pencils. If you want, I can tear out a piece of paper for you.”
Oriana smiled. “I brought my own journal. It’s no good for drawing, but I have a pen. I’m quite content to just sit here and pretend I’m an iguana basking in the sun.”
Nixie laughed. Good enough. She’d had to sit still for years, following her mom to archeological sites and lectures and stupid adult parties full of teachers. She’d learned to like it. Sitting still, that is. She pulled out a black pencil to sketch in the outline of the Temple of the Descending God, easily visible from here. Maybe she could do something as neat and orderly as her mom’s scientific drawings. It would be easier without her mom looking over her shoulder.
She waited for the path to clear of people, steadied her camera against a rock, and took a picture of the ruin from exactly where she sat in case she didn’t have time to finish. The outline was pretty easy, just a square on a square, and the rough outline of the rocks between her and the ruin. The gentle scratching of Oriana’s pen soothed her, and she’d gotten all the way to trying to shade the darker gray of the stone lintels before she looked up.
Oriana whispered to her, as if hoping not to disturb her. “I’m going for some cold water. Would you like a bottle?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to come with me?” Oriana asked.
Nixie shook her head, glancing over at a family with two young boys that had settled near them and were pulling out a picnic lunch. “I don’t want to lose our place. But I’m hungry, too.”
“All right. I won’t be long.” Oriana pointed at a silver cart with pictures of bottled water and ice cream sandwiches on it. “I’ll get a snack, and we can have a real meal back at the hotel.”
She thrust her journal into her pack, shouldered the pack, and headed off. What did Oriana write in there? Had she written anything about Nixie and the quetzal feather? Nixie sighed and shifted her position to keep her right foot from falling into pins and needles.
A soft sob rose from her left.
There was no one there when she glanced over. Must be someone on the beach.
But it hadn’t sounded like a kid, more like an adult, and adults didn’t cry in places like this. She bent her head back to her drawing, listening carefully. There it was again, so quiet she was sure whoever cried didn’t want to be discovered. The deep sadness of the cry sank into her bones, making her feel light and cold.
She set her journal down carefully and crawled the three yards over to the edge of the rock on her knees, leaned over, and looked down.
Below her, three rough canoes were pulled up on the beach, and a young woman with black hair sat between the canoes and the rock, her face buried in her hands.
There was a way down, if Nixie was careful. A thin scrabbly path she hadn’t seen from the beach.
She glanced back toward her stuff.
It wasn’t there.
It was happening again.
She drew in a deep breath and looked around. Two men with towels or something wrapped around their waists walked away from her, toward the temple. She gaped at the bright blues and reds, skewered in place by the liveliness of temples that had been dead to her eyes five minutes ago. The sky seemed deeper blue and the air clearer, as if everything in this time breathed sunshine.
She shouldn’t be here. She hadn’t known before, but this time her blood raced.
A muffled noise below her reminded her why she’d come to the edge of the rock. Carefully, she let herself down, toes scrabbling for purchase. She risked a look down. Not far, but steep. The young woman’s head jerked up as Nixie’s feet scraped a trickle of small stones down the rock. She had dark hair, swept back from her face and held with bone clips, and a round face with dark eyes rimmed in red. With her big eyes and thin frame, she almost looked like a Mexican anime character.
She stood, scrambling back, watching Nixie carefully. She wore a rich red, green, and
Oriana smiled. “I brought my own journal. It’s no good for drawing, but I have a pen. I’m quite content to just sit here and pretend I’m an iguana basking in the sun.”
Nixie laughed. Good enough. She’d had to sit still for years, following her mom to archeological sites and lectures and stupid adult parties full of teachers. She’d learned to like it. Sitting still, that is. She pulled out a black pencil to sketch in the outline of the Temple of the Descending God, easily visible from here. Maybe she could do something as neat and orderly as her mom’s scientific drawings. It would be easier without her mom looking over her shoulder.
She waited for the path to clear of people, steadied her camera against a rock, and took a picture of the ruin from exactly where she sat in case she didn’t have time to finish. The outline was pretty easy, just a square on a square, and the rough outline of the rocks between her and the ruin. The gentle scratching of Oriana’s pen soothed her, and she’d gotten all the way to trying to shade the darker gray of the stone lintels before she looked up.
Oriana whispered to her, as if hoping not to disturb her. “I’m going for some cold water. Would you like a bottle?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to come with me?” Oriana asked.
Nixie shook her head, glancing over at a family with two young boys that had settled near them and were pulling out a picnic lunch. “I don’t want to lose our place. But I’m hungry, too.”
“All right. I won’t be long.” Oriana pointed at a silver cart with pictures of bottled water and ice cream sandwiches on it. “I’ll get a snack, and we can have a real meal back at the hotel.”
She thrust her journal into her pack, shouldered the pack, and headed off. What did Oriana write in there? Had she written anything about Nixie and the quetzal feather? Nixie sighed and shifted her position to keep her right foot from falling into pins and needles.
A soft sob rose from her left.
There was no one there when she glanced over. Must be someone on the beach.
But it hadn’t sounded like a kid, more like an adult, and adults didn’t cry in places like this. She bent her head back to her drawing, listening carefully. There it was again, so quiet she was sure whoever cried didn’t want to be discovered. The deep sadness of the cry sank into her bones, making her feel light and cold.
She set her journal down carefully and crawled the three yards over to the edge of the rock on her knees, leaned over, and looked down.
Below her, three rough canoes were pulled up on the beach, and a young woman with black hair sat between the canoes and the rock, her face buried in her hands.
There was a way down, if Nixie was careful. A thin scrabbly path she hadn’t seen from the beach.
She glanced back toward her stuff.
It wasn’t there.
It was happening again.
She drew in a deep breath and looked around. Two men with towels or something wrapped around their waists walked away from her, toward the temple. She gaped at the bright blues and reds, skewered in place by the liveliness of temples that had been dead to her eyes five minutes ago. The sky seemed deeper blue and the air clearer, as if everything in this time breathed sunshine.
She shouldn’t be here. She hadn’t known before, but this time her blood raced.
A muffled noise below her reminded her why she’d come to the edge of the rock. Carefully, she let herself down, toes scrabbling for purchase. She risked a look down. Not far, but steep. The young woman’s head jerked up as Nixie’s feet scraped a trickle of small stones down the rock. She had dark hair, swept back from her face and held with bone clips, and a round face with dark eyes rimmed in red. With her big eyes and thin frame, she almost looked like a Mexican anime character.
She stood, scrambling back, watching Nixie carefully. She wore a rich red, green, and