~Miguel~

I've always loved the stars.

Here, in El Dorado, the night sky is more massive than I've ever known; the moonlight casts a ghostly glow on the now-silver city. The stars stretch across the sky tenfold and cover the heavens like a sparkling blanket streaked with shades of silver and violet. The stars here would put the ones back home to shame. I'd been too busy to notice them last night at the party, but now they almost seem to beg for attention.

Staring at them now, I feel a strange sense of nostalgia fill my chest. A fable, told to me a thousand times, runs through my mind just as it has a hundred times since its first telling. Followed soon after is the storyteller; a raven-haired, wiry woman with cheekbones as sharp as her humor and skin that always smelled sweetly of citrus. Tulio's mother worked as a maid in some rich guy's mansion, and I remember she had dry red hands with practically nonexistent fingernails, and a face that would have been beautiful had it not been so gaunt in appearance. Every day she would take Tulio and me to work with her. She told us she just wanted help with the chores, but I think she actually wanted us to keep her company. Each time without fail she would hand us a bundle of dirty clothing and a bucket of soapy water and weave us stories off the top of her head as we cleaned.

That woman made my head swim with thoughts of adventures and riches. She filled my heart to the brim with dreams and desires and made me believe there was more to life than scrubbing the dirt off of someone else's trousers. She had filled the very skies with hope that shone like the stars. I don't know if Tulio ever felt like that, but there were times I could have sworn he felt something.

But it was almost like she had known. One morning she refused to take us with her, saying something about having very little work to do and how there was no need for all three of us to be troubled. She said she wouldn't be long.

I'll never forget the expression on Tulio's face when we went to walk her home and only found her body and a spilled tub of mud-brown water in the wreckage. Blackened hearts, a moment of panic, and a maid in the wrong place at the wrong time; it had been a burglary, but they had stolen much more than just jewels. If only they'd known how much more valuable a life is than trinkets.

Suddenly a creak permeates the silence and I feel myself tense. I listen to the sounds of darkness in the temple – waiting. After a few moments I begin to relax again when nothing out of the ordinary happens.

The bed that the deities were given to rest in is behind me, but in the quietude of the night my thoughts had been far too loud. I found myself unable to find any peace behind closed lids. After what felt like an hour of pretending to sleep, I wedged myself out of bed slowly in an effort not to disturb Tulio, then tip-toed my way across the floor so I wouldn't wake Chel who had built a fort in the corner with what little blankets and pillows were available to her. Altivo was slumbering in the middle of the room, his body splayed out like a cat, and I can still hear him snoring softly.

After the ball game we had been mobbed by half the crowd. At first, it seemed as though everyone was just going to go home, but suddenly we rounded a corner and an ecstatic group of fans had swarmed us. They kept asking us questions about why we had pretended to not know what we were doing for so long. At first, Tulio had been uncomfortable, but after a while he almost seemed to enjoy the attention. He kept assuring the natives that we were doing it mostly for entertainment and that us winning was no accident – though I noticed that he failed to explain how, exactly, we had managed such a feat.

Of course, it all annoyed Chel to no end, whose only goal was to get our rear ends to the temple without any more diversions. Eventually she achieved her purpose, and the entire trip back Tulio kept talking about all the times he had used his powers during the ball game. He mentioned something about causing the natives to fall at his will and bringing the ball to life, but both Chel and I merely hummed in response, trying as hard as possible to hold in our amusement.

The moment we made it back to the temple Chel had skipped the pleasantries and demanded that the three of us go to bed. It was obvious she believed we'd have our hands full tomorrow – not that I blame her.

The gentle breeze causes goose bumps to prickle along my arms, but I had long ago abandoned the blanket I'd brought with me. I look around my vicinity for the sheet when I hear it – a rustle, followed by a soft thud and the ominous pitter-patter of feet against a temple floor. A faint trill of nerves shoots down to my stomach, though whether it's caused by anticipation or dread I can't tell.

"Why're you still up?"

Tulio's voice is an octave deeper than usual from sleep, and he slurs through his speech as though he's still tired. He stands behind me, but I can see his feet out of the corner of my eye.

"Couldn't sleep," I mumble half-heartedly. At this, Tulio settles down next to me and drops his legs over the edge of the window. His face is paler than usual and the skin under his eyes is dark. He appears almost wilted, although there's something shining in his eyes. He leans against his hands and stares out at the city, as captivated as I had been moments ago. I wonder if the sight reminds him of his mother; if he feels a strange tight welling in his chest, though he can't explain why. Does he stare at the stars and feel the sense of hope she had planted in our hearts, or does he even remember her stories at all?

"It's been quite a day, hasn't it?" Tulio asks, lifting me from my thoughts. I shrug noncommittally.

"That's a bit of an understatement, don't ya think?" Despite my serious tone Tulio still chuckles, and the sound causes me to smile.

"Oh, but surely this is all in the life of a god?" Tulio asks with an expansive gesture, the edge of his mouth tipped in a cocky grin. With a jolt like stepping on a razor, I realize that in all the rush and excitement of the game I never took that chance to sit Tulio down and tell him the truth like I'd been planning to. My mouth suddenly dries at the prospect, and I fidget with my hands in my lap.

It was different before. Earlier, I never thought we'd survive the ball game, and I'd had that threat of our imminent deaths looming over my head. That was the only thing propelling me forward. But now, with the memory of him laughing and smiling with the natives as they began to warm up to him dancing in my head, the words I need to say seem lodged in my throat.

Think about what he's going to do to you once he gets his memory back.

And it's that thought, more than anything, which causes those words to break free.

"Tulio," I begin slowly; thoughtfully, trying to consider all the ways of saying this. "I need to, um—" Suddenly a voice from the back of the temple cuts me off.

"Boys," Chel calls, "go back to bed." Chel's words are muffled from the pillow she has lodged in front of her face, but her meaning is clear nonetheless.

"You'd think she'd know better than to boss me around," Tulio whispers under his breath, yet casts a nervous glance in Chel's direction as if she could have heard. However, I suddenly feel like hugging her. As far as I'm concerned, her interruption is a clear sign from the universe telling me I shouldn't tell Tulio anything.

After a while, when Chel doesn't say anything more and the air becomes full of her smooth breathing, I look at Tulio and say, "Well, you heard her — best not to invoke her wrath." I make a move to stand before Tulio catches my sleeve in his iron grip, itch forgotten.

"Wait," he says softly. "I think she's gone back to sleep."

I raise an eyebrow. "Yeah, and so should we. C'mon." I tug halfheartedly at his grip, but he still doesn't let go of my shirt. I sink back into my former position. "What is it?"

"I just don't want to go back to bed," Tulio says curtly, releasing my sleeve with a sniff.

"Why not?" I ask. "We've got a big day tomorr—"

"Exactly," he interrupts. "I…Look, I just want to postpone tomorrow for as long as possible, okay? I don't think I can handle much more than I already have."

I stare at Tulio out of the corner of my eye, and notice all the little ticks he's giving off. A twitch of the eye, a flex of his fingers, a grinding of teeth; even subconsciously, Tulio still exhibits all the signs he used to when he was pretending he wasn't scared out of his wits. I feel a small flicker of joy at the thought before the meaning of this sinks in.

I can't exactly blame him for being scared; Tulio had not been the only one who saw Tzekel-Kan leading all the losers down to what he had called the 'sacrificial chamber.' A hunch tells me that tomorrow morning will be just about the same as the attempted sacrifice this morning; however, this time it will be a larger scale and far harder to get out of. There had to have been at least fifteen people on the opposing team, and even though their loss meant our survival today, that doesn't mean I won't fight for them tomorrow.

I imagine that Tulio must be thinking of what he'd done earlier and his hand in fifteen more potential deaths. The thought only adds one more person to my list of people I'm determined to save. The expression on his face bears a striking resemblance to Tulio as a child; a ghost of his past coming to haunt him even though he doesn't remember why.

"You know, I once knew this woman," I begin slowly, measuring his reaction. "I met her, oh, a long time ago. But, uh—"

"What are you—?"

"Shh, it's my turn. Anyways, I was down on my luck at the time, and this woman took me aside and told me a story. Well, I say story but it's really more of a metaphor, I mean—" I cut myself off when I see the look Tulio is sending me and clear my throat. "Right, well, she pointed up at the sky and made me look at all the stars."

Slowly, almost gently, I scoot closer to him until our arms brush. He glances down at the contact and gives me a most peculiar expression. I take his hand and use his index finger to point up to the velvety night, a reflection of what Tulio's mother had done for me at the time.

"She said that they were actually little rays of hope that got caught up in the blackish bit up there. And it was said that no matter which sky you were under, the light they radiated could lead a person through the darkest of nights, just so long as they kept their eyes open." I lower his arm, but my hand remains curved over his.

Tulio already knows this story by heart. I remember him crossing his arms each time his mother told it with that infamous eyebrow of his arched high, but in his eyes there'd be the unmistakable tinge of something leaving its mark. I search his blue irises now, hoping beyond hope that the story will spark something. He only stares back, his brow narrowed as if he's watching me as well, although it feels different somehow.

"So keep your eyes open, Tulio," I finish, adding my own twist to the story. "Morning can't be too far off."

And slowly, bit by bit, his fingers stop twitching, his jaw quits gnashing, and his eye relaxes. His wide eyes suddenly flicker down to our hands, and back up to my face, but he does nothing else. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest as I see the peace washing over Tulio's face, and I know that now at least one of us will get a restful sleep.

"If I look up," Chel suddenly growls, causing both of us to jump, "I had better see two sleeping men, and not what sounds like two men who are still chatting."

Snickering, I pat Tulio's leg and push myself to my feet. "Come on, we should get to sleep before Chel rips off our heads." Tulio follows suite, but doesn't immediately follow when I move towards the bed.

"Miguel?" I hear him call, his voice more tentative than I'm used to. My only response is an angle of my head as I crane my neck in his direction.

"Have you opened your eyes yet?"

I hesitate. The answer is an obvious no, but one look at his face and I can tell that's not what he needs to hear. I turn back around to face him, a smile spreading across my face.

"Who says they were closed to begin with?"

It only takes an hour to commit the pattern on the temple ceiling to memory.

Last night, thanks to the warm belly of wine, I had fallen asleep almost instantly. It had been a dreamless slumber which I couldn't have been more grateful for. However, tonight my eyes stay as wide open as bats, knowing that if they slip shut my mind will be plagued with the worst sorts of nightmares: The kind that reminds you of what you've lost, and make you lose it over and over again.

How long will it take me to tell him the truth? Am I even going to? Somehow the thought of not telling him both disturbs me and helps to ebb the tightening in my chest.

I can hear his breathing beside me, soft and even and deep. I turn on my side and memorize his face instead, staring at the curves of his ear and shoulder and studying the relentless stubble growing along his jaw. I feel a strange urge to reach out and run my hand along his chin and feel the rough edges. Before I can find out whether I'd have acted on the impulse, Tulio snorts and buries his face deeper into his pillow.

I drag my hand down my face with a weary sigh. As I close my eyes I try to concentrate on how long this day has been and on how heavy my limbs are. Eventually, the lulling sound of Tulio's breathing coaxes me into a state of half-consciousness.

"Where are you taking me?"

My eyes snap open once more. For half a second I almost think I'm dreaming, but then I realize that the world is entirely too sharp and focused to be conjured up in my head.

Next to me, Tulio is still sleeping. His eyes are squeezed tight, almost as if he's in pain, and his mouth is barely open. It doesn't seem as though he said anything at all, and I tell myself that I must have only imagined it.

"I don't like surprises." This time I catch it: Tulio's lips moving like the soft breeze across the leaves on a branch. My brow furrows as I listen to him, waiting for the next line. The words stir something in the back of head, but I can't quite place it.

It seems like another hour has passed before he finally mutters, "I don't get it." Then another pause before, "Seven's my lucky number."

Then it strikes me like a church bell on Sunday. This is only a little over two months ago when I brought Tulio the pair of loaded dice I gambled from a gypsy. Our old ones had only landed on three half the time so I had felt reasonably safe when I was told I had to land on a five. Tulio thought it was hilarious when I told them the only reason I won was because our loaded dice had landed on the wrong number.

Suddenly my insides twist because I know what's coming next.

"God, I love you," Tulio says, his voice hoarse.

I feel my lower lip quiver even though my eyes are dry. I take a deep breath and fall against the pillow, wondering what morning will bring.

"I love you, too," I whisper, because I don't have much of a choice. "Te amo, Tulio."

As I finally fall back into a dreamless slumber, I find myself wishing that Tulio hadn't been asleep when he said that, even if it wouldn't really be him saying it.