Myth's Legend: Norrix

by Ysobella Black

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  MYTH

  MYTH TRIED NOT TO SHUDDER as not-Iqiohr paraded her through the streets in the red dress witches wore when they disappeared. It had to be a game or scare tactic. He wouldn’t kill her without knowing for sure she didn’t carry his child. She just had to make it through a few more hours. Norrix would take her and Fable away from this place tonight. She could last a little longer.

  Not-Iqiohr turned away from the crowd often, and Myth made sure her eyes were on him, like he expected. But something was off. Instead of the dead white eyes and blank expression he typically wore, not-Iqiohr’s lips turned up in the smallest smile, and there was life in his eyes, like anticipation. It made her blood run cold as he led her up steep, narrow steps to the top of the pyramid.

  He only brought her here to make her watch executions.

  But today, she wore red.

  Had he found Norrix? It was daylight. Unless not-Iqiohr had a spell to protect vampires from the sun, Norrix wouldn’t survive the trip to the temple. Part of her was relieved. At least she wouldn’t have to watch not-Iqiohr cut Norrix open and take his heart. Iqiohr, and not-Iqiohr, prided themselves on drawing the process out as long as they could, and she wouldn’t be able to remain stoic about Norrix’s death.

  The atmosphere was different this time. Executions were almost formal affairs, but the streets and steps were lined with cheering and shouting people dressed in elaborate feathered costumes and shiny jewels. Iqiohr wore ceremonial dress. When he stopped in front of the altar, her heart sank. It was executions, then. Or sacrifices, as he liked to call them.

  There had already been so many.

  “Kneel, Esne.”

  Myth sank to her knees on the blood-red rock surface.

  “You brought the knife to me. You are owed something for that, since this would not be possible if you had failed me. I will give you your reward. Bring it out.”

  Myth was careful not to show her emotions. He couldn’t mean to make Fable watch him murder people. She was only four years old! Myth stared at not-Iqiohr with all the adoration she could muster shining in her eyes. She could make herself adore him to save Fable.

  A soldier bowed and entered a room behind the throne. He returned a few minutes later, her daughter in tow. Fable’s eyes lit up when she saw Myth and she took a step forward, but a hard yank on her arm stopped her in her tracks.

  Rage surged in Myth. Her new strygoi side fought to come out and kill any man who dared touch her daughter.

  Iqiohr circled behind Myth, and a sharp blade pressed against the skin of her throat. She couldn’t see it, but it was the obsidian blade she’d brought from Ashana. “Place it on the altar.”

  “No!” Myth tried to jump to her feet, but the knife cut into her skin. She froze as blood trickled from her neck down her chest, staining the front of her dress. “You can’t sacrifice her!”

  The soldier lifted Fable by one arm and slammed her down on the rough, flat surface.

  “It is a witch! It is what you gave me when I asked for a son. I didn’t have it killed at birth because it was useful in making you obedient. But you are not obedient anymore, are you?”

  Fable screamed soundlessly as her little arms were lifted over her head, the chain between her manacles pressed to the altar, little feet tied down.

  Myth wanted to tell Fable she would get them out of this, that things would be okay. But she didn’t know if they would, and the collar around Fable’s neck prevented their telepathy.

  The obsidian knife in Iqiohr’s hand traced a circle around Myth’s neck as Iqiohr paced around her where she knelt, stilling her instinctive movement towards her daughter. “You have defiled yourself.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I gave you everything, and you ruined our life together. The only reason you will not be a second sacrifice today is the chance you’ve done something right, and this time you are carrying my son.”

  He straightened and resumed circling her. “As your punishment, it will be the sacrifice tonight. It’s a little small to build a fire in its chest, but it has magic. Untapped magic. No one has ever drawn from it. You will wield the knife. If you don’t accept your punishment, I will perform the sacrifice, and I’ll make sure it suffers before it dies.”

  Iqiohr yanked Myth to her feet. Spinning her to face the crowd, he pressed the knife, slick with her blood, into her palm. He peered into the sky and shouted to address the crowd, the eclipse due to begin in moments. “Today, as the moon passes over the sun, we will make the sacrifice to usher in the Sixth Sun!”

  Myth gripped the handle, and the blade slipped, nicking his finger. His blood mixed with hers. Her Seeking magic went wild, looking for what, she couldn’t tell. Something... Someone? A vision of an army of demon women led by Itzpapalotl flashed in her mind.

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  NORRIX

  NORRIX SUPPORTED XOCOH as they made their way to one of the houses just shy of being considered a palace.

  The entrance of the tunnel opened with a smear of blood on a tree, the trunk vanishing as candles lit themselves in periodic increments on dirt walls. They walked down an incline of packed earth single file until the way broadened as it flattened so they could walk side by side. Norrix still had to bend at the waist to fit his greater height in the space.

  Fortunately, the passage wasn't long, and another smear of blood allowed them to exit into the house and extinguished the candles.

  The man took off to look for his wife and son. Norrix followed Fable’s light apple scent. Beyond a smashed door, a boy wearing only his maxtlatl lay beaten on the ground. Both eyes swelled shut, broken nose, split lip. Breath wheezed in and out, bruises on his back and legs.

  He’d put up a fight. His knuckles bruised and abraded. Not all the blood on him was his — Norrix smelled four other contributors.

  Fable’s scent covered this boy. Norrix knelt beside him. “Tizoc?”

  He groaned and stirred.

  “Don’t move. You’re badly hurt and might have internal damage or a head injury.”

  “Quetzalli.” Tizoc licked his lips and curled his fingers in Norrix's cloak. “They took her. I couldn't stop them.”

  The man and his wife rushed into the room clutching clean towels and several pots. “I’ll take care of my son. They took the little girl to the pyramid. Go help her.”

  Gods. Why did the mage want Fable at the pyramid? To control Myth? Something worse?

  Norrix pushed to his feet and sprinted from the room. Only a few guards remained in the house, and Norrix was past the need to play nicely. He swung his mace, smashing one man in the face, then reversed his arm, hitting the second with his elbow using his vampire strength. Both men fell.

  He kept to shadows as much as he could, putting up the hood of his cloak when he had to walk in the sun. The thin material gave him little comfort that it could protect him from the sun for long. He’d attracted some looks, but no one stopped him. Going by the conversations he overhead, people were more frightened by the bodies being found all over the island, or more accurately, skins.

  On the main street, Norrix paced in a shadow, wishing the eclipse would begin. The impending eclipse was solar, which meant the moon would be shadowing the sun, and it would last for hours. He wouldn't burn to ash during that time. Hopefully it would be long enough to find Fable, free Myth and get out of this place, but he had a sinking feeling they wouldn’t manage that before the Sixth Sun began.

  The ahuizotls soundlessly joined him.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  They looked pleased with themselves, tails wagging, hands waving.

  As the solar eclipse began, shadow slid over the ground, spreading to cover the streets. Norrix pulled his mask over his face, broke cover and moved towards the pyramid, accompanied by the ahuizotls. Since Myth was taken away, their bond had been filled with trepidation, and now, fury, disbelief, and dread. He needed to get to her, see for himself she was fine.

  People crowde
d the road. Norrix pushed his way through them. Initially they refused to move, but a snarling ahuizotl or the club Norrix wielded met anyone turning around to complain. He tried not to kill anyone, not wanting to add to the body count of the sacrifices the Scorpion Mage had planned. The ahuizotls didn’t feel the same compunction. Every time one of Iqiohr’s guards tried to stop them, he ended up a drowned skin.

  The bond he shared with Myth went from trepidation to horror and terror. He willed the shadow to move faster. When they reached the mountain, the entire mass was in shadow. Free to use superhuman speed and strength, and driven by Myth’s spiraling emotions, Norrix sprinted up the trail, not caring about hiding his presence any longer. He shoved people to the side, tossed them over his shoulder, or knocked them flat to leap over them.

  The ahuizotls barked joyously at this game and added to the chaos, pulling on cloaks and nipping at ankles.

  Norrix didn’t slow as he hit the pyramid steps, taking them in bounding jumps of five at a time.

  In front of the altar, Iqiohr, arms crossed, stood next to Myth. The representatives from the seven tribes crowded around. Minions stood in a line facing the crowd, holding them back.

  Myth held the obsidian knife from the auction above her head, over Fable, who was tied down to an altar. Fable’s tear-stained, red face tilted towards her mother.

  The bond filled with rage. Norrix ran forward, body slamming one of the minions holding the crowd back to make a hole in their line. As the other guards started to react, the ahuizotls jumped on them, stifling their screams and yells by filling their lungs with water. Men choked, ripping masks off their faces as water poured from their noses and mouths. Eyes bulging, they collapsed as their bones dissolved.

  Ripping his mask off, Norrix threw it in a minion’s face, following it up with a downward strike with the flat of his club, sending the man to his knees. Myth turned and Norrix caught sight of her eyes, now completely silver. Her strygoi side was manifesting.

  Clutching the obsidian knife, Myth took a step toward Iqiohr.

  Norrix backed away. He knew better than to take Iqiohr from the strygoi just under the surface on Myth’s skin. Instead, he swung his club at the tribe representatives, sending them scurrying, screaming, and yelling for help.

  A second wave of ahuizotls attacked, taking the men to the ground.

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  FABLE

  THE ALTAR WAS STICKY and wet with on her back and legs. Blood from other people. Her stomach tried to be sick, but all her breath had whooshed out of her lungs when the mean man slammed her down and she still couldn’t breathe. Head buzzing from when she’d hit it, she couldn’t hear what Nantli said. Fable didn’t want to be good anymore and struggled. She kicked and punched like Tizoc, but the man tied her feet down and pinned her arms over her head.

  The Scorpion Mage held a black knife at Nantli’s neck. She tried to get up, but he cut her. Red blood slid onto the black knife.

  Fable screamed, but no sound came out. So many people watched and nobody helped Nantli. Nobody ever helped.

  Soră put a hand on Fable’s leg. “Norrix is coming. I’ve never seen him so angry. It’s going to be okay.”

  So much happened at once. The Scorpion Mage made Nantli stand up, and they moved to the altar. Nantli held the knife above Fable. A big man ran up the stairs with some ahuizotls. Were the lake monsters still helping or were they on the mage’s side now?

  An answer came as the ahuizotls and the big man attacked the Scorpion Mage’s guards.

  “That’s Norrix!” Soră patted Fable’s knee. “Now these guys are going to get it.”

  The Scorpion Mage yelled something to the people and held Nantli’s hand up with his. He turned them so Nantli held the knife over Fable’s body. He was going to make Nantli hurt her!

  “Your mom is trying to talk in your head. She says don’t be scared. She’s pretending.”

  The knife slashed down, but Nantli cut through the ropes holding Fable’s ankles. Fable twisted her body, scrambling off the altar, but was still stuck by the chain between her manacles.

  Norrix took off his mask. His eyes weren’t white. They were all black. He moved fast, and fought the mean men, knocking them down. The ahuizotls jumped on them. He ran to her and touched the chain, but jerked away and shook his hand. Then he raised a big club and smashed the end of the altar. The chain on her wrists fell away from the stone. Fable was free!

  She huddled next to the altar. It was so noisy with screaming and bad sounds, like when the mean men hurt Tizoc. Everywhere was red. She cried as she pressed her hands to her ears and closed her eyes, wishing to be small so no one could see her.

  Soră pulled on Fable’s arm. “We have to run to Norrix. Come on!”

  Norrix didn’t fight anymore. He knelt on the ground and opened his arms. Fable and Soră ran to him and he hugged them tight. He pulled his cloak around them and held them close in strong arms. His heart beat fast, almost as fast as hers. She wished she could talk, but all she could do was press her face to his chest.

  A flash of silver made her blink, and the sounds disappeared. Soră!

  This must be what a princess feels like when the knight comes to protect her.

  For the first time in Aztlan, Fable felt safe.

  CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

  NORRIX

  SEEING FABLE CURLED into a ball and sobbing nearly broke his newly beating heart, but Soră was with her. The silver girl crouched protectively around Myth’s daughter.

  It was pandemonium on the platform, but Myth had Iqiohr’s attention, and more ahuizotls streamed onto the top of the pyramid. They kept the rest of the men back. Norrix threw his club at one of the remaining guards, embedding it in his chest. The man fell at Myth’s feet.

  Norrix gathered Fable and Soră to his chest. Fable’s arms went around his neck and she pressed herself into him. The magic in the chains binding her burned, but he cradled Fable’s head, shielding her eyes from the violence, although she cringed at every impact and scream.

  Soră laid her hand on Fable’s head, and she relaxed in a silver aura. “She can’t hear any of this now. I have to help Myth.”

  That was as much as he could do for now.

  “She’s safe,” he called over the tumult.

  That seemed to be all Myth needed to hear. Her body flashed silver and her strygoi side erupted. Bat wings edged in sharp obsidian exploded from her back, ripping through her red dress. A skeleton layered over her skin, showing an eerie skull on top of her beautiful face, and her fingers and toes turned to claws.

  Oh, fuck. Ember’s strygoi form took on characteristics of the Morrigan’s War aspect, but that fiery redhead had the personality to match. He hadn’t expected this from his shy, gentle Myth.

  Her strygoi form was Tzitzimitl — a star demon.

  It was almost enough for Norrix to pity the men left standing on top of the pyramid.

  Almost.

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  MYTH

  SHE’S SAFE. At Norrix’s words, something in Myth snapped, some sort of tether she’d never realized she’d placed on herself. Unrestrained rage surged in her, at how her ancestors had been captured and enslaved, drained of magic and bred like animals until they died. At how Iqiohr kept her like a pet. At how Iqiohr had treated Fable, taking her daughter’s voice and bringing her here as a sacrifice.

  All her life, she'd lived as a prisoner. A vessel. A victim.

  But all those things meant she defined herself by the actions of someone else. Let someone else determine her behavior. Allowed Iqiohr to turn her into something she wasn’t meant to be.

  Her gaze fell to the white-haired, white-eyed man on his knees before her. What was he to her?

  At one time, she thought she loved him. Maybe she had.

  She wouldn’t think of herself as surviving him. That still smacked of having been his victim. She’d been free to decide every day what she would endure. And far from a mere vessel, she was Fable’s mot
her. She had done what she had to, to keep her daughter safe. She hadn’t lived at Iqiohr's whim. She had made the choices that defined who she was. It was all her, had always been. Everything in her life was her fault.

  But that wasn’t right. Fault implied blame, and she didn’t blame herself for the things she’d done. What had Clio said? Own it. Myth owned it all. She’d done what she had to so she and Fable could survive in a place where witches died all too easily. That realization flooded her with confidence and swept doubt away, filled her soul with her self. The last of the bonds she'd limited herself with burst.

  Myth reached for Iqiohr as he back away.

  “You are ready!” Soră sang, her small form skipping around the dead bodies and ahuizotls. “Be something you!”

  “I am Myth.” Myth opened her mind, body, soul, and magic fully. She welcomed the silver magic in. It mixed with her lilac Seeking, creating something more than either magic could have been on its own. Before her eyes, her hands changed, fingers elongating, fingernails curving into sharp claws. She blinked as her vision blurred for a moment, then sharpened, showing her layers of magic over Aztlan, and the pitiful amount of white magic the man in front of her truly possessed. She didn’t know what that made this pitiful thing she saw before her now. Nothing? Less than nothing. But she knew what it made her.

  No, not a man. A god. Tezcatlipoca's face overlaid Iqiohr's, a wide black stripe with a narrower yellow one in the center painted across his eyes.

  Myth threw her arm forward, sinking her claws into not-Iqiohr’s chest and lifted so he dangled in the air. Her obsidian tipped bat wings snapped out to their full span, their sharp edges slicing across the chests of two men trying to catch her from behind. She raised the obsidian dagger Iqiohr so coveted above her head.