Blood & Fur

Chapter One-Hundred and Two: The Smiling Dead

Widowhood suited Lady Zyanya well.

Twice had I indirectly killed her husband, both brothers. The first, Tlazohtzin, was an innocent whom I set to take the fall for the disastrous New Fire Ceremony and the chaos that followed; the second, Tlaxcala, was an inept opportunist whom I exploited for political gain and then cuckolded in public. The former died tortured by the red-eyed priests in the Nightlords’ service, and the latter had apparently been devoured alive by undead raised from their slumber during the First Emperor’s latest tantrum.

The bizarre irony of it all wasn’t lost on me.

What is it about the fates of brothers mirroring each other? I pondered as Ingrid and I invited Lady Zyanya into our quarters. From the First Emperor and his brother to Lord Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca, it seemed in the nature of siblings to meet opposite fortunes in life and death. Is it Fate’s way of playing jokes on families? This pattern feels a bit too frequent to me.

Perhaps I was imagining things based on my own limited experience, but I had grown a bit too familiar with the cruel workings of destiny to discount the possibility.

“My condolences for your loss, Lady Zyanya,” Ingrid said once we received her clothed as an emperor and his lawful consort. “Your kind husband’s death diminishes us all.”

“You are very kind, Lady Ingrid, but we both know that would be a lie.” Zyanya placed her hands on her belly. “Thankfully, he had the sense to settle his inheritance before his departure.”

I couldn’t help but scoff at her moxie, since we all knew that the child was mine. “Did he now?”

I was starting to wonder if Tlaxcala had indeed perished at the hands of the undead, or if his demise had been helped along. I had only received second-hand accounts of the event, and in the chaos that followed the Flower War it would have been easy for Zyanya to dispose of her fool of a husband; especially once he had outlived his usefulness to her.

Whatever the case, I knew Zyanya to be an ambitious and cunning social climber. She had allied with me in the hopes of being recognized as ruler of Zachilaa and inherit all of Tlaxcala’s assets, but that was before I had bested a Nightlord in battle, declared myself the Fear of the Gods, and showcased the true extent of my sorcerous power. If she was willing to abandon the charade we agreed upon of passing off my child as Tlaxcala’s in favor of proudly advertising its paternity, then she had taken to see this affiliation as a greater source of honor and wealth.

Zyanya saw me as her stairway to power and eternity.

I now had to ensure she wouldn’t look away towards a less savory alternative.

“I duly reward those who serve me well, and you have fulfilled your duties admirably so far,” I replied. “Nonetheless, I require more from you.”

“I can guess Your Divine Majesty’s demand. You wish me to lure the White Snake to her doom so that you may crush her as you did her sister.” Zyanya didn’t look surprised in the slightest. “It is quite the tall order, but I believe I can fulfill this request… with some assistance.”

“How so?” Ingrid asked with skepticism.

“As I’ve informed Your Majesty, the White Snake asked me to spy on you and report any sign of treachery,” Zyanya replied. “To do so, I have been taught a secret rite that will let me summon one of her servants at my current location. I was warned to only do so sparingly, as the act of calling a messenger for nothing would carry a tremendous penalty.”

“A messenger?” I asked, my jaw tightening. I cast the Gaze and wove it under a Veil so Zyanya wouldn’t notice it. “You didn’t tell me about this earlier.”

“And for that, I offer you my most sincere apologies.” Zyanya bowed in what could pass for genuine contrition, though I sensed no remorse for the deception. In fact, she let out a small cloud of lies through her teeth. “Your Majesty must understand that I wasn’t sure if they would prove capable of following through with your promises until recently. We live in a world of liars and deceivers after all.”

A polite way to say she didn’t know whether or not I was worth betting on until I slew Sugey. I couldn’t entirely blame her for her caution considering the Nigthlords’ cruelty, but this sharply reminded me that she would always remain an opportunist rather than a believer.

“Explain the rite to me,” I ordered.

“I was told to shed my blood with a ruby-bladed knife given to me for this purpose, form a circle with it, and then call upon the Night’s Herald,” Zyanya explained. “What form this herald will take, I do not know, nor how they will carry the message to the White Snake.”

My Gaze detected no lie in her words here. I’d never heard of the Night’s Herald, but I assumed it was some sort of vampiric familiar. “Can you call it more than once?”

“I wasn’t told anything that would imply otherwise,” Zyanya replied politely. “Not having reported anything on Your Majesty, I obviously could not check.”

“I am surprised to hear this,” Ingrid said with a smile that did not reach the eyes. “Surely you must have had plenty of things to report.”

“You wound me, Lady Ingrid,” Zyanya lied through her teeth. “I must say I was often tempted, but patience is a virtue and the White Snake is not known for rewarding faithful service. I thought it wiser to wait.”

The Nightlords’ tyrannical insistence that rewarding loyalty was a mortal proof of weakness would again prove their undoing. The White Snake had bitten too many hands for would-be traitors to embrace her fangs lightly.

I pondered my options. However much I’d angered and shamed her, I couldn’t imagine Iztacoatl abandoning all caution. She would take any information Zyanya fed her with a pinch of salt and seek to validate it through other means. Dangling too good of a prize too early would cause her to grow suspicious and back off.

Moreover, killing Iztacoatl—already a tall order—would only further loosen the seal keeping the First Emperor at bay. Having barely managed to defeat Sugey with heavy assistance and circumstantial advantages, I knew better than anyone that I had no chance in my current state against the Nightlords’ dreadful sire. We needed to find a way to contain him before we exterminated his vile brood.

I couldn’t afford any missteps there.

“Here is what you will do, Zyanya,” I decided. “There will be moments when you are left unattended and unsupervised as we march on the Sapa. During these precious occasions, you will call the Night’s Herald and feed it key information about our movements. You will behave as if you had betrayed me and with the same caution.”

“I assume Lady Ingrid will curate what I must say?”

“Of course,” I replied mirthfully. “However, you will not do so for free. Considering the danger you are now in, whatever the White Snake might have promised you will prove insufficient. You will ask for more in return for further service.”

Zyanya gave me a bemused smile. “It is a dangerous game to extract concessions from a blackmailed snake.”

“But she will distrust someone so eager to sell out a god for free.” I knew Iztacoatl. She was a coward with a keen understanding of human nature, and who would see Zyanya as the opportunist she was. Having my spy feign reluctance and demand greater reward when she was in a position of strength would sound more believable to her ears than empty fanaticism. “Do not sell your assistance cheaply.”

“And if she makes me an offer I cannot refuse?” Zyanya asked with an insolent look. “One greater than what Your Majesty offered?”

That’s the spirit. “Then remember that I will always have more to give.”

Lady Zyanya studied my expression for a moment, her gaze sharper than swords. “I have seen the way Lady Necahual and Lady Lahun flew on jet-black wings, calling upon fire and lightning,” she said. “Having observed both of them for a very long time, I am certain they never possessed such talents until they became His Majesty’s confidants. Am I to assume that this was a gift?”

I suppressed a scowl. I knew my concubines’ supernatural powers would raise questions. “As I said, loyalty and lawful service shall be rewarded.”

“I have no doubt.” Zyanya offered me a deep bow. “I will proceed with the plan at Your Majesty’s leisure.”

“I will come forward to you later with information to report,” Ingrid said calmly. “Until then, you are dismissed.”

I caught a slight scowl on Zyanya’s face, especially when I didn’t countermand Ingrid’s order. She excused herself with a huff of wounded pride.

“Was that wise?” I asked Ingrid once Zyanya had left. I wasn’t blind to my consort’s game. She had intentionally and subtly reminded my mistress that she still played second-fiddle to my consorts.

“She is ambitious, and cunning enough to seize what she wants,” Ingrid reminded me. “The less she takes a reward for granted, the harder she will work.”

“She will want to become a Mometzcopinque, and she fits the criteria for it.” I joined my hands and pondered the issue at hand. “Necahual said I would be a fool to do so, though. Turning her into a Mometzcopinque would bind her soul to me, but the Nightlords have proved that the process can be reversed. However much I trust Necahual and Lahun, Zyanya will gain a dagger pointed at my heart.”

“If anything, I believe that is exactly why my lord should take her.” Ingrid let out a small chuckle when I raised a puzzled eyebrow at her. “Nothing dulls the wits more than complacency, my lord. She will keep you sharp.”

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I scoffed, but gave it proper thought. Ingrid might have a point there. The First Emperor likely claimed his daughters as Mometzcopinques out of twisted affection and a belief that blood would prove thicker than water. I had seen through his memories that the thought they would betray him never crossed his mind until they actually did so. He had lowered his guard and it cost him everything.

Having a known opportunist in my corner would force me never to take anything for granted. It would remind me of the danger and the lessons that had kept me alive so far; that no matter the power I accumulated, I was only ever one step away from death or betrayal. Zyanya might also serve as bait for potential enemies seeking to harm me. She would seem like the obvious weak link for schemers to approach.

It was an interesting approach, I couldn’t deny it. Not the one I would prefer, but one with its own advantages.

“How many more witches can my lord recruit?” Ingrid inquired.

“For now, none.” Well, technically I could claim more Mometzcopinques than I had embers, but it would tremendously diminish my power at a time when I needed all of it. “Potentially two more in the future.”

“In that case, there might be another candidate to consider,” Ingrid suggested. “I would put forward Lady Killa.”

“Manco’s empress?” She wasn’t exactly my first pick, but then again, none of my concubines fit the birth criteria to become Mometzcopinques anyway. Zyanya was the only potential candidate within reach. “What’s your reasoning?”

“It would grant my lord a great degree of control over the Sapa Empire’s elites, especially if you intend to guarantee a peaceful transition of power from the Mallquis,” Ingrid explained. “Blessing their empress with sorcery would not only legitimize your divine power in the eyes of many, but also show that your intentions to mend the rift between our people are genuine.”

“It would cause a greater rift to form between her and Manco,” I pointed out. While I didn’t have to claim my Mometzcopinques as bedmates—Lahun and Necahual simply started as my concubines—having their empress tie herself so intimately to a foreign intruder would be equally scandalous. Manco would see it as a humiliation.

“Exactly,” Ingrid replied sharply. “Manco will never agree to reform the Sapa Empire in-depth because he derives all of his power and prestige from the current structure. As much as we need him as a figurehead for now, we would be better off slowly isolating and marginalizing him in favor of a better partner.”

Relying on Ayar Manco would eventually show its limits, true. I’d learned from our previous encounters that he was a true believer in his empire’s system and I had the feeling he would never stop trying to keep it alive against all odds.

On the other hand, Killa remained the Sapa Empress. Tying her to my soul would present the same risks as with Zyanya, not to mention I wasn’t sure she was born on a date that would allow a Mometzcopinque transformation at all.

All in all, the thought of claiming either Zyanya or Killa as Mometzcopinque filled me with unease. I understood Ingrid’s point, but I wanted to become a better person more than anything else. I didn’t want my worst qualities to define the kind of divinity I risked turning into. Keeping a snake like Zyanya around for the sole purpose of sharpening my instincts risked luring me back down a path I wanted to step away from. I would rather have one Nenetl in my coven over a thousand Zyanyas.

Then again, which other candidates could I call upon? I wondered. There is still time to find alternatives, to think this through.

In the end, all of our best-laid plans risked faltering when confronted with the wall of reality. I had to see the situation in the Sapa capital with my own eyes before reaching a decision.

I had the feeling it would determine many things.

—--

I did not sleep that night, nor did I dream.

It occurred to me I hadn’t truly dreamed since I received my first taste of death on the day that followed the night of the Scarlet Moon. I had often faked sleep, engrossed myself in vengeful fantasies, and suffered through visions, but the door to the world of nightly phantasms had closed to me on the same night the gate to the Underworld opened up to my soul.

Whatever the case, my unearthly resilience wouldn’t allow me to fade into the Land of the Dead Suns yet. I thus spent the night reviewing the First Emperor’s codex long after Ingrid had retrieved it from its hiding place and then went to sleep.

While our documents covered the First Emperor’s trip down the Third Layer, I learned frustratingly little. The First Emperor had met Lord Quetzalcoatl the moment he entered this part of the Land of the Dead Suns. The Feathered Serpent had only grown cautious around would-be gods after Yohuachanca’s ascension and had first welcomed my divine predecessor as a visiting scholar. He had hosted his visitor for many days and listened to his stories of the world above before finally granting him the gift of his embers in support of his cause to defeat the vile Camazotz.

In short, the First Emperor had encountered none of the difficulties I now faced.

He did mention his brother by name, however.

“Tonatiuh,” I muttered to myself. “Tonatiuh the Sun-Born.”

It was a nice name, and a direct Yohuachanca translation of the first Sapa Emperor’s title of Inti or Hunahpu. The sun to his brother’s moon.

The First Emperor didn’t mention his brother too often in his text, though he always used warm and affectionate terms when he did so. Tonatiuh was described as a brave warrior, though often too bold by half, who struggled to practice the magic his brother taught him. I had the feeling that Yohuachanca had been the most disciplined and scholarly minded of the two.

I noticed that his writing style had become rather erratic soon after Lord Quetzalcoatl entrusted him with his embers. The writing was looser, more distracted, with the author going on random and disturbing tangents about his beloved daughters and the hunger gnawing at his chest… merely reading these lines sickened me.

Claiming the third set of embers had indeed proved to be the point of no return for the First Emperor. I had to solidify my divine image in the eyes of the people before then, or else I risked following in his footsteps.

We still had a large part of the codex left to translate, so I hoped to find more insight into the transformation there. I had yet to find any information on how to contain the First Emperor or restore the seal the Nightlords used to bind him either.

I was starting to suspect there would be no easy solution there.

I sensed my roving palace come to an abrupt stop. I barely had time to fold up the codex when Chikal entered my bedroom dressed for battle.

“Trouble?” I asked while Ingrid stirred out of her slumber.

“Mayhaps,” Chikal replied, a dark look on her face. “You should come see for yourself.”

I quickly cast my Ossuary Armor spell just in case and followed her outside on my roaming palace’s balcony. My small army had wandered up steep hills and mountain passes towards ever higher altitudes. We were now crossing a valley under the pale glow of the crimson moon, whose features reminded me of a baleful skull glaring down on the living below.

An imposing fortress of dry stone overlooked the pass we were on from atop a high plateau. However, that wasn’t the part that caught my eye. The stench of death and rot lured my gaze lower, to a crimson river of blood coursing through the mountains and the dam of the dead.

I wished it was a figure of speech, but I couldn’t think of a better description for the ghastly spectacle before me. Thousands upon thousands of bloated pallid corpses had piled up in the river below in such large numbers that they choked the entire flow of water. Most were humans, but not all of them. I saw those llama beasts present in my menagerie, eagles, and even pumas among the pile, all joined in an unholy embrace.

All their eyes were blackened pits, their mouths oozed blood, and their flesh… their flesh wasn’t so much as stitched together as joined harmoniously in a seamless brotherhood of the skin and fur. Human arms stuck out of a llama’s mouth and walls of mouths grew out of spirals of folded wings. Many-faced pillars grew out of the pallid mass like the fingers of a grasping hand reaching for the sky.

The horror of this sight, however, paled before the noises carried by the wind.

I could hear the moans from here.

I sensed no soul left in this macabre landscape painting, no spark of life, yet enough humanity remained within those corpses for them to lament their state. The Age of Undeath crept upon us all.

“I don’t think the dead are in any state to attack us,” Chikal said. “The living, on the other hand…”

I forced myself to look away from this horror to the strong masonry walls overlooking the valley. Their thick stones were so close together, so tightly bound, that I doubted a needle could slip through them. Great bonfires burned atop two round towers standing behind them, though their glow struggled to repel the encroaching darkness. Other, smaller flames of torches danced atop the walls.

“What is this place?” I asked Chikal. The dead had no use for torches, so this fortress was still manned by living and breathing soldiers. “A Sapa citadel?”

“I’m told that the Sapa call their capital Hananpacha the Lion City. The tail is where the rivers supplying it with water meet, the body is its central plaza, and the legs its temples and houses.” Chikal waved a hand at the fortress. “This is the head, Fort Saksay. The outer wall is only the first out of three defensive lines.”

“So taking it by force would be difficult.”

Chikal nodded sharply. “I have no doubt your sorcery would let us prevail, but we would be in for a long and grueling fight.”

“Can we bypass the fort any other way?”

“Not if we want to reach the capital, which Empress Killa insisted upon.” Chikal crossed her arms and proposed an alternative solution. “Ayar Manco’s loyalists still control the fort according to the messages that we intercepted. Since we keep him as a hostage, we can have him force them to stand down.”

“Send Ingrid and Empress Killa to negotiate our passage then,” I said. Time to have our new ally put her hand where her mouth was. “I assume this river is one of those flowing into the capital?”

“Yes,” Chikal confirmed with a scowl. “I assume they had to throw the corpses in there out of fear of them rising up again. It must demoralize the soldiers to see their fallen comrades reduced to such a sorry state.”

So was I, especially since I contributed to these horrors when I slew Sugey. I couldn’t simply pass by and do nothing.

“Have our messengers inform the Sapa that I, Cizin, will purify their waters of the crawling dead as a token of goodwill,” I declared upon forming owl wings to carry me up with the wind. “The dead shall not haunt them anymore.”

Chikal nodded sharply and watched me fly away in the dark night. She probably thought it was a cynical attempt to curry favor with the Sapa people or a mere propaganda stunt. In truth, I was genuinely bothered and expected no reward.

This was my mess to clean up.

I flew towards the dam of the damned, its moans rising up in a whispering chorus at my approach. It only sickened me further. The vile mass of corpses welcomed my arrival, and the darkness which followed in my footsteps. Only the glow of the sunlit flames swirling within my talons silenced them.

I intended to burn them all to a crisp, to free whatever embers of humanity remained trapped within this monstrous structure, when a disturbing pattern suddenly caught my attention. I hovered in place for a while, my eyes trailing along the mural of flesh and bones. Countless eyes and noses were stitched together by worms into two circles; pillars of bound faces rose in rows; walls of skin stretched on cheekbones of arms and legs. The more I looked at it, the more familiar it all seemed…

A terrible chill coursed through my veins as I recognized the dam for what it was.

A face.

“The flesh is bound, the spirit free,” the wind taunted me. “When you gaze into the dark, death smiles back at you.”

I rained a Blaze of fire from the sky and burned it all to ash.

I expected this mass of flesh to moan and scream in pain, but it did no such thing. The thousands-that-were-becoming-one instead burned in a dreadful silence broken only by the flap of my wings and the crackling of my hungry flames. The baleful glow of my heart-fire illuminated the darkness and continued to swirl and shine even as the flow of the river pierced through the dam of the dead. So much blood polluted it that I wondered if there was any water left.

“Clear,” I ordered with a Word of power.

The darkness briefly recoiled from this world as reality bent to my will. The blood cleared from the water, while the river carried away the ashes of the departed. When dawn began to rise beyond the mountains many hours later than it should have, nothing but dust and memories remained of that vile desecration of the natural order.

Nonetheless, the memory of the immense face glaring back at me remained etched into my mind. I thought that the First Emperor’s disasters were as aimless as they were malicious, the manifestation of his anger and all-consuming hatred of all that breathed and hoped. Perhaps they started this way, but this… this betrayed intentional and targeted destruction. The way the corpses congregated together was in no way random.

No. A dark will had directed their flow and assembled them like an architect used stones to raise a pyramid’s foundations, all in the service of a sinister goal. I knew that this face would have continued to grow had the nights lengthened and the dead been allowed to gather, expanding into a skull, then a neck, torso, and arms.

The First Emperor’s spirit was trying to fashion himself a body; a divine vessel shaped from the bloodless flesh and bones of his countless victims.

How many corpses would it take to raise such a monument to pain and misery?

And most importantly… How many nights would it take to complete it?