Servant of the Underworld

by Aliette de Bodard

  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 obsidian-studded 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, singlehandedly. 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 lea
pt 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 realised 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.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Blessed Drowned

  I sank, my cloak filling with water, dragging me down like stone.

  Under the water, everything was oddly quiet. Ahuizotls sang, far, far away, a gentle, soothing sound drawing me into Tlalocan. I hadn't had time to draw a good breath before sinking. My lungs burnt as I struggled to kick off my sandals, and undo the clasp of my cloak.

  The fall into the lake had washed out the last remnants of the true sight: the water around me gradually became clearer – though I saw nothing but floating algae, and the light of the surface, far above me.

  One of my sandals sank into the depths. A good start, but it wasn't enough.

  For some incongruous reason, I thought of Huei, and of whether that was what she would feel when they drowned her. Would her gestures grow more and more sluggish as she sank to the bottom of the lake? Would she hear Chalchiutlicue's beasts summoning her to the bliss of the Land of the Drowned?

  My hands slid over the clasp of my cloak, and finally prised it open. I kicked upwards, towards the light of the surface.

  The rain was still falling when I emerged, gasping for breath. The lake was now scoured with angry waves. Nothing remained of the island save the stone altar, on which Ichtaca stood, directing the rescue of the priests who had fallen into the water. Teomitl was swimming on his back, surrounded by a ring of ahuizotls. He was holding onto Ixtli's still body, slowly, steadily pulling it towards the altar. Other ahuizotls dived into the depths, helping Ichtaca to get the priests out of the lake, though some of them were also feasting on the dead bodies.

  An exhausted Ezamahual was clinging to the overturned boat; he blinked twice when he saw me, but didn't have the strength to do more.

  And ahead…

  Palli was still lying in the boat, unconscious. But there was no trace of Neutemoc.

  Worry knifed my heart. I swam towards Palli's boat as fast as I could, took a deep breath – and dived into the depths of the lake.

  The eerie underwater silence filled my ears once again. I swam downwards, with an ease akin to that of my childhood, keeping my eyes open in spite of the stinging touch of water.

  Neutemoc…

  Where in the Fifth World was he?

  There should have been fish, or algae – even ahuizotls – but there was nothing. Just a spreading green light that gradually replaced the
light of day – and, so close I could have touched them, the roots of the ghost tree, plunging towards the mud at the bottom: monstrous, shimmering things that seemed to beat with a life of their own. And, the deeper I swam, the larger they grew.

  I had been swimming down for what seemed an eternity. Surely the lake was not that deep? It wasn't.

  Surely, too – I should have run out of breath by now? I hadn't, either. But suddenly I knew why, and where the green light was coming from.

  The time of the gods is not our own. And that was what I had strayed into by going so close to the ghost tree: to a different time, a distorted version of the Fifth World. The tree was a gate between Tlaloc's heartland and the Fifth World, pouring out the god's magic into the mortal world. Into the god-child Mazatl.