scattered across the brightening sky.
Blinking owlishly, Clever Sun-Fox looked at his sister. Instead of his usual grin, he wore a vague and somehow empty smile. A strange bubbling laugh welled up from his throat. He tottered. His heavy headdress made his head wobble alarmingly. He laughed again.
Red Flower Hummingbird swayed, unsteady on her feet. She gazed at her hands as if she'd never seen such amazing things before, then slowly brought them to her face. The touch smeared her cheeks with the drink's stain, and smudged the painted marks. Her expression was confused, troubled.
A burning, fevered light had come into the eyes of Seven Thunder-Eagle. He raised his arms high and turned toward the rising sun. "Itzama!" he cried. "God of the heavens, god of the sun and the skies!"
"Itzama!" the crowd responded.
Clever Sun-Fox tottered again, then stumbled. As he thrust out his hands for balance, he struck the clay basin. It skidded to the edge of the chacmool, where it teetered precariously. Everyone below gasped.
I gasped as well, sure that the bowl would fall and shatter, broken pieces bouncing all down the side of the pyramid, the dregs of the sacred drink spraying across the stones.
But Seven Thunder-Eagle was quick. He snatched up the bowl before it fell and shoved it at me in a hard, furious gesture. I caught it, thought for an instant I would drop it myself, and then had it firmly in my grasp. My heart drummed frantically in my chest. Some of the liquid had splashed up over the side and splattered onto the back of my hand, but I had not let it fall. I set it carefully aside.
"Itzama!" Seven Thunder-Eagle cried again. "Here is your Chosen!"
He seized the laughing Clever Sun-Fox and whirled the boy around, bending him backwards across the flat middle of the chacmool. Clever Sun-Fox's headdress fell off. He goggled upside-down at the city.
Without thinking, I brought my hand to my lips and lick-sucked away the dark, warm, sticky droplets. The taste was revolting, like a brew made from ash-pit scrapings and raw meat, coating my mouth with the oily film of peppers and spice, and the faint bittersweet tang of cacao. It stung. It burned. I could feel it sinking into my tongue, seeping down my throat.
I immediately realized what I'd done and terror swept me like a wind. But no one had seen. No one was looking at me. Their attention was on the priest, and on the long knife he'd drawn.
Black light glinted on obsidian. Clever Sun-Fox whooped like a monkey, waving his arms in the air and kicking his feet so that the jade disks adorning his new sandals flashed, and the hem of his quetzal-feather robe flipped up over his knees.
It seemed to me that the sacrificial blade was ablaze … that the burning in Seven Thunder-Eagle's eyes had become real and encompassed his entire head in a seething orange glow … that his ceremonial robes were made of flame.
He slashed.
The sharp edge went through flesh as easily as it might have sheared a tender young leaf. A deep cut, deep, nearly to the bone. Clever Sun-Fox's waving arms stiffened. His hands clawed at the air. His wild, whooping laughter drowned in a gurgling scream.
The blood was a fountain, leaping high. Then it was a flood, a waterfall, spilling down the steps.
A small, plaintive sound came from Red Flower Hummingbird. She was staring at her brother, whose feet had stopped kicking, whose arms dropped limp as loose vines.
As I looked at her, she changed in my sight somehow. The smudged marks on her cheeks seemed to blaze like cold fire. The setting full moon behind her head outlined her in shadows and turned her face into a hollowed skull, the face of a corpse, when the brightness of the rising sun should have been full upon her.
"Itzama!" Seven Thunder-Eagle brandished the knife.
"Itzama!" came the ecstatic echo from the crowd.
"The god of sun and sky is pleased!"
"Itzama!"
Then the priest turned toward Red Flower Hummingbird. He gestured with the hand that still held the bloody obsidian knife.
Her sandals scuffed as she moved obediently to him. I could see the horror in her gaze, but it was sunken, submerged. She trembled as she moved past Clever Sun-Fox's sprawled body.
Seven Thunder-Eagle began leading her down the steps. The crowd parted ahead of them, and followed behind. Women took up a chant. Drums thumped. Gourds filled with dried cacao beans rattled. Someone blew a wavering tune on reed pipes. The procession took the same path I had taken just the previous day.
As they neared the stelae flanking the cave entrance, Red Flower Hummingbird faltered. That filled me with dismay. She had always been kind to me, and was almost a friend. I had hoped to see her go bravely and proudly to this great honor.
I pushed closer, so as to be ready if Seven Thunder-Eagle beckoned me to help him. Sometimes, the Chosen girls resisted, or fought, or tried to flee. Some needed to be dragged screaming into the cavern. A few years ago, Five Conch Shell had even fainted and had to be carried. I did not want to see that happen to Red Flower Hummingbird.
Then I stopped short.
The dark opening was not dark. It was filled with light. But no light like anything I had ever seen. This was a strange and smoky glow … shifting, eerie and the color of twilight. Shapes seemed to move within it.
Red Flower Hummingbird, her breath frantic, was pulling at Seven Thunder-Eagle, trying to get away. He had her by the wrist, tugging.
Everyone else muttered disapproval at her reluctance. I saw her parents avert their faces in shame.
I rushed up, weaving my way past people. The twisting smoke-shapes unnerved me, but I kept going, all the way to the cave entrance. I could not believe that no one else seemed alarmed. It had never been like this before.
The priest nodded brusquely at me. "Hold her."
I stared at him. Didn't he know that something was different? That something was wrong? Didn't he see it? Didn't anyone see it?
Then, like a hard blow, I understood.
The sacred drink.
Seven Thunder-Eagle saw. He knew. No one else did, because no one else had tasted what was in the bowl. Only the priest, and the Chosen.
And, this once by mistake, me.
It showed us the place as it truly was, as it always was.
"Hold her!" He repeated it in a snarl.
Years of long habit made me do as he commanded. I grasped Red Flower Hummingbird's other wrist. She sobbed once, weakly, but the will had fled from her and she let herself be drawn into the sloping tunnel. Into the eerie smoke-light that rose from the cenote like mist.
Blue shadows flowed across the stones. The glowing surface rippled, heaved, lapped. The sounds were the same as I'd heard before, but this time I could see what made them. I could see the sinuous bodies writhing, sleek scales glistening. They hissed. Eager, hungry hisses.
"Ixchel!" His voice was strong, carrying up the passage to those gathered outside. "Goddess of the night and dark waters! Here is your Chosen!"
I thought of all the times before, of the girls brought down to this cave and sent plunging into the cenote. I thought of the way so many of them had struggled, frantic, as if trying to escape terrors that only they could see.
Now I knew the truth.
My grip loosened. But Red Flower Hummingbird was motionless, transfixed by either the drink or dread, or both. She stood beside me like a sleepwalker. Her lips moved enough to form one word, but in that moment she was as voiceless as I was.
"Please," she mouthed.
"I said hold her, you fool!" Seven Thunder-Eagle cuffed me on the side of the head.
I thought of how he had watched avidly from the rocky rim as the girls had each finally gone under, vanishing into the bottomless black.
Unable to reply, I pointed. At the churning water. At the long, supple, rearing shapes. At the curved fangs and quick, flicking tongues.
Rage contorted his face as, finally, he understood what I must have done.
"They demand sacrifice," he said. He spoke low, urgently. "If we do not give them what
they want, they'll dry up the cenotes, punish us with drought. The crops will fail. Now push her in, Ulli!"
I pushed as hard as I could.
I'd never known until then just how strong I was.
Quetzal feathers crumpled under my hands. His feet flew up, his body pitched sideways. He only managed one startled exclamation before he went in with a tremendous splash.
As the sleek, hissing, glistening shapes swarmed over him, I seized Red Flower Hummingbird and pulled her away from the edge. We clung to each other, not wanting to see it but unable to look away.
Seven Thunder-Eagle thrashed and flailed. Fangs pierced him again and again. Muscular coils wrapped his body. His screams bubbled as water rushed into his gaping mouth.
It took a long, long time.
But finally, there was silence. The cenote still glowed from deep within, still cast its eerie shadows over the cave, but the surface was as smooth as jade.
Red Flower Hummingbird gazed up at me. I gazed down at her. She didn't speak, and I couldn't.
At last, I ran my fingertip along her face, scooping away the smeared paint and sticky liquid. I turned to the cave wall and found a flat spot, where I carefully drew a symbol.
She touched it, frowning. Then she smiled.
We emerged into daylight to find the crowd waiting, tense and expectant. They'd heard the screams. They knew the ceremony had not gone as planned. And now, seeing us, it was plain that no one knew what to do next.
No one except for Red Flower Hummingbird.
"The gods have chosen a new priest," she said, and pointed to me. "His name is Nine Jaguar-Feather."
###
Thanks for making to the end of my story!
If you have any comments please visit my Facebook page and tell me what you think: https://facebook.com/ChristineMorganAuthor
About the Author
Christine Morgan divides her writing time among many genres, from horror to historical, from superheroes to smut, anything in between and combinations thereof. She's a wife, a mom, a future crazy-cat-lady and a longtime gamer, who enjoys British television, cheesy action/disaster movies, cooking and crafts.
Her stories have appeared in several publications, including: The Book of All Flesh, The Book of Final Flesh, The Best of All Flesh, History is Dead, The World is Dead, Strange Stories of Sand and Sea, Fear of the Unknown, Hell Hath No Fury, Dreaded Pall, Path of the Bold, Cthulhu Sex Magazine and its best-of volume Horror Between the Sheets, Closet Desire IV, and Leather, Lace and Lust.
She's also a contributor to The Horror Fiction Review, a former member of the HWA, a regular at local conventions, and an ambitious self-publisher (six fantasy novels, four horror novels, six children's fantasy books, and two roleplaying supplements). Her work has appeared in Pyramid Magazine, GURPS Villains, been nominated for Origins Awards, and given Honorable Mention in two volumes of Year's Best Fantasy and Horror.
Her suspense thriller, The Widows Walk, was recently released from Lachesis Publishing, and her horror novel, The Horned Ones, is now out from Belfire. She's currently delving into steampunk, making progress on an urban paranormal series, and on a bloodthirsty Viking kick.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends