“Who are you?” I saw my own reflection in his glasses, trying not to show fear over being in the middle of the sea with a sparkly dude in a robe.
He didn’t answer me. Not at first. Instead he stared—or I guessed he was staring. He sat back down and said in a low voice, “I am Itzamna.”
“Itz…who?” And then I realized I recognized his voice. My insides felt like they were dying a slow death.
He tugged off his glasses. His eyes were as black as a starless sky. But they were circled in a silvery light that matched his sparkling hair. Even his dark skin glittered like quartz. “I am the moon god, bringer of writing and culture, creator of the calendar, and father to the Bakabs. And you are Zane Obispo.”
“You’re not the Fire Keeper.”
“No.”
“You…you’re the one who’s been whispering to me.”
“In the flesh.”
Crap! Crappity crap crap crap! Had I made the worst mistake ever, wasting all this time on a maybe? Quinn’s words haunted me: My dad used to tell me anyone who believes something is foolproof is likely to be proven a fool. And I was the biggest fool this side of Idiotsville.
I swallowed my disappointment. “Why are you here?”
Was that the right thing to say to a shimmery god you’d never met and who, like the other gods, might want to behead you?
Then the shocking realization hit me like a thirty-foot wave. He could see me! So much for my so-called “expert” death magic camouflage. Thanks, Ixtab! I edged back. “Are you here to…kill me?” Might as well get the truth right up front.
Itzamna threw back his head and let out a musical laugh. I swear, that’s the best way to describe it. It was like he had a whole symphony in his mouth or something. “No, I am not here to kill you,” he said. “If I’d wanted to, I could have struck you down long ago. I’ve been watching you for some time.”
“You were there with me and the Red Queen.”
“I was nearly there. It really isn’t as easy as it sounds, being in more than one place at a time. But I thought I would make a showing, remind her she owed me a debt. And I am flawless at collecting.”
“Why? What do you want from her?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re quite the writer and I’m a fan.” He grinned. “I’ve been following you since you penned your first story, the one my fellow gods forced you to write. They are so clueless—they obviously had no idea of the power they’d given you.”
“Power?” Wait…did he say fan?
“The written word is power. It can change worlds. I always say, rule with wisdom, not war.”
His voice was deep and soothing like Jazz’s chocolate drink especial. My whole body started to relax as he spoke.
He continued. “When you wrote the first cuento, I, being the god of writing, noticed you. I don’t like to get involved with human affairs, or even godly affairs. I’d much rather read great works, write poetry, play the flute, and float across the starry sky.” His forehead wrinkled. “But then you began to write again—a second story, using magic ink—and that magic drew me to you. Your words connected us.” He sighed and smiled at the same time. “I must say, you are in quite a predicament. Not sure you are making the right choice here—it’s pretty risky—but I suppose that’s what ups the stakes.”
I felt sick. “How come you haven’t told the other gods I’m alive?”
He continued rowing slowly, the oars gliding effortlessly through the dark, calm waters. “Why would I tell those unenlightened fools about you?” he said. “So they could destroy a talent as rich as yours as they have so many of my other protégés? I think not. I’ll be honest, you do need to work on your phrasing, and perhaps you could use some help with settings, but I know talent when I see it, and you, young man, have a future in words. It would be a travesty for such artistic talent to go to waste. Therefore, I am here to offer my help.”
Why did I have the feeling I was being used as a pawn to stick it to the gods once again?
“What kind of help?” I asked.
“My services, to take you under my wing and show you culture, refinement, and—”
“Uh…sorry, that sounds like a really good offer and all, but I…I, uh, have to get to the Fire Keeper. Now.” So what if the Fire Keeper hadn’t been trying to talk to me? It didn’t mean he wouldn’t help me, right? “Did you say going to see him is a bad choice?”
“A risky one, which I prefer,” he said. “I know what’s at stake. Which is why I have gone through all the trouble to meet you face-to-face. I want you to stay alive, Zane Obispo. So I am breaking my own rule and interfering this one time. But I ask for something in return.”
There it was. The fine print, reminding me that Maya gods never give anything away for free. “Okay?”
“You must continue to write. No matter what happens, you must share your story with the world.”