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"To speak with such knowledge of the gods is a dangerous thing." Malina said.

"To speak to me like that,"

That smile, by Quetzal it crawls beneath my skin.

", is a dangerous thing." Chantico continued.

"Anything you can do pales in comparison to that of the Gods. You forget the possibility of eternity that awaits you upon death. Questzal could hold you in his talons until time itself ceases, or snuff you existence out with a thought." Malina's voice sounded good to her ears.

The smile on Chantico's face darkened slightly as he listened to Malina's words. He looked at the closed door to the room and tightened his lips.

"I had not thought that you would possess such a backbone, given your current condition."

"My backbone comes from the Gods and the knowledge I have received directly from our ancestors. The veil is not as dark for me as it is for you." Malina could feel the strength of her words in her body. It was like standing after being bent over for a long period of time: relief and a little bit of pain.

"Oh yes, our ancestors." Chantico bunched up his lips in mock sadness. "How are they these days. "They must be quite happy given our return to their ancestors homeland. The victory's that have been won must have pleased them. I must know what they have said on the manner." Chantico leaned forward in his chair. He was exaggerating his movements in concert with his sarcastic words. "So tell me, Malina, what have they said to you. You, a conduit to our past, to our ancestors, what are they telling you?" CHantico's voice was rising, the anger in his words now real. "You are so special to the people you must know something! You touch our past, please what are our ancestors saying? What words are dribbling from their feeble decayed mouths? Have they expressed happiness? Shock? Wonder?" Chantico sat back in his chair and tried to compose himself. "Or have they grown quiet?"