The Dance of Destiny: Aztec West

By TL Morganfield

Coyolli once was a terrible sorceress turned goddess, but like the rest of her divine kin, the Spanish Conquest snuffed her from the hearts and minds of humanity, and left her dead in the underworld. Until she reawakens in the desert outside the tiny southwestern town of Aragon, once known as the legendary city of Aztlan.

The world she knew is gone, replaced with new peoples, new politics, and new conflicts, but at least her nemesis the Sun Lord is nowhere to be found. It’s a world ripe for the picking, if she can once again regain her godhood.

But the horrors of her past have followed her through to the present, and when Lord Sun’s return becomes all but inevitable, she realizes the only way to become a goddess again is to let the dance of destiny play out, and make him murder her again....

Note: this is a companion story to "The Hearts of Men".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Feathered Serpent Books
• Release date: Dec 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519941602

TL Morganfield

T. L. Morganfield lives in Colorado with her husband and children. She’s an alumna of the Clarion West Workshop and she graduated from Metropolitan State University with dual degrees in English and History. She reads and writes way too much about Aztec history and mythology, but it keeps her muse happy, which makes for a happy writer, so she has no plans of changing her ways.

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For Dana

The Dance of Destiny

AN AZTEC WEST NOVELLA

I should remember more than I do, but I feel as if I've just been born. The world is strange and frightening, and I have no idea how I came to be here, but here I am nonetheless. I wear a blue dress but no sandals, and when I move my head, bells tinkle. I find them quick enough: tiny, delicate copper bells dangling like ripe fruit from the outer edge of my ears on both sides. Some even dangle from my cheeks. I like the sound they make when I move. The only other piece of jewelry I wear is a necklace made of a small obsidian mirror that blinds me when I look at it in the sun.

The man finds my bells odd though; it's obvious from the wary look on his face. I like that too. It means he fears I might be dangerous. I don't know if I am—though I sense I can be—but that also means he respects my potential. He speaks a tongue I don't recognize right away, but after he repeats himself a few times and gestures, I figure out he's asking if I'm hurt. I check for injuries, but find none, not even to explain why I can't remember my own name. I don't know, I finally say and his eyebrows arch in surprise.

You speak Spanish?

Better than you, pendejo. The bitter voice in my head startles me, and I wait for it to tell me more, but it falls silent now. For a brief second I think about saying it aloud—imagining the startled indignation on his face makes me happy—but then I notice the long-barreled gun sticking out of the man's saddlebag. I stare at it, the fear consuming my thoughts, my head filling with memories of thunderclaps and smoke.

The man dismounts his horse and comes closer, concern on his face. Are you all right? He approaches slowly, one hand out in front of him. His movement distracts me and the memories melt away like a dream forgotten come morning.

I don't know, I repeat, confused. It's the truth and it both scares and infuriates me. When he comes closer, I lash out at him with both hands.

He retreats a few steps. I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help you.

I don't need anyone's help! But that feels more a prideful lie than anything. I stare at him, resisting the urge to claw at him like a puma when he steps closer again, slower this time.

He hesitantly sets a gentle hand on my arm then twitches his mustache into a smile, a friendly sparkle in his eyes. See? I don't mean you any harm. I just want to help.

I remain still, ready to strike as he looks me up and down.

I see no cuts or bruises. Are you feeling well?

I shake my head.

What's your name?

I stare at him, pretending to think, but my cave of memories is empty and echoing.

He smiles kindly. It's all right. You needn't tell me if you'd rather not. My name is Miguel. When I still say nothing, he sighs then asks, What happened to you? Did someone leave you out here to fend for yourself?

"No sé," I repeat.

Flustered, he mutters that I must only know one phrase, so I snap, I speak Spanish just fine. That bitter edge invades my voice but I stop short of adding an insult. He means well, I remind myself.

Miguel chuckles. Forgive my doubt. I just thought.... He spares a glance back at his horse. Do you have anywhere to stay tonight? It's going to get dark soon.

I start to say I don't know again but after second thought, I say, I don't think so.

My house isn't too far from here, about a half hour's ride to the west. Miguel points toward the mountains on the horizon. It's a small house but we have room for visitors when need be. When I hesitate to answer, he adds, If you're concerned about how the other townspeople will act, please don't worry. We get along well with your people.

My people?

We get along with all the local tribes, he says. You're a Pueblo Indian? You're too civilized to be Apache or Navajo.

I don't know what that means, but it grates at me. I smile blankly and he smiles back, congenial, full of joy and ignorance. I narrow my eyes when he takes my hand, but I sense no malice from him. Come. I'll take you home with me. My wife will have dinner ready when we get there, and in the morning we can all decide what to do. All right?

I eye him but after he motions towards the horse, I let him lead me. The beast isn't a large specimen, but being near it gives me apprehension. It