Captive

By Emily Vance

Thrown into life in a strange city, Mati, a young village girl, finds herself trapped in a battle between two empires, one thirsting for blood, the other for gold. With nothing to gain from this war, she must fight to survive so that she can escape the city with her life. The longer she stays, the more she learns about a world she knew nothing of. Life is driven by death, and death is driven by the gods. But when the gods are taken away, all that is left is humanities fight for salvation. Only, for Mati, that salvation must be found in the shadows of an enemys crumbling empire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493184019

Emily Vance

Emily Vance is an honors graduate with a degree in anthropology. In her studies, she gained a passion for humanities’ interest in the supernatural. During her years in school, she studied everything from vampirism to ancient religions, including Aztec cosmology. After hearing of the conquest, she took an interest in the unique events that led to Cortes’s victory. After finishing school, she continued researching the Aztecs before she decided to incorporate their world and ideals into a historical fiction, her first novel. Emily lives in Utah with her husband, Jim, the love of her life. She has three beautiful stepdaughters and an amazing family to support her.

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Captive

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Emily Vance

Copyright © 2014 by Emily Vance.

Library of Congress Control Number:         2014904686

ISBN:           Hardcover               978-1-4931-8402-6

                      Softcover                   978-1-4931-8400-2

                     Ebook                       978-1-4931-8401-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/13/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

APPENDIX A: PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

REFERENCES

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

T his book has been nearly four years in the making, and in that time I have received so much support from friends and family. It would be impossible to express all the gratitude I feel for that support. There have been a few people, however, that I would like to thank for being an essential part of the writing of this book. First, I would like to thank my wonderful husband, James Vance. He has not only been supportive of the many hours I have spent on this book, but he has spent hours himself helping me with editing, ideas, and encouragement to continue no matter how long it took. I would also like to give a special thanks to my mother, Anne Stevens; my father, Dennis Stevens; and my sister, Erica Pingel, for helping edit my story and giving me some wonderful suggestions for the book. I also received wonderful support from my other two sisters, Amy Carter and Jaden Stevens. Without support and encouragement, this book would have never been completed. Finally, I would like to thank my professor, Susan Young, at Weber State University. It was in her class that I first learned of the conquest of the Aztec Empire, and the way she brought it to life was what sparked my interest in the subject. Without her, this book may never have come to life.

I hope this book sparks an interest for my readers. Though it is not to be considered a factual source, it is based on the true events of the conquest. If you are interested in more information, I have listed my references at the back of this novel. They are all wonderful resources and highly suggested for anyone who finds the Aztec Empire intriguing.

PROLOGUE

T hey were the horror stories that kept us in bed at night: visions of blood-soaked feathers wrapped around animalistic torsos, sharp teeth bared under blackened lips. And we, young children whose fathers surely knew as much as the gods themselves, would lie in bed with shrouds of animal fur curled up against our chins, our tiny hearts anxiously awaiting sleep so that we needn’t worry that they would appear out of the darkness.

They were our fairy tales, stories of princesses whose crowns held so many jewels that their hair shone turquoise in the sun and kings whose brilliant gold lip plugs hung down to their chest. For those tales, we begged, wanting to hear more of the brave warriors who inspired so many to pick up the plainest of sticks and transform it into the glorious weapons of our kinsmen.

Only they aren’t truly our kinsmen.

They are the Mexica, and the bond between us extends no further than the tribute paid to their greedy king. A tribute collected from the willing—and the unwilling.

CHAPTER ONE

5 Xochitl, 1 Cozcacuauhtli, 1 Acatl

(September 28, 1519)

H ow many nights can a person waste contemplating their own death? For some, I suppose, their entire life might be spent dwelling on mortality; for others, such a thought may never cross their mind. As for myself, such thoughts were fleeting… until recently.

Nearly two weeks ago, I was captured by the enemy of my village, the Mexica warriors. Since then, my perception of life and death has changed greatly. No longer are thoughts of death fleeting but constant. They lurk in my thoughts tonight, as they did last night, and the night before that. As they do every night. Death seized my mind the moment of my capture and has stayed firmly rooted in place ever since.

Such a fascination must be natural, though. How could one not mourn their death as their body rotted away around them, slowly becoming one with the filth of the Mexica’s prison?

This would be a cruel fate for anyone.

Most especially for myself, after the dedication I gave to my gods, the years I spent praying for health, for life. To what avail? My gods grow deaf to my pleas. Now, in the very worst of times, I have been abandoned.

It has taken many days to finally understand this: I am alone.

12 Mazatl, 1 Cozcacuauhtli, 1 Acatl

(October 5, 1519)

The days pass slowly, immersed in this dark prison with the other captives. Though I try to remain unaffected, I find myself drawn to the occasional torches that illuminate our captors as they walk among us. Like a moth to the flame, I torture myself with the beauty of such light and allow it to stir my thoughts toward daylight.

These moments are the pinnacle of my days. With them comes the briefest of seconds in which I may remember a better life. Such a remembrance is preferred over the present, which brings the constant reminders of death and violence that often haunt my thoughts. Thoughts that are truly constant, for the Mexica are cruel caretakers. They waste less food on us than one would on a beloved pet; what food we do receive feels coarse and gritty against our tongues and tastes no better than the dirt beneath our feet. Still, we beg for more, for our stomachs are always empty and our muscles are continually growing weaker. At times, I even imitate the other captives and grovel like the filthy beasts the Mexica consider us to be.

1 Atl, 1 Atl, 1 Acatl

(October 7, 1519)

I am still alive. In truth, though, I am not sure for how much longer. The guards are not merciful. They ignore our attempts to coerce them, our weakened bodies, and our waning strength. Every day is spent with caution, living at the whim of the guard’s emotions—emotions that long ago dried up and grew insensitive.

I keep these thoughts to myself; many of the other captives grow angry at the mention of death. Maybe it is because, like me, they cannot escape such thoughts. Or maybe they cannot comprehend mortality. Regardless, after spending so many days in this rancid prison, I believe that I can truly understand death.

Some of the captives say that this fascination with death is merely human nature, but I cannot believe it to be so. In my village, we were taught that death was the greatest sacrifice one could make. We revered any who died in the name of our gods, and our naive warriors often gathered around the campfires to discuss the glory of dying in battle, a swift end at the mercy of an obsidian tip.

I have learned much since I was taken from my village.

Death is not always honorable. Wasting away in this prison has not brought me reverence from my fellow villagers; rather, it has assured that I exist only as a memory to them. If I die here, my only achievement will be that my sacrifice strengthened the Mexica. I cannot leave such a legacy. Though I yearn for death, for a welcome release from the pain, I fear it.

3 Ozomahtli, 1 Atl, 1 Acatl

(October 9, 1519)

You, the voice came out of the darkness, as if emanating from the small fire that was shining outside of the prison bars. I had seen the guard walk in but thought nothing of it. I wanted none of the so-called food they brought, nor did I wish to attract their attention.

I ignored the call, determined to remain in my corner. The guards had been in and out of the prison many times today, and the captives they had escorted away had not returned. I huddled farther into the darkness as I heard the gate open. I wished now that I had huddled with the other prisoners, but it was too late.

The light of the fire was getting brighter, and I could hear the footsteps of the guard struggling to traverse the filth of our cell. I glanced toward him, praying to my old forsaken gods that he did not choose me; I should know better.

You there, girl, the guard called out again, and his voice grated against the emptiness within me. I had been chosen. I looked up toward the guard, wondering if he would be my redeemer or my executioner. Either way, by the scant firelight, he looked foreboding, and the hollow feeling in my stomach grew as he stood over me.

He was a large man, dark and mysterious. His black eyes, a reflection of his black heart, peered out from angular features. His large nose and strong jawline would have been admired in a potential lover, but in my enemy they were only reminders of his hardened nature. He had a large forehead that ran up into the seemingly endless skin of his shaved head, only to be disturbed by a strip of long black hair cascading down the nape of his neck. A beautiful shell necklace sat atop his muscular chest, but his glory days had long since passed, and his gut had begun to protrude over the top of his loincloth.

Come with me, he demanded.

I wanted nothing more than to simply close my eyes and remain in the corner while the guard chose another prisoner, but I knew that was not an option. If I didn’t cooperate, they would simply drag me to my death or kill me on the spot and choose another captive. After all, the priest would not care whose body caged the heart needed for their sacrifice.

So I chose the only option that occurred to me. Since my own gods had forsaken my love, I began to pray to the enemy’s god. I prayed to the god whose name I had recently heard whispered in the corners of the prison: Xipe Totec, protect me.

When the guard grabbed my arm, I didn’t resist. He pulled me up and along beside him, out of the filth, and into the dim hallway of some temple. It has been so many days since they first brought me here that I can’t even remember what it looks like from the outside.

I wish I could muster the strength to walk alone; but his arm is providing that strength, allowing me to stumble along beside him. Even through such physical strain, I didn’t cease in my final prayer to my new god. It is a slow progression, a treat for those who have a morbid fascination with the damned. I am trying to hold my head high, but my tangled hair and wounded pride feel as if they are weighing me down.

After the longest time struggling to walk beside him, we reached the door, the final passage to the outside world. A somber gray sky stretched over the horizon. The priest had chosen the earliest hours of the morning for the sacrifice, and I wanted to scream with disappointment, with anger! How I had longed for the moment when daylight would once again flow over my skin. How I had feared that day would never come. That day could have been today; but each step takes me closer to death, and the sun hides behind a gray sky morning.

We stepped out onto the pale dirt path, and I glanced around nervously, feeling trapped. In every direction, temples loom over our heads, casting faint shadows across the empty streets. Where are the people? In every tale, every story, such a sacrifice is filled with people. Where are they today?

Walking behind the guard, I can see only children, a small dirty group hidden against one of the magnificent temples. Perhaps my guard saw them hiding behind their column; perhaps he did not. Either way, he did not stop them from pointing at me, from laughing at me!

No. Not at me.

They laugh at the woman whose legs are covered with the waste her body lost its ability to control. At the naked woman who looks as if she has already embraced death. At the woman whom they believe will soon be without a heart.

Xipe Totec! Protect me!

A deep pained scream finally pulled my attention away from the children. My gaze flew in the direction of the sound; as I looked up, I saw my fate. There were the great twin temples, a legend in my village; the blue temple of Tlaloc; and the red temple of Huitzilopochtli. Just below them, upon a great dais raising the temples far above the stone streets, lay the sacrificial altar meant to claim my life and the life of the captive already laid across it. Though it may only be imagined, the sky itself seemed to grow darker as I looked at the foreboding scene.

The victim continued to scream, his body convulsing in such pain that the four attendants struggled to hold him there, spread eagle across the great stone. The priest, peacefully oblivious of the horrendous nature of this act, slowly pulled his blood-soaked arms from the man’s chest.

I could not look away. Horrified, I watched—had to watch—transfixed as the man’s heart was pulled slowly out of his body. As the vital essence of his life drained out of his chest, the screaming grew silent, and his head slumped back against the stone below him. His soul had embraced death, though his body still clung to life. Even from so far, I could see strips of flesh, like snakes, hanging on to the heart as if they alone could reanimate their master’s corpse. The priest paid little attention to such trivial attempts, his blade cutting away the crimson flesh with the same savage smile the Mexica depicted upon all their sacrificial weapons.

As the clouds grew darker behind him, the priest raised his arms triumphantly above his head, offering the heart as a gift to appease the gods. As he did this, the attendants dragged the victim off the rounded stone and threw his body down the vaulting steps of the temple. My stomach churned as the captive’s body fell onto the first step, the second, and the third, breaking apart as easily as a fragile doll in the hands of a ruthless older brother. Suddenly, I could see myself as the captive, as the doll crumbling upon the steps of the Mexicano’s altar. I realized I had forgotten to pray.

No! No, no, no. Xipe Totec, forgive me! You must save me. I will be your faithful servant. Please save me! Please!

My body groaned, aching weakly as my escort forced me onto the first steps of the temple. The stairs led directly up to the sacred abode of Huitzilopochtli, and my eyes were glued to the imposing curves of his temple as it towered above me. Decorated with hundreds of skulls, painted in the deepest of red, the temple stared out across the entire city.

I stumbled, trying to step onto stairs that were no longer there, and I looked down to see that we had reached a small patio. The smell of decay wafted toward us, emanating from the heartless bodies decorating the bottom steps of the altar. As death overwhelmed my senses, I could taste the bile rising up in my throat. With what little strength I still possessed, I tried to pull back against the guard, but he continued to force me along. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear him murmur, telling me not to be afraid, but I am! I am so afraid.

Walking beside the first corpse, I could not help but look down at it—at her. The woman’s contorted body, bent nearly in half, left her neck twisted around, her gaze staring blankly at the heavens. Oh god… I glanced away quickly; but her face, a mask of agony battered and broken from her descent, had already imprinted itself on my memory.

Please!

Immediately, my vision was filled with more corpses, a pile of shattered limbs intertwined in a grotesque embrace. How many captives lay together, I could not tell; but there seemed an endless amount of gaping wounds and broken ribs, bathed in a wash of blood. It was horrid reminder of the events to come.

Xipe Totec.

I tried, again, to glance away from the horror, but even the stones below our feet spoke of death and sacrifice. As I stepped across naked breasts, my eyes drank in the image of a woman carved into the temple itself, her legs and arms lying dismembered from her body. Her face gave little away, and I wondered who she had been to deserve lying forever in the path of broken and disfigured corpses.

Finally, we passed the body of the man who had most recently lost his life, an unwilling gift for the good of the Mexica people. His hair fell in a bloody tangled mass, concealing his eyes; and his mouth gaped open, a streak of crimson running onto the stones below him. Even wishing to know more about him, my eyes were drawn only to the massive hole in his chest and the blood oozing out over his disfigured ribs.

Protect me!

I looked back up toward the temple; the final set of stairs lay in front of me, the stone steps that led to the priest and his sacrificial knife. Seeing those white steps, streaked with the blood of those sacrificed before me, I could feel there would be no turning away. By my escort’s urging, and with the very last of my strength, I began the ascent. As my foot stepped onto the cool stairs of the altar, the rain began to fall around us. Even in my numb state, I could feel the raindrops as they kissed my cheeks. I would be saved. I had to be saved.

As I was dragged upward, the rain began to fall faster, fat droplets landing harshly against my skin. Although the stairs were not yet slippery, I stumbled over each step as if I were too weak to lift my legs so high. In part I knew this was true, but I also knew that the longer I took to reach the top, the more time my new god would have to intercede. In truth, though, no matter how many times I stumbled or how slowly I went, it was inevitable that I should eventually reach the top. And so I did.

As it turned out, my efforts had been unnecessary. The previous sacrifice still unfinished, the priest stood huddled over a smoking brazier. In my eyes the priest appeared a savage animal. What was once a magnificent costume was already damaged by the rain. Though his face was distorted by the gray smoke, his lips were curled up, frenzied and cruel, into a grimace that could have belonged to a monster. His black hair flowed, long and matted down his cheeks, sticking to his neck and shoulders. He didn’t seem to notice the rain pounding against his skin, beating the feathers of his headdress down into his eyes and causing the black paint on his face to streak down his neck.

Nor did he notice my presence, and as minutes passed with the priest making no attempt to move, my attention began to wander. I looked past the priest, past the heart shriveling into ashes inside the back of a great ocelotl, and tried to peer into Huitzilopochtli’s temple. I could see only shadows, which did little to capture my interest. I glanced toward the bright blue roof of Tlaloc’s temple, my attention lingering on the empty sacrificial altar in front of it.

I leaned heavily on the guard, turning my gaze toward the city itself, spread out for miles in every direction. Although the clouds cast a gloomy impression over the city, the houses and streets held a beauty I had never imagined. Hundreds of white roofs, all intertwined with rivers and gardens. Never have I seen such rivers, leading in straight lines down to the lake itself.

Yet for the miles of streets and hundreds of houses, the city seems strangely empty, as if the growing storm has cast a spell upon the people.

Looking farther across the horizon than before, I almost forgot that I stood within death’s grasp. Then the guard shifted, and I nearly fell over as he yanked me forward. The time had come for my sacrifice to begin, that much I was sure of. Glancing around, my mounting panic making it difficult to think clearly, I could see the priest wiping his sacrificial knife clean and the four attendants taking their places around the foreboding sacrificial stone.

As if trying to hide, my heart dropped down into the pit of my stomach. I tried, in desperation, to lunge away from the guard, but he didn’t seem to notice my attempt. Everything was happening so quickly. Two of the attendants grabbed my arms, and began spreading me, chest vulnerable to the storm above, across the cold stone.

My escort began walking away as if I were no more important than a delivered message, his responsibility fulfilled. I struggled in vain to pull away from the grip of the attendants surrounding me, thrashing my head around as the rain fell into my eyes, making it difficult to keep them open. I blinked desperately, trying to watch the priest as he walked toward me, painfully aware of the knife he held poised in his grip. Not caring about dignity, I finally summoned the courage to speak my prayers aloud.

Xipe Totec, protect me from this harm! I cried out to the heavens.

As if the very breath of the earth had stopped momentarily, the priest froze. His eyes went wide, and his knuckles clenched around his knife.

You fool! The priest hissed at me, You cannot call upon our gods for protection. Your people are savage! Xipe Totec will not hear your plea; you are so far below him. Like a worm beneath, that is how tiny and worthless you are to him. I could feel the attendants shifting, their grip on my arms loosening, and I was almost afraid that I would slip off the stone below me.

The priest, with anger darker than the sky around him, took his final step forward. Looking down on me, he lifted his knife and placed it against my chest. I heard the thunder roar above us as the cold blade began to cut into my skin.

Filthy beast, you deserve to die, the priest snarled. I could feel the blade slowly sinking toward my heart.

I cried out when the pain began, agony rolling in waves across my body, my anguish drowning out the priest’s devotional prayer. I could feel my back arching up toward the heavens, my eyes flying open, red skulls and rainclouds filling my vision. Suddenly, as if in slow motion, lightning snaked out of the sky. Thunder cracked around us, muffling the sounds of my cries, nature lashing out in beautiful fury at the temple.

Within seconds, a bright light filled the entire sky, glowing eerily off the skulls embedded in the temple above me. I could feel my body slipping on the wet stone as the attendants let my arms and legs fall, trying to shield themselves from the blast. The force of the collision hit the priest first, his sadistic eyes widening like a young boy caught tormenting a small bird fallen from its nest. His hands flew off the dagger protruding from my chest, his entire body hurtling forward.

The force hit my body shortly after; and even the attendants, whose strength rivaled that of two average men, were effortlessly thrown down. My senses reeled as energy from the nearby lightning strike washed through me. I couldn’t tell up from down.

The momentum of the blast was gone within seconds, my body careening toward the temple itself. When I landed, my vision blackening as pain coursed over my entire body, I was slumped, my back pressed against a cushion far softer than the stones of the temple could have ever been. The world reeled around me.

Rain continued to pour down on me as I struggled to sit up. My bones protested, but my blood rushed with excitement; I had more energy than before. As my eyes readjusted to the grayscale city, I looked around. Through the clearing haze, I couldn’t see the priest anywhere on the patio or two of the attendants. A third lay, dazed, with his legs hanging off the edge of the altar; the fourth, the cushion that had saved my life, lay behind me, his back broken against the corner of Huitzilopochtli’s temple. More importantly, mere inches away from my fingertips, lay the sacrificial knife that had been meant to take my life. The sculpted relief along its wicked edge smiled up at me as I reached out and ran my finger along the blade.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the third attendant rolling onto his side, reaching out to steady himself against the altar, pushing himself up. My hand closed around the knife. He struggled to his knees as I lifted the weapon up, drawing it toward my body. I watched as the man struggled to his feet. I stared at him defiantly, and when he looked up, our eyes met coldly. I held the knife out, the blade pointed directly at his chest.

I am not afraid of you. The words sounded far away, but I could feel my mouth moving. Though the words held little truth, I managed to utter them without stuttering. As he took a few steps forward, the attendant seemed wary. My hand shook with the weight of the knife as he approached. I knew I had no strength to back my words, but I still slashed the blade around weakly.

Fool girl, he mumbled, stop.

I couldn’t stop, though. I would not. I reached out, letting my weight fall onto the dead man behind me. His skin, slick from the rain, provided a shaky hold for me while I struggled to my feet. The attendant had stopped, regarding me coldly as I straightened up and lifted the blade back out toward him. My legs wobbled uncontrollably. I stumbled with my first step, but I would not give up. I struggled once more to my feet and staggered forward. Feeling like the savage the Mexica considered me to be, I bared my teeth as I began to step around him. His muscles tense; his eyes wary, he watched my progress, but he never laid a hand on me or even protested my retreat.

Finally, my foot found the first step down toward my freedom. With hope that my luck might continue, I turned my back on the guard and focused my efforts on the stairway below, a steep promise to salvation. Those steps were a daunting obstacle as the cold stones fell away to the plaza below, but I would not be deterred. This was my passage to freedom.

Only a few steps down I passed one of the attendants. Whether alive or dead, I couldn’t tell, but the trail of blood leaking onto the steps below him assured me that he would not pursue me in my attempt to escape. My muscles tensed against the slippery stones, I carefully picked my way down the stairs.

Before long, I walked among the previous victims. Although the rain had washed away the scent of decay, I averted my eyes from the massacred bodies. I could not allow sympathy to impede my judgment. I had to focus on escaping the city, or my own body would soon be among them.

I was feeling dizzy, nauseous, when I finally stepped off the staircase and away from the corpses. I glanced down, trying to focus on the wound the priest had inflicted on me, but all I could see was the blood running down my stomach. Intensified by the rain, the blood streaked down my body in little crimson rivers. I could not tell how deep the knife had gone. Through the pain, the storm, and the excitement, my head continued to swim. I had to get away!

So I began to run, weak and slow, but pushing myself forward through the rain. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. I tried desperately to focus on the ground, but my eyes kept wandering up to the temples and the buildings, all blurring together in a patchy display of white stones.

Skirting the edges of a smaller building, I turned a corner, blindly following instinct to try and escape the shadows of the temples. For each direction I looked, I could see a great wall looming across the horizon, trapping me within.

With my attention focused on the wall, I nearly collided with a grotesque display protruding from the ground between the temples. A hundred blank stares watched as I stumbled to a stop. My stomach rumbled uneasily as I stared at spike after spike decorated with the severed heads of decaying warriors, faces twisted in blank masks of torment. I could not imagine a people so cruel that they took pleasure in watching, day after day, as the skin of their enemy peeled away from the skulls; and yet, here I was trapped among them.

I could feel my legs shaking as I stood there, staring into the faces of warriors who would never escape the Mexica. The dark hollows of their lost eyes promised what awaited me should I fail to get away from the city.

My breathing was ragged, and I could hardly take a deep breath for the pain in my chest. As I stared at those bloodied faces, escape seemed hopeless. I could not stop my mind from dwelling on thoughts of lying down, surrendering to these bloodthirsty priests and their gods. Surely death would come quickly, an end to the pain, once the Mexica found me.

As I began searching for a spot to collapse, a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I could hardly believe it as my eyes fell upon a massive break in the wall, an entrance to these religious grounds—or maybe, just maybe, an escape from this torment.

I stumbled forward, trying to escape the smell of the rotting skulls and get a closer look at the gate. Stepping behind a small temple, I peeked around the white stones. There stood several columns protruding into the gateway, but I could see very few people who had ventured out into the storm. Beyond the gate itself, I could see a lone warrior, his back to me, staring out into the city. Around him, people had begun to react to the lightning near the temples, and I watched as a group of men went running toward the commotion.

I watched them carefully, trying to guess how long it took them to cross the patio. I wondered if I could make it in as little time. Suddenly, a great boom resonated over the city, echoing off the walls of the temples around me. Moments after the drumbeat began, a burst of trumpets rang out over the city.

The attendant! He must have warned others of my escape! I panicked, trying to press myself into the very stones I was hidden behind, the cool kiss of the stone offering no solace from my plight. I took a deep breath, ignoring the pain shooting through my chest. This would be my only chance to escape. If I waited any longer, surely they would find me here.

Glancing back to the gate, I counted. Only three girls, all dressed in light brown with pots balanced on their dark hair—only three girls and a guard. I could feel my heart beating against my ribcage, and praying to my new god, I began to run.

The sound of the drums had faded, but the rain was still falling heavily, masking the sound of my footsteps in the storm. Already, I had made it halfway to the gate. One of the girls saw me, and I watched as the pot she was balancing tipped off her dark brown hair. I tried to focus on the gate, ignoring the weariness in my muscles and the pain in my chest, but I still watched as the pot crashed to the ground in the corner of my vision.

Water splashed everywhere, and I could hear angry voices erupting from the trio as I ducked behind the farthest column holding up the gateway. I tried desperately to mask my breathing, sure that the warrior would hear. My head was beginning to throb as I peeked around the corner of the column. The guard had turned around, watching the commotion of the young girls.

I waited until he went to investigate.

The moment he left his post at the gate, I fled once again, nearly running over a fruit vendor setting up his wares next to the great wall. The man shouted at me, but the storm had so consumed his attention that he took only enough time to curse before turning back to his stand.

So I ran. I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, ignoring the exhaustion that coursed through my legs and the taste of blood that had risen into my mouth. I ran past the homes of the rich, their extravagant decorations and pompous atmosphere choking the streets around them. I turned corners, searching for the narrow passages hidden among the businesses of the city proper. I dodged children playing in the muddy streets. The rain had kept many indoors; but those few braving the storm, I greeted with hostility and a warning wave of my blade. To their luck, or my own, none felt the need to interfere with my flight.

Finally, I collapsed. I couldn’t run any farther; my energy had faded into nothing, and I was still trapped in the city. Looking around, I could see a small house peeking out of the reeds nearby. I knew that people lived in the larger houses and that they could find me if I hid there, but I had run out of options.

So I crawled, my hands and knees sliding across the wet dirt of the street, my focus dulling my body’s protests to more exertion. My breathing came so raggedly it felt as though knives had slashed the insides of my throat, and my chest burned as if the priest still had his knife buried inside of me. I kept crawling, constantly checking to make sure I still had the knife I had stolen from the sacrifice, its chiseled design pressed into the palm of my shaking hand.

When I finally reached the small building, I crawled into the reeds growing along the side. Trying carefully not to disturb the tall grass too much as I passed, I crawled around the back corner and collapsed. The vegetation concealed me here, for now at least. I could only pray that it would conceal me for long enough.

I tried not to think about what would happen if I was discovered. I focused on my breathing, on the feeling of the cool rain as it fell onto my skin, on the sound of silence settling around me. With my thoughts plagued by terrors, haunting visions of the Mexica discovering and mutilating my body, I cradled my new obsidian blade in my hand and fell into a deep slumber, the grinning blade my companion into dreams. Dully aware of the horrific knowledge that I may not reawaken, and those warriors, those demons, would follow me in my descent into the afterlife.

CHAPTER TWO

3 Ozomahtli, 1 Atl, 1 Acatl

(October 9, 1519, hours later)

M y mother’s timid voice rang out into the cool air, her words echoing through the trees like the whisper of a quiet wind. The sun, setting slowly through tangled branches, cast a faint light through the forest, bathing the trees in a cloudy orange glow. I opened my eyes at the sound, watching as the leaves cast dancing shadows onto the ground all around me. The coming of spring had brought beauty back into the forest, and I dreaded going back inside, being forced to endure the dim light of the fire and the pungent smell of the mud caking the outside of our home.

Her voice called out once more, impatiently. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. I pushed myself up to stand, stopping only for the dark arm draped across my stomach.

Wait… don’t go, the voice was deep and youthful, fingers curling against my skin as he pleaded for my company. I let my eyes roam over the dark hair on his arm, then his chest. Finally, I found myself staring into his deep golden brown eyes. It was Ollin lying beside me, his cheek pressed into the long fingers of his other hand, his lips swollen from my kiss.

I bit into my lower lip, trying to contain the smile that threatened to wash over my entire body. A dozen emotions pulsed through me, and I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or to cry. It seemed like so long since I had last seen him—but that was not right. Lying here, tangled together with the dirt sticking to our naked skin, surely we have been together for hours. I closed my eyes as his hand began to move slowly over my stomach.

I craved the time we spent in the forest, alone.

Ollin, it is getting late, I whispered, erotic chills shooting into my body as he playfully caressed my side. His calloused hands were warm, gently tracing unseen designs on my bare skin.

Not as late as we have stayed out before, he replied huskily, his head bowing down to nibble at the tender skin on my neck. The shadows were slowly growing longer, reaching out to cover us in darkness as his hand began to slip into my skirt, his desire pressed into my thigh, enticing me to stay out late once more.

I must go, I giggled breathily as his fingers began to trace the curve of my hip, playfully exploring the soft skin of my inner thighs. My mother already grows suspicious.

Let her be suspicious, he growled, his lips moving slowly down to kiss the tops of my shoulders, desperate need building up in the pit of my stomach. You are old enough to be out without her permission; you have already seen your eighteenth summer! Besides, you are promised to me. His lips covered mine as he spoke, the muscles in his arms quivering as he pushed himself up to lay his body on top of mine. I already knew I would give in to his desire. So I closed my eyes as the sun fell below the mountains, reveling in the feeling of his body moving against my own.

I could feel my desire growing, the energy building up between our bodies, until Ollin bit down on my lip, shattering the pleasure coursing between my legs. The bitter taste of blood filled my mouth as I cried out in pain.

My eyes flew open.

Ollin had disappeared; the sunset and the beautiful forest had disappeared. I was trapped underneath the mud-stained skin of another captive, the filthy walls of the Mexicano prison looming up around us.

Tears coursed down my cheeks as my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the torches, his weight pressing my back into the cold mud of the floor. I threw my arms out desperately, crying out for the other prisoners to pull him away; but nobody stopped him. The others leered at us from across the prison, the firelight glistening across the broken skin of their wretched smiles. I could feel his bony body moving on top of mine; I could see his matted hair, his sunken eyes greedily roaming over my chest.

Desperately, I tried to push his hands away; I could feel them digging into my arms and covering my mouth. I wanted to vomit against the foul stench of his skin, the urgency of his closeness. Kicking my feet against the floor, I tried vainly to push him off of my body.

Suddenly, the shrill blare of trumpets erupted faintly outside of the temple.

Trumpets and drums. They sounded close, familiar, coming out of the hazy filth of the prison as if heard through the pounding thrum of a rain storm. As the beat resounded over my body, the weight of the prisoner disappeared. His disgusting smile faded, melting away into a light invading the prison.

I threw my hands up, trying to block out the harsh light behind my eyelids; but my arms landed roughly across my nose, the shock of their weight waking me up. I opened my eyes, realizing groggily that I lay nowhere near that horrible prison. I had fallen asleep cradled in a bed of reeds, the sun bathing my naked body in warmth.

A cloudless sky stretched out above me, the yellowing reeds filling the edges of my vision. For a moment I was lost in the serenity of nature pulsing around me, watching the reeds dance smoothly like teasing lovers in the wind.

My tranquility was short lived, fading away after a few minutes as the events of the sacrifice came tumbling back. I wanted to cry as the realization that I had actually escaped washed over my body, but I didn’t have the energy. My limbs felt heavy as I tried to push myself up, my eyes seeking out the scab that had formed on my chest. My head swam from the effort. Sleeping beneath the hot sun and the lack of food filling my stomach had given the world a hazy, blurred glow. Somewhere nearby I could hear the buzz of insects lazily calling out to one another.

The reeds swayed as I struggled and strained to peek over them, but there wasn’t a soul nearby. I could hear the faint sound of children laughing on the breeze, but I couldn’t tell where the sound came from. Pain shot through my chest as I lay back down, the effort of sitting up having stolen away all my energy. My stomach rumbled angrily as my body protested its waning strength. My chest burned with discomfort, but my eyes felt heavy; I could feel slumber slowly overtaking my thoughts.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the forest. Ollin held my hand as we walked toward the village, his smile lazy and satisfied. The sun had already set, the ambient glow of the sunset replaced with the stilling gray cowl of nightfall. I knew that my mother would be unhappy with me for returning late, again. Somehow, her ire never compared to the bliss I found during those moments, and I knew that this would not be the last time I snuck away with my promised hunter.

Ollin gave me one last hurried kiss before we reached the edge of our village. The small mud homes seemed unusually quiet as I walked between them, the smoke that billowed up from my parents’ home the only sign of life after Ollin and I separated. I glanced around, wondering why he had left so quickly, searching for where he might have vanished to; but he was already gone.

Glancing up at the moonless sky, I straightened my skirt and smoothed my hair. I turned back toward my parents’ home, skirting up the path, pushing the fur of the doorway aside, and peeking in. My mother was still awake, sitting beside the blazing hearth and grinding maize in her worn mortar with a slow and steady rhythm, the firelight flickering, reflecting off her dark skin. Perhaps she would not be angry with me, not tonight.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside, pausing to let my eyes adjust to the dim light. When I could finally see, I screamed at the unwelcome vision filling the darkness around me. Face after skeletal face turned toward me, their bony frames huddled around a small fire, staring with those blank lifeless eyes, their faces masks of pleading, dull expressions, their crooked yellow teeth rotting behind curled and parched lips. The prison! I was back in the prison.

I woke up covered in sweat, the heat of the afternoon bearing down on my tiny refuge, the sun high above the city. I felt as if I had been sleeping for days, yet it must have been only hours. My stomach churned with hunger, writhing and clawing at my belly like small knives.

Though I couldn’t hear anyone nearby, I was scared to leave my hiding place So I ignored the pains that gripped my belly and tried to focus instead on the sounds of the city as it pulsed around me, the scuffle of a young child running by, the laugh of a couple gossiping as they returned from the market.

Not long passed before I fell asleep once more, and each dream, each nightmare, grew worse as the day wore on. Nothing felt right while I slept; even the happy moments harbored bad spirits. No matter how the dreams began, I always ended up trapped, once again in that dark prison. Each time, the moans of captives and the smell of the dead tore me back to the waking world.

By the time the sun began its descent, desperation drove me to meaningless tasks to keep from falling back to sleep. Fretting over the wound on my chest, the dried blood made it hard to determine how badly I had been hurt, but the pain that came with disturbing the wound told me I had a long time before it would heal. When I tried to brush the tangles out of my hair, the reeds swayed sensually around me, their dance testament to my presence. I could not risk giving away my hiding place; and even if I could, my arms were too weak to pull through the filth that caked my hair.

The effort was useless. I drifted in and out of that terrible sleep until the drums and trumpets finally announced that night had come. Groggily, I realized that darkness had fallen over the city, giving me cover to leave my shelter. At the thought of finding food, my stomach rumbled loudly with displeasure, the pangs tormenting; but I would not be rushed. My suspicions made me wary to leave too quickly.

I waited, listening carefully to the sounds of the night, the insects singing quietly into the cool air. Still, I wouldn’t let the darkness lure me away with the promise of safety, not when I knew the Mexica could be nearby. Finally, assured I heard only the chirp of the crickets, I pushed myself carefully up to peek above the reeds, prepared to stop at the first sign of danger. I felt so weak; I had to focus on not allowing them to make the slightest rustle, the effort almost too much to endure.

With my arms and legs quivering, I glanced around the dark city, my vision interrupted again and again by the gray stones of nearby houses. When I felt safe, I stood up slowly, holding my blade firmly out for protection. There wasn’t a soul around, though the houses stood so close together I found it difficult to see much of anything, save them. Eventually, I would have to chance leaving my hiding spot. With food foremost in my thoughts, I began to creep out into the night.

Before I left, I turned one last time, compelled to see, to remember, my sanctuary. How tiny and insignificant my body’s impression had been on the reeds. Even now they were beginning to creep back into their upright positions. Within moments, no one would ever realize that those reeds had cocooned a young girl fleeing from her murderers.

With one final nod, a silent thanks to my sanctuary, I stepped into the city.

I lurked as close to the homes and the shadows as I could, pausing for every noise, every sign of movement in the darkness. I crept from house to house like an animal hunting in the night, looking carefully for signs of a garden. I had to steal if I wanted to eat, but I dreaded being considered a thief. Snatching up as little as possible, I took a few tomatoes from one garden and a handful of chilis from another. Eventually I came across a small bucket of water that sat half empty below the window of a home where a mother was inside, singing softly to some unseen child. I willed myself to move along without it, but my thirst was simply too great.

With my hands full, I was eager to find a place to reflect on my treasures and quiet my raging belly. Scanning the streets branching out around me, I could see a large building in the distance. From here, the building seemed little more than the moonlight reflecting off white stones, surrounded by a vast display of blue flowers and green vines, a garden more magnificent than any in my small village.

I focused my attention on the shadowy entrance, deciding that it would be a good place to enjoy my meal without being discovered. As I got close closer, I could see the faint edges of a large statue inside the building; this was another temple. How many temples did the Mexica have? The thought of hiding in one was repelling, but I felt so hungry. Standing in front of the stairs, daunted by the house of some unknown god, I glanced around.

I couldn’t see a better place to hide anywhere along the shadowy paths around me. Swallowing my nerves, I climbed the steps slowly, crouching down in the shadows of the entrance. Peeking inside, just beyond the touch of the moonlight, I could see the god resting in his temple. All around him stood the faint shadows of more statues, but who he was, I did not know—and I refused to be curious. I worshipped one god now. Until I looked upon the face of Xipe Totec, I would not bestow my awe or reverence on any statue in the city.

I will not be here long enough to need the protection of the Mexica’s other gods.

Turning my attention toward my meal, I set the scant food down in front of me on the smooth white stones. Bringing the tomato up to my lips, I relished in the taste as my teeth bit into its soft flesh. It had been so long since I had enjoyed pure, clean vegetables, and the juicy insides of the tomato delighted my tongue. The chilies were spicy, though, much spicier than I had expected. Taking a gulp of water with each bite kept them from burning my throat, and by the time I had finished, I found myself wishing that I had taken more.

Then the food began to settle in my empty stomach.

My stomach churned as it tried to digest the foods. I had expected to feel satisfied; instead, I felt pain and nausea worming its way through my body. Crawling farther into the temple, I lay down on the cool stones and curled my knees up against my skin. Trying to ignore the pain, I lulled myself into another nightmare-ridden sleep.

When I finally awoke and crept down the stairs to relieve myself near the gardens, the pains in my stomach were nearly gone.

Glancing at the sky, I guessed that I had only a few hours before dawn arrived and sunlight flooded the city. I will need to find shelter from unwanted eyes. So with a final glance to the voluptuous gardens encompassing the temple, I walked away, glad to escape the presence of the vigilant statue inside.

After walking through the shadows of many houses, I found my path blocked by a river. Seeing the stone path end in that unnatural shoreline took me back to Huitzilopochtli’s temple, and for a moment I stood gazing down on the city once again. In my mind, I could still see the strange lines those straight rivers cut through the city, like an arrow piercing into the beautiful curves of a bird.

Afraid to get closer, I stood in the shadows, staring at the shoreline for many minutes. Such rivers did not exist in my village, and curiosity overwhelmed my senses. I told myself to turn around and disappear back into the safety of the shadows, but I couldn’t resist. Sticking my head out into the pathway bordering the river, I scanned the streets for danger; the night was silent.

So I took a few cautious steps forward, falling to my knees on the smooth stones along the water’s edge. I traced the gentle crevices that bordered each stone as they curved around the shore and led down into the dark water, as if the river had been built into the street instead of simply running through it. The moonlight, reflecting quietly off the dark ripples, illuminated the visage of a young mud-stained woman. Crying out in disgust, I dashed my hands through the reflection, drenching my fingers in the cool water.

As the disturbed waters slowly grew peaceful, the woman was still there, staring at me with distress. I stared back; but when I could not stand the sight, I thrust my hands into the river, ripples surging wildly away from the intrusion. Again and again I scooped up handfuls of water, washing furiously at the mud on my face and neck. The water fell back to the river in murky droplets as I glanced around, nervous that the noise of the splashes might have been heard.

Satisfied that I was still alone, I turned back toward the river, waiting for the waters to clear. Little had changed. Though the dirt had been washed away, I could see where my skin clung to the bones on my cheeks and dark circles had formed under my eyes. I searched desperately for signs of my former beauty, but they all hid in the shadows of my thin frame. I looked nothing like the girl from my village, nothing like the woman that Ollin had cared for.

I could feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes, staring angrily at my reflection, resenting the woman staring back at me. How could Ollin love me now, sickly and weak? He needed a woman who would bear him strong, healthy children. How could I promise to be that woman when I looked as if I could not carry even a small child in my belly?

Suddenly, a faint noise caught my attention. I tore my eyes away from my reflection, my thoughts away from my brooding, trying to find where the sound came from. Silence—moments passed before I heard it again, closer. My heart seized with panic, and I nearly stumbled into the waters trying to push myself up so that I could run into the shadows.

Pressing my body into the darkest corners of the alleyway, I tried to breathe quietly as the sound came slowly closer. Within minutes, I could hear the sound of footsteps. I waited, unsure of who, or what, to expect.

My heart beat so fast with anxiety that I was afraid it might burst.

Finally, a young couple came into view. I was shocked; my breath caught in my throat as I watched them strolling, hand in hand, beside the river. They were beautiful.

The woman, so petite walking alongside the tall warrior, caught my attention first. The moonlight caught her skin just right, reflecting off in a pale yellow shimmer; her lips, painted a deep red, moved sensuously in time with her steps. Though her simple white skirt hung down to her feet, her bosom was wrapped tightly in a matching white shawl; around her waist hung a delicate chain of small red flowers. Beside her, the man seemed underdressed. He wore only a deep brown loincloth, its edges trimmed in a shimmering gold; his muscles rippled up and down his body with each step.

I watched the couple as they passed by, admiring the sway of the woman’s dark hair flowing down her back. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the couple turned down another street and were gone. I waited for many minutes after they disappeared before creeping carefully back around the corner. Without direction, I began to follow the river, my path hugging the stones and shadows of the buildings lining its bank. For nearly an hour, I continued that way, stalking through the night, hiding in the shadows at every sign of movement.

The farther along I went, the farther apart the houses grew. I was getting nervous, very nervous, for the sky had lightened into a misty gray. I began to walk faster; I had to find a place to hide. Spotting a large patch of reeds in the distance, I took my chances