Chapter Twelve: A Taste of Hell

Chapter Twelve: A Taste of Hell

Fire coursed through my veins.

The wound I had inflicted on my arm for Mictantecuhtli’s tribute oozed with a dead sun’s curse. My blood, once black and dry, now burned like oil once it escaped my veins. Raging purple flames arose from it when it spilled onto the ground. I could feel their hunger and spite, their all-consuming desire to spread and burn everything that came within their reach.

The fire did not consume my flesh, however, far from it. It flowed over my skin and my feathers harmlessly, sliding along them like a water’s flow, filling me with a sense of comfort and confidence. I watched the fire lick my fingers with fascination, unable to turn my eyes away from it.

“Iztac.”

It took a goddess calling out my name to shake me from my trance.

I returned to reality to find Queen Mictecacihuatl looking over me with what could pass for concern. Huehuecoyotl stood behind her, arms crossed and eyes cautious.

I struggled to recognize my surroundings for a moment. We had been taken underground—if such a word carried any meaning in the Land of the Dead Suns—in what appeared to be ancient catacombs. The walls, built from skulls etched in obsidian, made for a haunting sight. Droplets of water rained from the ceiling, warm and salty to the touch.

What happened? I wondered, the sound of my footsteps echoing on drenched stones. Was I so fascinated by my own flame that I simply followed them along like a sleepwalking slave? “Where are we?”

“Beneath my husband’s city, in the catacombs beneath Mictlan,” Queen Mictecacihuatl reminded me. “You have gained access to the Gate of Tears and the third world’s corpse.”

“I...” I cleared my throat, trying to figure out how I got there. “I do not remember much.”

The Underworld’s queen observed me warily. Was that a note of concern I detected in her ancient eyes? “Beware, Iztac,” she warned me. “Your Teyolia has grown stronger, but a mishandled flame will consume its wielder. If you do not tame your power, you will become a slave to it.”

“This power is me,” I replied.

Mictecacihuatl shook her head, crushing my hopes. “Until you master it, you will only be borrowing Chalchiuhtlicue’s strength. It will take discipline for you to make it your own.”

I half-expected Huehuecoyotl to make a joke at my expense, only to realize the old warlock was silent as a tomb. Had my audience with Mictlantecuhtli spooked him into caution? I did survive a god’s anger and feasted on the remains of another...

I glanced again at my hand, this time resisting the lure of my flame. The queen was right, I couldn’t let it distract me. “Is my blood truly burning?”

“Yes,” Mictecacihuatl said. “The effects will not be as visible in the world of the living, but your blood now carries the power of a dead sun. A vampire drinking it might as well be consuming a cup of poisoned water.”

Good. Anything that ruined these parasites’ feast put more oil in my burning heart.

“Would it kill them too?” I asked. The idea of my tormentors burning from the inside upon tasting the blood they so desperately craved filled me with glee. “Will it burn them to ashes?”

“Not yet,” Queen Mictecacihuatl replied. “Your blood will burn the Nightkin like burning oil sears a mortal’s flesh, but the Nightlords are old and strong. Your blood will not slay them like their weaker kin.”

Disappointing, but not unexpected. I had consumed a dead sun’s embers. My blood didn’t yet carry the vitality and heat of a living one. I needed more fuel to turn my heart into a charnel pit.

“However...” Queen Mictecacihuatl considered the matter a moment before offering advice. “Your blood might weaken the Nightlords if they consume it. The fire will course through their veins as it does through yours, but it shall harm them from within. It will distract them for a short time.”

So if I could trick a Nightlord into consuming my blood before a battle, it might grant me a chance to destroy them.

That might prove more difficult than expected though. My blood was meant for the First Emperor’s altar. Like a delicious fermented drink, the Nightlords would only feast on me on the Night of the Scarlet Moon and no sooner. By then, it would be too late to save myself. I would need to trick my tormentors into violating their own ritual.

I could only see one Nightlord maddened enough to try it.

These walls are ancient, I thought as we continued our descent. A few skulls belonged to old and ancient beasts such as feathered tyrants or longnecks, but I couldn’t recognize most of them. I passed by the remains of giant beasts with more eyes than I had limbs, the colossal bones of primeval animals, and the coiling remnants of ancient serpents. These creatures died long before our cities were born.

The simmering water drops from above drizzled onto the walls. They weren’t purple like the Underworld’s raindrops, but translucent, salty, and ephemeral. “What are those, Your Majesty?” I asked Queen Mictecacihuatl. “Those are not raindrops.”

“Both are tears,” the goddess replied calmly. “All tears shed by the dead above make their way down there.”

The weight of lifetimes of grief and lamentation compounded into a drizzle underground. I should have felt cold and drenched from it, but I suddenly realized the water turned to salty steam the moment it hit the ground. The air was searingly warm and hot.

There is a fire below, I realized. A flame that an ocean of tears cannot douse.

“Here we are,” Queen Mictecacihuatl declared as we reached the bottom of the fossilized stairs. “The Gate of Tears.”Upstodatee from n(0)/ve/lbIn/.(co/m

The moment I laid eyes upon it, I realized a title like ‘Gate of Torment’ would have been a more appropriate name.

The doorway loomed in the midst of an immense underground chamber. The tears that fell from the ceiling turned to steam the moment they fell from it, filling the room with a pale white mist. A terrible oval obsidian archway was ablaze with crimson flames illuminating the center. Arcs of crimson lightning crackled from the blazing symbols etched into its surface. An adult longneck could have crossed the portal, but no one would have been mad enough to try; for only pain awaited beyond its threshold.

Another world was visible beyond the gate, a hellscape of smoldering ash and rivers of molten rocks. The sky rained not purple tears of sorrow, but fireballs and blazing stones. The dreadful stench of sulfur flowed out of the portal alongside a terrible whiff of burning flesh. A translucent veil separated this otherworldly realm of fire from Mictlan; as thin as a curtain of water, yet seemingly strong enough to keep the blazing fire out.

None of the fires burned as hot as the dreadful sun overlooking the desolation. It was a searing blue as the flames consuming the land were red, the spectral orb floated amidst a sea of smoke and dust. The swirling whirlpool of clouds reminded of a baleful eye glaring down at the world itself.

“This is Tlalocan, the House of Tlaloc,” Queen Mictecacihuatl declared, her voice deep and heavy. “The Cinderlands, where the third sun rains fire and the dead burn forever. The second layer of the Land of the Dead Suns.”

A special kind of hell, the Boatman had called it. If only he had known how right he was.

I took a few steps forward closer to the threshold to peek, but I dared not cross it. The world beyond the gate exuded a sense of overwhelming dread and danger. I noticed ancient ruins and stone towers jutting from deserts of burning sands. Unlike the mismatched crumbling monuments from the first layer, those were clearly the remains of devastated cities.

“What...” I gulped, struggling to find my words. This layer’s flames inspired fear in my heart rather than fascination. “What happened here?”

“In the third world, the rain god Tlaloc became the sun,” Queen Mictecacihuatl said. “A dispute among the gods led to a terrible drought. Mortals begged King Tlaloc to bring back the rain. One day, their constant prayers were finally answered.”

Huehuecoyotl finally broke out of his silence, his voice somber. “King Tlaloc rained fire from the sky in a fit of rage and burned the world to ash.”

My eyes darted from the ancient ruins to the baleful blue sun looming over them. Tlaloc’s shining eye still glared at the world he had destroyed eons ago. I dared not imagine what crime could have been great enough to motivate such an apocalypse.

The sight of Tlalocan gave me pause. The Underworld’s first layer was the only place safe for the blessed dead. Mictlan was a sanctuary built atop a slumbering volcano.

Queen Mictecacihuatl laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Do you still wish to carry on with your journey, Iztac?”

I glanced at the flame within my chest. It had grown stronger, enough to spill out of my chest a bit. Yet the Nightlords’ marks still coiled around it like chains binding my very soul. I had made a step forward in my liberation, but it still remained out of reach. The sun within my heart wouldn’t burn a Nightlord to cinders yet. The goddess said as much.

I gazed at Tlaloc’s blue sun. Its sinister radiance and power put Chalchiuhtlicue to shame. Seizing its embers, let alone reaching them, would prove a grueling journey; but the fire in my chest would not be denied. It hungered for the power beyond this gate and the freedom it represented.

“I cannot turn back,” I answered the goddess. “Not now. Not until I am free.”

The goddess accepted my words with a sharp nod and a warning. “This door only opens one way, Iztac.” She stared at the veil separating her realm from Tlalocan. “Once you cross it, you cannot come back.”

My stomach—what remained of it in the Underworld—lurched. “I thought a Tlacatecolotl could come and go out of the Underworld?”

“There are other paths for a Tlacatecolotl to travel across the layers, but you will have to find them yourself.” Queen Mictecacihuatl waved a hand at the world beyond the gate. “Those Who Remain cannot be allowed to pass into the upper levels.”

I squinted at Tlalocan. This burning world looked deader than Mictlan to me. I couldn’t see the shadow of a single skeleton lurking among the ashen sands. “Those Who Remain?”

“The third world’s dead linger in the ruins of their lost realms,” Queen Mictecacihuatl confirmed. “The searing flames drove them mad with pain and united them in agony. Should they escape Tlalocan, they will visit their suffering on the peaceful dead and the living above.”

I struggled to imagine what could endure in such a hell. The heat and flames should have turned any skeleton to ash by now.

Could my mother truly make her lair in Tlalocan? I wondered. What comfort could she find in this place?

I weighed my options. Venturing into Tlalocan right now seemed like suicide, especially if I couldn’t turn back to seek shelter in Mictlan. The Land of the Dead Suns’ second layer would be most unkind to me. I needed to master my new spells and magic if I hoped to survive it.

“My queen, I need more time to prepare for this journey,” I informed Mictecacihuatl. “I please ask for a delay.”

“Hence the Veil name,” I guessed. I studied Huehuecoyotl’s arm. His new skin was smooth and vividly detailed. I noticed the shadow of scars and red spots left behind by old diseases. “This is so... so real.”

Unable to resist the temptation, I pinched Huehuecoyotl’s arm. He immediately moaned in pleasure, but I was too surprised by what I felt beneath my fingers to care: warmth, smooth soft, supple flexibility. Everything that made skin, well, skin.

I suddenly realized that Huehuecoyotl had reacted to my pinching attempt. The skin was either real, or the illusion gained enough substance to mimic a real one’s properties. “Does this work like Spiritual Manifestation?” I asked the trickster, gobsmacked. “Did you turn your illusions tangible?”

“No, no, no.” Huehuecoyotl wagged a finger at me. “The Spiritual Manifestation and Doll spells both require you to physically manifest your Tonalli, either completely or partially. The Veil spell keeps it in its spiritual form.”

“Your skin and flesh feel real enough to me,” I pointed out. “Enough that it hurt you when I pinched you.”

Huehuecoyotl’s new lips curved into an amused smile. “Did it?”

“You faked it?” I asked, squinting in confusion. This liar...“Why? To taunt me?”

“Because it’s fun, and because you would expect someone being pinched in the arm to feel pain.” Huehuecoyotl waved a hand at himself, changing the colors of his skin to blue. “See? None of what you see is actually there. It’s all make-believe. Spiritual camouflage.”

Camouflage. I had seen enough salamanders and other animals in the woods near Acampa to figure it out. “Beasts avoid danger when their skin and fur match the grass among which they hide,” I whispered. “This works the same with illusions?”

“Exactly!” Huehuecoyotl clapped at me, as if I were a slow child who had finally answered correctly on a test. It felt patronizing, but I bore it for the sake of knowledge. “The more a Veil’s target disbelieves what they see, the more strain it puts on the spell. Inversely, if everything appears as they expect it to be, then their belief strengthens the mirage.”

Hence why he reacted when I pinched his false skin. Since I expected men of flesh and blood to suffer when harmed, his reaction strengthened my mind’s impression that he had truly returned to life. Which in turn caused my fingers to mistake the flesh and skin as real. How insidious.

Still, I noticed a flaw in his reasoning.

“Then how do you explain this?” I waved a hand at my teacher’s blue skin. “I know this is an illusion. How can you still deceive me?”

“I’m a master of my craft,” Huehuecoyotl boasted. “But even I wouldn’t be able to deceive your senses for hours on end, my gullible disciple.”

I ignored the jab. “All I hear is that you can still trick my mind.”

“If you have the power, concentration, and mental fortitude. Even then, do you see the sweat on my forehead?” Huehuecoyotl punctuated his words with actual phantom sweat coming off his skin. “In short, the easiest way to use the Veil spell is to use your Tonalli to project a pretty picture of what the target wants to see. Once their mind believes the fake is real, then the senses follow.”

Fortunately, my current interest was to keep a low profile; to trick the Nightlords and their servants into believing everything was going as they planned. “I assume it is more difficult to trick groups?”

“You would think so, but people are like turkeys. If a troupe follows a crocodile along, the lone crafty hen will doubt her own instincts. Collective belief strengthens an illusion enough to trick even the skeptics.” Huehuecoyotl shrugged. “Of course, if doubts spread through the group, then the spell will put a terrible strain on you.”

Thankfully, I did not expect to perform before a crowd. “Can an illusion harm a target?”

“Do emotional scars count?” Huehuecoyotl laughed. “Wanna see?”

I felt a sharp pain in my right arm, followed by a terrible sense of numbness running from my hand to my elbow. The sensation lasted only a second, but caused my head to jerk in the appropriate direction.

When I looked at it in alarm, I saw nothing.

I froze in astonishment, paralyzed by shock and surprise. Most of my arm was gone, with my black blood now pouring onto the tent’s ground.

“Argh!” I snapped in horror and surprise, covering my bloody stump with my left hand. It hurt. It hurt as much as when that foul creature gouged out my eye in the Underworld’s wilderness. I knew it was all an illusion, but the pain felt real enough to me.

However, no wound could compare to the sensation of the void where my right arm should have been. My left fingers phased through the spot my forearm should have been and found only empty air.

“It... it can’t be gone...” I pressed on my stump, trying to disbelieve the illusion away. Yet the pain only sharpened and my missing arm did not reappear. “How... how do you do this?”

“Impressed yet?” Huehuecoyotl taunted me, amused by my suffering. “I keep the vanishing head act for the adult crowd.”

This couldn’t... wait. An idea crossed my mind. The illusion had range.

I rose from my chair and rushed out of the range of Huehuecoyotl’s aura. The terrible pain wracking my stumped right arm vanished the moment I escaped the old coyote’s power. My missing limb returned alongside all its missing sensations, my left fingers holding on to my elbow.

“You bastard...” I grunted in anger. Even the blood I had shed on the ground was nowhere to be seen. “You could have warned me!”

“I could have, but the mind becomes easier to trick once it goes into shock. The wonders of confusion and all.” Huehuecoyotl’s aura receded back into his body. His flesh and skin evaporated into nothingness, his clothes regained their dirty holes and former colors. “Phew, I’m spent.”

That spell is terrifying, I thought while studying my right arm. I still half-doubted what my eyes showed me. I could hide in plain sight, torment my enemies with visions, turn cliffs into open fields...

Worse, I feared the Nightlords might know it as well. The Jaguar Woman had used the Doll spell to strangle me on the day of my coronation. According to Queen Mictecicuahtl, she used the Veil spell to hide the strings when she used the spell.

If one cannot trust their mind, what can they believe in? I thought grimly. “Is there a way to protect oneself from illusions? Besides disbelieving it or escaping its range?”

“Nope,” Huehuecoyotl said with a chuckle. “Well, I’ve heard of truly obscure spells that allowed necromancers to see the truth in all things, but I’ve never encountered one in my long life and longer afterlife.”

I had to pray the Nightlords did not possess one. Even then, I would only use the Veil spell sparingly in their presence. It might be safe to use against their servants, but the risk of discovery was too great for now.

“Anyway, my young disciple, now is your turn. Let us begin with a simple test.” Huehuecoyotl pointed at my arm. “Turn that rancid, burning vein-oil of yours into fruity blood.”

I nodded sharply, then bit into my arm until droplets of burning blood fell onto the floor. I gathered my breath and summoned the power coursing through my veins. The same instinct that pushed my magic to fully manifest came roaring back, but regular practice helped me rein it in.

Chalchiuhtlicue’s embers had strengthened my magic. I could feel it in my bones. The burning blood coursing through my veins carried more power for my Tonalli to call upon. I wondered if it would strengthen my Augury spell too.

“That’s good,” Huehuecoyotl whispered. “Give it enough power to expand around you, but not enough to take physical shape.”

My Tonalli’s power expanded beyond my body in the shape of a black owl. I carefully prevented it from manifesting physically like when I transformed, instead focusing on keeping it in a phantasmal state. The aura thickened into a phantom owl of purple fire that encompassed my flesh and skin.

“Fascinating,” I muttered while studying my bleeding hand, now wreathed in ephemeral fire. “What if I...”

I focused on my fingers, turning them translucent. A terrible pressure swiftly smothered my hand; an invisible weight that my flames fought to push back. I immediately identified the source of my trouble: the skeptic in the room.

“Being greedy, are you?” Huehuecoyotl taunted me. “See how much effort I put into entertaining people?”

I had to concede defeat and dispel the invisibility illusion. The pressure vanished the moment I let go of it. I had underestimated the difficulty of tricking a trickster.

New test, I thought. I focused on my hand once again, but this time cloaked my burning blood in a veil of deceit. The flames became invisible to the naked eye, and the fluid regained its black-red hue. I still sensed a pressure coming from Huehuecoyotl, but one far lighter and more manageable than what preceded it. Either the illusion felt more believable, or the trickster made an effort to lie to himself. I could maintain this trick for hours, long enough for the fire in my blood to dry it to dust.

Huehuecoyotl’s lessons on finding what the heart truly desired suddenly gained more weight. I could, in theory, try to force an illusion onto my enemies, but the effort it required would quickly exhaust me. Subtler displays would serve me better than grandiloquent spectacles.

Beware, Nightlords. I glanced at the fire in my chest. You will never see your pyre coming.

I practiced with Huehuecoyotl until I awoke in a woman’s arms.

I immediately knew that something was wrong.

Ingrid’s hands had never felt so cold.

“Did you sleep well, Iztac?”

My heartbeat came to an abrupt stop upon recognizing the voice. I slowly raised my head, until I found myself face to face with a red-eyed woman of terrible beauty. I had wished for Eztli, and was disappointed.

Only now did I realize my mistake. I had strengthened my heart-fire. A flame bound to the Nightlords by their terrible ritual.

“So?” Yoloxochitl smiled sweetly at me, her white teeth sharper than swords. “Is there something you forgot to tell me?”