No, they had set their sights higher.
They had summoned Tezcatlipoca Himself, so He could end this Fifth Age. And Tezcatlipoca, who was god of destruction as well as of rebirth, had killed them one by one.
Only one person in Colhuacan had the knowledge and power to fight Him; only one person stood between the god and the end of this Age.
Ceyaxochitl.
I had been wrong. She had not summoned the Wind of Knives to kill the sect. She had summoned it to protect her. But the Wind could do nothing against a god.
There was no time. I sent Macihuin yet another message, knowing inwardly that I was alone, that he would not find me before it was too late.
Within my temple, I girded myself for battle. I had only pathetic things: I, who had not been even able to protect Payaxin from the underworld. Three obsidian knives went into my belt, and around my neck I hung a jade pendant in the shape of a serpent – Quetzalcoatl, the Plumed Serpent God: Tezcatlipoca's eternal enemy.
And then I ran back to Ceyaxochitl's house.
Everything was silent when I arrived; the air itself seemed to have turned to tar. I struggled to reach the front door.
Inside, magic filled the courtyard, throbbed to the rhythm of my heart. Magic such as I would never wield. Still I pressed on, although the air burnt my lungs, and raw power quivered on my skin. I was too late.
Ceyaxochitl lay on her back on the dais of the audience room, blood staining her blouse. Around her lay the remnants of her ritual: the owl with its throat slit, the spider carving on the low table, the jade plate. But the pattern was incomplete: a square filled the plate, and around the fourth corner of the drawing the blood of the owl pooled on the table, slowly dripping to the floor. Ceyaxochitl had not traced the diagonals. She had had no time to complete her summoning.
And darkness stood over her: the god Tezcatlipoca in all His twisted glory.
“Stop,” I said. I wanted to scream it, but my tongue stuck to my teeth. “Stop,” I repeated, lifting one of the obsidian knives.
The god laughed. It wasn't the laughter of an immortal, but that of a madman. He turned to me in a fluid, inhuman movement, and I saw the flash of jade where His throat should have been, submerged in the darkness. I did not need to be closer to see the pattern. Four Jaguar.
What had those fools done?
“Priest,” the god said. “You have no place here.” He moved towards me, His power overwhelming me. I fought to raise my hand, and threw the knife at Him. It fell to the ground paces away from Him. He did not slow down.
“I stand against you,” I said, moving towards the low table and Ceyaxochitl's body. “You are Itlani,” I said. “The first member of the sect to die.”
“No longer,” the god said. “Itlani is but my vessel. I have returned, priest.” I flung my second knife at Him, but He batted it aside. And then He reached out with hands like claws, and, grabbing me by the shoulders, hoisted me in the air.
I could not breathe. I could not focus on anything. Everything was folding back on itself, everything blurred. The hands holding me were blades of obsidian, green and throbbing with magic. The god's broken mirror. The shards that killed.
He flung me against a wall, contemptuously. I slid down, landed hard. Pain flared up in my back. Blood ran on my shoulders where the god had held me, on my arms and legs, which had been grazed by the rough surface of the walls. My ribs ached.
“It is over, priest,” Tezcatlipoca said, once more coming to lift me. I rolled aside, gritting my teeth not to cry at the pain. His hands found only air. “Why prolong your agony? I kill swiftly.”
As He had killed Ceyaxochitl. I rolled aside once more, but I was weakening, fast. I had only one knife left in my belt. Think. I had to… think.
The mirror that gave life and death. The sect had summoned Tezcatlipoca and made a mess of the ritual. They had broken the mirror, and the shards became embedded into Itlani's body. The shards that later enabled him to rise as this twisted shadow. They gave life, and they took life.
The god was not wholly here, not yet. He inhabited Itlani's body. And that human body, neither dead nor alive, belonged both to the mortal world and to the underworld. The body transgressed.
I crawled towards Ceyaxochitl's low table, as fast as I could. My body screamed its agony, but I paid it no heed.
My hand closed around Ceyaxochitl's obsidian knife, dipped it into the blood of the owl. I swiftly completed the pattern, tracing the square's diagonals so that they met over the fourth level of the underworld.
The god lunged for me, and I threw myself aside. Tezcatlipoca's hand stabbed through the place where I had been, and grazed the skin of my arm. I did not care. I needed to speak the words.
“Jade for safekeeping…” My voice caught on the last word. It was hard to speak.
The god moved towards me. I left the table's side, but everything was blurred again. I raised shaking hands, but could not maintain them in the air. I was…I had to…
The words of summoning had been ingrained in me, too deeply to be forgotten. I spoke them, quickly, as the world turned and turned and shrank to darkness around me. “Owl and spider to honour the God of the Dead… I summon you… From the Fourth Level of the underworld I call you… Come.”
I closed my eyes, knowing I had done all I could. The god was close to me; I could feel His power, straining to fill me. But I was too weary to get up.
A wind rose, whispering words of mourning in my ear. The air became cold, as cold as morning frost, and
