Obsidian & Blood

TWENTY-TWO

The God's Child

Palli grounded the boat ashore. At the moment the dried reeds came into contact with the mud of the island, a sense of growing unease crystallised into me, almost strong enough to fill Mictlan's emptiness.

I had felt this before: in the Jaguar House, and in Tlaloc's shrine in Amecameca. There was no cure for it.

I leapt from the boat onto the shore, fighting a rising wave of nausea. Beside me, several of the priests were on their knees on the ground, retching and retching, although no bile came up.

No. You have to fight it. You have to… Ichtaca's face was a mask of disgust; but he at least didn't double over. And then the creatures were upon us. Within the true sight, they shone, their squat bodies exuding algae-tinged light, their clawed hands reaching for us. I threw myself aside, and a claw-swipe narrowly missed my forearm.

"Huitzilpochtli cut me down," Palli whispered, beside me. "How do you fight them?"

I wish I knew. Beside me, one of the novice priests was down on one knee, bleeding from a wound, his face already going slack, in an expression sickeningly like Quechomitl's.

Another creature launched itself at me. The Duality curse us, the things had grown more powerful, capable of ignoring Mihmatini's wards. Without conscious thought, I threw myself aside, but too late: the claws were going straight for my chest…

Another clawed hand batted them aside; I looked into the yellow, malicious eyes of an ahuizotl – I had time to wonder, dimly, absurdly, if it was the same that had maimed Eleuia – and then Tlaloc's creature, hissing, was retreating, while the ahuizotl's slimy skin pressed itself against mine. Forcing me leftwards, I realised: towards the shore, and Teomitl, who stood with water halfway to his knees, his face creased in concentration.

I half-walked, half-ran towards him. One creature detached itself from the pack that was engaging the priests, and glided lazily towards me. I quickened my pace. The ahuizotl's jaws snapped at its midriff, and the creature engaged it instead of me.

I had no particular wish to see who would win; and I couldn't bring myself to cheer for the ahuizotl, despite the fact that it appeared to be on our side.

"Acatl-tzin!" Teomitl called out. He stood in a circle of emptiness. The Jade Skirt's light spilled around him, creating a barrier the Storm Lord's creatures prowled around, but were unwilling to bypass.

When I approached, they turned their attention to me, hissing with an eerie joy.

I did the only thing that made sense: I ran, and threw myself at Teomitl's feet, into the water.

I rose, coughing up algae, to peer into Teomitl's amused gaze. "Some reinforcements," he said.

I turned around, to survey the battlefield. On the water, Ixtli's men were engaging the priests of Tlaloc, trying to bring their boats close enough to strike at their exposed enemy. Meanwhile, the priests were also trying to get within range, though their spells did not require contact to be cast.

One priest in particular seemed to be their leader: a tall, lean man with green paint smeared across his face, standing at the back of one of the largest barges. It wasn't Acamapichtli. No matter how hard the High Priest of Tlaloc had worked to indict Neutemoc, it appeared he was quite blameless in the matter of the Storm Lord's child. I wasn't sure whether I ought to have been disappointed.

On the island, Ichtaca had a cage with two hummingbirds at his feet. He was busy drawing a circle in the mud, whispering the words of a prayer to the Southern Hummingbird. I recognised a much stronger version of Mihmatini's warding spell, directed not only at Ichtaca, but at every human being in the vicinity.

It might possibly dispel the creatures, but that spell would take time to cast, time we were running out of.

Next to Ichtaca, two offering priests swiped at the creatures – failing to do any damage, but still keeping them at bay. As I watched, one of them slipped in the mud, and one of the creatures' claws opened up a wound on his arm. He fell, a vacant smile stretching across his face.

No!

An ahuizotl welled up from the water, and leapt to take the priest's place. Neither Ichtaca nor the other priest did anything more than nod tiredly. Any help was better than none.

Palli was down on one knee, but otherwise unharmed, and Ezamahual was busy protecting two of his fallen comrades, his harsh face transfigured by battle frenzy.

The least that could be said was that the battle was not going in our favour.

"Where is–" I started; and saw Neutemoc. He had somehow managed to evade the creatures, and was steadily fighting his way towards the top of the rise – no, not fighting, more weaving his way between claw-swipes, each of which could mean his death.

"He's insane," I said, though not without a touch of jealousy.

Teomitl shrugged. "Don't you recognise it? He has nothing to lose any more."

An image of Huei rose in my mind: of her standing in the reception room, bitter and sad, and I, refusing to understand her until it was too late. I quelled it. It wasn't the time. "Are you wounded?" I panted.

Teomitl shrugged, although every feature of his face was drawn and wan, like a man drained of blood. "I'll go on."

I stared at Neutemoc, and at the child Mazatl, still standing before the altar. "We have to help him to reach the altar," I said. "Close enough to strike."

Teomitl grimaced. "Will the child die?"

I shrugged. My experience of god-children was, thank the Duality, fairly limited. "He's human. If he wasn't, he couldn't wield so much magic. He'll die."

Teomitl didn't look convinced; and I wasn't completely, either. But it was a fair chance. "Worth a try," he said. "Distract the creatures, then?"

I nodded. At least until we found a way to kill them. I hefted an obsidian knife with my left hand, feeling the slight twinge from old wounds, and stared at the creatures, bracing myself to leave the circle of Teomitl's protection.

Over the water, some of Ixtli's men had managed to get close enough to the priests: they were hacking and slashing, their boats swaying under them. The priests, though, were casting spells: darts of green light that wounded as much as if they had been metal. As I watched, one of Ixtli's men, struck in the chest by three darts at the same time, stood shock-still at the prow of his boat – and keeled into the lake. He did not move. Blood stained the water, lazily spreading over the fluid shapes of the ahuizotls.

With a sigh, I lifted my knife to strike; and felt the emptiness of Mictlan fill me, a hundred, a thousand times stronger than it had ever been. The wind in my ears was the lament of the dead, and the water lapping at my ankles cold and unforgiving, like a drowned man's kiss – and even Teomitl's voice was the rattle of a dying man.

I had felt this, once before, when fighting the beast of shadows. But it had never been this strong, never altered the shape of the Fifth World.

Those were not my knives.

Within me, Chalchiutlicue was laughing. A gift, priest, she said, and Her voice was terrible.

Gasping, I stepped away from Teomitl, straight into the path of one of the creatures.

Its clawed hands snaked, lazily, to strike me. One of the ahuizotls leapt up from the water, snarling, but it was too late – the claws sank into my skin – and numbness spread from the wound, that terrible numbness that marked the end of the fight.

I was dimly aware of sinking to one knee; of someone – Teomitl? Palli? – screaming in a faraway land; of the creature rushing in to gorge on my blood. With sluggish hands, I raised my knife – held it against my chest to defend against the claws – and the creature, too eager to exploit my weakness, impaled itself on the blade.

Within me, the numbness of Tlaloc's wounds met the growing emptiness of Mictlan: two huge waves clashing against each other and breaking, sending their aftershocks into the depths of my soul. Visions of Eleuia's empty orbits mingled with the image of Father's body – and Mother's face, contorted in anger, held the fervent gaze of Commander Quiyahuayo. My limbs would not stop shaking.

Chalchiutlicue laughed and laughed in the empty rooms of my mind. A gift, priest. For My husband.

Far, far beyond me, the Storm Lord's creature screamed: a thin, reedy cry like a strangled new-born. As the visions slowly faded away, I came to myself, in time to see the creature withdraw from my blade as if scalded; and with each passing moment it grew fainter and fainter, still screaming in that pathetic way that tore at my guts.

And then the creature was gone. Stillness spread from the place of its death like a shroud thrown over the Fifth World. Everything in its wake paused or slowed down: Ichtaca's harsh chanting, Neutemoc's macuahitl-swipes, the ahuizotls' clenching tail-hands, the priests' dart-throwing, the Duality warriors' strokes. But the worst affected were the other creatures. They came to a standstill, as if sharing in the death of their comrade.

Time slowly returned to normal, it seemed, and my heartbeat finally slowed back to a more leisurely rhythm.

"How in the Duality's name did you do this?" Teomitl asked, beside me. His face was still taut, contorted on the edge of pain.

"I didn't," I said, curtly. The creatures were markedly slower, and more reluctant to approach me. "Thank your protector."

Teomitl said nothing. I kept my hand near my knife, but not actually touching it; and saw Neutemoc evade the last of the creatures, and run towards the child at the altar.

For a brief moment, they faced each other: Neutemoc's face, contorted in the battle-frenzy, and Mazatl's, his green eyes expressionless. Then Neutemoc's sword swept towards the child, biting into the exposed flesh of his neck.

I'd expected some struggle, or some vast display of magic. But Mazatl simply crumpled, like a felled gladiator at the combat-stone: the knees first, then the chest, and the small head with its childhood lock, sinking into the mud by the altar, small and forlorn in death.

Beside me, Ichtaca's chanting paused, and Tlaloc's creatures turned towards the altar, watching their master's death.

Over. It was over.

Then why didn't it feel like it?

I glanced at the ghost tree: it still stood, rooted in the water of the lake, filled with creatures growing fat on magic. The rain falling over us was still gorged with Tlaloc's magic, and none of the other creatures had gone.

Laughter, bright and terrible, echoed over the lake. It was the sound of a lightning strike, earthing itself in a peasant's skin; the wild roar of heavy rains; the sound of wind, tearing away cacti and trees from the land.

"Did you think it would be that easy?" a voice asked.

It came from the roots of the ghost tree, I realised with a shock: from a small silhouette, radiating power as the sun radiated heat.

I looked again at Neutemoc, who was kneeling by the body of the boy he'd just killed, his face frozen in shock.

I remembered the old woman's words: I have many, many grandsons.

It was the wrong child: one of Mazatl's foster brothers, casually sacrificed as a decoy. The wrong child.

Did you think it would be that easy?

In the terrible, heavy silence, magic flowed from the branches of the ghost tree: threads of raw power, plunging into the creatures' bodies, filling their featureless shapes with magic the way one pumped water into the earth. The creatures made a soft, hissing sound; and turned back towards us, filling the air with their mindless glee.

Over the water, three priests of Tlaloc had died, but over half of Ixtli's men would never see the Fifth World again. And atop the altar, Neutemoc was surrounded by creatures, mindlessly crowding each other to drink his blood.

Did you think it would be that easy?

• • • •

One of the creatures leapt at Teomitl, passing through Chalchiutlicue's circle of protection as if through flimsy cotton. Teomitl raised his macuahitl sword. But it was too late. The claws had already bitten into his flesh. He sank to one knee, gasping.

I ran towards him, but two more creatures blocked my path, their featureless bodies undulating, as if they tasted my scent from the air. My hand tightened over my knife's hilt. The emptiness of Mictlan filled me once more, the whole Fifth World turning into a hymn to death and decay. The smell of decomposition rose from the earth, saturating my nostrils, insinuating itself under the pores of my skin. Ichtaca's chanting faded into nothingness, replaced by the endless lament of the dead.

Shaking, I raised the blade, and struck. The thread linking the creature to the ghost tree snapped. It made that same cry of a baby dying, tearing at my heart for the children I would never have.

But the second creature was already reaching towards me, its claws not going for my arm or my hand, but towards my throat.

As if in a dream, I threw myself to the right and the claws raked my arm and side. Numbness filled me, collided with Mictlan's lament, becoming Father's empty gaze; becoming Mother's hands, still clenched in anger long after her death. I rolled over, gasping for breath. One creature had latched to Teomitl, feeding upon him with relish. The one that had struck my shoulder hovered over me, hesitant to approach.

I didn't give it a chance to reach a decision. I fell upon it with my knife, and sank the blade all the way in, until it plunged into muddy earth, the fragile obsidian snapping in two. The thread broke in two, and the creature screamed and started to fade.

Cursing, I withdrew my second knife from my belt, and ran towards Teomitl. Under my feet was not mud, but bones, breaking with every step I took – and the dead, whispering to me of my failures.

Honour your parents and your clan…

Bring glory to your name…

Tell your children to enjoy the joys of the Fifth World…

I had no honour; no glory; no children to come after me. But it didn't matter. It had never mattered. The dead could not touch me.

It was a lie: every whispered word hurt like a small wound; but still I managed to raise a shaking hand, and sink the knife into the creature latched into Teomitl.

As it started to fade away, Teomitl toppled into the mud, his eyes glazing over, his face locked into a desperate expression.

Cautiously, I slackened my grip on my knife, and knelt by his side, trying to shake him awake. "Come on," I whispered. "Come on."

Somehow, Neutemoc had woven his way between the creatures that opposed him, and left the altar and the dead child behind. Moving with a speed and ease I had not known he possessed, he was running towards one of the empty reed boats, his obsidianstudded sword weaving in and out of the creatures' embrace. It reminded me of two dancers I had seen a long time ago, in a deserted girls' calmecac; back when the whole affair had just been a missing priestess – and not this… monstrosity it had turned into.

No creatures remained to face me. They were all engaged in battle against my priests. Palli was standing in the water, his back wedged against one of the reed boats, keeping the creatures at bay with grim determination.

The battle between the priests of Tlaloc and Ixtli's men was still going on. Ixtli, with suicidal bravery, had leapt onto the barge of the leading priest, and was cutting his way towards the back. The priest, though, did not look afraid: he was watching Ixtli approach, his smile the same as the jaguar's before it leaps on its prey.

With Teomitl's loss of consciousness, the ahuizotls were no longer fighting: they stood, aimlessly wandering on the muddy earth. How long did we have before they started turning on us?

I shook Teomitl's slight frame. "Come on."

"Not… worthy of… her," he whispered. "I… should… have known."

The Duality preserve us. As if we needed more complications. "Come on."

"Choose… your… battlefield," Teomitl whispered. "Not… worthy…"

One more priest went down. Ichtaca had stopped chanting and was holding two creatures at bay, single-handedly. Over the water, Ixtli had only a handful of men left; but more priests of the Storm Lord remained, casting darts in a steady barrage. As I watched, a dart struck Ixtli across the chest. He wavered, his face set in a grimace, but went on, cutting down the last priest between him and the leader.

Neutemoc had reached the shore, four creatures lazily gliding after him. Palli rose from his crouch, and batted away at the creatures, while Neutemoc pushed a boat into the waters of the lake.

Without the ahuizotls, though, it was clear that we were doomed.

"We need you," I said to Teomitl, resisting the urge to shake some good sense into him. "Huitzilpochtli blind you, we need you, or everything is lost!"

"Mother…" Teomitl whispered. "I'm… sorry. Should… have… remained… true to Huitzilpochtli."

I flung his own words back at him. "There's no shame in having two allegiances," I said, urgently.

Ichtaca was down on one knee; and while Palli and Neutemoc had succeeded in getting their boat off the island, they had creatures chasing after them.

On the water, Ixtli and the leading priest were fighting sword against spear, rocking with the barge they were on. Only three Duality warriors remained; but one priest of Tlaloc floated facedown in the water, a magical sword embedded in his back.

"Teomitl," I whispered. "Ahuizotl. This is your testing ground. This is your battlefield. Will you run away?"

Teomitl's eyes fluttered open. He stared at me, without seeing me. "I'll… choose… my testing ground," he whispered. "Not this. I can't… The pain… too much…"

"Are you running away?" I screamed, shaking him like a rag doll. "Are you such a coward?"

For a long, long time, he did not answer. Palli's boat, with Neutemoc at the oars, was tracing a chaotic trajectory onto the waters of the lake, trying to elude the three creatures coming after it. It was going nowhere near the ghost tree.

"Teomitl," I said, slowly. "No one chooses their testing ground. Not even those of Imperial blood. And a true man stands by the consequences of his acts."

His eyes fluttered again, the emptiness replaced by anger. "You're a fine one to reproach me with that, aren't you?"

"I don't understand," I said, taken aback.

Teomitl tore himself from my grasp, every feature of his face becoming as harsh as polished jade. "So small, priest," he whispered, but it wasn't his voice. "So filled with useless regrets."

Chalchiutlicue. No!

"I don't understand," I whispered, even though I still remembered Her rifling through my thoughts like a peccary digging for roots, discarding what did not interest Her. "I–"

Teomitl knelt in the brackish water, gazing at the black clouds overhead, which showed no sign of dispersing. His fist clenched around algae, once, twice. When he spoke again, his voice was his own. "I was overwhelmed," he said, all the apology I would ever get. "Thank you."

His eyes narrowed, as the Jade Skirt's light streamed from every pore of his skin, and the ahuizotls were back into the fray. Several of them slid into the water, going after Neutemoc and Palli's boat, engaging the creatures chasing it. Neutemoc, after looking back, set the prow of the boat in the direction of the ghost tree – and rowed like a possessed man. Palli's face was grim.

Ichtaca resumed his chanting; by his rising voice, he was almost at the end of his hymn.

On the barge, Ixtli twisted and the spear spun out of the leading priest's outstretched hand, landing into the water. Ixtli raised his sword to strike.

I took hold of my knife, and plunged back into the battle, determined to dispatch as many creatures as I could. But something kept nagging at me, a sense that I was missing something. I avoided a claw-swipe that would have disembowelled me, and raised my knife to strike. But the creature had already shifted left. I sank the knife into the creature, under Ezamahual's shocked gaze. As it screamed and died, I stole a look at the ghost tree.

Mazatl still stood at its foot, kneeling with one hand on the roots. Magic streamed out of the tree, plunging into his whole body. Soon, he would be gorged with Tlaloc's magic, and dispatch us all with ease.

There was worse. The water, which had been up to my knees before, had now reached my waist. I retreated onto drier ground. The shores. I glanced at Teomitl, who had also retreated further inland. The waters of the lake were rising. The patch of earth we were standing on was shrinking.

Over by the boats, the leading priest of Tlaloc was facing Ixtli, both his hands empty. With a terrible smile, he lifted his hand as if to throw something into the air.

And something did leave his outstretched fingers, shining as it rose. A narrow beam of jade-coloured light formed, settled onto Ixtli. Ixtli's face contorted in pain; he went down on one knee, gasping in pain, the sword torn from his grasp. The leading priest was smiling. He lifted Ixtli's face to expose the throat, and raised a noose, whispering words I couldn't hear: a prayer to His god before the sacrifice, no doubt.

"No!" I howled, but I had no time to do anything. The leading priest looped the rope around Ixtli's throat in a practised gesture, and tightened it. Ixtli's eyes bulged.

Two creatures engaged me simultaneously; I ducked, but claws raked my back. Numbness filled me, transformed into images of Eleuia, alluringly dancing on the battlefield.

I had to help Ixtli… I rose, and one of the creatures leapt upon me. Ezamahual was fighting the other one, holding its full attention.

I ducked left and right as the creature attacked in a frenzy of claw-swipes, trying to keep an eye on the battlefield.

Teomitl was running, ahuizotls gathering around him in a gruesome escort. He reached the boats, and, arcing himself against the smallest one, pushed it into the water – and leapt into it.

On the barge, Ixtli was clawing at his throat, in a vain effort to throw off the noose. But it was futile; the priest of Tlaloc had won. Ixtli's death, as a sacrifice to his god, would only add to his power.

I feinted right and the creature followed, hissing as it opened itself for a fatal strike. I slid out of its embrace, and struck its midriff with the knife.

Two down.

There were no creatures in my immediate vicinity. I used the breathing space to take a look at the battlefield. Teomitl's boat was leaving the island, though he wasn't rowing. With a shock, I re alised the ahuizotls, gathered under the keel, were dragging it forward, to where the leading priest was still strangling Ixtli.

As I watched, Ixtli flopped to the floor of the barge. There were now only two Duality warriors left; and a handful of priests of Tlaloc, gathering against them.

Over the lake, several of the creatures had succeeded in bypassing the ahuizotls. Neutemoc, frantically rowing, was almost close enough to the ghost tree. But another creature had abandoned the fray on the island, and was gliding towards the boat, its hiss almost amused.

Palli, his face a mask of concentration, was already hard pressed to fend off both creatures. But the other creature was getting closer and closer, faster than the erratic trajectory of the boat.

On the shore, six creatures remained, three of them busy fighting ahuizotls, and the rest kept at bay by my priests. Ichtaca was opening the throat of a hummingbird, though the rain washed off the flow of blood on his hands.

Teomitl's craft crashed into the tangle of boats; the ahuizotls slid away. One by one, they started pulling the priests of Tlaloc into the water. Teomitl himself had leapt clear of his boat, and was running from vessel to vessel, intent on reaching the leading priest, who stood in his large barge, too far away from the water to be snatched by an ahuizotl.

It was clear where the urgency was: helping Neutemoc get to Mazatl. I sheathed my knife, ran to the shore, and pushed a boat into the water.

"You can't do it alone," Ezamahual said, behind me – climbing into the craft, taking the oars. "I'll row."

I nodded, and together we slowly got the boat out of the shallows, towards Neutemoc.

I turned, briefly. Teomitl had reached the same barge as the leading priest. The priest threw his hand up again; and the same light, expanding, covered Teomitl.

Teomitl grimaced. His face contorted in a painful struggle, and his grip on his sword slackened. He was going to die, like Ixtli – no…

But then a light as green as jade, as underwater depths, filled his eyes; and his features, softened by the inhuman light, became once again those of the goddess. The priest's spell fell around him harmlessly, shearing itself in two like a split obsidian mirror.

Teomitl shook his head, and walked forward, past the still body of Ixtli, smiling a smile even more terrible than the priest. His obsidian-studded sword was raised; and the leading priest had no weapon of his own, only magic that would have no effect on Teomitl.

Who are you?

Ahuizotl. He who bears Chalchiutlicue's gift. He who bears Her protection.

I turned away, keeping my gaze on Neutemoc. I did not see Teomitl's sword come down; but I heard the priest scream, a thin, reedy cry carried away by the wind; and then nothing, only the splashes made by the ahuizotls, and the soft raking noise of claws, tearing at flesh.

Ezamahual's quick rowing was bearing its fruit: we were slowly catching up with Neutemoc's and Palli's boat.

We were going to be too late, though.

Ahead of us, one of the creatures finally got past Palli's guard, and its claws raked the offering priest's arm. Palli fell to his knees in the boat, his face stretching into that familiar, terrible emptiness.

Now Neutemoc was defenceless. He did not give up. He went on rowing, intending to reach the ghost tree before the creatures could catch up on him.

It was never going to work… Never…

Ezamahual's oar-strokes quickened into a frenzy, but it wasn't going to be enough.

Ichtaca… Now or never.

And, for once, the Duality heard my prayer.

On the shore, Ichtaca laid both hands on the ground, and threw back his head with a triumphant scream. The circle blazed, spreading the Southern Hummingbird's light everywhere around the island, sinking into Ichtaca's flesh, outlining the bones of the priests in light.

The creatures, caught in the spell's hold, became paler and paler, vanishing altogether within the radiance.

It spread further, over the water – engulfing Ezamahual and me – reaching Neutemoc and Palli, and going on. For the briefest of moments, the ghost tree wavered and started to fade.

"No!" Mazatl screamed, in a voice that wasn't human any more. Magic poured out of him, going into the branches, sinking into the roots, and Huitzilpochtli's light finally faded into nothingness.

The ghost tree remained, but the creatures that had been clinging to its trunk were gone. And, on the island, not a single creature remained: just two stunned priests, taking care of the wounded, and Ichtaca, kneeling in his circle, breathing heavily.

"Do you think yourselves so clever?" Mazatl's voice was the hiss of a deadly snake.

From the tree's roots, a great cloud of magic spewed, roiling sickly as it merged with the water – higher and higher, until a huge wave travelled through the lake – aimed straight at us.

It reached Neutemoc's boat a fraction of a moment earlier than ours. I had time to see my brother pin Palli to the floor of the craft, and then the wave was upon us, an exhalation of water that sent us crashing into the warm lake.