Myth's Legend: Norrix

by Ysobella Black

  The Scorpion Mage streamed under the door, using the last of his power to coalesce in the form of a white scorpion in front of the man he’d chosen.

  This man lay beaten, but only asleep, not dying. He would do.

  Lashing out with his tail, the Scorpion Mage struck, sinking his stinger deep into the white-haired man’s arm.

  Mage magic had to be taken, it couldn’t be given. Without hesitation, the vessel pulled his Mage-Maker blade and sank it into his scorpion body. Mage magic poured into his new body. The Scorpion Mage relished the new form, bigger and more muscled than his last.

  All the consciousnesses battled for dominance over the new body, rushing through glyphs and the Mage-Maker blade.

  Tezcatlipoca held back, letting the weaker mages fight and tire one another. None of them had patience. None of them matched him in power.

  He waited until the fight was nearly over, then summoned all his remaining power and rushed through the resurrection glyph. Torn to shreds and reassembled, Tezcatlipoca emerge wearing his warrior guise in the new vessel’s mind. Smoking mirror on his chest. Spear and shield in hand. Black and yellow stripe across his eyes.

  The man faltered, but rallied. He struck with his fists and his weapon, landing a blow to Tezcatlipoca’s cheek and a slice on his arm.

  Stop fighting, Tezcatlipoca cajoled. I can show you how to kill gods. If Iqiohr had been worthless for everything else, he had come up with a glyph to feed on god power. That may prove worth the cost of Aztlan.

  The vessel laughed and raised his Mage-Maker knife. Mages don’t share knowledge.

  Not without good reason. But I will share that knowledge, and this. I know where to find two silver witches with the powers of gods.

  The vessel paused mid-strike. Where?

  I thought that would get your attention. Tell me your name. I remember meeting you when you were a boy, but you had no name then.

  I am called Dmitri. He lowered his knife. Who are you?

  Tezcatlipoca. God of Sorcery, Shadows, Night and Creation. He waited for awe and worship.

  They were not forthcoming.

  Interesting.

  Tell me, Dmitri. Who has done this to you?

  A red-haired witch.

  It is near?

  Yes.

  We will deal with that witch, then I will tell you where to find the silver ones.

  The red witch has a gold twin. I want them both.

  Tezcatlipoca laughed. Deal.

  Dmitri, the new Scorpion Mage, rose to his feet.

  CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

  NORRIX

  THE TZITZIMIMEH TORE the Scorpion Mage’s men apart. After decades in captivity, the star demons weren’t holding back. They had good reason for revenge, but Fable didn’t need to see the blood running in the streets.

  Norrix cradled her in one arm and slid the other around Myth, stepping toward the door behind the throne at the back of the temple to avoid going into the chaos and slaughter in front of them. “I think we can go down the back of the pyramid. There must be a way down the mountain.”

  Myth nodded. “The Scorpion Mage always brought me up the front, but sometimes when I was taken here first, he came up some other way. My Seeking magic is pulling me that direction. Before he... died, he said there was something under the mountain. I think we have to see what it is. What if it can bring him back here somehow? We have to destroy anything that might help him regain power.”

  The room behind the throne was an empty antechamber, big enough for a group of people to assemble prior to filing through the door to the temple. At the back, a tunnel carved into rock led into the heart of the mountain.

  Norrix nodded. “I’ll follow you.”

  “Me?” Myth stared at him, eyes round. Disbelief swamped their bond. “You’re... you’re going to follow me?”

  “Why not?” He sent her confidence and courage through their bond. “You’re the one with sharp claws and wings, and with that silver glow, you can light the way.”

  “But... but you’re bigger than me and...”

  Where was his fierce demon who split a man open a few minutes ago? “And what? I’m the man, so I have to lead? Haven’t you heard of ladies first?”

  She smacked his arm. “That isn’t meant for situations like this.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m still doing the most important job. I’m carrying Fable.”

  That woke her protective instincts. Her obsidian bat wings spread to their full extent and her silver glow blazed around her. “Try to keep up, vampire.”

  “Yes, my Dragă.”

  She turned, whacking him with one wing as she led the way into the darkness. Demon-Myth is prickly. The tunnel wound down with no offshoots, but Myth paused at a wide juncture.

  Hands out, she walked toward a smooth wall. “Wait. There’s magic here.” She shuddered. “A lot of it in the next room. I can’t just leave it.”

  Silver lightning sparked from her clawed fingertips, striking the side of the tunnel. A white glyph lit up and burst in a small explosion of dust, revealing a doorway that allowed entrance into a huge cavern.

  An unmade bed stood in one corner, a small table holding a candle, a pitcher and a cup beside it. “I saw this place before. When I was turning strygoi, I saw my mother and her mother all the way back to Coatlicue. This is where Tezcatlipoca held her, Storyteller and Lore as prisoners before the beginning of the Fifth Sun.”

  As Myth walked farther into the room, her silver aura glinted off dark surfaces. With a negligent wave, Myth summoned the candlestick to her hand and lit a silver flame, turning the candle into more of a torch.

  Two rows of thin obsidian slices hung in midair, showing the images of men and women. Portraits? No. They moved. People trapped in mirrors.

  This was a dungeon full of the prisoners Tezcatlipoca had taken over the centuries. A line of women faced male counterparts.

  Myth gasped, shock and horror followed by elation and hope poured through their bond. She ran to a mirror close to the far end of the row of women. “Nantli?”

  A woman — Myth’s mother — smiled and lifted a hand to press a palm to her side. Myth copied the actions.

  “No!” Norrix darted forward with his supernatural speed and seized her wrist. “Don’t touch the surface. It might trap you as well.”

  His Dragă turned a desperate gaze toward him. “How can we get them out?”

  “Strygoi magic undoes mage magic. Can you feel the people in the mirrors? They’ll need a path to follow.”

  “Tezcatlipoca must have been able to get them out somehow when he needed them. I can feel mage magic, but there’s something else, too. Another kind.”

  “Blood magic, maybe. Or the inherent power Tezcatlipoca had as a god.”

  “Can strygoi magic undo god magic?”

  Norrix tried to remember. Had there ever been any reason for a strygoi to undo something a god had done? As his mind began to spin away, Myth touched his hand. The feeling of losing control, of losing himself, came to a halt. “I can’t remember a strygoi undoing god magic before, but if its mixed with mage magic, it might be possible. If you can make the spell unstable enough, it could break.”

  “But if I do that, will it break the mirror? What happens if the glass shatters?”

  Nothing good. It pained him to tell her, knowing it would wipe the hope from her eyes. “If the mirrors shatter, these people will likely be killed.”

  Sure enough, his words devastated his Dragă.

  “I need to find a way to free them. This is my mother.” Myth pointed to another woman. “And her mother, Lore. The woman beyond her is Storyteller, daughter of Coatlicue.”

  Each of the women waved to Norrix in a brief greeting, but their main focus was on the Fable.

  The little girl held one hand to her stomach like it ached, but mustered a smile and waved back at her ancestors.

  Norrix paced up and down the row and ran his gaze over the mirrors, racking his memories for anythin
g that could help. A nebulous thought twisted in the back of his mind... something about...something about... he stopped in front of the blue-green armor of Huitzilopochtli. If the women here were related to Myth, were the men, too?

  The idea hit like silver lightning. The war god was born of Tezcatlipoca’s sorcery, and to do what he’d done would require blood. If his Dragă had that...

  “Myth, do you know who your father is?”

  She nodded and pointed to Huitzilopochtli, positioned across from Saga.

  The war god stood, arms crossed. He didn’t bother to look at Norrix. All his attention was on his daughter in her star demon form. If they did manage to free him, it’s not likely he’d receive a warm reception outside.

  Norrix shoved aside that random thought. If Huitzilopochtli had fathered Myth, maybe she had inherited some of Tezcatlipoca’s power and magic, too.

  “Seeking magic comes from your mother’s side of the family, but you may have received magic from your father’s side, too. Since it was bound all your life, perhaps it’s unfamiliar, but I think some of Tezcatlipoca’s god magic might have been passed down to you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

  MYTH

  TEZCATLIPOCA’S MAGIC in her blood. The idea repulsed her, but as soon as Norrix said the words, she felt the truth of them. As if the magic had been awaiting acknowledgment her whole life, a multi-colored energy rose — its joy and rapture sweeping through her. In a panic, she shoved that magic away.

  The rainbow of colors struggled as she leashed them one by one, and a guilty pang twisted painfully in her soul as she banished them to a dark place where she couldn’t see them. Couldn’t let them tempt her. Longing and confusion swept through her — impossible to tell if it was her or the new magic, but it was her grief that made her eyes burn hot.

  The magic felt like an innocent child, betrayed and punished for something it hadn’t done. Myth couldn't help drawing parallels with how Fable had lived. But was it a trick? Did the magic know her so well that it understood her weakness and was trying to exploit that chink in her armor? Was that what made it so hard to resist and pulled men down a path no one returned from?

  Panting, she leaned over, braced her hands on her thighs and bowed her head. Would she become like a mage? Corrupted and colorless? How could something that felt so pure and beautiful cause the loss of humanity and physical stature she’d seen her whole life? She wanted to weep and throw up.

  Strength flowed to her, and through the bond she shared with Norrix. Myth straightened.

  Iqiohr said their daughter was the key. Did that mean Tezcatlipoca’s magic was in Fable too?

  Her daughter, contentedly snuggled in Norrix's arms, held one small hand to her stomach as she gazed at all the people trapped in the mirrors.

  Little book, are you all right?

  Fable’s eyes, understandably filled with confusion, shot to Myth’s, but no words came. Had something else happened? Something permanently damaged from the chains? The telepathic connection felt whole, the same as it has always been, just unused.

  Protective instincts flooded Myth. She hadn’t been able to protect Fable before, but she could now.

  If to free everyone from the mirrors, and prevent Fable from having to use mage magic, Myth had to use it herself, she would. Should the worst happen and she started losing herself, she would make Norrix take Fable away from her. He would keep her daughter safe. Myth felt that in her bones and soul.

  For a moment, she felt lost, like the eight-year-old girl she’d been. Love and courage came from Norrix through their bond, but sometimes a girl needed her mom. Myth opened herself to her lilac Seeking energy intertwined with silver strygoi magic and sought her mother. A tendril of mixed magic touched the obsidian prison and white glyphs flared.

  Strygoi silver sparked against the white magic. Careful not to push too hard, she searched for a way through the sigils rather than shatter them.

  Love poured through the telepathic link she shared with her mother as the connection restored. Myth staggered and almost collapsed from the sheer depth of emotions.

  “Hello, little book. I’ve missed so much of your life.”

  “We can make up for it now. I have a daughter. Her name is Fable.”

  Her mother turned a beaming smile on the little girl. “That is a good name for a girl in our family.”

  “Nantli, I need you back. How do I get you out? Did you ever see Tezcatlipoca make these mirrors or release anyone?”

  Saga nodded.

  “What does it look like when he opens and closes the mirrors?”

  “Smoke. It’s smoke that solidifies into obsidian. He uses magic and blood.”

  “I’m going to get you out.”

  “I believe you.” Saga put her palm flat on the mirror again. “We all do, and we’ll help you however we can.”

  Up and down the rows, each man and woman placed their hands on the mirrors that caged them in a show of belief and solidarity.

  The magic Myth had banished beat against its own prison in response. Hope filled her. Maybe the magic inside her wasn’t all Tezcatlipoca’s. If she’d inherited his magic, maybe only a part of the new energy was his. Perhaps the rest, the majority of it, came from her other ancestors. They were gods and goddesses, too.

  That felt right, but none of the others carried the pollution of Tezcatlipoca. Where was the line between their magic and his? Did she dare risk crossing it?

  Myth turned away, into Norrix and accepted the comfort he offered so freely. “He’s so cruel. Leaving them trapped in mirrors facing each other but not able to touch.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Can I use one of your knives?”

  He nodded and held out his arm. “Feel free to help yourself to anything you like.”

  Was he trying to be naughty right now? She couldn’t help the small smile though, as she slipped the blade free of its sheath and sliced it across her palm. Blood welled in her cupped hand.

  Norrix’s eyes darkened from golden to black as he inhaled.

  Served him right for being sexy while she was trying to worry too much. Inappropriate tingles ran through her. He inhaled again and winked. Vampire smelling. Ugh.

  She cleared her throat and sent her Seeking magic into the small red pool. Which are the mirrors I can open? Droplets rose into the air to float up and down the row. The pane holding her mother prisoner, as well as most of the others, received a bead of blood, leaving a diagonal red streak across the front of all but six in the middle.

  “I can feel my mother. Hear her... But the magic. All the mirrors feel connected. I can’t pass the ones in the middle, no matter which direction I start from. The blood magic on those is different, and if I can’t open those, I can’t open the rest.”

  Iqiohr’s words haunted her mind again. Our daughter is the key. Fable must be related through Iqiohr to the people in mirrors Myth couldn’t unlock. The thought of using Fable’s blood sickened her.

  What should she do?

  Fable’s small fingers slid into Myth’s and she accepted the soothing sensation. Her daughter was quick. She touched the knife and cut herself before Myth or Norrix thought to stop her, or even that she might do something like that. Her blood mixed with Myth’s.

  More droplets rose into the air, and marked the rest of the prisons.

  The blood magic on all the mirrors unlocked them, revealing a white glyph on each.

  Myth bit her lip. That part went okay, but what seemed like the dangerous parts were left. “Now what?”

  Norrix stepped closer to one of the mirrors and peered in. “They’ll need a path to follow out of the mirrors. Try sending them a way to find you. The mirrors can be tricky to get out of, depending on how long they’ve been in there and how deep. Once that connection is established, I’d say we go layer by layer. Break the mage glyphs, and we’ll see where we are.”

  No better ideas occurred to her. Myth sent her lilac magic deep into the obsidian, Seeking a li
nk with each person. When each one anchored to the world through her and Fable, Myth channeled silver lightning overhead, spreading it to span the entire length of the row of mirrors. At a simple thought, forks of silver energy struck the glyph of mage magic on every mirror at the same time.

  Then it was instinct. Before logic could stop her, Myth loosened the tight leashes she’d placed on the unfamiliar magic that had been roiling inside her and let all the energies loose. “Set them free.”

  The magics rushed out of her in a euphoric storm and filled the room, coalescing around each mirror.

  Solid obsidian surfaces turned to smoke, which the magics absorbed, then returned to her in a surge that forced her to take a step back.

  All the men and women trapped in obsidian appeared. They stood so still, a moment of terror paralyzed her. Had she acted too fast? Done something wrong?

  Someone let out a triumphant whoop and set the crowd into motion as friends and relatives all greeted one another.

  It turned out they were all huggers.

  CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

  FABLE

  MAGIC HAD BEEN GROWING in Fable's tummy ever since Nantli made the chains turn to dust in the temple. Some had come out when she helped Nantli break the mirrors, but as each man and woman stepped out of their prisons, a different energy inside Fable grew stronger. All the magics fought each other for space inside her, but she was only little and there was no room.

  All the people hugged Fable. The hugs felt nice, but every time a new person touched her, more magics tried to get in and all the colors fought.

  She felt like the shiny rock in the story with all the parrots that didn’t share.

  The red magic especially didn’t like the other ones.

  It’s okay, magic. Please stop fighting.

  Her skin itched underneath, making her want to wiggle and scratch. But these people seemed important, and they were nice. Squirming would look silly and make all the important people think she was little.