Path of Blood

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  The nahuallis took them to a small, round building on the river side of the village. Unlike the rest of the houses, it was made of clay brick. They stopped, the lead nahualli turning to Yohuac and spitting out a long speech. He bowed deferentially and turned to Reisil, still looking down at the ground.

  “You must go inside and bathe. They will bring you clothing. When you are done, they will come for you.”

  “What about you?”

  “I must be cleansed as well.” There was a peculiar twist to his tone that Reisil didn’t understand. “Baku will stay with you. They should think he belongs to you.”

  With that he bowed again and backed away. He was then escorted away by a half dozen warriors.

  There was a short walkway up to the bathhouse, its entry bracketed by two carved doorposts, much like the wardpost along the trail. These were covered with strange, violent-looking creatures and painted in vivid yellows, oranges, and reds. The lead nahualli motioned Reisil to pass between and inside. Reisil blinked into spellsight. Spells glowed softly in the posts, matched by those set into the walls of the building itself.

  She took a breath and crossed between, feeling a zing across her skin like a corpse’s cold touch. She started and eyed the nahualli askance. The witch only looked down her nose with that superior, arrogant look and gestured impatiently. Reisil swallowed her suspicion and went inside, leaving Baku to wait for her.

  The walls were covered in a mosaic of precious stones set in gold and silver. The pictures were bold and stark and more than a little grotesque. They were of animals and the jungle, and everything seemed out of proportion. As she scanned the walls, Reisil gave a little shudder at the violence and lewd sexuality of the images. Her gaze snagged one image. Fully half the curved wall was devoted to a single god. Ilhuicatl, Reisil guessed, remembering what Yohuac had said about the nahuallis being favored by the greatest of all the fifty-two gods.

  This image was as garish and repulsive as the others, more so because it pushed out of the wall as if the god were coming alive. His legs were outstretched, his feet like the roots of the great Brischil trees. His penis thrust out between his legs. Made of blue-green stone, it was broad and hollow. It formed a great spigot that reached out more than six feet and sprayed steaming water into the large pool that curved in front. His arms were twisted around by serpents, and in the palms of his hands were eyes. Each of his fingers was tipped with red mouths from which protruded long, supple tongues. He wore a feather headdress of rainbow hues, and from his ears dangled bloody heads like earrings. His nipples were each the sun and moon, and above them, his expression was seductive, lustful, his tongue curling hungrily from his mouth. His eyes were faceted obsidian.

  The central steaming pool into which Ilhuicatl poured himself was large enough for a dozen people. It was surrounded by smaller pools containing water of varying degrees. Along the walls were woven mats and baskets of brushes, combs, soaps, and towels. The nahualli led Reisil to a corner and, by pointing, ordered her to strip. When Reisil hesitated, the witch drew herself up and stared, her pale eyes like shards of glass.

  Reisil drew a breath and blew it out.

  ~I guess I wouldn’t mind a hot bath, she said to Saljane.

  And as she thought about sinking into the hot water, she had a sudden sense of the grime on her skin, the itchy greasiness of her hair, and the general bad odor emanating from her. She wrinkled her nose.

  “If I were you, I’d want me to have a good scrub too,” she said to the nahualli, who only frowned, not understanding.

  Reisil lifted Saljane down to perch on a stool, and then removed her clothes. The nahualli watched, pointing to a basket where Reisil could deposit her dirty things, and another for her gauntlet and weapons. As Reisil finished disrobing, the nahualli stared askance at the gold leaf pattern chasing down Reisil’s cheek and neck and across her ribs. Quickly she caught herself and pointed peremptorily to the main pool.

  Reisil hesitated, flushing, suddenly recalling with force how full her bladder was. She pointed to her stomach and looked around meaningfully. The nahualli led Reisil to a small alcove where tall clay pots were set in a line on the floor. They had wide rims for sitting, and lids. Beside them were baskets of fresh, fuzzy green leaves. The witch waited outside while Reisil relieved herself.

  After, she followed docilely to the large pool. The water was far hotter than comfortable, and Reisil yelped when she dove in, swallowing some water and coming up choking. When her coughs subsided, she turned to look for the nahualli and blushed fiercely when she realized the woman was right behind her in the water, also naked. She was toting another basket and from it pulled a scrub brush and a handful of what looked like sticky sand.

  The witch pushed Reisil to the shallow end of the pool, until she was standing only ankle-deep. Much to Reisil’s mortification, the nahualli began to wash her, starting at her feet. The brush had stiff bristles and scraped painfully against her skin. But the other woman’s hands were like iron shackles around Reisil’s leg, uncaring of any pain she might be inflicting.

  ~Or she’s enjoying it, Reisil said, gritting her teeth and forcing herself to stand still. She couldn’t help but flinch when the nahualli’s ministrations went higher. The other woman prodded Reisil’s legs wide as she scrubbed into Reisil’s intimate places and higher. When she was through, the nahualli dropped the brush back into the basket and set to work on Reisil’s hair. She unraveled the braid and pushed Reisil back into the deeper waters. Reisil’s skin stung painfully as the hot water closed around her.

  The nahualli was no less vigorous with Reisil’s hair, scrubbing her scalp with fingers Reisil could have sworn were tipped in stone. Then she combed out the tangles with equally little heed for any discomfort she might be causing. When she was through, Reisil was clean and sore and bright red. She touched her head gingerly, feeling as if she’d been scalped.

  The nahualli nodded satisfaction and motioned for Reisil to go to the pool farthest from the entry door. Reisil swam over and lifted herself over into the indicated pool, letting out a startled squeal. It was as cold as icemelt. The nahualli laughed and jumped in beside her. They shivered there for fully a minute before the nahualli indicated they could step out.

  The basket of Reisil’s filthy clothes had disappeared. In its place were tribal garments. The nahualli helped Reisil to dry herself and then dress. Last she combed Reisil’s hair out, waving her finger disapprovingly when Reisil would have braided it up again.

  “All right,” Reisil said, lifting her hands up. “You win.”

  Reisil caught Saljane’s amusement at Reisil’s tone of defeat. The nahualli waited impatiently as Reisil strapped on her weapons and donned her gauntlet, lifting Saljane back on her shoulder.

  ~You are supposed to be on my side, she told the goshawk.

  ~I am always on your side.

  ~Well, try not to find it so funny, then.

  There were no shoes. Her tattered boots were gone, and when she asked, pointing to her feet, the nahualli shook her head, lifting her own bare feet. They were hard with calluses. The other woman smiled, more than a little maliciously, and then led Reisil out of the bathhouse. As she caught her reflection in one of the pools, Reisil realized that, dressed as she was, she looked a lot like her guide. The realization made her stomach tighten. Bile flooded the back of her tongue.

  For a while, at the wizards’ stronghold, she’d worn their robes and let them call her Kvepi. They thought she was one of them; they’d wanted her to be one of them. For a while, she’d almost lost herself there, wanting so much to belong that she forgot what the wizards were. She’d not repeat her mistake here, she told herself somberly. She knew who she was. No matter who or what her mother had been, she was not nahualli. She was ahalad-kaaslane.

  Baku was nowhere in sight when they emerged from the bathhouse. Reisil craned her neck about, but he was gone. Maybe to find Yohuac, or possibly to investigate the village. She gave a little shrug. There were dozens of things h
e could be doing. He was well equipped to take care of himself, and he’d return in his own time. He certainly wouldn’t be grateful if she made a fuss over him not staying put.

  The witch led her through the village. The ground was muddy and full of sharp pebbles. Reisil hadn’t gone without shoes for more than a year, and not regularly before that, and her feet were tender. She stumbled and limped along, her teeth set. She was sure that the nahualli was taking pleasure in her discomfort, and she wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of complaining.

  They arrived at the red-tile circle on the top of the hill. A fire had been built in the great bowl, waiting to be lit. There was an eerie silence. Though the jungle sounds continued, the sounds of the people were gone.

  The nahualli pointed to a place on the tile, gesturing for Reisil to remain standing. Her back was to the valley and she faced the large building on the opposite side of the circle, its ends fixed in place by two of the great Brischil trees. The nahualli turned and disappeared among the buildings, leaving Reisil alone. She stood awkwardly, feeling eyes on her. She shifted in place, feeling exposed.

  ~What happens next?

  ~We will see, came Saljane’s unhelpful answer.

  ~Some hospitality, Reisil said, beginning to feel peevish. Her skin still felt shredded by her bath, and she was hungry. If this is the way they welcome friends, how do they welcome enemies?

  Reisil continued to wait, gritting her teeth against the sudden itch that attacked the instep of her left foot. Suddenly, a deep, throbbing gong sounded. It echoed from the valley walls and faded into silence. When the last reverberation had died, it sounded again. And then once more. With each booming throb, Reisil twitched, feeling a vibration in the tiles beneath her feet. Then silence descended again. This time it was complete. No animals, no jungle sounds, nothing.

  At last there came a slow, steady cadence of several drums being beaten together. Then out of the large building came two lines of women carrying copper drums shaped like hourglasses and etched with geometric patterns. The women were young. They wore their hair long, with silver bands around their upper arms, wrists, and ankles. Each wore a silver circlet around her neck etched with rinda and set with a red ruby the size of a walnut.

  They were dressed as Reisil was, but their clothing was decorated with the mysterious rinda symbols in a wide spectrum of vivid colors. And there were a lot of different symbols. Reisil lost count as the women entered the tile circle, splitting apart and going around until they met in a ring. As one, they turned inward to face the fire and Reisil. All told, there were twenty-eight of them.

  Their measured drumming sped faster, developing a complex pattern. The women stared at the unlit fire, their hands slapping and pounding, their muscles bulging with effort.

  Suddenly they stopped.

  The silence was profound. Reisil felt herself slumping, as if she’d been holding herself against a great wind that ceased without warning.

  Across from her, four women stepped back, opening the circle. Now the senior nahuallis emerged from the great building. Their jewelry was predominantly gold, set with a black-veined blue stone Reisil had never seen before. Their hair was also long, but it had been dyed a deep purple, the color of a humid summer sky before a terrible storm. Instead of drums, they carried small copper bowls of various-colored paints.

  These women bore with them a tide of inexorable power. It was so thick it made it difficult to breathe. They filed inside the outer ring, surrounding Reisil in a second circle. The outer ring closed. Reisil flinched when the drummers struck a thunderous clap. At the same moment, the interior witches dropped to their knees. The drums began a low, rumbling beat, like rapid heartbeats. The kneeling nahuallis crawled forward to the great stone fire bowl. Then they began a slow, deliberate inscription of rinda on the exterior of the bowl. Each would dip her finger into her copper pigment bowl and inscribe a series of figures. Then she’d move left and paint some more.

  Slowly a vibrant, intricate pattern emerged as the symbols overlapped. When the fire bowl was completely covered, they spiraled outward on the paving tiles. Reisil watched avidly, trying to understand the arrangement and the purpose. To no avail. There were too many rinda, and the layering was too intricate.

  When they came to the tile Reisil stood on, they made a single inscription between her feet in midnight blue. They finished at the feet of the drummers. When the painters stood, they too were outside the design.

  ~I don’t like this, Reisil said with foreboding.

  ~We must be patient, Saljane said, but she ruffled her feathers uneasily, twisting her head and sweeping the gathered nahuallis with a crimson glare.

  They had sent for her, Reisil told herself firmly, eyeing the spell apprehensively.

  Now the elder nahuallis began inscribing symbols on the faces of the young drummers, turning once again from left to right. Soon their faces were covered entirely.

  As if on cue, the cadence of the drums changed suddenly, becoming short and slow. Reisil felt her heart slow with it. She breathed deeply, forcing her tense muscles to relax.

  The senior nahuallis stepped outward between the drummers, who stepped inward at the same time and fell to their knees, nestling their drums between their thighs.

  The drums stopped. The silence was turgid. Reisil’s stomach clenched in anticipation.

  Then, without warning, one of the elder nahuallis extended her arms upward, tilting her head back. She began chanting a series of three words. The sounds were guttural and hard. One by one, each woman in the outer circle added her voice to the thickening rope of words. Their voices wove together, building louder. Softly the drums joined in, a rumble beneath the thunder.

  At first Reisil thought it coincidence when the wind picked up. But quickly it gusted harder and clouds scudded across the sky from nowhere, piling overhead in blue-black billows. Beneath her feet, the ground began to quiver. Reisil started and braced her legs as the vibrations tickled over her skin.

  Lightning flashed, spreading across the northern horizon like the roots of a great tree before closing in a net around the valley. Thunder cracked, shaking the air. The hairs on Reisil’s arms prickled. Saljane shrieked, clamping her talons tightly, but Reisil could hardly hear her.

  Closer and closer came the storm, spiraling tighter, pulling downward like water down a drain. Reisil felt the pressure of the air against her chest. Her wildly beating heart ached inside her ribs. She felt her hair lifting, floating on the invisible currents in the air. Around her the nahuallis’ hair did the same. Their eyes gleamed in the bruised darkness, making them look almost demonic. Reisil’s stomach jerked and bucked. She wanted to reach for her power, but held herself firmly in check. Who knew what adding a bit of magic to this maelstrom would do?

  Suddenly the elder nahuallis spun to face inward. They grasped one another’s hands and pointed toward the fire bowl. Their faces twisted and their necks tented with the effort of their shouted chant.

  Sound stopped. Fear bulled through Reisil. The junior nahuallis continued to shout and pound with furious energy, but Reisil could no longer hear anything, not even the beat of her heart.

  ~What is happening? Saljane’s mindvoice was taut with fear, but Reisil grasped at it like a lifeline.

  ~I don’t know. But look!

  The painted spell on the tiles, fire bowl, and faces had begun to glow with a harsh light. A tightening in the air caught her attention. It was as if someone were winding the threads of the world around a spindle, pulling them tight. Reisil looked up and gasped, her stomach flip-flopping.

  The clouds and lightning had pulled together in a massive finger cloud. They spun together tightly, elongating, dropping lower and lower. The revolving tip gleamed with pure, silver energy, as if all the lightning had been sucked inside and concentrated into a single point of ferocious intensity.

  Lower and lower it danced in a bumbling path, winding back and forth. The closer it came, the brighter the painted rinda grew. Reisil held
her breath. The funnel swung wide, and trees on the eastern lip burst into flame. The nahuallis strained, their faces screwing up with effort. Still silence smothered sound. Even the wind had ceased.

  Lower still it came. Reisil could feel the heat of the contained energy as the tip of the funnel swung close and then far. She smelled the odor of burnt hair and metal. The point of the cone slowed, becoming steady. It dropped purposefully, speeding toward the spell circle and the gathered women. Reisil turned her head away from the white heat.

  The tip of captured lightning touched the wood in the fire bowl. The ground heaved. Reisil swayed, flinging out her arms to steady herself. Instinct told her that moving from her place would be deadly. She caught herself, flexing her knees and tightening her muscles.

  White, blue, and orange flames shot from the fire bowl, stretching hundreds of feet high inside the funnel. Reisil could now feel the pull of the compressed wind, deflected by the painted rinda. Then suddenly the nahuallis in the outer circle stepped forward, onto the border of the spell.

  Time slowed. Reisil watched in disbelief as the flames shot higher, attentuating, and then sucking back down with a shriek that shattered the veil of silence and set her teeth on edge. They plunged down to the fire bowl and erupted outward. The painted rinda flared incandescent. Reisil closed her eyes, but continued to see phantom flashes across her eyelids. Heat rippled over her in waves, each one more searing than the last. She held her breath, feeling as if the insides of her nose, mouth, and throat were on fire. Raw power flowed around her, thick and fast as molten lava.

  But it did not burn. It caressed.

  Reisil opened her eyes, blinking into spellsight.

  Her jaw dropped. The funnel and clouds were gone. Inside the circle was a column of power, quiescent and biddable. Each of the nahuallis, including herself, was anchored into it, like the pegs on a loom, sharing the weaving between. The power inside was not merely raw energy, but it had been channeled into a pattern that could exist beyond the nahuallis. Like the receptacles that the wizards used to hold magic until they wanted it later.