Blood & Fur

Chapter Forty-One: All for a Purpose

I concluded my day by having Tlazohtzin’s wife over for dinner.

Zyanya Quiabelagayo was indeed quite the beauty, with smooth skin and a warm earthlike complexion, dark and penetrating black eyes, and braided raven hair cascading down her shoulder. Glittering gold earrings and an elegant gemstone necklace framed her fair face, while her gilded black and vermilion garments probably cost their weight in rare metals. Her unflinching, queenly gaze reeked of pride and poise. This woman knew her worth.

In short, I could have mistaken her for a noble ambassador rather than a prisoner a few words away from death.

“I thank Your Imperial Majesty from the bottom of my heart for granting me an audience,” Lady Zyanya said with an elegant bow after I invited her to sit at my table. “Your trust won’t be misplaced.”

“That remains to be seen,” I replied from atop my cushion throne. “You and your husband have much to answer for.”

I had explicitly ordered Tayatzin to wow our prisoner with an emperor’s luxuries, and he followed through diligently. The smell of fresh marigolds mingled with the fragrance of pine wood burning in braziers near our table. The feast itself was a bounty of seasoned turkey, tamales anointed with steamed masa, corn salads, and succulent chocolate drinks spiced with achiote for drinks. A cadre of female attendants played a harmonious melody for us, beating drums of jaguar fur and blowing flutes of crafted trihorn bones.

Necahual sat in silence at my side, maids serving her food as she once served mine. While she appeared more interested in the dinner than the conversation, she in truth paid close attention to it. Her new status of favorite afforded her the privilege of wearing turquoise jewelry, while I was garbed in a fine attire of rich cotton dyed with a deep shade of crimson. A kingly guest would have felt like a pauper in our presence.

All this spectacle had the desired effect. While Zyanya attempted to remain calm and serene, I could see her shoulders crumpling and her eyes fidgeting from my clothes to the singers. She understood the message: her family’s opulence was little more than pocket change compared to my divine splendor. It was in her interest to please me.

How can I make the best use of her? I wondered as I studied the noblewoman. I had asked my new advisor Tayatzin to provide me with more information on her. As it turned out, she came from quite an esteemed lineage. What resources does she possess, and what kind of wood is she made of? Brittle, or strong?

“As you know, Lady Zyanya, your presence at my table this evening is not without significant cause,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Before we cut to the heart of the matter, you will indulge my curiosity.”

Zyanya straightened up at my authoritative tone. “What does Your Majesty wish to know?”

“According to my advisors, the Quiabelagayo clan used to rule the city of Zachilaa until they willingly submitted to Yohuachanca.” With ‘willingly’ being highly relative. Yohuachanca had brought their empire to the brink of ruin until they only controlled their capital. Their unconditional surrender barely spared them the altar. “Royal blood flows in your veins.”

“It does,” Lady Zyanya confirmed. Her voice brimmed with pride. “My father wields considerable influence in our city’s council as Your Majesty’s tributary.”

“Then why did you marry Tlazohtzin?” I asked. “No one can deny his family’s vast wealth, but he stands as far below your station as an ant does below a hawk.”

“Your Majesty is kind,” she replied with the utmost politeness. While she did her best to portray an amiable smile, I sensed a hint of unease. “My father and my husband’s late sire decided on our match out of mutual interest. My in-laws sought trade contracts with Zachilaa, whereas my clan desired to gain allies beyond our city’s nobility.”

“It must have been a strong alliance,” I said, going straight for the throat. “I have rarely heard of a family paying another’s debts.”

Lady Zyanya had enough pride to look offended, and enough wisdom not to lie. “Your Majesty is aware that a groom’s family must provide a service to the bride’s. My husband fulfilled his duty to earn my hand.”

A polite way to say that they had fallen on hard times and only agreed to the match for money. This confirmed my intel.

Tayatzin had informed me that while still rich in lands and prestige, punishing tributes had slowly crippled the Quiabelagayo clan over the last century. The situation only worsened when a rival clan’s daughter skillfully entered the imperial harem and gained an emperor’s favor ten generations before mine. She’d convinced my predecessor to further weaken the Quiabelagayo by offering choice appointments to her own family.

Such turns of fortune would be nothing the Quiabelagayo line couldn’t recover from had they been willing to adapt. However, being an ancient clan in high standing demanded that they keep a lavish lifestyle. Lady Zyanya’s father had indebted the family with feasts and contracted debts to avoid selling his properties; debts which Tlazohtzin’s father covered. Everyone benefited from the match: Lady Zyanya’s children would inherit her mother’s noble titles without being beggared out of their inheritance and her in-laws would gain recognition among the empire’s nobility.

I smelled an opportunity. A weakness to exploit.

“You should have married Tlaxcala then,” I said while sampling oblong cakes of maize stuffed with beans. “Of the two brothers, he was the better-born one. Enough that I awarded him his father’s inheritance.”

“Far from me to question Your Majesty’s wisdom, but Tlaxcala is a fool and his mother’s puppet,” Zyanya replied. “I fear he will drive his inheritance to the ground in a decade’s time.”

Something we both agreed on, amusingly enough. Marrying Tlazohtzin would have been the correct choice in a fairer world.

“Tlaxcala wasn’t half the fool that his brother was,” I replied sternly. “If you want proof of your husband’s ‘wisdom,’ look out the window. The man smuggled foreign, blasphemous artifacts inside holy ground. His foolishness brought the heavens’ wrath upon us all.”

The elegant arch of Zyanya’s brows bent slightly. I had to admire how well she kept a straight face in the face of danger. “I assure Your Majesty that my husband would never scheme against the empire. The accusations against him are nothing but lies.”

“My servants have secured overwhelming evidence of his treachery,” I replied. “What I am concerned about now is whether or not he acted alone.”

Lady Zyanya’s lips tensed up ever so slightly. She could read between the lines. Her life was on the line.

“Now, the Quiabelagayo have always been loyal servants of the empire and I would be loath to learn otherwise,” I said, my voice laced with a veiled threat. “If you could provide proof that your husband acted on his own, or at least tell us how he might have secured those foreign artifacts, it would greatly reassure me.”

Lady Zyanya grabbed her chocolate drink and sipped it, though mostly to give herself an excuse to consider my words instead of answering immediately.

“If the accusations against my husband are confirmed, I must assure Your Majesty that neither I nor my family assisted him in his scheme,” she said after emptying her cup. “We were also victims of deceit.”

“I would like to believe that,” I replied mirthfully. She doesn’t love her husband enough to share his fate. Good. If she can give me an excuse to latch on to, I could justify sparing her. “But then, how do you explain your husband’s collection of Sapa relics?”

“Misplaced trust in the wrong people,” Zyanya replied diplomatically. “My husband has been in contact with a Sapa importer called Qollqa in Zachilaa. I warned Tlazohtzin against approaching this man, but he ignored me.”

“Qollqa?” I repeated. It was the first time I’d heard that name. “Why would your husband establish contact with a foreigner?”

“For money,” Zyanya replied. “Zachilaa rules over a set of southern ports on Your Majesty’s behalf. Most of our trade takes place with the Sapa Empire, with whom we exchange food and spices for gold and salt. Qollqa represents his masters in the empire, so my husband intended to expand his father’s activities beyond the empire by befriending him.”

“I see,” I said. “You suspect that this Qollqa provided the relics?”

“As a gift,” Zyanya immediately added. “I’m sure that my husband was tricked into accepting a poisoned offering.”

I stroked my chin while pretending to think this through. In truth, my mind was set the moment I had learned the man’s name. This Qollqa would do.

Necahual, who had remained silent so far, turned her head in my direction. “I believe that this woman means well,” she said. “Her only sin was to marry a man unworthy of her. Unlike you, she couldn’t detect Tlazohtzin’s duplicity.”

Had Necahual guessed my intentions and sought to support me? If so, she was sharper than she looked. I could tell she tried to imitate the late Sigrun and did a fine job of it.

“Mayhaps you are right,” I replied before focusing back on Zyanya. “I shall send a message to Zachilaa and have this Qollqa arrested. If he indeed schemed with your husband behind your family’s back, we shall see that the goddesses know it.”

“Your Majesty’s generosity is as boundless as the heavens,” Zyanya replied, a hint of relief in her voice. “If I may ask… what will happen to my husband?”

Believe me, you don’t want to know. The Nightlords would give Tlazohtzin a quick death at best, but I knew better than most to never expect mercy from them. “He will be severely punished.”

Lady Zyanya wisely didn’t ask for details. However, she had one more question. “If Your Majesty will forgive my curiosity, should my husband be punished, what will become of his inheritance? His father has yet to fulfill his obligations towards my clan.”

“A good son honors his father’s debts,” I replied. “Tlaxcala will cover your dowry.”

From the scowl spreading on her face, this didn’t please Lady Zyanya. “Forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty, but if my husband indeed plotted against the very heavens, then he has shamed my clan as much as our country. If he is indeed a good son, Tlaxcala ought to provide compensation on his family’s behalf.”

Her cold-hearted boldness took me by surprise. Her husband wasn’t yet in the grave and she already sought to exploit the situation for all it was worth.

It didn’t take me long to figure out her issue. Zyanya’s father agreed to the match with the expectation that Tlazohtzin would inherit and continue supporting his wife’s clan monetarily. His downfall clearly threw their plans into disarray, so she would scrap for any advantage possible.

Necahual suppressed a scowl at my side, and truthfully I shared some of her disgust. Zyanya’s behavior made sense considering the threat her clan faced should she be found an accomplice to the greatest disaster in Yohuachanca’s history, but her quickness at throwing her husband to the wolves for monetary gain disappointed me.

Tlazohtzin is about to suffer a gruesome death, and all she thinks of is how she might rebound from it. She and Tlaxcala would have made quite the pair. Perhaps I should wed them.

Still, I tried to keep hope. Zyanya reacted this way because she was within my grasp, but the empire’s people might prove more resilient. The loss of Yoloxochitl’s priests and Smoke Mountain’s eruption ought to shake their faith in the Nightlords’ order.

Hopefully.

My first impulse was to deny this woman’s request since it would weaken my own connection with Tlaxcala, whom I hoped to use to build a spy network. I resisted it. The Quiabelagayo clan’s hold over Zachilaa could prove useful too, so the matter warranted further consideration.

I had first intended to send Lady Zyanya away from court after ‘proving’ her innocence as a favor to Tlazohtzin for unwittingly taking the blame for my crime, but since she clearly saw their marriage as an alliance of convenience, it would be a crime not to exploit the situation. I couldn’t afford to be picky; not with the threat of Iztacoatl looming over me.

A plan slowly formed in my mind. One that would let me further strengthen my hold over Tlaxcala and his assets, earn Zachilaa’s favor, and cultivate a new asset in my secret war against the Nightlords.

“It would be unjust to have Tlaxcala pay for his brother’s crimes,” I said. “However, your clan’s loyalty ought to be rewarded if proven true. You shall remain my guest until I figure out how.”

“I serve at Your Majesty’s pleasure,” Lady Zyanya replied with a slow, subtle bat of her eyelashes. “I shall endeavor to prove my loyalty in all things.”

I expect as much, I thought before dismissing her. Topless maids ushered her out of the room while bringing in a set of fruit platters for dessert. Tayatzin followed in their wake.

“Has Your Majesty enjoyed his feast?” he asked me.

“We have,” I replied, with Necahual offering a sharp nod to confirm it. “Is Tlaxcala married?”

“He isn’t,” Tayatzin confirmed with a wry smile. “Your Majesty wishes to have him wed his brother’s soon-to-be widow, so as to both please Zachilaa and keep the two clans’ alliance intact. A wise strategy.”

He’s shrewder than his predecessors. The man had figured out my plan in an instant. Far too much. “Tlaxcala is grateful to me, so he will keep an eye on his in-laws should they prove treacherous,” I said, though it was mostly a justification that I had invented on the spot. “You will order our servants in Zachilaa to arrest the merchant Qollqa. He appears to be involved in Tlazohtzin’s wicked plot.”

“I shall do it with haste,” Tayatzin promised. “Your Majesty’s performers wait to please you. Should I usher them in now?”

“Yes, do so,” I said while laying on my cushion throne and inviting Necahual to share it. She sat at my side with all the grace and poise she could muster. “Bring pulque too.”

Tayatzin offered me a short bow as he left the room. “As Your Majesty wishes.”

Less than a minute later, my musicians began to play a festive tune. I never had the money to pay for private dances back in Acampa, and because of my nature as a cursed child I was summarily chased away from public ones.

The spectacle that unfolded in my quarters would blow both out of the water.

Five female dancers picked from my harem entered the room, each of them a model of grace and beauty. None of them could be older than twenty years of age. They walked into my prison barefoot and clad in vibrant skirts of fibers light enough to billow with each step. Their slim arms and legs lay exposed alongside their bellies, golden rings jingling at their wrists. Each of them had their hair dyed a different color, from vibrant pink to midnight blue and crimson red. The shades of their skin differed from pale to dark brown, alongside different arrays of body paints; a detail which made me realize that they came from different ethnicities.

The five performers started by bowing before me and then dancing in near-perfect synchronicity. They moved their waist from left to right, and raised their hands to the ceiling, fluidly twirling and leaping across my private hall. Their headdresses of gold and feathers cast changing shadows under the torches. Some of them betrayed a small degree of hesitation in their steps, but they’d clearly repeated this dance long before the Nightlords stole my life away from me.

I watched with mesmerized eyes, one hand around Necahual’s shoulder and the other grabbing a pulque cup. I sipped the alcoholic drink as my quarters pulsed with life to the sound of beating drums. Servants put incense in the fires, filling the air with sweet perfume and colorful smoke.

I’d never understood the appeal of dancing before, but the longer I observed these five the closer I came to enlightenment. The way their braids moved with each turn of their head, the steady rhythm of their steps matching that of the drums, the sensual yet frantic precision of their movements… The very air of my quarters seemed to flow at their command, the smoke of the perfumed incense swirling around their legs and arms. It coiled around their fingers like snakes of dust.

Something about this performance effortlessly captured my full and undivided attention. Even Necahual appeared to be admiring it in my arms. She had never seen anything like this.

For a brief moment, I found myself forgetting my troubles. The pulque, the perfumes, and the dance pushed my schemes far deep inside the recesses of my mind. For perhaps the first time since the Night of the Scarlet Moon, I allowed myself to relax.

Is this the spell that enchanted so many of my predecessors? I wondered, my eyes lingering on a dancer’s lithe, sensual curves. The call of luxury?

I had ignored the palace’s pleasures in the pursuit of intrigue since I could always find a measure of peace in Mictlan. Now that I spent my nights struggling against Xibalba’s trials, I welcomed the distraction.

Still, I did not order Necahual and Tayatzin to organize this spectacle for pleasure alone.

“Which ones do you prefer?” I whispered in Necahual’s ear.

My concubine pointed at the dancers, slowly and deliberately. She singled out two dancers from among the group. The former had blue hair with the hue of the night sky that was woven into long braids under a crown of quetzal feathers. They moved like serpents as she danced. Her eyes, clear as water, shyly avoided my gaze. Her movements were slower than the others, more hesitant.

Her companion was of a more gaudy sort, her body decorated with beads and baubles clinking with each sway of her hips. Unlike the other dancers, she answered my stare with a mischievous smile and sensual winks. She appeared one or two years older than most, with a heavier bust and her pink hair bound in a bun by flowers.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The dance slowly relinquished its hold over me as the music slowed down. The final note left me with a lingering feeling of peaceful emptiness when the dancers at last stopped with a final bow. I let the silence rule the room for a few seconds, my eyes sharp, the air tense. The dancers obediently waited for my command.

“You two,” I said, pointing at those whom Necahual singled out. “You’ll stay.”

The pink-haired one smiled ear to ear and the blue-haired girl held her breath. The others hardly managed to hide their frustration and disappointment behind forced smiles or blank frowns. They swiftly left my quarters alongside the musicians.

“What are your names?” I asked the two ‘winners.’

The blue-haired one let out a breath full of fear and tension. “At–” She cleared her throat, her hands shaking so much I wondered if she was suffering from a stroke. She reminded me of Nenetl. “Atziri…”

The other dancer came to her rescue. “Forgive Atziri, Master, she finds you too handsome to look upon,” she said with a charming smile. “My name is Tenoch.”

I raised an eyebrow in amusement. Clearly, these two appeared friendly to one another, or at least well-acquainted. “Master?”

“Master Nochtli liked it when I called him that,” Tenoch replied with a giggle. She was clearly the more confident of the two. “I call you by other names, if you prefer.”

“Master has a nice ring to it,” I said. I noted the fact she seemed acquainted with my predecessor, which meant she was almost certainly a fifth-ranked concubine. “My Necahual told me you gave her a beautiful necklace.”

“Did you like it too?” Tenoch asked, her eyes lingering on the jewel around Necahual’s neck. “I crafted it myself. My brother was a jeweler and he taught me well.”

“He did,” Necahual said sharply.

“Did you make those as well?” I asked, my eyes lingering on the baubles on her skirt.

“I did.” Tenoch put her hands behind her back and adopted a rather suggestive pose. “I keep plenty more of them in my room. I could wear nothing but them if the master wants me to.”

Her sheer confidence caused her fellow dancer to blush. A smirk spread over my face. “I would like that, yes,” I said before turning to Atziri. “As for you, I heard you took good care of my consort.”

“I…” Atziri gathered her breath and exhaled deeply. Her fellow dancer took her hand into her own to reassure her. “I have done my best to serve Lady Eztli…”

“And I appreciate it. You will continue to serve her as well as you serve me.” I stroked Necahual’s hair. “Will you stay with us?”

“No,” Necahual replied a little too sharply. She quickly corrected her mistake. “I am tired, Your Majesty. I would appreciate it if you would let me rest tonight.”

“I shall allow it,” I replied. Necahual was a quick learner, but she still struggled to play the role of the obedient favorite in public. “You may go.”

Necahual excused herself with a quick nod and a tense bow alongside the servants, leaving me alone with the two dancers. I emptied my pulque drink, its liquor warming my stomach.

“Undress,” I said. “Both of you.”

They both obeyed, Tenoch a little more promptly than Atziri. I found myself staring at them and drinking in the sight. Tenoch was more shapely than her comrade, with fuller breasts and better curves around the hips, but Atziri’s lithe silhouette quickened my blood nonetheless. The way she blushed shyly reminded me of Nenetl once more.

The alcohol in my veins only heightened my desire. I beckoned them both to join me on the imperial bed.

“If the Master would be gentle with Atziri,” Tenoch said as she started to undress me. “It’s her first time with a man.”

“Tenoch, please…” Atziri blushed brighter than a tomato. “I will do my best for Your Majesty…”

“Are you two friends?” I asked curiously.

“We arrived at the same time,” Tenoch confirmed with a warm smile. “We shared a room for years. I hoped to convince Master Nochtli to notice Atziri too, but he never did.”

I supposed friendships could form even in the darkest places. That connection was a surprise to me, but a welcome one. I might find a way to use it.

I wouldn’t give either of them the rank of favorite though. Concubines were still expected to serve my consorts, so giving Atziri a higher rank meant that she would stop tending to Eztli. As for Tenoch, the promise of awarding her the title should incentivize her to provide services beyond pretty jewelry.

Is that all I can think of? I scolded myself as Atziri lay on the bed, her body tenser than a bowstring. How can I make use of them?

It saddened Atziri that she would spend her first night with me. Under better circumstances, she might have been able to give herself to a man she loved rather than a stranger who owned her like a slave. Worse, while I did find the girl attractive, I mostly cared about how she would help me keep tabs on Eztli.

It felt shameful to use her this way. To take something she could only give once and not appreciate it.

Victory excuses everything, I told myself. Once I kill the Nightlords, I will let her go. Give her a better life.

It helped soothe my guilty conscience.

The night proved pleasant enough. I was gentle with Atziri and did my best to pleasure her—though she still bled when I first entered her. Tenoch was a lot more experienced and eagerly rode me to contentment. I might call her again.

I gently drifted to sleep in their arms afterward. I hardly gave it an hour before the news and rumors spread through the imperial harem. This should secure Necahual’s importance among them and fill the hole left by the late Lady Sigrun. Those who pleased her received my favor; and those who didn’t left empty-handed.

My spirit slipped into the Underworld and I found myself awakening in a bone-chair under Chamiaholom’s roof. The ancient hag sliced red meat on her table with an obsidian cleaver. I dared not ask what kind.

“Welcome back, dear,” Chamiaholom greeted me. “Are you ready to continue with your lesson?”

“If you will forgive me, I must delay it,” I said diplomatically. I knew better than to offend a Lord of Terror. “I must cast a Ride spell.”

“My child, I am every dark thought you ever had.” She smiled at me with her pristine teeth. “That cruel scheme of yours brings a tear to my old eye. Of course I forgive you.”

Her praise sent a chill of shame crawling down my spine. To earn the admiration of an embodiment of human cruelty should alarm me. I suppose I deserved it. I had crossed many lines lately.

Chamiaholom took a moment off her butchering task to stare at me with what could pass for concern. “What bothers you, my sweet?”

Couldn’t she tell if she knew my dark thoughts?

“I have sent an innocent man to his gruesome death, and now I plot to exploit his future widow for my own benefit,” I confessed. “I’ve used women for my pleasure, information, and intrigue.”

I kept trying to tell myself that I did it all for a righteous cause, that the end would excuse the means. However, King Mictlantecuhtli’s warning echoed in my mind whenever I tried. Do not become what you fight against.

If I used the tactics of my oppressors for my own benefit, was I truly better than them?

“Sweetheart, don’t you see?” Chamiaholom chuckled to herself, the sound coming out of her throat as ominous as a dead woman’s rattle. “You don’t feel guilty about what you did to these people. You feel guilty about not feeling guilty.”

My jaw clenched in frustration. “With all due respect, I do not believe an embodiment of human cruelty can understand how I feel.”

“Oh dear, you wound me. I understand your issue perfectly.” Chamiaholom waved a hand at two slices of meat. “Look at them. One of these two is monkey flesh. The other is human.”

She smiled at me with all the kindness of a murderer about to finish off their victim.

“Can you tell which one is which?” she asked.

Suppressing my disgust, I looked at the table and swiftly realized that I couldn’t answer her question. I might be able to tell these two apart if I tasted them, but even then I doubted it. I had never consumed either of these meats.

“Because I sure can’t tell,” Chamiaholom said with a gentle laugh, before taking a slice of meat into her mouth and chewing it whole. “Do you understand your problem, dear? You have been taught all your life that human life is valuable. That it is worth more than those of beasts and ought to be treated with more respect. A beautiful lie.”

“Human life is special,” I replied sternly. “The gods made us in their image,”

“Oh dear, how wrong you are. Did you think the people of the first world were humans?” Chamiaholom shook her head with a hint of pity. “You have seen Queen Mictecacihuatl. She is the first woman to ever die and yet she towers over you. Shouldn’t a dead human be more petite?”

My first thought was to reply that a true goddess wouldn’t look as weak as a normal human, but I quickly realized it would defeat my own point. Worse, while his queen used to be alive, there was nothing human about King Mictlantecuhtli. The god of death was more of a place and a concept than a creature.

“The first humanity wasn’t human?” I asked cautiously.

“They were giants as big as you are small, my child, and who lived in houses larger than your palace,” she explained. “The people of the second world were closer to apes and monkeys. It is only in the days of the third sun that the gods created what you could call humanity… but do you think the Burned Men looked like you before Tlaloc torched them?”

Chamiaholom wagged a finger at me. “They were far more handsome.”

“Even so, a society cannot stand if everyone treats everyone else as beasts to kill,” I pointed out. “Values are necessary for civilization’s survival. You represent the very fear of men violating those customs.”

Incest, cannibalism, kinslaying, treachery… Chamiaholom embodied all of these monstrous taboos. She knew nothing of respect, love, or friendship.

“The Nightlords do not treat their servants as humans, even though they used to be, and they have ruled for centuries,” she countered. “Strength builds a society, sweetie, not values. Laws are only as strong as those who enforce them. The Nightlords wield great power, so they make laws for the weak and laws for themselves.”

“I do not want to be like the Nightlords,” I replied angrily. The prospect frightened me about as much as spending eternity trapped inside the Parliament of Skulls. “I want to be better than them.”

“Of course you shouldn’t imitate them,” Chamiaholom said with a shrug. “They are so obsessed with control that they forget the meaning of joy. But remorse is the enemy of happiness, my sweet. You don’t feel guilty when you kill a turkey to eat its flesh, or when you turn a trihorn’s bones into a spear. So why should you concern yourself about using your fellow humans for your own pleasure and benefit?”

My hands clenched into fists. “Because I am human.”

“Indeed, you are human,” she replied with a kind smile. “But did your fellows treat you like one?”

Her words hit me like a slap to the face. “Some did,” I replied, thinking of Eztli. “Some did…”

“But when your own people threw stones at you, starved you, humiliated you, did they treat you like a human? Did the gods cast lightning to punish their crimes?” Chamiaholom did not wait for an answer. We both knew it. “Remember Mictlan, my child. The tormentor and the tormented both end up in the same place. Which one would you rather be?”

“Neither.” I glared back at her. “Do I have to make a choice at all?”

“Of course not… but if you do not take a stand, then someone else will force their choice upon you.” Chamiaholom stroked my cheek kindly, her bloodstained fingers as warm as a grandmother’s touch. “All I want for you is to live a happy life, dear. If something brings you pleasure, then pursue it without remorse. Only then will you learn the true meaning of freedom.”

The freedom to abuse others? I wondered as I put a hand on my ribs and used bonecraft to carve a name into them. Of letting my greed, lust, and hatred run wild without regret? Can anyone truly call that happiness?

I knew better than to listen to advice from the physical incarnation of human evil… but I couldn’t stop Chamiaholom’s words from worming their way into my ears. They carried a kernel of truth, no matter how much I wanted to deny them.

To feel guilty was my choice. A punishment I inflicted on myself for what I considered to be crimes. This world was devoid of values, and it was my judgment alone that determined what was right or wrong.

I banished these thoughts from my mind for now. I sensed the Ride spell activating the moment I carved Qollqa’s name onto my bones. My spirit ascended to the world above; not as a soul returning to its body, but as a demon rising from the Underworld to possess the living. My mind followed an invisible trail, a door opened by my knowledge of my target’s name, until I found myself at a large crossroads. More than one passage had opened to me.

It was then that I realized a weakness of the Ride spell: namely, that multiple individuals could bear the same name and thus become potential hosts. I had little way of telling them apart.

I focused on what I knew of my would-be host: Sapa, merchant, Zachilaa, associated with Tlazohtzin. The paths swiftly closed except for one. It seemed that the more information I gathered on a target, the easier it became for my spell to target it.

I found a Teyolia on the other side of the spiritual pathway, as weak as mine was strong; a spark of spirit in a shell of flesh. I slipped inside like a foot inside a sandal. I felt almost no resistance as my spirit overwhelmed that of my host. Qollqa was just a man, neither blessed by the Nightlords nor a Nahualli. His mind was no match for a Tlacatecolotl’s might.

My Teyolia and Tonalli overwhelmed those of my host, suppressing them, burying them, and crushing them into silence. My will filled a body that wasn’t my own, like water meant for a chalice struggling to settle into a smaller cup. Older eyes than mine opened and let me see through them.

I awoke in a plain, if comfortable bedroom, sharing a mattress of cotton with a woman I did not recognize. Qollqa’s wife I assumed. She slept soundly under a linen blanket, unaware of the spell under which her husband had fallen. I rose from atop a cushion and slowly into a body that wasn’t my own.

The distances felt wrong. I glanced at calloused hands, then at the loincloth between a set of brown legs. Qollqa was slightly taller than me, older, and more muscled. It took me a few seconds to stand without stumbling and a good minute to walk towards the nearest window.

The sight of a city bordering a vast expanse of water awaited me outside the bedroom, the stars’ glittering light reflecting on the surface. A hundred ships gently floated near docks of wood as the waves caused them to gently sway from left to right. The only ocean I’d seen was the lake of tears surrounding Mictlan, a place as ominous as it was beautiful. That one filled my heart with wonder. I had dreamed so many times of taking one such ship and traveling to distant lands.

It felt like a lifetime ago since I allowed myself to think of a brighter future.

I looked at the horizon, where a distant torch appeared to shine in the darkness beyond. It said volumes about Smoke Mountain’s eruption that I could see it from countless leagues away. It should take days for any messenger to reach the port and arrest Qollqa. I had time.

I walked outside the bedroom in naught but a loincloth and found myself facing a man in a stone corridor. He appeared in his fifties or so, with plain clothes and a wooden collar tightly bound around his neck.

“Master?” he asked in Yohuachancan. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

My eyes lingered on the collar around his neck. I had already seen their kind before in the capital’s marketplace.

This man was a slave.

In a way, it reassured me. I would feel less guilty about what I was about to do to Qollqa now that I understood his true nature.

I tried to think of a name for the man, but nothing came up. I immediately understood another flaw of the Ride spell: I gained none of my host’s knowledge. Qollqa’s suppressed mind wouldn’t remember what I did in his body, but it wouldn’t provide me with information either.

I would need to combine the spell with the Augury in the future. Glean information from the winds of chaos, then possess the right vessel to act upon it.

“I am sleepy,” I told the slave. “Remind me where my study is.”

The slave looked at me with a puzzled expression, but did not question his master’s demand. I followed him to a room a few doors away from Qollqa’s bedroom. As I suspected, my host was a man of plenty and wealthy enough to afford his own house. How befitting of a merchant.

Qollqa’s study was even larger than his bedroom, with a wooden desk and shelves filled to the brim with scrolls, ink, quills, and other documents. Perfect.

“Is one of the ships ready to sail back to the Sapa Empire?” I asked the slave as I sat behind the desk. I quickly searched until I found a seal of wax.

“Yes, Master, of course,” the slave replied. “Captain Apocatequil is set to leave on the morrow with your shipment.”

“Tell him to leave now,” I said, grabbing an empty scroll and a quill. “Wake him up if you have to.”

“Now?” The slave looked positively aghast. “Master, with the eruption, it might be wiser–”

“Now,” I insisted. I started writing as I spoke. “You will give the captain a letter from me. He is to deliver it to the proper authorities the moment he reaches shore.”

“The proper authorities?” The slave now looked at me in utter incomprehension. “Master, I do not understand.”

“Anyone who can deliver it to the local Apu, or whoever will listen. The letter is not to be opened nor read until then. Pay the captain whatever price he requires for his swiftness and silence.” I looked into the slave’s eyes with all of my will and authority. “This is a tremendously important matter. Do not fail me.”

The slave clenched his jaw, then slowly nodded. I spent the next few minutes writing down Yohuachanca’s invasion plans while he waited in silence.

In the document, I pretended to have intercepted important documents through my contacts and to act out of patriotism. I explained that I learned of the Nightlords developing a vile weapon—a plague that could twist and corrupt the living—and how the current emperor would propose a Flower War as a distraction for a naval invasion from the west. I urged the authorities to act upon this information to the best of their abilities and prepare for war.

“Go on,” I said upon sealing the scroll with wax and giving it to Qollqa’s slave. “Do it promptly.”

“I shall, Master,” he replied before leaving with the document.

Once the slave was gone, I started working on another letter. I then wove a tale of lies and deceit.

In this letter addressed to the Apu Inkarri, I, Qollqa, reported my success in smuggling my lord’s artifacts through the border and how I had gifted them to the ‘asset’–I briefly considered naming Tlazohtzin, but that would have made the string too obvious. I asked Inkarri why he had ordered me to do so and why he had urged for secrecy, since the nature of the assignment escaped me.

In short, I all but admitted to being a foreign spy reporting to his hidden Sapa master.

I sealed the letter with wax right as the slave returned. “The captain is ready to sail, Master,” he said while gasping for air. He must have run back and forth. “Though he asked for twice the usual payment.”

“No matter,” I replied calmly. So far so good. “I will work tirelessly tonight. Do not disturb me until you have seen the captain’s ship vanish beyond the horizon.”

“As you wish, Master.” The slave bowed in deep reverence. “You may call me whenever you need me.”

I watched him close the door behind him and then pondered my options. With luck, the invasion plans would reach the Sapa’s leadership. I had no guarantee that they would act on it, or even believe the report, but I prayed that they would. Anything that made the future invasion more difficult would support my cause.

Now, I had to decide what to do about Qollqa. I first proceeded to hide the fake message in the desk’s drawer under a hoard of documents. It would fool most cursory searches, but dedicated investigators—such as red-eyed priests looking for evidence—would find it.

Mother informed me that victims of the Ride spell couldn’t remember what their possessor did in their bodies, so Qollqa himself shouldn’t recall penning the message. Any protest of his would fall on deaf ears once the priests thoroughly raided his home and found the fake evidence. The scroll would somewhat corroborate Lady Zyanya’s claims, secure her safety, spare her family from the Nightlords’ wrath, and let me cultivate her as an asset in the future.

It shamed me to sacrifice my host this way though. Slavery aside, Qollqa had done nothing to deserve the cruel fate the Nightlords would subject him to. I supposed I could delay the message’s discovery, indirectly inform Qollqa, and then give him a head-start. With luck, he would manage to flee Yohuachanca before the red-eyed priests learned of his treachery.

However…

However, I could not afford to leave a loose end.

If Qollqa somehow managed to find the message or convince the Nightlords that he hadn’t penned it, then they might suspect foul play. I needed him to take the fall for his ‘crime’ in a way that wouldn’t be contested.

I could only think of one way.

“I apologize for what I am about to do,” I told Qollqa through his own mouth. I raised the sharp tip of the quill up to the man’s neck. “But if you get caught, the vampires will drink your soul. At least you will earn an afterlife this way.”

I stabbed Qollqa’s carotid with all of his strength.

The quill’s pointed end was no obsidian knife, but it was sharp enough to pierce the skin and reach the artery underneath. A sharp phantom pain raced through my throat, though I ignored it. After all I had endured—stabbing myself in the heart, fighting monsters, and Xibalba’s trials—I could handle it easily enough.

I sensed Qollqa’s buried spirit jolting awake in the depths of his borrowed body. I easily suppressed him. I sat in the chair in silence as blood flowed down my borrowed neck. I felt neither remorse nor fear as my vessel grew cold and stiff; only grim calculation born of acceptance.

I knew that the Nightlords would never believe it to be a suicide. In fact, I counted on it. Once the slave reported his master’s strange behavior and found the hidden message, they would instead suspect that Qollqa had been silenced by his hidden master. All evidence would point to Inkarri.

There is nothing special about human life. I stared at the study’s door with cold dead eyes, my vision blurring as Qollqa’s body swiftly emptied itself of its lifeblood. No one opened it. Nobody heard the gargled agony of my paralyzed host; no god intervened to save his life with a miracle. There is nothing special about death either.

It was over in a minute’s time.

I waited until Qollqa’s Teyolia extinguished itself to leave his body. I sensed my host’s Tonalli descend into the Underworld to its restful home in Mictlan while mine fell further down into the depths of Xibalba.

I awoke again in my body, unharmed and whole. Chamiaholom had finished consuming her feast of meat by the time I returned. She didn’t say a word, nor ask about how the trip upstairs went. She didn’t need to.

She simply smiled.

In response, I carved new names on my ribs right next to Qollqa’s: Tlazohtzin’s, Chimalli’s, Sigrun’s, Guatemoc’s… all the innocent people who had paid the ultimate price for my ambition or suffered under the Nightlords. Those whose name I could remember at least.

“They have died for me,” I explained to Chamiaholom. “I will not forget them.”

“I am so sorry, my sweet child…” The hag shook her head in what could pass for compassion. “But you will quickly run out of space.”

The Bonecrafting training went well. Necahual had given me a few pointers about human anatomy while we spent time in the bath, so altering another’s skeleton came easier to me. Chamiaholom said I was ready to alter my own bones by the time the night came to a close.

“How sad,” she said as I slowly drifted back to the living world. “Our next session might be our last.”

I hoped so. The hag was a terrible influence on me.

I awoke in my bed with Tenoch and Atziri on each side of me. Both remained asleep, the former snorting slightly louder than the latter. I found myself thinking of Qollqa’s wife. I wondered what she would do once she awoke to find her husband drenched in his own blood.

Stop thinking like that, Iztac, I tried to tell myself. What is done is done. If you keep looking back, you cannot advance. The only path is the one ahead.

No matter how many corpses I piled up behind me, I had to keep walking towards a brighter tomorrow.

Yesterday only had death and regrets to offer.

My quarters’ doors opened and Tayatzin entered. “I see Your Majesty is awake,” he noted with a short bow. “Good. The goddess Iztacoatl sent me to fetch you.”

My blood turned to ice in my veins. “Why?”

“The goddess’ thoughts are a mystery to me, but it appears Smoke Mountain’s eruption is calming down,” my advisor replied. “I expect that Your Majesty will address their loyal subjects tonight and tell them of the heavens’ wills.”

My vacation had been short-lived.