"Your people? You're not Coatl, are you?" Nezahual-tzin's eyes narrowed; the sword's wooden blade came up, its obsidian shards glinting in the sunlight; and he took a step in Coatl's direction.
"You waste my time." Coatl brought his hands together, and before we knew it the ahuizotls were flowing towards us, the hands on their tails going for our faces.
TWENTY-THREE
Blessings of Mictlan
I took a swipe at the first ahuizotl, sending it leaping back a few paces – but not slowing it down, as its legs bunched up for another assault.
I'd never liked the things – they might have been Teomitl's, but they were creepy, and that was saying a lot, since I knew most of the beasts that haunted each level of the underworld. But never mind that, my goal wasn't to kill them – with the power that coursed through Coatl, he could surely summon more with a mere snap of his fingers – but to complete the circle, and open the gate into Mictlan.
The ahuizotl leapt again – I ducked, feeling clumsy next to its fluid grace. Power shimmered in the air around me – and over me reared a huge shadow. I guessed that Nezahual-tzin was calling on his patron god, the Feathered Serpent Quetzalcoatl; I could also guess that Neutemoc, Mihmatini, Acamapichtli and Cozolli would be fighting the rush of ahuizotls. What I needed was…
I evaded another leap of the ahuizotl – the Duality curse me, the thing was fast – and glanced around the courtyard. The blood we'd already spread shone in the sunlight, bunched up in three bundles, nowhere near the circle we needed.
What we needed was…
A distraction.
I waved my knife at the ahuizotl – catching its attention, as well as that of two of its neighbours. As my gaze roved, I caught bits and pieces of the scene, what looked like Palli's flailing arms as he waved an obsidian dagger, and Matlaelel's face, as pale as muddy milk. Then I was diving for the entrance of the courtyard, but more of the beasts were flowing up, barring my passage, and at the last moment I altered my trajectory, crashing into the entrance-curtain. The bells danced above me, their voices shrill and unpleasant; a prelude to the rough, jarring sound the three ahuizotls made as they tore through the cotton.
Having little choice, I retreated deeper into the shadows, holding my knife like a shield.
The room smelled of copal incense and food gone stale – hints of cold maize porridge, of amaranth seeds and the faint memory of spices. And I knew there had been someone – two women. "I apologise, but–"
A hiss came from the darkened centre. I steadied myself, preparing for the onslaught of the water-beasts – and met the glowing eyes of Chantico, She Who Dwelled in the House. Her hands wrapped around live coals, daring me to steal Her things.
A fresco. It was only a fresco. The goddess couldn't be here. "Get out!"
Too late. The ahuizotls were coming – one headed straight for me, and two others for the women. I couldn't spread myself so thin – it was all I could do to fend off one, struggling to stab the hand which terminated its tail – it leapt, bearing me down, and I was on the floor, squirming, while the hand swept down, aiming straight for my eyes – I raised the knife, whispering a prayer to Lord Death, and sank it to the hilt into the palm of the hand.
I'd expected blood, but of course nothing like this flowed – only weak ichor, as thin and as brackish as marsh water. The ahuizotl cried out like a hurt child – the Storm Lord strike me if I was going to fall for that. I raised my knife again, and while it was still wailing, transfixed it between the eyes.
It dropped like a log, trapping me underneath its corpse. The magic ebbed out of it in a painful tingling rush – the power of Chalchiuhtlicue was as much anathema to me as that of the Storm Lord Her husband, or of the Southern Hummingbird. I lay breathing heavily, struggling to collect myself.
The women.
I rolled the corpse of the ahuizotl off me, ignoring the ache in my arms, and stood up, fully expecting to see a pair of water-beasts feeding on corpse.
Instead, I met the irate eyes of a woman who looked formidable enough to take down the gods. "And the meaning of this is?"
I pointed to the dead ahuizotl – behind her, her attendant was kneeling in a quincunx glowing with the familiar heat of living blood, and the other two beasts lying dead at its centre. "Sorry. It was the nearest refuge. I thought…"
I paused then, wrenching my mind into another alignment. My sister was a powerful priestess in her own right, and Xiloxoch had brimmed with the power of her goddess. Why had I thought of those women as defenceless? "I apologise for disturbing you – you'd best stay there. There are people trying to kill each other outside."
The woman rolled her eyes, in a way that suggested this happened all the time. "Men. We're sealing this place, so I won't say it twice. You'll want to head out."
I certainly wasn't about to argue. Gingerly, I bowed to her, and walked out of the room – back into sunlight through the torn entrance curtain. I felt a breath at my back, and a hint of something large and angry beneath my feet – before the entrance-curtain fell again.
The courtyard was a mess: the fountain had been blown to pieces, and the wind was lifting up a cloud of dust that prevented me from seeing much. But magic still glowed within, and I could follow the progress of the circle: it was three quarters complete, its largest missing chunk right behind Coatl's greenish radiance. Not surprising.
I hefted my knife closer to me – feeling the stretched emptiness of Mictlan gather in my chest, the familiar sense that I'd never breathe again in the Fifth World – and went straight into the dust.
Shapes moved: moaning faces, flailing limbs, as if I were back within the fever-dream, weighed down by four hundred thousand bodies. I felt the sickness, curled at the edge of my thoughts, questing for a way in. I'd had it once and survived, which gave me an edge, but I couldn't count on this.
Also, the ahuizotls had to be somewhere, and I certainly didn't have an edge against them.
I had gone perhaps three paces when I found the first body – blackened by the plague, blood streaming out of its orifices. It was the young offering priest, Matlaelel, the whites of his eyes completely red, blood welling up from under his nails and nipples. His mouth opened – blood had run down from his gums, staining his teeth – and his lips shaped a word I couldn't understand – my name, perhaps? I fought the urge to lay my hands on him, to whisper the litany for the Dead and grant him safe passage into the World Beyond.
I said the words, regardless – because I was High Priest for the Dead, and it was my province, and because I had dragged him into this, and I owed him at least this.
"We live on Earth, in the Fifth World