A/N: And the build-up continues.

DuckiePray - /sings/ Things may not turn out how you expect ~ :D

Sciencegal - Oh, it gets worse.

music - Here's more for the craving!

CHAPTER 29: FORWARD

K'ekchi village was solemn. Partly because the children remained in their homes and dense clouds blotted out the sun. But mostly because the Shaman's floral incenses failed to mask the stench of death in the streets. Izel scrunched her nose, watching her grandmother's hut from across the dirt path.

"They are almost done?" a raspy voice asked her.

The skinhead glanced at Leonardo then at Xipil and Necalli as they carried in another mutilated corpse to the Shaman. "Practice," she grumbled.

"Will they be buried all at once?"

"Quema. Tonight. The whole village will be present."

"And Coyo will give the eulogy?"

Izel's expression puckered as she faced the ayotl. "How are you today, Leonardo? You look nothing like you were caught in a—uh, what did you call it?"

"Explosion," Leo answered. Overnight, his skin had healed from a red glaze to its normal leafy green complexion and left no scars. "I recover fast, as you know."

"Which worked in Taloc's favor."

"I wish I could've done more than shield him. I'm only one body, though. the others..." Leo let out a noisy sigh. "This whole mess sits like an anchor on Coyo's chest. I feel it."

"What do you feel? Hum?" Spinning, the skinhead looked the ayotl in the eye, brows lowered. "Sorrow? Anger? What? She has shut me out. Will not talk or listen. She sits aloft in that tree, awaiting something that may never come. Even Tlaloc—"

"Izel, this is a mourning day; be respectful," Tlaloc interjected.

The warrior laid a hand on Izel—a gentle act that betrayed his usual gruffness. Izel craned her neck sideways to argue, yet lost her voice when she faced him. No matter how nagging he could be, his swollen eyes and nappy appearance were glaring reminders of his loss.

"Tlaloc," Leo started, "you were helping them?"

Tlaloc nodded, pushing his unkempt hair backward. "My—my father was, well—it was what he wanted. And as Tonalquizca leader, it is my place."

"Did you bless them?" Izel whispered. "Extli? Panpan?"

"Ohtli. Amoxtli. My father. Everyone."

"At this rate"—Izel shook, sucking in death's rancid smell—"there will be no defense left against the Yaoqui."

"Our numbers can be counted on two hands," Tlaloc added.

"Excluding Coyo."

The man released a long, controlled breath. "Ayotl, you said you feel her."

"Were you listening?" Leo asked.

"Answer, please."

Leo rolled his head before complying. "Sh—she cannot face you. Either of you. She is frustrated, scared, ashamed."

"Ashamed?" Izel questioned.

"I—I cannot say why. But last night I did not sleep because of images in my head. Memories of yesterday and something about you, Izel."

"M—me?"

"They were snippets. Buzzing insects. Tacky hands. A pool of blood. Your father, I think."

Chills stiffened Izel's body as her lips trembled, "H—how…? Did you see that through Mozallo?"

Leo's softened look confirmed it.

"Talk with Coyo," Tlaloc spoke with downturned lips. His bloodshot eyes grew glossy as if he would cry again, but he met the turtle creature with a proud posture. "She must press forward, rally her surviving warriors. Without a plan or leadership or will, the Yaoqui will destroy us. And the war our ancestors fought, their sacrifices, will be for naught. I"—his voice cracked—"I will not let my father's death be in vain. Neither should she."

"Is this the message you want to give her?"

"She will confide in you, Ayotl. Always does. Perhaps that is easier since you cannot hide what is inside."

"Road goes both ways," Leo grumbled. "I have dreamed of enough orphan stories to last several lifetimes. Uh, sorry."

Tlaloc shook his head. "We are not the first nor only orphans in our tribe. And none blame Coyo for our losses. Ensure she believes that."

"The Yaoqui took our parents," Izel added, fists tight. "She has done nothing except help ease that pain for us. We need her this time, too."

"Will do," Leo's voice hardly carried over the sound of oncoming storms, and he smiled at the skinhead. "Just one thing."

"Which is?"

"Where's the lookout tree again?"

Coyolxauhqui dare not leave her post—not to pee, to eat, to wake her numb limbs, nor to heed Yolotli's squawks about Leonardo. She kept her attention trained on the horizon, disregarding the turtle-man that sat beside her on the lookout's wooden platform.

"This crow's nest is a little sketchy," Leonardo said in English.

What did 'sketchy' mean? Or 'crow's nest'? Coyo almost asked.

"Do you plan to sit here forever?" Leo added. When the woman refused to reply, he sighed. "Izel and Tlaloc are worried."

So they acknowledged how ill-fitted their friend was as Chieftain? Good.

"That's not it," the turtle-man continued. Coyo sent him a side-glance, if only because Yo's squawk compelled her to. "They're worried for you."

"Maybe they wrong," the woman spat in English. Yo flapped his wings, colorful feathers ruffled. He made a clicking noise then perched on the top edge of Leo's back shell.

"I agree," Leo told him. He half-smiled as the cochotl bobbed his head, although that smile grew strained when he faced Coyo. "What do you hope to prove?" he asked. "This place isn't where you're most needed."

Coyo's head shook. "K'ekchi no need Coyo."

"They do."

"No. Coyo wait, make better."

"By excluding yourself? Forgive me, but you can guard the borders until you wither. It won't resurrect anyone." Leo shared her hurt; Coyo felt his pain in her chest as strongly as she felt his fingertips on her forearm.

"Coyo let us divide," she whispered in Nahuatl. "It felt wrong, but Nopaltzin decided, and she lacked the courage to stop him."

"What was the alternative? Stay in a group?"

"Had our numbers been united, we would have salvaged all three sites."

"Not in time, especially if we did not arrive at the river until last."

Right; because then no one would have stood in the way of Xander destroying more Tepianis. Xelihuiyan would have been eradicated, K'ekchi Village exposed, and the death toll would have been greater than six.

"Coyo failed, Leonardo. She had a small group near the end, and not even they listened."

"Coalt and Huemac did."

"Fear and an easy task motivated them."

"I doubt dealing with Bart was easy in their eyes."

"They needed only hold him prisoner."

"Until he took a Swan Dive into the quarry."

What was a swan?

"Nevermind," Leo added. Yo's talons clicked against his shell as the two shifted in the lookout. "Coyo, you are not at fault. Not for failing to foresee which sites were a distraction. Not for Bart's suicide or the explosion, and not for your warrior's sacrifices."

"Coyo sent them there. They trusted her, and…"

The turtle-man scoffed. "How can you blame yourself if you don't blame me for the Summers or Hall F?"

"Th—they were not your people."

"I felt responsible. Like you. So I know it is pointless to sit here."

"It is. But"—Coyo's breath caught in her throat—"I cannot perform more funerals. I cannot."

"You can," Leo countered, stern. "You will. Your friends need you, Coyo. At your village. By their sides."

"I have let them down. Teachcauh as well."

"They don't blame you. They blame the EPF."

"How do you—?"

"They told me, as they would tell you. Listen." Leonardo's fingers wrapped around the Chieftain's bicep then tugged. The usual weakness she experienced under his touch was hampered by raw emotions. She met the turtle-man with a hard stare. It left him undeterred as he placed a hand on her neck, where he likely felt her quick pulse and clammy skin. "You've conquered guilt before," he continued. "Don't let it beat you now."

"Coyo tired," Coyo whispered.

"I know."

"War long. Wha…want it finished."

"Sounds familiar." Leo somewhat smirked as his thumb stroked the woman's cheek. "Waiting on the outskirts for an attack will do no good, though. If you want it over with, fight. Move forward. Strike back."

"With what force? We—"

"You're out-gunned, out-numbered, not outmatched. My brothers and I were a team of four, yet we took down armies."

"K'ekchi are not Hamatos."

"You are like them though."

Coyo watched Leo smile, unsure in her reply, "Yaoqui have many advantages. Technology. Members. Information. Ke'ekchi are confined, blind. We know nothing outside Xelihuiyan."

"Then fix that. Scout the outer areas. Find their main base. Destroy it."

"We cannot leave Xelihuiyan."

"Then don't. Search the same way you find pitzol herds and contact the Pesto Tribe."

Coyo's gaze found Yo as the cochotl clicked his tongue. "Tlacatetza killed Yo's flock. For their songs! If seen—"

"They'll have no idea he belongs to you. Cruel or not, I doubt the EPF will waste ammo on every animal that comes close."

"But—"

"When your team is small, you need every advantage."

The Chieftain continued to stare at her animal companion: a creature she had raised since before he grew feathers. He was ignorant of what might be asked of him, yet he cocked his head, white eye meeting her gaze without waver.

Her lips twitched upward when she stroked his beak then quivered when he squawked, "Yo find Yaoqui! Yo find Yaoqui!"

"It's possible to win, Coyo," added Leonardo. He squeezed her neck as if to remind her of their closeness. "Believe that. For your people. For Izel. Huitzi. Tlaloc. Me. Yo."

The woman chuckled—an act that overtook her despite the grim reality. The last thing she wished to think about was war tactics, yet with Leo, she felt stronger, assured, as if any plan they made would never fall short. Perhaps he had been sent by Ometeotl after all. To her, though, not the village. How could he have been meant for anyone else?

"You aren't alone," Leo added in English. "I can't lead you; it's not my place. But I'll help. I think…I think that's what I need."

"Helping Coyo helps Leo?"

"Yeah."

Coyolxauhqui mirrored the turtle-man's smile with an ache in her stomach. Instincts urged her forward, tempted by his sincere eyes. Was that acceptable? Was it possible he felt the pull as well? If he did, he caught himself before he acted. He cleared his throat then let his hand fall with a suddenness that left Coyo chilled and Yolotli fidgety.

"Let's talk with the others," he continued as the cochotl nudged his head against the turtle-man's cheek. "Between the Elders, the Tonalquizca, and the Languu, I'm sure we can come up with a way to beat the EPF. And if we're going after them, I need to unearth something."

"Unearth?" Coyo questioned. She watched Leo stand and accepted the hand he offered.

"Remember my, uh, episode with the boar?"

"Quema." Coyo wobbled on numb legs, recalling bloody memories that were not her own. "Leo felt shame, hid his..."

"That's right." Leo's smile returned when he guided the woman towards the lookout's rope ladder. "It's time I picked up my katanas again."

Xander's pulse thumped in his ears. It was all he heard above the chaotic mummers throughout HQ, Beverly's ridicule, and Barrett's commands. He was exposed, singled out, and like a mole trusted into daylight, powerless against those who guided him to Agent Rook's private quarters. He fell on his knees before his boss; vision warped, body weightless.

"Well, well, well," Rook started, "you're full of surprises, eh, Mano?" The Peurto Rican chuckled—a sound distorted in Xander's ears by fatigue and dread. "A telekinetic under my command. It's unbelievable. How did you hide that power from the recruit screening process?"

Xander swallowed then cringed at his throat's rawness. He refused to answer, but Rook kept smiling, rubbing his groomed beard while squatting. He brushed dirt patches off his subordinate's uniform then rubbed the blood on the younger agent's unsteady hands. Human blood. Quincy's blood.

"That story you told during your initial interview," Rook added, "about the psycho who killed your Ma. It wasn't about a stranger, was it?"

God, why couldn't Xander look away? His eyes prickled, blurring the Puerto Rican's face into blotches of brown, gray, and white.

"You weren't scared of trains afterward, Mano. You were scared before. But for a boy to kill his own Ma over a—a—a whistle? Diantre!"

The fear ran deeper than a whistle. Trains were the reason Xander no longer had either parent. He remembered the warmth down his legs as he peed himself when his father forced him through the broken window of the driver's side. He remembered the oil scented dirt he took shelter in, the metallic screech as the locomotive obliterated the family SUV. He remembered it as easily as a psychic bubble that snapped his mother's bones and coffee cup—all because the local train station had increased traffic.

"Guess it doesn't matter, huh?" Rook asked. "Sure, you killed a few friendlies, but you also took out some Jinchos." The senior agent looked up, maybe at Beverly, then smiled again. "Oh, Mano, Mano, Mano." He gave Xander's shoulder a stern pat. "I can overlook this…slight. Honest to God, Bishop won't know. Just cooperate. With you, we can make our biggest strike yet. What do ya say?"

There was no choice; if Xander ever wanted to see Lizbeth again, there was only one answer he could give.