Myth's Legend: Norrix

by Ysobella Black

  He shrugged. “He chased you. There’s no aggression allowed here. The defenses killed him.”

  “Oh, no.” Myth’s heart pounded and her vision greyed out the room. She’d be blamed for that. Iqiohr would hurt Fable. Give her to Tizoc for good. Myth would never see her again. “He’s going to blame me.”

  Norrix sighed. “I hate that you’re returning to him.” He took her hands and pulled her close. “Stay with me, Myth. I can keep you safe. You never have to see a mage again.”

  Her heart soared and that part of her that always urged her toward him tried to break out of its cage. She allowed herself a moment to bask in the what-ifs, but all too quickly, reality set in. What-ifs wouldn’t save Fable. “I can't.”

  “Why not?”

  “I—” She couldn't bring herself to tell him about Fable. Every man she knew used them against each other. Norrix seemed different, but he still wanted her to be his. Maybe he didn’t like children. And he hated mages. He might not want the child of a mage around. Myth couldn’t take the chance. After she freed her daughter, maybe she could think about Norrix. He couldn't help her now. Iqiohr had an army.

  “I have to go.” Myth pulled her hands from his, stood and straightened her dress. “I thought I could have this, with you, but I can’t do it. Now it’s going to be too hard and everything is ruined!”

  Norrix leapt to his feet. “I don’t understand why you’re going back to him! I wish you’d tell me why and let me help you.” He sounded defeated, and she hated knowing she’d caused that in him. “I won’t stop you from leaving if that’s what you want to do. The knife is yours. A gift.”

  Myth picked up the obsidian blade and and backed away from him. Tears filled her eyes as she opened the door to leave. She stepped through, closing the door to Norrix’s room and her happy memories at the same time, and fled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  IQIOHR

  FROM THE PYRAMID ATOP Serpent Mountain, Iqiohr sat on the throne and oversaw sacrifices. The floor of the temple ran so thick in blood it streamed down the stairs on all four sides in red rivulets and soaked the hems of the acolytes’ maxtlatls and tilmatlis — the typically white loin cloths and capes they wore, now dyed a dark crimson.

  A thousand hearts had already been taken over the last few days, and the blood to power the Sixth Sun would continue flowing nonstop until the eclipse began tomorrow.

  But only the best sacrifices would do. He ran his gaze over the hundreds of men and women arrayed before him. He’d emptied the cells under the palace of prisoners, stung them, and had them brought here.

  He pointed at a witch, drained almost to the point of useless, then changed his mind and directed his acolyte to the man next to it. “That one.” Tezcatlipoca had been draining the witches steadily over the last couple days, leaving Iqiohr no choice but to do the same.

  Four humans moved forward and wrestled the struggling victim to the altar when two others tossed the corpse of its previous occupant over the side of the pyramid.

  The glyphs of his Scorpion Mage magic radiated white. There was no way to store any more magic in them. But blood magic... there seemed to be no end to what he could absorb.

  With so many sacrifices happening quickly, the priests moved by rote and could remove a heart in a matter of seconds. A flint blade flashed, the latest still beating organ torn from the man’s body and held aloft, then tossed into the fire next to his throne. The flames, started with Mixcoatl’s bow, had accepted all the offerings from the first, the energy building with each one. It pulsed through Iqiohr’s body, amplifying the power within him.

  While he basked in the nearly unlimited supply of magic available, he couldn’t stop a twinge of doubt. Tezcatlipoca was much more adept at using the energy derived from blood and sacrifice. Even with the mage glyphs full, Iqiohr wasn’t sure he’d be able to remain in control when the Sixth Sun began.

  Iqiohr’s heart beat faster as the boom and bright flash announced the gateway from Ashana opening on the beach across the lake. The knife. The last thing he needed for the ritual. Tempted to leave, board a barge and meet his Esne, he forced himself to remain in his seat.

  “Start with the weakest and proceed to the strongest. The most powerful blood must be offered closer to the eclipse.”

  Time crawled for the next half hour until finally, Apan, alone, hurried through the throng of people atop the pyramid and bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. “Scorpion Mage.”

  Where were his Esne and Gajo? If he’d hurt her, Gajo would be one of the hearts that powered the rite. Iqiohr would perform the ceremony himself and make it last. Worry gnawed at him, but he couldn’t show interest. He kept his face in a neutral expression, stared at Apan and tried to sound disinterested. “Yes?”

  The minion shifted from foot to foot. “Your Esne remains in Ashana. The knife was removed from auction. The Esne followed the man who obtained it. Gajo was... He was killed yesterday.”

  Iqiohr curled his fingers into the arms of his throne as Tezcatlipoca rampaged in his mind. Shadow mirrors splintered, sending agonizing spears of pain through their shared consciousness. “How is that possible?”

  “Your Esne ran, and he ran after it. The defenses activated and a sword... hunted and stabbed Gajo. It... It ripped out his soul and burned his body.”

  “Why did my Esne run? And why were you not close enough to prevent that occurring?”

  “When we arrived in Ashana, we were separated from the Esne. It was given a different room.”

  Inside, Iqiohr rejoiced. His Esne was safe. When Tezcatlipoca had sent Gajo and Apan after her through the portal, Iqiohr had thrown himself at the mirror trapping him in his own mind. Gajo couldn’t be trusted around any witch. Outside, Iqiohr stood, white magic blazing around him. “You let my Esne out of your sight?”

  Apan winced. “My apologies, Scorpion Mage. We couldn’t follow it to its new room, so we waited around the lobby and auction areas to monitor its behavior.”

  This was not the place to discuss incompetence or for others to hear about his Esne in the room of another man. “Carry on with the sacrifices,” he ordered the priests. “Apan, with me.” Iqiohr stepped down from his throne. While everyone else’s feet and clothing were stained with the blood everywhere, where he came into contact with it, the blood absorbed into his skin.

  He called the blood to him. Waste not, after all. The dark red everywhere was a striking visual of his rule and ruthlessness, but he couldn’t afford to leave any power behind. Leaving it allowed for any opportunist to take what was his. People murmured and shuffled their feet as he drew blood from the floor of the temple and the rivulets streaming down the stairs, summoning it to him.

  Reversing its course, the blood came in answer to his beckoning. It flowed over his feet and up his legs to the rest of his body, covering his skin, maxtlatl and tilmatli in a red shine from head to foot.

  He stood among the acolytes, sacrifices and bystanders, waiting until every drop churned around him, then summoned the blood into himself, absorbing the strength and energy, and he was left immaculate. Without checking to see if Apan followed him, Iqiohr stalked away, heading for the stairs down the pyramid.

  The people in the crowd managed to stand closer to one another, leaving a clear path.

  At the base of the pyramid, he ignored his litter and its attendants and stalked down the main street toward the palace.

  “Apan.”

  The minion hurried his steps to pace alongside. “Yes, Scorpion Mage.”

  “The dagger. You say my Esne followed the man who obtained it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did it allow him to touch it?”

  “I saw his hands on your Esne once when it fell. He helped it to stand.”

  “And my Esne followed this man where?” He didn’t want to hear the answer, but couldn’t stop the question.

  “To his room, I think, Scorpion Mage. I could not see where the Esne went after it entered the hallway.”

/>   A rage rose in Iqiohr, so intense his vision blurred red. Around him, the nearest twenty Tlaloc bread-statues burned in white fire and exploded into toasty crumbs, sending people screaming and scurrying.

  He gritted his teeth to keep more questions from asking themselves, but they seared in his mind. What was she doing? He’d told her to get the knife. Could he blame her for doing whatever it took? Did she like that man? Was he touching her? How long would she stay with him?

  “I thought it best to return and explain, but I can return to Ashana and wait for the Esne if you like.”

  “No. Remain here. There is much to do before the eclipse tomorrow. I have the little witch. My Esne will return.” And when she did, he would show her the cost of disloyalty. She was his. The only one who kept him sane and mostly himself.

  IQIOHR WOKE WITH A sense of serenity. He lay with his Esne’s naked body sprawled across him in her usual claim of possession while they slept, reminding him of their jaguar when he was heavy and boneless with contentment.

  Even now that enormous spotted cat stretched across the foot of the bed, forcing them to sleep curled up because she said the beast was too majestic to sleep on the floor. He loved to see the way her face lit up when he could do small things for her in the privacy of their quarters, since there was a great deal he could not anywhere else.

  The jaguar had been a gift from the previous Scorpion Mage, who oddly enough preferred the cats to the scorpions of his title. The kitten had grown quickly into a two hundred pound cat.

  Iqiohr had tried to kick him out of the bed. “He is an animal and doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

  The jaguar, enormous front paws crossed elegantly, head held high, glared at him from the bed.

  His Esne gasped like Iqiohr had committed some grievous social error. “He is a king. Can you not see from the way he carries himself?”

  The stupid cat rolled on his back and offered her his belly while he gazed adoringly upside down at her.

  Iqiohr refused to laugh and pointed at the indolent beast. “That is your mighty king?”

  “Yes.” She scratched the cat’s chin. “Is that not the most regal upside down look you have ever seen?”

  “So you would give him the bottom half of our bed? Use this regal king of yours as a foot warmer?”

  Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Maybe he is using us because his belly gets too warm.”

  There was no winning this argument. His Esne had too gentle a heart, and so Iqiohr slept curled into a ball. It wasn’t bad with her in his arms. If they could spend every night like the last and wake up happy like this, their life together would be perfect.

  Unfortunately, in the court of the Scorpion Mage, life was not perfect.

  Yesterday, one of the other acolytes in the court had gone to the Scorpion Mage and asked for an Esne. There was only one, and she was Iqiohr’s. There was no way he would let her be with anyone else.

  The Scorpion Mage hadn’t told the other acolyte no, leaving the question unanswered and Iqiohr uneasy. If the answer was yes, he would kill the other man, and the Scorpion Mage would likely then have him killed in turn for disobedience.

  He loved her, and she loved him. They had since they were children. He would die for her. Today, he would kill for her, so there would never be a threat to her again.

  His Esne knew none of this, nor would he tell her. There was already too much that made her worry every day.

  As he slid from beneath her, she stirred and held on to him, half opening her hazel eyes, dark with sleepiness. “It’s still dark. Go back to sleep, Iqiohr.”

  Hazel was the color of happiness. “You are just worried about losing your pillow. I will come back to you,” he promised, unsure that he could keep it. “Do not worry. I won’t be long.” One way or another, this would be over quickly.

  She yawned and snuggled into the blankets. “Hurry back.” Her eyes closed, and she settled into sleep.

  Iqiohr knelt at the foot of the bed, prodding the cat until he opened one irritated eye. He held the cat’s giant head in both of his hands. “You protect her, do you hear me, cat?”

  One ear flicked toward him and his tail lashed once. He supposed that would have to suffice as a response. He released the jaguar, who watched him dress and go out the door.

  Iqiohr turned his Mage-Maker blade in his hands as he walked the white marble halls. Formed from his bones and blood, imbued with years of witch magic — with it, he could take control of his life. Kill the man who'd made the last few years of his life a punishment.

  Except for his Esne. She was the only light in this torment and darkness he existed in.

  He stood in front of the doors carved with the eight-foot scorpions, their tails poised to sting. The Scorpion Mage waited on the other side. The glyphs he’d forcibly placed on Iqiohr’s skin told him as much.

  When he went into the throne room, either he would kill the Scorpion Mage and become the new one... or he would die. But living at the whim of another, afraid and tortured every day, was no life.

  He straightened to his full height. That would be an advantage. His body was muscular and full of strength. Not like the mage, who had declined over the years. Even the demand for more sacrifices and witches hadn't been able to stop his decline into a wraith of the man he used to be.

  Iqiohr pushed open the doors. This had to be done not only for himself, but for the safety of his Esne and the child he suspected she carried. It was too soon to tell for sure, but last night when they had moved together, bodies interlocked, he swore he felt magic grow from their love.

  “Finally.” The Scorpion Mage chuckled from his carved scorpion throne. “I've been waiting for you to gather your courage.” He toyed with his own white blade. That blade could kill Iqiohr just like his could take down a mage.

  Moving across the throne room, dimly lit with only a few torches, Iqiohr stood at the bottom of the dais. “I will not allow you to give my Esne to another.”

  “So that’s the threat that finally motivated you? It’s not a wife, you know. It is only a witch. And not even a good one. The only reason I haven’t had it killed already is for its lineage. But if it can’t be bred at some point, it is truly useless.” The Scorpion Mage stood and dropped his tilmatli to the floor, approaching wearing only his maxtlatl.

  White glyphs flowed over the Scorpion Mage’s skin — so many they overlapped and it seemed the man was made of them and they weighed his skeletal body down.

  Despite towering over the other man, doubt crept into Iqiohr. In all the years he’d been forced to study under the mage, he’d never shown this amount of magic before.

  The Scorpion Mage smirked. “And if you can’t breed the witch, you don’t deserve to keep it. Maybe it requires more than one man to do the job.”

  With a roar that would make his jaguar proud, Iqiohr raised his Mage-Maker blade and attacked.

  That the mage didn’t fight should have been a clue. He seemed eager to go to his death, almost playfully batting away Iqiohr’s stabs and slashes, letting others get through his defenses. He mounted no offense of his own. At the time, Iqiohr accounted for that as physical weakness rather than a wish to be killed.

  “What is taking so long, boy?” the Scorpion Mage mocked. “Would you end this fight if I told you I sent the man who wanted the Esne to your room as you came here to kill me?”

  There was no good choice. If he left the mage alive, a death sentence would hang over Iqiohr’s head, and everyone would try to execute him. If he didn’t go now to save his Esne... No. He had to hope the jaguar was deterrent enough and end this fight with his enemy now.

  Iqiohr bellowed and went low, sweeping his leg across the Scorpion Mage’s.The man fell, smacking his head on the white marble dais steps with a crunch.

  Straddling the Scorpion Mage, Iqiohr tracked the most powerful glyph over the other man's body. His blade was hungry, the sensation transmitting to his bones. More hungry than his empty sigils had ever been. He brought his
hand down, sinking his knife into the Scorpion Mage's chest.

  The Scorpion Mage laughed as the blade pierced the glyph, then his heart. White magic flared as the symbol shattered. Every sigil etched into the man's body shone like the sun and slid over his skin, drawn toward the Mage-Maker knife. One by one, each was caught, pulled to the tip of the blade, and broken. The pieces glided through the resurrection glyph, up the knife, over Iqiohr's hand and onto his soul.

  With each slice, part of the mage who first wore the symbol adhered with the magic. They ripped at him, tearing at his mind to make themselves at home. Iqiohr fought to contain them as sharp pain distracted him, fighting for his life and sanity on thousands of fronts.

  That the glyphs would transfer to him was known, but not that the past mages would accompany them. An overwhelming presence threatened to swallow him whole. The rest of the mages were trickles where this one was a tsunami.

  Powerful glyphs of resurrection, death, and blood resisted his pull. They swirled together, forming a mass that took the form of a man with a horizontal black and yellow stripe painted across his eyes. His right foot was missing, replaced by an obsidian mirror. A second mirror hung on his chest, smoke pouring out of it.

  Tezcatlipoca.

  How could Iqiohr fight a god? Terror swept through Iqiohr, and not only his. The past mages panicked and fled before the Smoking Mirror Jaguar God of Night, Sorcery, and invisible darkness as he took the field in Iqiohr’s mind.

  Iqiohr ordered his hand to release the knife, tried to yank his body away to break the connection.

  Let go. Let go. Let go!

  But magic held him fast, the hilt of his knife searing into his palm as more glyphs poured through the Mage-Maker blade.

  Tezcatlipoca battled for control of Iqiohr’s body using smoke and mirrors. While he charged from the front, spear at the ready, smoke curled around Iqiohr’s head and the ground underfoot turned to mirrors threatening to swallow him whole with a single misstep.