Obsidian & Blood

  'Me as well?' Nezahual-tzin looked shocked – his eyes reverting, briefly, to their clear green-grey shades. 'I haven't done anything to you that I would know of.'

  While they were arguing, I gestured to Palli and Matlaelel. We spread out in the courtyard, drawing obsidian knives from our belts, cutting deep into the palm of our hands – where the veins flowed all the way to the heart – and let the blood drip onto the ground, forming the first hints of a circle. I eyed the ahuizotls, which still hadn't moved. I didn't think it was going to last long.

  'Whoever gets to Nezahual-tzin first–'

  Mihmatini shook her head. 'Drags him into Mictlan, yes. For that, we need your gate, Acatl.'

  'And you need to stay here,' I said to Acamapichtli.

  He snorted, like a Revered Speaker amused by a peasant's joke. 'I had the general idea, don't worry. Now concentrate on your work, High Priest for the Dead.'

  'You know what they say about the taint of your ancestors,' Coatl hissed. 'It was your father who undid us – who sided with the Tenochcas instead of following the path of justice.'

  Nezahual-tzin laid a hand on his macuahitl sword – slowly, casually. Beside him, Neutemoc did the same. Acamapichtli and his Consort nodded at each other, and both simultaneously drew obsidian daggers.

  'I believe,' Nezahual-tzin said, slowly, carefully, 'that this taint is washed away at birth. I certainly would hope the midwife acted suitably when I was born.'

  Coatl's face distorted in anger. 'You – you mince words as if they meant anything. Will words bring back my people, pup? Will they invoke the dead back from the Fifth Sun's heaven; heal the raped women and all those taken slaves?'

  '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.