The warriors arrive first. Twelve of them, heavy jaguar skins draped over their shoulders, macuahuitls, obsidian-edged swords tight in their hands, grim faces. There’s no point in fighting them, there’s no point in running. If I take one down there are eleven more. If I could risk a spell, maybe.
Tabitha’s not in any shape to do anything, either, not that I’m sure she would. These are as much her people as they are Santa Muerte’s now. The cuff around her wrist turns an ugly, bright orange, the heat blistering her skin. She doesn’t wince, or cry out. There’s nothing but defiance on her face.
And then Santa Muerte comes.
She appears as Mictecacihuatl, fading into view with a scent of smoke and roses. Flesh on her bones, face shifting between skin and a grinning skull until it finally settles on a calaveras in bone-white face paint with turquoise circles around her eyes, lips marked with black lines to simulate teeth. Artistic swirls and small jewels fixed to her skin give the appearance of carvings in bone. Her long, black hair flows down her back, shimmering in the light.
She’s shed her wedding dress and scythe, swapping them for a long, red dress of rough cloth embroidered with skulls along the hem, a red, feathered cloak over her shoulders. From her neck hangs a heavy necklace of small, golden skulls interspaced with squares of green jade. A thin, matching circlet sits over her brow and jade and gold plugs hang in her earlobes.
She is beautiful and terrible and I have never been more afraid of her in my life.
I feel a tightening in my chest. It takes me a second to realize that it’s the tattoo of the ravens. The flesh they’re drawn on is jade now, but I can still feel a pulling, as if the skin were trying to tear itself free. I don’t know what that means, probably nothing good, but I can’t see that there’s anything I can do about it now, so I ignore it the best I can.
“Husband,” she says, her voice different in this form. Younger, musical. She’s looking at where I’m standing but I don’t get the feeling that she’s looking at me.
“You’re looking good,” I say. “I like what you’ve done with, you know, everything.”
She bows her head slightly. “As are you,” she says.
I can’t help but laugh. “You still can’t see me, can you?” I say. The spells in my tattoos make me invisible to her, but they don’t mask sound. I haven’t figured out how to fix that. Pretty soon, one way or another, it won’t matter.
“I don’t have to,” she says. “You leave a distinctive hole in the fabric of Mictlan. I have known you were here since you entered through Isla de las Muñecas. I just had to look for an empty space shaped like you.”
She turns to Tabitha. “And you. I am surprised, Avatar, that you would not break the bond my husband holds over you with a thought.”
Tabitha catches the question on my face and says, “I could have snapped out of the cuff any time I wanted. I just didn’t want to.”
“Why?” Santa Muerte says. I’m wondering the same thing.
“It was nice having my own thoughts for a while.”
“You can be forgiven for that,” Santa Muerte says. “This once. Now break the bond and come back to me.”
“No,” Tabitha says. “I don’t think I will.” She winces as the cuff glows brighter.
“Stop it,” I say, stepping in close to Santa Muerte and pressing the obsidian blade against her chest. Her warriors step forward, raising their weapons, but she stops them with a wave of her hand.
“As you wish,” she says. The cuff cools and Tabitha lets out a long held breath. “I see you still aren’t sure whether it is I or Mictlantecuhtli who is the true threat.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s both of you,” I say. “I just haven’t found him, yet. He’s not in his tomb.” Santa Muerte looks over at Tabitha, surprise on her face.
“It’s true,” Tabitha says. “The tomb is empty. We were hoping he might have come here, to Chicunamictlan.”
“I have not sensed him.” She looks over at her warriors as if sizing them up for loyalty. I wonder how many are more devoted to Mictlantecuhtli than to her. She seems to come to some sort of decision.
“You are too dangerous here on your own, husband,” she says. “Men, take the blade.”
“You don’t want to do that.” I press the knife hard against her chest until I feel the solidity of her sternum beneath it.
“You forget where you are,” she says, “and who rules here.” In the blink of an eye the obsidian blade is in her hand and her men surround Tabitha and I, their weapons at our throats. “I control the very fabric of this place, husband, and until you destroy Mictlantecuhtli you only have a thin sliver of his power.”
“I can’t very well kill him without the knife.”
“Nor can you kill me. When he is found you will get it back.” She turns it in her hands inspecting it closely. “I have not seen this blade this close in a very long time.”
“Want to see it closer?”
She smiles and I suddenly have a very hard time reconciling this woman with Santa Muerte, whose skeletal grin made reading her face impossible. If she had appeared to me like this, things might have turned out very differently.
“I was there when it was made,” she says. “I’ve seen it close enough. I’ll have my men escort you to the Bone Palace. We can search for Mictlantecuhtli together.”
I don’t like this but I don’t see what I can do about it. Will the warriors attack me if I resist? Could they even hurt me? Most of me is jade at this point. But then what can I do against them? Any spells I cast could tip me over the edge. The Browning won’t slow them down and the pocket watch would be pointless. What good will a time bending watch do to souls that last an eternity?
And even if I did have something that could hurt them, Santa Muerte can just blink at me and it would all be pointless. She’s in charge here, not me.
“Sounds like a plan,” I say. Maybe I can figure something out on our way to the palace. “Tabitha’s been helping me track him down. Between the three of us—”
“My Avatar and I have things we must discuss,” she says. “She will not be joining you.”
The warriors crowd around me, pushing their way between Tabitha and I. Tabitha scowls at Santa Muerte but says nothing. If we get separated, I have no doubt that one way or another that cuff is coming off and then, what? What’s going to happen that wasn’t already going to happen? Did I think I wasn’t going to have to kill her? That I could save her from being Santa Muerte’s puppet? That she was even telling me the truth and wasn’t just an extension of her this whole time?
Yes. The answer comes to me faster than I expect it to. Somewhere along the way I started to believe that Tabitha was telling me the truth and started to think we might get out of this alive together.
“That’s not happening,” I say. I call up my magic, doing my best to keep the taint of Mictlantecuhtli’s power out of it, and blue fire springs up around my hands. Whether Santa Muerte can see me or not she’s got to be able to feel the magic.
The warriors look to Santa Muerte for guidance. I know this isn’t much of a Mexican stand-off and I can’t keep this up forever. With every second I can feel Mictlantecuhtli’s power creeping into my own. Pretty soon this little display is going to cost me, and it’s not going to gain me a goddamn thing.
“Eric,” Tabitha says, stepping between the warriors and putting her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s going to be fine. I’ll see you at the palace. Please.”
“When I see her again,” I say, staring into Santa Muerte’s eyes, “she better be her.”
Santa Muerte takes Tabitha’s hand. That overpowering scent of smoke and roses fills the air and the two of them begin to fade away. “I would not harm my Avatar, husband,” she says just before they disappear. “She is far too important to me. Just as you are.”
That’s what worries me.
___
The warriors box me in as we walk through Chicunamictlan. Three in front, three behind, three on
either side. The hike to the city is deceptively short. What looks two miles off is in front of us in minutes. Spaces seem different here, distances shorter. I didn’t notice that happening anywhere else. Is that part of the breakdown of the rest of Mictlan?
The city is immense. Towering pyramid structures, massive buildings of alternating limestone, onyx and jade bricks rival New York’s skyscrapers. Everything is bright, primary colors, complex designs of eagles, snakes and above all else, skulls. Trees and flowering plants line the streets making it feel bizarrely more alive than any place I’ve ever been.
The people of Chicunamictlan reflect their city. Unlike the couple on the outskirts, the residents here wear bright clothing, sport intricate facial tattoos, cover themselves with gold and jade jewelry.
And with all that, things must be pretty boring here. People are lining up on balconies and the side of the street to openly stare at me as we parade through. I’m probably the newest thing they’ve seen in five hundred years. When all those Mad Max cars finally show up at their gates they’re gonna shit bricks.
As we get closer to the Bone Palace the crowds thin, the novelty of Mictecacihuatl’s jade consort wearing off. Exhaustion pulls at me. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks and beyond the white sapote I had on the Crystal Road I haven’t eaten anything. I’m starting to stagger a little.
I dig an Adderall out of the bottle in my messenger bag and dry swallow it. A couple of the warriors give me side-eye but they don’t do anything about it. The pills can’t replace sleep. When I finally crash it might just kill me, but something tells me I don’t need to last very long, anyway.
“Hey, you guys aren’t the ones who chew on coca leaves, are you?” Blank stares. “No, that was the Incas, wasn’t it? Damn. I could really use some of that right about now.”
I’m not sure they understand me. Whatever quirk had me understanding Nahuatl doesn’t seem to go the other direction. Or they’re just not talkers.
I spend my time walking to the palace sizing them up, looking for something I can exploit. Jade’s harder than obsidian, so if I keep my left side open I should be fine. The blades should just skid along the surface. But there are twelve of them. No matter what, part of me will be exposed.
The Adderall is starting to kick in, pushing my exhaustion into the background. My pace is picking up and I’m getting that tense, antsy feeling in my skin. I start to think I can really take these guys and have to remind myself that it’s the drug talking. Still, the energy is good. I’m going to need it.
The Bone Palace looms ahead of us, the tallest structure I’ve ever seen. A giant, bone-white Aztec pyramid with tracings of dark red mortar between the bricks, a single, wide staircase heading to the top toward a squat, stone structure. It’s hard to make out so high above me, but I think I can see part of an altar sitting at the edge.
“How does this whole sacrifice thing work?” I say. “I mean, do you guys get gutted and your hearts grow back, or something? Because otherwise, after a while, wouldn’t you run out of people?”
“Yes,” Alex says, appearing alongside me. “They ‘die,’ which here is more like sleeping. Eventually they wake up and everything’s normal again. It’s a great honor to be chosen. Only the most devoted are taken.”
Interesting. So they can die, if only temporarily. Maybe I can get out of this after all. But I’m going to need some kind of distraction.
“Like an Employee of the Month,” I say. “Maybe they should hold out for a prime parking space, instead.”
“You just have to make everything crass, don’t you?”
“It’s my superpower,” I say. The guards are looking at me wondering who I’m talking to. I’m walking through the streets of Mictlan with green, stone skin. I’m not really worried about a handful of Dead thinking I’m nuts.
“Why are you here?”
“Oh, gloating mostly,” he says. “That and to help.”
“You’re a voice in my head,” I say. “I don’t see how you can do anything.”
“I know this city. Its streets, its alleys. And I can guide you to where you need to be.”
“That’s awfully kind of you,” I say, wondering where he thinks I need to be. Wherever it is it’s not here, so that’s a point in its favor. “But you have seen these upstanding, steely-eyed gentlemen with no sense of humor, haven’t you? I don’t think I can take them.” I glance around searching for comprehension on their faces. If they understand what I’m saying they’re doing a great job of ignoring me.
“You don’t need to kill them,” Alex says. “Just run away from them.”
“That’d be a neat trick,” I say. “Got any suggestions how?”
“You’re all going to turn left in a moment. There’s a building you’ll come to with an open doorway. You can run through it, go upstairs and escape across the rooftops. When I give the word, make a run for it.”
“Easy for you to say. They can’t stab you.”
“You big baby. You’ll be fine.” Mictlantecuhtli’s power wells up inside me, pushing at the edges as if it wants to tear its way out of me.
“Are you doing that?”
“That’s all you, Hoss,” he says. “But if I could, I would. I want you to get out of this as much as you want to get out of this.”
Great. The last thing I need is to let what little control I have over this thing slip. “If I turn into a rock before we get out of here you’re going to be stuck with me for eternity.”
“Point taken.”
True to his word we make a sharp left onto another avenue and sure enough there’s an open door in a boxy, five story building on the left hand side.
“Now would be a good time,” he says.
I start to duck to my left, hoping I can push through the three warriors there when searing pain rips through my chest. Instead of breaking through them, I stumble into them. Their surprise is focused on me for only a moment. And then the screaming starts.
The warriors run past me, macuahuitls raised high. I risk a glance behind me as I stagger through the door. The street has reared up in giant tentacles, paving stones rippling along the surface like snakeskin, to grab at the warriors. It twists, constricting tight around one of them. After a loud, wet crunch, the man goes limp and is tossed away like a piece of trash.
I don’t bother to see what else it’s going to do and run inside. From all the yelling the warriors have more pressing things to worry about than me. The tightness in my chest begins to subside. I take a set of stone stairs up.
The nearby buildings are shorter than this one, so unless Alex’s information is out of date I should be able to cut across the tops of the other buildings. I saw the palace not too far off. I still need to get there. I just don’t want to do it with an honor guard.
I figure out that this is an apartment building when I hit the second floor and see people poking their heads out of rough-hewn, wooden doors. Like people everywhere they want nothing to do with all the noise and hubbub and quickly run back inside.
Downstairs I can hear some of the warriors breaking off from the fight with the street and heading inside. I take the steps to the third floor two at a time, drawing the Browning once I clear the next landing.
I see one of the warriors poke his head around the corner and I take a shot, not expecting it to actually do anything to him. But the round catches him just under his left eye, blowing out the back of his skull, spraying bone and brain, but surprisingly very little blood, across the wall behind him. The others don’t seem quite so eager to follow.
The roof is through a locked wooden door, “locked” in this case meaning a hemp twine wrapped around a couple of pegs to hold the door in place. It snaps with a little force and I’m on a wide terrace overlooking the block around me.
And it’s then that I realize I’ve made a huge mistake. Sure, this building’s higher than the others but the space between them is too wide. I’ll never make that jump.
The remaining warriors, three
now, pour through the doorway. I take one down with the Browning, blowing out a chunk of his skull that skitters across the roof while the other two try to flank me.
One of them steps in fast, swinging his macuahuitl. The blow glances off my left shoulder, shredding my sleeve and skidding harmlessly down the jade.
He feints, bringing his weapon up and over, catching me on my right forearm, slicing the skin down to the bone and knocking the Browning from my hand.
I grit my teeth against the pain, duck low under his backswing. I hook his legs with my left arm, tackling him to the ground. I do a graceless roll that gets me near the Browning as he pulls himself off the ground. I grab the gun, swing around and put a bullet through his guts. It makes him pause, so he doesn’t cleave my skull open, but he’s still moving. I fix that with a bullet through his head.
That leaves one more. I find out where he is when he gets his arm around my throat from behind and drags me across the roof toward the edge. I fire blindly, hoping to catch him over my shoulder, but the angle’s off. All it does is leave me deaf with hot brass bouncing off my face.
I need to end this fast. I bring my legs up and bend forward, flipping him over. It breaks his hold, but now he’s on top of me and I’ve lost the Browning. The gun skitters across the roof like a frightened spider.
This is not much of an improvement. The warrior tries to get his hold back, but we’ve rolled into a tangle of flailing limbs. I ram my knee hard into his nuts and he howls, doubling over to clutch at his crotch. You’d think the dead wouldn’t feel any pain. I slam my head into his nose and there’s a crunch of bone and more screaming.
I roll off of him and get to my feet. Blood is pouring from the gash on my right arm, dripping off my fingers. He’s not sure if he needs to hold on to his face or his crotch, so I complicate the decision and kick him in the teeth.
He screams some more so I kick him until he stops moving and his face is a pulpy mess of bloody meat. Then I get down with him and punch his face with my jade left hand until there’s nothing recognizable left.
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