Did that little bit wake him up enough that he could destroy all these demons? He is a god, after all, so I suppose it fits. But if that’s the case how has my continued transformation affected him? I was hoping to find him as a statue at the end of the tomb, not powerful enough to destroy demons. Suddenly I’m not sure how well this whole walk-up-and-stab-him plan is going to go.
The farther into the tomb I get, the less light from the outside reaches it. Soon the gloom gets too strong. I can’t see the end of the chamber. I start to cast a light spell and think better of it. I can still feel Mictlantecuhtli’s power thrumming through my body. It’s like that tense twitchiness you get in your muscles when you’ve just taken some meth but it hasn’t cranked up to full blown grind your teeth levels. If I cast a spell, even a small one, will it tip me over the edge?
“Hey,” I say. “You mind shining a light in here?”
I feel a spark of magic as she casts a spell, and a glowing sphere appears near the ceiling casting light through the entire chamber. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Or more to the point, what I’m not.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I say.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Mictlantecuhtli,” I say. “He’s not here.”
“What? No, that’s not possible.” Tabitha comes into the tomb, stepping hurriedly over bones and weapons. “How could he get out? He’s locked in jade.”
“I’m gonna go with: Not anymore.”
I should have guessed something like this would happen. I was banking on the idea that he wouldn’t be able to move around until he was completely free of the jade. And even if he was that he’d still be stuck in here. Wrong on both counts.
“Is there another entrance?” Tabitha says.
“He wouldn’t need one.”
“So now what?” Tabitha says.
“I’m not sure.” Where would he go? “Where’s Santa Muerte now?”
“Probably in Chicunamictlan. She travels through Mictlan all the time, but now that the mists are open and souls can get through they’re going to be flooding the place. I can’t imagine she won’t want to be there to greet them as Mictecacihuatl.”
I look at my left hand, the light reflecting off the polished jade. I’m glad I don’t have a mirror. I run my hand through my hair. It moves, but it feels stiff, brittle.
I’m running out of time. Whether I use Mictlantecuhtli’s power or not, it’s still spreading. Soon, today, tomorrow, an hour from now, it’s going to be all over.
“Then that’s where he is. Can we get there through the Crystal Road?”
“Mostly. But there’s no guarantee she’s there. I could find her, though. She’ll either know where Mictlantecuhtli is, or she’ll be able to find him.”
“No.” The only way Tabitha could do that is if I take off the cuff and reconnect her to Santa Muerte. I’m not prepared to do that.
“Eric, you’re not going to last much longer. What happens if we get there and she’s not? What if she is and we can’t find him in time?”
“I said no.” But what if she’s right? It’s a good possibility. Mictlan’s a big place. They could be anywhere. And I’m sure they know by now that I’m here and looking for them, even if they can’t find me. All things considered I don’t see how I have any other choice.
“All right, then. Let’s get going.”
___
“End of the line,” Tabitha says. Bright light shines through a cave opening and the road slopes up to meet it. We come out into another copse of madrones, more of the Cihuateteo. I can hear a quiet shift in the wood as branches bend toward us.
“Is that normal?” I say.
“Yes. They’re tasting the air,” Tabitha says. “Wondering if we’re a threat.” A moment later the branches shift back.
“Guess they like us.”
“More that they like me. I’ve been here before. They never really got along with Mictlantecuhtli.” I follow her through the grove.
“So what is Chicunamictlan, exactly?”
“It’s a city. Looks a lot like Tenochtitlan or Teotihuacan, but bigger. Stone carvings, jaguar sculptures. Homes, markets, ball courts for ōllamaliztli games. Lots of tzompantli. Skull racks never really go out of style. Then there’s the Bone Palace.”
“That doesn’t sound at all ominous.”
“It’s just a building, Eric. It’s not even made of bone. It’s where Santa Muerte holds court. She and Mictlantecuhtli used to use it for rituals, but that hasn’t happened in half a millennium. If she’s anywhere in the city she’ll be there.”
We push our way through the trees. Unlike when we were heading toward the Crystal Road entrance outside the mists, the trees aren’t hampering our way. They bend aside to open a path for us.
When we get out of the copse onto a boulder-strewn desert landscape, I can see what she means. Chicunamictlan glitters on the desert horizon with a skyline to rival New York. A sprawling metropolis of Mesoamerican architecture that never existed on Earth. Stone buildings the size of skyscrapers, carved from limestone and red, volcanic rock. Everything brightly painted in reds, greens and blues, a stark contrast to the dead, colorless ruins in the land of the living.
In the center of the city stands an immense pyramid that reaches toward the sky. When I met Santa Muerte in a slice of Mictlan that extended to L.A., she had the same thing sitting where Dodger Stadium should have been, only on a much smaller scale.