Harbinger of the Storm - By Aliette De Bodard Page 0,86

Acatl. I have no interest in your death.”

I didn’t think he would dare, to be honest. A High Priest who vanished after visiting him… It wouldn’t be in his favour, no matter how he could disguise it.

I looked at him, and saw nothing in his grey eyes. His face was relaxed and open like a spread-out codex, his skin the colour of polished copper, his traits as inhuman as those of a god. In that moment he looked like the carved images of his father Tlacaelel-tzin, the man who had taken us and turned us from a rabble of uncivilised warriors into a great civilisation.

”I know you won’t trust any oath I make by the gods,” the She-Snake said. “But if you want to send a messenger to your temple and warn them that you’re going with me, please do so. I don’t intend to make you disappear.”

Nevertheless… Nevertheless, accidents could happen, and he was canny enough; and he had his own goals. Axayacatltzin’s warning still echoed in my head. What need was there to take risks? I was already doing enough accepting Nezahualtzin’s help, why did I need to further abase myself?

But I couldn’t shake the memory of the star-demon’s taint on Tizoc-tzin, and the way his fear seemed to have eaten him, not only fear for his life, but the annoyance of someone denied a treasure in his grasp.

”I’ll send that messenger,” I said.

The She-Snake sent for two spiders – not the small harmless ones in our houses, but the ones found in the southern jungles – hairy and twice as big as my open hand. He took them as if they were pets, stroking them gently in a way that made me distinctly uncomfortable. For all that they were Lord Death’s animals, connected to darkness and the end of all things, it was no reason to favour them so much.

”I’m not sure I understand,” I said, watching him cut into his earlobes to draw a circle on the ground.

He smiled. “We’re not invited where I’m taking you, Acatl. Better make sure we’re not seen.”

”You know a spell of invisibility?” I asked. I had never heard of one. I’d been told by Lord Death that it would cost Him too much power, but I had always wondered whether there wasn’t a deeper, more selfish reason for this. Such a spell would have removed the wearer from the sight of all creatures, including the gods and Their agents. And I would imagine the gods wouldn’t want to have mortals blundering around where They couldn’t see them.

”In a manner of speaking,” the She-Snake said. “Come in the centre, will you?” The blood on the ground was already shimmering, as if reflecting the light of the stars above.

Axayacatl-tzin’s warning echoed once more in my head, but I silenced it.

He sacrificed both spiders in a swift, professional way. Of course, he was the She-Snake, and would have taken the lead in the major sacrifices while the Revered Speaker was away on the battlefield. Their blood was not red, but rather an amber ichor that coated his hands like glue, dull and dark, as if it were eating the starlight.

However, when he started his hymn, it was to a goddess I had never heard of.

“In darkness You dwell

In darkness You thrive

You of the shell skirt, You of the star skirt…”

Smoke spread inside the circle, rising from the She-Snake’s hands – warm and smelling of herbs, a pungent odour that reminded me of something infinitely familiar, and yet that I could not place. What goddess was this? It almost sounded like Itzpapalotl, the large star-demon who had consumed Manatzpa’s soul before disappearing under the Great Temple. But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be.

“You of the large teeth, You of the shrivelled mouth

Darkness Your inheritance, darkness Your kingdom

Darkness that hides

Darkness that smothers.”

The smoke thinned, flowing out, but it remained on the edges of my vision. I tried shaking my head, but it was as if it had become stuck to my cornea. Its tendrils shifted on the edges of my vision, and never left no matter what I looked at. Magic crept along the nape of my neck, cold and unforgiving, almost like underworld magic, but without its comforting familiarity. It wasn’t the resigned acceptance of a god who took whatever dead souls were left to Him, but the endless hunger of something that lived between the stars, something that had been there since the start, and would be there in the end, that