The Elder Warden’s temple was hewn from limestone. Its shape was that of a wide-based triangular prism, but with the peak cut off, leaving a flat platform.

  It stood three stories tall, nearly reaching the cavern’s ceiling, which Gwil realized was probably the actual ground, the surface. Arched entryways stood at each end of the temple’s base. A steep staircase ran up the center of the front face, lined by an array of torches.

  At the top, a gnarled black shrine spanned the width of the flat. Carved from jagged, glassy black stone veined with green, that structure had the squat shape of a fancy tomb’s entrance. The wild spines of rock made it look ablaze with frozen black fire. The smokey essence trapped within the black glass created an illusion of movement.

  As Gwil regarded the temple, he was surprised to see Challe march past him. She was making for the entrance on the temple’s left side.

  “Nuh-uh, Challe,” Gwil said, catching up to her. “We’re going straight to the top.”

  “That would not be wise of you,” she said.

  “How would you know? You’ve never been here either.”

  “I assume Warden Tezca resides at the top, and he will murder you. I am trying to give you a chance to survive. If you meet a Jaguar first, you might realize your folly and flee.”

  “Aw, thanks,” Gwil said. He took her by one of her extra wrists and led her toward the staircase.

  “And you called me stubborn?” Challe exclaimed as Gwil put his foot on the first step. “You will die. The Elder Warden is over five hundred years old. He and the Jaguars stood alone against all the might of the Apocalypse for nine hundred and ninety-nine days. The Goddess knelt before him!”

  “I don’t care what happened a long time—hey!” Gwil stopped in the middle of the stairs and scratched the top of his head. “The Apocalypse was nine hundred years ago, not five hundred.”

  “No. It wasn’t,” Challe said.

  Gwil caught the quiver in her voice. He said nothing, because his inclination was to laugh, and he didn’t want to make Challe feel bad. This wasn’t her fault.

  “I’m willing to talk to Warren. If he has a really good reason for all this, maybe that’d be okay. Or if he agrees to tell everyone the truth. That’d work, too.”

  “And you called me gullible,” Challe muttered.

  “Who built this?” Gwil asked, stomping his foot on the pristine stone step as they continued upward.

  “The Jade Goddess,” Challe said. “She birthed this entire sanctuary as a gift to the Malikauans who survived the Apocalypse, and as penance for her failure to forfend the demons. That act of creation was also a sacrifice that left her petrified, and only capable of acting through her Vessels.”

  Gwil gaped. “Woah. How big was she?”

  “What?”

  “She pushed this entire place out of her—”

  “No! It’s metaphorical. Her effigy stood beside my crucifix. That’s her true form.”

  They reached the top. Gwil eyed the double doors that were cut into wall of the twisted black shrine. They were painted with the swirling pattern that the warriors wore as body paint.

  Challe grabbed Gwil by the wrists and put her other hands on his shoulders. Burning Nirva seeped from her fingertips.

  “Please don’t do this. I will lead you to the exit. I will even go with you. Show me whatever it is you wish to show me.”

  Gwil twisted out of her grip and made for the door. “What is that smell?”

  A sharp crack of thunder rang out as he pressed his hands against the stone doors. He meant to see how hard it’d be to bust them down, but they swung open easily at his touch.

  The inside was dimly lit by scattered candles. The entrance was in the middle, so the interior extended in both directions. Gwil stuck his head inside and sniffed at the air. It smelled good. Incense? Or maybe—

  Challe screamed bloody murder.

  Gwil whipped around and hurried over to her. “What happened?”

  Challe cleared her throat and smoothed out her robe. “Nothing, sorry. I just could not help but voice my immense terror and shame and disgust and—”

  “Doesn’t seem like anyone’s home,” Gwil said, looking back at the entrance. “This guy thinks demons are invading, and he doesn’t even lock his door?”

  “You told me you would be satisfied if I accompanied you outside the sanctuary? What happened to that? You lied to me.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Maybe I would’ve,” Gwil said. He scratched at the scar on his chest. “But we’re in too deep for that now. You don’t have to come in if it makes you uncomfortable.” Gwil moved to the doorway and his nose perked up.

  Challe scoffed. “Better to disgrace myself than give a demon free rein of the Warden’s abode.”

  They entered. A golden candelabra burned at the center of the dining table. Considering there was only one chair, it was a big table. At that seat was a placemat and a large bowl. Gwil’s nose led him to it.

  “Ooh, wow! Popcorn!” He took a handful of the fluffy snack and stuffed it into his mouth.

  “What is that?” Challe said, peeking over Gwil’s shoulder. “Why are you eating it? I suspect it’s one of Warden Tezca’s mystical ingredients. It might be poison!”

  “Huh?” Gwil said, spraying flecks from his mouth. “Nah, just popcorn. With butter! Try some, it's good!”

  While Challe leaned over the bowl, examining the popcorn with narrowed eyes, Gwil checked his pockets. He found only his fork. Damn. He didn’t have any ztuff with him.

  “Don’t you know what corn is?” Gwil said. “There’s a way to fry the kernels and they’ll explode into this stuff. I tried to do it a bunch of times, but it never worked. There must be some magic to it, I think.”

  “Corn?” Challe said, tilting her head.

  As he looked around, Gwil realized that they stood within an ordinary kitchen. He threw open the curtains that hung between some cabinets, revealing a pantry. The shelves were packed with foodstuffs, neatly organized and labeled. There was a lumpy canvas bag stuffed with ears of corn.

  He took one and turned it over in his hands. He’d never seen corn like this. It seemed shitty and inedible. The dark yellow kernels were rock hard, and the husk was white and flimsy as opposed to sturdy and green.

  Gwil had only eaten popcorn once before, when a traveling merchant passed through, and it had come in a balloon-like paper bag.

  It all clicked. Gwil’s repeated failures to recreate the popping corn… these kernels explained everything.

  He looked at the label beneath the bag of corn. It read: Zea mays everta. Gwil gasped. A magical incantation.

  “Goddess!” Challe said as she snatched it out of Gwil’s hands. Her face lit up like Gwil had never seen before. “What is this? It’s like a giant piece of grain filled with smaller grains!”

  Gwil continued rifling through the pantry as Challe marveled. He handed her a jar of peanut butter and then a chocolate bar. “You had apples and stuff. I wonder why he wouldn’t give you corn. The chocolate I kinda get, but…”

  When Challe did not answer, Gwil turned around to find her slumped over the table, quietly whimpering.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Attempting to speak sent her into full-blown sobs. “This is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever tasted.” She heaved for breath. “Maybe it’s ‘cause I haven’t eaten in twenty years but-but-but… wahhh!”

  Gwil patted her on the back and then burst out laughing upon seeing what had sent her into this episode. She’d shaved off the tiniest sliver from the corner of the chocolate bar.

  He broke off a proper piece and stuck it into her mouth which was wide-open as she wailed. The anguish evaporated from Challe’s face as she chewed.

  “My friend Leira will want to slit the Warden’s throat when she finds out you didn’t eat for twenty years.”

  “Oh, Goddess! You bastard demon!” Challe fell sideways out of her chair. “I’m eating Warden Tezca’s food like some sort of wild animal.” She lunged at Gwil and wrapped her arms around his legs. “You’ve enchanted me. Release me from your magic—this violates our agreement!”

  “Yeesh,” Gwil said, palming his forehead. “You’re way more clueless about the World than I ever was. That really sucks.”

  He returned to the pantry, hoping to find another interesting food that might stop Challe from crying. Then he spotted the stove. The heating coils were tinged blue and faintly glowing, just like their stove from Jayson. Kaia. Gwil thought they didn’t have any of that stuff in Malikau. But this asshole had it for himself.

  “We could make some popcorn of our own with this,” Gwil said.

  Challe had her face buried beneath two layers of fingers.

  Gwil moved to stand beside her, intending to scoop her up so they could get on with it. Then, he noticed something very soft beneath his feet.

  He looked down and saw that the rug was actually a jaguar skin with the legs, the tail, the head all intact. Gwil bent down to regard the big cat’s face. Its jaws were stuck open, fangs bared.

  “What’d you think of these stuffed animal decorations?” Gwil asked Challe. “I think they’re weird.”

  “The… the…” Challe gasped between every word. “Not weird. The jaguar… is the sacred symbol… of our survival.”

  “And look—this guy walks all over it. He should’ve shared his chocolate with you. He’s hiding. I’m gonna find him and kick his ass.”

  Gwil saw Challe scream the word ‘No’, but an ear-splitting crack drowned her voice.

  He was blinded. A radiant flash of green-white swallowed everything.

  His body had gone numb and rigid. He toppled backward, stiff as a board as he hit the floor. Gwil could see his hands, raised in front of his face. They’d been charred black. He couldn’t move anything except his eyes.

  Challe appeared above him, her face so distorted it looked like she was melting. “I’m sorry!” she wailed. “But you ruined my life! It wasn’t me; it was the Goddess!” Challe fell to her knees. “She punished you of her own volition, I swear!”

  Gwil’s Nirva burned, and with it, sensation prickled back to life in his extremities. The first bit of movement he managed was to wrinkle his nose at the stench of his burnt hair.

  He focused his Nirva within and then spread it through his body. His arms softened, and he forced them to bend. The flesh cracked wetly, like rotten wood, and pink lines broke through burnt skin.

  “‘M fine,” he wheezed.

  “You’re alive!” Challe squealed, grinning. “The Goddess spared you.”

  With some help from Challe, Gwil sat up. Every movement came with more squelchy cracking sounds.

  He tried to speak, but gagged, and realized that he hadn’t been breathing properly all this time. He tried to clear his throat—something big was lodged in there.

  Gwil retched and gagged and heaved. He went on all fours. Challe got the hint and started slapping him on the back.

  Eventually, he hacked up a pink glob of flesh. It splattered on the ground. Gwil prodded at it with his finger. It felt spongy. A piece of his lung, he guessed.

  Gwil drew a deep, satisfying breath. “It wasn’t the goddess, Challe. I told you—we can’t be hurt. We can regrow limbs and stuff.”

  He chipped off a few pieces of burnt skin, which was oddly satisfying. Then he ruffled up his hair, breaking apart the burnt strands. There was a decent amount left. Something still stunk, though…

  “Shit!”

  The jaguar rug was engulfed in flames. Challe knelt unmoving beside the fire, seemingly catatonic. Gwil picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “Dammit, Challe. We didn’t even get to look around yet. Cool power, though!”

  He made for the door. No big deal. Warren would get the message.

  “Whoever disturbed my nap deserves a slap.” A high-pitched, rhythmic voice. “Beware, beware. Who goes there?”

  “Ixik?” Gwil shouted.

  Gwil tossed Challe out through the doorway and ran toward the familiar voice.