Dark God Descending

By Tony-Paul de Vissage

Two men...separated by thousands of years, cultures, and customs...and in love with the same woman...
All grad student James Tucker Upchurch wanted was to earn summer credit on an archaeological dig to Central America...and to marry his fiancée, Shannon. All Semris wanted was to escape the monotony of a millennia-old life, and the burdens being a demon king, and the son of the Mayan God of Death, have placed upon him.

For five thousand years, the misplaced Dark Lords of Hell have been trapped in this world, ruling the Mayan city of Nikte-Uaxac. While elsewhere civilizations rise and fall, they and their subjects remain unchanged, until Twenty-first Century intruders appear, stealing from them their most precious possession, the Emperor himself...
Tuck never expected to lose his girl to a demon nor to be given immortality, and Semris never thought he’d experience mortal love, but when the current world meets a more ancient one, everything and everyone they know will be changed.
Forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Class Act Books
• Release date: Oct 21, 2016

Book preview

Prologue

Yucatan Peninsula

Sacred City of Nikte-Uaxac

3500 BCE

Hell had come to Nikte-Uaxac.

For two days and two nights, Hum Uitzal Chac, the gods’ favored mountain, belched forth smoke and ashes, filling the air with its noxious breath.

Birds fell from the sky, animals fled the jungles, and the Black River boiled scarlet. The ground trembled, felling trees, crumbling buildings, and making pottery fall from shelves and statues creep across the floor of the temple.

In the city itself, the people watched in dread as the volcano seemed to inhale and then pour forth another wave of foul air and ashes, covering the jungle floor before falling on the city itself like a drift of thick gray dust. The poisonous cloud crept closer, flowing through the streets.

Yax Pas, the Emperor, Son of the Sun, Child of Ah Kinchil himself, gave the order to abandon the city to whatever unholy thing was about to happen, telling his people to flee to higher ground. Before more than a few dozen could obey, there was a horrendous explosion and fiery lava spewed from the mountain’s mouth, flowing down its sides and into the jungle at its base, a river of flame consuming everything in its path. Trees, plants, and animals perished, engulfed by the burning magma coughed up from the Earth’s bowels.

The mountain wheezed once more, seemed to retch, and then disgorged flaming lumps of stone into the air. Fiery boulders fell with a surprisingly soft thud to the flat shelf on which the survivors huddled. One large stone landed directly in front of them. It lay embedded in the earth, glowing from within, hissing and sending out sparks as it began to cool, and then…

There was a sharp crackling sound.

From the upper side of the rock, something burst through the smoking surface. Like an evil imitation of a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, two wings protruded, unfurling with the fiery gleam of the lava shining through the tightly-stretched membranes. The wings shifted, the rock began to writhe.

Thinking to protect his people from the emerging creature, Yax Pas ran forward, war club raised. The thing reared up on two legs, towering over him, roaring and revealing needle-like fangs.

Before he could move or any of his watching subjects cry a warning, the creature seized Yax Pas, and sank its teeth into his throat. Blood sprayed the air, spattering its body as the Emperor kicked and struggled and abruptly went limp without ever having made a sound.

The abomination raised its face to the sky, a loud sigh rolling from its bloody mouth…Aaaahhhh…as it tossed away the emperor’s corpse as carelessly as one might throw a bone from which the meat has been picked.

A single brave soul ran to the body, touching it and looking back at the others to quaver, "K’ayi U Sak Nik Ik-Li." The Son of the Sun is dead. His resplendent soul has ceased.

Clambering to his feet, he turned to face the creature, raising a shaking hand. "Begone demon! Go back to the Realm of Cizim-Yum Cimil-Ah Puch from which you came."

For an instant, it stared at the man as if astonished at his audacity in giving such an order. Throwing back its scaled head, it laughed, a rough, raw sound that echoed across the now-silent valley where nothing but death remained.

"I think not." Its voice was harsh as the crash of a rock being broken, hollow like a darkened pit, as if it were not accustomed to speaking.

It looked around, seeing the other shapes lying about the plateau-top, and the people looked also. Until that moment, they hadn’t realized there were other beings like this one, that even now the misshapen lumps of lava were beginning to sprout wings and struggle to stand upright.

"We are unable to return to Yum Cimil’s dominion. Your mountain has seen to that. Brothers!"

The other creatures were on their feet now, a good four dozen in all. Wings open and fluttering slightly, they gathered around the one who spoke. Their dull red skins were naked and covered with scales. The villagers could see there were males and females among them and they kept close to each other as if fearful as they looked at the humans with eyes in which the fiery light was reflected.

"We will stay here." He looked around at the others, then turned his attention back to the cowering group and the man who stood before him. Are there more of you?

We are all from our city who survived the fiery death. The man spoke with a dignity masking the despair he felt.

Then we will be kings of this place instead of servants in the Underworld. The God of Death has lost his vassals today. All the people of your city will worship us, give us homage and sacrifice to supply us with sustenance. He smiled slightly, fangs gleaming in the lava’s glow. And in return…

I-in return? the man whispered.

The smile widened. …we will let the rest of you live.

For just a moment, it looked as if the man were going to object. After a moment, he looked away. Bowing his head, he dropped to his knees, pressing his hands together in front of him.

H-how are you called, My Lord?

"I am Cama-Zotz, late companion of his Dread Majesty, Cizim-Yum Cimil-Ah Puch," the answer was a harsh rasp. Remember my name, mortal, for it must come easily to your lips.

Closing his eyes, the man began to intone the words that would soon become his people’s daily prayer, "We worship you, Cama-Zotz, demon of the Netherworld."

Copying his gesture, the others fell to their knees also, hands raised in devotion…

…or supplication…

…as they stared at the creatures, their wings outlined against the burning gleam of the fire-filled smoke rising from the lava, the beings who would from that time forward be the masters of their lives…and deaths.

~ * ~

Paradise, Arizona

AD 2011

Dr. Sarah Westcott was bargain-hunting. One would’ve thought that, as a person who made a career digging among the throwaways and trash bins of ancient peoples’ lives, she’d choose to spend her free time in other, more enlightened pursuits, but Sarah loved to shop, and going to flea markets and garage sales was her passion and delight.

She’d been driving down one of Paradise’s little side streets when she noticed the group of people in the yard and the hand-written sign tacked to the tree near the curb.

Garage Sale.

That was all she needed to see. Quickly, she found a parking spot, slid the car into it, got out, and walked over to join the other browsers.

There was some furniture on display but it was nothing of value or interest, so she turned her attention to the rows of collapsible tables lining the front yard of the little cottage, glancing quickly at the objects haphazardly stacked on them. Paperback books…assorted demitasse-size spoons bearing the seals of various states…odd pieces of crockery…nothing of any interest. Nothing in which a trained eye would recognize hidden value. A disappointment.

And then she saw it.

Lying on top of a pile of costume jewelry. A small golden square suspended in the center of a collar made of the same material, its clasp broken. Sarah picked it up, brushing her thumb across the soft metal, noting the fine scratches incised into the shining skin.

Yes, it was electrum, all right, an ancient alloy of silver and gold. And very old. Or my name isn’t Sarah Westcott! Well, she was Sarah Westcott, and she just stood there, holding the necklace, feeling that familiar excitement. The sensation she always got when a piece of pottery turned out to be a rare type crafted by some long-lost tribe thought to never have existed until she proved otherwise.

Trying not to look too interested, she turned the little square over, staring at the image carved into the other side.

A bat. That was the only thing the jagged-winged creature could be. Wielding a war club, its mouth open in a silent scream, fangs jutting outward. Below the bat cowered a man, arms raised in supplication, the war club resting against his skull. At the bottom center of the square was a tiny ring as if something had been attached.

A gem, perhaps? A figurine of some kind?

Pretty gruesome little piece, isn’t it? The question came from behind her and Sarah turned to smile at the jean-clad young woman standing there.

Gruesome, she agreed. "But interesting. It is for sale, isn’t it?"

Everything here is for sale, the young woman informed her with a sweep of one arm to include all the tables in the yard. This little house has been in our family for five generations and I felt it’s about time we cleaned out the attic. She turned to glance over her shoulder. I promised my grandmother we’d get rid of all this junk. Would you care to look around?

Oh, no, Sarah assured her. I think this might be the only thing I’d be interested in.

Not a very pretty thing for a lady to wear.

It isn’t, is it?

Ugly, in fact, the girl went on, laughing slightly. But famous, in its own way.

What do you mean?

"Ma’am, you’re looking at the amulet of El Diablo, the Devil Bat."

"The…what?"

"Guess you aren’t from around here. Otherwise you’d know about El Diablo."

"No, I’m just visiting friends, but I’d like to know more. Tell me. Who or what was El Diablo?"

"He-it was the main sideshow attraction of a little circus that started out here. My great-great-grandfather was the owner. Bingham’s Traveling Freak Show. Sure couldn’t use that title in today’s politically correct world, could he? She smiled again. They traveled throughout Arizona and New Mexico during the middle of the eighteenth century."

"And El Diablo?" Sarah prompted.

I've no idea what it really was, the girl admitted. "It was something Great-great-granddad caught out in the desert, a giant bird of some kind or maybe it was a big bat. Anyway, he put it in a cage, put that collar on it and showed it off to all the rubes who came gawking. It became pretty well-known around here. Famous, almost."

Did he make the necklace? Sarah tried not to let her disappointment show.

"Can’t say for sure, but I suppose so. Where else would he have gotten it? I don’t think El Diablo made it."

No, Sarah agreed, I suppose not. She looked down at the little golden square. I’d still like to buy it.

The girl thought a moment. Let you have it for fifty cents.

Fifty cents? Surely, it’s worth more than that.

Not to me. It’s been in a trunk in the attic with a box of old, yellowed newspaper clippings for more than a hundred years and frankly, I’ll be glad to get rid of it.

Those newspaper clippings, are they about the circus?

The girl nodded. Say, you wouldn’t be interested in those, too, would you?

I might.

The girl leaned forward and picked up a battered shoe box Sarah hadn’t noticed. The top was split and torn and repaired with cellophane tape, tied together with brown twine. She offered it to Sarah with a flourish. With my compliments.

Sarah took the box from her. It was extremely lightweight and dusty and looked as if it might disintegrate at any moment. Opening her purse, she rummaged inside, found two quarters and dropped them into the girl’s outstretched hand.

Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy that little bit of Arizona history. The girl turned to walk away.

Oh, wait!

At Sarah’s call, she paused and looked back.

"El Diablo. What became of it?"

Don’t rightly know. Somehow, it managed to get out of its cage. Great-great-granddad and his roustabouts searched for it for days but they never found it. I imagine it died out there in the desert. Circus folded soon afterward. People stopped coming around once the star was gone.

For just a moment, she and Sarah stood there without speaking. Then, Sarah nodded, put the box under her arm and, clutching the necklace tightly, walked away. It was all she could do to keep from running to her car.

I can’t wait to show this to Lane! Perhaps it would make up for the fact that she’d forgotten his birthday. Again. The necklace is real. It has to be. That ignorant girl really had no idea what she’d let slip through her fingers.

Chapter 1

Yucatan Peninsula

AD 2012

In all his winged splendor, Semris II, Dark Lord of Nikte-Uaxac, sat cross-legged upon the Obsidian Throne of Cama-Zotz, in the Great Hall of In Kab, his vermillion robes gathered stiffly around him. Below in the audience hall, his loyal subjects waited their turns to speak.

Sunlight shining through the open balcony onto the throne room floor gleamed against the dark braid under the edge of his heavy crown. It reflected off the gold disks adorning his peaked-tipped ears, as well as the wide, jewel-encrusted collar encircling his neck. Over the collar rested an engraved amulet joining a similarly-designed pectoral covering his chest.

It was 5 Etz’Nab, one of the three days of the month in which the Dark Lord received his subjects’ petitions. It was then anyone in the kingdom might come before the Emperor with a request, asking the pale young man who was their sovereign to grant them what they asked for, the one time when favor could be given without requiring a blood sacrifice.

Along the walls, the Nobles watched with interest, from their perches on their carved four-legged stools. Heads held stiffly upright in their heavy headdresses, their coppery faces were adorned with ceremonial paint, bodies covered in their finest garments as they awaited their turns.

Behind each man stood his wife or a favored slave, richly dressed according to its master‘s rank, their heads bowed in proper humility for being allowed to be present. It was indeed an honor to be chosen to attend the Day of Petitions, one which those of the Court who were mere mortals eagerly anticipated. They might be eager, but they were the only ones, for the Dark Lord himself was nearly bored out of his demonic mind. He moved slightly and managed to keep from yawning, changing the sound into a barely audible sigh.

By the gods, I hate these gatherings! Silently, he cursed whichever of his brothers originated this particular ceremony.

The Obsidian Throne was hard and uncomfortable. The back had been fashioned to resemble the body of a large bat, Cama-Zotz himself, with head thrown back, teeth bared viciously. Huge wings curved to surround whoever sat in the chair, wing-tips becoming the throne’s arm-rests. Viewed from afar, it appeared the gigantic creature was embracing the Emperor, and protecting him.

Semris shifted once more. The fingers of one hand began to twitch, involuntarily tapping an impatient tattoo upon the bat’s right wing-tip. His own wings stiffened and quivered as if wanting to burst into flight.

Yes, that’s what I wish to do! Cast his scepter to the beautifully tiled floor, toss his unwieldy crown into an attendant’s hands, and fly out the nearest window. How would my fawning, sycophantic subjects react if I…

From the corridor came the sound of running feet.

Semris turned his head, raising one hand to silence the man kneeling before him. The noble, reciting his supplication in a sonorous drone, obediently stopped. The others looked at each other in confusion. As they saw his brother, Ne’all, standing at Semris’ right hand in the place occupied by a Royal relative, also raise his head to listen, fear flitted briefly among them.

The Dark Lord has heard something! A sound their human ears could not detect.

One of the sentries comes. Open the doors. Semris’s command was soft.

Obediently, the two guards seized the handles of the audience chamber’s double doors. They were hewn from wood from the nearby jungle and intricately carved with the Dark Lords’ story, and bound in beaten gold. They jerked the doors inward and a sentry, his hands out-thrust to push them open, nearly fell into the room.

My Lord! He righted himself, staggered, and ran several feet toward the dais where the Obsidian Throne stood. The crowd of nobles parting before him as he stopped and threw himself face down upon the braided scarlet-painted cane runner, babbling into it, "Hail to thee, Beloved Son of Yum Cimil, Blessed Child of the Night, Sacred One of Darkness…"

Arise. Semris interrupted the soldier’s yammering. What is it? Thank you, Dread Father. Whatever the problem, he welcomed the diversion.

Noble Master, Great One. The man scrambled to a kneeling position. "We’ve captured an Intruder." He didn’t look directly at the Emperor as he spoke but aimed his words at the polished tile floor.

Someone from Outside has dared to come to the Forbidden City? Immediately there was a roar of voices, a mingling of alarm and anger.

"Where’s this Intruder? Semris demanded and the guard stood up and called out, Bring her in."

A second sentry appeared. He was clutching the arm of a young girl, and though he held her tightly, there was obviously no intention to harm in his grasp and there probably wouldn’t even be a bruise where his fingers had touched. He stopped beside the first sentry, releasing the girl who collapsed in a huddle on the floor, her head down. The guard placed a sandaled foot upon her neck, forcing her to stay in that position, and directed his own gaze toward the floor.

Semris stood up. Every noble also got to his feet. No one was allowed to remain seated while the Dark Lord stood. You may look at me.

The guards’ eyes shifted toward him.

Without a glance behind him, he thrust the scepter, in actuality a stylized war club, into Ne’all’s waiting hands, and came down the steps of the dais. The heavy train of his robe swept across the beautifully glazed tiles as he stopped in front of the girl. His face, beneath its ornamental paint, was expressionless. Obeying the slight wave of one Royal hand, the soldier shifted his weight, removing his foot from her neck, and stepped back.

Without speaking, Semris studied the Intruder.

She was wearing a dress of homespun cloth, much the worse for wear. It was sodden and clung wetly to her body, revealing the slight swell of young breasts and the promising curve of rounded hips. One sleeve was missing, baring a slender, sun-darkened shoulder and the hem of the garment was ripped and ragged, both undoubtedly torn away during her time in the jungle, for neither soldier had handled her roughly enough to disarrange her clothing, much less damage it.

The Emperor bent, placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head back so she was forced to look up at him. Two large, dark eyes, set in a golden oval, stared into his. Other than raising her head, she didn’t move. She appeared like an animal frightened into mobility, unable to run even if given the opportunity, as she stared in amazement at a face very different from those of his subjects.

She saw a young man, appearing not much older than she, handsome under the ornate face paint. His skin was pale, as if it had never been touched by Ah Kinchil’s golden fingers. Then she stared into the obscure depths of Semris’ eyes, and her own went blank with fear.

Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet. "Bix ak’aaba?" What is your name?

The girl didn’t answer, and Semris frowned. Is she too afraid or doesn’t she understand?

"Bix ak’aaba?"

Nothing.

"Cómo se llama?" When he spoke again, it was in the language of the men calling themselves Los Conquistos, that small band of explorers who, many centuries before, had stumbled into Nikte-Uaxac and taught the Emperor their language before becoming his subjects. Surely, being from Outside, she would speak the language of Los Conquistos. It was recorded in the Archives that those men, with their odd armor and even odder weapons, had boasted that all throughout the jungle now spoke their language. Unless they lied.

A change came over the little face, sudden recognition, surely, but still the girl stared at him as if fear had deprived her of speech. He waited, giving her a chance to overcome her fright, then tried once more. "Cómo se llama? Contesta."

In a voice in which a tremor still lingered, the girl obeyed. "M-me llama Marisol."

Marisol. Her name’s Marisol. Immediately, Semris regretted asking the question. Now, she had an identity. Now, there would be a name to put to the body when they took it to the place where the Intruders were ultimately buried.

Forcing himself to continue, he went on, How did you come here?

"El rio. I swam the river. He must have let his surprise show, for she went on, Es verdad. I swear!"

A murmur swept the hall. The others couldn’t contain their curiosity any longer. They didn’t understand, for none but the Dark Lords were allowed to speak the language of Los Conquistos. Someone dared call out, My Lord, please, tell us. What does she say?

She says, Semris answered slowly. She crossed the river. Disbelief rippled through the hall. "Why did you come to Nikte-Uaxac? Surely, you know it’s forbidden."

"Sí." She launched into frantic explanation…how her parents had betrothed her to a widower, un gordo, an old man and fat, who had outlived two wives already. Rather than find herself married to him, she ran away, and kept running under she found herself at the river’s edge.

She fled her home, Semris translated. To escape a loveless marriage.

Stupid creature, someone muttered. Now she’ll be a corpse instead of a bride.

Swinging around, Semris stared at the speaker who had the good sense to shift his gaze from the glare his sovereign fixed upon him, saying hastily, Your forgiveness, Sacred One.

My Lord? Ne’all came down the steps, leaning forward, his mouth so close to the Royal ear the Emperor could feel his brother‘s breath upon his skin. Show her mercy.

Surprised at this sudden entreaty, Semris looked over his shoulder at his brother, one dark brow raised. His gaze shifted from Ne’all to the steward Ah Balam, standing nearby, ready to place in his master’s hand the obsidian-bladed knife to end the Intruder’s life. Semris shook his head and Ah Balam returned the knife to its resting place on a golden salver set upon a nearby pedestal.

Very well, he murmured. Ne’all visibly relaxed and returned to his place, and Semris frowned as he turned to regard the girl again. "You know those who enter Nikte-Uaxac never leave."

There was a barely perceptible movement of her dark head.

"We don’t allow Intruders to live unless they are worthy. You’ve a choice. Become as we are, or die. Do you wish to be tested? Are you strong enough to endure the Ritual of Cama-Zotz, the Bat-God, and become one of us?"

What if I take this test of yours and fail? she asked it with a semblance of defiance.

Then I promise your death will be swift.

The girl blanched, skin turning so pale he was certain she might faint but though she swayed slightly, she remained on her feet. Behind him, he heard Ne’all shift his weight anxiously. The girl looked away from Semris and toward his brother. Her dark eyes met Ne’all’s and for a second they stared at each other. Something passed between them, the Emperor was certain of it. By the gods, everyone in the room must feel it!

"Deseo vivir." The girl looked back at him. I wish to live.

We all know the laws concerning Outsiders. Semris raised his voice so all might hear. This girl’s a courageous little thing. His tone was casual, as if merely commenting on the time of day. It seems a shame to waste such courage.

He looked around at the assemblage.

Is there one among you who will claim her should she survive the ritual? Who has need of a brave, strong… He paused, directing a whispered question at her. "Está virgen?"

The girl looked away, a quick flush reddening her face as she nodded.

…and beautiful young virgin? He paused, waiting.

Someone took the hint.

My wife will be birthing soon, a noble called from the back of the group assembled to the right of the entrance doors. Ask her if she has any knowledge of midwifery.

The question was asked, and the girl shook her head. Little innocent! She doesn’t even have enough sense to lie. The pity Semris felt was surprising and dismaying as he answered, No.

Then I’ve no use for her, My Lord.

Again, Semris waited.

I’ll take her! a man called. A figure dressed in a brilliant azure robe stepped away from his stool and pushed through the crowd, the garment swirling about him as he moved. His forehead was birthing board-sloped in an elegant incline, eye slightly crossed from having a turquoise stone dangled between them from infancy. He walked over to the girl, looked her up and down and nodded. I’ve always a need for more serving girls.

A strong hand, adorned with golden bands, reached out to caress the girl’s cheek, brushing down her throat to rest against the slight breast.

Yes, I could use this one.

No! With a sharp gasp of outrage, the girl surprised them all by slapping away the noble’s hand and taking a quick step backward. Bestia! Don’t touch me!

Even not understanding what she’d said, the man looked insulted. He held out the hand the girl had struck and a silent servant ran forward offering a snowy white cloth. Taking it, he wiped his hand as if removing something filthy.

Apparently I was mistaken. He tossed the cloth back to the servant who caught it, and made himself once more unnoticeable. Very well, let her die, then.

Turning, he stalked back to his place, radiating insulted pride.

Once more, Semris waited. By their laws, three chances were given to claim the Intruder. For a long moment, no one spoke and then, from behind him came the words he’d been expecting.

My wife has been dead a twelve-month, Ne’all’s quiet voice lifted enough that all within the chamber could hear. In that time, I’ve found no one to replace her. My house needs a woman. I’ll take her, My Lord.

Semris surprised himself by relaxing. Until that moment, he hadn’t known he was tensed, waiting for his brother to speak.

Then it’s settled. He called brusquely to the guards. Take her to the priests to be prepared.

As each man seized a slender arm and led the girl from the room, the Emperor turned and mounted the steps. Reseating himself upon the throne, Semris attempted to find a comfortable spot on its unyielding surface without being obvious about it, then abruptly gave up. He held out one hand, and Ne’all replaced the scepter in it. He held it aloft.

My Lords and Ladies. His words echoed through the hall. "You are dismissed. At sunset, we’ll meet in the Temple of Cizin-Yum Cimil-Ah Puch to enact the Ritual of Cama-Zotz to determine if this stranger is strong enough to become one of us. Return then and come prepared."

While the steward went to send away those waiting outside, the others came to the steps of the dais, bowing to the Emperor. Semris expressionlessly accepted their loyalty. He barely saw the figures passing before him as they left the chamber. He was too anxious to abandon the throne and make his own exit.

He didn’t move, however, until the last noble disappeared through the gold-bound doors and the guards dutifully swung them shut again. Then he rose gratefully from the black glass throne and turned to look at Ne’all still standing by his side.

Semris walked past his brother and out onto the balcony.

~ * ~

Over five thousand years had passed since Cama-Zotz become ruler of Nikte-Uaxac.

The demon they had called the Demonic Bat, Bloodsucker, Eater of Bones, who became the first of the Dark Lords, realized that, expelled from their infernal home as they were, there were advantages to be found in this strange new land. Now, they had subjects to rule and guide. Thus he created in the Archives the Laws both worshipers and worshipped must follow, the first being that no one was to leave the city and travel to the Outside, the Far Country beyond the jungle. Likewise, any Outsiders who found their way into the city would never be allowed to leave, and there would be no exclusions.

With one exception, no one alive could remember the time when there wasn’t a Dark Lord upon Nikte-Uaxac’s throne.

~ * ~

Semris heaved a loud and audible sigh.

It was a good six hours until sunset, six hours of liberty before he had to face the unpleasantness of the young woman’s death.

You were bored, Ne’all’s accusation was quiet.

No one knew. Semris shrugged. One hand went to the golden amulet resting on his chest. Out of habit, he traced the engraving upon it, fingers following the design as they always did when he was thoughtful. It was a small square approximately three inches wide, a single sheet of silver and gold beaten so thin its edges might have been knife-sharp if they hadn’t been filed and smoothed. Upon the square, the figure of Cama-Zotz was incised, seated upon the Obsidian Throne, one hand holding a scepter like the one Semris handed so carelessly to his brother a short time earlier, the other hand wielding a war club battering the skull of an enemy. Upon the obverse side were pictoglyphs bearing the Dark Lord’s many titles. At the bottom of the amulet was a small ring attaching it to the pectoral covering Semris’ chest.

"I could tell, and if I, perhaps others, also. Ne’all was careful to keep reproach out of his voice. Kinsman or not, no one had the right to reprimand the Emperor. You must be careful not to let it show, Brother."

I know, I know. A sovereign has no right to feel boredom, discomfort, or anger. Semris’ sigh was deep and gusty, as if coming from some preternatural depth. Well, I feel all three, Ne’all. I’m tired, I’m bored, and I’m angry that I have to suffer all this! He stopped in front of a stone bench set against the terrace railing, motioning for his brother to sit. Let’s drop the formalities, and act like normal people. Sit down!

Without hesitation, Ne’all seated himself cross-legged upon the floor at his brother’s feet. He didn’t appear insulted at having to rest on the terrace itself. After all, no one might sit on the same level as the Emperor, not even his relations, and since there were no other benches in sight…

Besides, the sun-warmed stone felt good to his backside. Arranging his robes around himself, Ne’all smiled up at his brother. I was certain in a few more minutes you were going to embarrass us all by squirming like a worm in hot ashes.

"And you would’ve been right. It’s easy for you to criticize me. You’re on your feet, you move around, while I…I sit on that rock! I swear my arse is going to grow calluses." Semis rubbed his Royal backside gingerly before dropping like a brightly-colored stone onto the bench.

I apologize for not being born first, sire. Ne’all referred to the fact that, in Mitnal, the darkest and deepest section of Hell from which they’d been so rudely expelled, he and Semris had come into existence only a few seconds apart, though they hadn’t been born as mortals would consider it, having been conceived in the fiery cauldron of the burning lake from the carelessly-spilled seed of Cizim-Yum Cimil-Ah Puch, Lord of the Dead, as it was absorbed into the molten magma. His answer held just the right amount of irony, making Semris laugh.

"Believe me, I wish you had been, Brother. Then I could be listening to you complain." Shaking his head, he turned so he could look out over the courtyard, and dropped the scepter onto the bench beside him, ignoring the fact that the priceless staff rolled away, stopping only inches from toppling over the edge and falling onto the floor. Unlike those carried by rulers before the Year of Fiery Rain, which were inscribed with figures of the Great Jaguar and Ah Kinchil-Hunab Ku, the Creator, the Eyes and Mouth of the Sun and the Heavens, it bore the likeness of Cizim-Yum Cimil-Ah Puch, god of the Underworld, Lord of Death, and his companion demon, Cama-Zotz, in the guise of a giant bat.

The beaten-gold diadem, decorated with scarlet feathers and precious gems, was jerked from the dark locks and tossed aside. Semris rubbed his forehead, trying to erase both the pain and the marks the heavy crown had caused. All he did was smear the decorative paintings on his temples and brow.

Catching the crown in one hand as it sailed over his head, Ne'all placed it beside the scepter. He didn’t say anything. He was accustomed to the disrespect with which his brother treated those tangible signs of his Royal authority.

Do you remember the day I was chosen Emperor? Semris leaned back, stretching his long legs out before him. He placed one foot on the stone footrest next to the bench and crossed the other over it at the ankle.

As if it were yesterday, came the slightly flippant answer.

I’ve often wondered. Why did our brothers choose us? Why the two youngest? We were mere infants. We couldn’t have been more than a few millennia old, and while they were trying to decide which of us it would be…the Priest interrupting like that.

Cama-Zotz has appeared to me! He gives this message to his brothers: Take the older twin, for I expect wondrous things from him.

He did say that, didn’t he? Ne’all agreed. Of course, he could’ve simply inhaled a little too much sacred white powder.

I think I’m too young for this, Ne’all. Too young and immature.

Nonsense, his brother scoffed. "The priests declared you a man, didn’t they?"

You should know. You were there. Green eyes gleaming with laughter looked down at him.

Yes, well…

~ * ~

As part of his plan to make his people as much like the Uaxacans as they were able, Cama-zotz had decreed that every ruler, upon being chosen to ascend the throne, would go through the ceremony called the Descent of the Gods, ushering him into manhood as if he were as mortal as his subjects. Since it hadn’t been determined at the time whether Semris or Ne’all would be the next Emperor, the twin demons were taken to the Temple and questioned by the High Priests of Cama-Zotz.

Their answers satisfactory, they’d been stripped and their young bodies examined, before being given the ritual cups of chocolatl mixed with herbs to give it the proper dark color of sacrificial blood.

~ * ~

It’s something I’d rather not go through again, Ne’all was rueful as he remembered the impartial priestly