Oh wow, it's been a while, hasn't it? I apologize for that. And I'm going to have to apologize again when I say I won't be updating again in November. I'm participating in NaNoWriMo and just getting this chapter done was pretty difficult. But I will get this story done, I promise! Expect updates to start up again in December.

I'd also like to thank Ann and Pete for their lovely reviews. Thanks so much!

~Tulio~

She comes out of nowhere. I swear I've never seen her before, but as soon as I catch sight of her face a dull ache throbs in my chest. Blue eyes, slender face, long dark hair. So familiar, yet I just can't seem to place it. She's laughing; happy. For a moment, it makes me happy as well.

But then I blink, and the moment's gone. Disappears like a shadow, as if it never existed. I'm left with lifeless blue eyes that are cold and glassy, showing none of the joy I seen with her just moments ago. Her long dark hair lay beneath her in a giant mass of tight curls, but it has lost its shine. The putrid scent of blood reaches my nostrils and I recoil back in shock, never having smelled anything so scary before.

But the scent of blood wasn't the worst part. For underlying the coppery fragrance is the sickly sweet aroma of freshly squeezed oranges.

"Tulio?"

The sound of Miguel's voice startles me from my reverie. His warm emerald eyes are a stark contrast to the woman's glassy blue ones, and for a moment I allow myself to memorize how alive they appear to be. The image burned into my mind gives me the creeps, and I'd like nothing more than to forget what I just saw. Thankfully, the longer I stare at Miguel, the more I realize I can't seem to recall what she had even looked like.

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?" I ask, trying to drag my attention to what he's actually saying. I don't especially pride myself on how easily my attention is slipping, but he's been repeating the same stuff for a while now, and I'm beginning to grow sick of his concern—however good his intentions may be. Miguel's lips bow down into a small frown, the edges of his eyebrows curving upwards in something that resembles a mixture of sympathy and frustration.

"I said you shouldn't worry about what happened back there." I dip a finger into the lake and try to chase the little fish, only half-listening again. "They'll get over it soon." He pauses for a few moments before adding, "I think."

For the past half-hour Miguel has been talking about how I shouldn't let it bother me. That it wasn't my fault. That everyone has already forgotten about that fact that I saved someone as well. At first, his voice had felt calm and reassuring, a low murmur that I could find myself relaxing into. And it had worked. I found myself slowly but surely calming down and, loathe I was to admit it, seeing a brighter side of the accident. But after a while, Miguel had apparently began to see the darker side, and his voice grew intrusive and repetitive, getting more and more tense as his own irritation grew, and now I wish he would just let it go. It's not like anything he preaches is going to make me feel any better anymore.

After the incident on the outskirts of the city, the two of us had wandered silently. Eventually, we found ourselves in the square and wordlessly decided to settle on the ground next to the lake.

I shift my gaze to the river that we sailed into El Dorado on, its liquid still glimmering like it's sprinkled with golden dust. Just beneath the surface are enormous fish that range in colors through the entire rainbow. It makes me glad that there are smaller ones near the top that I can disturb.

I pull my finger back out of the water and observe the ripples, fascinated by the way they fan out until they finally become tranquil once more. Eventually, when the water stills, I feel an unpleasant jolt of shock pulse through my heart when I notice a man I don't know standing above me. Just as my muscles tense to whirl around, realization dawns on me, and I feel a breath of relief rush out of my body. I stare into the depths of the deep blue water, trying to stare past my reflection, but unable to see anything else. I never even thought about what I looked like before, but now I'm not sure if I want to know. Nevertheless, my vision eventually blurs until I find myself staring at my image for the first time.

My hair is a large mass of curly dark tangles, and I once again find myself wishing I could pull it back. My face is rugged and tan, and just below my lips is a small black goatee. I had never stopped and thought about my own eye color before either. I guess blue isn't bad, although it's not nearly as nice as green.

It feels strange to watch someone moving exactly the way I do, and yet unable to recognize that it's me.

"…aaand you're gone again. Tulio? Hellooooo?" Miguel waves a hand in front of my face and I swat at it, not sure whether to be annoyed or amused.

"Can you please do me a favor and shut up?" I snap, the words coming out more hostile than I had intended. I instantly regret it the moment Miguel grows silent. I'm searching for words to apologize when he shrugs and turns away.

"Sorry. I'm just trying to help." He doesn't sound upset. That might be a good sign.

"I know." There's a tense silence as Miguel and I sit there, both of us staring at the ground but neither of us seeing it.

The idea forms itself slowly, almost as if it came from nowhere. But as soon as I realize it's there, I can't get it out of my mind. The silence becomes more and more deafening before I finally can't take it anymore. "Tell me a story." I suddenly request.

Miguel glances up at me, his eyebrows arched in a most peculiar fashion. "A story?" he asks it as though the very idea is strange. He scratches at his beard as though the very notion of telling me a tale had never occurred to him before. "What kind of story?"

"One about me."

"You would say that," Miguel teases me with a smile on his face. It's been a while since I've seen his grin and the sight somehow helps me to relax. "Alright, how about the story of how we got here?"

I swiftly nod, ecstatic that he's finally opening up a bit about my past. I want to know how I got here. I feel the question burning inside me relentlessly, never once fading to the back of my mind. The thought of how I lost my memories seems so interesting.

"Okay, so, the tale begins with an incredibly handsome god and his slightly less handsome friend. That's me and you by the way."

"Yeah, I gathered."

"Anyways, there we were in Xibalba being all godly and doing heavenly stuff—"

"Like what?"

"Are you gonna let me tell this story or not?"

"Fine, go on."

Miguel clears his throat, sending me a pointed glance. "Anyways, so we were doing heavenly stuff. You know, making it rain, laughing at the humans being stupid—real normal casual god stuff. Then—"

"So we were good friends? In Xibalba?"

Miguel huffs a dry laugh, the ends up his lips curving upward in a small smile. "I guess you could say that." Miguel takes a moment to continue, as if he suddenly has to search much harder for words. "Anyways, the main god—you know the big ol' number one—said we had to go on this journey to El Dorado, and he gave us a map so we could find our way. He said that it was our destiny."

"Did he say why we were chosen?" The question is paramount somehow. I find that over the past day I've asked many questions like that. Why are we here? Why did I lose my memories? Why do I keep having seemingly irrelevant flashes?

Why, why, why?

"Just that it was really important and that we couldn't let anything get in our way," Miguel answers before adding, "So we were preparing for this trip and one of the other gods heard that we were chosen and got insanely jealous because, I mean, let's face it, we're awesome, so he followed us here. His name is Cortés, by the way. So Cortés followed us to Earth because he thought he deserved it more than us, and while we were on our super awesome quest, he was making his evil plan because he's evil." Miguel pauses to take a breath. I take this as an opportunity to interrupt again.

"That name doesn't sound familiar. Do I know him?"

"I'm getting there." Miguel responds with an exaggerated sigh, sending me what I'm sure he meant to be an annoyed expression but really just shows that he's fighting to not laugh. "So we find the stone that marks the entrance to the city – you remember – and suddenly he attacks us. Then he shoved you into the stone and you totally passed out and I thought you were dead or something but then I stuck up for you and fought him off all by myself with my awesome god powers and he vanished into the jungle. I bet he's just biding his time and waiting to strike again. So that's why you lost your memories." He appears to be pretty proud of himself, his green eyes lidded in pride. The pieces are beginning to click together one by one, but I'm still not exactly sure what I'm trying to solve.

"But I'm a god." I point out slowly, perhaps putting the pieces together a bit too well.

"Yeah, so?" Miguel asks, his face suddenly slightly concerned.

"So, how does a god lose his memories? That sounds awfully mortalish to me."

Miguel appears to deflate, if only slightly. He coughs into a fist and shrugs. "I wouldn't question it if I were you. Once you do it all falls apart. The main man sent us here for a reason. I bet this is all part of his plan. You'll get your memories back." Miguel takes a moment before responding, his voice slightly weaker than before. "And when you do…" he trails off, and I can't miss the fact that a shudder ran through his body at the thought. "Well, I just hope your humor comes back with them."

"I don't know what would be so funny." I mutter under my breath. "This whole mission has been a disaster so far."

"Hey," he chides gently, resting his hand on my shoulder. "Don't say that."

I almost flinch when I feel Miguel's warm palm against my bare shoulder, but somehow I instinctively lean into his touch instead. Something about the way his hand molds around my skin—as if it's happened a thousand times before—is much more comforting than his words could ever be.

My heart begins hammering in my chest when Miguel begins forming small circles on my shoulder with his thumb, though whether he realizes he's doing it or not is difficult to ascertain. Almost without thinking, I slide myself closer to the blond and lean my head on his shoulder, searching for just a small moment of comfort. I don't know whether or not Miguel can give me that, but at this point I don't care.

Miguel freezes immediately, his thumb halting its ministrations. I want to gulp, want to pull away, but at this point I feel like even moving a muscle is out of the question. We sit there for who knows how long, neither of us moving or even breathing, but both of us thinking at a mile a minute.

Eventually, he wraps his arm around both my shoulders and pulls me closer, binding me in an altogether awkward but well-meant embrace. And the thing is—it feels so familiar. Out of all the waves of déjà-vu I've had, this is by far the most potent. This small sense of intimacy haunts me and sends a small shiver down my spine. It tickles at the back of my brain but for the life of me, no matter how hard I concentrate, I just can't seem to place it.

When have I felt like this before?

Miguel peers down at my face, his eyes suddenly bigger than I ever remember them being. If I could move I'd wipe away the sweat beading on the back of my neck, but my limbs are paralyzed like I'm caught in the hypnotic gaze of a green-eyed serpent.

Something about the way he stares at me, with his large warm eyes filled with so much recognition and trust, breaks my heart. No matter how hard I may try, and how far I might have come, I'm still nowhere close to being the real thing—at least not to Miguel.

There's something about that thought that forces upon me the desire of reassurance. For someone to look me in the eye and tell me everything is going to be all right. I may be wrong, but Miguel seems like the perfect candidate for the task.

"They hate me." I mutter, my tone full of both remorse and vengeance. I feel Miguel's chin slant downwards as he peeks at my face, and although I can't see his expression, I can guess it's some form of disapproval.

"No, they don't," Miguel declares immediately. There's a moment's pause before he adds, "Well, maybe a little. But I'm sure it's not as bad as you think."

"Yes, that's such a comfort at this point. Miguel, I murdered someone. I murdered someone with my bare hands. And you know what? I don't even know if I'm allowed to care."

Miguel for once has no comforting words to say. No silver linings to point out, no bright sides to display. He sits next to me, his arms both tender and cold. He clears his throat softly, but still doesn't respond.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," I murmur. I feel Miguel shift slightly, as if he's growing uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone loves you. You're revered by all—the perfect god. I'm the one they're all terrified of because they think I'm here to destroy them. And to top it all off…" I trail off, suddenly not sure that I should utter the words that have been haunting me for hours. "…they might be right."

"What?" Miguel exclaims, his voice suddenly firm. "No, the Tulio I know would ne—"

"The Tulio you know," I interrupt, my voice bitter, "isn't here, is he?"

Miguel flinches as if I struck him, his embrace no longer feeling nearly as warm. After a small moment of silence he withdraws his arms and lays them in his lap, all his features drawing in on himself. A small flicker of regret pulses in my stomach, but I quickly stifle it.

"I'm sure the Tulio you knew was deserving of the mission. He was the one it was assigned to after all. I'm just a…a…a—God, I don't even know what I am."

"Tulio—" Miguel begins before cutting himself off. I hug my arms around my legs and lean my forehead against my knees.

"I'm a god. I'm a god. I'm a god," I repeat like a mantra, knowing that when you say something enough, you eventually grow to believe it yourself.

"The Tulio I know is still in there. I know he is. You are the Tulio I know. Just—" he cuts himself off but then realizes that he's already dug himself into a hole. "You're just a bit different that's all."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I…um…you—hey!" Miguel suddenly jumps to his feet and I lift my head to find out what has captured his attention.

There, standing just at the base of the steps is the mortal woman, Chel. Her head is shifting as if she's searching for something, and Miguel spins towards me and raises his hands as if to stop me from moving.

"Stay. Right there. That thing you're doing? Keep doing that." He glances over his shoulder and turns back towards me. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" I protest, not wanting to be left alone. Miguel takes a deep breath and his eyebrows rise as if the answer is difficult for his to muster.

"I just gotta tell her something, alright?" I shrug weakly, watching with wide eyes as he smiles and trots down to meet Chel. She appears pleased to meet him the moment he reaches her, and he takes her arm, glancing over his shoulder at me before facing her again. He leads her further away and I roll my eyes. It's not like I would hear them either way.

Suddenly, over by the potted bushes, there's a rustling. Startled, I whirl around to face the noise and cock my head to the side when everything appears to be in order. I look back to where Miguel and Chel are, but the sound yanks my attention back. My eyes appraise each plant, and when the same noise swishes again, this time I catch sight of the movement and concentrate on the bush it had come from.

As I watch the fern wriggle, I fight back the grin that tries to force its way across my face. Instead, I push myself to my feet and approach the plant, careful to take an indirect path. I notice the leaves start to shake the moment I near it, as whatever is inside the bush notices what I'm doing.

"Who's there?" I ask, my voice coming out louder than I had intended.

There's no response, only the sound of soft breathing as whoever is hidden in the shadows attempts to keep quiet.

"I said, who's there?" I reiterate, this time raising my voice on purpose. I hear the small sound of someone sucking in breath and eventually the faintest hiss as they release it again.

"Nobody," a tiny voice responds. It's a girl, her voice high-pitched and young. The word is spoken barely above a whisper, as if she has to force herself to speak.

"Nobody, huh?" I reply, squatting near the bush. I squint my eyes and try to peer through the leaves but the inside of the plant is too dark to make anything out. Whoever this is, they really chose a good hiding spot.

"That's right, my lord." I raise an eyebrow at the response, honestly having expected a different response. Perhaps something more along the lines of 'No, that's a lie I have a name, I apologize.' Nonetheless, I feel a smile tugging at my lips as amusement spreads like warm honey through my chest.

"Well then, Nobody, if you're not there, who am I talking to?" I challenge her. There's a moment's pause as she tries to overcome her bearings. I purse my lips to keep from laughing. I'm not sure what I had expected when I saw someone here, but I don't think humor was in my top five. The faceless voice heaves a dramatic sigh, her breath rattling the buds on the bush.

"My name isn't Nobody, silly."

"Alright, so what is your name?" She becomes silent. I can still hear her breathing heavily. If I didn't know any better I'd guess that she's terrified, although by now I should know that people being scared around me isn't something to be shocked about. I don't want to admit it, but I have a fairly strong notion about what she's so frightened of.

"Itzaxoco-Kisa," she replies at last, almost shyly. The name sounds slightly familiar, but by this point I've learned to ignore the small teases of memory. They don't normally amount to anything.

"…You have a nickname?"

"Lord Miguel called me 'Kisa.'" She mumbles the name as though she doesn't recognize it and is tasting it out on her tongue as she speaks it.

"That'll work. Alright, Kisa, do you know who you're talking to?" I'm not sure what convinces me to do it, but I lower my voice to a threatening octave and lean closer to the bush. I ask the question with unspoken warnings all over my voice. I think a small twisted part of me wants to scare this girl into thinking I'm dangerous, just to observe how far she'll go to unearth what she must be down here to discover.

"Yeah. You're Lord Tulio. The one who killed m—the scary one." Her response throws me for a loop.

When I speak again my voice has risen back to its normal pitch, and if I'm not mistaken even adopted a certain whiny nature to it. "I'm not scary." My lower lips pushes out from under the top one, and I try desperately to hide my pout before it's too late. Unfortunately, no such thing occurs. I hear her giggle, the sound like a small brass bell.

"Okay, so maybe you're not that scary." She pauses, and I can practically hear the gears operating in her head. "So why does everyone keep running from you then?"

"Probably the same reason you're hiding from me." She giggles again, though this time it doesn't sound nearly as sweet.

"I don't think so, my lord." Something about the way she utters the words causes me to rear back in shock. Her cute young voice grows dark and I'm suddenly that much more curious to properly meet the girl inside the bush.

I glance over my shoulder and see that Miguel is still speaking with Chel, although they don't seem quite as friendly as they had been the last time I saw them. I turn back towards the bush and lean closer until my face is brushing the leaves.

"What do you mean?" I demand.

"Well, everyone else is scared of you. I'm not scared. Not really. I'm mostly just curious." What does she mean by that? Is it possible that some here don't understand why they're scared, just that everyone else is? Is there a chance of redemption? Perhaps not nearly as many people know about what I've done as I originally thought.

"You're not the only one." I murmur softly. This little girl has no idea what it truly means to search for answers—at least not yet. Once she loses her memory, then we'll talk.

"Are you confused, too?"

Understatement of the freaking century. "What are you confused about?" Instead of answering her question I choose to push the conversation back towards her.

"Do you promise not to be mad?" Her voice is tentative; soft, and I can barely stand to have someone sound that sad. Then again, I don't think it's a good idea to promise something—even something this small—when there's always a chance I may overreact. There's a large possibility that whatever secret she has to tell is the final straw.

"I can try." I can give her that much.

There's a soft rustling as she crawls out of her hiding spot. She loses her balance and tumbles out of the bush, waving her arms frantically in an effort to catch her balance. She disturbs several leaves which float to the ground slowly, landing on the dirt tiles. Kisa peers up at me from the ground and smiles weakly.

"It was itchy in there," she admits as she pushes herself to her feet.

"So?" I inquire, not interested in her small childish matters. The girl appears hurt for only a moment before a look of determination crosses her face. She furrows her brow and screws up her lips as if she's trying to find just the right words.

"Well, I was, um, I was wondering…why did you kill Ah Puch?"

Of course.

"Ah who?" I ask, my throat shriveling up as I speak. I suddenly find myself unable to meet this child's gaze. When Kisa speaks again, her voice is filled with an unexpected acid and I just barely keep myself from jumping from her tone.

"Ah-Kinchil Puch. My brother. You killed him this morning." Her hands are clenched into little fists and her lips are set in a thin line. She had asked me not to be angry at her, but now it seems as though she's the only one angry here.

"Your…brother?" For the first time, I'm coming to terms with the fact that he had a name, a family, a life. He had a life that I stripped away for no reason. This little girl wants to find out that her brother died for some noble cause, not that he should still be alive. Not that his death was pure accident. I wince as I try to swallow against my parched throat, trying to wipe my clammy hands against my robes without her noticing. I feel my stomach tighten as her voice grows more and more icy.

"Yes. Why did you kill him? Why did he have to go away? Mama said that the gods never sacrifice without a reason. I want to know why my brother is gone."

"My Lord!"

I whirl around at the exclamation to see the High Priest rushing in my direction. Next to me, I feel Kisa disappear into the vegetation again as Tzekal-Kan closes in on me. I almost regret the loss of the little girl, but at the same time I've never been so thankful to be relieved of someone's company.

"Uh, yeah?" The last time I recall seeing him was during the sacrifice, and somehow the thought of speaking with him after that incident shoots a thread of anxiety through my veins. However, he doesn't appear to hold any resentment. In fact, he has a wide grin on his face and his small dark eyes are gleaming.

"If I might have an audience?" he requests. Movement catches my eyes over his shoulder and my gaze flickers upwards as I detect Miguel and Chel rushing towards us, expressions of panic spreading across their faces. Miguel's green eyes are wide and Chel is shaking her head wildly but I merely blink uncertainly and look back towards Tzekal-Kan.

"Uh, sure. Go for it."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Miguel stop dead in his tracks and run his hands through his hair in defeat. When I consider his reaction, and I notice how Tzekal-Kan's beady eyes glimmer like a cobra about to strike, I can't help but wonder if I just made some sort of really horrible mistake.

"Excellent," he whispers, his voice very much like that of a serpent's hiss.