The Smoking Mirror

by David Bowles

  The upshot of the chaotic atmosphere was that Johnny had been forced to defend himself or Carol a couple of times. Not from any really dangerous people, just low-level punks looking to pick on the smart kids. Johnny, who like Carol was tall for his age, had gotten into three or four scrapes in sixth grade, and last fall he’d been in an actual knock-down brawl after school. He’d explained away the occasional bruise to his parents as the result of overly vigorous PE activities, and Carol, though she did not approve of these fights, had said nothing.

  Now, of course, Mickey Mouse Maldonado would spend the summer thinking of ways to get back at Johnny for the humiliation of their last encounter. He’s got a surprise coming, Johnny mused with satisfaction. After tangling with a bunch of gods and monsters in the bowels of the Underworld, I’m not all that scared of his macho gangster crap. He envisioned all the bullies he could put in their places with his new abilities, all the innocent kids he could defend. Maybe I can even bring this shield out of Mictlan with me. Be sort of like, I don’t know, the Hispanic Captain America. Or something.

  He entertained himself for what felt like hours, daydreaming about all the perks of being a nagual. From time to time Carol would break the silence with a question, but for the most part they didn’t talk. The comfortable habit of shared reflection was an easy one to fall back on, and Johnny’s heart warmed at the memory of many long summer days spent in each other’s company, reading or writing or building stuff with Legos.

  Gradually the twins began to perceive clouds of ash puffing skyward along the horizon. Harsh, grinding, almost mechanical sounds reached them across the desolate plain.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not a train,” Johnny quipped.

  “Probably something bad. Things have been too calm for too long.”

  Johnny smiled. An eagerness to face the obstacle rose in him. Danger is addictive. That’s what Dad used to say. Well, he’s right.

  “Let’s check it out, then.”

  They picked up the pace, and before long they saw it: a monstrous creature with skin like cracked clay through which a red inner fire flickered. Its elongated head was topped by long, thin metal spikes that ran down its nape and along its spine. Humanoid arms and legs were tipped in claws of the same material. As it glimpsed them, the thing opened its mouth wide, and from between iron teeth it belched an enormous cloud of white ash in their direction. The twins stopped in their tracks, but the powdery flakes settled on them like fresh snow.

  “Whoa.” Johnny smirked, brushing ash from his lips. “You really showed us, huh? Your scary ash is the last straw. We give up.”

  Carol muttered something under her breath. Johnny just ignored her. She wouldn’t know a good joke if it smacked her upside the head.

  The monster gave a dark, rumbling laugh. “Oh, delicious irony,” it grated. “Continue. Share more of your sardonic quips, skinwalker.”

  “Why? Are you going to sing ‘I’m rubber, you’re glue—whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you’? Wow, the Lord of the Dead really needs to hire some new thugs."

  “Interesting you should mention substances that stick to one. You’ve not been a skinwalker long, have you, boy?”

  Johnny turned to Carol. “You know what? Screw this talkative demon. Let’s just shift and fly out of range of his stupid voice.”

  Not waiting for a reply, Johnny tried to release control to his tonal. But nothing happened. He couldn’t even sense his shadow soul. In its place was…nothing.

  “What the…?”

  Carol had a look of confusion on her face. “I can’t shift, Johnny.”

  “Yeah, neither can I.”

  “White ash, you imbeciles,” the clay-skinned creature mocked. “The primary weakness of skinwalkers. You’re both covered in it. You cannot slip your skin. And if something coated in the ash were to pierce your flesh—say, one of my tines—your blood would rush it to your heart, which would stop for all eternity.”

  His heart jolting in his chest painfully, Johnny unslung the shield. “Carol, get behind me.”

  Chuckling, the demon took several creaking steps forward. Its inner flame blazed brighter through the cracks in its skin. “Ah, miserable knave, do you not understand that iron shatters obsidian? That was the greatest lesson of the Conquest, you runt. Iron. Shatters. Obsidian. Now you will die. Perhaps I may allow your dog of a sister to live so that when she is broken over our Dark Lord’s knee she can weep that her twin succumbed to the smoking hand of Nextepehua, Prince of Ashes!”

  And with that, Nextepehua hurled itself at them, iron claws slashing. Johnny spun away, trying to keep his sister behind him. The Prince of Ashes landed a tremendous blow on the shield. The supernatural weapon held, but the impact was too great for Johnny’s twelve-year-old muscles and he went sprawling in the ash. Lifting the shield, he struggled to regain his feet, but Nextepehua rained blow after blow against him, and Johnny soon found himself ground into the ash, wincing at the pressure on his arms and chest as the demon leaned its weight against the shield. Its horrifying face drew closer to his, and it opened wide its maw. Iron teeth gave off glints of orange and red, illuminated redly by the creature’s inner fire.

  Johnny fought and twisted and grunted, but there was no getting free. Oh, my God! Xolotl! Someone! Help! I can’t die! I can’t leave Carol to face this by herself! NO!

  There was a second of silence as Nextepehua gloated. Then Johnny heard a soft sloshing, a sniffle, and the sound of his sister clearing her throat.

  Amazingly, she began to sing.

  Allá en la fuente

  había un chorrito,

  se hacía grandote

  se hacía chiquito.

  Estaba de mal humor—

  pobre chorrito tenía calor.

  Nextepehua craned his head to look at Carol. Johnny could only make out her right hand: she had uncorked the clay jug of water the Little People had given her.

  “Shapeshifting’s not the only magic we’ve got, you freak. Now get off my brother before I go all Dorothy on you.”

  The Prince of Ashes spat sparks. “I do not fear you, wench.”

  “Yeah, that’s one of the advantages of being a girl. People are always underestimating you.”

  Johnny saw her hand go back and forth; and she began to swing the bottle repeatedly. Every splash was like acid on Nextepehua’s skin. Its inner flame guttered. Its skin began to run like mud.

  “Father!” Carol shouted, punctuating the first splattering of water. “Son! Holy Ghost! Tonantzin! Quetzalcoatl! Xolotl! Mom! Dad! Johnny! ME!”

  With the last drops of the sacred water, the Nextepehua’ s fire went out, and the demon collapsed into a runny pool of wet clay, covering Johnny and the shield. Nasty. Crap, did I just get a piece of wet demon skin in my mouth? He began wriggling himself free. Carol immediately bent and helped him dig his way out.

  “That was freaking awesome, Carol!” he said as he pulled free of the demon’s remains with a gross sucking sound. “Now if it had just screamed, ‘I’m melting, I’m melting’, it would’ve been a perfect rescue.”

  She shook her head at him. “You’re one crazy boy. You almost died, Moron.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got my magic-song-singing sister at my back, so it’s all good.”

  Carol waved his good humor away as she rolled her eyes. “I think it would be smart to get as far away from this ash as we can. We need to wash up. Ew, especially you. You’ve got muddy demon guts all over you.”

  “I know. Awe-some,” he joked in a high-pitched voice. “So what’s the next obstacle, do you remember?”

  Carol tried brushing some of the ash from her clothes as they started walking.

  “Um, heart-eating demons?”

  “Whoa. Finally, something that’ll like us for what’s on the inside instead of our incredible good looks.”

  He flashed a smile at his sister, and they picked up the pace.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Despite Johnny’s good humor, Carol was n
ervous. Along the horizon she could make out a line of black stretching off into the indistinct distance. As they drew closer, the ash gave way to hard-packed earth, the Black Road carving its somber way straight toward the heart of Mictlan. Gradually, the dark line became a massive wall whose impossible length was broken every dozen or so miles by embedded minarets, massive spires that Carol figured must serve as watch towers or forts.

  “Oh, fun.” Johnny’s voice was flat, as if even his playfulness were sapped by the enormity of the construction. “I’m not sure I really want to see what’s on the other side of that wall. I mean, that’s some impressive architecture, but…”

  “Yeah, I hear you.”

  They continued in awed silence as the wall loomed higher and higher. Soon they saw that the Black Road led right up to a pair of dauntingly huge gates wrought of some slate-colored metal and flanked by obsidian towers. Beside the towers perched a half-dozen winged humanoid creatures with the faces of women, some with hideous beaks, some feathered, others leathery. All of them were snarling.

  “Harpies,” Carol muttered.

  “Aren’t those from Greek mythology?”

  “Well, yeah. But I guess if they’re real they’d probably pop up in all mythologies.”

  “Ah, yeah. You’re right. Don’t much like us, huh?”

  The twins stopped about a hundred yards away. The harpies howled and spat a rain of nasty-smelling saliva that pattered the sand in front of their feet.

  Johnny glanced around, nodding absently. “So, uh, this is an insane question, but…how do we get in?”

  As if in answer, the heavy gates began to groan open and a dozen wraiths swirled through the gap to materialize before the twins. Carol’s mouth went dry as she scrutinized them. Gray, nearly mummified flesh stretched across their angular bones, and their eyes glowed like hot coals above ragged nostril holes and predatory teeth. They wore thick, brine-soaked leather armor across chests, forearms, and shins as well as bone helmets filigreed in copper with hideous designs. Each of them bore a club, fashioned of copper, wood or bone, along the lengths of which had been embedded shards of obsidian.

  One of the undead warriors had a black stripe running horizontally across his eyes. He stepped closer and spoke in a raspy, guttural voice. “By order of the Ajalob, puissant Lords of Xibalba, dread capital of Mictlan, you are now captives of the city guard. Accompany us immediately, or we will drag your living bodies through the streets by force.”

  Johnny raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No problem. We were headed this way anyhow, and we could use a zombie escort.”

  Carol shot him a look. Are you an idiot? she thought at him. Do you see those weapons?

  Calm down, sheesh. I just don’t want them to think we’re afraid of them.

  I am afraid.

  Well, duh, me, too. But they don’t need to know that.

  The Captain of the Guard made an impatient gesture, and the twins walked through the gates, herded by the other undead warriors. The vista that unfolded was one of densely packed gray buildings lining twisting side streets, punctuated by black spires and towering mansions. Gritty smog hung like a shroud over the metropolis, deepening the natural gloom of Mictlan. Swooping lazily through the haze or clinging to rooftops were vast murders of crows and wakes of vultures; the closest swiveled their heads hungrily at Carol and Johnny as the twins entered Xibalba.

  Cutting a broad swath through the midst of the city, the Black Road became an ample avenue upon which these strange figures made their way to mysterious destinations. More of the gray-skinned undead shambled along the cobblestones, along with cloaked skeletons, headless monsters, assorted were-creatures and tall demigods of dark and deadly beauty. From time to time shadowy forms would flit by, too fast or insubstantial to be clearly perceived, and occasionally a carriage drawn by magic or gruesome beasts would shudder past.

  “Whoa. Welcome to Emerald City’s twisted sister, huh?” Johnny quipped, trying to shrug off the overwhelming strangeness. Carol doubted that his whistling in the dark would work this time. There’s no getting away from this place unscathed. There must be hundreds of thousands of monsters here.

  Led by the city guard, the twins made their way down that dark boulevard, their shapeshifting still blocked by the white ash that clung to their skin and clothes. Three rivers crossed their path, spanned by bridges built of human bone. In the first river, huge scorpions floated, fought or flailed their tails angrily against the black water. As Carol glanced at the roiling scene in horror, a dozen humanoid creatures with scales and gills erupted from beneath the surface, impaling a good number of scorpions with bone harpoons before diving back under the current, pulling their prey along with them.

  “Oh, look,” muttered Johnny. “Creatures from the Black Lagoon.”

  “You are too weird.”

  “Weird? Carol, are your eyes even open? My weirdness is like super average behavior compared to this whack place.”

  Johnny had less to say as they crossed over the second river, a sluggish stream of red from which rose a faint warmth and with it a sickly stench. Gnats and flies and other vermin buzzed on its crimson surface. Blood. There is a river of blood under my feet. Carol bit back the urge to scream. The final bridge spanned an even more disgusting flow: a rank-smelling, brown-colored tributary upon the surface of which floated clots of rancid pus teeming with maggots. Carol retched, acid burning at her throat.

  I’m going to be sick, she thought at her brother.

  Just try to hold it down. They want to gross us out. It’d make them real happy to see our weakness.

  After the rivers the avenue widened, expanding into strange parks in which dark, moss-festooned trees loomed obliquely over granite benches and sulfur-rich fountains. In the distance, an enormous shadowy shape began to coalesce. After a few minutes, Carol realized it was a huge ziggurat, one that dwarfed Huitzilopochtli’s temple. At its base stood a palatial structure with wickedly sharp arches and pillars in the shape of serpents twined around dying women. When they reached the base of the steps that led up to the building’s shadowy portico, the Captain of the Guard stopped them.

  “You are ignorant living children, so I will instruct you as to proper etiquette. This is the Mitnal, the Council Chamber of the Ajalob. As you enter the presence of the Thirteen, you will prostrate yourselves in obeisance.”

  Johnny cocked his head. “Uh, what?”

  Carol touched his arm gently. “They want us to lie down on the floor to show our respect.”

  “Dude, I know what it means. He’s just crazy if he thinks I’m going to kiss their bony asses like that.”

  The undead warrior scoffed harshly. “If you do not show the proper deference, knave, you will be obligated to do so. Once satisfied with your groveling, High Lord Kisin will bid you stand. At that point, the audience will begin. You are to remain still throughout. We will escort you out again once judgment has been passed.”

  “Wait, judgment?” Carol blanched. “Do you mean that this is a trial?”

  “Of course it is, wench. You are living humans, trespassing in Mictlan, standing on the very Avenue of the Dead in Xibalba. Your violations of the Dark Lord’s decrees carry a weighty price.”

  Our hearts , Johnny’s voice echoed in her mind. They’re going to rip out our hearts.

  The Little People said we’d be okay. We swallowed the jade.

  I’m not feeling real confident about the jade right now, Dude.

  Prompted by the deadly clubs, the twins ascended the steps, crossed the portico and stepped through two copper-plated doors into a large chamber dominated by an elevated dais. It was furnished with a curved granite fixture that reminded Carol of the bench the Supreme Court sat at. Ringing the base of the dais stood six armored were-creatures with differing features. They were mainly hominoid but with the animal characteristics of a crocodile, stag, wolf, ape, jaguar and vulture. Each clasped a huge obsidian-tipped spear. Before them, in an oval depression that separated the pla
tform from the rest of the chamber, a red-robed and hooded figure lifted a bony claw and announced in a gravelly voice:

  “Abase yourselves before the Lords of the Black Quarter: Ah Pukuh, Hunhau and Akan.”

  The guards pushed on Carol’s shoulders till she knelt. From the shadows behind the dais emerged three tall, gaunt figures garbed in black feathers and adorned with obsidian jewelry. Their faces were skulls that protruded through rotting, peeling flesh. Their eyes glowed a deep, unnatural blue. The trio took their places, folding themselves into high-backed thrones toward the middle of the bench.

  “Tremble before the Lords of the Red Quarter: Yoaltecuhtli, Yoalcíhuatl and Tzontémoc.”

  Another three beings stepped from the shadows. They wore no robes or capes; instead, exposed muscle and meat glistened red and slick, as if the skin had been flayed away. Wreaths of fire encircled their bloody heads, and their eyes were like burning coals. They took up positions near the Lords of the Black Quarter, leaving a single throne between the two groups.

  Okay. I am officially freaking out , she thought at Johnny, her heart beating madly.

  Just pretend it’s a real gory horror flick.

  I hate horror.

  Oh, that’s right. Crap.

  “Look on the Lords of the White Quarter and know despair: Techlotl, Cuezalli, and Itzcoliuhqui.”

  Pale, corpse-like demons wrapped in shrouds floated across the dais. Dazzling white tongues of fire danced above their heads. Their eye sockets were empty, but the blackness within bored into Carol as they arranged themselves at the far left edge of the bench.