Cold Steel

Let it begin.

I dashed in and caught the head on my elbow, stealing it away from the spirit lord. As I passed the ball to the boatman, I caught the lord’s ankle with a sweep of my leg and tripped him. He fell as I dodged past. He grabbed my ankle, yanked me down hard, and rolled us over so I had my back to the dirt and his weight and attractively bare torso pressed on top of me.

“You’re not going to play fair, are you?” I demanded.

With his lips a breath away from my own, like Vai about to press a kiss onto my mouth, he spoke. “Where do yee think this shall end?”

“Not with you winning!” The pulse of the game made my heart race and my blood burn.

Voices surged like the sea around us. The footfalls of the running players made a constant tremor, shivering out on all sides through the beaten earth of the court.

I kissed him. His lips were dry; mine were dusty. Surprised by my riposte, he forgot himself, and another face spilled through Vai’s features too quickly for me to recognize before it settled back into Vai’s form. It was definitely not my sire.

I dug a knee up into his groin and shoved him sideways while he was yelping. As I scrambled up, I scanned the ballcourt. The ball was flying back right at me, the dead face frozen in a grimace. I struck the head with a flip of my hip and angled it toward Aunty Djeneba’s husband. Then we ran, never letting the head drop. The ebb and flow of play meant that the head bounced between sides. Here in the spirit world, the players were too good ever to let the ball touch the ground.

You would think they did nothing but play across the ballcourt of eternity, and maybe that was all they did. I wouldn’t mind doing that. A gal could play batey all day and lose all track of time if her limbs never grew weak and her throat never croaked with thirst. My cheeks were flushed, and my heart was singing.

I caught sight of the face of the man who wore the features of my husband. He was smiling arrogantly in exactly that triumphant way Vai had when he knew he’d bested you.

Noble Ba’al! They meant to distract me by gifting me with the ability to play well enough to keep up with them. I could lose myself in the play for a hundred years and forget everything but the thrill of my pounding heart and my gaze fixed on the ball, seeking an opening. I had to concentrate.

I ran up beside the boatman. “I need to score a goal,” I said.

He nodded. “We shall position yee up to the western eye. Yee must manage the rest, gal.”

I raced sideways to the west flank of the ballcourt, marked by carvings of owls, as he worked my teammates down the court with the ball between them. So had I helped him once, risking my life for no benefit except that it was the right thing to do. Every time one of our opponents would catch the ball on knee or elbow or hip, my team would steal it back.

The head spun to me at exactly the right speed and angle. A slap with my elbow sent it flying through the hurricane’s eye, a stone circle.

The ballcourt dissolved around me into a swirl of angry mist as the helpful opia fled laughing and my opponents cursed and shrieked.

I stood in a Taino house large enough that it easily sheltered many serious-looking men and women dressed in white cotton and adorned with feather headdresses, beaded collars, and jade bracelets. The roof was lost in shadow far above, sprinkled with lights like stars. Vines grew up the huge wood pillars that held the roof. From the ceiling beams hung painted gourds as vast as ponds and sloshing with fish. A mound of young cassava plants surrounded me. I stood with my sandals in the dirt; leaves tickled my calves. A saber-toothed cat slouched into view behind the seated personages, my sword tied over its back. He turned aside to drink from a pool of water.

“Rory!” I cried. “Never touch food or drink in the spirit world!”

He raised his head to remind me he was a spirit creature. His tail lashed.

A round object hurtled through the air right at me. Reflexively, I caught it as it thumped into my chest.

The head of Queen Anacaona had fallen into my arms.

Her dead gaze met mine in a most disconcerting way. “Speak truth, maku. Speak now before the ancestors. Who is responsible for my death?”

10

After everything I had done and seen, I really thought it was too much that I could still be surprised. However, good manners always bridge an awkward chasm.

“Honored Ones! I stand before you like a daughter, who asks for your blessing.” I caught the eye of the man who looked oldest and smiled winningly at him, for the smiles of young women could often soften the hearts of old men. He did not look amused, so I quickly retrenched. “I have arrived unexpectedly here, not knowing what you want of me.”