Blood & Fur

Chapter Six: The Obsidian Winds

The journey started well enough, and then came the bladed winds.

I followed the dim sunlight towards Mictlan for what felt like an eternity, flying over a sprawling mire of swamps and dilapidated ruins. How many empires found their way into the Underworld I could not tell, but I witnessed the process unfold midway through my flight.

It started with a rumbling noise—which put me on edge, since the Underworld was eerily silent save for the sound of falling rain—and falling dirt. The thick purple clouds revealed a colossal structure falling from above. A pyramid of weathered stone fell from the dead skies so slowly that I wondered if time had come to a halt. It landed in the mud below with a soft sound without shattering, like a feather on a cushion. I wondered to which nation this tombstone belonged.

Unable to suppress my curiosity, I traveled above the clouds to see what lay above; after a perilous ascent that left me drenched in purple rain, I ended up facing a thick ceiling of jagged stone for my trouble. The tales of the Underworld existing deep below the earth were true.

I continued my journey onward to Mictlan, but though the kingdom of the dead slowly became more visible in the distance, the air was soon thick with foreboding gloom. Shifting mists danced around long-forgotten structures on the ground below, their silhouettes casting spectral shadows onto the murk. As for the Underworld’s sky, a tempest of wailing winds soon swelled.

What is this? I wondered upon seeing glittering dust in the air. It looks so… so black…

A blade cut into my wing and sprayed a drop of blood on my feathers.

I screeched in pain and surprise, but the worst was yet to come. The wind battered against me in an unrelenting onslaught. Blackened blades no bigger than nails sliced through my flesh and bones. My wings repelled many with powerful and defiant strokes, but more projectiles followed by the hundreds; a storm of knives was upon me, each of them a promise of pain.

Obsidian.

“I can’t…” I grunted in pain as a shard pierce through my flank, my warm blood falling onto the ground below. New wounds appeared wherever I looked, and the tempest was only getting stronger. “I’m getting shredded to pieces!”

My wings faltered, and I was forced to descend toward the mist below to avoid the worst of the tempest. I escaped the howling wind and sank into the treacherous embrace of a bloody red fog. The air was damp with an unnatural chill that clung to my feathers. I could scarcely see a few feet ahead, for even the Underworld’s purple rain failed to disperse the mists. The screeching obsidian winds turned into whispers, the noise of flying blades swallowed by this strange weather.

Have I traded one danger for another? I wondered as I struggled to see anything in that dense fog. No blades hunted me here, but my gut told me I wasn’t alone either. My instincts screamed that unseen predators lurked among the mists. I looked around, but I could scarcely detect anything other than the shadows of forgotten monuments. Xolotl did say the shortest path was the most dangerous.

My flight turned perilous without the benefit of sight. I nearly crashed against a fossilized tree and then a stone tower. In the end, I was forced to navigate the treacherous swamp on foot, hopping from one half-sunken stone to another. No matter how hard I flapped my wings, the bloody mists refused to disperse. They undulated and stirred, only to quickly reform into an impenetrable wall of crimson.

What sorcery is this? I wondered, glancing left and right constantly. I sensed unseen eyes observing me. Am I still on the right path? I can’t see anything.

“Help!”

A scream echoed through the mists, followed by raucous laughter. A very familiar laughter. I froze in place and stared at the source of the sound. The odious stench of dung and filth filled my beak.

“Please, someone help me!” my own voice called out from inside a pit dug into the mire. “Please!”

But only the laugh of cruel boys answered the call. What little blood still flowed in my dusty veins boiled. The burning shame, the mocking faces, the tears, and the excrement… I remembered that humiliation too well.

They trapped me in a dung pit. The specter of that terrible day at school unfolded before my eyes, a ghost from a former life. I cried for hours. Nobody came. Eztli would have if we had been in the same school, but in the end I had to climb my way out myself.

I hardened my resolve and hopped away from that terrible mirage. The mists, however, did not stop taunting me. Shadows danced in the fog, their steps matched by the distant noise of harsh slaps and punches.

“How many times will I have to tell you, cursed child?!” Necahual’s voice called out to me, each word filled with hate. “Never eat meat!”

The sound of a slap echoed into the mist, so powerful I felt the phantom pain in my cheek. The worst was yet to come.

“This is true love, Iztac,” Yoloxochitl’s shadow taunted me. A phantom Eztli fed on the hideously disfigured corpse of her own father. The blood turned to shapeless mist, but the rancid, metallic stench smelled vivid enough to feel real. “This is what true love feels like!”

Now that was a low blow. I powered through nonetheless. I shut my mind out from the insults, the taunts, and the torments of my past.

These are just illusions, Iztac, I told myself. Tricks meant to wear you down. They can’t harm you more than nightmares do.

A girl’s scream reverberated through the mist.

I didn’t recognize the voice.

Another trick, I tried telling myself. Just another illusion.

The screams only became louder and filled with panic. The dread in them chilled what little blood remained in my veins. They wore me down more than all the humiliating memories that haunted me so far.

Nobody came when I screamed, I told myself. Nobody ever came.

But these words did not soothe my guilt. They only added to its weight. If only someone came to my help when I needed it… it would have changed everything.

Cursing my weak heart, I rushed to the source of the noise. The fog thinned as I pressed forward, my talons landing on the plaza of an ancient city, and a dreadful sight came into view.

A child’s skeleton in tattered rags cowered in the shadow of a shattered house, screaming with a little girl’s voice. A terrible monster loomed over her, one more grotesque than any Nightkin. The shape reminded me of a spider, with eight long arms thin as needles; but no spider’s legs ever ended with grasping, chalky human hands. Its body was thin, skeletally so, and its eyeless face sported a row of sharp fangs.

Four of its arms held a taller, adult skeleton in the air. The undead’s hollow eye sockets radiated with eerie light; I could see the fear in them from here. The monster’s hands twisted its limbs, bending its bones, breaking them with a sickening crack. The pain must have been atrocious, even for the dead; but the skeleton did not scream.

“Run, Chipahua!” The skeleton’s voice belonged to a man; one my age from the sound of it. “Run!”

But the undead child was too terrified to obey. It froze in dread as the monster played with its companion like a doll.

Hesitation gripped my heart. Could this be another illusion? The undead girl’s screeches and her companion’s panicked cries sounded visceral enough to be true. I finally realized why the shortest way to Mictlan was the most dangerous; the same reason why a wise man never wandered too far from the road. Beasts ruled outside the beaten path.

All dead things end up in the Underworld, I thought grimly. Even the inhuman.

The spider monster tossed the broken skeleton aside, and then turned its attention to the child. A black tongue slithered between its fangs as it lingered toward its prey.

I could have gone my own way. Closed my eyes. They were dead already. This wasn’t my problem. I had nothing to gain from it. Why should I put myself at risk for strangers? I wondered how many people thought the same whenever they saw me struggling.

“Chimalli was armed, young, and strong,” Eztli had told me before I fell asleep. “But he did nothing. Said nothing. He just watched as the priests took us away, knowing full well we wouldn’t return. He was a coward.”

A coward. If Chimalli had been braver, and I stronger, Eztli would still have a pulse today.

No more.

I wouldn’t run again.

I jumped into the fray.

Owls were silent hunters, and the monster did not see me coming in time. My sharp talons lunged at its chalky chest, slashing the dust-dry flesh. The creature shed no blood, but it snarled in savage pain nonetheless. Its hands moved away from the child and swiftly swiped at my throat in an attempt to strangle me. I pushed it back with a mighty flap of my wings, evading the assault with grace.

Curse me, I thought as I unfurled my wings in an attempt to intimidate the monster into running away. The undead child recoiled in fear of us both. Curse my foolishness!

“Run!” I shouted at the skeletal girl. “Get back to your friend and leave!”

“We…” The older skeleton’s hollow eyes lit with hope. “We’re saved…”

Far from it. Though my Tonalli form was big, so was the monster. It became wary, but it did not run away. It started moving slowly to the side, circling me like a predator waiting for an opening.

I tried to remember my fighting lessons at school. When aiming to kill, go for the head, the throat, or the stomach. Except the teachers prepared me to fight my fellow man, not a monster from the Underworld. The Parliament warned me that death here meant the destruction of my soul.

My life was on the line.

The monster lunged at me without warning with unnatural speed. I couldn’t react in time and ended up tumbling back onto the plaza. I clawed and pecked, it scratched and clawed. Well-rehearsed drills never prepared me for the chaos of actual battle. We brawled on old stones and broken bricks, but the beast had eight hands to my two wings and talons. It quickly pinned me to the ground and started punching my face into the pavement.

I’d been punched in the past, whether at school or out of it. This monster was no bully my age or a teacher pulling back their strength to teach me a lesson. Its blows pounded my skull with such violence I heard the stone beneath me crack. These punches would have cracked a man’s head open, but my Tonalli was made of stronger stuff.

Still, it hurt. It hurt. Four of the monster’s hands strangled my throat with an inhuman grip while the rest either punched my face or pinned my wings to the ground.

“You are young and weak, Tlacatecolotl.” The creature’s voice was eerily gentle, even as it choked the life out of me. “Bleed for me, owl-fiend. Let me taste your tender soul…”

I extended a talon with the strength of despair and managed to strike at the monster’s chest, leaving a large gash where its heart should have been. The monster did not recoil from me, but its grip weakened enough for me to shake off some of its arms. I dodged by moving my head to the left when it tried to punch me again, then bit one of its wrists. My beak snapped on its bones and cut the hand off the arm in a single strike. Dust poured out of its veins rather than blood.

This time, the maimed creature pulled back in agony. I pushed it back across the plaza with a blow from my talon, then quickly hopped back to my feet. Blood dripped from the cuts left by the obsidian shrapnel, and my vision blurred a bit from the blows to my head. The pain, I could manage; a lifetime of humiliation had given more resilience to it than most.

Most importantly, the girl had retreated to her companion’s side and was trying to drag him away from danger. I needed to keep the monster off their backs.

“Is that the best you can do?”I taunted the creature, unfurling my wings.

The monster snarled and lunged at me once more, albeit short of an arm. I saw it coming this time and took to the air. The beast landed on an empty spot. Without wasting a moment, I immediately swooped in. My talons closed on its back, and now it was my turn to hold it.

A spider held the advantage on the ground, but owls ruled above in the sky.

I carried the wailing monster above ground, for it was surprisingly light and I was strong. Its angry snarls echoed across the plaza as I carried it upward. It only emboldened me. I looked around and spotted a jagged, half-broken stone nearby. I flew straight at it, a devious idea crossing my mind.

One of the monster’s hands lunged for the left side of my head and shoved a finger into my eye.

A sharp surge of agony erupted in my head, and half my vision went dark. A red veil fell over my wounded eye. It took all my strength and rage not to scream and cover my face. The monster’s claws scratched at my throat and at my chest in a final attempt to free itself.

“Die!” I furiously snarled while diving down. “Die, die, die!”

I slammed the monster against the jagged rock and impaled it through the chest. A sickening crack followed as the impact cut my enemy open, spraying dust all over the ground. The arms wriggled and trembled, but I did not stop. I slammed the creature down, down, down, until the monster snapped in half like a broken brindle. The hand that once impaled my eye fell off to the side.

And I felt…

I felt happy beyond words.

The sheer rush of pleasure that coursed through my veins made even Eztli’s kisses pale in comparison. The thrill of victory washed away the soreness in my muscles and the pain coursing through my body. I hopped onto the corpse like a giddy child, relishing the sound of its bones cracking under my weight.

So many tormentors crossed my path. My classmates, Necahual, the Nightlords… I had borne the insults and beatings, but for the first time in my life I had stood up to and killed one of them! I fought back and won!

More, I vowed to myself. When the rush faded away, the only thought on my mind was how to experience it again. More will follow. There is no pleasure greater than a satisfied grudge.

Exhaustion followed the thrill of victory. After making sure the creature was well and truly dead, I landed back on the plaza. I was so tired that I would have to return to my human form for a while. My wings folded back into arms and my talons into feet; my left eye did not grow back. I covered it with a hand, blood dripping between my fingers.

Teachers taught me battle was a glorious thing. They had been right. A fight to the death was a gruesome affair, but it only made victory taste all the sweeter. I considered the loss of my eye an acceptable trade-off for that brief moment; for once in my life, I felt justice had been served.

“I can’t believe it…” I turned my head to look at my side. The undead girl carried her broken companion on her shoulder the best she could. “You’ve killed it.”

“I think so,” I replied doubtfully. The creature no longer moved anymore, but we were in the land of the dead. What did Xolotl say? In the Underworld, it is always possible to be deader. “What was that thing? A demon?”

“I’m not sure,” the older skeleton replied with a thankful nod. “We are indebted to you, owl-spirit. Thank you for saving my sister.”

The girl observed me warily, before imitating her brother. Though I still frightened her, she eventually tore off a part of her rags and approached me with it. When I realized what she intended to do, I knelt. The little girl kindly bandaged my eye with her own clothes, stopping the bleeding.

The interaction filled me with a strange warmth. Is this what gratitude feels like? I wondered. Sweet and soothing? It almost made the loss of my eye feel worthwhile. I could get used to it.

“Thank you,” I told the girl, who nodded at me shyly.

“My name is Ueman,” the older skeleton introduced himself. “This is my sister, Chipahua. We were on our way to Mictlan when that creature attacked us.”

“My name is Iztac,” I introduced myself before voicing my confusion at his words. “Wasn’t the god Xolotl meant to guide you to it?”

“He guided us for two years until we entered these mists,” Ueman replied with a hollow rattle. “We lost sight of him days ago and have been wandering this place since.”

The god made for a poor guide then. I hoped I wouldn’t wander these mists for years though; I might need to risk facing the cutting winds above in spite of the risks. “We shouldn’t linger long,” I said while glancing around. With half my vision gone, I felt more vulnerable than ever before. “Other creatures might lurk in the fog.”

Ueman nodded slowly, his hollow eyes shining with the light of hope. “Lord spirit, if I might ask–”

“I am no spirit, nor am I a lord,” I replied. I was an emperor, but I would rather die than take pride in it. “You want me to carry you to Mictlan, am I wrong?”

“I… I cannot move in my current shape, great and powerful Iztac.” Ueman lowered his head in shame. “Might you find the kindness to take my sister to Mictlan in my stead? She deserves a peaceful afterlife.”

“Brother!” The girl shook her head in panic. “I… I shan’t abandon you here!”

“I cannot stand nor wield a weapon,” Ueman replied with resignation. “I cannot crawl, let alone protect you. I will be a burden.”

Leaving Ueman here meant abandoning him to a fate worse than death. Yet he was willing to entrust his sister to a stranger and stay behind, because he thought I was unlikely to accept dead-weight. His selflessness made me wish I’d had an elder brother.

This place would be the death of me. The second one at least.

“I can carry you easily too,” I said with a sigh. Curse my weak human heart.

“I…” Ueman hesitated. “I do not wish to bother you, great Iztac. We have nothing to pay you with.”

“You do not need to. I was going to Mictlan anyway.” I shrugged. “Give me a moment to recover and I will carry you both to your eternal rest, if I can.”

“I… I have no words.” Ueman finally understood my offer was genuine and nodded in gratitude. “Thank you so much.”

“Thank you,” Chipahua said with a little, adorable voice.

I had no idea how to answer. I rarely ever had people say those two words to me. So I simply nodded in silence.

After a short rest, I recovered enough willpower to transform back into my Tonalli form. It felt much easier to transform in the Underworld than manifest it in the waking world above. Chipahua climbed on my back and bloodsoaked feathers, while I held her brother in my talons. He was so light, so fragile.

“Prepare yourself,” I said, “I will fly as close to the mist as I can to avoid the cutting wind, but we might suffer from attacks.”

“Yes, Lord Iztac,” Chipahua answered. It annoyed me to hear the lord part, but I couldn’t fault a child.

Carrying these two proved easy; navigating between the treacherous marshlands and the obsidian skies far less so. I had to travel up and down to avoid the dangers of both. Whenever I came too close to the tempest above, I had to dive back into illusion and ruin-ridden mists where I couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead. The journey felt like an eternity.

Still, having companions helped a bit. Chipahua warned me whenever glass shards from above threatened to fall on us, and Ueman often noticed obstacles I couldn’t see in time. After what felt like an eternity, we finally left both of them behind us. The fog cleared and the tempest did not pursue us further.

The fading mists revealed a most impressive sight. Something I had dreamed of, but never gotten the chance to witness for myself.

The sea.

A purple, peaceful expanse of serene purple water stretched across the horizon. The great lakes near the capital looked like puddles in comparison. Its surface simmered like an obsidian mirror, with the gloomy light of the Underworld’s sun casting an ethereal glow on the ebb. The air was heavy with a salty, oily smell, and the waves moved slowly in tune with the falling rain. After the harrowing journey through the mists, the sight soothed my heart like balm on a wound.

“There, brother,” Chipahua pointed a finger at the horizon. “I see it!”

So did I. Though the layer’s sun shone impossibly high in the sky, the tear of light it shed hit an island below; a fortress with chalky walls of dizzying size that seemed carved from the bones of a giant creature. A vast necropolis of fanged towers sprawled behind them, their tops shining with a greenish, ethereal glow. All of them paled in size, however, compared to the colossal black mountain in its center, which the pillar of sunlight bathed in its dim radiance.

“Mictlan,” Ueman whispered in awe. “The kingdom of the dead.”

“Seems so,” I said. “But we haven’t reached it yet.”

I’d grown bitter enough over time to realize that the gods liked to snatch despair from the jaws of victory at the last second. I flew across the purple sea without lowering my guard. More trouble might await us ahead.

Rainwater drenched my feathers and bandage alike as I carried on. The rhythmic lapping of the waves below became a haunting melody, one that failed to put me at ease. I often glimpsed shadowy forms beneath the water; the slithering shape of fish the size of a man; skeletal fins peeking above the surface; reptilian eyes looking up at me from below. I flew high enough above the sea to avoid danger, but these half-unseen presences unsettled me.

“What are those?” I wondered. “Fish do not grow larger than men.”

“They were men once,” Ueman said. “Xolotl taught us that when Chalchiuhtlicue’s tears drowned the fourth world, the old mankind drowned. When the goddess realized her mistake, she attempted to save the old mankind by turning them into fish. I often wonder what the gods will turn the current one into.”

“Not bats, I hope,” I replied. “How did the two of you end up down there?”

Chipahua bristled at the question, but her brother answered in her stead. “We starved,” he explained. “A drought devastated our village and we perished.”

A famine? There hadn’t been a large famine in many, many years. “Under which emperor did the two of you live?”

“Emperor Xicohtencatl the Tenth,” Ueman replied innocently. “Why?”

I wisely kept my mouth shut. That emperor ruled over forty years ago. These two hadn’t wandered the mists for days, but decades. I thanked the gods for granting me wings. Otherwise, we would have remained stuck for who knows how long. I wondered how many other souls wandered that fog of memories for years.

Mictlan grew larger with time, enough that I finally began to comprehend the realm’s true scope. The distant walls were mountains of animal bones piled up together until they reached taller than any mortal building. They stretched so far and wide I struggled to imagine the size of the city behind. Yohuachanca’s capital could be no bigger than a district in comparison.

As for the spires, now that I looked closely… They reminded me of bony fingers reaching for the sky.

“There!” Chipahua pointed at my left. “I see a bridge!”

I turned my head. Indeed, an impossibly long bridge of smooth obsidian stone emerged from Mictlan and sprawled across the sea. A near-endless procession of skeletons walked along its edge, guided by Xolotl… more than one. To my surprise, a dozen near-identical siblings of the god each shepherded their own group of the dead onward to their final destination.

I supposed it made sense. Xolotl was infamously the god of twins, and I mentally beat myself over thinking he could personally escort every single soul that died each day. “I shall deliver you back to your shepherd,” I whispered to my passengers. “Hopefully, he won’t lose you this time.”

“You shouldn’t insult the gods,” Chipahua scolded me. Her brother simply laughed.

I flew closer to the bridge, only to hear strange sounds coming from behind; a faint whistle, almost inaudible. I peeked over my shoulder, but saw nothing other than rain. Chipahua glanced around in confusion.

“Is something troubling you?” Ueman asked.

Yes, but I couldn’t tell what. Just a general sense of unease. My lone remaining eye darted from left to right, looking for something it couldn’t see, but that I knew was here.

I heard a whistling noise coming from my blind spot.

Only my owl form’s sharpened reflexes and a startled cry from my passengers let me dodge the surprise attack. An arrow flew past me and barely missed my throat. I peeked over my wing and blinked in mute amazement.

Hands. Ghostly, floating hands materialized above me, each of them carrying all-too-solid bow and arrows. I counted dozens of them aiming at my back, tugging their strings.

“Hold on!” I shouted a warning before diving down. A bombardment followed. Arrows soared through the air in volleys deadlier than the obsidian winds from earlier. I descended down toward the sea to avoid them.

The hands that fired immediately vanished upon missing their mark… only for others to reappear on my sides, each of them raising their bow for the kill. I did my best to fly around without accidentally throwing Chipahua off my back. I dodged nine projectiles before a tenth hit me in the flank. I let out a cry of suffering as I felt the metal arrowhead pierce through my feathers and flesh.

If I get to the bridge, Xolotl will have to intervene, I thought, desperately flying toward the procession of the dead. Or we could hide among the dead and–

And then I froze in midair.

My wings stopped flapping, and yet I did not fall. My back stretched until I heard cracks in my bones, yet my muscles no longer obeyed me. Phantom fingers tightened on my throat, but no floating hands touched my feathers.

I’d already been there before: when the Jaguar Woman choked the life out of me with her mind alone. This time was worse though. The invisible force that took me over now tightened its grip on my entire body rather than my lungs alone.

Then I heard a voice coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. A woman, whose words carried the weight of eternity and cold dead wrath.

“Coming back to my domain was a mistake, Spirit-Thief.”

A flash of agony surged through my wings. A dozen arrows nailed me in an impossibly straight line that went from one end to the other. They fell around the terrified Chipahua without harming her, but that was meager reassurance to me. I would have shrieked if I could still move my beak. My blood fell into the sea below and drew the attention of swimming forms under the waves. The beasts had caught a whiff of an incoming meal.

The ghostly hands that harassed me reappeared to grab a squealing Chipahua and her brother alike, carrying them away from me. My lone remaining eye, the only part of me that I could move, looked up as a mysterious figure materialized near them.

The air grew palpably thick as the entity took shape in a swirl of ash and bone dust. She was a corpse, one both horrifying and awe-inspiring in equal measures. Flowing robes woven from funerary shrouds and marigolds swirled around her flayed flesh. Her eyes were empty holes shining with a red glow brighter than any star; sharp fangs adorned her skeletal maw; and a divine red flame burned between her exposed ribs. Flowing ebony tresses cascaded down from an obsidian crown and onto her back.

The figure looked so gaunt, so frail, yet the otherworldly aura emanating from her wore down on me more than the Nightlords’ combined malevolence. Her allure carried more weight than the wisest elders or the most ancient of creatures. When her unnerving gaze met my eye, I felt naked and weak. She was what the Nightlords could pretend to be, like ephemeral shadows cast by great pyramids.

A goddess.

“Lady Mictecacihuatl,” Ueman muttered in awe. His sister shivered in silent dread, as she did when the monster threatened her. “Oh great queen of the Underworld.”

To my surprise, the ancient goddess answered by petting the terrified Chipahua and her brother on the head. A reddish glow traveled through Ueman’s body. His bent, broken bones twisted back into their proper shape.

“I bid you welcome into my king’s domain, lost souls,” the queen greeted the siblings with gentleness that belied her inhuman appearance. “You are safe now.”

She… was kind to strangers? After watching the Nightlords’ cruelty, I simply couldn’t believe my eyes. Though the Parliament warned me that Mictecacihuatl was kind to mortals and well-disposed to helping them, all I could think of was how Yoloxochitl's innocence hid the malice beneath.

Mictecacihuatl did show her malice quickly, just not towards the siblings. The goddess’s tone harshened noticeably when she turned her attention upon me. “The thief that took you away will be duly punished.”

If I cannot talk my way out of this, I am dead, I realized. I tried to open my beak to argue, to plead my case, to tell her this was a misunderstanding. I failed. My body wouldn’t budge. Please goddess, let me explain!

“Oh goddess, Iztac is no thief.” Few would have dared to talk back to a goddess. Thankfully for me, Ueman was one of them. “He guided us to your kingdom, so we could enjoy our proper rest.”

“Iztac?” The name confused Mictecacihuatl enough to briefly dispel the veil of her rage. She examined me closely, the fires in her hollow eyes vacillating. “Who are you? You look like her, but you lack her strength and malice.”

I could guess who Mictecacihuatl was speaking of. I was starting to wonder what my mother had done to earn a goddess’ ire. I shapeshifted back into my human form, shedding a few arrows and keeping others scarcely woven into my flesh. My entire body hurt.

Though the queen’s magic kept me floating up in the air, she released her grip just enough to let me speak. I still had a chance to talk things through.

“Oh great Mictecacihuatl, it is an honor for me to meet you.” Mictlan’s queen was the keeper of humanity’s bones and protector of the dead. Even if I didn’t need her help—or were at her mercy—I would have shown her respect. “I am Iztac, a Tlacatecolotl. I seek an audience with your husband as part of a quest to destroy a great evil.”

“A great evil?” The goddess observed me closely and noticed the chains binding my Teyolia. Her flayed forehead arched in what could pass for pity. “The curse of Yohuachanca binds your soul…”

“The Nightlords have condemned me to death in a year,” I explained. “I seek help in freeing my soul and those of my predecessors from them.”

“I am truly sorry, Iztac of Yohuachanca. If I could remove your curse, I would.” Queen Mictecacihuatl shook her head. To my shock, she sounded entirely genuine. “I cannot break it, and neither can my husband. Your soul is already promised to another deity.”

Another deity? “The Nightlords are no goddesses.”

“No vampire is, but the curse originates from a true deity,” Queen Mictecacihuatl replied calmly. “A god of pain and hunger that crawled from the depths below an age ago, beholden neither to the living nor the dead. Your soul is promised to their waiting jaws.”

Could she be talking about the First Emperor? Was he even real? “Oh great queen of the dead, can you tell me more?” I pleaded. “Any information can help.”

“I know little, unfortunately. My husband’s dominion only extends to this layer, as does mine.” Mictecacihuatl appraised me for a moment, before guessing my intent. “You seek entry into the lower layers of the Land of the Dead Suns, do you not?”

“Yes, I do.” I nodded slowly and glanced at the fading sun with my remaining eye. “I was also told Chalchiuhtlicue’s embers carry the power I need to defeat the Nigthlords.”

“I see…” The Queen of the Underworld’s skeletal, ghoulish face showed no hint of emotion. Her silence, however, carried the weight of her judgment. I would have paid a great deal to the Yaotzin to learn what was on her mind. She turned her attention back on Ueman and his sister. “What are your names?”

“Ueman, oh great queen of the dead,” the undead said with a respectful nod. His sibling bowed slightly, but remained too fearful to answer herself. “Forgive my sister, Chipahua. She is young.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Mictecacihuatl gently pat Chipahua’s head, soothing the child. “You will join the procession of the dead, where my attendants will assign your souls to a district. I wish you a peaceful eternity in my king’s domain.”

“We are grateful for your mercy, goddess.” Ueman thanked me with the same reverence he showed to Mictecacihuatl. “It seems our paths are to diverge here, Iztac, though I hope they cross again. I thank the heavens we met.”

“Goodbye.” Chipahua waved a gentle hand at me. “Take care.”

“I bid you good luck,” I replied with a light heart.

Mictecacihuatl’s ghostly hands carried Ueman and his sister away toward the bridge. Once we were alone, she breathed a cloud of ash at me. The dust was warm and banished my pain away. The arrows searing my flesh vanished, and the bloody wounds staining my skin closed on their own. The bandage around my lost eye flew away, yet I found myself staring normally again. The goddess had healed my woes and granted me back my vision.

“I apologize for unduly harming you,” said the queen. “The last Tlacatecolotl to visit our realm pilfered souls away and I mistook you for her. I should have been more careful.”

I… I simply didn’t know how to answer. I waited for the knife to fall, for the goddess to reveal her inner cruelty like Yoloxochitl before her. When no betrayal followed this kindness, I could ask: “Why did you heal me?”

“I am the keeper of humanity’s bones, not their tormentor. I unduly caused you harm and you should not suffer from my mistake.” Mictecacihuatl joined her hands in a regal, dignified pose. “For returning those lost souls to me, I shall intercede in your favor. My husband shall listen to your plea, though I cannot guarantee he will fulfill it.”

She… she was reasonable? Grateful? Could gods show mercy? The idea seemed unfathomable, and yet, here we were.

“I am in your debt, goddess,” I said with deep respect.

“No. It is I who owes you.” Mictecacihuatl studied my face carefully. “How much do you know of your powers, Tlacatecolotl? Can you travel freely between the world above and this one already?”

“I can, oh queen of the Underworld.” I could tell my powers interested her. Mayhaps I could use that to learn the Doll spell from her. “How can I be of service?”

“We shall speak of it later.” The goddess flew away, her invisible power carrying my body into the air after her. “Do you know the meaning behind my husband’s name?”

“Of course I do,” I replied. “Mictlantecuhtli means Lord of Mictlan. Everyone knows that.”

“But few understand its significance. Namely, that Mictlan came first.” Our flight led us above the bone walls. “See for yourself.”

The Kingdom of Mictlan unfolded behind the fortifications; a sprawling metropolis that dwarfed Yohuachanca’s capital in size and scope. A country’s worth of purple water canals, regal porphyry domes, bone spires, and maze-like streets paved with gray, fossilized skin stretched across the horizon; yet its twisting alleys were strangely lively nonetheless. Hordes of skeletal dead walked across basalt plazas to trade to the tune of flutes and drums. The dead had no need for food or drinks, but like in the world above, that did not stop merchants from selling obsidian jewelry, dusty scrolls, pottery, and other wares. Every building looked different from the next, as if a hundred civilizations had come together to build echoes of their past into the Underworld.

However, the true nature of the city soon became clear to me. The colossal towers I glimpsed reminded me of fingers because they were fingers. A great spine road crossed Mictlan and a plaza was built atop ribs longer than rivers. The great black monolith from earlier now revealed its shape to me: that of a massive human skull larger than my imperial palace. The light of the Underworld sun fell upon its crown of obsidian, yet it did not shine half as bright as the twin blue stars in its eye sockets. Though half a kingdom separated us, I could tell they were staring at me with deadly intent.

“Here is my husband, Mictlantecuhtli, who has ruled in Mictlan since the first death.” Mictecacihuatl chuckled to herself. “For king and kingdom are forever one.”