Chapter Seventy-One: The Last Trial

Chapter Seventy-One: The Last Trial

It said something about Mother that the prospect of transferring a girl’s soul into a monster’s body aroused her intellectual curiosity.

“Quite the brilliant plan, my son,” she congratulated me while casting a spell on her divinatory pool. The purple water’s surface rippled, with indistinct mirages forming on it. “Very bold. Tell me, how do you intend to bind those two?”

“My idea was to piggyback the ritual’s web of connections, the same way my predecessors and I exploited it to fuel the Legion,” I explained. “If Chindi is now supposed to represent Eztli during the Scarlet Moon, then this should create a sympathetic link between them.”

“Your former consort’s identity crisis already provides proof enough of this bond,” my predecessors replied, albeit with a caveat. “Nonetheless, can a Skinwalker’s spirit be conquered so easily?”

“A Skinwalker’s soul is a pitiful, fragmented mirror,” Mother countered. “Its malleability is why the Nightlords selected that creature to play the role of a replacement actress in their foul play. Its face will grow to fit the mask others force it to wear.”

I took her answer as encouragement. “So you think my plan can work?”

“Undoubtedly, albeit only with sufficient preparations.” Mother waved her hand over the pool, with the image of Chindi appearing on it. The Skinwalker rested in her new lavish bedroom, while poor Atziri did her best not to attract her predatory attention. The way Chindi smiled, with saliva dripping between her teeth, caused my stomach to sink. “This presents so many opportunities. Would young Eztli retain her new body’s powers if she overtakes its Tonalli? Or would she kick the old spirit out, magic and all? Would their spirits merge into a new personality?”

My enthusiasm quickly petered out. I hadn’t considered those outcomes. “You think Chindi’s mind may influence Eztli?”

“Who can say?” she replied. “My version of the spell is designed to take over a normal human’s body by casting their Tonalli into the Underworld and taking over their flesh. A Skinwalker’s Tonalli is stronger than any mundane soul, yet splintered and malleable. It might merge with young Eztli, adapt and force the invader out, or depart for its afterlife.”

“The third outcome is the most preferable,” I said. Eztli already struggled with sharing her mind with one monster, so I didn’t have the heart to impose the presence of another. “Is there no way to guarantee it?”

Mother shook her head, crushing my hopes. “The spell is experimental, and I do not have a handful of Skinwalkers to test it out on. We cannot know if it will work on its intended vessel until we try.”

My teeth ground against each other. “Which makes it quite the gamble.”

“I do not believe we will find a better host to house Eztli’s mind,” Mother argued. “Save her mother perhaps, which is an option I assume neither would entertain.”

She was half-right. Necahual would do anything for her daughter, even give her life, but Eztli would never consent to it.

“No,” I confirmed.

“I assumed so,” Mother said. “Then either it will work with this Skinwalker or it never will.”

The Parliament of Skulls urged us to proceed anyway. “We would suggest proceeding with the spell as soon as possible, our successor. Whatever risks this plot carries pale before the possibility of your former consort revealing all of our secrets under Yoloxochitl’s influence. Her mind is breaking down at the seams and she knows too much.”

Unfortunately, my predecessors had a point. I had already received a glimpse of what fate awaited me should Yoloxochitl’s image fully take over Eztli’s mind in the Razor House. Necahual’s blood donations would only stabilize her daughter for a while, but I doubted she could keep it up forever.

“Heed their wisdom, my son,” Mother said with what could pass for fondness. “Young Eztli reminds me of myself when I was her age. I am certain that she will adapt to her new vessel easily enough.”

I wasn’t sure how I should take that remark. Alas, I had very few other options and a lack of time to find a better one. Time was running out for us, and I had no idea when this particular deadline would come calling.

“How do we proceed?” I asked Mother. “When should we proceed?”

Mother smiled at my enthusiasm. She delighted in showcasing her expertise. “I see three hurdles that we must address before we begin. First of all, I designed my spell to transfer the caster’s soul, which would provide a stronger anchor. Since young Eztli is not a Nahualli, your current plan would have you serve as the intermediary between them. You will need to mark both of your consorts in a way that will allow you to serve as a bridge between them.”

“I can think of a few ways,” I replied with a shrug. Seidr should take care of that issue, and I could reinforce the bond by other means such as feeding Eztli and Chindi my blood and bones. Recruiting Necahual as a Mometzcopinque assistant might help me improve the sympathetic connection as well. “What’s the second problem?”

“The cost of success.” Mother’s smile faded into a scowl. “Even if we do transfer young Eztli’s essence into her new vessel, then this will leave her old body an empty shell filled only by the vampire curse.”

I knew this subject would come up. “Do you think this will allow Yoloxochitl’s influence to possess the empty body?”

Mother thankfully explained otherwise. “You would need an actual spirit to settle in there. The Nightlord Yoloxochitl is well and truly dead, her Tonalli forever trapped in her Father’s belly. She does not possess young Eztli from beyond the grave; your consort’s mind is simply being reshaped by the ritual into a copy of her predecessor. Without a spirit to transform, that vampire body will become no more than a piece of meat fueled by darkness. It may become catatonic or transform into a mindless monster.”

“Either outcome will bring the Nightlords’ attention,” my predecessors warned me. “We must proceed in a way that will lay the blame at another’s feet. We suggest the First Emperor.”

“He would make for a fine patsy,” I conceded. After what he went through tonight, it would be easy to make my lover’s transformation seem like a direct backlash from the First Emperor; a spiteful attempt to punish his daughters for putting him through the agony of his own murder. “Eztli’s ability to replace Yoloxochitl for the ritual is already an unexpected fluke. We could trick the Nightlords into believing that she simply couldn’t survive the occult strain it put on her, if we cover our tracks well.”

“This will nonetheless raise their suspicions, fuel their paranoia, and cause them to keep a closer eye on Eztli’s replacement,” the Parliament pointed out. “You will find your options even more limited than before.”

“Which brings me to the third issue with the spell.” Mother tilted her head to the side. “While the Skinwalker’s consent isn’t required, Eztli must agree to it. Any doubt she might have in her heart will cause the transfer to collapse part way through. She must accept her new life without remorse, never looking back.”

“I do not think she will object to the transfer, not too much,” I replied. Eztli hated her existence as a vampire, and I couldn’t see how the possibility of escaping Yoloxochitl’s hold on her mind wouldn’t appeal to her. The risks of our plan paled before the certainty of becoming a Nightlord’s vessel. “Breaching the subject with her undetected will prove more difficult, but I can manage it.”

I had spent a lot of effort building a network of intermediaries by handpicking my consorts’ handmaidens. Between them and Necahual, I could give Eztli enough hints and information to figure out my plan on her own without arousing the Nightlords’ suspicions.

“We would not be so confident, our successor,” the Parliament replied. “It would be difficult for anyone to wake up and see the face of a stranger in the mirror.”

“I got used to the Ride spell quickly enough,” I countered. “But I see what you mean. Agreement and resolve are two different things.”

“You will only have one chance to cast the spell successfully,” Mother warned. “Do not try it unless you areabsolutely certain your consort will go through with it with a clear mind.”

Eztli and clarity rarely went together nowadays, but for the sake of the plan I would find a way to dispel those clouds obscuring her thoughts. This would likely require Necahual’s assistance.

“How does the spell work?” I asked. “Must all of its participants be in close proximity?”

“No, so long as they are properly marked and their Tonalli properly resonate,” Mother replied. “You will however need to guide Eztli’s soul to its new receptacle and ensure the host’s will is suppressed. Both will likely require your physical presence near the Skinwalker.”

“But I could mark Eztli and transfer her soul remotely.”

“If you time the spell correctly,” Mother said. “The spell works only one way too, since it is based on an advanced form of the Ride.”

“So there is no risk of Eztli and Chindi switching bodies?” I felt no loyalty to the Skinwalker, but the possibility of her running around in a vampiric shell disturbed me. She was better off gone.

“Of course not,” Mother replied gruffly. “I would never be stupid enough to let someone run around in my body. No loose ends.”

I could agree with that mindset. This greatly simplified a very difficult situation.

I considered how to proceed. My first order of business would be to put Necahual through the Mometzcopinque ritual in Zachilaa, then use the Flower Wars as a distraction to run the soul transfer spell.

The Nightlords would never allow Eztli to risk herself near the frontlines for fear of disturbing their wicked ritual. They would keep her at the palace while the rest of us traveled south to fight the Sapa.

Which meant I had only a very short time window to both mark Eztli and convince her to use the spell.

“I will work on refining the spell as much as I can,” Mother said. “You should face the last of the Lords of Terror in the meantime. This will clear the path to the pyramid and grant you a final spell that may or may not come in handy in your endeavor.”

This would also give the Lords of Terror an opportunity to sabotage me too. I doubted they had taken our last encounter well, however bound they were to Xibalba’s rules.

“Will I be able to return here afterwards should I pass the trial?” I asked. “They have already denied me access to your Owl House when I needed to contact you the most.”

“That won’t be a problem anymore after you conquer the last House of Trials,” Mother replied reassuringly. “Conquering them will mark you as worthy of entering the Black Pyramid and of participating in the Lords’ sacred ballcourt game. All the city’s doors will open to you then.”

“All of them, except the exit.”

“Crossing that threshold will require another sacrifice.” Mother marked a short pause, as if hesitating to broach a peculiar subject before deciding against it. “Go now, my son. Your final trial awaits you.”

I faced Xibalba’s misty archway for the last time.

The thick mantle of fog swirled with the rancid stench of bitterness and nauseating fumes of disdain. I sensed no invitation to a trap or to uncover ancient knowledge like my previous visits. The threshold no longer bothered to deceive and trick me with a false allure of safety.

The farce was up. I would only find hatred beyond this doorway to darkness.

“Are you ready, our successor?” the two skulls in my hands asked. “There is no telling what awaits you inside.”

Their concern was not unwarranted. I’d refused to become the Lords’ pawn. This sixth ordeal and the ballgame that followed would be their final chance to either corrupt or punish me for my defiance. I could expect almost anything.

Yet I felt no fear. My mind was clear like a cloudless sky, my will stronger than the thickest stone.

“Many times have the Lords of Terror tried to destroy my spirit and failed,” I declared, both to my predecessors and this cursed city. “This trial will be no different.”

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Whatever foul ploy they planned for me, I would beat it.

In a way, the Lords had succeeded in their aim. They had purged me of my fears and doubts until only the twin flames of hatred and resolve remained. Neither gods nor demons would intimidate me anymore.

I absorbed the skulls back into my skeletal frame and crossed into the fog alone with my thoughts.

Even a glare remained a human interaction at the end of the day; a reminder that one existed as part of a greater world. I almost came to miss them. I would have given so much to have even the likes of Tezozomoc, Tlacaelel, and all those bootlickers and abusers speaking to me right now. I would take any reminder that someone, something existed outside the prison of my mind.

To become truly weightless, unburdened by anything and anyone, meant stopping to exist.

And it felt awful.

The silence numbed my soul. The sky would devour my mind piece by piece, slowly corroding my sense of self until I forgot that there used to be a ground beneath it. Only empty blue, forever and ever.

Absolute isolation could drive any man to insanity.

“Anyone?” I whispered to the void, then shouted. “Answer me!”

Not even the echo of my own words answered me. The sky denied me that small mercy.

Perhaps the Lords would let me out if I begged for their forgiveness, or if I agreed to a pact that would bind me to their service. Maybe a single word of apology separated me from hitting the ground and the comfort of an ending, of collision with another.

“No.” Something within me flowed out of my mouth, a raw, stubborn desire born of my pride and tattered conviction. “No, no, never surrender, never compromise.”

I refused to give in.

I said... I said once that I would beat this trial. I remembered it. I promised it to... to someone I couldn’t recall...

I fought back the tiredness and exhaustion in an attempt to focus. I closed my mind to the velocity and the maddening silence of this maddened atmosphere. I retreated into myself in search of an answer deep within.

I sensed it. A chain binding my heart to ghosts of an ancient past. The one anchor that the blue couldn’t take from me; a leash that I loathed from the very bottom of my soul.

Yet gazing upon it filled me with gratitude, for I sensed so many presences through it. Links in a chain praying for my success.

There had to be a way out of this cell. A spell I hadn’t considered. A secret trick that would let me escape.

I couldn’t be powerless...

Powerless.

My eyes snapped open. A mad idea had crossed my mind.

I canceled Spiritual Manifestation and became a man again. I faced the new fall calling me and stared into the endless abyss with a wicked grin.

“Behold, demons!” I taunted the void. “How a man brings down the sky!”

I slammed my hands together and called upon the secret terror engraved within my heart.

“Powerlessness,” I whispered with a smile.

I called upon the Tomb to swallow me whole.

My power rippled out of my body like a storm of dirt filling the empty air. Baleful purple flame spread through the void. The whispering shadows of a bird cage made of vengeful skulls swirled around me, unformed and half-born.

The strain affected my Teyolia and Tonalli both. The Tomb required more power than I had to fully manifest it. In the absence of more embers, it was condemned to remain an incomplete and stillborn manifestation of my own fear. Its true potential remained beyond my grasp for now.

But it didn’t matter now. I could already sense the pressure buckling against my Tomb.

Although this place seemed endless, it remained a closed domain within Xibalba; a House of Trials.

And no two houses could stand in the same spot.

My metaphysical weight pushed against my prison, imposing structure into the formless void. It recoiled and raged at this violation. The blue cracked like glass, thin lines spreading across the horizon. They were thin at first and hardly more visible than the shadow of dancing clouds in the distance, but the mere sight of this change in the unmoving nothingness filled my heart with glee.

The blaze of my soul burned brighter and strengthened the unborn Tomb it called forth from the depths of my being. I sensed it as the chain around my heart-fire strained and answered my call. A horde of ghosts sang within my half-born birdcage, their fears and spite resonating with mine. A chorus of past emperors lent me their aid, my plea an echo of their own.

The curse that bound us together pulled the weight of over six hundred ghostly spirits down onto this empty house.

I was not alone anymore, nor had I ever been.

We were legion, and we were many.

A greater darkness stirred at the beginning of the chain as I pulled it to me. I sensed the First Emperor look upon me from high above. My resolve and pride pierced through the veil of pain and horrible memories the Nightlords put him through, and the weight of its distant, eldritch gaze proved too much for this paltry excuse of a sky to hold.

The void shuddered in pain, like a gullet struggling to hold back a piece of food too spicy for it. Vibrations coursed through the nothingness around me, slowly building up towards its apex.

Then the sky screamed.

The void let out an inhuman noise; a high-pitch wail of pure pain and suffering, whose strength was only matched by that of my roaring laughter.

What boundless joy to hear the heavens weep!

Only when the scream finally reached its apex did the ground appear below me. A floor of stone sprawled and rushed towards me with gnashing teeth of sharp obsidian. A mouth the size of a city opened to swallow me whole, and within it, I saw only smoke and a tongue of steaming magma.

I looked into the dark abyss of its gullet and uttered a single Word.

“Close.”

The maw snapped shut.

I summoned my jet black wings and gracefully landed on a tooth longer than my entire body. I sensed the fanged ground shudder beneath me, its animalist hunger fruitlessly pushing against the power of my will. A vain effort. This thing was little more than a wall with hunger, a beast meant to obey the orders of higher beings.

Its master swiftly whispered in my ear. “How?”

I almost mistook its voice for the Yaotzin’s at first, but no wind blew in my ear. I only sensed the pressure of air.

I looked up to the sky and found myself facing a spiral. The shining blue sky had transformed from an endless expanse into a maelstrom of air. I almost suffered from vertigo simply by looking at it.

As I focused and my eyes adjusted to the blinding light, I noticed a shape in the spiral’s center: the floating body of a hairless, gray humanoid in a fetal position, so far above me it would take me hours of flight to reach it. I must have looked exactly the same when the sky had caught me in its grip.

The last two Lords of Terror looked down upon me in defeat. Their jail of air had failed to hold me.

“How?” the spiral whispered in my ear with a feminine voice. “How did a mere mortal destabilize our den of fear?”

“You answered your own question, demon,” I replied with my head held high. “There is nothing mere about me.”

I was the heir to a six-hundred year old legacy of death and murder. Its occult weight allowed my unborn Tomb to overwhelm even the Lords’ domain.

“Yes... yes, I see that now.” The spiral coiled into a fractal, a mind-numbing vision of light and blue colors. “You gaze upon Xic, the vast and wingless, she who brings men down and down into the deepest void. Behold Patan, the forsaken, the weightless loner.”

The lonely humanoid did not turn to address me. I figured that the demon of isolation would not deign to greet its visitor. How impolite.

“You are wasting your immense talents on the happiness of lesser beings, sorcerer,” the sky said. I sensed no anger in her voice; only disappointment. “Why will you not embrace true freedom?”

“What are you talking about?” I scoffed. “It is freedom that I seek above all things. The freedom to do as I choose.”

“Such a state can only be achieved by true weightlessness,” Xic argued. “When chained to others, a soul can only fall further down towards its doom. Only by severing themselves from their mortal attachments can a sorcerer live free of suffering.”

I snorted and glared at Patan. “You would have me end up like him then? A crawling shadow left adrift in the void?”

“The fall never kills, demon emperor,” the empty sky replied. “The impact does. Only a soul that travels unburdened can remain beyond the reach of pain and sorrow. You believe your bonds strengthen you, when they are no more than a noose tightening around your neck.”

“Then give me the spell which you owe me, so that I can sever my obligations to you Lords of Terror and fly far away free,” I replied coldly. I was done taking lessons. Now I would seize power. “You can be alone again in this endless prison you call your house.”

“Beware the pride before the fall, demon emperor. No one escapes Xibalba without paying their due.” The sky coiled and unfurled like a great beast shifting its form. “We bestow upon you the Fall spell. Up, down, left, right, forward, and downward. You alone will decide which way gravity falls.”

Another spell added to my repertoire.

I had concluded my last trial.

Only the final ballcourt game stood between me and this cursed city’s threshold.