Norrix laid a finger over her lips. “Four people are coming this way.”
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
NORRIX
THE SCENT OF ROTTEN apples filled the room. He would kill these men for terrorizing his Dragă.
There was nowhere to hide in Myth’s cell. No window and a single door. It was too late to go out the door. The heartbeats were entering the mage’s closet.
“Iqiohr isn’t protecting it anymore,” one man said. “You saw what happened on the dock. We can touch it now. It’s fair game.”
“Plus, it’s stung,” a second man added. “It won’t struggle.”
“It’s not the mage. I won’t let them touch you.” Norrix leapt to his feet and blew out the candle, the only source of illumination in the room. He embraced his vampire side and slid to the wall where the door would shield him when it opened. It might give him the second he needed to spring a surprise.
Please let my mind stay focused. The door to Myth's cell swung in.
His fangs descended as he drew a knife.
Four men entered Myth’s prison, crowding into the space hardly large enough to contain them. Their hearts beating in excitement and the reek of their lust infuriated him, giving his mind all the focus he needed.
Myth’s eyes widened as light spilled in from the closet and she saw him as a pissed off vampire.
“Why’s it dark?” one of them asked.
“Doesn’t matter. We don’t need to see it to fu—”
Norrix twisted the man's head almost off his body and let him drop to the floor. The snap his neck made brought the other men around.
“What the fuck?”
A different man drew a gun. Norrix batted it aside. Two more cracks filled the room as he snapped the man’s wrist. He opened his mouth to scream, but Norrix crushed his throat, silencing him.
The other two men went for the door, but couldn’t get past Norrix. He seized each by the neck and smashed their heads together.
Their heartbeats faded and stopped.
The vampire faced Myth. He sat on the cot and pulled her to him, cradling her in his lap. “You want to be strygoi?”
“Yes.”
Norrix licked a line up her neck, lips closing to suck on her thrumming pulse. He sank his fangs in deep, relishing how Myth’s breath caught and her scent turned sweet as his venom entered her system. The smell of warm apples flooded the room. He sucked, swallowing gulps of blood.
Myth raised her arms to wrap them around his neck. She held his head against her neck and squirmed against him.
Fighting the urge to take his Dragă, Norrix pulled his fangs from her neck and licked over the bite to heal it. He didn’t want to have her in her prison, and they needed to find Fable. When it was time for his Dragă to be his, he wanted to be comfortable enough to take his time with her. He took a moment to savor the odd sensation of his heart beating in his chest. “Wrist or neck? If you have my blood this time, it will work.”
“Neck.”
Norrix slid a sharp nail along the pulse that now beat in his neck and pressed Myth’s face to the cut.
CHAPTER FORTY
MYTH
MYTH SWALLOWED NORRIX’S blood. This time it was different — magic poured into her. The remnants of Iqiohr’s poison replaced by a sweet, tingling sensation that left her shivering with need. Released from paralyzation, Myth curled her fingers into Norrix’s shirt, urging him closer to take more of her as she drank deeper of him.
Forgotten stories surfaced in her mind, going back thousands of years to a time when goddesses ruled in Aztlan and more recently, hundreds of years, when a woman called Storyteller wandered the world collecting tales, instead of using them as a means of mental escape after she and her descendants were enslaved.
Part of Myth’s consciousness pulled away, and she floated in a room filled with silver energy that swirled through the air. She held out her hands, laughing as the streaks danced over her fingers. Lilac-colored magic trickled from her, eager but hesitant to join in the show of unrestrained play.
The sparkly tendrils reached out to Myth’s shyer magic, trying to coax it to mix, but the colors remained separate. In a huff, the silver pulled away and coalesced, gathering into the form of a silver girl with long black hair. “Soră!” She crossed her arms and radiated annoyance.
Torn, Myth couldn’t decide if she wanted to smile or if this child intimidated her. “I heard your voice before. When I met Norrix. Who are you?”
“I’m Soră.”
“But you call me Soră.”
Soră threw her small hands in the air. “Why does that confuse all the Sorăs nowadays? I am Soră. You are Soră too. We are Soră. What’s hard about that?”
Perhaps a sidestep in the conversation was in order. “Sorăs are the Dragăs who become strygoi?”
“Sometimes.” The silver girl kept her arms up and took two steps toward Myth. Without giving it a thought, Myth picked her up like she would Fable. Soră rewarded Myth with a brilliant smile and hugged little arms around her neck. “All the Dragăs are Sorăs, but not all of them can hear or see me. Those are the ones who become strygoi.”
“I understand. At least, I think I do.” As Myth’s lilac magic retreated,it left them in a dark, featureless place lit only by Soră’s glow. “Where are we?”
“We’re in your Dragă space.” The silver girl peered around. “You could spruce the place up a bit.”
“How?”
Soră shrugged. “Make it what you like.”
The key to Myth’s room in Ashana had disappeared into the lake, a loss that spiked sharp pain into her heart when she thought about it. But maybe that could be her Dragă space. Still a sanctuary, just a different one.
Myth closed her eyes and pictured that room. The fairy tale cottage. The grass underfoot. A fireplace. The comfortable couches. A table full of presents. The library with talking books. Two bedrooms. The golden cloak that let her spend time with Norrix.
Soră clapped her hands. “It’s perfect!”
When Myth opened her eyes, she had to agree. It was exactly as she remembered. She carried Soră to the sofa in front of the fireplace and sat down. It was time to focus on what was important.
Fable.
Musette said a strygoi could fight a mage. Myth needed that magic. “How can I become strygoi?”
“You have to become something old, something new, something borrowed, something you!” Soră chanted. “First, something old.”
Images of the Aztlan goddesses Coatlicue and Itzpapalotl filled Myth’s mind. She knew who they were from remembered stories. Myth laughed. “Are you calling Coatlicue and Itzpapalotl old?” And why was Soră showing her visions of goddesses? Because of where Myth lived?
“Well, they’re not as old as me. Strygoi magic is older.” Soră shrugged. “But I like to be a girl the best, so they have to be the old part. Now, something new.”
Although Myth hadn’t seen Ember without her disguise, this woman looked like Musette, except for her hair and glowing silver. Black wings burst from her back and she fought men over aquariums full of people and creatures on a rocky island, flying to attack and wielding a sword. She laughed as she took down one man after another, her expression almost manic with joy. Even if she wasn’t a Dragă, it was no wonder she wasn’t afraid of Norrix and his friend. If you loved me any more, I’d have to kill you. Myth snorted. Ember just might.
Another woman, this one a striking platinum blonde with the back of her shirt missing, straddled a white-haired mage on the floor. She had a red mark on her cheek where she’d been struck, but she held her hands up, drawing shadows in and shoved them into the mage’s eyes as he screamed.
Did Soră mean Myth could fight like... them?
“So many new things to learn. It’s fun, right? I love Viktoria’s shadows!” Soră said. “Now something borrowed. These are things my magic can do.”
Women glowing silver with long black hair like Soră’s disappeared and reappeared in ot
her places. Others moved things with their minds. One called silver lightning down from the sky.
“Something you!” Soră sighed. “But not until you're ready.”
“I am ready!”
“Not yet.” Soră laid her head on Myth’s shoulder. “You want to be ready, but you doubt.”
No! Myth had to turn strygoi to fight Iqiohr or not-Iqiohr and get Fable out of Aztlan. Surely Soră didn’t mean to dangle the chance in front of Myth and take it away. “I don’t doubt you. I believe your magic can do all those things.”
“You doubt you.” Soră sounded sad. “Norrix told you that you are Myth, and he is yours. But there was no bond when he held back his changed side. He had to become all that he is to give you what you need. Now you must become all that you are to accept what we offer. I cannot make you a strygoi, you must become a strygoi.”
“But I don’t know how! I don’t know what any of this means!”
“When you are ready, you will become something you.”
Myth wanted to weep. “I need to be strong to protect Fable.”
Soră shook her head. “You are stronger than you know, but your magic doesn’t want to mix with me, and that’s what has to happen to become full strygoi. That’s okay for now. Everyone loves me in the end, but maybe you will believe the others more.”
The silver girl disappeared.
“Wait! Come back! What others? What am I supposed to do now?” Seeking magic detonated in Myth and the room swam in lilac. She blinked as the magic dissipated. Nothing. So much for Seeking. “Who am I supposed to believe about what?”
“She was referring to us, I believe.”
Myth yelped and whirled. What else could talk in this room? She really had to stop asking questions out loud.
Four women, all of them tall, with varying shades of tan skin, hazel eyes and mahogany hair like Myth’s, stood behind the couch. One of them, Myth recognized. “Nantli?”
Saga nodded and rushed forward to hug Myth. “It’s me. I’m so glad to see you.”
Hot tears of happiness overflowed Myth’s eyes to slide down her cheeks as she closed her arms around her mother. She still smelled of the same jasmine perfume and didn’t look like she’d aged a day in the last fourteen years. Myth pulled back. “But... How are you here?”
A second woman joined them on the sofa. “My name is Lore. I’m Saga’s mother. Our magic felt yours Seeking, and we came to answer your questions.”
Myth stared. Her grandmother?
“We may as well get all the shock out of the way before we overwhelm her with everything we have to say.” The third woman took a seat on the other couch. “I’m Storyteller, Lore’s mother, and this,” — she waved at the woman wearing the skirt of writing snakes — “is my mother Coatlicue.”
Coatlicue swept some of the snakes aside and sat next to Storyteller. “Don’t even start with the great-great’s. I know I’m old, but I’m not going to have it thrown in my face. You have grown into a beautiful woman,” the Serpent Skirt Goddess of goddess of Life, Death, Rebirth, and the Stars said. “Now it’s your time to shine.”
“Wait.” Myth’s head spun. “Fable and I are descendants of a goddess?”
“Not just one.” Storyteller began the tale. “Quetzalcoatl told me the celestial signs were right for the Fifth Sun to begin. He said he owed it to the world to stop Tezcatlipoca from rising to power. But he didn’t seem to be trying to become the Sun this time, and another god, Tonatiuh, He Who Makes the Day, was ready to rule. Quetzalcoatl couldn't find anything to cause worry.” She sighed. “We all should have known better.”
Coatlicue took up the story. “The day everything changed for me didn’t seem like the end of the world. I swept the temple floor and found a bundle of green hummingbird feathers. They were so pretty and innocuous. When I picked them up, something didn’t feel right, but what harm could feathers do?” She shrugged. “I put them in my pocket and went about my day. That night I went to bed early because I was tired. When I woke up the next day, I was pregnant.”
“My daughter, Coyolxāuhqui, figured out Tezcatlipoca had used sorcery on the feathers to cause the pregnancy and vowed revenge. That night, though, Tezcatlipoca kidnapped me and kept me chained in an underground room lit with torches. He visited me often, conjuring his obsidian mirrors to spy on Quetzalcoatl and show me the outside world.”
Storyteller resumed, moving her hands over her lap like she was writing in a book. “I knew to avoid Tezcatlipoca, but didn’t recognize him in his new body. He put one of his glyphs on me, forced me to sleep and kidnapped me and my daughter, Lore. When I woke, we were underground, imprisoned, along with my mother. Tezcatlipoca thought it was amusing to show us our families searching for us, even taunted them. Looking back, that should have been a warning of things to come. He’d always been sly about his plans and plots, but he wanted attention drawn to him now.
“With the start of the Fifth Sun nearing, Quetzalcoatl went to his grandmother Itzpapalotl and asked for help to rescue us. She agreed, and summoned her army of Tzitzimimeh, four hundred fierce women with clawed hands and feet and bat wings of obsidian. Coyolxāuhqui rallied the Centzon, her four hundred brothers. On the day the Fifth Sun was due to begin, the two armies united under an eclipse, and marched on Serpent Mountain, where we were being held.”
Storyteller sighed and leaned forward. “But Tezcatlipoca had prepared for that day. Over centuries, he’d created his own army of gods, giants, sorcery-enhanced men with white hair and eyes, and humans eager to use the old ways of blood sacrifice for power. He kept them trapped in magic until he needed them and made us watch as his army came to life. They clashed weapons against shields and armor, and the ground shook when they marched from the depths of the mountain and formed ranks on top of the pyramid.”
“While the armies clashed, I went into labor.” Coatlicue stroked some of the riled serpents making up her skirt to soothe them. “As soon as the baby was born, Tezcatlipoca covered the boy in glyphs of sorcery, so he grew to an adult in only a few minutes. Huitzilopochtli, born as God of War, clad in blue and green armor, hummingbird helmet, and with his xinatlatl, blue dart thrower, went to battle.”
“But Tezcatlipoca didn’t lock us in, and we escaped from our cell. The only way out was up the stairs, to the top of the mountain. When we saw the fighting, at first we thought we were winning.”
Storyteller touched Myth’s hand.
The air reeked of blood and death. Swords clashed against shields. Men and women screamed.
Itzpapalotl flew overhead, her star demons attacking from the rear, striking Tezcatlipoca’s soldiers down and coordinating her warriors, tearing through the forces arrayed against her. Coyolxāuhqui’s forces marched up the pyramid steps on three sides, catching Tezcatlipoca’s army in a two-front war..
Huitzilopochtli aimed his dart thrower at Itzpapalotl’s back. The dart struck with such force, one of her great wings shattered and pieces of obsidian rained from the sky. Forced to land, Itzpapalotl called her obsidian shards back to her. The pieces of her wing rose from the ground, each sought to return to her in the most direct path. They cut through the enemies standing in their way.
One of the largest and sharpest pieces slid over the ground to return to her, but Tezcatlipoca intercepted the dagger-like shard, stepping on it to halt its progress.
Huitzilopochtli, Coyolxāuhqui, and Quetzalcoatl fought a three-way battle back and forth across the top of the pyramid. Having fought for hours longer than her opponent, Coyolxāuhqui made one small mistake. Her guard slipped for one second, and that was all Huitzilopochtli needed. He beheaded her, spilling her blood down the temple steps, then fought her brothers, tearing out their hearts one after another.
Tezcatlipoca held out his arms and drew all the blood spilled to him. He held up the shard of Itzpapalotl's wing, creating an obsidian shadow mirror in the sky.
Weapons gone, Itzpapalotl swung a leg she'd torn from one of the soldiers she fought. With so many wounds, an
d unable to fly with her damaged wing, she couldn't escape the shadow mirror, and disappeared, followed by the Tzitzimimeh, one by one.
Quetzalcoatl, bleeding from countless stabs and slashes, rushed at his brother, but stopped when Tezcatlipoca surrounded Lore and Storyteller with shards of obsidian. “Choose brother. Your family or you. Step into the mirror, or watch them die.”
Quetzalcoatl disappeared, too.
The mirror reverted to a dagger shape, and Tezcatlipoca held it up as a trophy. He put a hand on Huitzilopochtli's shoulder. “My blood rules as Sun. My blood keeps our enemies imprisoned.” He raised his arms. “Let the Fifth Sun begin.”
Myth came back to the present with a jolt. She’d known Tezcatlipoca and the Scorpion Mage were powerful, but they’d done all that? To so many? What chance did she have of getting free? Even if she turned strygoi, she was still only one woman, and she’d just seen an army destroyed. How many men did Iqiohr have now? He must have been preparing for this day for years.
“Since then, we’ve been prisoners,” Lore said. “I grew up in the Scorpion Mage’s court and always dreamed of escaping, especially after my mother disappeared. I met a boy named Mazatl. He turned out to be the son of Tlaloc, who Tezcatlipoca had kidnapped during the Third Sun, and he wanted to leave too. While we were waiting for our chance to get away, we fell in love and I got pregnant. We rushed our plan, but we were caught. Mazatl disappeared and the mage burned my mother’s book. I used all my magic to create the telepathy we use to speak to one another.”
Saga squeezed Myth’s hand. “When I was a girl, the Scorpion Mage took my mother away and gave me to Huitzilopochtli to control. That didn’t work out like he thought. Huitzilopochtli had become disillusioned with Tezcatlipoca and the idea of becoming Scorpion Mage. We fell in love and I got pregnant with you. Huitzilopochtli went to kill the mage, but he never returned. I used all my magic to bind yours, so no one could drain us of our magic.”
Myth's Legend: Norrix Page 27
