Jimena had spent the last few days receiving offerings from the entire village. They celebrated with her constantly—even though it was, in truth, a celebration of her. At first, the attention had made her bashful, but she gradually opened herself to the experience, especially after meeting so many kind and wonderful people. She had eaten to the point of bursting, and still the villagers offered more.

  Refusing had become an art learned out of necessity.

  Her father had been a focus as well, praised by the elders as a good caretaker. Their approval had been warm and sincere, something Jimena noticed eased him greatly.

  As they traveled deeper into the mountains to visit other Wixárika villages, Jimena learned more of their language. The journey itself was a reward—new sights, unfamiliar creatures, and landscapes unlike anything she had known. Along the way, she felt the pure faith offered by plants, animals, and people nourishing something deep within her core.

  She picked up mannerisms during the many gatherings, learning the names of foods and everyday objects. More surprisingly, she began to understand words and concepts too complex to grasp so quickly—things she knew Marisol would have known or Jaime with Cimi’s help. She suspected this had something to do with the faith or influence now resting upon her.

  For now, she accepted it.

  Nothing had gone wrong since the strange hallucinations of her first ceremony. The faith filling her shaped her differently than faith given by the villagers of Bahía Oscura. The fire burning within her was furious and colorless, radiating mute anger and judging anything that approached without mercy.

  Within her gem, Xolo’s body had melded into the background of her inner world. Creatures of string and beads wandered plains of vibrant threads and floated through oceans of vivid hues, carefully avoiding the cuauhxicalli where the colorless flame burned at the center.

  She felt at peace.

  Wind roared past as the scenery blurred. Kauyumari carried her vast distances with unmatched speed, taking Jimena to her next destination—the villages of the Guachichiles, who stood on the front lines of a losing war against far more united and powerful enemies.

  At least, that was what she could piece together from what the elders had told her.

  The native peoples of the land had steadily lost ground after first welcoming outsiders into their territories. They had heard of a mighty empire of light that had defeated the Aztec god of blood and war. Through their exploits—and by winning the endorsement of an allied village—the invaders gained access to the heart of the land, where they ambushed cities with powerful weapons: faith-filled relics brimming with overwhelming divinity.

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  Weapons meant to kill gods, pointed at peaceful divinities that had no way to fight back.

  Deities who existed only to nurture were shown no mercy.

  How could the villagers have known the foreign men came not as friends, but as conquerors?

  Many fled their cities, warning neighboring regions of the coming calamity. Even with warning, more cities fell. Survivors fled westward—to the mountains, and farther still beyond the vast Sierra Madre.

  The Wixárika were one such people, running for generations. They fought to reclaim their land, only to lose what little they still held. Jimena saw in them the remnants of a once-prosperous people.

  The flame in her chest writhed in anger—but she quelled it, returning it to quiet judgment.

  “We are here, young Mother of Fire,” Kauyumari said with reverence.

  Her thoughts had distracted her from observing her surroundings. The lush jungles and forests she had come to associate with home were gone. Instead, parched sandy soil stretched outward, dotted with shrubs and dense clusters of cacti.

  Jimena ignored the giant blue deer out of embarrassment and greeted the Guachichile elder who approached her. His upper body was bare, while his lower half—thankfully—was covered, even if only modestly.

  She couldn’t feel the desert’s heat herself, but the sun-baked skin and sweat-sheened body of the elder told her all she needed to know.

  Several other elders joined him as he introduced himself. His name translated in her mind as Sun Child.

  Her father followed behind after composing himself, remaining close to Kauyumari. The elders did not greet him. Their eyes held a trace of apprehension, but no one spoke of it as they led them into the village.

  Many of the people here were topless—women included—though some wore modest coverings. Fabric seemed scarce. Furs, leathers, and bones made up most of their clothing.

  The villagers looked at her much as those in other settlements had. It was something she had slowly grown accustomed to during her travels with Kauyumari.

  The meeting with the elders was cordial. Most behaved as though they had been expecting her, though the way some watched her sent shivers down her spine. She held her father’s hand for a moment, drawing strength from him, then released it.

  Straightening her back, Jimena began to answer the elders’ questions.