Cece Rios and the Desert of Souls, Kaela Rivera [english novels for beginners TXT] 📗

Lion sighed and folded his arms. “Just—be careful, Cece. And call for us if you need help.”

Kit smiled. “We’ll be there for you.”

24

The Will of Cecelia Rios

When I arrived at the Sun Sanctuary, Dominga del Sol stood at the front entrance, ready to welcome visitors. She smiled as I padded up the steps.

“Are you here for your friend?” she asked.

I stiffened. “Um—what do you mean? I don’t really have—”

“Coyote.” Her smile spread wider as I tried not to have a heart attack. “He came before the sun rose, so I let him in. The Great Namer hasn’t been seen in Tierra del Sol for a very long time. I had a feeling if anyone was responsible for his return, it would be you.” She stroked the stubble on my head.

I stared up at her. “But how did you—” I glanced at the closed doors. “So he is here. And you’re not going to tell anyone else?”

“Of course not.” She winked and pushed the entrance open. “The Great Namer has always been a friend to Naked Man when we have been a friend to him. And young and lost as he is now”—she turned to face inside—“it looks like he’s sorely in need of one.”

I ducked beneath Dominga del Sol’s arm and stepped indoors. The sanctuary was quiet. No one was here yet, not even other priestesses. Just a small figure on the other side of the room, standing in front of the mosaic, his head inclined back to take it in.

At first, I didn’t recognize Coyote. He was wearing a wide, straw hat that covered his multicolored hair and a bright red poncho over his usual shirt. Wait—those were my papá’s clothes. Coyote must have taken them off the drying line this morning. I came up beside him, and despite the disguise, his gold eyes were as obvious as ever. The tension in my chest eased.

“Coyote?” I said.

He didn’t look at me. His gaze traveled over Mother Desert’s image. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, her arms stretched up to touch the world and all its creatures. A coyote slept closest to her, nestled in the ends of her long black hair.

“Do you know what I’m most scared of, Cece?” he asked.

“I’m guessing it’s not giving me a heart attack when you suddenly disappeared.” I pouted. “Because you nearly did.”

His face fell. “Sorry. I just . . .”

I glanced behind us. Dominga del Sol had shut the front door and stood lighting candles beneath the farthest stained glass window. Coyote was lucky it was her he’d run into this morning. At least it meant we were safe for now.

I turned back to face his question. “What are you most scared of?”

He took a breath. “I’m scared of . . . disappointing her.”

We both looked at Mother Desert’s depiction. Her deep brown skin, her soft smile.

I glanced at Coyote. “Why would she be disappointed in you?”

“Because she gave me her voice,” he said. “She trusted me with her power to create. And what did I do with it?”

I waved up to all the animal criaturas in the mosaic. “You made the criaturas. Like Lion, and Kit—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted. His chest suddenly rose and fell faster. “Like Little Lion, and Kit Fox, and La Llorona, and—” He stopped and looked at me, unshed tears hanging on his lashes. “And El Sombrerón.”

Oh. I stared, wordless.

“Juana being taken was never your fault, Cece.” He looked down at his hands, and I realized they were shaking. “It’s all my fault.”

His soul drowned in deep, cold gray and chilled my ribs. I shuddered. This is where it came from, then. This is where his soul was stuck battling.

“Is that the real reason you agreed to help me?” I asked. “Because you feel bad about creating the dark criaturas? I understand why you made them. You were just trying to protect animal criaturas from humans—”

He pressed his hands over his face. “I didn’t make dark criaturas just for that. I was angry. I think I—wanted to hurt Naked Man. To make them suffer the way they and their brujas made my familia suffer.” He bowed his head, still speaking through his fingers. “And the worst part is that I don’t even know why I thought that was a good idea. If anything, it just made things . . . worse. Just like Devil’s Alley. Just like everything I ever did.”

I thought of the cycle I’d pictured a while back, with criaturas, brujas, and Naked Man all hurting each other.

Something needed to enter that circle and disrupt it. Then, no one else had to end up like Juana. Then, no one else had to carry the pain Coyote, and Lion, and Kit did in their hearts.

“You hate me now, don’t you?” Coyote’s voice cracked. “But I just want you to know that—that I’m sorry. I thought I could fix everything if I could protect you and help you get your sister back. But—but just like always, I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t even stop Ocelot. I’m just going to fail you like I have everyone else.” A fresh wave of tears hung on his dark lashes.

I looked up at him. “I don’t hate you, Coyote.”

To have made a creature like El Sombrerón, he must have been so incredibly angry, so full of rage. And he was right—what he’d made those creatures to do wasn’t okay.

But I’d already learned that when people are in pain, they do terrible things to try to bandage their broken hearts. Like Papá and his drinking. Like Tía Catrina and her desire for power.

“Making the dark criaturas was definitely a mistake,” I said. He rubbed his teary eyes. “It did make things worse. But Coyote, you’ve been trying to make up for it.” I smiled up at him. “I forgive you. You don’t need to feel guilty anymore.”

The pink in his soul started to trickle back. The sun flashed through the nearest stained glass window and sent rainbows over his cheeks, the rays dancing over