easy earshot, Xochi let go. She looked restless, fingers tapping against the shaft of her spear. "...Sorry," she muttered at the ground.

Izel adjusted her glasses. "For what?"

"For earlier," Xochi blurted out, the words rushing like she wanted them gone before she could choke on them. "I was... sharp with you. I didn't mean to—well, maybe I did, but..." She bit her lip, scowling at herself. "Ugh. I just shouldn't have."

She hesitated, working the words out like knots. "When you stepped in back there, it—it rubbed me wrong. Made me feel... helpless." Her jaw tightened as she forced herself to look up. "But you saved us. And I'm glad you did."

Izel tilted her head, studying her with those big, searching eyes that made people feel exposed. "You were protective," she said softly. "I understand."

That threw Xochi. She'd braced herself for a jab, or a cold brush-off—but Izel's voice held no judgment, only quiet recognition.

"...Yeah, well," Xochi huffed, eyes darting away. "I don't like people getting too close to Tezca unless I know they're not... trouble." Her tone dropped, raw and unguarded. "We don't have much. Just each other. So I've gotta guard that."

Her words hung heavier than she meant them to.

Izel's gaze lowered to her sketchbook, her fingers tightening around the cover. "...I'm not good at making friends," she admitted, almost too low to hear. "But I don't want to be your enemy."

Xochi stopped in her tracks, blinking. For a beat, she just stared, then her expression softened—softer than Renzo would have ever believed possible. Finally, her mouth tugged into a crooked, gentler smirk.

"You're weird," Xochi said. "But... I don't hate weird."

Izel blinked, then let out a small, awkward laugh. Real, if a little shaky.

The sound pulled a grin from Xochi. "See? Not hopeless after all."

From behind, Renzo's voice rang out: "Oi, what are you two plotting up there? Overthrowing the rest of us?"

"Mind your own business!" Xochi snapped instantly, her voice sharp as a whip.

Renzo's laugh echoed through the trees, delighted at getting a rise out of her.

Izel shook her head, smiling faintly despite herself.

As they crested a rise, the jungle opened, and the full shape of the Teocalli revealed itself—an ancient pyramid, its stone steps weathered and half-consumed by roots, yet still imposing. The setting sun painted it in blood-red and gold, as if the temple itself were burning with the last light of day.

The group slowed, awe tugging at their steps. For a moment, no one spoke.

At its base, vines crept along the stones, but higher up the temple still stood firm—unyielding, ancient, and watchful.

Izel tilted her head up, adjusting her glasses as the sun caught the stone surface. "There it is," she breathed, voice threaded with awe. "I told myself earlier I'd come back... I wanted to see all of it properly."

"You're such a nerd," Xochi teased, bumping her side with a grin. "Bet you'd rather be in a library, wouldn't ya?"

Izel smiled faintly but didn't take her eyes off the temple. "Books can tell you some things," she said softly, "but being here—feeling it under your feet, the air around you—that tells you the rest."

Tezca gave her a sideways glance, smirking. "...Guess some things you can only understand if you see them yourself."

They began climbing, each step flaking faintly beneath their sandals. The stairs stretched like a spine straight up the structure, steep and narrow, and every few levels they paused, glancing out at the ruins below and the lush horizon of forests and rivers.

When they finally reached the top, they stepped onto the wide stone platform. The chamber still bore the dark marks of fire pits and old altars, though weather and time had softened them. Faded streaks of blood stained the stone near the altar, seeping into grooves deliberately carved to guide its flow. The wind carried strong at this height, whistling as it pushed past them.

Izel stepped forward, tracing her fingers over the etched floor. "I'm glad the people here stopped," she murmured. "I suppose... back then they thought it was a way to reach the gods. Still... I'm glad they moved beyond it."

Tezca and Xochi exchanged a glance. Tezca's smirk widened as he lifted his hands dramatically. "Well..." he drawled, "if there's any place to test it—this would be it."

Xochi didn't miss a beat. Her grin spread as she lunged, snatching Izel's wrist. "Don't fight it, Izel. The altar's been waiting centuries for someone like you."

"Wait—what?!" Izel gasped, stumbling as her glasses nearly slid off her nose. "No—stop—" She pulled against Xochi's grip, caught between panic and a helpless laugh.

Tezca leaned in, adding solemn weight to the game. "It's true. You can hear it, can't you? The stones calling her name."

Renzo burst out laughing, doubling over. "You two are evil—look at her face!"

Tzai's voice cut dryly through the chaos. "Relax. Those practices were abandoned centuries ago. Only our ancestors took part in them."

Tezca finally let go, and Izel yanked her wrist free, pushing her glasses back up with pink cheeks. "Very funny," she muttered, brushing her hair back.

Xochi winked, smug. "See? Deep down you love it."

Izel shook her head, but the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

They lingered a while longer, soaking in the view, the wind curling around them in restless currents.

Back at the base, the air felt heavier, cooler, like the temple's shadow had teeth of its own. Izel trailed behind slightly, scanning the walls intently. The stones were crowded with carvings—jaguar heads, feathered serpents, spirals that reached endlessly inward. But one symbol made her pause.

Her brow furrowed. It didn't sit quite right with the others. Not wrong enough to be obvious, but enough to make her fingertips itch with curiosity. She reached out, gently brushing her fingers against it.

"Something's strange about this one..." she whispered.

Renzo leaned over her shoulder with a skeptical snort. "Probably just some old stonemason messing up after a long day." He pressed his hand against it, half-lazily, and leaned his weight.

A low grind echoed through the stone.

The wall shuddered, then split, revealing a hidden seam as dust poured out. Slowly, a massive slab shifted aside, opening a narrow, yawning passage.

As Renzo leaned on it, he stumbled forward into the opening. His eyes went wide. "...Huh!"

Tezca's lips twitched, a snicker breaking through. Xochi burst into laughter, clapping her hands together. "You?! You found a secret passage? By accident?!"

Renzo's ears burned as he stood straight. "Hey—I was testing it. Totally intentional."

Izel covered her mouth, trying (and failing) to hide her laugh. "Testing gravity, maybe."

They stepped inside, the chamber dim and cool, a strange chill running along their arms. Torches on the wall were long-dead, their wood blackened and crumbling. But the deeper they went, the brighter it became—not from firelight, but from the reflection of gold.

The passage opened wide at the base, spilling them into a cavernous chamber. The walls glimmered as though they themselves were alive with wealth—rows of ornaments arranged like offerings, necklaces draped over carved stone racks, shields plated with precious metals leaning in neat stacks. Gold disks sat piled in shallow bowls, their surfaces dulled with age yet still glowing faintly. Jade and obsidian glittered in the gloom, polished figurines of jaguars and serpents staring back with unblinking eyes. Feathered headdresses rested on stands, their Quetzal plumes long but miraculously preserved, shimmering faintly in the low light. Precious garments lay folded upon stone benches, their fabrics stiff with age but still rich in color. Scattered between them sat the remnants of ritual offerings—bowls of incense and scented candles, long extinguished, their wax hardened in frozen drips. Even the floor bore scattered trinkets, the remains of collapsed shelves and toppled altars.

Xochi's breath caught. "We just... found a treasure room." She drifted forward, eyes wide, turning slowly as if to take in every detail at once. "Look at this—look at all of this." Her fingers hovered just above a jade-studded mask, resisting the urge to touch. For once, even her usual sharp grin was absent, replaced with something closer to awe.

Renzo whistled low, unable to resist grabbing a heavy necklace and holding it up to the faint light. "Well, if no one's using it..."

Before he could sling it around his neck, Izel shot forward, snatching it from his hands. "No!" Her voice was sharp, carrying in the hollow chamber. She clutched the necklace tight against her chest. "These belong here. They're not... trinkets for you to carry off."

Renzo blinked, then raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, relax. I was kidding." He smirked. "Mostly."

"Don't," Izel said firmly, her gaze sharp in a way that left little room for banter.

Tezca's eyes roamed the chamber. Not just the glitter of gold or the shine of gemstones, but the arrangement of it all—the way shields leaned like guardians, how masks watched silently from the walls, the bowls of disks like offerings left in waiting. It wasn't just treasure. It was memory. A weight of generations pressed into objects, each one carved, painted, or forged with meaning.

"She's right," Tezca said at last, his voice low but certain. He stepped closer, brushing dust from a cracked obsidian figurine. "This isn't loot. It's... history. People left these behind for a reason. Taking it would be like stealing their voices."

Xochi glanced at him, still tracing the outline of the jade mask. She nodded, a quiet agreement beneath her awe.

Renzo rolled his eyes but didn't argue further, stuffing his hands into his belt.

Tzai, however, hadn't moved since entering. His expression was unreadable, gaze passing over gold and jewels with no more interest than one might spare for rocks by the roadside. At last, he muttered, "Shiny or not, it's just things. Nothing more." Then he turned his back to the treasure, more intent on the chamber's dark corners than its riches.

The others exchanged glances at his indifference, but Tezca lingered a moment longer. His hand brushed the obsidian carving again, a strange respect settling in his chest.

In the center of the chamber stood something different: a massive stone slab, cracked and broken, its edges jagged where time had chewed away. Ancient glyphs spiraled across its face—deep, deliberate cuts that seemed less carved than scorched, as though the stone had once burned with their making.

Izel knelt before it, tracing her fingers along the uneven grooves. Her eyes narrowed, lips moving silently as she pieced fragments together. "It's... complicated. Some of this is older than the rest."

As her touch lingered, the image revealed itself: islands floating above swirling clouds, and a single beam of radiant light plunging down toward them. Around the scene, spirals stretched outward, unfinished—as if the story had never reached its end.

Xochi crouched beside her, head tilted. "Looks like a map."

"A warning," Tzai said flatly, his eyes hard on the stone.

Renzo leaned back, arms folded behind his head. "Floating islands, a big shiny beam of light—yeah, shocking. It's literally where we're standing."

"No." Izel's voice cut sharp, echoing faintly off the golden walls. "This is older. It's saying something, not just showing it."

The weight in her tone stilled him. She turned back, her hand hovering over the carved beam, as though trying to pull the truth straight out of the rock.

The group lingered longer than they should have. Sunlight from the entry caught the treasures and scattered them in shifting glimmers. Dust floated thick as smoke, curling in the air whenever someone shifted.

Izel dropped to one knee in front of the slab, sketchbook balanced on her thigh. Her pencil worked fast, sure strokes etching every curve of the glyphs, every fracture, every spiral of divine light radiating down on the floating islands.

Renzo, meanwhile, leaned against a pillar, fiddling with a jade mask he'd already been told to put back. "Y'know," he said with a lopsided grin, "I can see why those bandits were here. This stash must be worth a fortune." He slid the mask over his face, struck a stiff pose, and deepened his voice. "Fear not, little mortals! I only demand... like, half your lunch."

"Don't you dare," Izel snapped without looking up, her pencil cutting darker lines. "None of this belongs to us. It's sacred."

Tezca smirked faintly, while Xochi was already muffling her laugh behind her hand.

"I'm just saying!" Renzo shrugged, tossing the mask back onto the pile with a clink. "Letting it all rot here seems like a waste."

"That's exactly why you shouldn't touch it," Izel muttered, her focus never leaving the page. Her brow furrowed, lips tight as she captured the spiraling beams. Her eyes gleamed—alive, alight—as though she was glimpsing something only the stone could tell her.

When she finally sat back, satisfied, her whole posture shifted. She lifted the sketchbook, studied her work, and her cheeks flushed with quiet excitement. "Perfect," she whispered. Then, without thinking, she pressed a soft kiss against the page, right over the sketched slab. "This alone," she murmured, smiling at it, "makes everything worth it."

The others blinked.

Renzo chuckled, shaking his head. "You're... a very strange person, you know that?"

Tzai silently dragged a hand down his face.

Xochi grinned from ear to ear. "Aww, so sweet. I like it."

Tezca let out a small huff of laughter, watching her with an expression caught somewhere between fondness and intrigue.

Izel snapped the sketchbook shut, hugging it to her chest as though embarrassed by her own display. "Let's... close this before someone else stumbles onto it."

"Great idea," Tzai muttered.

Together, they heaved the slab back into place. The chamber rumbled as the wall slid shut, the sound echoing like a final breath. For a heartbeat, the stone seemed to tremble, sealing away its secrets as though it had chosen to.

When they stepped back into the light, the air outside felt sharper, brighter. The jungle wind swept against their faces, cool and insistent, like the island itself had been watching all along.

The group walked in silence for a short while, the weight of what they'd seen still hanging over them.

At the huge clearing of the ruins—where the path forked, they finally stopped. The western trail stretched toward the coast where Tezca, Xochi, and Renzo had "docked" earlier. The eastern trail led back toward Izel and Tzai's boats.

"So this is where we split," Tzai said, his voice calm as ever.

Tezca shifted his hands in his pockets, glancing at Izel. For a heartbeat, neither spoke, though something unspoken lingered between them.

"I'll be watching when the tournament starts," she said quietly, her sketchbook hugged close to her chest. "Don't disappoint me." A faint curve touched her lips. "All of you."

Her gaze flicked sideways toward Tzai. "You'll come with me, right?" she asked, not so much a request as an expectation.

Tzai huffed out a long, tired breath through his nose, eyes half-lidded. Only after a pause did he nod, muttering, "...If I have to," dragging the words out.

"Great!" Xochi exclaimed. "We won't let you down," she added smugly.

Izel adjusted the strap of her satchel, sketchbook tucked safely inside. She looked at the three across from her. "I... enjoyed this. More than I expected to." Her voice softened. "Thank you—for letting me be part of it."

Renzo grinned, giving her a two-fingered salute. "Hey, anytime, Sketchbook. Even if you're bossier than Tzai."

Tzai shot him a look but said nothing.

Xochi suddenly lunged forward and threw her arms around Izel, squeezing her tightly before pulling back with a mischievous grin. "You're weird, but you're my kind of weird. Don't forget about me—or I'll haunt you."

"I'm not so sure I could," Izel said with a rare little laugh.

When it came to Tezca, she hesitated, shifting on her feet. "Take care of yourself," she said finally, her tone more serious. "Both of you," she added, glancing at his sister.

Tezca nodded. "You too." His eyes flicked briefly toward Tzai before meeting hers again. "Try not to drive him crazy."

For a second, it almost looked like she was about to smile, but she only dipped her head and stepped back beside Tzai.

With a few final waves, the two groups separated, sandals brushing against the stone paths that pulled them apart in opposite directions.

Tezca glanced once over his shoulder. He saw Izel walking eastward, Tzai a quiet shadow at her side.

The jungle swallowed them from sight, until the trail wound down to where the canoes waited at the edge of the island.

The canoes rocked gently as they caught the downward pull of the air currents, sliding along the descent carved by the Aid. The wind was sharp and cool at this height, carrying the low, steady hum of the island behind them—like a heartbeat fading into distance.

On the western side, Tezca sat crammed in the narrow canoe, knees brushing against Renzo's as the bigger boy sat at the back. Xochi leaned lazily against the side, her elbow occasionally jabbing Tezca whenever the canoe tilted. Tight quarters, but none of them complained—they were too used to it by now.

Tezca tilted his head back for one last look. The island loomed above them, cliffs lit with glowing vines, the trees shrinking as the clouds pulled them farther away. His chest tightened—not from leaving the place itself, but from leaving someone behind. He thought of Izel, bent over her sketchbook with that quiet fire in her eyes, the way she'd kissed her drawing as if sealing her bond with the island forever.

Tezca exhaled, a sound caught between a laugh and a sigh, though it carried weight. She's different. Strange, but... different in a way I want to understand. A faint smile tugged at his lips before he shook it off, careful not to let Xochi notice—or she'd never let him live it down. Still, his gaze lingered on the fading silhouette of the island until the clouds swallowed it whole.

On the eastern side, another canoe eased into its descent, Tzai sitting steady at the rear, his movements calm and measured. Izel hugged her sketchbook tight to her chest, chin resting lightly against it. The image of the hidden slab stayed vivid in her mind, every uneven curve of the carvings already memorized. But when her gaze softened, it wasn't the temple she was thinking of.

Her lips quirked into a smile. He'll probably forget all about me once he finds the next adventure. A small laugh escaped her, quieter and more fragile than usual. She tucked her sketchbook close, whispering so Tzai wouldn't hear, "I won't forget him, though."

As the two boats drifted farther from sight of one another, the island above seemed to exhale, its glow dimming with distance, carrying away both their thoughts—two threads pulling in opposite directions, yet still tethered to the same memory.

The canoes slid lower, rocking gently as the air currents drew them down through thinning clouds. Far below, the lake district spread wide, its waters catching the last bruised colors of sunset—red and orange bleeding across the ripples like fire beneath the sky. Lanterns were already flickering to life along the shore, tiny sparks against the deepening dusk. The long descent carried them in silence, each of them tired in body and in thought, until the hull finally scraped against the wooden docks. Hunger tugged at them then, heavier than weariness. They handed the canoe back to Jaztayan with brief words of thanks, feet finding solid ground once more.

The city was already shifting into its night rhythm. The streets east of the main square were quieter than in the day, but not empty—music drifted faintly from tavern doors left ajar, where laughter spilled out with the smell of spiced liquor. A few windows glowed with firelight, figures moving inside, shadows thrown long against the paper-thin screens. Lanterns swung lazily from wooden beams, their dim orange light pooling across the cobbles.

The trio moved along the stone path, their sandals scuffing lightly. The air carried smoke, food, and the faint salt of the jungle rivers. Tezca tilted his head back as they walked, eyes drawn to the night sky. Here in the north, it was strange—the sky was a deep violet, the stars a sharp pink and clear like shards scattered across a canvas. For a long moment he just stared, silent, until he caught himself thinking of Izel's hair in its faint glow.

Xochi noticed his expression before he could brush it away. She didn't tease him this time—only leaned in slightly, her curls catching the lamplight, and gave him a genuine smile. One of those rare, quiet ones, softer than her usual grins. Tezca returned it with a faint huff, neither of them saying anything more.

They carried on until the eastern docks came into view. The wooden stairs creaked as they descended, and there, sure enough, sat Ohtli. He was perched on a barrel with two other men, a ring of clay gourds scattered around them. The three were mid-game, cards splayed across the makeshift table. Their laughter carried across the water, low and slurred, punctuated by the occasional slap of a hand on the wood.

"Full hand!" one of the men barked, though his words tangled over each other. The other cursed loudly, knocking back the last of his drink. Ohtli, red-cheeked and grinning wide, turned as soon as he caught sight of the trio.

"Ahhh—there they are!" he bellowed, tossing his cards down with a flourish. "Sorry, boys, but my customers are back. Duty calls!"

The man opposite him raised a brow, smirking as he shuffled the cards into a messy pile. "Customers? Thought you'd quit hauling kids around."

"They pay better than you do," Ohtli shot back, half-laughing as he pushed to his feet. He wobbled just slightly before straightening, brushing himself off with an exaggerated sweep. His friends snorted, one calling after him, "Try not to sink 'em on the way home!"

As he staggered toward them, Xochi raised a brow. "Wait—have you been sitting here the whole day?"

Ohtli scoffed, straightening his tunic. "Course not. Took Azula out for a few runs, dropped some folk off upriver. Earned myself a break after that, so..." He jerked a thumb toward the two men still chuckling over the cards. "Joined these fine gentlemen for a game."

The man opposite him lifted his gourd in mock salute. "And he lost every round."

Ohtli waved him off with a grin, striding over to join the three.

Renzo crossed his arms as Ohtli ambled over, eyeing him skeptically. "Are you sure you're fit to sail?"

Ohtli gave a dramatic scoff, hand pressed to his chest as if wounded. "Fit? I could steer in my sleep. A professional," he added with a drunken little bow, "always knows his limits."

Tezca and Xochi exchanged a look over his head. Tezca raised a brow; Xochi smirked knowingly. Renzo, shaking his head, couldn't stop a faint laugh. "Right. Of course."

With that, they clambered back onto Azula, the massive flying fish waiting patiently at the dock. Its scales shimmered faintly in the lamplight as it rose into the air, carrying them south. The wind rushed past as the city's lights shrank, leaving only the wide jungle stretching below, black and endless. The rhythm of Azula's glide, steady and unhurried, lulled them into silence, and by the time the river-town lights flickered into view, fatigue had settled heavy in their shoulders.

At last, they reached their dorm. The wooden door loomed ahead, warm light spilling from its cracks. Tezca knocked, and the three of them lined up instinctively.

Locaris opened it a moment later, his tall frame casting a shadow across the entryway. His eyes took them in one by one—Renzo bare-chested and grinning, Tezca with his shirt torn and obsidian blade hanging at his side, and Xochi with her hair full of leaves, spear strapped across her back.

For a long moment, Locaris just looked at them. Then he exhaled slowly, shaking his head with an almost amused sigh. "Why am I not surprised?" His gaze lingered on the blade at Tezca's hip, then on the spear over Xochi's shoulder. "And how exactly did you manage to come back with more weapons than you left with?"

Renzo opened his mouth, but Locaris raised a hand before he could answer. "Never mind. I don't want to know. Get inside before anyone else sees you."

The three filed past him into the warm glow of the dorm. As they passed, Locaris's nose wrinkled, and he muttered, louder this time, "And for gods' sake, shower. You reek."

"Food first!" all three barked back in unison, voices echoing down the hall, their laughter spilling after.

Locaris lingered a moment at the door, watching them disappear into the dorm's light. His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped to a murmur, meant only for himself. "This is only the beginning..."