I do not want to fight her now, Etalcaxi thought. The conclusion was simple. Undeniable. The lover in me cannot leave her. A slow, giddy grin spread across his face. So, I must make a bargain with her.
With a new confidence in his movements, he got to his feet. He walked slowly through the 'human shrubbery', his expression now thoughtful and appraising. He was no longer terrified, in a monster's larder; he was a bargainer, assessing the value of a very strange and unexpected piece of merchandise. He stopped before the silently screaming, fern-sprouting face of Lord Cozoc. He felt a flicker of pity for the man's grotesque, humiliating fate, but that pity was quickly overwhelmed by a surge of fascination and a cold, calculating sense of opportunity. He turned to face Ixtic, who had risen and was watching his every move, her head tilted, her green eyes full of a cautious curiosity.
"Ixtic," he began, his voice steady and calm. "We must make a bargain."
A flicker of suspicion crossed her face. Her eyes brightened with a familiar, possessive light. "Another one?" she asked, her voice a low purr that still sent a shiver down his spine. "The last bargain is not yet fully paid." Her gaze drifted down his body, a clear and unsubtle reminder.
He took a deep breath, preparing. "I must return to my home, to the Valley of Tlacaxinachyotl. And I will not return empty-handed." He pointed a steady, resolute finger at the leafy Nictex lord. "Give me one of these... planted rivals. Give me Lord Cozoc. To return to my people with such a high-status captive, a Nictex lord, would bring great honor to my name. It would be a great victory."
The change in her was instantaneous. The sensual warmth vanished, replaced by a cold, stony stillness. Her voice, when she spoke, was a low, dangerous growl. "No." The word was an absolute, a wall of power. "You stay. The jungle claimed you. I marked you. You are mine now. The bargain is finished."
He stood his ground. The Etalcaxi of a week ago would have crumbled before that tone, before that possessive fire. But the Etalcaxi of tonight understood her better. He had seen a little of the logic behind her magic, the strange, simple reasoning that governed her actions. He would not appeal to her mercy. He would appeal to her sense.
"And what would you do with me?" he asked, his voice calm and reasonable. "Keep me here like one of these?" He gestured to the miserable, leafy Nictexs. "A man like me cannot survive like that. A warrior kept in a cage, away from his people, away from the sun of his homeland, will wither. My spirit will fade. My body will weaken." He let his gaze meet hers, his expression one of sincere truth. "Is a dead, withered warrior what you want for a prize?"
Her stony expression wavered. A flicker of doubt entered her eyes. He had a point. The thought of him, so full of fire and life, becoming as dull and listless as one of her shrubs was... unappealing.
He pressed his advantage, his mind now working with a clear, tactical precision. "And my people... my caravan is small, but my nation is large. When I do not return, they will believe something killed me. They will send others. Search parties. Then, when they are not found, they will send war parties. More warriors. Many, many more men with axes." He let that image hang in the air between them. "More trouble for your jungle. More disrespect for your trees. Is that what you desire?"
He saw the memory of her anger flicker in her eyes. The thought of an endless stream of loud, chopping mortals invading her sanctuary was clearly a deeply unpleasant one. He let the silence stretch for a moment before delivering his masterstroke, the final piece of his proposal.
"But..." he said, his voice dropping, becoming intimate, conspiratorial. "If you let me go now, with Lord Cozoc as my captive, I will return."
Her eyes narrowed, her entire being focused on him now, listening with a new intensity.
"Every full turning of the calendar wheel," he continued, his voice a steady, solemn vow. "For one full moon, at the height of the dry season. I will invent a 'trade mission.' I will bring offerings to the jungle—fine seeds, rare minerals from my mountains, things your soil has never tasted. And I will spend that time with you. Willingly. As your champion. Your... guest."
She considered this. The idea of him leaving, of the warmth and the taste and the vibrant energy of him being gone, was a physical pain, a deep ache. But the idea of him returning, season cycle after season cycle, a willing tribute coming home to her... this appealed to her ancient, cyclical nature. It was like the return of the sun after the rainy season, a predictable and joyous event. It was an arrangement that had the solid, enduring feel of stone and root. Her face, which had held a cold fury, began to thaw at the thought of bestowing a "prize" upon her "champion," a gift that would ensure his glorious return.
"Every season cycle?" she asked, her voice a low whisper, testing the shape of the promise. "The little warrior would swear this?"
"A Itzotec warrior's oath," he said, his voice ringing with a sincerity she could not mistake. "It is a sacred bond. It cannot be broken. Give me my prize of Lord Cozoc, and in return, you will have your prize. Calendar wheel turn after calendar wheel turn. A willing offering, not a withered captive." She gestured to the other silent, screaming shrubs. "And what of the others?" she asked, her voice still cold.
He gave a dismissive shrug, a gesture of ruthless pragmatism that she understood and respected. "The others are of no consequence to me. They are Nictex. Let them feed your jacaranda. You may do with your thicket as you please."
Her cold expression finally, completely, thawed. A slow, calculating, and deeply sensual smile formed on her lips. This was a deal she could not refuse. A great victory and a measure of peace for her jungle, in exchange for letting her prize run free for a time, with the promise of his eager, willing return. It was a good bargain.
"Agreed," she purred. "I will release the noisy one with the bad feathers to you. I will allow your little flock to leave my jungle in peace." She stepped closer, her eyes darkening with desire. "You will return every season cycle, my warrior, a willing… offering." She reached out, her fingers tracing the new, faint mark on his throat. "And... I must have a farewell gift. A memory to keep me warm through the long, quiet seasons until you return."
He broke into a wide, roguish grin, his heart soaring. He had won. He had faced down a Ixtic and negotiated a victory for the ages. "A farewell gift," he said, his voice a low, husky growl. "I believe that can be arranged."
He stepped forward and pulled her into a deep kiss. This kiss was entirely new. It was not one of discovery, or of claiming, or of punishment. It was a seal. An agreement. A contract signed by two very different beings who had finally, against all odds, found their terms.
When they finally broke the kiss, breathless and smiling, she took his hand. She led him not toward the path out of the jungle, but back toward the moonlit cenote, to wash the last of the mud and charcoal from his face and body. And then, she led him back to the mossy, root-walled sanctuary at the base of the great ceiba tree, to collect her farewell gift, a payment he was now more than willing, and deeply eager, to provide.