Blood & Fur

Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Third Sun

I ascended to the land of the gods.

I flew through the clouds of volcanic smoke upward into the searing skies. The dead world below me vanished through thick layers of ancient ash carried by mighty storms. They pressed against the Cloak of wind shielding me. So much dust blew into my face at one point that I couldn’t see Tlaloc’s sun.

Then I finally pierced the veil. I emerged from the ashes like a fish hopping out of water and into fresh air. The horrid heat and dust were replaced by a soothing and comfortable atmosphere, like a faint summer breeze. A pure and starless blue horizon stretched out as far as my eyes could see, its great azure sun shining over a sea of dust.

Then I saw the true Tlalocan.

I saw green.

A great mass of earth floated above the ocean of ashen clouds covering the Underworld’s second layer. It was huge, a whole island’s worth of space, if not more. Fields of grass and flowers covered its shores alongside pristine white houses, which I knew was impossible; no life thrived within the dead bowels of the Underworld. Yet they appeared vividly real to me as I approached. Soft melodies unlike the screams and cries of the Burned Men filled my ears soon after, growing louder with each flap of my wings.

Songs.

The call of drums and trumpets lured me closer until I flew over the island. A village appeared below me, inhabited by men, women, and children of all ages wearing fine clothes and feather crowns. They danced in a circle around a fire to the tune of musicians among their numbers.

All of these people had blue skin.

A quick glance was enough to ascertain that it wasn’t simply paint. Great Tlaloc had given souls in his domain flesh of their own, but only in his own image.

These people gathered in groups to eat food growing from the very earth beneath their feet. I saw a man wave his hand with a laugh and a guava fruit appeared in it in an instant. Their cups never seemed to run dry either.

I expected to see fear in these people’s gaze and forced smiles on their faces. I searched for any glimpse of dread on their faces, like the fear actors forced to play for the sake of a divine audience who would not tolerate dissatisfaction in his paradise. I didn’t find it. Their laughs were too genuine, their eyes too full of sparkling joy for it to be a lie. These people were happy.

Tlalocan was a true paradise floating high above a burning hell.

Then I heard the call of thunder in the distance.

No storm clouded the clear sky, nor did I see any lightning bolt shine on the horizon. Yet I heard three thunder strikes, each carrying a booming word.

“Come to me!”

The sheer weight of the command steered my flight away from the celebration.

I was already flying above fields of blooming flowers before the mere thought of resisting even crossed my mind. The order was stronger than a Word and heavier than the mountains. I could not have disobeyed even if I had struggled with all of my strength. A terrible wave of fear and apprehension spread through every fiber of my being. A power that eclipsed mine like the sun cowed the stars had requested my presence, and would punish disobedience with death.

I hadn’t felt that way since meeting King Mictlantecuhtli.

I wisely decided to go along with the voice’s demands for now, my wings guided by the call to the island’s center. I had to say that Tlalocan looked wonderful from above; a verdant paradise where every patch of earth was home to bright flowers and lush trees. Crystalline rivers coursed across the island and fed bountiful wildlife, though all of them—from deer to turkeys—showcased traces of blue in their fur and feathers. It reminded me of the House of Trials where I braved the fears of being hunted and pestilence, but in this case I saw no lie hiding horrors lurking beneath the surface. Tlalocan was a true paradise.

Beautiful little villages popped up here and there, groups of houses and farms that only differed from places like Acampa in one detail: no one appeared to be working. I saw a few practicing pottery, art, or playing ballcourt games, but nothing that actually required them to toil for a living.

Tlaloc’s gifts were only matched by his punishments in their grandiosity.

I moved to what seemed to be the island’s center to me. I first thought I was aiming for a green mountain when I saw the branches and realized my mistake. A massive, primeval willow tree stretched under the blue sun of Tlalocan, its leaves and shrubs lush enough to fill a forest’s entire canopy on their lonesome. Happy songs resonated from thick roots drawing water from pristine lakes filled with fish fat enough to feed an entire family each.

A colossal statue sat there on a throne carved into the trunk itself, attended by hundreds of musicians.

It was huge, taller than my palace’s highest floor even while seated, and entirely carved from the bluest turquoise. It represented a massive and frightful humanoid with rows of sharp fangs and beastly tusks. Ringed white diamond eyes radiated sunlight under an exquisite headdress of quetzal feathers and snake eyes that probably required thousands of donors to create. A dress of spider webs and ancient scales covered its torso and intimate parts.

I knew intellectually that this statue was made of stone, but my eyes deceived me on that front. The turquoise seemed to vibrate and undulate like sweating skin in the bright sunlight of Tlalocan. Its eyes too radiated a fiery will as bright and imperious as the celestial fireball shining above us.

The thick pressure in the air—quite unlike the glorious songs filling the silence—reminded me of an incoming thunderstorm’s first signs, when summer’s heat threatened to transform into devastating lightning at any moment.

I’d best proceed very, very carefully. The master of this place had none of King Mictlantecuhtli’s undying patience.

I landed at the statue’s feet, on a platform of wood which I assumed served as a spot for petitioners bidding Tlaloc for mercy. I took back my human form and then…

And then I bowed, my hands and forehead touching the ground.

It was hard and distasteful. I supposed I’d grown so used to standing up to the gods that my skill in kneeling had begun to rust; but I knew who I was up against, and that that kneeling wouldn’t be enough.

Rays of Tlalocan’s sun shone through the thick canopy. The pressure in the air thickened further and the musicians suddenly stopped their performance. Drummers stopped with their hands in the air; flutists looked at me with apprehension; and harmonica players nervously clutched their instruments. One after the other they began to bow before the statue of their master. The dreadful silence seemed to stretch on forever.

Then lightning struck.

A blue blinding bolt barreled down from the sun above, incinerating a few leaves on its way down. It hit the statue in a thundering boom that set its turquoise skin alight with the sheen of electricity and the spark of life. Its mouth and fangs moved on their own with the roar of a waking storm, and its fists clenched on the armrests of its throne.

“You bow to Tlaloc!” the statue said with a booming voice stronger than the direst thunder, male and imperious. “Third and brightest sun of the world, he who is made of earth and summons the rain! Praise my name! Praise my glory!”

The ground beneath my feet shook with each of the deity’s words. I sensed electricity coursing through the air and my bones. The bowing musicians whispered prayers of gratitude to Tlaloc in an attempt to placate him, though I remained silent.

I had seen enough visitors crawl before my throne to understand the proper protocol. I would only speak when ordered to, though it pained me to do so.

I had been warned what kind of god Tlaloc was: a mercurial deity of immense power who had destroyed the world he ruled over in a fit of fury, who accepted human sacrifices and who possessed the might to back up his heavenly pride.

He was what the Nightlords aspired to become.

“You, stranger, who dares intrude upon my realm!” Tlaloc’s statue pointed a finger at me, his eyes shining with accusation. “You reek of Xibalba’s stench, as do all the thieves who would dare to abscond with my chosen souls! Those who would dare torment my beloved worshipers with nightmares warrant only the kiss of my lightning!”

I did my best to hide my unease and distaste. The very thought of bowing before a tyrant, godly or otherwise, sickened me to my core… but I was acutely aware of my limitations and bargaining position.

I could feel the wide gulf in power between us, the same way I had when I met King Mictlantecuhtli and saw the First Emperor devour his daughter. Tlaloc was no vampire playing deity; he was one of the world’s creators whose will had set the universe ablaze in a fit of rage.

He could vaporize me in the blink of an eye, and no spell would shrug off his wrath. Worst of all, I knew of his temper and proclivities. He never forgot a slight, and unlike the Nightlords, he didn’t need me alive for an ancient ritual. My life meant nothing to him. He wouldn’t hesitate to vaporize me on the spot should I frustrate him.

Nonetheless… Though I knew better than to make assumptions, Tlaloc summoned me to his hall instead of smiting me instantly. That alone gave me hope of surviving through this encounter.

“Yet your heart burns with life, and though you bear the crown of terror you fly free of that cursed city on a Tlacaetcolotl’s wings.” Tlaloc put his hand back on his armrest, which I took as a hint I had a chance to walk out of this meeting alive. “Are you a messenger from Xibalba, coming to deliver a missive?”

I knew this was my cue to answer. “I am indeed a messenger, oh great and mighty Tlaloc,” I said, while being careful to keep my head down to avoid showing my distaste. “But I came from Mictlan above to bear you a gift from Lady Chalchiuhtlicue.”

The mention of his wife left Tlaloc speechless.

I found a god’s silence a thousand times more ominous than his wrath. I felt his heavy gaze upon me, searching for any hint of deceit in me. He studied my burning heart, then my carrying frame.

“I see that my wife entrusted you with a fraction of her radiance,”

Tlaloc noted, but though I detected an undercurrent of hope in his voice, the electrical tension did not abate in the slightest. “Show me this gift then; but should you have lied to me, owl, then I shall rain a lake of fire and drown you in it! You shall beg for a mercy that will never come!”

I had seen enough of Tlaloc’s wrath to take him at his word. I opened my carrying frame and stared inside. Father’s skull looked at me, though he wisely remained silent. He had heard everything.

I carefully took Lady Chalchiuhtlicue’s urn out of the carrying frame. It was as blue as Tlaloc himself and bore its carved visage alongside ancient words professing her love for her husband. It was fragile and hardly larger than my fist, but I’d managed to carry it without damage all the way from Mictlan.

Tlaloc’s fingers gripped his throne’s armrests the moment he saw the urn. I immediately sensed the tension in the air lessen as I placed it down on the wood platform. The statue’s eyes no longer gleamed with wrath, but with pure joy.

“You speak true… I recognize my lady wife’s handiwork…” Tlaloc’s enthusiasm suddenly vanished with the noise of thunder. “Why did you not come to me immediately?”

I tensed up upon sensing the wrath in his voice. “Forgive me, oh great and mighty Tlaloc, but I do not understand–”

“Why fly to Xibalba, messenger, when you should have delivered my lady wife’s gift to me the moment you entered my realm!” Tlaloc stomped his armrest with his fist, and all of Tlalocan trembled in response. “What kind of courier dares to make a god wait?!”

I was treading on dangerous grounds here, so I chose my next words very carefully. I knew that Tlaloc would smell any lie, but he wouldn’t accept that I made a detour for my own personal gain; he was a true sun who believed that the cosmos revolved around him. I had to find a reason that was both genuine and acceptable to him.

“I feared I was not strong enough to complete the journey with my former strength, Lord Tlaloc,” I said. “I feared to disappoint you and Lady Chalchiuhtlicue if I lost her package on my way to you, unable to overcome the many dangers down below. Only by braving the trials of Xibalba did I find the bravery to fly to you.”

That was true enough. Mother lured me to Xibalba in the first place by promising me the strength to prevail on this perilous journey, and then sweetened the deal by mentioning Father.

“I see.” Tlaloc nodded to himself and accepted my explanation. “You have erred on the side of caution, messenger, but I shall forgive you.”

I suppressed a sigh of relief. I’d avoided the worst of the storm.

Tlaloc relaxed on his throne, his mood swiftly changing from angry and frustrated to content. His stone lips and fangs morphed into a smirk of joy while his hand stroked his chin.

“You braved great ordeals to bring me my beloved’s gift,” Tlaloc said. “I shall grant you an audience in return for your service.”

My hands tightened into fists. The moment of truth had come.

My first instinct was to ask for his embers, but I held on to that thought and kept it to myself. Tlaloc did not accept requests, as he despised flatterers. All codices and accounts I’d gathered about him agreed that his temper was only matched by his fits of magnanimity. I had been advised to give him gifts and simply hope for the best.

If I directly asked him for his embers, he might see it as a ploy to exploit his generosity and take offense. To ensure I would receive his blessing, I needed to ensure that he came up with the idea on his own; to apply very subtle pressure.

I had long considered how to proceed on my flight to Tlalocan’s promised land, and I thought I’d found a way to kill two birds with one stone.

“If I may, oh great and mighty Tlaloc,” I said while clearing my throat in deference. “As a messenger, I would like to argue the case of another rather than acquire anything for myself.”

“Another?” Tlaloc appeared pleasantly intrigued. “Do you speak of the old soul you are transporting? Do you wish me to welcome him into my realm?”

I had to admit that the thought crossed my mind. Although Tlaloc was as tempestuous as the storms he ruled over, a glimpse at Tlalocan showed that it seemed to be exactly the kind of paradise so many souls wished to find after death. Unlike Mother’s parody of a sanctuary, Tlaloc cared for his worshipers at least enough to cover their needs and protect them from soul thieves; his pride as a king and god would not allow him to give anything but the best to his chosen people. A peaceful existence among forests and villages would please my father, and he was too kind to ever arouse Tlaloc’s wrath.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Alas, I knew Father would never agree to it.

“He would not forgive me if I argued in his name and abandoned others to suffer,” I replied. My spine tensed up, as I knew my next words might spell my doom. “Lord Tlaloc, I would like to argue on behalf of the tortured souls below.”

A lightning bolt struck the spot next to me in a blinding flash.

It hit the wood platform with such intensity it shattered part of it and sent splinters bouncing off my face. A tense silence fell upon the hall of Tlaloc, who observed me with eyes cackling with the heavens’ wrath.

“Speak very wisely, messenger,” Tlaloc warned me, his voice heavy like the incoming storm. “Make your case with the utmost grace.”

Had I not faced the fears of Xibalba without flinching and came out reforged, I would have stopped there out of terror. But I’d faced the gods time and time again; though I would remain circumspect, I stayed true to my plan.

“Oh great and mighty Tlaloc, I beg you to show the Burned Men the same generosity for which you are known for,” I implored the god. “Please end that rain of fire that sears their skin and souls so that their torment might end.”

“A torment which they brought upon themselves!” Tlaloc replied imperiously, his voice heavy with bitterness. “I gave those ungrateful traitors plentiful rain and fertile lands, so they would never grow hungry. I spared them from disease and calamities, so they would never suffer. I taught them secrets of the gods and industry, so that they could create anything they wanted. I showered them with gifts and love, always helping and guiding those who stumbled. I ruled the sky justly and generously, and in return, only ever expected gratitude. Yet when that witty jaguar stole away my first love, when I was at my lowest point, did they show me the respect I was entitled to?”

Lightning struck all around the platform in a crescendo of rising intensity, with dark rain clouds obscuring Tlaloc’s own sun. I myself did my best to remain calm.

“No!” Tlaloc thundered, his voice sending a mighty gust blow upon my face with such strength I was thrown backward. Neither the urn nor my carrying frame were affected, however. “Instead they tried to raise towers that would reach to the clouds and take through sorcery the water I used to dispense upon them for free! I gave them so many gifts, but the one time I required their love to soothe my soul, they chose to steal them from me! So tell me, messenger, why should I forgive such treachery?”

The air was so thick with tension that I was tempted to shut my mouth to avoid wasting my chances of earning the embers, when I noticed a startling detail: none of the lightning bolts had struck the assembled musicians, and none bothered to run or take cover.

The few among them who showed concern weren’t afraid of Tlaloc; they were afraid for me. None of them believed that their deity would accidentally hurt them in his wrath, the way the Nightlords’ servants always feared for their lives.

I remembered acutely the last time I tried to argue with the Jaguar Woman. She had taken the mere gesture as offense, and forced me to pay the price with Sigrun’s life and that of so many others.

Tlaloc could have reduced me to dust at any time with his lightning, yet deliberately missed. He made his frustration known, but did not punish me for talking back. Therein laid the crucial difference compared to how the Jaguar Woman treated me.

Though stubborn and bitter, Tlaloc was actually listening to my case.

This realization emboldened me. I might have a chance of convincing him should I find the right, respectful arguments.

“Your wrath is justified, oh great and mighty Tlaloc,” I argued calmly as I adjusted my strategy. I had been in enough tense situations to keep a cool head. “But those husks feel no guilt anymore. The pain has stripped them of their very reason. I do not think they even remember why they ought to beg for your forgiveness, or the crimes that they have committed. They simply exist to suffer.”

“As they should. As they deserve.”

“But how can they understand their faults and show you proper respect if they cannot understand what they did wrong anymore?"

“Enough!” The roar of booming thunder silenced me. “Why are you asking me this, mortal? Why beg for the salvation of souls who deserve their pain? Answer me!”

Once again I sensed the will of Tlaloc take me over. His words wormed their way into my mind and soul to draw the truth out of them. His power demanded a statement from me, and no amount of willpower I could muster would stop him. I almost confessed my plan to endear myself to the god, a flattery for which he would smite me over.

However…

However, another and deeper truth fought its way to my lips. I hadn’t lied about one thing: I did not make that demand for myself, not only. I argued for the sake of another whose judgment I couldn’t bear.

“I want to make my father proud of me,” I confessed, the words flowing out of my mouth on their own. “I do not wish for him to be disappointed in me for passing on an opportunity to make this world a better place.”

Tlaloc immediately released his hold on my mind. I felt like a drowned man being pulled out of the water and allowed to breathe. The thunder stopped echoing in the distance, though the rain clouds didn’t dissipate.

“You are a virtuous son, messenger,” Tlaloc declared with genuine praise. His wrath had turned to an almost paternal pride. I suddenly realized that this god was like the wind: suddenly blowing one way or another with all his strength, neither settling on a middle ground.

I took the compliment in good grace. Truthfully, my own words surprised me. I didn’t think my father’s words had rattled me so deeply, though I was thankful that they did. “Your praise honors me, oh great Tlaloc.”

“I shall reward your filial piety accordingly… but I will not forgive my own treacherous children on a single mortal’s behalf. I was their father, and they disappointed me.” The god’s statue held his head high. “Tlaloc has spoken.”

And like that, I knew I’d missed my chance to save the Burned Men. I wished I could argue further, but the god’s tone broke no disobedience. He considered the matter closed and the hearing completed.

At least I had tried…

Tlaloc’s gaze lingered on his wife’s urn for a long time, then he waved his hand at the gift. The receptacle opened and its content floated out of it. I dared to take a peek and found myself speechless.

I had expected many things; a jewel, a scroll, even tears and water.

But never a maize flower.

It was small and colorful, but otherwise plainly ordinary. I detected no ancient magic woven into its strands, no divine power empowering it with vitality. It was a mere plant, preciously rare underground, but all too common in the world of the living.

The sheer absurdity of it all almost drew a laugh from me. All of this effort, all to transport a mere flower?

However, I kept my mouth shut.

Tlaloc wasn’t laughing.

The god of storms called the maize flower into the palm of his immense hand, then examined it with a grace that belied his strength and size as if it were the most precious thing in the world. The crackling lightning in his eyes dimmed.

I heard a soft sound, and then sensed something fresh hit me. A moist drop of water dripped from the leaves and onto my back. More followed, softly pounding against the earth as the clouds wept.

For the first time in eons, the skies of Tlalocan rained water rather than flames.

It was a faint drizzle rather than the overwhelming downpour that engulfed the Underworld’s First Layer, but the raindrops were fresh enough to likely reduce even Tlalocan’s high temperature.

“After I rained fire upon the world in my grief and fury, I languished in bitterness over a land of flames,” Tlaloc said with deep and profound sorrow. “All of which I had made and loved was reduced to ashes, and I knew I had failed to guide the world.”

He clutched the flower and then pressed it against his heart, as if it were balm for his soul.

“Yet through my wrath, my dear Chalchiuhtlicue offered me a maize flower which she had saved from the destruction, to remind me of what I could create and soothe my wounded heart,” he said with fondness. “I was seized by such passion that I took her as my wife and granted her wish to mother a new humanity.”

I kept my mouth shut. The affection in Tlaloc’s voice reminded me of the tone Nenetl used when she said she loved me, and how Father spoke of Mother; a deep and boundless affection like the sea.

“Very well,” Tlaloc declared after a moment’s consideration. “I have changed my mind. Where I have destroyed, I shall now create.”

My head perked up slightly.

“I shall no longer rain fire upon my treacherous children,” Tlaloc declared. “I will grant them respite from their suffering. Should some have learned their lesson and petition me for forgiveness, I shall judge them fairly. Those who show genuine contrition shall be granted a chance to return to Tlalocan. The rest will be allowed to find rest with King Mictlantecuhtli. So spoke Tlaloc, god of the rain.”

Tlaloc wouldn’t forgive his children for a mortal’s sake, but he couldn’t deny his divine wife anything. Such was the privilege of a god, to change one’s mind on a whim and shake the world.

I wondered if this had been Chalchiuhtlicue’s intent from the start. She always possessed a great deal of affection for humankind; enough to cry over its fourth incarnation for eons. Perhaps she hoped to inspire a fit of remorse in her husband’s heart, or maybe it was all a fortuitous coincidence.

The rain soon ended, and Tlaloc finally remembered my existence. “What is thy name, messenger?”

“I am Iztac Ce Ehecatl, current and last emperor of Yohuachanca,” I replied politely. “Though I have been called Cizin, the fear of the gods.”

“A bold title for a mortal such as you.” Tlaloc stroked his tusks. “Yohuachanca… I remember a bat who bore this name visiting me once, and who then went on to ascend to the highest of heights. I knew you seemed familiar to me. Are you his descendant, perchance?”

“I… I cannot say, oh mighty Tlaloc.” The mere idea of sharing a family tree with the Nightlords disgusted me, but I couldn’t exclude the possibility. Their blood-refining program ran deep. “I am the inheritor of his mortal throne, at least.”

“The two of you look very much alike,” Tlaloc mused. “He was a seeker of knowledge, who sought to understand the mysteries of the world in order to free his people from an upstart calamity. The purity of his quest moved me, so I lent him my power.”

“Yohuachanca did succeed in defeating the god that oppressed his people, only to sire more disasters himself,” I replied, which didn’t seem to surprise Tlaloc in the slightest.

“I expected as much. He nursed a terrible hunger for knowledge, for truth, for secrets that no answer could satisfy. A mortal’s desire pales before a god’s appetite.” Tlaloc looked up at the canopy. The rain clouds had dissipated, allowing the sunlight to shine through once more. “Divinity will magnify what lurks inside of you, Iztac Ce Ehecatl. Should you not contain your flaws, there will come a time when they become the masters, and you the slave. We gods are our powers; we cannot prevail over our own nature.”

Tlaloc’s mood turned almost melancholic and regretful. To my utter surprise, the boastful and wrathful god seemed to become humble and self-reflecting.

“That is why I created this sanctuary, forI must bring forth the storm and the rain among the living and the dead,” Tlaloc said with a sigh heavier than mountains. “Sometimes, I cut short lives before their time with floods and lightning, or the pestilence that my rain brings. I am always seized with remorse for slaying those who did not slight me, and so I claim their souls and grant them sanctuary along with my truly faithful. So do I welcome those who were sacrificed in my name, for while a generous god always rewards his worshipers’ acts of faith, he must also take responsibility for them.”

I had to admit, I never considered why Tlaloc built this promised land floating above the hell of his own making. I knew he claimed the souls of his worshipers, sacrifices, and those slain by natural disasters, but I thought he did it out of greed rather than guilt and a twisted sense of duty.

I didn’t hold Tlaloc in the same esteem I shared for King Mictlantecuhtli and Queen Mictecacihualt. These two had earned my respect with their wisdom and the latter’s kindness, and none of them shared an ounce of Tlaloc’s violent predisposition. Neither did Tlaloc forbid human sacrifice in his vanity and desire to be loved by men, even though he did take care of the dead slain in his name.

But I found him nonetheless infinitely superior to the Nightlords in his capacity for compassion.

His words disturbed me a little however. I pondered them until a worrying possibility formed in my mind.

Tlaloc was the god of storms and rain. I would have thought that his domain reflected his mercurial temperament, but… what if it was the other way around? What if his extreme behavior was the result of his mastery over storms rather than the cause?

I remember Iztacoatl’s story about how the First Emperor was eventually consumed by the lusts, pain, and hunger which he represented. I’d felt her sire’s own conflict with his divine nature; a battle with himself which he eventually lost.

How much control over their actions did the gods truly have? I suddenly wondered if they had less freedom than the mortals which they had created. What was the value of power when we couldn’t choose how to use it freely?

What would befall me should I complete my ascension? The anger and hatred that pushed me to defy the Nightlords burned brightly enough. Would they spiral out of control, the same way the First Emperor’s hunger for more consumed him? Would my crimes come to define me?

I was starting to understand what my father was afraid of. Even if I had no intention of destroying the world as a god, if the steps I took to reach the heavens were paved with blood… then I might become a blight upon the Fifth Cosmos whether I wanted it or not. Chaos and destruction would become impulses rather than tools.

“Tell me, Iztac Ce Ehecatl,” Tlaloc said, his words drawing me out of my thoughts. “You mentioned that young Yohuachanca sired new calamities. What did you mean by this?”

I banished my doubts from my mind. I still had time to think this through; I needed power to cast down the Nightlords. The memory of Iztacoatl shrugging off my burning blood weighed heavily on me.

The risks inherent to godhood… were acceptable.

“My homeland is under the thrall of Yohuachanca’s daughters, oh mighty Tlaloc,” I said. “They pretend to be gods while keeping us mortals in bondage.”

I could taste Tlaloc’s disgust as I narrated my torments and tribulations at the Nightlords’ hands, followed by tales about how they presented themselves as gods and actively replaced the worship of true deities. Thunder resonated above us once again. I took this rising fury as a good sign that Tlaloc would support my quest.

However, I swiftly realized that the god’s righteous anger wasn’t on my behalf, but his own.

“To usurp the title of gods without earning it is the highest of insolence!” Tlaloc snarled, his anger echoing across Tlalocan with the strength of earthquakes. “I understand now why the House of Fright entrusted you with the title of Cizin. You seek to bring the heavens’ justice upon these usurpers.”

“Yes, oh mighty Tlaloc,” I replied. It wasn’t even truly a lie. The true gods had given their lives to light the various suns. They deserved all of the Nightlords’ unearned veneration. “I wish to cast down these false idols from their ill-gotten thrones, and remind them to fear the heavens which they aspire to obscure.”

“A most pious goal.” Tlaloc nodded to himself, his decision made. “I, Tlaloc, will grace you my embers as my heart’s dearest did before me. You shall use my power to cast down these false gods who would deceive grateful mortals. Thou shall be my messenger, punish their blasphemy on my behalf, and restore the world’s natural order.”

It took all of my willpower to contain my excitement, which I hid by bowing respectfully before the god. “I am most thankful for your magnanimity, oh mighty Tlaloc.”

“Then rise to your feet, emperor of man, and expose your heart-fire to my glorious light.”

I slowly and obediently followed the command, standing up with my chest held high. The bright sunlight of Tlalocan pierced through the rain clouds and the thick canopy above my head and shone upon the fire of my heart.

Then lightning struck me.

A bolt brighter than anything descended upon my skeletal ribcage and ignited the spark of my soul. Divine power flowed into my Teyolia, its purple flames glowing with Tlaloc’s bright blue hue. The grace of the Third Sun touched me in a flash that brightened the earth and sky.

Visions flowed into my mind in the blink of an eye and burned their way into my skull. I beheld the rise of civilizations that mastered iron and shaped towers that would rival mountains. I witnessed the arrogance of men, the rain of fire that set their cities ablaze, and the quakes that cast them down back to the dust where they belonged. I roared in anger at my betrayers who roasted in the ashes of my fury, for I was one with the thunder of victory.

I welcomed the newfound strength that rained upon me. The lightning coursed through my veins and set them ablaze, while my eyes cackled with the shine of truth. My Teyolia absorbed Tlaloc’s blue hue and made it into a brighter shade of purple. It had taken time for my soul to burn away Chalchiuhtlicue’s sorrow, but the storm god’s anger mirrored my own so well that it found a welcome abode within me. A thrill of indescribable pleasure overtook me, sharper than sex and greater than the pride I felt when I witnessed the fires of Smoke Mountain ascend into the sky.

The light of my heart cast the deep shadow of the First Emperor behind my soul. His hunger mirrored the great pride which swelled from within me, the same darkness appeared thicker in the glowing light. My mind cleared of all doubts until I reached a keen and absolute certainty.

The world was mine.

Mine to take, mine to seize, mine to rule.

Why be a slave when I could be the master, fair, magnanimous, and all-powerful? Glorious in his kindness and terrible in his wrath? Father of a dynasty that would last a thousand years, wealthier and brighter than the stars?

Divine justice was mine to dispense as I wished. I was the fear of the gods themselves; the wrath and mercy of the righteous heavens, who would restore their proper worship and cast down the usurpers into the abyss. I alone among mortals would decide whom to reward and whom to punish. For unlike the daughters of the night, I had earned every ounce of my power and privilege. I had conquered Xibalba, earned the blessing of the true gods, and set the world ablaze.

Who else but me deserved to rule?

Woe to any fool who dared to threaten my property. Those who paid me homage, returned my kindness with gratitude, and earned my affection would be well-defended and cared for; while those who defied me would burn in a rain of cosmic fire! I was one with the storm that could bring down the mountains, and none would stand in my way!

Then, after the bright flash of pride, came the remorse.

I was suddenly seized with the sorrow and melancholy of the rain clouds, and the guilt that followed the flood. I suddenly remembered the cost of my triumphs and the dead left in my wake, often by intent, and usually by accident. I was acutely reminded of my losses, great and small. Sigrun’s life, Father’s esteem, and the innocents whom I had murdered.

I had the power to turn everything to ashes, and sometimes, that included what I loved.

The surge of power faded, and I soon returned to reality. I remembered kneeling when I received my first embers; this time, I stood with my head held high. My heart burned like Smoke Mountain and my soul shone with the lightning of victory. My entire being shuddered with the power of a storm waiting to be unleashed.

I was stronger and more confident than ever before, but also acutely aware that my strength and appetite would carry a cost if used unwisely.

I was halfway through the path to godhood.

And I had no idea what reflection awaited me at the road’s end.