Blood & Fur

Chapter Eighteen: From the Skin

Chapter Eighteen: From the Skin

Invisible eyes watched me all night long.

I searched every corner of the ashen plaza. I sought shelter in anonymity by hiding among the thousand dead corpses that walked through the Market of Years. I put on a dozen disguises and slithered among towers of skulls. All these efforts failed to deter my stalker nonetheless.

“I seek you no harm!” I shouted to empty space while sensing the spy’s eyes on me. “I wish to parlay! We share a common foe!”

No voice answered my words. Either the Sapa spy couldn’t answer me, or they didn’t believe me in the slightest. I knew which of these two options was more likely. After three attempts at communication, I gave up for now and focused on escaping my pursuer. They clearly would only listen to my pleas if forced to.

I felt their invisible stare following me everywhere, only fleeing when I activated my Gaze spell. These moments offered me little respite, for my elusive stalker returned the moment sunlight stopped pouring out of my eyes. Only when I hid in the secret bone tunnels leading to the threshold of Tlalocan did I escape their attention.

Whoever they are, they need an open sky to stalk me, I thought while standing in the shade of a tunnel’s threshold under a skull mound. I took a step into the dead sun’s light and immediately sensed this familiar spying spell brush against my Veil. I immediately returned to the shadows to escape it. And they do not relent.

I would have expected an ambush of some kind by now, but Mictecacihuatl had laid down the laws of her realm on my first night in Mictlan. To bring violence into the city’s walls meant inviting her and her husband’s wrath. I guessed even a Sapa sorcerer would rather avoid angering a pair of gods.

Could my pursuer be a Tlacatecolotl? It would make the most sense. It would be foolish to expect my mother and I to be the only owl-spirits in the world. I felt stupid not to have considered that one of them might work for the Sapa. A Tlacatecolotl could easily spy on me from atop a bone tower under the cover of a Veil and retreat back to the shadows whenever my light threatened to expose them.

Still, their ability to track me gave me pause. I had stepped outside a different exit than the one I used to enter the tunnels; yet the watcher detected me the moment I stepped out of hiding. Either they happened to look at this mound at the exact moment I threatened to walk into the light, which was unlikely, or they used a spell whose inner workings escaped me.

I crawled back into the dark, under a roof of bones and between walls of calcified ribs. I walked past half-sleeping dead undergoing the early processes of their long sleep. Some had already started fusing with the city, their legs merging with the ground like trees spreading their roots. The peaceful silence almost made me want to join them, to take a brief serene rest from the chaos my life had become.

Many would join the cohort of the dead in the coming months, though it would take years for most of my victims to make their way to Mictlan. I wondered if Tlacaelel was out there, walking the rainy wastes on his way to this shelter, pondering what brought him down.

Perhaps I should look for his soul to kill him again, I briefly mused before banishing such a fantasy out of my mind. While the likes of Tlacaelel hardly deserved a peaceful rest, the grueling journey to Mictlan would torment him enough. I hardly had the time to pursue this grudge for now. My predecessors might have a point. Some attachments can become ropes binding us to suffering.

I hardly understood the layout of Mictlan’s tunnels, but they seemed navigable enough. I wondered if Mictlantecuhtli watched over me from afar, opening paths and closing others to ease my journey. I doubted it. The ancient deity seemed likely to have forgotten me already.

After a long walk, I reached another exit. I carefully stuck to the shadows without exposing a single feather of mine to the dim sunlight of Chalchiuhtlicue’s sun. The tunnel had led me to the shadow of a great bone tower, near the city’s outer wall. No invisible eyes weighed on my Veil spell for now.

Since my stalker hadn’t located me yet, I activated my Gaze spell and looked at the sky. The sunlight pouring out of me let me discover invisible details my regular eyes had missed: the intricate web of pulsating strings linking the corpses making up the towers of Mictlan; the subtle tapestry of bone walls rearranging itself to adapt to the falling rain; the slow, subtle tremors spreading through the chalky ground beneath my feet. The dead might make up this city, but Mictlan felt alive to me, the same way a tree was. Mictlantecuhtli’s realm spread its roots and expanded its branches across the centuries, gently welcoming more and more souls into its sheltering embrace.

As fascinating as the sight was, my eyes focused on the cloudy skies above the ancient city. I searched for a bird, an owl, an invisible Nahualli scouring the heavens in search of prey.

Instead, I saw a strange object floating above the bone tower: an ornate mask topping a semi-circular blade. Everything was dulled and grayed in the Underworld, but the precious gold making up this strange totem reflected the dim sunlight well enough. The mask was in the shape of a gilded skull with emerald eyes and gemstone teeth, watching the city below with unparalleled focus. I immediately recognized the object.

A Tumi.

A skull-sized Tumi rather than one I could crush within the palm of my hand, but a Tumi nonetheless.

How unexpected, I thought, utterly puzzled by this turn of events. Is this a Nahualli form of some kind? No… it looks like a mere mask of gold instead of a shapeshifter. It doesn’t seem to sense my Gaze spell either.

Come to think of it, the Sapa sorcerer hadn’t canceled their spying spell in the waking world when I uncovered their tablet’s secret. Neither did I hear of magic that could observe others from afar. Even the Yaotzin offered only whispers of past trauma and betrayal rather than a glimpse of the present.

Could the sorcerer be a Tumi? I observed the mask carefully. It floated aimlessly above the city, its glowing eyes casting a faint light over it. I would have bet a fortune in cacao beans that it could track down anyone stepping into its radius. It did not move an inch. It simply floated in place, waiting for me to step back into sight. Let’s see if it can defend itself.

I cast the Doll spell and summoned a wispy, clawed string from my finger. I had never tested this power’s full range before, but now was as good a time as any.

The length of a bone tower separated me from my target. As expected, the longer the string of my power unraveled, the greater the strain on my Tonalli. I stretched my shadow into a thin line of power that grew thinner and thinner with each new step gained. I had to wrap it inside a Veil of illusions to keep it hidden from sight.

The Tumi detected my string nonetheless.

Its emerald eyes snapped in my direction the moment my Doll spell expanded out of the shadows and into the mask’s light. I sent my string forward like a fisherman with his hook in a swift attempt to capture my prey. I caught only air. The Tumi became translucent in an instant before dissipating into nothingness. The mask had vanished like my own illusions.

It’s not really there, I realized as I retracted my string. It was a projection. A shadow on a wall. How odd that it can detect the Doll spell even when under a Veil, but not my Gaze spell.

I quickly guessed the reason why. The Doll and Veil spells both relied on my Tonalli, my animal spirit, while the Gaze called upon my Teyolia, my heart-fire. The Sapa sorcerer’s magic could not detect the latter. Interesting.

I patiently waited for the Tumi to reappear for many minutes, all in vain. I had either spooked the spirit away for the night, or they were laying in wait somewhere else.

“You have made a dangerous enemy, Iztac.”

I looked up at the bone tower. A familiar figure descended from the sky and gracefully landed in the shade near me.

It was the first time I saw Queen Mictecacihuatl with my Gaze spell active. The lady of the Underworld had been a terrible figure even cloaked in illusions. My eyes let me perceive the true weight of her station. Her flowing robes carried a storm of dust as old as time. Her flayed flesh was a mask, a veneer of life on fossilized bones carved with occult symbols. Her beautiful ebony tresses had taken on the color of ashes, and the marigolds she carried on her person wilted at once. Only her shining Teyolia remained vibrant and lively.

“Yes.” The goddess let out a low chuckle. “I am old.”

In spite of her light tone, her words carried great weight. She had been the first woman to ever die. A daughter of the first humanity, who had witnessed five dawns and endured through the ages. It amazed me that such an unfathomably ancient being could prove to be so down to earth and amiable towards a lowly mortal such as me.

“Queen Mictecacihualt.” I bowed before the goddess and canceled my Gaze spell out of respect. “My most sincere apologies. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“How so?” Without my sunlight to expose her true self, the goddess regained a more familiar shape: a regal queen wrapped in flayed skin, lavish robes, and blooming marigolds. “I wear a Veil of my own to ease my subjects’ minds. Between you and I, I would rather appear as a living woman, but I have found that reminders of their lost lives fill the dead with sorrow.”

A Veil? Was the Gaze so powerful that it could pierce through a goddess’ illusions? Though I doubted she put too much effort into it, I still took pride in my magic’s potency. “I didn’t intend to carry grudges into your realm, oh goddess.”

“So long as none of you break my husband’s laws, this matter is none of my concern,” Mictecacihualt replied calmly, her gaze turning to the empty spot the Tumi used to occupy. “It does irk me to have a delinquent soul so brazenly intrude on Mictlan. If they so wish to linger among the living, they should have the courtesy not to disturb the dead.”

“A delinquent soul?” I asked, trying to make sense out of the goddess’ words. “That sorcerer was no Nahualli?”

“No, they are not,” the queen replied. “No more at least. I would wager that they number among the Mallquis.”

“The Mallquis?” I repeated. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but the term is unknown to me.”

“I would expect as much. Those sad souls are few and far between.” The goddess turned to face me and dispensed her wisdom. Her hands joined together, her voice deep and soothing. “Much as I dream of my mortal life, Iztac, some dead refuse to pass on. Where we see the long sleep as a peaceful rest, they see their own annihilation. Or perhaps they believe the living cannot survive without their wisdom and guidance. There exist spells that allow dead sorcerers to linger in the waking world.”

My fists clenched in disappointment. “The Mallquis are vampires.”

Could the Sapa Empire be no better than Yohuachanca? I had dared hope other countries would be free of the Nightlords’ blight.

“No, not at all.” Mictecacihuatl shook her head. “Vampires have never truly gone through the Gate of Skulls. They are half-lives staving off my husband’s grasp with blood and malice. The warlock pursuing you has already died, but used an anchor to pull back their soul to the waking world. It is a miserable existence, little better than what your guides are experiencing.”

“My predecessors cannot cast spells,” I pointed out. If they could fight the Nightlords themselves, they already would have done so.

“The Mallquis might possess more freedom than the anguished souls guiding your steps, but they are cold, dead things nonetheless.” To my surprise, the goddess sounded more sad and disappointed than furious with these mortals trying to cheat her out of her and her husband’s due. “All pleasures are denied to them. Their flesh rots, as does their soul. They are hanged men who would rather cling to their nooses than fall, who would rather gasp for breath and suffer forever than accept their end.”

Queen Mictecacihuatl looked into my eyes, her shining gaze full of wisdom.

“What kind of existence is that, Iztac?” she asked me with the utter certainty only an eons-old deity could possess. “That is no life worth living. No life at all.”

I imagined a horde of gilded Tumi skulls standing atop a pillar, much like my predecessors. The previous emperors were willing to sow war and chaos to escape this fate. I could hardly fathom why anyone would force themselves into that state out of their own free will.

Then again, I was willing to sacrifice much to secure my freedom and avoid the altar. The Sapa sorcerer after me held enough influence within his own nation to enchant a gift meant for a foreign emperor. They were powerful, magically and socially.

For a mighty sorcerer standing atop their own pyramid of blood and power, eternal suffering might seem an appealing trade-off to cling on to their influence. Or perhaps they bore this pain to protect their realm. Yohuachanca had threatened the Sapa Empire for centuries; the Sapa sorcerer spying on me might believe his nation required his help to stave off the Nightlords’ hunger.

Or at least, I hoped so. I wished to believe the Sapa Empire’s rulers cared for their subjects more than the four monsters holding my leash.

“Remember this, Iztac,” Queen Mictecacihuatl said. “None can escape the grinding march of time forever. Everyone finds their way to this city one way or another. My husband always reaps his harvest in the end.”

“Learn patience,” King Mictlantecuhtli had told me once. “Everything dies in time, even worlds.”

This very layer, built from the corpse of a past universe and on top of three others, was proof enough of his wisdom.

“Why are you telling me this, oh Queen of the Underworld?” I wondered. “Do you wish me to send the Mallquis to his final rest?”

“You are kind, Iztac, but there is no need for your intervention,” Queen Mictecacihuatl replied with amusement. “They will find their rest on their own, given time.”

Of course, though I had the feeling I might have to expedite the process. I was the emperor of an enemy nation who orchestrated an inevitable war for his own benefit. The Mallquis was—or were; I could not exclude the possibility the Sapa Empire hid more than one—more likely to welcome me with threats and curses rather than an offer of friendship.

Moreover, they knew I was a Tlacatecolotl now. They might be able to attack me in the Underworld or send someone after me. Dead gods were willing to form contracts with mortals after all, and I had encountered a monster on my way to Mictlan. The world abounded with fools, whether upstairs or down here. One of them might be mad enough to risk Mictlantecuhtli’s wrath and attack me in Mictlan for a high-enough reward.

Maybe I’m a bit too hasty here, I told myself while trying to assess the facts at hand. This Mallquis is both powerful and a foe of the Nightlords. Even if I can’t forge an alliance with them, we still share a common enemy. I could use a warlock of their caliber.

I decided against striking at the Mallquis for now. I still hoped to either make an ally out of them if possible, or at least direct them towards the Nightlords. I would better focus on trying to establish friendly communication than engage in hostilities. This would serve my long-term interests the best.

Still… if the worst came to pass, I needed to possess the tools to defend myself. Destroying the Mallquis wasn’t the favored option, but one I had to consider nonetheless.

“Might I enquire about your wisdom, oh goddess?” I petitioned Queen Mictecacihuatl. “I will pay any price you request.”

The goddess answered me with an amused chuckle. “I will not charge you for mere advice, my dear child.”

I stared at her in silence for an instant, much to her confusion. “What bothers you, Iztac?”

“Your generosity never ceases to amaze me, oh great queen,” I confessed. After all the backroom deals and haggling I had to endure lately, simple kindness felt both refreshing and unconceivable. “I am truly thankful for your benevolence… and unsure how to return it properly.”

“A true gift does not come with strings attached. The world above would be a far better place if the living would simply stop treating each other as potential tools or enemies.” Queen Mictecacihuatl let out a sorrowful rattle. “It takes death for most of them to understand this simple truth.”

Tools or enemies, I pondered. Somehow the Queen’s gentle words filled me with guilt. I could hardly imagine the Sapa sorcerer seeing me as anything else. I suppose the world would indeed be a better place with more Nenetls in it.

I hoped destroying the Nightlords would push Yohuachanca on a better path. I had to believe it. That my fight would matter in the long-term, and not just for me.

“Although…” Mictecacihuatl put a hand on her mouth as if to stifle a laugh. “If I had a request to make, I would like you to stop distracting Xolotl so much. He has been disregarding his duties.”

I chuckled back in embarrassment. Any night Xolotl spent searching for artifacts on my behalf was one where he didn’t guide wayward souls to Mictlan. “Our current deal will probably be our last.”

“I suspected as much, my child,” Queen Mictecacihuatl replied with gentleness. “Now, I suppose you wish to know how to deal with a Mallquis?”

I nodded dutifully. “You spoke of an anchor; oh goddess. Would destroying that object send their soul back to the Underworld?”

“Your mind is sharp, Iztac,” the Queen complimented me. “Yet you miss the forest for the trees. No object can keep a soul in the waking world.”

That would have been too easy... “Do they anchor themselves to a place?”

The queen’s flayed lips morphed into what could pass for a smile. “Why do you think vampires consume the blood of the living?”

My fists clenched. Of course undeath would require a ghastly price. “Only life can pay for life.”

“Indeed,” Queen Mictecacihuatl confirmed. “Unlike vampires, the Mallquis do not require the blood and Teyolia of men, but their breaths and Ihiyotl. They are kept from passing on by prayers and rituals performed by their living descendants, usually in return for protection.”

That sounded… almost reasonable. Prayers were cheap and did not cost the donor’s life, unlike the vampiric thirst for blood. Many in Yohuachanca prayed to their ancestors on lesser altars for luck or wisdom. The only difference was that the Sapa’s dead might actually answer.

I did notice a detail in the goddess’ words though. “You said living descendants, oh queen,” I pointed out. “Do you imply the prayers of strangers would fail?”

“The Mallquis are tethered to the world by their own bloodline,” the queen replied. “Moreover, no small prayers would provide powerful enough Ihiyotl to keep the dead among the living. They require regular and elaborate rituals to maintain their existence’s foundation. The interruption of which might prove fatal.”

So much like how a maize field requires a flow of water to survive, I would need to disrupt this flow of breath to destroy the Mallquis if we came to blows. My predecessors would probably suggest that I slay the Mallquis’ clan and relatives, to starve them out of a bloodline. I did not particularly relish the idea of staining my hands with more innocent blood, especially if simply sabotaging family rituals would achieve the same result.

That’s a long-term solution to a long-term problem, I thought. I had yet to identify the Mallquis after me, let alone the clan that supported its existence. Threatening them would prove an even taller order.

I couldn’t say the same for my own safety. The Mallquis knew exactly what I was, and where I was. This gave them a potent advantage if they decided to strike rather than parlay.

“How far do you believe the Mallquis’ spying spell extends, Your Majesty?” I questioned the goddess. “Could they pursue me into the depths below?”

“My husband stands between this layer and Tlalocan, ensuring that both realms stay separate,” Queen Mictecacihuatl reassured me. “No gaze, no matter how powerful, will pierce through his vigil.”

Then I needed to move to Tlalocan the moment negotiations failed. The Mallquis might have been simply testing the waters in preparation for an ambush. The more time I gave them to prepare, the deadlier the strike. I couldn’t afford to wait too long for an alliance that might never materialize.

I heard a howl in the wind, followed by a cloud of dust. Xolotl had hurried to join us, running and stopping so fast that he wiped a whirlwind of ashes in his wake. He carried a codex in his jaws.

“My queen.” Xolotl bowed graciously before Mictecacihuatl. “How good to see you today.”

“My faithful Xolotl,” the queen replied kindly, though it did not prevent her from scolding her vassal. “You have been inattentive in your duties lately.”

“This mortal is to blame,” Xolotl said, happily throwing me under the wagon. He dropped the book within his jaws at my feet. “King Mictlantecuhtli has given him a taste for impossible tasks.”

“You seem to have succeeded with this one,” I replied while picking up and examining Xolotl’s gift. I immediately recognized it as a dense codex of fossilized skin, bound by bent ribs and other bones. The carving of a skull blinded by three bandages on which the symbols of three suns were painted showed on the cover, right above words written in an ancient form of Yohuachancan. That particular jargon had long fallen out of use, though the red-eyed priests taught it to me at school for the purpose of reading ancient holy texts.

Skin Codex of Yohuachanca, Second Volume - The Fire Sun.

“What is this book?” I asked, my hand trailing on its surface. It felt unbelievably ancient, and a quick flip of the page showed that some were damaged or missing. Words and detailed illustrations were carved into the leather.

Xolotl shrugged. “What you sought. My power guided me to it.”

“Why have you formed a contract with Iztac, my faithful hound?” Queen Mictecacihualt questioned Xolotl.

The dog god lowered his head in submission. “I wish him to send my brother a greeting.”

“Ah.” Queen Mictecacihuatl nodded sharply. “I understand now. This is a once in an eon opportunity indeed. Family has its way of interfering with duty.”

I had guessed as much. Xolotl’s twin, Quetzalcoatl, lurked in the Underworld’s penultimate layer, where he shone as the second dead sun. Few traveled so far, and fewer could hope to survive to reach this destination.

I activated my Gaze spell to better examine the book and sensed no magic radiating from it. It was a perfectly normal book as far as I could tell. I flipped through the first few pages, which were too damaged for me to read, only to stop at the drawing of a terrible figure from the waist up: a sinister humanoid with pale blue skin, rows of sharp fangs that belonged more to a jaguar than a man, and ringed white eyes full of malice. An exquisite headdress of quetzal feathers and harvested snake eyes sat atop its forehead, while a dress of spider webs covered a mighty torso of rippling muscles. This entity screamed power and danger.

The paints and colors suffusing the carvings remained vivid—a rarity for such an ancient tome—and the level of detail left me unsettled. I could almost imagine the creature posing for the writer.

Queen Mictecacihuatl read over my shoulder. “Very interesting,” she muttered to herself. “This is an accurate representation of our brother, Tlaloc.”

Tlaloc. The third sun shining above Tlalocan.

“Your brother, oh goddess?” I repeated, unsure of what she meant.

“A figure of speech,” the queen elaborated. “Tlaloc and I belong to the third generation of gods that followed the origin of all, Ometeotl, and the four celestial deities.”

“It is indeed quite lifelike,” Xolotl commented with a whistle. Unlike his mistress, the dog god appeared unchanged to my Gaze spell. He didn’t bother hiding anything for the sake of lesser beings. “The writer must have stood in Lord Tlaloc’s presence.”

That caught my attention. The only way for someone to encounter Tlaloc was to either have been alive during the time of the third sun or ventured deeper into the Underworld than I had. I immediately started translating the page following the illustration.

‘Tlaloc - The Rainmaker, who gives life and takes it away. He who nurtures the earth with bountiful rain and ushers in chaos with violent thunderbolts. Tlaloc is an ancient deity of the third generation, created by the four celestial gods to shape water and sky. He is brother to Mictantecuhtli and Chalchiuhtlicue, his second wife, and master of all that falls from the sky. Rain, hail, lightning, and storms are his to dispense as he pleases.

In the dawn of the third world, Tlaloc shouldered the duties of becoming the sun. A prideful god, Tlaloc saw to it that the third race of man would prosper under his care and shame the creations of his predecessors, Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca. The third iteration of life was blessed with fertile rain, bountiful harvests, and heavenly guidance. The humans built great cities and monuments that honored Tlaloc above all other gods.

In his arrogance, Tlaloc made an enemy of Tezcatlipoca, the first sun. Through pernicious sorcery and charming words, Tezcatlipoca lured away the lesser goddess Xochiquetzal, whom Tlaloc loved dearly, and made her his consort. Tlaloc’s grief knew no bounds, bringing everlasting drought upon the world. Mankind begged the god for the return of his blessing, answering the god’s grief with demands and anger.

Disgusted by the ungratefulness of mortals, who loved him only for the gifts he bestowed upon them, Tlaloc answered their prayers with a rain of fire. His wrath cleansed the third world of life, until gentle Chalchiuhtlicue soothed his pain with her unconditional love. Only then did Tlaloc agree to let her become the fourth sun and recreate mankind.’

A chill traveled down my spine as I remembered Tlalocan. Whatever slights the mortals of that realm inflicted on the god, I could hardly fathom what crime deserved such an apocalyptic response. The writer gave a particularly dreadful portrait of the god.

‘Tlaloc is a jealous deity, quick to anger and slow to forgive a slight. Souls who perish from storms, floods, and lightning become his property and are spirited away to a secret paradise of eternal springtime and verdant bliss. There they rest in peace away from the flames that consume Tlalocan, for a god’s generosity shines all the brighter when surrounded by his cruelty. Tlaloc still rages against life’s third incarnation, unable to forgive their imperfections. To travel through Tlalocan means to shoulder his rain of flames and searing gaze. To demand a blessing from him is to court annihilation, for Tlaloc’s gifts are his to deliver as he pleases.

However, Tlaloc’s fiery temper is only matched by his fits of boundless generosity. Those who honor Tlaloc without making demands of him will eventually reap a harvest of boons in turn. To honor Tlaloc, one must wear blue paint on their body and a fanged mask to reflect the vain god’s own visage. This offers temporary protection from the fire rains searing Tlalocan’s surface, though it invites the wrath of the Burned Men.

To meet with Tlaloc one must reach his paradise, where his chosen souls live in abundance. This secret island drifts above the clouds raining fire upon Tlalocan, never staying in one place for long. Those who try to invade it by force always meet a violent end, but those who come bearing gifts will find temporary shelter in the god’s manse.

It is imperative that those who approach the great Tlaloc do so without any expectations. Having been disappointed by his own creations’ ungratefulness, Tlaloc loathes beggars and merchants alike. He reserves the worst of his wrath for swindlers. One must never give him the impression that gifts sent his way should come with hidden strings, though he will demand gratitude for the boons he himself bestows upon a visitor.’

The more I read, the more anxious I became. How was I supposed to petition this deity for his embers if he answered petitions with violence? Stealing them hardly sounded like an option. If Tlaloc caused an apocalypse over perceived ungratefulness, a thief would earn a fate worse than death.

Thankfully, the codex dedicated an entire chapter to Tlaloc, which I could study at my leisure over this night and the next. The details about the blue paint and mask also offered me a hint of how to survive Tlalocan’s fiery rains. It would help me prepare for my journey.

It seemed Queen Mictecacihualt shared my curiosity about this document. “Where did you find this book, my fair Xolotl?”

“In the outer wilds, my queen,” Xolotl replied with a shrug. “This lost book fell from upstairs, like all the others.”

This book came from the world of the living… and yet it described a layer of the Land of the Dead Suns in great detail. I flipped through the pages, stumbling upon tarnished maps of a dry, deserted land. A few landmarks caught my attention: a tall spire called Tamoanchan… and a black pyramid named Xilbaba, the House of Fright.

My mother’s lair.

I promised myself to look into it more, perhaps against my better judgment. Other chapters described the danger that awaited me with Tlalocan. Horrifyingly lifelike illustrations of flayed men and beasts stood next to walls of text full of warnings.

‘Woe to the dead of Tlalocan, Burned Men and Scorched Spirits. When Tlaloc rained blessings upon the third iteration of life, he filled their hearts with his own pride. The third mankind prospered beyond its predecessors, building great civilizations, harnessing the twin powers of flame and water, and forming alliances with lesser totems. However, they soon grew entitled to the gifts Tlaloc bestowed upon them. Though they honored him above all other gods, they started worshiping themselves in the form of great stone heads.

When the third sun wallowed into grief and condemned the land to drought, mortals and lesser deities alike petitioned him for rain. When their prayers fell on deaf ears, their mages raised a great tower, Tamoanchan, hoping to reach the clouds and force them to return rain to the world.

This display of arrogance, and men’s attempts to take by force the gifts he once bestowed upon them freely, enraged Tlaloc. He answered his creations’ prayers for rain with a hail of fire that cleansed the surface of life. The prideful men of the third world and the lesser animal deities who supported their rule had their skin flayed from their flesh by the searing heat. But in the Land of the Dead Suns, it is always possible to be deader.

The Burned Men still haunt the ruins of their civilizations and mourn their lost glory, their pride replaced with agony. Old rivalries have long been forgotten, replaced with a kinship born of suffering and undying hatred. Having grown feral, they congregate in primitive tribes and bands that attack outsiders on sight. They do not fear destruction, but neither do they welcome oblivion. In their madness, all they can think of is to share their pain with the universe.

Though the Burned Men will attack any outsiders, they reserve the worst of their fury for those who remind them of Tlaloc. The color blue drives them into a maddened frenzy. Among them are a number of totems who shared their fate when the third world came to an end; though diminished embers compared to mighty Tlaloc’s sun, these Scorched Spirits still wield great power and fury.’

Tlalocan would truly be a test of strength, wit, and resolve.

“There, you should have everything you need to survive on your trip,” Xolotl said impatiently. “Now, it is your turn to deliver on your end of our deal.”

“A contract is a contract,” I conceded. This document would indeed help me travel across Tlalocan safely. “What message do you wish me to deliver to Lord Quetzalcoatl?”

“Tell him…” For the first time since I mentioned my mother, Xolotl almost appeared well and truly solemn. He considered his words carefully before delivering his message. “Tell him that I forgive him… for leaving me behind.”

I did not understand his message’s significance, though Queen Mictecacihuatl appeared to do so. It wasn’t my place to ask for more. I had promised to deliver it. My obligations stopped there.

“I shall,” I promised. “You have my word.”

“You better follow through, Iztac.” Xolotl nodded thankfully, though his gratitude did not last long. “I have wasted two nights on this errand.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, my hands holding onto the codex.

I wasn’t certain Xolotl himself understood the significance of this book. The fact it had fallen from the world of the living, while describing the Land of the Dead Suns, meant its writer had traveled from one world to another. I had missed a truly important detail in the title.

Yohuachanca’s name came from its founder.

I held in my hands a book written by the First Emperor himself.