Blood & Fur

Chapter Eighty-Two: Daughters of Battle

Chapter Eighty-Two: Daughters of Battle

True to her word, Lahun provided a wealth of documents related to Quetzalcoatl.

I always felt closer to Quetzalcoatl among the countless gods-in-spirit, both because he was the patron of the merchant caste which I had once hoped to join and ruled over my birthday sign. I’d even thought that the wind’s whispers came from him until the Yaotzin’s cruelty denied my delusions. Everything I’d heard about Quetzalcoatl painted him as the most benevolent of the gods, and I could hardly believe he would advocate for death and bloodshed.

The documents Lahun provided seemed to point that way too. I spent most of the afternoon studying them while Ingrid and the others researched the Sapa Empire’s origins on my behalf, wading through countless contradictory tales, priestly accounts, and old stories.

Quetzalcoatl, the White God, Feathered Serpent and Morning Star, was born from the primordial couple Ometecuhtli and Omecihuatl alongside his siblings Xipe Totec, Tezcatlipoca, and Huitzilopochtli. From his shadow was born his twin Xolotl, as small and foolish as Quetzalcoatl was great and bright. He is the patron of the arts and defender of merchants, craftsmen, and seekers of knowledge.

Born as the wisest among the gods, though not the most cunning, Quetzalcoatl ascended as the Second Sun after the fall of his brother Tezcatlipoca. The men of his time were made small, so that they would not devour all creatures of the earth like the giants who preceded them. Quetzalcoatl was a benevolent sun, who taught mortals how to use calendars to count time and predict their fate, how to write and read books to store their knowledge, and how to farm corn to feed themselves.

However, the Feathered Serpent proved too kind by half. Disdaining human sacrifices and answering all offenses with mercy, he inspired the second mankind to wallow in its sins. Their greed and faithlessness eventually earned the ire of Tezcatlipoca, the First Sun, who cursed their bodies to reflect their ugly nature by transforming them into warlike monkeys. Disheartened, Quetzalcoatl blew away the second sons of man away with hurricanes before surrendering the sun-throne to his successor Tlaloc so that a better race of men could be born anew. So it is that men must shed their blood on the gods’ altars, so as to never forget the moral duties expected of them.

The last part felt like an addition from the priesthood to explain human sacrifices. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Nightlords had a hand in altering ancient tales to justify their cruelty until they became the most commonly accepted version.

The mention of Xolotl also aroused my curiosity. The dog-god had asked me to carry a message to his brother Quetzalcoatl, and I wondered if it might have something to do with the Gate of the Twin-Breaths. I searched for stories on that front until I found one.

On the eve of the Fifth Cosmos, the newborn sun remained immobile in the sky and scorched the land, so lesser gods sacrificed their strength to fuel the wind that would keep it in movement. When Xolotl’s turn came to give his life, the dog god alone cowardly fled. His brother Quetzalcoatl gave chase and three times Xolotl changed his shape to avoid capture; first becoming a maize plant, then a maguey flower, and then finally an axolotl. His deceit only delayed the inevitable, for none can deceive the Morning Star.

When Quetzalcoatl caught him for the fourth time, Xolotl pleaded for his life and offered his brother a deal: in exchange for his life being spared, he would guide Quetzalcoatl to Mictlan to steal the bones of the previous humanities in order to create the new one. Merciful Quetzalcoatl accepted and the twins descended into the Underworld to confront King Mictlantecuhtli, but the Lord of the Dead had grown weary of the gods’ repeated failures to raise an eternal sun and denied them.

Unabated, the twins attempted to flee back to the land of the living with the stolen bones, but while wise Quetzalcoatl escaped capture, cowardly Xolotl could not escape death twice and was caught. For his crime, King Mictlantecuhtli condemned the dog god to forever shepherd the souls of the dead to his kingdom until all the stolen bones eventually made their way back to their resting place.

I pondered this tale and thought back to Xolotl. My predecessors’ skulls accused his service of being punishment for past cowardice. While I had sympathy for him—having refused to meekly sacrifice my life to so-called gods myself—his self-serving personality and laziness did not endear him to me. I still held true to our deal though, and I would share his message with his brother.

“Tell him that I forgive him,” he had said before I departed Mictlan, “for leaving me behind.”

The story and my encounter with him implied that Xolotl bore no resentment for Quetzalcoatl leaving him behind to King Mictlantecuhtli’s mercy, but I wasn’t sure how far I could trust the tale in question. I couldn’t expect legends going back to the world’s creation to be accurate.

None of this brought me any closer to finding the key to the Gate of the Twin-Breaths. I doubted Quetzalcoatl would let me pass through it for free even if I argued I had a message to deliver; I couldn’t even tell if he had any influence on the passage itself. Queen Mictecacihuatl had made it clear that traveling through the Gate of Tears separating her realm from Tlalocan was a one-way trip, something which she could not undo.

In the end, I ran out of time to read everything until the feast. Lahun, who already showed great proficiency in her powers by shapeshifting back into her human form, had all the documents which we hadn’t read yet transported to the longneck for future examination. I hoped to review them tomorrow morning before our war council.

So much to do and so little time.

At sundown, we gathered at the city’s grand plaza. True to their austere and communal nature, the amazons held their feasts in the open. Every adult had to attend. From what Chikal told me, not even the queen could be absent from one without a good excuse such as performing religious sacrifices. Each individual had to throw a piece of soft bread in a communal basin of water which Ixmucan carried around to signify the bounds of sisterhood that they shared. I was exempted from it as a male, though my consorts and concubines alike had to provide their own offerings. I instead supplied every person in attendance with a cup of pulque from my own reserves. I doubted it would earn me these people’s loyalty, but a good emperor spent lavishly to show off his wealth and magnanimity.

As the queen’s companion, I was offered a seat at her side on a central dais of wood overseeing everything. Itzili, whose increased growth now caused him to tower over our trihorns, rested behind our wood and feather thrones like a hound ready to pounce.

I came clothed in the crimson Tlahuiztli in order to present myself as a war leader rather than as a mere pretty prop. I felt the blood tainted cotton rolling on my skin. The armor’s scales clung to my flesh as if they were part of me, and the First Emperor’s jade mask harmoniously espoused the shape of my jaw like a second maw.

It felt... comfortable.

I looked at my hand and saw a faint crimson mist rise from my fingers—the fumes of my enemies' boiling blood. Yet I felt none of the bloodlust and savagery that once clouded my mind during Iztacoatl’s hunt. My mind was clear, my vision unclouded.

I had grown into the role of the demon emperor and Cizin, Fear of the Gods. By embracing this part of myself and earning Tlaloc’s strength, I had gained greater control over the darkness dwelling within my heart. I had abandoned the wanton brutality of the mad warrior for the calculated cruelty of an almighty tyrant.

“This role fits you,” the wind whispered. “Do you not enjoy it? The thrill of being feared rather than fearful?”

I would be lying if I said I didn’t see the appeal, which only made it more of a slippery slope. I only had to peer at the First Emperor’s mask to see what awaited me at that particular road’s end.

Nonetheless, I could feel the tug of my magic at the edge of my consciousness. My experience in Zachilaa taught me that I had to lord my power over the world if I wished to retain control. I had to master this charade rather than suppress it. I needed a demonstration of my power, and I would soon have a chance to do it.

Chikal sensed my restlessness. She sat at my side dressed in the armor of a warrior-queen and observed me carefully. She relaxed slightly when she saw me meditate in my seat with my hands folded together, a master of all I saw. Many amazons seated across rows and tables avoided my gaze, and the few who dared did so with baleful hatred. Singers played the drums and flutes around us, their songs a distant echo.

“The goddess did not grace us with her presence,” Chikal noted.

“Pageantry bores her,” I replied. Although I wondered if she would show up once the inevitable brawl started. “But she watches us nonetheless.”

Chikal nodded sharply. She had sensed it too, the sharp gazes coming from the shadows. Sugey wasn’t the obsessive spymaster her sister Iztacoatl was, but she would not relent in her duty to watch over me for any sign of treachery. My best bet was to impress her with my martial strength and will.

“The bird of war is no fool,” the wind whispered in my ear. “She knows you will fight her one day, whether out of ambition or desperation. She looks forward to that moment. She thinks her victory will be honest, purchased with her own might. How it maddens her to wait for a challenge.”

If I had my way, she wouldn’t have to wait too long.

I knew my chance to curry favor had come when an amazon served me the traditional feast meal of the day, a black soup of fruits, turkey, and bread. My pot and Chikal’s, however, included bloody, boiled sausages whose true ghastly nature couldn't be more obvious.

I would have been more horrified had Chamiaholom not pulled the exact same trick on me earlier, though my anger at the insult remained undiminished. I remained calm and allowed Chikal to take the lead on this one, as we had agreed to earlier today.

“Who dared to spoil the food?” Chikal asked, her sharp, calm voice cutting through the music.

The singers stopped their performance, and a tense silence followed for several seconds. After a short moment, an amazon stood from her table. She was strong and almost as muscled as Chikal herself, with a wild mane of black hair and skin boasting battle scars.

“I did, harlot!” she declared boldly. “After swallowing that male’s sausage, I thought you would have gotten a taste for it!”

I had to give it to her, it took some courage to insult Yohuachanca’s almighty emperor and her queen to their face. It did do the trick. I heard whispers among the crowds of gathered amazons and a few eyes turning to look at Chikal to see how she would answer the affront to her authority.

My consort met her subject’s gaze with a sharp, unblinking stare, before cutting straight to the chase. “Are you challenging me for leadership, Xareni?”

The so-called Xareni spat on the ground. “Yes, I am!” she shouted while raising an accusing finger at me. “Not only did you bend the knee and abandon our sisters in Balam to die, but you even now carry our conqueror’s bastard!”

Balam? Ah, of course. I guessed it would make sense that some revanchists in Chilam didn’t quite agree with their leader’s decision to abandon their sister city to Yohuachanca’s lack of mercy. Some hardliners would always fight to the bitter end.

I could only respect their desire to fight, though they would have been wiser to bide their time and prepare to strike when opportune.

Ixmucan stomped the ground with her staff to force silence among Chilam’s people. “If you take issue with our queen’s leadership, our laws are clear,” she declared. “You must face her in a duel.”

Chikal nodded sharply. “And a duel she shall have, against a champion of my choosing.”

Murmurs echoed from her declaration, with none more shocked than Xareni herself. All people in Chilam likely knew their queen’s strength. Her decision not to duel her challenger by herself inspired confusion.

“You deny me a fight?” Xareni asked.

“I do not waste my time on weaklings,” Chikal replied before turning to look at me. “Will you do us the honor of putting her back in her place?”

The chorus of outrage that followed was music to my ear. Xareni’s shock turned to anger, while amazons among the viewers rose from their seats and shouted in protest, with the queen’s guards moving to protect the dais. Ixmucan’s attempt to bring back peace by stomping the ground did little to quell the audience.

“You would send this...” Xareni glared at me with all the disgust that she could muster. “Thing to fight your battles?”

Chikal laughed mockingly. “Are you frightened of a male, Xareni? One whom I have bested in battle no less?”

Xareni reddened as a few of her compatriots laughed at their queen’s jab. Being afraid of a male was likely the worst insult an amazon could suffer from, and being defeated by one in full view of the city would be the death of her.

“Best him?” Xareni scoffed in disdain. “Then why does he sit at your side rather than beneath you?”

“Because he is worthy of being my equal,” Chikal replied calmly. “Those are my terms. Best him in battle, and the throne is yours.”

A chorus of war shouts and roars answered her declaration. Even the likes of Xareni smirked, her shame wiped away by the tide of bloodlust. I had seen the ambition and hunger for battle that coursed through Chikal’s veins, and her subjects were no different.

By the time we finished, my army had swelled with a sea of new spears.

We departed Chilam in the night with a new cohort of soldiers at our back. This war of mine was off to a great start.

“You performed admirably, Iztac,” Chikal informed me once we returned to my roving mansion in the dead of night with the others. “You exceeded my expectations.”

“I simply played my part,” I replied calmly. I was pretty happy with how the night turned out. The taste of victory quelled my angry soul, and I’d made headways into portraying myself as a warrior-king worthy of respect rather than a bloodthirsty tyrant by not killing my critics.

I might have been born to play the latter role, but if I had to choose, I would pick the former.

“My lord performed admirably,” Ingrid reassured me with a smirk on her lips. “So well that it almost felt prepared.”

Because it was.

Chikal had predicted how the feast would turn out the moment we reached Chilam. In fact, I strongly suspected that she had an aggravated Xareni assigned to cooking duties specifically to cause an incident that would reinforce her legitimacy. In one fell swoop, she had secured her throne, dispelled doubts about the alliance with Yohuachanca, and paved the way for Chilam to earn new tributes in the war to come. As always, Chikal had proved herself a sharp politician and talented general.

Nonetheless, I knew our stunt would invite Sugey’s attention. We had recruited Chilam in our name rather than the Nightlords’. That alone was suspicious.

True, nothing about our speeches to Chilam implied disloyalty to Yohuachanca. If the Nightlords interrogated us, we could easily argue that we simply told the herd what it needed to hear in order to stay motivated, but I didn’t think Sugey was foolish enough to buy it. The fact she hadn’t shown up to punish me in person already put me ill at ease. Iztacoatl and the Jaguar Woman would have summoned me within a minute of the feast’s end.

I hoped that it was mere arrogance. My predecessor too tried to usurp Sugey with conventional means and soldiers, only to fail miserably. Maybe the Bird of War wasn’t too concerned with our power grab in Chilam because no amount of mortal warriors would make a difference against her, especially since she already knew of my blood. She could simply have assessed us to be no threat to her yet based on our current resources.

Or perhaps the wind was right. Maybe Sugey welcomed a challenging fight or coup attempt, if only for the pleasure of crushing it. All her sisters had been cruel in their own way, and I had yet to see the depths of that one’s malice.

“A queen knows her people well, Ingrid,” Chikal replied with a sharp gaze. “A lesson you have taken to heart.”

Ingrid answered with a demure smile, though I knew her enough to notice the flicker of ambition hidden behind modesty’s veil. “I am but my lord’s humble servant.”

“And your mother’s daughter too,” Chikal replied before giving me a light, bold tap on my ass. “Do not make me wait too long tonight, Iztac. A victorious champion always earns himself a reward to match.”

“I shall be sure to claim it soon,” I replied with a light kiss on her lips. I wanted nothing more than to take my consort on her offer immediately, but a more pressing matter needed my full attention.

Eztli was about to leave us, and I wasn’t sure if she would ever return. Moreover, I wanted to check on Nenetl next. My... my sister still reeled from the awful truth and I hoped to alleviate her worries.

Simply thinking of Nenetl only inflamed my resentment for Mother. The fault of our incest lay at her feet and her cowardly silence.

I put these thoughts aside for now as I entered the room which Eztli shared with her mother; only to find the former feeding on the latter.

They were both on the bed, with Necahual’s chest laid bare and her daughter biting into her breast with her fangs. Eztli gulped hungrily at her mother’s blood with a feverish greed I’d never seen from her before, licking every drop while her gaze was lost in a daze of pleasure. Necahual didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she lovingly caressed and stroked Eztli’s hair while whispering gentle words into her ear.

I vividly recalled the time I caught Yoloxochitl feeding Eztli her blood in an attempt to secure her hold over her. I had found the scene particularly disturbing, but this one... this one radiated a pure kind of love that the Nightlords could only hope to mimic. It warmed my heart of ice, if only for a moment.

Necahual glanced at me once I approached them, though she didn’t say a word. I sat on the side of the bed and gently stroked Eztli’s cheek. I meant it as a kind gesture, but her pale skin immediately turned red where I touched it. It startled her enough to shake her out of her daze of pleasure and release her hold over her mother’s breast.

“Iztac,” she whispered as she suddenly noticed my presence. “How long have you been here?”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Did I startle you?”

“A bit,” Eztli replied as she licked her mother’s blood off her lips. “You are... you are too warm now. Your touch feels...”

I saw her hesitate to say the word, as if frightened by my reaction. It reassured me in a way. Shame and fear were human emotions which I thought her vampiric transformation had robbed her of, and which her mother’s blood infusion helped maintain.

“Unpleasant?” I guessed.

“Yes,” Eztli confessed as she adjusted her hair. “I... it’ll take some time getting used to it, that’s all.”

“Don’t force yourself,” I replied while meeting her eyes. “One day, my touch will no longer harm your skin.”

I saw a look of recognition pass over Eztli’s face. Necahual had told her of our plan, as I’d asked her to. Since we couldn’t proceed with the ritual without her agreement, I wanted to make sure she would be prepared for it.

“I hope... I hope to see that day soon,” Eztli replied, albeit hesitantly. See that day. The phasing’s significance didn’t escape me. “It’s... becoming harder to think straight.”

My jaw clenched. I hated the thought of losing Eztli to a ghost’s grip of all things. Her distress struck me like a dagger to the heart.

“Does it help?” I asked, my eyes lingering on Necahual’s breast. The traces of Eztli’s fangs remained vividly sharp on her skin.

“It does,” Eztli confirmed with a thin smile. “Mother tastes of sunlight now. Of you. It clears the fog.”

“That’s good,” I replied. I hadn’t considered how my power would affect the blood of my bound Mometzcopinques, but thankfully it didn’t harm Eztli. I guessed that much like how the Nightlords were mere pale reflections of their dreadful father, my witches only possessed a fraction of my power; enough for a vampire to feed on without being harmed.

I would have to be careful with that, however. If Sugey were to notice that Necahual and Lahun’s blood had changed, she might grow suspicious of their true nature.

Necahual scowled. “What frightens me is that we will be away for a while,” she said. “The Flower War campaign may last months.”

“Have you tried storing your blood?” I asked Necahual. The soul-transfer ritual would unfortunately require her assistance to guide Eztli’s soul to the intended vessel, so I couldn’t leave her behind; especially since both failure and success would draw the Nightlords’ attention.

“Do you take me for a fool?” Necahual snorted. “Of course I set some aside for her, but bottles of blood won’t last forever.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Eztli replied before putting her head against her mother’s stomach. “I can’t take too much without harming her anyway.”

Necahual and I watched on in silence as Eztli put her arms around her mother’s waist, gripping her tightly, her ear pressed against her body in a loving embrace.

“She doesn’t have a heart yet, but I can smell her in your blood, growing and waiting for the day she’ll come out.” Eztli rubbed her head against Necahual’s skin, a smile of bliss on her face. The prospect of welcoming her sister into the world seemed to give her the focus and the peace she craved. “I hope to be there then.”

“We’ll raise her together,” Necahual promised while stroking her daughter’s hair. “That I promise you.”

Eztli nodded slightly. “Then we can be a true family at last.”

I didn’t say a word. Truthfully, seeing the genuine bond which Eztli and Necahual shared only put my own relationship with Ichtaca in a darker light. Part of me still craved the close intimacy these two shared, beneath all the anger and disdain which I felt for Mother.

“It’ll be hard without the two of you,” Eztli whispered under her breath. “But I’ll... I’ll do my best to hold out.”

“Are you sure?” I asked again. The ritual would fail without her full focus, and there would be no turning back once we started it.

Eztli nodded sadly. “I would say I’m sick of living like this, Iztac, but in truth... I miss being alive.” She looked at the obsidian window separating us from the moonlight. “I miss the sun. I miss the light... the warmth.”

Many would have killed to live as an immortal vampire, but Eztli would rather risk death than continue on like this; and if things continued to deteriorate, I feared that she would die a death of the spirit, her mind twisted into a cruel and lifeless thing.

I stroked Eztli’s hair too while being careful not to touch her skin so as not to wound her.

The next time we met, I would be able to hold her again.