Chapter 1: Lessons from Five Mothers

Lessons from Five Mothers

            The hunter, before he was named Tozoni, came upon a bathing goddess in a pool. His mother had raised him well, and so he did not hide himself, but abased himself before her, and asked forgiveness. She stood tall before him in the pool, her silver hair long tendrils in the water, her skin a polished black riverstone, and asked, curious, What are you doing here in the Towers, hunter, so far north of Home-and-Hearth?

         The walls have fallen, and Home-and-Hearth was claimed by the monsters of the Wastes, and of the jungles, and the great serpents that coiled once around the Towers. Their hides turned away our blades, and our arrows, and our spears, and so we ran from them. We have come to the Towers, where the smallest of the beasts are, and will travel ever northward to Shan-Aska, The hunter who would one day be named Tozoni said, still prostrated before the pool. The goddess stood for a while, in thought, and then said, The Gifts-Giver warned once that your people would die if they traveled to Shan-Aska, or Shan-Cadera, or Shan-Sabya. That they would be enslaved and worked to death by those who live of the Sixfold Grave. You would go against the tenets of your great ancestor, cast off the freedom he gave you?

         Our freedom is a curse. We are forever hunted, hated by the stars and the creators for the Gifts-Giver’s sin. If it means my mother and her wives are fed, then I will gladly be the ox of the northman.

         The goddess walked to the shore of the pool and stood over the hunter, and let the water of her bath fall onto his brow. She said, It is cold here in the Towers. Colder still in the north. Can your people survive even that? Is it not better to weather the monsters than weather the weather? Gods loved wordplay. The hunter pulled off his ayatl and covered her, and shivered in the cold.

         The goddess wore the ayatl and laughed at its plain white color denoting a lowly hunter, and at how small the human garment was on her. You care so much for my modesty that you would freeze, hunter?

         Not your modesty—gods have little need for it—but because you said it was cold, Said the hunter. This amused her greatly enough that she squatted down before him and smiled, and told him her name: Six-Fingered-Swordhand.

         He bowed and thanked her, but she said, I have not yet told you my Huentlitolli name, hunter. You cannot bargain with me…but you do amuse me.

         He bowed again and said, I have no will to bargain with a god, but there is much I would do to amuse one. She laughed again, and said, I’m sure I’ll find many ways to amuse myself with you, but first, I must give you a gift, as thanks for your lovely ayatl. Give me your blade, hunter.

         The hunter handed her his ax, a wooden handle with a copper blade. No wonder this failed against the monsters. I’m sure the trolls robbed you in trade just for this—your people cannot find metal of your own?

         The hunter said, We cannot.

         The goddess threw the ax into the pool behind her. Then she plucked from the darkness a length of shadow—it darkened in her hand, growing rigid and sharp; a dagger, a stinger, a thorn of black so umbral it eclipsed the evening itself. She dropped it, point-down, before the hunter, and when it struck the earth it became solid and gem-glint. This is the smoke that is glass, the shadow sharper than flint. The Gifts-Giver called it Ytztli, when he gave it to your people in antiquity. I give it to you now, this long-lost obsidian, to cut the monsters apart, she said.

         The Hunter bowed one-hundred times, and then said, The original blades had been broken, and the last obsidian shards were used as sacred arrowtips—how can I repay you, Six-Fingered-Swordhand?

         The goddess thought for a moment. The obsidian will one day break, and your descendants will be eaten by the monsters without it in their hands. I will fix you with a gift greater than obsidian, if you help me become a celestial god. I will make Ytztli as sharp as obsidian, as hard as flint, and as flexible as copper, and I will teach your kin and descendants how, to safeguard the Followers of the Sun until the Sun herself is tired of your worship.

         How do I help? Where do we begin? The hunter asked eagerly.

         The goddess stood. First, take Ytztli, and cut me with it. If you cannot cut a god, you will stand no chance against the vengeful monsters.

         The hunter was grateful to Six-Fingered-Swordhand, but not so grateful that he would refuse her command. He grasped the obsidian blade, and swung it to graze her arm. Her divine skin turned away the blade, and the edge cut into his hand, dripping blood down his own arm. She laughed, and cast away his ayatl, running naked into the woods and disappearing. The hunter sat and washed his cut in the pool, and thought. Then he picked up his ayatl and cut a ribbon of it, tying it around Ytztli until he made a grip of the plain white cloth, now red from his blood, and pursued Six-Fingered-Swordhand.

         All that led him on his path was her long silver hair, caught in branches or roots, and he tracked her this way for as many days as there were fingers on his quarry’s divine hand. He chased her about, and found her again bathing in the same pool they had met at. This time, he took the advice of his mother’s first wife, not of courtesy or obeisance, but of the hunter, the blade, the Silent Step. So focused was the hunter that when he struck, he drew Ytztli across Six-Fingered-Swordhand’s neck and decapitated her. Her godly blood spilled down the obsidian blade and burned him, and he dropped Ytztli into the water of the pool, and began to weep, thinking he had lost both the goddess and her gift. The goddess laughed, and picked up her head, holding it in her divine swordhand. You give no mercy to your prey I see!

         The hunter abased himself again at the pool’s edge. I’m sorry, Six-Fingered-Swordhand! I was so tired I forgot that this was a test. I have lost both Ytztli and my ax now—kill me as you shall, for I am nothing without a blade!

         The goddess pointed with her head at the length of hair floating in the pool. Take my hair to the Sun Altar at Home-and-Hearth, and the next of your gifts shall be given to you.

         Without a blade, how will I be safe from the monsters?

         You said to me that without a blade, you were nothing? If I recall, the Gifts-Giver said that nothing is safe from the monsters of the wastes, and so you may be the only Follower of the Sun who will not be harmed! She then cast her head into the sky, and there it turned into an eagle. Her body became a flock of sparrows, and they all flew southwards towards the ruins of Home-and-Hearth, the eagle sometimes diving down to eat a sparrow from the flock. The hunter, who would later be named Tozoni, and was now named Nothing, followed the eagle south. It was true—every monster that crossed Nothing’s path disregarded it, as there was nothing there. Huge feather-crested serpents, drakes, great curse-borne and curse-bearing tetzahuitli, all passed Nothing by, and Nothing was able to study and watch them with great interest—only in the blur of combat had Nothing seen them before.

         Nothing was nearly to Home-and-Hearth when it passed upon a great stone, where sat a one-eyed jaguar. Stop there! she said, What goes there that only my blind eye can see?

         I am Nothing, said Nothing.

         Obviously you are Nothing, as Nothing is all that my blind eye can see. But to my good eye, you look as if you are a Something, a Follower of the Sun, a tribesman of the lost and forsaken men. I do not take kindly to trickery in my territory. She then cleared her throat and roared, and Nothing cowered, terrified by the jaguar. The Followers of the Sun named me Tecuani, the Eater of Men! The animals that are not monster nor prey for man, the true inheritors of these lands. Hark, Nothing, for I am Jaguar, the Prince of the Jungle, and all other tecuanimeh call me ‘milord!’

         Well, Nothing bows before nobody, so I cannot show you the respect you so obviously deserve, Nothing said, But from what I know of you, Jaguar, is that you also bow before nobody.

         The beast roared, Of course! Nobody is my master, for I am Tecuani, the Prince of the Jungle!

         Then, Nothing reasoned, We both serve the same master, if we both bow before Nobody. That makes us peers.

         This seemed to stump the Jaguar for a moment. But then it said, If we are peers, then why don’t I know you?

         When Nobody had been a hunter, and when that hunter had been a child, that child’s mother’s second wife had taught him the valuable skill of lying. She had been the least honorable of his mother’s wives, but honor did not always keep one alive, and so the Nothing that was once a hunter and once a child who had been taught to lie—who very much wanted to stay alive—thought quickly, and remembered that the best lies were the ones that were true. Well, you did know me when you were born, but when you were born your parents taught you new things, and you forgot me. But at one point very early in your life, you knew Nothing, and that was me. Nothing’s mother’s second wife would have been proud, as there were few truer lies than this.

         Jaguar thought for a moment, and then said, I suppose that makes sense. Well met, my oldest and first friend, Nothing! How did you come to be here?

         Well, said Nothing, I lost my ax, and then lost Ytztli, and without a blade, I am nothing. So I’m going to Home-and-Hearth to get a new blade, so I can be Something again.

         Jaguar said, I have twenty blades; five on the end of each of my paws. For my oldest friend, I can spare one.

         You’re most gracious a Prince, Jaguar, but Home-and-Hearth is full now of monsters. With only one blade, I’d be eaten by the monsters very quickly.

         What a predicament! said Jaguar. I could go with you, then, as with my twenty blades and mighty roar I am more than a match for the monsters. I am Nobody’s strongest servant!

         Nothing saw an opportunity, and said, My old friend Jaguar, it is there I must correct you, because I am the strongest servant of Nobody.

         Jaguar roared in anger, Fool! I have slain monsters and eaten men! All tecuanimeh bow before me as the Prince of the Jungle! How could you be a greater warrior than me?

         Because you fear me, Jaguar, said Nothing.

         Jaguar laughed, her rows of teeth so terrifying that Nothing’s knees began knocking together. Fear you? I’ve never feared a thing in my life!

         Exactly. You fear Nothing.

         Jaguar stopped laughing. She looked down at Nothing, her milky, blind eye quavering. It was her legs which shook now in fear. N-no I don’t! I have nothing to fear—oh.

         Yeah, said Nothing, Nothing can hurt you, for you fear Nothing!

         Jaguar began nervously chewing her claws. I see, I see… She took a few minutes to think, before saying: I have never feared something in my life, and I have never been weaker than something else before, besides the greatest of monsters, which could never catch me. Wolves, bears, caiman, coyotes, vipers…all tecuanimeh have feared me all my life. What should I do?

         Nothing smiled, Well, perhaps together we can claim the ruins of Home-and-Hearth in the name of Nobody?

         No, no, because I would still fear you…I propose a trade! It was now Jaguar’s turn to smile. I will give you all twenty of my blades, and all thirty of my daggers, because I too would become Nothing without my weapons. Then I would be Nobody’s strongest warrior, and you would be strong enough to go into Home-and-Hearth and face the monsters!

         Nothing thought it over, and could not find a reason to refuse. And so, Jaguar gave to Nothing all twenty of her blades, and all thirty of her fangs, and became Nothing, and Nothing became Jaguar.

         Sucker! said Nothing, Now I’m the strongest! and it vanished into the forest, while Jaguar sat, holding the twenty blades and thirty daggers and the bundle of Six-Fingered-Swordhand’s hair.

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         Jaguar, who had been Nothing, who had been a hunter, who had been a child that was good at lying, said, Fuck, before walking ever southwards. In the shadow of Bodkin, the highest tower, lay the ruins of Home-and-Hearth. There were many corpses of her kin, already eaten away by the scavengers. There too were trolls, who picked through the ruins for valuables, and Jaguar tore them apart with her twenty claws and thirty daggers, and made a meal of their remains like the monsters had her brothers. She stalked the city, taking revenge on the few small monsters still remaining, or the trolls still pillaging, and when she walked to the Altar of the Sun, the midday sun had run halfway across the sky, the needle of Bodkin’s shadow disappearing. The Altar was shining with the springwater that flowed from it into the city, and the riverstone-skinned goddess appeared above the springhead, holding her shorn-haired head under one arm. Hunter! You look…somewhat different.

         Jaguar dropped the length of silver hairs at the feet of Six-Fingered-Swordhand. She bowed before the goddess, despite Nobody being her master, because she was well and truly tired of this godly wordplay crap. I’m Jaguar now, because I met the Prince Tecuani and she duped me into trading Nothing for everything, and now I’m her and she’s nothing.

         I’d say you won in the trade, I’d much rather be the Eater of Men than nothing, Six-Fingered-Swordhand said. Then: Well, as handsome as you are as Jaguar, Tecuani, the Eater of Men, the Prince of the Jungle, the strongest beast on land and river, I do need your fingers, so I’ll turn you into something more useful for your coming task so stay still a moment…the goddess snapped the sixth-and-thumb-fingers together on her hand, and Jaguar was transformed into Six-Fingered-Swordhand’s handmaiden, Ichpoco. Ichpoco sighed, and said: You can’t just turn me back into what I was used to? I’m not your plaything.

         Six-Fingered-Swordhand said, It’s the best I can do, hunter. I can only make things that I know, like swords and flint-stones and smoke, as I lack the knowledge of the cosmos. This is why you must help me become a celestial god. In exchange, I’ll safeguard you and all other Followers of the Sun, in exchange for your worship.

         I cannot convince my kin to worship you instead of the Gifts-Giver and the Sun. Especially if you send me back to them like this! Ichpoco gestured to herself, to her smoke-painted skin and her clothes, at the tzincueitl skirt made from serpent-crest feathers and the cactli buskins, made from divine bark. They’ll think I’m just a godly envoy, come to play mischief on them in their moment of weakness.

         Six-Fingered-Swordhand sighed, You’re always such a worrier, Ichpoco, in anyone I incarnate you in. I’ll change you back to a weak little mortal when you help me ascend to the cosmos, but first, you need to work quickly while the Sun is out and the stars are sleeping. She knelt down and picked up the length of her hair, holding it out towards Ichpoco. You need to braid this into a lariat, quickly. I would help you, but you beheaded me and now I have to hold my head in one hand.

         That wasn’t my fault! Ichpoco whined, I wasn’t even myself then! Or, I was myself, but I’m not myself now, or—argh this is so confusing!

         It’s humanity’s fault for creating us in the first place. Six-Fingered-Swordhand pointed out. Now, get to work.

         And so, Ichpoco, who was previously Jaguar—Tecuani, Prince of the Jungle, fearer of Nothing and servant of Nobody, who was previously Nothing, who was previously a hunter who had previously been a child of five mothers who was taught how to hunt by his second mother, how to lie by his third, now used the skills given to him by his fourth mother; a weaver she had been, and a tapestry was much harder than a lariat—or so Ichpoco had thought, anyway. She toiled away at the silver threads of hair under the supervision of her mistress. When she cut her smoke-painted skin on the razor-sharp silver, her blood was blue like a frog’s, and tasted like texocotl when she stuck her cut finger in her mouth. She looked into the water, which ran too fast for her to see her reflection, so she looked at the polished stone belly of her mistress, reflective from the wet of the springhead.

         What are you doing? Six-Fingered-Swordhand asked.

         I’m beautiful, Ichpoco whispered, touching her face. She looked up at her mistress. You think when I’m back to being myself I could ask myself out on a date? Or—well, you know, when I’m who I was I can talk to who I am?

         You’re always so vain, you silly girl! The goddess laughed, Is who you were even your type?

         Oh, I suppose not, Ichpoco quirked her mouth, her ash-colored cheeks burning with embers of shame, returning to her work. She did not know how any of this divine stuff worked—which was probably why the Followers of the Sun had been forsaken by the creator gods, formed from the leftover clay by the Gifts-Giver in the image of his own long-lost family. She missed being a Jaguar, living unafraid of the monsters that chased her people…but if Six-Fingered-Swordhand gave them a chance to survive, she’d sacrifice much more than her own humanity—or whatever she was now—to take it.

 

         Six-Fingered-Swordhand shook Ichpoco awake. She found that she’d fallen asleep at the feet of her mistress, sitting in the springhead of the Sun Altar. The water chilled not her godly mistress, and she was warmed by some magick of her own that she did not quite understand. It was night, and the stars were all awake, shining benignly down at the goddess and her handmaiden. Six-Fingered-Swordhand pointed into the sky. There. Do you see her? Ylhicanayeli. Princess of the Night-Sky-Before-Dawn. Quickly, Ichpoco, before they notice, tie a loop in the lariat. Ichpoco obeyed, and stood ready with the lariat, watching her mistress for instruction. When I say so, you throw that lariat around Ylhicanayeli, and drag her to the springhead.

         Ichpoco tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded. Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead—she knew from earlier experimenting in the day that her sweat tasted and smelled like after-rain-dew, and she much preferred it to the Jaguar stink that had clung to her earlier. She enjoyed being Ichpoco, but she needed to be the hunter she was before if she wanted to convince her people to worship Six-Fingered-Swordhand. The dawning sun poked her golden head above the eastern horizon, still slow and tired from her sleep, as her watchful silver twin sank towards the west. Both sky-guardians were sleepy, and the light of the dawn blinded the stars, and so Six-Fingered-Swordhand shouted: Now! and Ichpoco threw with all her might, catching Ylhicanayeli in the lariat by an antler. Ichpoco pulled, coaxed, wrenched the star from the sky, until she stood at the springhead, her white-glowing body steaming the water around her, her antlers tangled in the lariat.

         Ylhicanayeli bowed her great head to Six-Fingered-Swordhand, and without a word, the stone-skinned goddess drew Ytztli from the dying twilight’s shadows and slashed the sky princess at the throat. Ichpoco dropped the lariat and stumbled away as the celestial god died, her flaming blue blood running into the stream.

         Six-Fingered-Swordhand shoved her fist into the glowing wound of Ylhicanayeli’s beastly body, and pulled from it the celestial god’s heart; she held it above herself, and bathed her body in the starblood, pouring the cosmic essence down her throat and down her front. When the heart had emptied, and was a blue-hot stone in her fist, the goddess looked down at the dawning sky, breathing heavily, her front covered in rivulets of the glowing ichor. I am Chichuasemapileh Iyekmatl, the Six-Fingered-Swordhand, spurned by the four-hundred north stars and the four-hundred south stars, The goddess said, illuminated by the weak dawn and the glowing blood that flowed from her chin down to her knees. I am the inheritor of the Twice-Slain-Gods’ fury, germ of their weapon-mastery. I reclaim the knowledge of the sky! I reclaim the lost knowledge of the celestials and I weep at the breadth of its suffering! she screamed to the heavens—and she did weep, her tears streaming down her cheeks and steaming against the still-hot blood on her chin. There was such a tremendous triumph and anger in her voice that Ichpoco knelt before her mistress—she abased herself as if she was still that hunter at the side of the pool, as she watched the lower goddess regain the cosmic power of the stars.

         Ichpoco looked to her side, and there was the hunter; the hunter looked back at Ichpoco, equally confused. He mouthed to her: What is going on? and she mouthed back: You tell me. They both looked up, regretting a few of their choices the day before, as Six-fingered-Swordhand hurled Ylhicanayeli’s cooling heart into the springhead. The rock split apart, and a geyser of steam issued from it like a whalespout. The stone heart of the dead star burned its way to the bottom of the spring, and the ground shivered with its heat. The hearth cenote at the bottom of the city boiled, and the hot-spring holes erupted around the city’s ruins, swallowing the remaining buildings whole. The Sun Altar on the hill was all that remained of Home-and-Hearth, and it became a small sun in heat itself. The body of Ylhicanayeli burned atop the altar, and Six-Fingered-Swordhand watched with her supplicants as it became ash. The dawning sun lit the sky red in her disapproval, but Six-Fingered-Swordhand simply smiled up at the heavens, smug in her victory.

         My lady— The hunter and Ichpoco both began to say; they looked at each other for a moment, and it was Ichpoco who continued first, My lady, why did you bury the heart of the star? It seems a waste of such a useful thing.

         My lady, The hunter said, You’ve destroyed Home-and-Hearth. There’s no way we can return to live here if the water from our spring is boiling. We cannot water our crops with the water from the cenote, we cannot drink water that burns with divine ichor.

         Six-Fingered-Swordhand grinned up at the sun for a while, before turning to her bowed servants. If you seek to survive this land, to the agreements of the Gifts-Giver, you will need blades sharper than Ytztli, and stronger than trollish copper, and harder than serpent-scale. I give you this furnace, and name it Tlecuilli, after the Home-and-Hearth that it once was. Seek the bodies of my dead siblings, the old stars buried in the earth. They are the clay and the iron that will become a new blade, with Ytztli’s edge of obsidian, the obliging hardness of your flint speartips, and the strength of the northman’s iron. She knelt before the hunter, and raised his chin on a fingertip until he stared into her rutilated eyes. Tonaltocaqui, I will ascend to my old seat in the heavens, and guide your people from the sky—you will be my emissary, with Ichpoco. Will you accept the first sword of my flesh?

         The hunter did not know what to say, so he said, Yes, my lady. 

         Six-Fingered-Swordhand stood, and said, Good. Ichpoco, she looked to the ash-painted girl. You will help him with the first sword. I promote you to the first forgemaster-goddess of Tlecuilli. Congratulations.

         Fantastic, Ichpoco said. Of course your last act as a chthonic god would be to appoint me even more responsibilities for these mortals.

         Six-Fingered-Swordhand leaned down and scrubbed her handmaiden’s cheeks and ruffled her hair, leaving her quite frazzled and the hunter vaguely jealous in a way that further investigation would probably prove to be quite inconvenient at the moment. 

         Six-Fingered-Swordhand walked to where the springhead used to be at the foot of the Sun Altar, now a burning divot in the ground that led into the altar, a malevolent pathway that billowed steam into the now ash-covered worship house. She looked back at the hunter, and said: Return to the Gift-Giver’s first agreement, and wander. Keep to the old roads of the Gift-Giver’s map, and adjust them as this land shifts. My gifts, and his gifts, will bear you along. Your traditions will keep you alive, and you will not break the agreement not to flee north. I will guide you from the sky; for your part, you will not leave your dead in shaft-tombs. Burn them here, and pour the ashes over Ylhicanayeli’s, pack them into the hill. They belong now to me. Worship still the sun, and the Gifts-Giver, and your ancestors. But your dead are mine, Tonaltocaqui. Remember that. Six-Fingered-Swordhand walked into the altar’s worship house, the new furnace named Tlecuilli, and was gone.

         Ichpoco sighed sharply and got up swiftly, motioning for the hunter to follow. Come along mortal, we don’t have all day. The hunter followed, and Ichpoco led him into the worship house. It was hot, and there was a stripe of bright orange at the back, where the old sacrificial pit had been. It was a ribbon of hot molten earth, bubbled up from the old springhead. Smoke and steam billowed from it, and made the hunter’s eyes water. He punched open the chimney at the top of the worship house, and the windows at each side that had always looked like judgemental eyes to him when he was a child. 

         When he looked back at Ichpoco, she had reached into the ribbon of stone-made-fire. He rushed to her, afraid that she would be burned, but she shrugged him off, and pulled from the lava a red-hot length of something, setting it beside herself. Then, another, and another. Soon, a hammer, a crucible, calipers, and other plying tools of forgecraft laid beside her, cooling into a substance that was neither stone nor metal.

         What is it? The hunter gasped.

         A ceramic, the flesh-made-clay of my mistress, said the girl. There was a sadness in her voice that the hunter felt in his chest. She did not need her earthly body anymore, so this is her last gift to you. Be grateful, mortal. I would have simply destroyed and remade your people again.

         You don’t have that sort of power or authority. I should know, I was you for a while, the hunter said.

         Ichpoco whirled on him, barking: You were not me, worm. I was you, and being you was a disgrace only surpassed by now being the forgemaster for your pitiful race! You sullied my divine body with your odious mortal mind, and were I not bound by my lady’s orders, I would unspool your entrails and make a meal of your innards!

         The hunter considered for a moment, and said: I guess I’m really not your type after all, then.

         Pah! Ichpoco said, dipping her hand into the ribbon of stone-made-fire again, up to her elbow. She looked as if she were fishing around for something. The hunter nearly asked if she needed help, but reconsidered upon remembering that the lava would likely burn his arm off. Finally, the forgemaster found what she was looking for; she pulled Ytztli from the furnace, and the hunter saw that it was grasped by a six-fingered hand still, boiling white-hot in the flame. Ichpoco grit her teeth, and pushed the dagger and arm back into the smelt. The hand that gripped it seemed to guide her, until Ichpoco’s arm was submerged to the bicep, and she pulled out Ytztli…only, it continued to slide from the stone-made-fire, until it was a length of quickly-cooling flesh-made-clay in Ichpoco’s hand.

         Ichpoco crossed the room, pushing the hunter out of her way as she walked to the weakly-burbling springhead. It sputtered into a small pool from a crack in the Sun Altar’s wall, and she quenched the burning ceramic in it, until it became a black iron, with a surface as smooth as the smoke-made-glass that it was born from. Here, she said, shoving the sword into the hunter’s grasp. It burned him, and he wrapped it in his ayatl as Ichpoco chuckled at his pain. 

         It’s not funny you divine jackass! The hunter said, still passing the newborn sword from hand-to-hand in its thick bundle. 

         Ichpoco said, Mortal, gather the Tonaltocaqueh. Bring me your wisest and least-annoying comrades, and they will learn how to work this forge. How to gather obsidian, and excavate the graves of the old stars for more flesh-made-clay. My lady will guide you from the heavens, and I will teach you while this body lasts, before I join her in the night sky. I will not lead your people; you must do it yourselves, or you will die to this wicked prison-of-no-walls that the Gifts-Giver left you.

         The Gifts-Giver warned against leaders at all, the hunter said. Leadership is said to often be wasted in the pursuit of power.

         Then go out and die in whatever thoroughly democratic way you choose, I don’t care! I’m just here to make sure your people die armed with swords that even a god would approve of. 

         Thank you, Ichpoco, the hunter said, bowing. I will return with my united people, and we will decide where we shall go from here. It was a pleasure being you, and almost a pleasure working with you.

         Farewell, mortal. I hope you are eaten by tecuanimeh the moment you set foot outside of these ruins. I will even name you: Tozoni, Food-of-Worms! Be proud, mortal, you have been named by a divine!

         And so, Tozoni, Food-of-Worms, who had previously been a hunter that was not particularly Ichpoco’s type, who had previously been Ichpoco, who had previously been the Jaguar—Tecuani, Prince of the Jungle, fearer of Nothing and servant of Nobody, who had previously been Nothing, who had previously been the hunter who would one day be named Tozoni, Food-for-Worms, who had previously been a child of five mothers that was particularly good at lying, left Tlecuilli. When the sword was easier to hold, he sat at the foot of the stairs built into the hill that had once been the Sun Altar, and cut another ribbon from his ayatl, wrapping a grip around the sword like he had around Ytztli. 

         He walked to the edge of the city’s ruins, and beheld the dense jungle, full of monsters. Tecuanimeh, Tetzahuitli, trolls, and somewhere out there, his people. He breathed in, and recalled what his fifth mother had taught him: how to die. He shouldered his sword, and walked north, towards his people, and to certain death.

 

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