stunned silence. Had she just defeated a god? Impossible. Gods could not be defeated by humans.
At least, that was what her father had taught her. When she had asked him how he knew that Grijalva and his men were gods, he had told her that the bearded ones did not abide by the sacred law.
‘Which law?’ Tula had asked.
‘The law between gods and humans.’
‘They do not make sacrifices to the gods and for that reason you believe them to be gods?’ Tula frowned.
‘Either that, my dear Tula, or they are most certainly doomed.’
Tula wondered which was true. Were these bearded ones verily gods? Or were they merely strange, warlike men doomed to die?
The other god was still lying on the beach. If he was truly a god, then he was not dead and it was possible that he could help protect her against the red god, who would be returning to his senses soon.
She rushed from the jungle and on to the beach, trying to think of a way to rouse the tall god. When the god Grijalva had visited, he and his crew had remained inside their floating temples, revealing little but their love of gold and their devotion to the strange, naked spirit they called Cristo.
‘Cristo,’ Tula said tentatively, hoping the word held some kind of magic. But the tall god did not respond. She stared down at his face. It was so very pale, like the inside of a chayohtli fruit. He was like a beast, in truth, his wiry brown hairs growing all around his large face and down past his chin. Crude, thick bushes of it grew over his eyes and tangled around his ears.
Tula took a deep breath. Within each thing exists its opposite, she told herself.
She looked closer. Beneath his moustache, his lips were red and plump, and appeared almost soft. The skin of his high cheekbones was clean and smooth, as if it might be pleasurable to touch. She wondered about his eyes. Were they blue like the sea? She hoped not. Many of the god Grijalva’s men had such eyes and it meant that their souls had deserted them.
‘Cristo,’ she said again, but the god did not stir. Perhaps he was dead.
But gods did not die.
Tula bent to her knees and studied his face more closely. His nose was like a coati’s—long and strong and prominent. It was bent to the side slightly, and a small trickle of blood flowed out of it.
But gods did not bleed.
She wondered if his mouth held teeth or fangs. She let her finger graze across his lips. They were soft and slightly moist. She gently traced their contours, feeling an unusual thrill.
Man or god, he was fascinating.
She tilted his lower jaw downwards and peered into his mouth. Not fangs—he had teeth. They were the imperfect, slightly yellowed teeth of one who had seen much of life and the set was not even complete. Tula suppressed a smile. If a god, he was quite a besieged one.
The Sun God was nearing his defeat. His last rays shot across the sky, illuminating the man’s large pink tongue. She peered deeper into his mouth. For the second time that day, she noticed the glint of metal. It was O-shaped, like a ring. A gold ring. The god’s tongue squeezed through it like a finger.
Tula knew that the bearded gods hungered for gold, but she had no idea that they actually consumed the yellow metal.
Tula looked closer and saw that the ring was the perch for a large gemstone of some kind. Its wide circular base extended across the roof of the god’s mouth, stirring her imagination. Maybe it was a moonstone, or even a precious jade. Tula reached for the gem, but his mouth closed suddenly.
Tula jumped backwards. The man’s eyes remained shut, but Tula was unnerved. She heard a rustling sound at the edge of the jungle. As she squinted for a better view, she saw that it was just a monkey swinging between tree branches. Still, she knew the red god would be returning to his senses soon.
‘Ooa-k-k-k,’ the monkey croaked, as if in warning. But now Tula did not want to leave without the ring. To return to her family and community with such a treasure was beyond her wildest hopes. The Mexica Tribute Takers would certainly accept the heavy prize in place of much food and many cloaks’ worth of tribute. She remembered what her father had told her about the upcoming festival of the fifteenth month. Perhaps the Takers would accept this jewel in place of Tula herself.
She tried to open his mouth again, but he held it shut. His eyes remained tightly closed and they danced beneath his lids, as if he was living inside some important dream. Clearly he was not dead, just asleep. If only she could somehow enter his dream and coax him into opening his mouth. But how to enter the dream of a god?
On impulse, she placed her lips upon his.
She pressed down softly, hoping that he would imagine some beautiful goddess kissing him and open his mouth just enough for her to retrieve the gem. She moved her lips gently against his and, amazingly, he began to move his lips in response.
Her deception was working—it seemed that he had accepted her into his dream. Softly, she let her tongue slide into his mouth. It touched the hoop of the ring, which remained wrapped around his tongue. She tried to coax it free with her own tongue, but it was so tightly wedged against the roof of his mouth that it would not move. It was several moments before she realised that the tiny hairs upon her arms were standing on end.
She shivered, though it was not cold, and breathed in his musky scent.
This was not her first kiss—if a kiss it was. As a younger woman, she had participated in her share of maize festivals and there had always been plenty of young men eager to join lips with her among the stalks.
That was before the Mexica Tribute Takers had taken her older sister’s husband and two boys, when life was still joyous and full of possibility.
After Pulkho’s family was taken, the idea of closeness with a man had become terrifying to Tula. Why enter into the sacred union if it could so easily be destroyed? Tula had stopped going to the maize festivals, and had determined never to get close to any man. There was simply too great a danger of losing him.
This was different, of course. This kiss had nothing to do with closeness and everything to do with theft. The excitement she felt was not the excitement a woman felt for a man: It was merely the danger of the situation mixed with the possibility of success.
She lay her tongue atop his, squeezing it into the ring, such that their tongues twisted together in the small space.
Slowly, steadily, she coaxed the heavy prize into her own mouth.
She felt a rush of triumph as she hovered over him, threading her own tongue through the golden ring. She was so proud of herself that she hardly noticed when his lips reconnected with hers and his tongue began to move inside her mouth.
He was kissing her back. Tula’s heart began to pound, and a different kind of shiver ripped through her body. His lips pressed firmly against hers. She tried to pull away, but she couldn’t. He wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her against him, keeping her body pinned against his so firmly that she could scarcely breathe. His chest was hard, as if padded with some invisible armour. But his kisses were soft and tender, and his eyes remained closed.
‘Luisa,’ he whispered.
Luisa, his dear Luisa. Here she was, at last in his arms. He could feel the warmth of her breath, the softness of her skin. He could even sense her desire—how she drew in the scent of him, how she thrilled and shivered at his touch. She still wanted him, even after two long years. And he wanted her—Diós, how he wanted her. She was all that mattered, all that would ever matter. She was the only good thing in his despicable life.
He pulled her against him and heard her sigh, and it was all the permission he needed to shower her with his kisses. He started with her cheeks, which tasted salty and fecund, as if she had swum all the way across the ocean