Jimena stuffed a piece of tamal into her mouth, blissfully content. Ever since Marisol had started helping water the crops every now and then, the fields flourished—meaning Jimena could eat sweet corn bread every morning, noon, and night. A perfect world, in her opinion.
Her father watched from one side, amused. Jaime had already gone to tend to his new project, inspired by Jimena's passionate ramble about toilets—a vision that still burned bright in her heart, even if no one else seemed to share her enthusiasm.
That didn't stop her from spreading the gospel of sanitation anyway. She had talked about it enthusiastically in the bath with several of the women, who now pestered their husbands about supporting the construction of the toilets she described.
It was all part of the plan.
A plan that relied heavily on Marisol's sanctuaries.
Marisol's ability to increase the water flow and protect it from wild creatures was the only reason their pools weren't covered in swarms of tiny insects. Jimena didn't fully understand the "circle of life" Marisol rambled about, but she trusted it was what kept the water clean—despite how much life lived in the sanctuary's spring.
She had visited the sanctuary grove, but the monkeys irritated her with their incessant calls. And mostly because a few overly curious ones kept tugging her hair.
Finishing the last of her cacao and the final piece of tamal, Jimena shot to her feet. She urged her father to hurry as she prepared a bag with supplies for their journey to Blue Deer Lagoon—and then deeper into the forest in search of another village some travelers had once mentioned.
Her father had traded with people from that direction many years ago when they came seeking herbs and healers. So, he volunteered to accompany her—after she was rejected by both her traitor of a brother and by Marisol, who seemed in the middle of some breakthrough.
Her friend often returned late from her sanctuaries, eyes distant, as if staring into the fabric of life itself. Too busy touching the mysteries of the world to actually live in it.
Jimena felt aggrieved that no one wanted to adventure with her… but her father would have to do. Once she discovered great treasure or went on some epic journey without them, they'd regret not coming.
"Come on, old man. You're so slow." Jimena hoisted two heavy bags stuffed with treats, meats, fruit, and rolled-up hammocks.
Her dad stared at her. "Are you planning to stay the night in the forest?"
"Of course. How else are we going to reach the next village? We'll stop first to see if Kauyumari is around. Maybe he'll tell us where to head." Jimena waited expectantly… staring.
Her father groaned and stuffed his mouth full like a frantic squirrel, gulping down his bitter cacao with dramatic, almost choking swallows.
Satisfied, Jimena grinned wide and helped tidy their things before they finally headed out together.
Jimena shot forward like a comet, her father screaming beside her. Divinity granted wishes so long as one had faith—something that had become second nature to the chosen. The trials of Mictlan had taught them how to blur miracle and reality until the line between the two barely existed.
Xolo howled as he erupted from her gem, racing alongside her. Spirit and chosen, both embracing the burning flame they embodied. Their adrenaline-fueled sprint ended at the Blue Deer Lagoon.
Jimena took a deep breath, sweat streaming down her toned arms. Her hair flowed loose, embers flickering at the tips like sparks trailing behind her.
Her father lay sprawled on a tall boulder near the mangroves, utterly defeated by the unnatural speed Jimena had subjected him to. Any attempt to stand left him dizzy and groaning.
"Don't be such a baby, Dad," Jimena said as she unpacked different pieces of corn and tamal. She set up a small shrine for the great deer—who was, disappointingly, nowhere in sight. People still found it strange that a deer ate corn, but knowing it was a spirit creature seemed to settle the confusion.
No one besides the three chosen had ever ventured into the lagoon. Without the green road the priests had created, the journey would have been too dangerous. Crocodiles, snakes, and stinging insects hid in the murky waters—nothing anyone wished to encounter.
Not that any villager would dare question how their chosen spent their time.
Jimena sat before her small arrangement of branches, stones, and colorful feathers she'd collected. She began to meditate as her father recovered. Marisol had taught her this form of prayer—a way to actively reach toward their gods. The bond was always present, but it could muffle, warp, or twist. A careless ear might mistake a divine whisper for something else entirely—and that was how disasters began.
She sat for what felt like hours.
Until finally she couldn't take the silence anymore.
She burst upward and shouted for the blue deer—
—only for something massive to nudge her gently from behind.
She spun, shrieking with joy as she threw her arms around the enormous snout of Kauyumari. The deer's blue fur shimmered, energy rippling and sparking between hair and air like living energy.
"I greet you, chosen," the deer spoke, voice resonant. "I am pleased by your visit and by your offering of corn. The other Wixárika do not enjoy as abundant a harvest this season. Their offerings are small this winter."
"Who are the Wixárika?" Jimena asked, handing over the corn treats with a smile.
"It is you," the deer answered softly. "The Wixárika—the people I have guided and watched over. For I am Kauyumari, your sacred guide."
The deer lifted her head, her voice flowing with both a gentle femininity and a deep, protective force.
"I'm not Wixárika. But do you know where more people are? Another village?" Jimena asked. Her father—finally steady on his feet—edged closer, watching the massive deer with wary eyes.
He stood behind his daughter, uncertain about the strange exchange unfolding before him, but trusting her enough to handle herself.
"You are Wixárika, child," Kauyumari replied gently. "Though your father is not. He does not carry the scent of my people." The deer's luminous gaze lingered on Jimena. "There is much to discuss. Come—I will take you to my resting place."
Kauyumari lowered their massive body, and with Jimena tugging insistently at her father's arm, the two climbed atop the spirit's broad back.
With a single graceful leap, they cleared the mangroves. Another bound took them into an open field, and another after that. Kauyumari pranced with light, almost playful steps—an ancient guide feeling the faint stirring of a coming journey. Perhaps not today, but soon.
They traveled far until a clearing opened before them, dominated by an immense elephant tree. Its presence dwarfed even the divine deer. Its crown spread wide, casting rolling shade that swallowed the afternoon sun.
Fruits covered the ground in loose piles, sorted into clusters by unseen hands or hungry wildlife. A few clay shrines shaped like miniature Kauyumari figures rested at the base of the colossal trunk.
Javier was the first to dismount—by accident. He slipped and tumbled down the deer's side with a grunt. He had barely managed to cling on for most of the ride. Jimena landed beside him in a smooth hop, laughing at the exhilarating rush.
"Where are the Wixárika?" she asked, immediately checking her father for injuries. Thankfully, the old hunter still had enough strength and fitness to survive a fall like that with dignity intact.
"Do not worry for the others," Kauyumari said. "I can take you to them, if you wish. But I do not know how their chosen would receive you." The deer lowered its head, voice turning soft, almost dreamy. "First, let me explain my role among your people."
Kauyumari began to speak of their earliest encounter with a starving tribe—wandering, desperate, lost. The deer told of leading them across dangerous lands and unfamiliar habitats, guiding them toward divine providence. It had gifted them peyote, opening their tonalli, awakening them to the divine path.
"These people," the deer concluded, "are the Wixárika."