The Nightlords crowned me atop the Blood Pyramid.
Priests dressed me in lavish garments, including a beautiful mantle of turquoise which only an emperor was fit to wear. I had never felt something so soft against my skin. Jade, gold, and shells were interwoven with the fibers; I wore a treasury precious enough to buy a city. A cloak of feathers kept me warm in the cold night, while comfortable sandals protected my feet. My clothes soothed me the way a burial shroud enveloped the dead.
Then the Nightlords bestowed the emperor’s crown upon my head: a splendid golden headdress of precious stones and multicolored feathers harvested from legendary winged serpents. Leather straps kept them tightly attached to my head, like chains. The entire empire seemed to hold its breath as it watched me from the plaza below.
Once I had been properly crowned, Sugey, the Bird of War, swiftly tore my dead predecessor’s head off from his shoulders. Ocelocihuatl, the Jaguar Woman, laid a hand upon the bloody trophy. The previous emperor rotted away within seconds, his eyes falling out of their sockets, his skin and flesh turning into wisps of smoke. Only an immaculate skull remained.
“Now, Iztac Ce Ehecatl.” The Jaguar Woman gently put my predecessor’s skull into my hands. “Bring him to his resting place, so his spirit might watch over you… as you shall protect your successor.”
The skull was heavy in my hands. I’d never held one in my life. I suddenly realized how many muscles our neck required to carry these thick heads of ours. Still, I expected the full weight of a life to be greater than this. Nochtli the Fourteenth had died in the prime of his life, and here he was, staring back at me. I gazed into the empty sockets and the blackness within.
At a vision of my future.
“Emperor Iztac.”
I looked up at the Jaguar Woman, whose eyes shone bright red in the scarlet night. Though her mask and hood kept most of her face hidden from me, I immediately recognized that gaze. Necahual had sent it to me so many times.
Pure contempt.
My heart hastened with years of buried anger, as I remembered all the insults, all the looks, all the sneers I had ever endured. My fingers trembled with rage. I glared at this so-called goddess, who considered me a worm to squash underfoot rather than a human being. My lips moved on their own, in all violation of reason and sanity, and answered her with a single word.
“No,” I said.
A tense, heavy silence fell upon the top of the Blood Pyramid. The other Nightlords, who had treated the coronation with little more than boredom, gazed at me in sudden surprise. Their Nightkin and priests fell silent. My own blood froze within my veins. I had roused a deadly beast from its slumber, and I knew it would cost me dearly.
The Jaguar Woman’s lips pursed in anger. “No?”
I knew a twitch of her hand could end me forever. But to die now or in a year, what difference did it make? I refused to be looked down upon by anyone, even a goddess. With nothing left to lose, I had found the courage of desperation.
“You’ve killed this man.” I shoved the skull back into Ocelocihuatl’s hands. The Jaguar Woman did not stop me; she was simply too angry to respond properly to my act of rebellion. “The proper thing would be to bury him yourself!”
I didn’t know how many people heard my words. The Nightlords used magic to increase the strength of their voices so that all could listen to their sermons. It would make sense for them to silence me.
Fear not, the wind whispered into my ear. We shall carry thy words to those who would listen.
It did little to dull the pain.
I felt icy fingers close upon my throat with the strength of ten men. One second my lungs were full of air and empty the next. My flesh was crushed by magic so swiftly that I didn’t even have time to gargle.
I was no stranger to pain. I had been slapped by Necahual, I had stones thrown at me, I received beatings during weapon training at school. But all of these paled before the agony of being strangled. I was brought to my knees, my hands tugging at my throat, desperately looking for a noose that wasn’t there.
“I will have none of your backtalk.” The Jaguar Woman did not move an inch as I collapsed before her. Her hands of flesh still held my predecessor’s skull in their palm, but phantom fingers strangled me nonetheless. Her red eyes stared at me with lethal coldness. “Insolent slave.”
Gone were the lies of honor and glory. The Jaguar Woman spoke her mind. Iztacoatl, the White Snake, put a hand on her mouth to stifle her laughter. Sugey appeared vaguely amused, while Yoloxochitl observed my agony with a compassionate sigh.
“Forgive him, sister, for he is young,” she told the Jaguar Woman. “He does not yet comprehend his duties.”
“Oh, I believe he does understand,” Iztacoatl said, her melodious voice half-breaking into laughs. “More than the fools below.”
“He’s braver than his predecessor,” Sugey commented with some appreciation. “I like it. This foolish dog will make for a fine warhound once properly tamed.”
I would have called her something worse than a dog if I could still string two sentences together. My lungs were on fire. My throat failed to gasp for air and blood rushed to my head. My vision blurred at the edges.
“There is nothing to forgive, sisters. Our father’s altar will accept no other sustenance.” The Jaguar Woman knelt at my side, a hand on my cheek as she watched me slowly lose consciousness. “Let this be a sharp lesson unto you, mortal. Defy us again at your peril.”
I lost consciousness under the red moonlight; my body defeated, but my pride unbroken.
----------------------------------------
The sunlight woke me up.
I groaned as my eyes struggled against the luminosity. A sweet smell entered my nose, my lungs gasping for air. My naked back rested on the softest mattress I’d ever touched, and a cotton bed sheet covered the rest of my body. Something blew a gentle breeze into my face to keep it cool.
My eyelids felt heavier than stones, but eventually I regained enough strength to open them. I found myself staring at a splendid window wider than Guatemoc’s house and cut into a wall of marble decorated with golden eagles and emerald snakes. It was made of the clearest obsidian glass I had ever seen; enough to let the sunlight filter in and give a clear view of the capital outside, albeit darkened. The Blood Pyramid stood at its center like a red dagger pointed at the dawn.
The sight caused my hand to tug at my throat. It still felt a bit sore where the Jaguar Woman’s magic touched me. I glanced around, and held my breath in shock.
I had woken up in an opulent… room? The place appeared near a thousand square feet, more than a farm field. My own bed, whose mattress was stuffed with gentle feathers rather than cotton, covered as much ground as Guatemoc’s house. The floor was made of polished stucco covered in finely woven mats and animal furs—mostly jaguars and rabbits. Magnificent tapestries made of bright cotton and feathers adorned the walls, each of them portraying epic scenes such as the rise of the Final Sun, glorious imperial victories, and the shaping of the world.
The amenities were nothing short of dazzling. Incense burners filled the area with a sweet, flowery smell. A wardrobe awaited someone to try its hundred feathered mantles. A finely chiseled black wood table sat near the bed, covered by pottery, an elaborate drinking set, and warm chocolate cups. Each of them cost as much as a year’s harvest.
Finally, I realized I wasn’t alone in the room. Two nubile, topless young women—they couldn’t have been older than me—fanned me with leaves taken from a giant tree. They were pretty, maybe even more than Eztli. Their breasts were full and firm, their lustrous skin scarless, their hands untainted by hard manual labor. Their long black hair was held together by feathered headbands. I couldn’t see their eyes though; they conspicuously avoided my gaze.
I could have mistaken this place for heaven… if not for the skull sitting atop the cushion next to my head.
“Where… where am I?” I whispered, struggling to put my thoughts in order. My predecessor, who had watched over my sleep, did not answer me. Neither did the girls. “You, where am I?”
Only when I addressed them directly did one of the women answer. “In your royal bedchambers, oh great emperor.”
“Your desires are ours,” the other answered. She still failed to meet my gaze, though I caught a glimpse of black eyes. “If you wish for anything, you only need to ask.”
So I wasn’t dead yet. I raised my back and immediately winced upon feeling a sense of irritation on my chest. A small tattoo was marked right where the heart should be: a red cross trapped inside a circle. Four exquisitely detailed pictures were drawn within each quarter of the design: a black jaguar’s head; a white, feathered snake; a white flower; and a blue hummingbird. The Nightlords’ personal symbols.
The Gods-in-the-Flesh had marked me as their property. Their slave. I growled in anger and tried to scratch the mark away with my nails, to no avail. Curses.
I heard a sound, and my head snapped in its direction in alarm. Two great doors of wood on the other side of the bedroom opened and a man with a black feathered headdress walked in. He was tall, taller than Guatemoc, and strong like a trihorn. Though plump and with a double-chin, his arms’ muscles seemed chiseled straight from a quarry’s thickest stones. He went by with a regal red mantle that reached all the way to the knees, though his eyes were a darker shade of crimson. His skin was unnaturally smooth and hairless, his steps steady and nearly soundless. His face was pleasant, but his eyes did not smile when his lips did.
Two guards wearing jaguar furs followed him with obsidian clubs in hand. Most importantly, though they lowered their eyes rather than meet my gaze, the red-eyed man did not. I was immediately on my guard.
“Oh, my emperor.” The priest bowed before me. His voice was quite high-pitched for a man. “It is an honor for this humble Tlacaelel to welcome you into your divine palace.”
It wasn’t one for me. I glanced at the obsidian window, basking in the darkened sun’s comfortable radiance. So long as it remained in the sky, no Nightlord would touch me. I hoped.
“The dawn has risen,” I said warily, trying to gather my thoughts. I felt as safe as a turkey sensing a predator near the pen.
“Yes, it has been many hours since your coronation,” the red-eyed priest said. “The honor proved too much, and you fainted halfway through.”
I glared at him. Did he truly believe what he said, or was he just trying to make me swallow a polite lie? I refused to play along. “Yes, honor is like a noose,” I said with a dry tone. “There is no greater joy than being strangled by a goddess. It’s truly breathtaking.”
His smile didn’t fade. “I’m sure you will remember in time, Your Majesty.”
He knew the truth, and still expected me to play along with the lie. I already hated him.
No, Iztac, calm down. I remembered school’s warrior training. Teachers taught us to first observe the enemy before engaging him, and that foolishness was not bravery. I should be cautious. Play along and wait for an opportunity. See if there’s a way out.
The Nightlords had shown me their true face last night. They were like Necahual, but crueler. I wouldn’t let my guard down.
“Who are you?” I asked the priest. “Why are you here? Did the Nightlords send you to keep an eye on me?”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Your Majesty,” Tlacaelel replied, which was a polite way of saying yes. “I have served all emperors from the Twelfth Cycle as advisor and intendant of the imperial household.”
I scoffed. “You’re my leash.”
“I am your adviser, and your loyal servant.” Tlacaelel’s expression never changed, no matter what he said. He reminded me of our religious teacher, who always smiled whenever he described the best way to flay a man alive. “But perhaps we can discuss our respective duties over breakfast, Your Majesty?”
“Why?” I glanced at the table with suspicion. “Are the drinks drugged?”
“Do you want drugs in your xocolatl?” Tlacaelel asked me with a curious look. “Servants pour it without any, but we can spice the drink if you wish.”
In hindsight, I realized my question was a foolish one. They wouldn’t need a pretense to drug me. “I’ll do without it, thanks.”
I moved to the edge of my bed—a tiresome task considering its length—but Tlacaelel quickly snapped his fingers. To my surprise, two more topless women entered the room, grabbed a mantle off the wardrobe, and swiftly began to dress me up in fine clothes. I was so surprised that I didn’t even resist.
The new servants set the table for me and Tlacaelel, including tablecloths of white fabric, while the older ones kept fanning me as I sat on a pillow. One of the women served me a sumptuous dish with a divine smell: an enormous fish with pristine green scales on a bed of squash, tomatoes, and half a dozen vegetables I didn’t recognize. The tiny creature I had caught in the river yesterday looked terribly small compared to this meaty creature.
As for the warm chocolate drink, it was poured into a cup of gold with vanilla, chili, and spices I’d only ever smelled from afar at the city market. The set also included an earthenware tobacco pipe for smoking and freshly baked tortilla bread.
Though I tried to keep a composed face, I couldn’t help but salivate. I had never seen so much meat in my life. Tlacaelel made no move, and I suddenly realized he was politely waiting for me to begin. After some hesitation, I plastered some fish meat and tomatoes on a tortilla, then bit it carefully.
I dropped all caution the moment the flavors rushed through my tongue. It was simply… delicious. So soft, so rich in its texture, so juicy! This simple taste banished a thousand other meals from my memory, until only it remained. I took one bite and then another, unable to stop, unable to control myself.
“I am glad you’re enjoying your first dish, Your Majesty,” Tlacaelel said as I gorged myself on the food. “I was informed that you suffered from starvation in your youth, so I asked the cooks to establish a meat-intensive regime. We shall have you strong as a feathered tyrant by the moon’s turn.”
I was too busy making up for years of privation to answer him. My stomach, unused to so much food, both growled and hurt. Neither my hands nor my teeth would stop eating. When my mouth went dry, I sipped the chocolate. I receive a taste of heaven on the tip of my tongue, honeyed and sweet. They’d mixed things with the drink, spices I didn’t know existed. The flavors were new to me and impossible to describe, for I had nothing to compare them to.
“This…” I had to put the cup aside for a moment to recover from the aftershock. “This is delicious.”
“Your kitchens are stocked with ingredients from all over the empire, and prepared by the best cooks,” Tlacaelel boasted, his voice almost a song. “You will never have cause to complain, I promise you.”
I had to admit, the food was a wonderful way to sweeten my bitter mood. “Your voice sounds…” I frowned as I thought over my words. I had little experience with small talk, especially with priests. “Strange.”
“Since my duties demand that I supervise the emperor’s consorts, my manhood was taken from me many, many moons ago.” Tlacaelel chuckled to himself. “No man may approach blessed women with a weapon, as some say.”
A eunuch. I suddenly felt a little sorry for him. “And you don’t… miss it?”
“No, I volunteered for the procedure,” he replied calmly. His sheer impassibility was almost frightening. “I always wanted to serve in my current capacity.”
“I… I do not understand you.” Did he actually enjoy being amputated? “Why is nobody else looking at me?”
“Because you are a living god, Your Majesty. The Dawnbringer. Can mortals look at the sun without expecting to be burned?”
I would always remember my first week at school. A bunch of boys my age approached me for my good grades, treating me like a friend, telling me I was so smart and that I should become part of their group. Eventually, they’d invited me to a secret celebration at night. I’d followed them like a fool. I never had friends so I didn’t see the teeth behind the smiles.
In the end, they ended up tossing me into a sanitary pit and tossed shit at me till I clawed my way out. I’d never forgotten the humiliation, nor trusted kind words since. Most people not named Eztli were only nice to me when they wanted something. Even Guatemoc only treated me kindly because I worked on his farm.
If Tlacaelel hoped to soften me up, he had failed. Flatteries were to men what hooks were to a fish. I wouldn’t bite.
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“None but the Nightlords and their attendants are allowed to look upon your face without permission,” Tlacaelel said. “Those who dare will lose an eye.”
“Even my family?” I suddenly wondered what happened to Eztli and her parents after the coronation. “Are they–”
“Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but you should forget your mortal existence,” Tlacaelel said with a gentle scoff. “It was but a dream, and your true life begins now. The little people who took you in were blessed by your presence for a time, but they are beneath your notice now.”
It sounded like he believed it too. I waited for the voices in my head to mock him, but they did not. The window keeps the wind out, I realized, gazing at the pure blue sky. That’s odd. It always found its way inside the house.
“Unless of course, you wish for more servants,” Tlacaelel suggested, taking my silence for an invitation to continue. “I’m told the man is a hard worker and the women are quite lovely. Your harem does need some fresh blood, and your zookeeper requested more hands now that your jaguars mauled two members of his staff.”
“My… My harem?” And what did he mean by a zookeeper? What was that?
“As the First Emperor was attended by the Nightlords, four wives have been selected to advise you in these trying times; and of course, follow you into your eternal rest once your tenure ends.” Tlacaelel almost managed to make murder sound pleasant. Almost. “Besides your esteemed consorts, the palace is home to many concubines eager to service you. Your predecessor never slept with the same woman twice, or so he liked to boast.”
The rumors about my predecessor’s lusts weren’t exaggerated then. I glanced at the topless women fanning me. Just how many of them ran around this palace?
“So he kept, what, three-hundred women?” I asked, the number boggling my mind. “Four hundred?”
“The imperial harem reached three thousand concubines at its apex,” Tlacaelel replied casually, making me choke in surprise. “Though we had to sacrifice those past childbearing age, the sick, the useless, and the infirm before your coronation.”
He said the last part with such terrible nonchalance that it sent shivers down my spine. I dared not ask for details.
“You may also request the first night of any bride,” Tlacaelel said. “If you wish for any woman to join your harem on a more permanent basis—even another’s wife or a virgin—you only need to ask.”
“Just like that?” I asked, astonished.
Tlacaelel gave me a warm, genial smile. “The citizens of Yohuachanca are your slaves, my emperor. You can dispose of them as you wish. If you want anything from them, it shall be yours.”
“So if I say…” I locked eyes with this man, wondering if he would live by his own words. “Kill yourself, you will follow through?”
“You may request the gods to grant your prayers,” Tlacaelel’s crimson eyes flickered like a flame. “You are the Nightlords’ speaker, but we red-eyed priests are their slaves. Our lives end at their leisure, but I am certain they will entertain your request.”
I knew it. I only had as much power as the Nightlords lent me. They dangled pleasures before my eyes to make the noose more bearable.
Tlacaelel carried on with his explanations. “Your predecessors exterminated entire tribes or houses who dared offend their honor. As Huey Tlaloni, you may also declare war on barbarians and enforce the heavens’ justice. Of course, our mistresses require sustenance, so we cannot cull the herd too much.”
My eyes glanced at my predecessor’s skull. “You don’t say.”
“As emperor, you are expected to lead our armies to victory, subjugate or pacify our neighbors, supervise religious rituals, and bestow the gods’ justice on mortal petitioners,” Tlacaelel explained. “Each of your consorts will counsel you in one of these matters, but I can introduce you to them after you put your predecessor to rest.”
Of course. The Nightlords were too good for mortal chores. I gently grabbed my predecessor’s skull and looked into its empty eye sockets. It stared back at me, its teeth twisted into a hateful grin.
“There is a reliquary on the roof only accessible to emperors,” Tlacaelel said. “Many of your predecessors used it for meditation. Once you lay Nochtli the Fourteenth to rest, perhaps he shall share his wisdom with you.”
“What wisdom is there to share?” I asked. “He died a gruesome, lonely death.”
“After living a glorious life, my emperor. His Majesty Nochtli left us with many legacies. Conquered lands, glories to celebrate, and children to honor. Few emperors expanded our borders as far as he did.”
“He didn’t look like a warrior to me, all fat and heavy.”
“His Majesty Nochtli let himself go in his tenure’s last season,” Tlacaelel replied. “Having worked himself to the bone the rest of the year, he decided to spend his final months in pleasure. I assure you, he was a force to behold in his heyday.”
Had my predecessor surrendered himself to pleasure, or to despair? Maybe both? “I’m no warrior,” I said plainly. I’d been bitter over that truth once, but I got over it since. “The teachers told me I would never become more than a pack carrier. How do you expect me to lead armies?”
“The hassle of direct combat is beneath your dignity, Your Majesty. You are expected to lead common warriors, not fight shoulder-to-shoulder in the mud with them.” Tlacaelel chuckled to himself. “You sell yourself short too. We interrogated your teachers, who said you were studious and well-spoken, with excellent notes in history, astronomy, and scribework.”
I had to. I’d trained to become a merchant, and the teachers would have made me a priest if I’d been better born. Since military arts were beyond me, I’d put all my efforts into improving my literacy. Scribing work paid well, and I couldn’t expect to sell anything to strangers without finding the right words. “That doesn’t translate into military prowesses.”
“You would be surprised,” Tlacaelel replied evasively. “To get back to your original question, all lives must end, but if well-spent, then they end with no regret. I like to think His Majesty Nochtli died well and truly fulfilled.”
I doubted that, considering how much he had screamed on the altar, but Tlacaelel’s words got me thinking. A life spent with no regrets…
For the first time since I arrived here, I tried to imagine myself playing along with this farce. I glanced at the empty platter. A dish like this once a day sounded amazing enough. Yet from what Tlacaelel told me, I would never have cause to starve or complain.
My eyes turned to one of the female servants; I couldn’t help but imagine Eztli in her place. I wondered how it would feel to touch her, to kiss her, to take her the way I’d seen Guatemoc mount Necahual some nights. Before today, the idea of finding a wife sounded almost absurd; let alone three thousand. Though classmates at school talked about it at length, I’d never known sex. If it was as half as pleasant as others made it sound, then the year would be spent in bliss.
“What other entertainment can this palace provide?” I asked.
Tlacaelel raised his hands and started to raise a finger with each new option he presented. “It has hot baths, a gambling den, an arena, a private court for ball games, a dancing hall, a theater, a woods for hunts, flower gardens…”
“So much?” I asked, astonished. Was this place a city within the city? “How can they all fit together?”
“The palace is five floors high, without including the basement below. Its splendor is second only to the Blood Pyramid.” Tlacaelel turned to face the obsidian window. “Last but not least, there’s the menagerie. You can see it outside.”
I looked through the window and at the world below.
Tlacaelel hadn’t lied. The palace was many floors high, and my chambers stood at the top of the world. A lush garden of rich black soil sprawled below us, filled with flower beds, exquisite topiaries, shrubs, verdant orchards, and colorful plants. I recognized a few, for Necahual used some of them for potion-making, but most were unknown to me. A stream flowed between trees and stone alcoves holding beasts trapped within them: trihorns, baby longnecks, ocelots, monkeys… and even a couple of jaguars.
I had only ever seen a jaguar once, when hunters killed one and brought the carcass back to Acampa. How impressive the corpse had looked, with its deadly claws and mighty muscles. That one must have been a child, for the two felines below put it to shame. How splendid they looked with their spotted fur and mighty claws.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Tlacaelel asked mirthfully. “I can arrange a tour in the evening, if you would like it.”
“Yes…” I whispered, amazed. “Yes, let’s… let’s do that.”
Perhaps… Perhaps this wasn’t a bad deal after all. A year of bliss and joy instead of a lifetime of work. I never wished to become emperor, but maybe I could make the best out of the situation. Some would have killed others to make this trade.
My hand moved to my forehead, where Necahual’s stones once hit me. She hadn’t been the only one to throw things at me; just the one who did it most often. While I did well at school, my classmates never accepted me as one of their own. Even if I’d become a merchant, I doubted the population would have warmed up to me. Now they had no choice but to worship me. A long life didn’t sound so good when filled with misery.
Maybe I should give in, I thought. What joy was there in freedom when it tasted so bitter? One year of joy does sound better than a lifetime of contempt.
That impression lasted until I noticed the walls beyond the garden.
Thick red stone fortifications surrounded the menagerie, and indeed, the entire palace. Three stories tall, they were watched over by soldiers armed with spears and bows. Some looked outside at the city, and others surveyed the palace grounds.
“Why walls?” I asked, my voice breaking in my throat. “Why are they so high?”
Tlacaelel chuckled lightly. “Oh Emperor, you are the master of the earth. So many enemies of the empire and ungrateful rabble would do you harm without walls.”
It was only half a lie. Pens did protect animals from danger. It also kept them trapped inside before dinnertime. My own pen just happened to include many small ones within itself.
I suddenly found myself doubting everything. I glanced at my female attendants, and a strange question formed in my mind. “You didn’t mention males, Tlacaelel.”
“I do not understand you, Your Majesty.”
“You said I could have any woman,” I pointed out. “For a night or forever. But you never mentioned men.”
For the first time in our entire conversation, Tlacaelel looked at me in genuine puzzlement. “Do you want to bed men, Your Majesty?”
Not quite. I knew some boys at my school were intimate together, but I had only ever been attracted to girls. “I’m simply curious why you didn’t mention them.”
“Ah, I see.” He chuckled to himself, as if I had relieved him of a burden. “Your Majesty, the gods gave us life so that we might return it to them in due time. Two men cannot bring new soldiers into the world, no more than two women can breed a crafter. Yet our empire is short on both.”
I sneered in utter disgust. “My loins are fit only to breed more tributes for the altars? Is that what you’re saying?”
“All loins and wombs exist for this purpose, do they not?”
And like that, I went right back to hating him. I glanced at the sky, at the world beyond these walls. I remembered my old dream of traveling to distant lands, of purchasing a boat, and sailing into the sunset.
“Will I ever leave this palace?” I wondered. “Could I see the sea?”
“If the Nightlords wish for it, you will bless imperial armies in the field or attend diplomatic missions outside these walls,” Tlacaelel said with false kindness. “Some might take you to the coast.”
If the Nightlords wish for it.
They had given me a golden cage to wither away in. I couldn’t leave without their permission, and I would spend a year preparing for the next feast. All these pleasures offered to me were drugs meant to dull the senses.
I was no turkey happy to be fattened up for the slaughter, nor a slave happy in his servitude. I would not submit.
I kept these rebellious thoughts close to my chest as Tlacaelel and the armed guards guided me out of the bedchambers, my predecessor’s skull in my hands. I carefully observed the soldiers as we walked. Though they avoided my gaze the best they could, I still managed to catch a glimpse of their eyes’ color.
A dark shade of red.
Other guards awaited beyond the wooden doors of my apartments and the polished marble walls of the corridors beyond it; all of them priests bound to the Nightlords. I suspected everyone with a weapon answered to the gods in these walls. I would find no listening ear here, no one to support a mutiny. Considering the palace’s size, the staff, and the great walls, escape sounded impossible.
No, I mustn’t give up yet, I thought, two female servants fanning me to cool my body. We walked through elegant sets of wooden doors and golden curtains. After a few minutes, Tlacaelel finally led me to an ornate balcony on the palace’s roof. There has to be a way out.
With no wall to block it anymore, the wind answered my thoughts with encouraging words: There is a road to freedom, but it opens only to the brave.
For once, they sounded halfway reassuring.
The grand balcony, which faced the Pyramid of Blood too, housed a strange pyramid of the blackest obsidian roughly the size of my old house. A curtain of red threads protected the entrance, its rippling patterns resembling a waterfall. The black pyramid shimmered in the sunlight as if it gorged on the light.
“No one but the emperor may enter the sacred reliquary,” Tlacaelel said, stopping before the threshold. “No one will disturb His Majesty’s meditation.”
“Not even the guards?” I asked.
“You may shout for help if you require it, but none will enter uninvited.”
No one but the dead, I thought. I glanced at the skull in my hands, then walked past the shimmering curtain and into the abode of the past emperors. They waited for me inside, all six-hundred of them and some.
A pillar of skulls stood firmly at the center of the cubical room, so far from the entrance that the sunlight would not touch it. The ground was made of obsidian, like the walls and room, plunging the place into near-complete darkness. The skulls sat atop each other in a chaotic pile, some big and cracked, others small and pristine. Time had fused them together, joining bones with bones into a twisted white trunk that reached all the way to the ceiling.
I stared at this pile for the gods knew how long with the eerie silence for a lone companion. I tried to imagine how my own head would look once added to the pile. I couldn’t tell one emperor from another; all men looked the same in death. I would be no different. Just another corpse raising this ghastly monument a tiny bit higher.
“Where would you have wanted to rest, Nochtli the Fourteenth?” I asked the skull in my hand. My eyes traveled from one side of the pillar to the other, looking for a spot to fit my predecessor. “Would you rather be facing the light or the dark?”
In the end, it didn’t matter what the dead wanted. All spots facing the sun were taken by older skulls, but there were a few tiny spaces at the pillar’s back. I touched one with my hand to see if one more head would fit in.
I felt something prick my thumb, followed by a sharp pain.
I hastily took back my hand in surprise. Droplets of blood fell onto the ground, breaking the silence. I nearly called the guards, but bit my tongue to swallow a scoff of pain instead. I examined the spot and watched a sweet red drop hang from a black blade.
An obsidian knife as thin as a needle and sharper than an axe was embedded into the pillar. The shadows made the dark glass nearly invisible.
It took me a minute of slow, careful exploration until I could find the pommel and safely remove the weapon from its hiding spot. Why was it here? If Tlacaelel had spoken the truth, only emperors were allowed inside this room. My predecessor must have left it behind before his demise. I carefully examined the weapon, trying to guess the reason for its existence. Words were marked on the blade’s surface.
For spite’s sake.
I scoffed bitterly. ‘A way out that opened only to the brave.’ I understood now.
“You tried everything else, didn’t you?” I gazed into my predecessor’s empty eyes. “When you failed to escape, you left that for your successor. A parting gift.”
I could have sworn the skull was grinning at me. I placed it into the now empty spot, wondering why he didn’t go through with it himself. Maybe he’d intended to end his life on his tenure’s final day after enjoying himself, only for the Nightlords to drug him first? Or maybe he didn’t find the courage required in the end? I would never know.
It was customary for warriors to take their own lives when threatened with capture and dishonor. Teachers at school said that those who did so earned their entrance to a paradise, alongside warriors who had fallen in battle and women who had perished in childbirth. Would heaven’s door open even for me?
I forgot how many minutes I spent holding the knife. Was it all a trick of the Nightlords, whose hidden hands were waiting to jump out of the darkness and stop me? A practical joke of some kind? I traced a line along my arm, as if to confirm I was indeed holding a real weapon. I winced in pain as a thin red wound opened on my skin.
The weapon was real and sharp indeed. Could I use it to fight my way out? No, that’d be absurd. I wouldn’t make it past the guards outside, let alone the walls. I could slice my own throat easily enough though, or stab my own heart… it would be a quicker death than the one I could expect one year from now.
“What would it change, though? Nothing,” I told myself, my voice brimming with doubt. “It wouldn’t change anything. They’ll find someone else. Another dirt poor peasant who won’t mind. What would it change?”
The Jaguar Woman’s words echoed in my mind: “Our father’s altar will accept no other sustenance.”
I glanced at the mark on my chest, which marked me as the gods’ tribute. Come to think of it, my early death might actually have an impact. What did the priests teach me at school again?
This sun is the final one, I remembered. The gods have recreated mankind many times before, and found us lacking. Should our faith and sacrifices fail to appease them, there will be no new chance this time. The First Emperor will fall from the sky to rain fire down upon us all, until everyone and everything is ash.
My father and Guatemoc both doubted the stories, as did I. The Sapa did not sacrifice anyone as far as I knew, and yet no wrathful sun burned them to cinders. What if I died and nothing happened? That would prove the gods were false, as the wind said.
But if they were true… if the priests spoke the truth, if these sacrifices did indeed keep the cosmos running… then everybody would die. Everyone would perish because of me. The thought of Eztli burning in divine flames was enough to shake me to my core.
I tried to tell myself I still had things to live for; Eztli, dreams of distant lands, the hope of finding a way out of this cage and sailing into the sunset, far away from the night’s grip. Should I wait a few more months in case I succeeded where all six-hundred of my predecessors had failed? These thoughts were foolish; wise scholars and mighty warriors bled on the altar alike. If my predecessor had left that knife behind, it meant everything else had failed.
Perhaps I should just accept my fate with dignity, like my predecessors before me.
“An empty soul is a bane upon a house. Even his mother didn’t want him.”
My fingers tightened on the knife as I remembered Necahual’s words, her sneers… and so many others.
“I will have none of your backtalk, insolent slave.”
“Oh, I believe he does understand. More than the fools below.”
“I’ll miss this one. I hope the next emperor will bring us luck.”
Each memory was like a cursed needle poking my flesh. I remembered the backbreaking work, the insults, the glares. My heartbeat quickened with anger, my fingers trembling with rage.
“Never give him meat, lest he develop a taste for human flesh,” I thought, remembering the soothsayer’s words. Yet the gods’ servants served me fish for breakfast. They knew the superstition, but they ignored it.
Yohuachanca’s people had shunned me all my life. I’d been abandoned by my birth mother, spat upon, ignored, and shunned. For nothing but lies.
“Lies, lies, lies,” I grunted, all my doubts dispelled by anger. “I’ll just be more of the same!”
The Nightlords expected me to swallow more falsehoods, to bear it like a good little dog. Just like Necahual and all the others. To bear their sins for them so they could close their eyes and call themselves good!
Enough! I had enough!
“You want my heart, oh queens of the night?” I held onto the weapon with both hands, pointing it at my chest. Ironically enough, the Nightlords’ mark showed the perfect spot where to aim. “You shall find nothing there!”
The soothsayer said my death would unleash evil upon the world. For once, I hoped she had been right. Let my final gift be a free man’s curse. Either the gods were true and the world would burn, or they were false and their lies would be exposed.
Honestly?
“I’m fine with either.”
I gathered my breath and all my courage, then rashly drove the blade into my heart.
I immediately regretted it.
The knife sliced through my skin and feasted upon my blood. Its tip slipped between my ribs, cut the arteries, and struck true. An agony greater than the Jaguar Woman’s grip seized my chest. A pressure crushed me from within before radiating outward to my arms, to my neck and stomach. It was as if a flame had burst to life within my rib cage and then spread a wave of flame through my flesh.
It hurt. It hurt!
I would have screamed if I could do more than wheeze. I would have cursed my rashness, if I could still think clearly. Fear obscured my mind and shadows twisted my vision. My limbs weakened, my knees called back to the ground. I collapsed onto the floor, coughing and bleeding and thrashing around.
Everything was a blur afterward. I saw the obsidian blade buried in my chest shatter, for the Nightlords’ mark had grown a row of bloody fangs. It screamed like the mouth of a newborn, its screech loud enough to wake up stone. The alerted guards rushed past the curtain as I fell. Tlacaelel followed them, his placid expression twisted into a look of dread; whether he was fearing for his life or mine it made no difference. The Nightlords would punish him either way. I was a virgin, but I’d still fucked him over.
The pain was intense, but thankfully short. A terrible cold extinguished the fires that previously burned inside me. My body went numb. My mind no longer held sway over my body. I heard the wind blow triumphantly past the curtain.
Is the world burning outside? I wondered in my heart. Is the sun falling?
No, the wind answered.
It was all a lie. I knew it. It was all a lie. Another whispered into my ear, hissing in impotent rage.
“You foolish, selfish child.” Tlacaelel raised a hand above my chest; the last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was a priest raising his weapon to cut the eunuch’s wrist. “There is no escaping your duty. Not even death can sever your worldly bonds.”
I spat blood in his face.
Darkness shrouded Tlacaelel and the guards alike. The shadows swallowed my vision and extinguished my senses. Yet I was no longer afraid. Instead, I felt relieved of a burden. Lighter.
There was something trapped within me, a great power that the blade had freed. The knife had sliced through more than just flesh. It had severed invisible ropes I never noticed. I couldn’t explain it. I just knew.
There were a thousand eyes watching me. Blue flames burning in the dark, on the threshold between life and death.
“We welcome thee, honored sorcerer, our successor and champion,” the dead emperors whispered. “Let the chaos winds carry thy black wings past the Gate of Skulls, and into the Land of the Dead Suns.”
This was not the end. Far from it.
It was just the beginning.