Reisil twisted ponderously to look at the goshawk perching beside her, protected from the ants by the ward attached to her leg.
“What?”
~Eat. We are running out of time.
Reisil’s head was heavy and thick, and her mouth felt dry. She licked her lips. They were rough and cracked. Her teeth felt grainy and sticky. She made a face, her mind sliding away along another gauzy thought line. Saljane caught at it.
~We must get to Atli Cihua before the next full moon or the nahuallis will not help us. Kodu Riik will be destroyed. Your strength is fading. You must eat. Saljane spoke slowly and forcefully, leaning forward to fix Reisil’s attention with her brilliant crimson gaze.
Slowly the words seeped through. Kodu Riik. The nahuallis. A muted thrill of urgency flittered along Reisil’s nerves. She touched the animal again.
“How?” she rasped stupidly. Her tongue felt thick and unwieldy.
Saljane bent and snatched up the limp little beast. Holding it in her beak, she slashed her talons down its ribs, ripping a wide gash. Then she dropped it back on Reisil’s lap.
Reisil stared at it, repulsed. But Saljane’s mind pressed against hers. She could not resist. She pressed the animal to her lips and licked.
The intense, warm flavor rocked her backwards, and she retched, dry, wrenching convulsions. But when her body quieted, Saljane pushed at her again.
~Eat.
Reisil began to gnaw obediently. Her repulsion changed swiftly to shrieking hunger. She ripped the flesh from the rodent and bolted the meat without chewing. She gnawed the bones and licked her fingers.
During the next days she began to come back to herself. A wild self, one that gulped the warm gobbets of raw flesh and hot blood with animal relish. She regained her strength. Her mind sharpened, but retained a fierce wild edge. She fashioned a makeshift gauntlet from tough vines and the uncured hides of the creatures Saljane captured for her. This way she could carry the goshawk into the night.
They came to the flat-topped Monequi mountain with less than a week to the full moon. Reisil remembered the map the nahuallis had shown her with crystal clarity. Go left around the mountain, and then out at an angle, toward the northwest. Urgency dug spurs into her.
Now she slept only a few hours at a time. Reisil sent Saljane to fly high above the jungle canopy, looking for some sign of the Atli Cihua. How would they know it? Was it a building? A mountain? A spring? Fury at not knowing made her run harder, faster. She was rabid in her determination. She would not fail.
The morning before the full moon, a drenching rain fell. The jungle floor streamed with water. Reisil tripped, falling heavily. She screamed, more with frustration than with pain. She pushed herself upright, limping. But even as she did, her mind became sharp as a silver knife honed fine.
She felt it. It summoned.
~It’s close. Atli Cihua, Saljane called eagerly, showing Reisil the path.
It was the afternoon. The full moon would rise an hour after nightfall. Reisil began to climb again.
There was no trail. The mountain was steep and thick with vines and trees. The air quieted and the wind stilled. There was a fecund feel to the mountain—an opulent heat. Sweat ran down her skin. Reisil clawed through the undergrowth. The air thinned and it grew difficult to breathe. She gasped, her ribs heaving, her head whirling, her muscles screaming.
She found herself near the top of the mountain, facing a nearly vertical slope. She scrabbled up halfway, only to slide back down, scraping her skin raw. It had grown dark, and the last sliver of the sun was fading to night. There was no more time! She clutched at the rock, gripping tiny cracks and protusions with her fingers and toes. She inched upward, pulling herself over the top lip by sheer will. Then she staggered up and was running. She wedged herself between the great trees that grew so close that she had to turn sideways to squeeze through.
Inside the trees, she found a ring of warm red tile that matched the spell circle in Yohuac’s village. Her feet left bloody footprints as she lumbered toward the blue-stone building. All her attention was fixed on the black doorway. The summons of the place pulled at her like an ocean tide.
Reisil flung herself through the rounded entry. Shock made her gape, her ragged wheezes echoing in the silence.
The inside was identical to the meeting hall in Oceotl, from the blue tile floor to the fire bowl in the center to the cushions around the wall. She might well have gone in a circle and returned where she started. Through the chimney hole in the roof, she could see the silver gleam of the full moon rising. Unexpected relief crashed over her, and her body went boneless. She slumped to the ground. Dry sobs racked her. Saljane, who remained outside, poured a balm of love, praise, and approval through their mental link.
At last the sobs ended, leaving Reisil more wrung than before. She gazed around the room in dull expectation. What now?
Come.
It wasn’t quite a sound, was not quite inside her mind. The command resonated in her flesh as if she were the plucked string of a harp.
Come.
She stood, following the call across the meeting room. She couldn’t have resisted if she wanted to. She went through a narrow door that led into a dark passage. Heavy sconces shaped like fierce forest animals held lit candles. They screwed downward along a steep stair.
Reisil limped down, beginning at last to register the pain of her many wounds. Her stomach rumbled and cramped. She tried to remember when last she’d eaten. It might have been a day or more.
She didn’t know how long she walked. She went slowly, her thighs and calves quivering. She missed a step and barely caught herself. Her head spun and her arms hung heavy. But the call pulled at her. She couldn’t stop, if she had to crawl on her knees.
Slowly she became aware of a low rumbling sound threading up from below. It sounded like drums. The heavy beating sent shivers of trepidation through her naked flesh.
A golden glow began to lighten the gloom. The rumble sounded louder. Reisil turned a last curve. The stairwell opened up into yet another expansive cavern. It was lit with a bright green light that seemed to come from nowhere. The walls were painted with pictures of the Teotl in scenes of building, nurturing, and destruction. The roof was devoted entirely to the might of Ilhuicatl, in all his incarnations. There didn’t seem to be any floor, only a lake of ebony that filled the cavern from wall to wall. A few steps inside, a stone path hung out over the emptiness. It was no more than eighteen inches wide. Black space yawned on either side. Reisil hesitated. It had been a long time since heights had bothered her. Flying with Saljane had cured her fear. But this . . .
Her toes curled. She winced at the shards of pain digging into her flesh. There was no choice. She firmed her jaw, feeling Saljane’s strength through their bond.
She strode out onto the path, fixing her gaze just beyond her bloody, torn feet. She forced herself not to think about how narrow the path was, or what might wait below. Ten paces, twenty, thirty. Nothing happened. Reisil’s shoulders and neck ached with tension. Something was going to happen. Soon. She reached for her power. It rushed to her, hard and hot. She held it ready.
Air.
The wind slammed her. Reisil’s feet lifted off the ground. She tumbled upward like a leaf in a storm. Instinct saved her. She flung ropes of power at the path. They drilled into the rock. She pulled herself back, sprawling on her stomach. The wind dropped.
Reisil lunged to her feet, crouching. She panted, fear making blood thump in her veins. She drew a deep, steadying breath and released the power anchoring her. Slowly she began to walk again.
Fire.
Flames erupted, blocking the path. They roared up to the cavern roof. Heat seared her skin. Her eyes felt parched and turned gritty. She could scarcely breathe. But the task was clear: Follow the path. She pulled her power around her in a thin shield. Instantly the heat dropped. She slid her left foot forward, then her right.
She inched along, blinded by the fire. She reached out, tr
ying to tamp down the flames. They responded by blowing more fiercely, turning blue and green. The heat inside her shield increased unbearably. Reisil ceased attacking the inferno and concentrated on shuffling ahead.
She was tiring. She’d gone weeks without real rest or food. She was reaching the end of her strength. Her muscles trembled with a palsy, and her eyes blurred. Reisil shook her head, trying to clear the muzziness.
It might have been seconds or hours, but at last she came to the other side of the wall of fire. Her legs sagged. But her relief was short-lived. She hardly had a chance to collect herself before it hit.
Water.
The icy deluge cascaded from the sky in pounding sheets. The cold was shocking after the heat. Reisil canted to the side, teetering on the edge of the path. Desperate, Reisil dropped and straddled the path. The sharp edges of the stone cut painfully into the insides of her thighs. She bowed her head, striving to keep from drowning as the flood washed over her head and down her face. The torrent beat against her back like thundering blows from a barrel stave. She gasped, inhaling water. Her lungs and throat spasmed. She gagged. More water filled her mouth and she retched, her stomach jerking. She snatched frantically at her magic, feeling it squirm away. She flailed, catching at it desperately. She caught it and knit it into tattered shields.
Better.
She caught her breath. Her body shook with uncontrollable tremors. Getting to her feet proved very difficult. Reisil had to push the shield up to create enough room, and then convince her legs and arms to hold her weight. It was nearly more than she could manage. At last she gained her feet, lurching as she tried to find balance on the slippery stone.
When at last she was upright, the water sluicing over her shields, she began to slog forward. Her magic was beginning to sear her bones, roiling against her weary control. She staggered forward. And out. But it wasn’t over. She dared not relax. Grabbing the fraying edges of her shields, Reisil held on with all her might.
Earth.
The path softened. She began to sink. Instantly she realized her shields would do her little good. Clenching her fists, she drew hard on her store of magic, howling at the feel of fishhooks pulling at her nerves. She let the power pool inside her until she thought she’d explode. She released it, pouring it into the shape of a bridge. It jutted in the air before her, looking decrepit and flimsy. Reisil didn’t have time to test its strength or think about where to anchor the other end. She was already knee-deep in the stone path.
She flung herself onto her bridge, wriggling and dragging herself upward. She kicked her legs free. Her bridge wobbled like stretched canvas. She crawled on all fours, concentrating on holding it steady, though the pain was excruciating. Hurry! Hurry! She scuttled forward like a crab. But already her bridge was sagging and there was a tear in the magic. She couldn’t hold it any longer.
Reisil crashed back down to the path. She landed hard on her knees. She braced herself against a slow plummet to the bottom of the cavern. The path held. She slumped, sobbing with relief. The sound echoed in the silence.
Reisil felt raw and burnt. Her bones felt like they’d been shattered. But she couldn’t remain here. Somewhere she found the strength to stand. Her head reeled. Hunger twisted her gut. She bent, bracing her hands on her knees and drawing deep, rasping breaths.
Slowly she found her equilibrium. She straightened. The path fled away before her, obdurate in its silent demand to continue. Reisil obeyed, easing forward, her legs trembling. She steeled herself for the next test. But nothing happened.
The path ended abruptly as a platform resolved itself out of the darkness. It was round and covered in copper. Shapes had been etched across the middle. Rinda. The edges were bordered by the blue stone favored by the nahuallis. In the middle was a pedestal topped by a round slab of gold bigger than Reisil’s head. It was two inches thick, its top burnished smooth, as if awaiting an artist’s touch. Above the gold disc danced a watery distortion.
Spirit.
Reisil limped forward, her brow crimping. She circled the pedestal. At last she approached closer, scrutinizing the distortion. She bent, looking for a clue to tell her what to do.
Something grabbed her head and shoulders. It picked her up and jerked her down. Into the disc. Reisil found herself floating in a miasma of gauzy yellow light. There were no smells, no sounds. The silence was perfect. Then she caught a glimpse of something moving in the mist. Reisil tried to move forward, but she was tethered in place.
Slowly a shape emerged from the mist. If she could have cried, she would have.
Elutark hovered before her. Her mentor and friend. The old woman was barely recognizable. Her body was ravaged by the plague. She stared reproachfully, blood trickling like tears from her eyes. Her arms and legs were black, and swollen so large her fingers had all but disappeared. Her eyes burned. But she had no tears. There was nothing she could do. Nothing.
And then another form emerged from the mist. Ceriba. The sight of her struck Reisil a wounding blow. Kebonsat’s sister was naked. Her body was battered and spattered with blood. It was clear she’d been raped and tortured. But this wasn’t the Ceriba from a year ago. These wounds were new. Reisil stared, appalled. By the Lady’s grace! How could such a thing happen a second time? Pity swamped her. It was like the punch line of a horrible, horrible joke. Her eyes went to her friend’s throat. It gaped like a hideous smile.
Much as she wanted the visions to be a nightmare, Reisil knew deep down that this was a true vision; both women were dead.
Sinking loss and guilt gnawed at her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Reisil could do nothing, trapped in silence. Part of her wanted them to shout or accuse her of not protecting them—something. But they did nothing.
Reisil had no sense of time passing. Her own wounds had ceased to pain her; her exhaustion was forgotten. But urgency prodded at her. She stared at her two ravaged friends, trying to think. What was she supposed to do?
Her mind moved sluggishly. Suddenly Reisil had an idea. She lifted her arms, stretching them out. For a long moment, she thought she was wrong. Then Elutark drifted forward. Reisil embraced her lovingly, uncaring of the horrific damage to her body. Elutark’s spirit burned like flame, vibrant, joyous, angry. But not at her. At the Regent, at the men who’d come, at the disease that destroyed her.
Be strong, daughter. Do what you need to do. Cling to the Lady. Believe.
And then she was gone. Reisil reached out to Ceriba.
The first thing she felt was pain, all over her body, but most excruciatingly in the intimate cleft between her legs. Dreadful, shrieking pain. Reisil spasmed, her spine twisting. But she did not let go. The pain faded, only to be replaced by a crushing surge of humiliation. Waves of it rolled over and through Reisil. It was replaced in turn by fury. A cold, determined fury that wanted justice.
Pity the ones who yet live. I had my mercy. I goaded them. They murdered me in their fury. Their master was not pleased. The Regent is evil, Reisil. His heart is black. You must stop him.
She melted into Reisil and through. Her spirit was like sunlight sparkling on the winter ice. It left Reisil feeling powerful and deflated. She felt flayed, inside and out and to the depths of her soul.
Abruptly she found herself back on the platform staring down at the golden disc. Coiled on top was the copicatl, its yellow eyes glowing like tiny suns. Reisil glared at it.
“What do you want?” she rasped.
It uncoiled and stood impossibly on the tip of its tail. It lengthened, stretching until it was as tall as Reisil. Then it began to twist and bend. Gradually it shaped itself into a complex, three-dimensional figure. What did it mean? What was it for? Reisil forced herself to concentrate on it, to fix it in her memory. Long before she was sure she had it, the snake unwound itself, shrinking back down until it disappeared entirely.
At the same moment, lights appeared on the other side of the platform, revealing another path. With weary fatalism, Reisil followed it. What next?
She had not gone far when the passage turned sharply right and then left and emptied into a new room. It was small, only twenty paces across. Sheets of hammered gold covered the interior. Rinda made of crystal spangled the walls, ceiling, and floor. Pedestals lined the walls. On each stood a figure. Reisil didn’t have to count to know they were representations of the Teotl—Cemanahuatl’s fifty-two gods.
Some were beautiful, others grotesque. Most were only part human. The only one Reisil recognized was Ilhuicatl. He dominated the center of the room. He looked much as he had in the bathing room of Oceotl. The statue was three-sided. Three penis-spears protruded into the room, each one tipped in gold and crusted with the magical blue stone. The rest of him was made of gold set with precious stones and metals. Rubies for blood, obsidian for his eyes, diamonds for his teeth, emeralds and amethyst for the snakes . . . it was beautiful, in a garish, monstrous sort of way.
Reisil marched up in front of it, bracing her legs wide and waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. At last she grew too tired to hold herself upright. She sat, sacreligiously propping herself against Ilhuicatl’s pedestal. She glanced up at the god.
“Well?” she said. There was no answer. She sighed and closed her eyes, unable to keep them open any longer.
Well, then, she has come. And just in time.
Too close.
Is it good enough?
She did better than most. And in a strange land.
She is brave.
She isn’t much, is she?
Neither are you.
I call him puny.
Look at that. They won’t like that. Strings on her soul.
Oh, but they will like it. At least the one too attached to him. The child that would come of such blood . . . but most definitely not this other. They’ll want to cut it.
If you tell them.
I think . . . not.
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