by Lani Forbes
He also knew he could not let her see what hung from the posts. If he was right in his suspicions, she wouldn’t see his loved ones, but her own. Her own family and friends, all tortured and murdered and hanging before her eyes. He was already struggling to contain how he felt, and he had seen death over and over again. How would such a sight affect her? She shouldn’t have to experience that agony.
“Who are they?” she asked.
Panic clenched his heart. What could he tell her? How could he explain? This wasn’t fair. These images would burn themselves into his memory for the rest of his life. He would never be able to unsee them.
“Keep your eyes on the ground, Mayana. Trust me. Please.”
But he should have known. There was no holding back a spirit like hers.
“Chimalli!” she screamed, bolting for the nearest pole. To him, the pole hung with the body of Yaotl, his mentor. He had to look away from the massive limp body, which bore a vicious wound across chest and abdomen. To her, it held someone different.
She fell to her knees at the post’s base, hugging her hands between her knees as she rocked. Tears left shining silver trails down her cheeks.
Ahkin ran after her. “Mayana, it’s not him.”
“What do you mean? He’s right there!” She flung her hand at the hanging body.
“Who do you see?”
Mayana’s face crumpled. Then she glared at him as though he was trying to play a sick joke. “It’s my oldest brother, Chimalli. Can’t you see that?”
“No, I see Yaotl. My general and battle mentor.”
Understanding dawned on her face. Mayana sniffed and ran a hand under her nose. “It’s not really him?”
“No. I think all of them look different to whoever passes through. Each body is someone different you care about. Our worst fear in many ways. I imagine many spirits get stuck here, unable to move on.”
Mayana cradled her head in her hands and kept rocking. “This is cruel. Cruel.”
It was. He couldn’t argue. They sat there for several long moments. He wanted to give her the chance to collect herself, but he also wanted to keep them moving. Judging from the pale glow behind the clouds, the Seventh Sun was already starting to set.
“Why didn’t she give us any warning?” Mayana burst out, her voice heavy with emotion. “No preparation beyond shallow words. She could have told us what we were facing. Or better yet, she could have saved us from ever having to go through this in the first place.”
“The Mother goddess?”
“Yes, the Mother goddess! What kind of Mother allows her children to suffer through anything like this?” She gestured again to the hanging body of her brother. “She could send us home with a snap of her fingers, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t. I will be haunted by this, all of this, for as long as I—” She shuddered and didn’t finish.
“She must have a purpose,” Ahkin said. “She gave us a mission to save the bones of Quetzalcoatl, but I think there’s more to this journey than that.”
“What? What more could there be? She allowed your hand to be mutilated by stone giants, a monster snake to nearly devour us, demon children to chase us down the side of a mountain. And all she gave to help us are cryptic, meaningless worms and dolls.”
And obscure warnings that one of us would not survive the journey, but without saying which one of us she means, Ahkin thought bitterly. But despite everything, he trusted the Mother goddess. If it was her will for him to die to save Mayana, he would do so without hesitation. He frowned. “The shield and the necklace have had their uses.”
Mayana groaned in frustration. “That’s not my point.” She rose to her feet and trudged forward.
Ona whined with concern and followed after her, licking at her hands as they went. Mayana stopped and bent down to scratch his ears. “I am grateful she brought you back to me,” she told the dog. She reached forward and embraced him. “But you never should have been taken away in the first place.”
Ahkin felt lost. He had no idea what to say or how to help her wrestle through whatever battles she fought inside her mind. But perhaps it wasn’t his job. She could fight them for herself. At least he could support her as she did.
He jogged to catch up and stretched out his stiff hand. He felt so exposed and raw without the ability to hold a knife or sword. But she didn’t need his physical strength right now. She needed something else from him.
“I’m sorry you are struggling,” he said.
Mayana crossed her arms and did not slow her pace. “Thank you.”
“And I’m sorry for being an ass. Before.”
“Thank you.” Her answer was brief and curt. He could see her chewing on a question she longed to ask him. “Why wouldn’t you tell me what the bodies were? Did you think I couldn’t handle it?”
“I—I didn’t want you to have to. It wasn’t . . . personal against you.”
That made her stop and face him. “What do you mean by that?”
“Ever since we fell, I haven’t been trying to protect you and make all the decisions because I thought you couldn’t. Not really. I feel like it’s my fault we are down here, so it’s my responsibility to make sure we escape. Like a sin I have to pay penance for. Time and again, you keep having to be the one to save me. I have to protect you because I’m supposed to be able to protect everyone in the empire. If I can’t even do that . . .” He swallowed hard. She would understand his meaning.
Her face was a mask as she watched him. He wished he could read the emotions simmering within her.
He opened his palms to her. “I can’t answer the questions you’re asking about the Mother. I’m just trying to say, I think you need to find them for yourself. But I have the faith that you will. And I’m sorry if it has seemed like I didn’t believe in you before.”
Her mask softened. Slightly. “Thank you,” she said again, but this time her tone was warmer.
For the remainder of their trek through the field of hanging bodies, they both tried to keep their eyes low. What they had seen would already be enough to follow them in nightmares. They didn’t need to add more.
But Ahkin still couldn’t help but look up every so often. Each body he saw left a new wound, but also solidified his determination never to see them dead again. He could not fail them.
Finally, they cleared the last post. But as they did, an evil whisper hissed in his ear to look back. Without thinking, he listened to whatever lurking spirit or internal impulse tempted him. And what he saw ripped the very air from his lungs. The posts no longer hung with various bodies of those he loved.
Every single body hanging from the posts were Mayana’s.
They stretched out before him, a sea of death and gaping chest wounds, all perfect replicas of the young woman marching ahead of him.
Panic clenched his heart to the point he nearly lost his stomach. He forced his gaze away, chanting to himself. It’s not real. It’s not real.
But it could be, said the evil whisper in his ear. That could be her future . . . One of you will not survive . . .
No. It would not be her future. He would give his life if he had to, to make sure that vision never became a reality. But even after he refocused on the path ahead, on the Mayana that was still alive, the sight of her dead bodies burned behind his eyes like a phantom dark spot after looking too long at the sun.
When the flat field finally sloped up into more dunes, they continued in mutual silence, Ahkin trying and failing to get the images out of his mind. He couldn’t forget seeing her dead body over and over and over again. With each step, he answered the image with his own promise. She will survive. She will survive. She will survive.
Eventually, the sound of rushing water filled his ears. There was some kind of river nearby. Sure enough, over the next dune, a wide river materialized to block their path.
But it was unlike any river Ahkin had eve
r seen before. Instead of cool, rushing waters, the currents ran as red as blood flowing fresh from a vein.
Because the currents were blood.
Chapter
20
Yemania’s fingers were stained with dried paint from hundreds of codex sheets, and she still hadn’t found any mention of an “Obsidian Butterfly.” She was avoiding looking for the name the scribe had mentioned, the goddess Itzpapalotl, but some part of her knew that she couldn’t avoid it anymore.
Steeling herself, Yemania set aside the recent stack of papers she had been poring over and located the correct stacks. The whisper of pages sliding against each other filled her ears. She unfolded sheet after sheet until finally, an image caught her eye.
A shiver ran down her spine.
A terrifying skeletal woman looked up at her, dressed as a warrior and holding a human femur bone in her upraised hand. The fingers wrapped around her trophy were tipped in claws as sharp as knives, as were the toes at the end of her decorated feet. Flowing obsidian hair ran down her back. Lines of black paint ran across her pale face from her forehead to her mouth, where blood dripped from luscious red lips. Yemania felt a thrill of foreboding as she took in the black-and-red butterfly wings sprouting from her back, tipped in flints. The Obsidian Butterfly. It had to be her.
Yemania snatched the codex sheet toward her and unfolded the pages within, drinking in any detail she could. The Obsidian Butterfly oversaw a paradise reserved for victims of infant mortality but was also a protector of all things feminine. She was the patron goddess of midwives and women in childbirth. Usually depicted as a butterfly or a moth, she also produced a cloak that made her invisible to the eye. Yemania immediately understood why Metzi felt an attraction to such a deity, why she would seek out her counsel. The goddess that was a warrior for women.
But what terrified Yemania was what she read next. All gods and goddesses existed in duality, with a positive and negative aspect. The Obsidian Butterfly was also the leader of the Tzitzimime—star demons and monsters of the celestial realms of creation. During times of cosmic instability, such as the end of a calendar year or century or during an eclipse, the star demons could descend to earth and devour mankind. They thrived in darkness and could be seen as the stars attacking the sun during a solar eclipse. Yemania remembered the horror stories her siblings loved to whisper after their parents had gone to sleep. The Tzitzimime supposedly waited for the day when humans and gods could no longer keep the sun alive, when darkness would devour the world. Then the Tzitzimime could descend and attack. When she was a child, if Yemania heard the sound of shells rattling, she would scream and run, convinced it was the shell-lined skirts of a star demon come to consume her.
Protecting the world from the star demons was the purpose of the New Fire Ritual, which took place at the end of every century—perhaps the most important ritual the Chicome performed. All fires in the empire were extinguished, and the priests sacrificed a member of a royal bloodline by ripping their heart from their chest. The heart was burned, and a fire was built inside the empty chest of the victim. From the new fire, the priests carried torches to the different city-states to light the braziers on the top of their temples. All households then went to their city-state’s temple to retrieve the fires for their hearths. The last New Fire Ritual had been several years before Yemania was born, when the victim chosen had been Emperor Acatl’s brother—Ahkin’s uncle. According to those in her family who remembered, it was the most terrifying experience to live through. For if the priests were unable to light the fire in the sacrifice’s empty chest, the sun would not rise. The darkness would descend, and with it the Tzitzimime. Yemania couldn’t imagine waiting in the darkness of her home to hear whether the world was ending or not. Whether the sounds outside the door would turn out to be her father returning from the temple with a flame or a star demon prowling for victims.
She pushed the codex sheet away, unable to stomach the blood dripping from the mouth of the Obsidian Butterfly for another moment. What was Metzi thinking, consulting with the mother of the star demons?
Coatl had been right to worry.
Yemania stepped out from the temple into the fading sunlight. She lifted a hand and squinted toward where the Seventh Sun hung low in the sky. Her stomach growled. Had she really spent the entire day poring over the codex sheets in the library? She shifted the bag on her side, guilt and shame nipping at her heels with each step she took back toward the palace. No one was supposed to remove codex sheets from the library, and yet the sheet detailing the identity of the Obsidian Butterfly crinkled with her every movement. Her hand pressed against the side of her bag to silence it, her eyes refusing to make contact with anyone she passed.
The palace was bustling with activity when she returned, but the atmosphere crackled with negative energy. Harried-looking servants ran past with baskets of fruits and meats. Various high officials whispered to each other with dark looks clouding their faces. Something was wrong. Worry and unease seemed to hover in the air like the moths starting to flock around the burning torches.
Yemania stepped toward a young woman balancing a jug of water against her hip. “Excuse me, what’s going on?”
The girl met her gaze with eyes swimming in anxiety. “We—we have guests, my lady.”
Oh. Metzi’s “surprise” visitors. The thought of the star demons had driven all else from her mind. “Who are the guests?”
The girl leaned close, as though it were a great secret. Obviously with the way the royal household was responding, it wasn’t a secret to anyone anymore.
“They are a delegation from . . . from . . . Miquitz!”
Yemania felt like her head was underwater. She couldn’t have heard the girl correctly. “I’m sorry, from where?”
“Miquitz!” she squealed. “Actual death demons, here in Tollan! Not as captured sacrifices. As guests of the empress!”
Yemania took a step back and let the girl rush past.
Miquitz? Metzi’s visiting delegation was from Miquitz? What in Ometeotl’s name was she doing? Did she want to be removed from power by the council?
But at the same time, a bruised and beaten piece of her heart stirred. If the empress was able to soothe tensions with the Miquitz, she might see Ochix again.
She was afraid to hope for such a thing, but if they really were here . . .
Yemania sprinted the rest of the way to Coatl’s room.
“The Obsidian Butterfly is the leader of the Tzitzimime?” Coatl repeated. He stood before the polished mirror in his room, smoothing his dark curls into place. Yemania knew he was trying to look his best for Metzi before the feast. “That explains why I can’t remember much about that legend. Mother and Father always banned us from talking about them because it scared the younger cousins.”
“They scared me,” Yemania added from where she sat on his pillows. “I hated when you and Tepi told stories after bed.”
Coatl smirked at the memory, but Yemania stuck out her tongue in response. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten the prank you both pulled.”
Coatl loved playing tricks almost as much as he loved his own appearance. When Yemania had seen eight cycles of the calendar, he and their older sister, Tepi, had tied shells around the neck of one of their dogs. They let the beast loose in her room—and Yemania swore her scream had awoken the entire palace at Pahtia.
“So why do you think the goddess advised her to invite the Miquitz?” Coatl lifted his red feather headpiece and placed it on top of his curls, turning his head side to side to admire it.
“Maybe she wants to negotiate peace with them.”
Coatl turned from the mirror and scowled. “Why would you want us to make peace with the death demons that steal and sacrifice our innocent peasants?”
“What makes you think I want to make peace with them?” she asked quickly.
Coatl narrowed his eyes. “Your to
ne made it sound like you were excited about such a prospect.”
Yemania shrugged. “Well, would it be so bad to end the tensions with them?” And allow me to see Ochix again?
“I don’t trust them,” Coatl said, turning back to adjust his headpiece again. “Any of them.”
“Regardless, we are expected downstairs to welcome them with the rest of the nobility.” Yemania rose to her feet. “I’m hoping Metzi will explain her intentions at the feast.”
Coatl threw back his shoulders. “I have to find a way to talk to her tonight. The guards won’t let me anywhere near her rooms. I know she still loves me. If I can get a chance to ask her—” Yemania let him ramble but did not respond. None of his plans were going to convince Metzi to take him back. If she was acting on orders from a goddess like Itzpapalotl, a few well-chosen words from her brother would accomplish nothing.
She glanced at her own reflection in the mirror. Curving crimson feathers from her headpiece framed her round face. It was her favorite adornment of those she owned. She had added swirls of red paint beneath her eyes and outlined them in dark kohl, making them much more pronounced. The ruby pendant of the High Healer glittered around her neck along with the other necklaces she had added for the occasion.
“Do I look all right?” she asked her brother, a tremor of uncertainty trickling into her voice.
Coatl pretended to assess her from head to foot. “There’s one thing missing.” He reached forward and pinched her chin between his fingers. With a tiny jerk, he lifted her chin from her chest until her head was held high. Held with pride.
“Perfect,” he said with a smile.
Yemania’s cheeks warmed, but when he released her chin, she didn’t let it drop.
She had attended several major feasts during the selection ritual but had been too terrified to really enjoy them. This would be her first feast where she could eat a meal without worrying it would be her last.
She and Coatl entered together, Coatl of course strutting into the banquet hall like a jungle bird preening in preparation for a mating ritual. Yemania bit her lip to keep from laughing. Towering columns painted and engraved with images of the gods overlooked the gathered crowd. The room buzzed with the nervous energy of hundreds of nobles seated on reed mats and cushions around the central fire. Servants bearing elegant dishes waited in the wings for the rituals that would signal the beginning of dinner service.