my stomach filled with that familiar hollow. I almost welcomed it.
When I managed to open my eyes again, the Wind of Knives was fighting Tezcatlipoca. They flowed over the furniture in the room, one darkness lunging at another. Obsidian clashed against obsidian with a sickening sound.
I crawled back to Ceyaxochitl. I passed over my own trail of blood, ignoring the pain in my body.
Ceyaxochitl still lay where she had fallen. I laid a shaking hand on her chest, felt the faint heartbeat. Her eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. Her mouth moved, slowly. “Acatl…”
“Spare yourself,” I whispered, not feeling stronger than she was.
“It's… not… enough.”
The Wind of Knives and Tezcatlipoca were still tearing at one another. The god's body had transgressed, but He remained a god. The Wind of Knives did not kill gods, and in my mind I could feel Him weakening. Not enough. Curse it, not enough. What would be enough?
Ceyaxochitl's eyes did not look at me. “It's… us… Acatl… We… maintain…”
Us. Human blood. Well, there was enough of it around, I thought hysterically.
I called in my mind to the Wind of Knives, as He had done when He had arrived.
He continued His dance with Tezcatlipoca, stabbing futilely at the darkness.
He had killed Payaxin. He had…
No. Blame was shared, equally. If I had taught my student better, he would not have rushed into such a foolhardy enterprise. He would have known better. I, too, bore the guilt of Payaxin's death, and it had been gnawing at me all those years, when I had cut myself away from the underworld. I could not go on like that. I could not be ruled by guilt and hatred.
The Wind of Knives was still moving, but His gestures were more sluggish.
I closed my eyes.
It was as if I were moving through a rush of water; every thought alien to me, every image His mind held too horrible to focus on. Skulls and stains of blood flashed before my eyes, but I held on.
And He showed me, without words, what I needed to know. Human blood. Human blood would dissolve the shards, if it went to the heart, driven by a human hand.
I rose, slowly. My hand went to my belt, retrieved the last of the obsidian knives I had brought here. Clumsily, I plunged the blade into the wound on my left shoulder, biting my lip not to cry out at the pain. Then, step by step, I moved towards the battling shadows.
“You are a fool, priest,” Tezcatlipoca said, and His voice rumbled, like the earthquake that would end the world. “A fool.”
I came, with the blood-stained obsidian knife. I came, and the Wind of Knives redoubled His attacks, until He had Tezcatlipoca pinned against a wall.
And in that moment I plunged my knife into the shadow god's chest, all the way to the heart. I felt obsidian give way, dissolve under the thrust of the blade. I felt the Wind of Knives seize hold of my mind and push, push deep into the twisted mind of Tezcatlipoca's incarnation. And everything gave way under our attack.
The god screamed. I had never heard such anguish contained in a voice. “I would have reigned,” He was screaming, even as the shards fell from His hands, from His whole body. Blood welled up from inside His chest, filled Him, until the darkness before me was tinged scarlet. “I would have…”
And the last shard dropped away, and Itlani's dead body fell at my feet, a grimace of fear on its features.
It was all I could do to remain standing. Shivering, I kept staring at the corpse, wondering if it was truly over, if the nightmare had ended.
A hand was laid on my shoulder, and gently turned me round. I found myself staring at planes of obsidian. “Acatl,” the Wind of Knives said. “It is ended.”
“Will He come back?” I asked, slowly.
“Perhaps.” The Wind's voice was toneless. Coldness travelled from my shoulder into my heart, until I felt
