Synopsis

Catalina de Cerrato is being raised by her widowed father, Don Alonso, in 1551 Guatemala, scarcely thirty years since the Spanish invasion. A ruling member of the oppressive Spanish hierarchy, Don Alonso holds sway over the newly relegated lower class of Indigenous communities. Fiercely independent, Catalina struggles to honor her father and her late mother, a Maya noblewoman to whom Catalina made a vow that only she can keep: preserve the lost sacred text of the Popol Vuh, the treasured and now forbidden history of the K’iche’ people.

Urged on by her mother’s spirit voice and possessing the gift of committing the invaluable stories to memory, Catalina embarks on a secret and transcendent quest to rewrite them. Through ancient pyramids, Spanish villas, and caves of masked devils, she finds an ally in the captivating Juan de Rojas, a lord whose rule was compromised by the invasion. But as their love and trust unfold, and Don Alonso’s tyranny escalates, Catalina must confront her conflicted blood heritage―and its secrets―once and for all if she’s to follow her dangerous quest to its historic end.

Amazon

This book is due out on 8/1/24, but if you are an Amazon Prime member, you can get it as part of the First Reads program.

Excerpt

Santiago de los Caballeros, Guatemala

Autumn 1552

I walked to the cellar unseen.

There wasn’t a soul, not an eye, not a rustle of wing or branch. Perhaps it was a small grace, a gift from the gods. Perhaps the billowing cloud in my heart had seeped out of me, enveloped my body in mist, and I could not be seen, couldn’t be spotted.

The cellar door creaked. I vacillated before I descended the many steps into the pitch-black room, cool like the cave in which Cristóbal, Juan, and I had first met, but instead of a dank smell, there lingered a sweet scent of tobacco leaf, of cork, and cured meat. I grunted when I hit my head on one of the animal legs dangling from the ceiling, and I put my arm out to stop it swaying.

“Juan?” There was a shift in the air and a soft click, from a stiff hip or an ankle rousing, but I started as if a musket had been fired.

My foot was back on the first step. I readied to sprint when he called out my name. “Ab’aj Pol. We’re alone at last, though we have little time.”

I turned my head in the direction of his voice, but I couldn’t see a thing.

“I want to tell you something I’ve told only one other person before.” His voice was closer. He must’ve walked forward, but his feet had made no sound. My heart galloped.

“I want to tell you my true name. Do you wish to know it?” He stood in front of me now, invisible. He radiated warmth. I nodded. Somehow, he saw.

He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “My name is Q’anti.”

A chill ran down my spine. His closeness, its meaning. Fer-de-lance, yellow-throat.

Snake, viper, fierce and deadly.

Look there, hummingbird. Step on one of those, and you’ll not live to see the morning.

“My mother said I would have to be both jaguar and snake to survive this New World,” he said.

“She was right.”

“She died from the pox, when I was four.” His voice sounded just as young. I couldn’t help but lean into him. Into his solid chest. He hesitated briefly before wrapping his arms around me. For a time, we were just two motherless souls, breathing.

He mumbled, “The curse I placed on you, the hurt I caused you. The weight upon my soul is crushing me. Can you please forgive me? For everything?”

Something about his tone, the heaviness of it, as if the muscles of his mouth tested a foreign word, made me think this was the first apology of his life.

I whispered, “Maybe,” and sensed the smile on his face, his chest as it expanded with joy. His arms tightened, and I thought they would never be tight enough.

“I will earn a yes. I swear to you. I—may I kiss you?”

I wished for nothing more than to feel the full warmth of his words. Those words I’d prayed for, without knowing, for weeks, months, a whole year. But I couldn’t. Because the fog had returned, cold and Sofia Robleda 130 heavy, and if he hadn’t been holding me, I would’ve floated away, dispersed. I would’ve reappeared only as a weak, drizzling rain.

I felt him stiffen and draw away from my hesitation. The viper, quick to rile and defend. “You’re still angry with me. I—I deserve it.”

“Don’t,” I said, weary. “No, I’m not. Something’s happened.” I told him about Cook.

He sighed, held me a moment longer, and kissed the top of my head. A poor consolation for the both of us.

There was no more to say. No point in asking if I’d changed my mind. The Popol Vuh had to prevail. He took my hand, guided me to the back of the cellar, and bent down behind something large, probably one of the barrels of wine.

“Let me guess. A secret trapdoor.”

His laugh was airy. “Come, sit here. Lower yourself down, it is only a small drop.”

To me, it felt like I’d fallen off a cliff, but I managed not to scream. I stepped out of the way, and he lowered himself down. He dragged the hatch to a close and lit a torch. My eyes squinted as they grew accustomed to the light.

Once they did, however, I wished I’d been blinded. The tunnel might as well have been carved by a giant worm. It was pure earth. No brick, no polish. Just a tunnel of red soil, held up by a couple of wooden beams here and there.

Text copyright © 2024 by Sofia Robleda, Published by Amazon Crossing

Interview with Sofia

What inspired you to write DAUGHTER OF FIRE and what did your journey to publication look like?

In 2018 I asked for a DNA test as my Christmas present. By this point in my writing career, I’d written two fantasy novels and had received hundreds of rejections, but I didn’t want to give up on my dream to become an author. The results took months to come, and as I’d expected, the majority of my “blood” was European/Spanish. What I didn’t know is that I also had a fair percentage of Indigenous “New World” blood, as they called it. I started reading more about our native history, especially about the Mexica and the Maya. Growing up in Mexico City and Cancun, we’d been exposed to a lot of the awesome parts of those civilizations, but I wanted to know the real stories. Not just the stuff they teach you in school. When I came across the fact that a bishop in Yucatan had burned thousands of Maya books, and only four had survived the conquest, I felt deep in my bones that I needed to tell this story. It took five years to research, write the book, find my wonderful agent, and get a publisher!

You did a lot of research for this book, including traveling to Guatemala, speaking with Professor Christenson who translated the Popol Vuh, etc. Discuss how you approached the research for the novel and what you learned that you found especially surprising in your research.

I went a bit wild researching this novel, to be honest! I visited half a dozen museums, read countless books, travelled solo across the world to Guatemala to climb pyramids, traverse jungles and explore underground caves. I also got support from Professor Allen J. Christenson to ensure the words I used in K’iche’ Maya were correct. He gave me the most thorough and incredible notes, and I’m so grateful because, above all, I wished to show my complete respect and reverence for the original authors of this manuscript & the K’iche’ Maya people. What struck me the most from my research was that the Popol Vuh codex has never actually been found. What we have is a copy made by a friar in the 18th Century, who copied both the K’iche’ text and added a translation to Castilian. His work is now in the Newberry Library in Chicago. I really hope to be able to see it in person one day!

How did your background influence the writing of the novel?

I spent most of my childhood in Mexico, and my parents really inspired us to appreciate our prehispanic heritage. I clearly remember going every year to Chichen Itza to witness the summer solstice. Back then, you could still climb the pyramid, and I remember thinking how from the top looking down, people looked like tiny ants. We had picture books with Aztec and Maya myths, so it was something I grew to love from an early age. But we left Mexico when I was ten – my father was an airline pilot, and he got a job in Saudi Arabia. From that moment, I was sort of split, my heart was Mexican, and it always will be, but my experience as a Third Culture Kid meant I didn’t fully belong to Mexico anymore. Then again, I could also never call myself Saudi, or Singaporean, or Australian. In the end, that feeling of being an outsider, an observer, of having a foot in two worlds, also connected me deeply to Catalina, who lives with that duality.

Why did you incorporate elements of magical realism in this historical novel?

Magic, mysticism, myths, ghost stories, superstitions, religion, miracles, curses, the occult… they are part and parcel of growing up in Latin America. My grandmother used to be part of a group of mediums, my grandfather and his family used to play the Ouija board in family reunions (the stories are hair-raising), my mother has visited more fortune tellers than I can count, as have my cousins and aunts. Even I have gone to a few! There is simply no way of leaving those elements out. I also started out writing fantasy novels, so I think really, I just love it. I don’t know how to write without magic. Writing and reading is magic to me. It’s beautiful how you can conjure an entire world, and telepathically convey it to someone who is halfway across the globe!

About the Author

Sofia Robleda is a Mexican writer. She spent her childhood and adolescence in Mexico, Saudi Arabia, and Singapore. She completed her undergraduate and doctorate degrees in psychology at the University of Queensland, Australia. She currently lives in the UK with her husband and son, and splits her time between writing, raising her son, and working as a clinical psychologist supporting people with brain injuries and neurological conditions.

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