Chapter Text
Quetzal paces around her room in her regalia, waiting for Teo to come so he could get ready, too. It reminds her of a time, 130 years ago, when she was waiting for Paloma. The last time she ever waited for her child to get ready for that ceremony. There’s spike of pain in her chest at the memory, but it’s gone quickly. It’s been thirteen decades. In human terms, that’s a long time. In her godly years, it’s not that much. Sometimes, when she thinks about it, or when she looks at Teo, it feel like she was with Paloma only last week.
Her smile and the dimples that came with it. Her wings stretching in the morning sun. Her breathless laughter when she flew. Her hand in Quetzal’s. Her giggles when she was tipsy. Her stories from school, or about Valentina and Regina. Graffiti she had surely drawn but wasn’t going to admit out loud. Smell of tacos from her mouth. Laying in the park with the fountain.
Quetzal wholeheartedly hopes that Teo won’t be taken from her just as quickly as Paloma was. He can’t, because he is the first child she had after Paloma. He has to stay with her.
~~~
It was a sunny and a warm day outside and the birds were flying and singing around Quetzlan, as always. Paloma could understand their chirping, unlike any other citizen of her hometown, thanks to her mum, but to her, it was background noise, just as anyone else talking was. Background noise she was glad for today, as something to focus on, because her mind decided to be loud.
The opening ceremony for the Sunbearer Trials was happening that evening, and, even though it was highly unlikely Paloma would be chosen since she’s a daughter of a Jade diosa of birds, Quetzal, she still worried. Every Jade worried about the Trials even though it was almost impossible for them to be chosen.
There was only one case of a Jade semidiose being chosen for the Trials in recent history, and they were a child of Mala Suerte, the Dios of bad luck, of all things. Even that had happened five decades ago. Paloma wasn’t sure if they were still alive, but it had been a wonder they hadn’t ended up as the sacrifice anyway, so they must have been happy with all of the years they got after that, no matter if it wasn’t a lot.
Paloma used their example of survival to boost her confidence. If a Jade could’ve done it in the past, she would be able to do it if she got picked. And that was an if. Jades were basically never chosen, other than that exception and maybe one or two others. Jade Dioses were looked on as the weaker kind of gods, so they children were weaker, too. Not worthy of training at the Academy. Not worthy of being Heroes. Not worthy of competing in the Trails. That, frankly, went in Paloma’s favour, but, maybe if she was being trained at the Academy, she’d have a chance at the Trails.
Endless possibilities Paloma didn’t like thinking about. There wasn’t even a point. She wasn’t going to get chosen anyway.
Her legs took Paloma to a taco stand near school. Regina, the stand owner, as per family tradition, always insisted on giving Paloma a free taco, and Paloma always insisted on paying.
”It’s for sticking up for my sister,” Regina always said, handing the taco to Paloma, a soft but stern look in her eyes. Her sister, Valentina, was in Paloma’s class and getting bullied, but Paloma would always step in when she saw it. It never helped much, apparently, as the bullying still continued, but it at least stopped whenever Paloma showed up. People would assume one would listen to a daughter of a diosa more, but it’s not the case with Paloma. Her mum was a Jade and close with the mortals, not a legend like the Golds were. She held authority but people knew not to fear her. She was kind and ruled through compassion, not fear or sheer power she possessed.
“It’s for you and Valentina being sensible enough not to touch my wings without asking first,” Paloma replied every time with a smile, dropping a couple of coins on the stand before flying away so Regina couldn’t return the money. She truly appreciated the fact that Valentina and Regina always ask to touch her wings instead of simply touching them, as everyone else does. She still felt like she didn’t have much of a choice and had to say yes, but it was the thought that mattered.
Her wings flew her a few streets down, to a beautiful park with a fountain and lots of birds. They all swarmed Paloma, flapping their rings around her, happy to get her attention as she eats her lunch. She talked to them gladly, as always, but now also with another motive other than pleasure—her thoughts are not on the Trials. It was also a comfort, as she had spent lots of time with her mum there, and with Valentina, eating Regina’s tacos. Sometimes Regina herself would join them, when their mum took over the stand to give Regina a break.
Paloma got two lollipops—ChupaChups, her favourite—in a small corner store and sucked on one as she slowly flew around, feeling the air around her. She was basically wasting time at this point, knowing Citlati would be displeased, but she couldn’t make herself go back to the temple just yet.
A few people waved at her as she passed. One group waved her over for a chat and she landed so she could talk to them. They were smiling and laughing with her, making her feel as part of the group.
She liked it, the simplicity of her hometown: people knew each other, included people they’ve never met be for in their conversations, they liked one another, helped everyone in the need of it when the Heroes weren’t there to do it, they talked and shared secrets, fell in love, discovered themselves and grew up; everything one might need. Yes, there were bullies and assholes, but Paloma didn’t like Quetzlan any less because of it. It was her hometown. When her mum and her priests hadn’t been raising her, the town had been. They were a community.
Paloma rans into Valentina at some point of her time-wasting walk. The latter pulls the former into a hug at sight, and Paloma reciprocates. She liked Valentina, though she was never sure if her feelings towards the girl were always purely platonic.
”Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for the choosing ceremony for the Trials?” Valentina asked.
”I mean… technically yes. But I’m procrastinating,” Paloma explained, picking at her fingers.
Valentina noticed. “Oh,” she muttered. “It’s going to be okay.” A pause. Neither of them knew what to say. “Regina tells me you payed for the taco again today.”
Paloma nodded. “I can’t not pay.”
Another pause. Their conversations usually flow better than this.
”I have to go now,” Valentina said, tapping on her wrist watch. “But we’ll talk later, okay? And… maybe I should say this more often, but… thank you. For everything.”
”I’m doing the bare minimum,” Paloma replied. “At least that’s how I see it.”
”You’re doing more than most people.”
With that, Valentina left and Paloma was alone again, with chirping of birds as background noise.
She was contemplating drawing graffiti on a wall (one of her favourite activities when she doesn’t get caught) when a bird landed on her shoulder. It was a white dove, her bird, her Peace. Paloma’s name meant dove, so for her quinces, Quetzal had gotten Paloma Peace as a present. Paloma had any bird she wanted at her service, and she had her own bird before, but Peace was (obviously) special, with everything said.
How are you, dear? Peace asked sweetly. She loved calling Paloma dear, and Paloma loved having her bird call her dear. Your shoulders are tense. Would you like a massage?
No, thank you, Paloma chirped back. She knew Peace’s claws digging into her shoulders wouldn’t help her anxiety, regardless of the noble intentions. I’m worried about the ceremony this evening. I know I’m not going to be chosen, but…
You’re going to be okay. I mean, what’s the chance you being the first Jade being chosen for the Trials after five decades? Peace reassured her gently. Her voice always sounded like honey. It reminded Paloma of her mother with her sweet voice. But, about that, your mum’s priestess sent me to fetch you. You need to get ready for the ceremony, remember, dear?
Can’t I stay a bit longer?
I’m afraid you can’t, Paloma, dear. I would love if that were possible, but unfortunately it’s not. Let’s go, before Citlati gets too agitated.
Paloma sighed, but flew into the air and towards the temple. At her young age of sixteen and a half, she was still a bit wobbly on her wings, but she was doing well. She could keep her balance fairly well if there weren’t any major inconveniences (such as a strong wind), she could fly long distances without getting too tired and she could fly almost as high as her mum can, but not quite. She disliked flying too high, though, as she always got lightheaded, what from the height itself and what from the drop of pressure.
Peace was flying right behind Paloma, singing about how beautiful her regalia was and how Citlati was annoyed with Paloma for not coming earlier, but Paloma didn’t pay too much attention. She liked flying. The feeling of wind against her face, the air being the only thing around her body, the taste of freedom. It felt amazing.
~~~
Citlati, the middle-aged head priestess of Quetzal’s temple, seemed annoyed when Paloma landed at the top of the stairs of the temple. She immediately seized Paloma’s wrist (quite painfully, mind you) and dragged the girl inside. The priestess dressed the semidiose into her regalia, a colourful dress reaching down below her knees, with holes for her wings to go through. It was made out of feathers that fell of birds, judging by the softness of the material and the way it shone in the light. Citlati didn’t bother to be gentle, just efficient, as always, but she did make a point in patting Paloma’s shoulder, which basically meant she wasn’t mad at her.
Before Paloma could say anything about the dress or being late, Citlati started doing her hair, braiding the dark locks into one (purposefully) messy braid. Paloma loved wearing that hairstyle, and Citlati was one of the rare priests who didn’t pull at her hair while making it, surprisingly. She might’ve not been very gentle in handling Paloma, but her fingers were always gentle with Paloma’s hair.
“It looks amazing,” Paloma told the priestess, smiling slightly. She couldn’t force a bigger smile than what she already had on her face. “All of it.”
The priestess sighed. “It would look even better if you showed up earlier, but you were wondering around the city.”
Paloma looked down at the black boots that went with her dress. “I’m sorry.”
Citlati laughed and patted the young girl on the shoulder. Not mad at you, girl. Not yet. “As if I don’t know you, girl. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d show up on time anyway.”
That was when Quetzal entered the room. She was in her ceremonial regalia, her feathery hair and blue-and-green wings blending in with the rest of the colours. Paloma had always loved how colourful her mother looked. She would’ve been beautiful anyway, but there was something about the colour.
Paloma tried giving her mum a smile, but it wavered the second it appeared on her face. Seeing her made her lose all of her confidence. Quetzal noticed and went in for a hug. “It will be alright, Pollita,” she said, squeezing her tighter before letting go. “I have to go now, but we’ll see each other there, okay?”
Paloma nodded. “I love you, mum.”
”I love you, too, Pollita.”