I wanted to keep my bearings with respect to the death gods' house, so I made my way back towards that first. When I drew within a few dozen meters, I made the dogs hide and wait while I climbed a hill. I lit the flame in my hand, my other arm wrapped around it to shield it from view. "Matzin."
The tilt was sharper this time, pointing off to the rear of the house. I extinguished the flame and held my breath as a Tzitzimitl stalked by. She carried on towards the river. My adrenaline was already so high, the extra threat sent tingles through my fingers and up my arms. I eased myself down the hill again. I couldn't get too cocky. It would be better to leave the dogs behind for now; I was quieter alone. I moved like a wraith in the direction the flame had pointed, flitting from bush to shadow, hill to hill. I stopped at last as the ghostly form of white masonry showed between the hills again. I was breathing harder than I should have. My hand went to my chest automatically. My heart was still beating. I was almost surprised.
Ahead was a low, white-walled block, half buried in a hillside. It looked like a building; it had a thatched roof and a door tall enough for Mictlantecuhtli to walk through. "Matzin?" I breathed over my upturned hand. The flame pointed straight to the building. I shut my fist. I could burn my way in, but gods knew who would come after me then. I couldn't afford to get caught when I hadn't even found the way to the sky-level yet.
Instead, I reopened my fist. "Tzitzimime?"
It found only two this time, and they weren't close. Most must have gone after the Centzon Huītznāuhtin.
Thanking my camouflaged outfit again, I dropped to my stomach and crawled towards the building. My senses were so high-strung, the shuffle of my own movements made me jump. Nobody accosted me, though, and soon I was rising as slowly as a growing sapling beside the door. Now I was darker than the backdrop. With the shadows already so dense in this part of the underworld, I hoped I could pass as a trick of the light if I didn't make any sudden movements.
Still imagining myself as a tree, I inched a hand towards the door handle. I stopped before I touched it. The building was too poorly guarded to not have some nasty spell on it.
I lit a flame on my fingertip and poked it towards the door. Burn the spells. Sure enough, something flared. The fire ate a hole in a ghostly shell that glowed in protest before shriveling into nothingness. I touched the handle next. Ward after ward melted under Fuego's touch. Only Coyol would commission a magic that was as good as cannibalistic. I wondered if she used the magic-eating properties of Cihua's power as inspiration. I ran my hand around the door one last time to confirm I hadn't missed any wards, then took hold of the handle and pushed.
The door gave a clunk and didn't budge. Of all things, a normal latch. I pressed my finger to the wood, stifling a sudden smile. Fuego might be good at one thing and one thing only, but there was a certain beauty in simplicity. Burn the wood. Smoke rose in an acrid ribbon as my fingertip sank into the door like a kid poking a hole through clay. It was more fun than it should have been. Deeper and deeper I bored, until wood gave way to cool air on the other side. I hooked my finger and bumped the latch free.
This time, the door moved on greased hinges. I held it open just a crack and listened over bated breath. There was no sound inside. With a quick step, I slid through and shut the door behind me. Even if someone detected me and tried to ward me in, I could burn through the roof. I lit a fire in my cupped hand.
I was in a room that could only be described as a village-sized... what? Cellar? Store? Shelves rose like ladders to the ceiling, and crates and chests tiled the back wall. On the shelves were baskets, more crates, gourds, bags, and boxes of every imaginable finery. Jaguar skins, rolled rugs in bright patterns, feathered costumes and fans, the sparkle of gold and dull gleam of jade. Heaps of dried chilies and cocoa beans, jewelry of coral and turquoise, exotic fruits, baskets of maize. Piles of soft cloth clothing, tools I did not recognize, the glint of obsidian weapons, and drink and food... so much food. If hunger had touched me at all here, I would have helped myself.
"Matzin."
The flame in my hand led me to a line of huge gourds along one shelf. Gods, one of these could sustain the entire household in Tlalocan for a week. I hauled one down and popped the cork to check. The clear, odorless soul-water sloshed close to the brim. I couldn't even lift the gourd to tip it properly, so I heaved it back onto the shelf and found a smaller one. I took a sip.
I knew instantly why this stuff was so potent—and so deadly to lose. My fire magic awoke with a feeling like hot water seeping through my veins. If I had done this just hours before, I was sure that haywire fire would have burned me alive. Small fires sprang from my fingers at the ghost of a thought, even as I clenched my fists to contain them. I took a deep breath. Keep it together, Adriana. Save it for Coyol.
That helped. I made sure I could manage my fire and took another drink. Were there downsides to having too much? I wasn't a god; it only strengthened my magic, not me. With them at least it did both, helping them bear the physical impacts of a magical boost. I re-corked the gourd and found a tasseled rope to lash it to my belt. It was heavy, and bumped my hip when I moved. I could only carry one.
Something kept prickling the edge of my senses. Deciding it was probably something I should pay attention to, I tuned in and it to be a tiny tug from Fuego... on my hand. What was it still striving towards? I was done with the door, and there was matzin right in front of me. I lifted my hand and let the tug lead me. It took me to a spot farther down the matzin shelf. There was a gourd missing here. I brushed a finger over its place to check for dust, and something zapped me like a static spark.
I whipped my hand back and shook it to rid myself of the tingles. Gods, what was that? I lit my finger and poked the wood again. A trace of residual magic sparked fiercely when Fuego made contact. My finger-flame went out, and magic began to run from my finger like blood. I yanked away again. A magic-stealing curse. This wasn't a power like Cihua's; those sparks gave that away. This was the work of a spellcaster.
What had Mictlantecuhtli done here? No, it couldn't be him... I'd seen his spellcasting manifest back by the firepit when he and Coyol clashed. His colour was red-black. These sparks were a deep blue, the same deathly hue as the Tzitzimime's eyes. This must have been his wife.
A curse and a missing gourd. Mictlantecuhtli had told Coyol the gods had taken something. He must have pretended to help them, then given them a gourd of matzin cursed to take strength away. So simple, but so brutally effective. Mictēcacihuātl had probably cloaked the spell, too, so the gods wouldn't detect it until it was too late. I added both death gods to the list of deities I wanted to incinerate. Not that I was anywhere near strong enough to even think of doing that. Maybe I could come back for this stockpile when I was done with the turkey. It seemed valuable enough to make a good revenge burn.
I sighed and released that fantasy. Focus.
Speaking of pillaging stockpiles, though.
In one corner of the storage room were weapons, stacked together as casually as firewood. The spears among them reached taller than I could with one arm outstretched. I found the one with the narrowest shaft and extracted it from the rest. Its head was wooden and spear-shaped, edged with obsidian teeth where Tezcat's spear had blades. I jammed it between two shelves and flung my weight against it. I hoped nobody heard the snap. When I stepped back, I was holding a more manageable length of stick. I gave it a twirl. Flames made their own spearhead, then raced up and down the shaft. I had to tell them not to singe the wood, but I accomplished that with an ease I certainly hadn't commanded before.
"Tzitzimime?"
The flame in my palm split in two again and wobbled weakly. I touched the door with fire before I left, just in case, but no new wards burned. I slid outside.
The sky had not been that colour when I'd last seen it.
The red over the farther parts of Mictlan and the black over this one were blending. Like dying coals, they shifted over one another in broad, slow patches as the boundary between them eroded. Was Mictlan disintegrating? What happened down here when the world above ended?
If I waited too long, the gathering red would illuminate these hills and rob me of the safety of darkness. I did not crawl over the grass this time. With the tremendous boost the matzin gave me, I simply let Fuego keep seeking other magic: I could feel its tug towards every magical being in a radius that extended past the rulers of the underworld in their windowless house. The dogs jumped up as I jogged back to them.
"Tochtli, find Xol," I said.
Half the Centzon Huītznāuhtin had been told to "stay" and guard the gods. Coyol's prison must be in the sky-level where she and her brothers lived.
Tochtli didn't even sniff the air. We set out together through the hills.